HAIR DRESSING EXPERIENCE – home service or home safice

I often wonder why certain hair dressers are so badly behaved. Before hair dressers, whose profession I respect, come for me for being the bad customer (and so deserving of the bad experience, read the highlighted points below first.

  1. I invited a hairdresser to provide her services for me at home. She told me over the phone that she would be along at a certain time but she unapologetically waltzes in a whole hour after the time she promised.
  2. At some point, I noticed she had put too much pull on my baby hairs to weave the cornrows – y’all know how uncomfortable that can be and so I told her to correct that on the future cornrows she would weave.
  3. When I raise my hand with a mirror in it to make sure that she is weaving what exactly I wanted, she smacked my hand down and then made up some silly superstitious BS – She said that her weaving will get slower if I look at her weaving in the mirror. I concede to stop her from giving this an excuse for spending so much time on my hair
  4. Half way through weaving my hair, I excuse myself to go the bathroom where I see the cornrows are not taking the shape that they are supposed to. I tell her and instead of conceding that she did not know how to make the style I want (or trying to correct the mistake she made) she continued with the mistake I had corrected her about and so I end up with a hairstyle that is very ugly and is not in any way what I want.
  5. Whilst she was making my hair, I ran out of my a bottle of R&R luxury coconut oil and so I got another  one. Can you believe that she went ahead to take away the spray bottle, even though I told her I wanted to use it?
  6. At the end, despite not satisfying my demands and stealing(or whatever you might like to call taking what does not belong to you) from me, she had the audacity to ask for a full payment –  which I most definitely did not give her – I paid her 500 naira less (let me know if you would have done otherwise in the comment section or by email).

Here is one for all those hair dresser that are not that different from our aunty home safice above:

  1. Don’t try to wing it (a.k.a freestyle) – If you know you cannot meet your customer’s hair style demands, tell them before you begin to weave their hair. This is so that the customer can either change their mind or accept blame if they insist on making it and you don’t get it right.
  2. Freestyle-er – If you do decide to wing it against the customer’s knowledge and it is works out – good for you! If it does not work out, don’t expect full payment from the client after all, you did not meet their demands.
  3. Claim-ist – Just because my hair oil or hair cream finishes, or I have left over extensions or tracks, does not mean it automatically belongs to you. Haba, did you buy it with your own money? – as long as don’t have the customer’s permission, taking it is stealing. Don’t say because 365 blog says do not take it until you have permission to validates you to ask the customer – No it does not. Except the customer is about to throw it away, don’t ask – you are not entitled to  it and asking can sometimes put the customer in an uncomfortable position.
  4. Over familiarity – In the words of Jay Ru – ‘ye ma form familiarity’……just stoppet!
  5.  Keep appointments – This applies to both parties, not just the hairdressers. And if you know you can’t make it for the time you originally scheduled, the other party should be contacted.

 

Please like, subscribe and comment(let me know your own home safice or other hair dressing experience – you can also email me!)

Glossary 

safice – service (as pronounced by some people of the yoruba tribe of Nigeria)

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Shoboroko says: Are Wizkid and Davido fighting for 2face idibia’s title?

Like rice, cubed sugar, the accents of almost every OAP on Lagos radio stations, pointy nose, and 75.97% of the things that were on the shelves before the 2014 recession, Nigerians have gone again to import something new,  it’s the concept of having a baby mama. So for a very long time, it has not been strange to find women who have had children for a man out of wedlock, but lately the game has changed to invent the title, Baby Mama. Yes! Baby Mama, just like you will refer to a person with a doctorate degree as Doctor (Dr), and a divorced woman as Ms, you can now refer to a woman who had a child for a celebrity either whilst they were in a relationship or as a result of a one, two, three or four nights stand as a Baby Mama(Bm)…….hehehehhhehehhhehhehehehheheh, even monkey won dey relevant.

Before the arrival of this trend and its miraculous inclusion in our regular honorifics, it was popular knowledge that musician, 2Face Idibia, had had children with different women. However, in those not too distant days, the identities and profile of these women were kept low-key and the news of 2face’s exploits were neither publicised or celebrated. How times have changed? In about the same space of time, celebrities Davido, Wizkid, and Olamide announced,separately, that they were expecting their first set of offspring from women who suddenly started to carry the Baby Mama(BM) title, and that was how all began. As with all other trends, it started to spread quickly such that we started to hear of other musicians having baby mamas (even those women who had their children 10 years early were now been listed on the “10 ten hottest celebrity Baby mamas” list), and of course, we spread the trend to the rest of Africa, even to the far corners of Tanzania.

As usual, we not only copy, but we also copy and update or simply just over-use the trend, either to make up for the time the’trend’ took before it got to us or to secure our sense of identity as Nigerians. Same goes for this BM trend, of course we had to over-do it. Why not! I mean we probably already eat more rice than Thailand; an average Nigerian woman’s nose at an Owambe is pointier than Pinocchio’s; our OAPs sound whiter than the whites( with more nose-speaking effects than people from Essex); with Lasagna running out before garri on our store shelves; and finally our celebrities with more children born out of wedlock than born in wedlock, and a collection of baby mamas ranging in size, shapes, tribes and skin color who are featured on lifestyle magazines without any real reason for being celebrated

No, I’m not angry, not at all, I’m just sad. Sad because:

I wonder if these women understand, that for this two-word status, all of the possible consequences that this could have on their child if they eventually decide the get married to another man. It will mean that the public already knows that he/she is not you new husband, who you may have asked him/her to call daddy, is not his real father before he is old enough to differentiate between what is real and is not.  it will mean that no matter how hard you and that new Mr. try to make him as much a part of the family, he will always feel like an outsider – especially if you go on to have other kids.

These women have once again shown women as, indeed, the weaker sex, who are content with their sole purpose in life being to bear a mans child to secure their livelihood. They set a standard that is so low and hence will validate men calling hardworking and career driven women as “bitches”.

That these men, have not only shown to other young men that there is nothing wrong with having unprotected sex.

These men have shown that having a child is something to be done when you are wealthy enough to provide for them, rather than when you are responsible enough to provide a secure and loving environment for a child to grown unscathed.

Society has helped these men validate their masculinity through their show of prolificity, by publicly celebrating them and by giving these women social relevance for bearing children for these celebrities….or yeye-brities as I like to call them.

Together, when they, one day, have to tell the stories to their children, the first impression that such a child will have of themselves is that ‘it is public knowledge that I am a result of sex, not love’

——–If I must say so, shout out to all the real baby mothers out there. I mean those who did not deliberately have their children to obtain the Bm status; those who fell victim of circumstance and did not deliberately go out of their way to get pregnant for men because of how much they have in their accounts; those who do not rely 100% on their children’s father to survive; those who were led on to make certain choices based solely on the deceitful ways of the Demons out there and those who may have at some point considered abortion but decided to go ahead to have the child and still provide a good environment for their child to grow.

Book review: Chika Unigwe’s On black sisters’ street

Rating: 8.5/10

I discovered this book about 2 years ago on Amazon, and unfortunately for me then, I got a taste of something good that kept me wanting more. At the time, it was unavailable for purchase on Amazon and the same was the case with Jazzhole – the best book store in Lagos, scouts honor. One day one day, I was talking to someone at work about my love for African, particularly Nigerian, literature, and he told me about this Nigerian book that he had but he did not remember the title. I was completely oblivious to the fact that this mystery book will be on that ranks high on my to read list. Lo and behold, the following day, he presents me with a copy of ‘On black sister’s street’ and I could not help but scream in joy.

The book tells the story of 4 black ladies, united in prostitution to become sisters. The main character Chisom turned Sisi, is a jobless university graduate who the fear of poverty pushed her to seek help from Oga Dele, who sex trafficked her to Antwerp. Efe, a teenage mother working as a cleaner at Oga Dele’s office, who upon a death in her family, is saddled with responsibilities that force her to drop out of school to fend her siblings. Alek turned Joyce, who unlike the other girls, is originally from war-torn Sudan, where her entire family was killed and where she finds love to an Ibo Nigerian man who brings her to Nigeria to marry her, but upon refusal by his family,  takes her to Oga Dele to organise her travel. The fourth girl Ama, a victim of child abuse perpetrated by her step-father, who met Oga Dele whilst working at a restaurant owned by her aunt in Lagos. Suddenly, a death occurs, and this causes the ladies to pen up about their stories for the first time, bringing to light the fact that Oga Dele and his phrase “Belgium next to London” was a common denominator.

I will some up my entire reading experience with the word ‘captivating’. I say this because, even in moments where I had to stop reading, I could not stop thinking, speculating, and on certain occasions, discussing the book. It will be a crime to do this review with touching on Chika’s impeccable ability to accurately and intensely describe scenarios, leaving you living in the book. But, guys I must say this book was a twister. Not a twister in the Chimamanda fashion of leaving readers to make their own conclusions, but in the sense that what you expect to happen at the end, is totally not what happens – and I mean this in a good way. Most of all, this book was very real guys – with realistic characters and a realistic ending, and this is not only because of its twisted nature. For a story with characters with such sad stories, a lot of authors can be tempted to lead readers on a happily ever after trail, but this story was not one of such, it was simply real. More often than not,  authors are tempted to make book unnecessarily long thereby meandering the story and character development, Chika kept it simply captivating in 258 straight-to the-point pages – good for those who do not like very long reads.

I find it hard to pick something I did not like about the boo, but for the sake of being picky I will give one.

  • I did not like the way she broke the characters stories into scattered paragraphs…..but I guess that was to sort of put some mystery to the stories without giving it all away at once.

 

Shoboroko says: Let’s be real, you’re a tiff (thief)

This is a rant! yes, a rant! A rant on the excessive, somewhat, unreasonable demands that (some) women place on men when they start to itemise what they call the 10 yards of husband material but what I call the 55 yards of madness material

“I don’t want a daddy’s boy, I want #gbogboteamself-mademen, but my ideal man must not be more than 4 years older than you because he needs to be current, trendy and to understand all the inside jokes you make with your friends”………*raised eyebrows* How this is possible? How can a man that joined the work force 3-5 years ahead of to have gathered enough experience to build a company that makes Uber-level returns?

“He should be 30 years old when we get married, no more than 31 anyway. Our first house must be a 5 bedroom house in Ikoyi; his first car, a 2016 Mercedes Benz G-wagon; his wedding present to me, a 2016 Porsche Cayenne; and our honey moon; a PJ trip to an Island he rented for two weeks. Most of all, he must run a legitimate business that got him featured on the 30 under 30 Forbes list” – but how!. Is your husband material going to be a reincarnation of Mark Zuckerberg? How does an average  30 year old come to afford all these luxuries that you have listed from a business that is not YY(yahoo yahoo) a.k.a 419 and its other variations like YY+, YY++, and YY++(squared)

“I don’t want a man that is the first born, too much responsibilities, or the last born, his mum will be too attached to him. In fact, I’ll prefer my mother-in-law to be long dead by the time we get married, to avoid all those mother-in-law drama….abeg! I’m not cut out for that life. And yes, he must be from a monogamous family – no step relatives drama, maybe the 2nd of three boys- I do not want a female sister-in-law, they can be worse the mothers, and not just any family but a real christian family where they will not have had any fetish covenants that can backfire on me and my kids – but they should not be too religious, I cannot stand a family where the whole Christmas holiday is turned into a fervent fasting and prayer galore.” You want your mother-in-law dead! So lets assume she, like most mothers in that time, got married between the age of 22 and 25 and she had your “husband” at 24, if he is 30, your mother-in-law must be about 54. And so you wish death upon your 55-year-old mother-in-law (no matter how dramatic she is)! Just start praying that you do not give birth to a male son, because if you do, your daughter-in-law is bound to wish you death at the early age of 55……….that’s all

“He must be successful. I mean he must have risen well above his peers because he is a dedicated hardworker, but he must show me 100% attention, love and care; make me feel important; be able to command me, dominate me- but not too much, that he becomes controlling or becomes a wife beater; and most of all make me his queen” Haba! so you say he should be controlling but not too controlling to the extent that he beats you i.e. when he says jump, you say how high but yet he allows you to do your own thing…….arrgggghh! Is he Jesus? How do you expect a human being like you to be guarded by such a vague line? how can you be so illogically demanding to expect a man who is a ‘dedicated hardworker’ to show you 100% attention and still be 100% dedicated to his work? Queen ko, Queen ni, keep deceiving yourself!

Are you one of those ladies expecting a man who is 55 yards of madness material? I have an important message for you, and it is that ‘you are are a grrbido, long throat, an Ole (thief), Olojukokoro, wobia, Oloshi, Olodo, and frankly, an Apoda’

Conspiracy theory: “Banana fall on you” – what did Davido mean?

Money fall on you

Banana fall on you

Prada fall on you

cause I’m in love with you

 

Money fall on you

Banana fall on……..holllupppp! Bana..whattttttt! *confused*

This was my reaction when I first heard the song. And Once again, Davido has proves that he is not only a king, but also a confusionist, with this banger. Sooooo…….what exactly did he mean by ‘Banana fall on you’?

Possible theories;

  1. The night before he wrote that line, he had a dream that it was raining bananas the same way Rihanna had a dream about raining men
  2. His daughter, Imade, really enjoys the Banana fruit like many other kids and so whilst his money is falling on her, Prada is also falling on her as well as her favorite, Banana fruit
  3. His girlfriend absolutely loves Dodo and/or Bananas and she told him she missed them the night before because they are going out of season
  4. or maybe B.A.N.A.N.A is a code word for something we don’t know *wink* *wink*

I know you guys have also come up with your own theories of what the falling banana’s means(let me know in the comment section), but seriously, I am tired of speculating, Davido needs to come out and tell us ASAP.

Shoboroko says “Nigerian parents are at it again!”

So this story caught my attention on the Aunty Bella feature on Bella Naija, and for the first time in a while I had nothing to say……..or may be I do (we shall find out). I do not understand why, and how, Nigerian parents have come to believe that their opinions are extremely important when it comes to who their child chooses as a spouse *eyes rolling*.  Just the other day, I was telling my mum about a wedding I was going to attend, and somehow the conversation swayed to how the groom was from Delta state. As soon as I said Delta, she did the God forbid it thing ( you know that thing where they hold their thumb and middle finger together on one hand, take the hand around their head in an anticlockwise motion and then snap – yh that one!) and she said “me, I don’t like that one. people from that side are very wicked”- like fam, am I getting married for you?!

See me see trouble o! who told her its her choice? and what exactly makes her think that she can dictate the tribe I marry from? Anyway today is not about my mum (that will require a whole blog series), so lets not get lost in the stew, let me give you a summary of this lady’s situation.

Miss Bella is an Indian potato, who found love, during her masters degree programme, with a Nigerian cookie. Without informing his parents, Naija cookie decides to propose to this Indian potato, who at that time had already spent a holiday with his family….then katakata bursts! His family want him to marry a girl who is from the same village, and clearly she is not even the same nationality, talk less village (and no! they don’t want her to do some karishika moves to become a member of their village, after existing as an indian for 28 years)…….eeewwwwoooo! Naija cookie loves his potato, as such he has fought his family over this issue. I guess this experience is what triggered FOB’s memory that Nigerian in laws are wicked, anyway, now he is also against the union of this potato and her cookie. The wedding preparations are still in going on, but as a result of this brouhaha, Indian potato has asked Bella Nigerians for advice on what to do. Shoboroko being an active member of this wonderful group, Bella Nigerians, has decided to give her own opinion.

Dear Miss:His family does not want us to get married,

  1. Press PAUSE – Wedding and marriages are an investment –  a lot of expenses – and so before you continue to invest in something that won’t yield your principal(your emotional dedication & money) talk less of the interest (happily ever after & a bella naija wedding), you should pause wedding preparations. This is not an eternal pause, no!, it is to give you time to re-evaluate how much this relationship is worth. You have said his family is strongly opposed to this marriage, and your parents, who initially agreed, are starting to think otherwise. This means that if you decide go ahead with the marriage, it is possible that both parent will remain opposed to your union…..not a great sign!
  2. ‘What Kind of man is he?’ have you even asked yourself that question? Family can be very useful in questioning a man’s behavior. Can you honestly vouch that he will never treat you badly or that there are other people outside of his family who he respects and listens to?……think deeply. You do not want to end up in a situation where he starts behaving badly and there is no one who you can ask to talk to him…….if you have not heard things gets spiritual sharply in Nigeria! 
  3. There is no point in trying to force them like you – you have to realise that it is not something you have done that has caused their hostile behavior, rather, it the fact that you are not what they expected for their son….and so, you can beg from now till rapture comes, it will change absolutely nothing!
  4. Beware of RESENTMENT. He may decide that he wants to go ahead with the marriage i.e. he is willing to become totally estranged from his family for you guys to be able to continue with this marriage. Really and truly, he may mean it, but he is only human. He can love you  more than life itself, but deeply resent you for leading him to have to make that choice and this hint of resentment may only become visible when there are little cracks in your marriage. What I am trying to say is, it is not enough to get him to thoroughly convince you that he is ok with this decision, go to COUNSELLING. In counseling, will be able to work through this situation until you are both happy with your decisions
  5. kill them with kindness – How do I cope once we get married e.g. at family functions? is a question, I am sure, is running through your mind. And you may also think that staying away from such events is the best way to go about it, but you’re wrong. In the comment section of the Aunty Bella post, someone said “kill them with kindness”, and I couldn’t say more or better…………on to number 6!
  6. What is life without taking risks: Love indeed is most important and sometimes it can be worth risking all, but imagine Love as a brick wall, and all the other little things, like finances & family, as nails. Every time any such issues arise, a nail is hammered into the wall. Sometimes, these nails are hit strong enough to chip off little bits of the brick, overtime, enough bits to form a block will have chipped off, and the entire wall will start to breakdown. 

xoxo

Shoboroko!

Facades – Part 3: Her

Yes, I said finishing school! According to him, that was all that could make my lack of a pedigree, somewhat, better. Imagine your father-in-law to be saying that to you in your presence. This and the fact that his mother and sisters never liked me, is why reporting him to his family was impossible. He tells his mother everything, one thing that always leaves me rolling my eyes – like when he told her the sex of our first child against my instructions, and so I know she probably already knows about her. I cannot believe that I once thought that he was a man’s man with utmost regard for his mother and by extension all women, but now I see him as no more than a 42-year-old mamas boy.

We were a very close family, not just because of the limited space we had in our one bedroom apartment but because we had love. I remember my father massaging my mothers feet while watched soap operas at night and I remember how much effort my mother put into preparing my fathers clothes and food before he went to work. Tunde and I started out in a similar fashion. I remember an instance while we were dating, when I had to go on an official trip for two days and I came back to meet a very hungry Tunde. It was no hidden fact that Tunde could not cook, but at least I expected he’ll eat at his parents. Turns out all Mr. K had eaten was Suya all under the excuse that he was looking forward to my cooking. That night, I made him my minced meat spaghetti and he did not fail to show his appreciation with the love he showered me after. I used to derive joy in cooking for him, as my mother also did. Now, I no longer cook for him on my on terms, it’s usually forced in order to save my face from another trip down to the Kola Walter-Smith gallery.

My mother was a petty trader, a business that sustained the family while we waited for my father’s employers to pay him and in times after my father had exhausted his salary. My mother never spent any of the profit she made from her business directly, instead she gave them to him first – it was like she was a shopkeeper who was paid on commission. I remember my 5-year-old self once asked her why she did that and she said “I started the business with his money, so he owns all of the profit for now”.

Iye e always preached submission to me. One day, mama Risi, who lived in the shack next to our’s was shouting at her husband accusing him of cheating, Iye e said to me in Yoruba “look how she is shouting at the poor man, I don’t blame him for cheating on her. Husbands are supposed to be Lords, so a woman should never be caught screaming at her husband”. Back then I took whatever Iye e said as gold and now, even when she is no longer around I still do and I wish I didn’t.

“She is here to stay, so you had better behave yourself” Tunde said to me the first time he brought her home. It was two weeks after the kids went to school. Initially, she was here only a couple of nights during the week and on those days I stayed in my room. That only worked until one day he told me that I had to entertain her whenever she came around. I wanted to tell him off but I remembered Iye e words and I kept mute. Every time she came around, I organised with Victor, the cook to extensively entertain her. I did not have anything against her, after all she was not the one who married me, neither is she the one who is giving the rounds of pounding.

Every time I want to voice out my opinion, I hold back because I feel it will go against what Iye e had told me. But I how long I can keep this going.

Facades – Part 2: His..tory

I grew up in abject poverty. I mean abject poverty, my brain got me educated and that was my only savior.

My parents died when I was 9 in a car accident. I was sent to live with my blind maternal grandmother, Iye e. My mother was her only daughter and after her death, there was no one to take care of Iye e, plus she had the added burden of taking care of me, and so we took to begging on the streets. We lived in a shack in the Amukoko slums of Lagos with almost nothing and all the proceeds from our begging was dedicated to paying for my education. We ate anything edible, often times what we were gifted whilst begging and on days we did not receive anything edible, we ate whatever we picked in dustbins, plucked on trees or went to bed hungry.

At the end of my secondary education, I was awarded a two full scholarships to study economics one at the University of Ghana and the other in a University in the United Kingdom. I decided to stay closer to home by taking the one in Ghana. That summer before I left, I worked at a shop in the afternoon and hawked akara at night to make money to hire a help for Iye e whilst I was away. Iye e died when I was in my third year from a lung infection she never told me she had, for the fear of adding to my burden. From then on I became alone until I met Babatunde.

Whilst I was younger, I promised myself that my children will never have to suffer the same experiences that I did. In University, I sold male clothes part – time. One day, a trusted friend lured me into his house by promising to give me the amount he owed me and raped me. I did not want my son to ever have to pick food off the streets before he ate, neither did I want my daughter to be lured to rape before she could feed herself. I wanted them to have all the opportunities I never did, so don’t blame me for staying.

I attended Amukoko government school for my primary and secondary education while Tunde attended St. Saviours school, Ikoyi and Kings College respectively. He lived in a mansion in one of the most affluent neighborhoods, Ikoyi, and got a Peugeot as his first car at the age of 18, I inhabited a shack in Amukoko, an overpopulated and dangerous ghetto . His first job was as a manager at one of the leading professional services companies while mine was hawking akara(bean cake). His father was a Minister of Finance, or as it was known in those times a Finance secretary, while mine struggled to make ends meet doing menial jobs. Summary of the story is that he had a pedigree and I did not even have one, talkless of a bad one, so how did we meet?

I met Babatunde during my service year. Then, I worked in the same company that he did at that time. It was refreshing to find someone from a very wealthy background who was as ambitious to be a success on his own. I fell for him almost immediately, although I was a bit apprehensive about dating him considering he was 27 and I was 20, and we were from totally different backgrounds but he managed to convince me. He was my first boyfriend, and nine months into our relationship he proposed to me and I accepted. By the time I had turned 22, we were married and I was pregnant with our first child, Junior.

I find it difficult to reconcile the Tunde who fought his dad for his permission to marry me without having to go to finishing school in Switzerland, with this wife beater. At the time, I knew I was marrying one of the most eligible bachelors of Lagos but not once did he ever make me feel like I was any less than he or that I was disadvantaged because of my background. I remember him boasting of my brains to his friends, and even when they talked to him about marrying a girl with no pedigree, he ignored them. Through out the time we dated, he hardly ever got upset with me, and even when he did, not once did he hit me. And so I wondered for a long time what I did to change him?

Facades – Part 1: Our Life

For the better part of the last 6 hours, I am unable to wipe the smile off my face. But I guess that’s what spending time with your kids and then reminiscing about every moment you have had them since you birthed them, does to you. I was so proud when I found out Junior and Ewa came third and first respectively – no doubt they took after me. I remember the look of disappointment on Feyike ,an old classmate, wore when I told her I was only a house wife at 35. I have become overly familiar with that expression  but who I don’t really blame her and the others. ‘Efiko extraordinaire’, my nick name  back then because I had so much potential and even I knew it. 

I feel cold, cold with sadness, as I realise what on great opportunities I missed out on for what I thought was something, LOVE. Cold, ice-cold, at first my heart was frozen and now its on the floor in a million pieces. My LOVE for him, I now equate to the cataract in Iye’s eyes, although she could not see me, she could sense my emotions. Similarly, my love for him stopped me from seeing it, I still sensemy stupidity. 

Continue reading “Facades – Part 1: Our Life”