Tag Archives: single nigerian girl

The Good Guys

For many who have read my articles and poems, it must seem like I do a lot of guy-bashing, abi? Well, my life with boys has not been all bad. I’ve met some really sweet, caring and romantic organisms with good qualities I could list from here to China… Lemme give you a quick summary.

The Really Sweet One

Lots of roses; so many , I had to give some away, love letters (yes, way back when), sweet smiles, my first kiss…


My first taste of strawberries and cream, texting sweet nothings even when we were in the same room, always whispering compliments in my ear, meaningful hand-squeezes and secret smiles (we were disgusting with our PDAs), little gifts, making me feel GORGEOUS with the almost non-stop pictures. Sigh…

The Suitor

Caring, totally honest, eyes filled with puppy-love, frequent calls “just to see how I’m doing”. You meet this guy and instantly know he’s going to be reliable and consistent.

I know you guys like gist, but let’s stop there.

My point is, I have frolicked (!) with the good guys as well as the… let’s just say, not so pleasant ones. I do know that good guys still exist, they are out there walking amongst us like normal people.

Yes, I said it. Men are not all dogs. Some of them can be quite sweet and cuddly and cute (*batting eyelids*).

Sadly, though, I do not have a good track record with the above-mentioned lovely creatures. I tend to fall more heavily for the ones I have to work for just a lil’ bit; they pique my interest. Sorry, Good Guys, I truly am!


P.S. Single Nigerian Man has you all brainwashed, abi. So no one thought to even ask of me. No sweat. I’m off to have a good cry in a dark corner.

P.P.S. Abeg, all these guys in my life, don’t remember to revenge o! Think only Christian thoughts of forgiveness and peace towards me:-)

Gender Theorems

To all guys, especially Bee.
Yes, I want to be chased in a particular way. But no, I will not tell you how. How weird would that be??! It would be like me toasting myself; all I’d have to do is give you the script to read from and point out where to stand.
I have allowed (yes, allowed) you to get as close to me as possible without actual surgery. That is enough for you. You have to figure me out well enough to know what I want to hear, when I need to hear it and how you should say it.
You see, guys claim that the problem with women is that we talk too much without actually communicating. Let me you guys the expo.
All that random gist we fill your ears with? No, that’s not just because we can’t shut up or are eager to entertain you. That gist, young man, forms our lecture notes and you would do well to remember every word.
You see, women are a naturally nurturing breed of organisms. We believe in giving second chances. That’s why we talk about ourselves and our lives, giving you little clues to our personalities and what makes us tick. We are gently preparing you for the tests ahead.
Oh yeah, there will be tests. You have no reason to fail because we have equipped you with all the info you need.
Moral of the story; Listen when your woman talks!
The answers to the comprehension questions are ALWAYS in the passage!
On a slightly related note, the one thing I can’t stand is the transfer of blame thing that guys do. Feeling over sharp guy with himself, a guy will refuse to man up and admit to his guilt. Instead, he will go off about how it’s really the woman’s fault for ignoring/ overcrowding him/ loving him knowing “how he is”/ not being there/ expecting too much from him, etc, ad nauseum.
While I’m not lambasting the entire male race, I know that many of them do this; I have watched friends suffer under such conditions. I hate this behaviour. It is unfair to women as women and as human beings.
The moral of this story? Guys, when caught with your pants down, don’t go on about how the nice lady crouched in front of you was only trying to sew on a loose button. Let those cojones drop for the right reason.
Never, ever, lay blame for your crime elsewhere. Admit that you have made an ass of yourself, apologize (and mean it), then BEG.
P.S. I will say “guys”, and “MAN”, maybe even “boys”. However, using the word “men” makes me feel old and pervy, so I will use it sparingly.
Disclaimer(per His Majesty’s request): Any aggression in this post is meant in the most loving of ways.:-)

Like a Broken Record

Show of hands; how many of you have been through a painful breakup? Yeah, yeah, you don’t have to raise your legs as well as both arms, now! Na wa.

For all tv show lovers, cast your minds back to The Cosby Show, where the eldest daughter, Sondra, was involved in a rather turbulent relationship with Elvin. Now, the whole Huxtable family didn’t particularly like young Elvin because whenever he and Sondra broke up (they did so a few times), Sondra would walk  around the house, soulful look on her face, shoulders drooped and headphones nailed into her skull as she crooned miserably;

The flowers have died

There is no morning dew

The crickets know no love songs

And I feel so blue…

Which brings me to my  point. Most of us have a Breakup Playlist. A few years ago, when my tiny heart got pulled out, rolled around in the dust and then stepped on, I created my first ever Breakup Playlist. Naturally, it tended a bit towards girl power and liberation, but also had a few tracks with deep, poetic lyrics all talking in parables about misery. Really good stuff, ba? I know. It saw me through the hard times.

I don’t think I produced earwax for a couple of months during that time, since my earphones were almost always implanted in my ears and the music blasted straight to my soul via my brain, drying up any moisture in its path. It’s a wonder I still have my hearing.

I would copy the playlist directly at this point, but sadly, that phone has long since crossed over to the great phone shop in the sky… Well, I’ll list a few of the ones I remember.

Nelly Furtado – All Good Things (Come to an End)

Say It Right

Kelly Clarkson – Since U Been Gone

Sade – King of Sorrow

P!nk – Funhouse

Ayo – Down on my Knees

Nuttin’ But Stringz – Broken Sorrow

When the slightly resuscitated heart again got knocked down recently, I didn’t let myself make another playlist. Enough, I told myself. Instead, I surrounded myself with feel-good music. So for a while (and up till now) I listen to the entire Crazy Love album (Michael Buble). And Nelly Furtado’s Try. And Koop Island Blues by Koop feat. Ane Brun. As well as my usual naughty songs which I will always love.

That is not a playlist.

C’mon, you’re amongst friends here. What do you listen to when love goes sour?

Once Upon a Stranger

the invisible man? where?
Single Nigerian Man

On a dark, warm night somewhere in Lagos not too long ago, a stupendously beautiful girl (okay…me) sat fiddling around with a (borrowed) laptop. Was it fate that caused her to Google “single Nigerian blogs”? One wonders. Whatever force lay behind it, though, Google she did. Somewhere on the first result page (practically at the bottom), she hovered a while before finally clicking. And there our story begins.

There she discovered an entity, Single Nigerian Man, who tickled her something. Abeg o! I mean, he aroused… erm, ignited… sparked?! Mstcheew. He didn’t bore me within the first five minutes, sha. So I read his views on a wide array of random and serious <cough> issues, getting slightly freaked out with every word.

On paper… erm, screen, we seemed the perfect kindred spirits! Weird, abi? He too dreams of that ultimate no-holds-barred relationship. He too couldn’t care less about the size of his wedding- personally, 10 people on my guest list is more than enough. He too gets derailed by his healthy imagination every time he opens his mouth. He too believes firmly in old-fashioned romance, despite the ubiquitous evidence to the contrary. I could go on, but sense I should stop.

So it was with sweaty palm that I put pen to paper… Okay, ah! I sent him an email applying for the advertised slot, you know, so I could work under him.

On his blog!

Thus began our little… hmm… acquaintanceship? Work relationship? Whatever you wish to call it. Already, there are things I do not like about him. This is a good thing, though. Now, the first thing my bff told me when I relayed this gist to her was, “I don’t want all the details now. I can forgive anything, but IS HE FINE?!”. Let me answer that here. Short of the ajebo-looking feet everyone else has seen, I haven’t the slightest clue what he looks like. He is one of those. People who blog anonymously in order to discuss things they know they would be disowned for…

Anyway, he sounds (relatively) reasonable over the phone, so let’s give him a break. So far, we have tweeted and texted and emailed. There is yet hope of redemption for him, jare.

From now henceforth, my bff (see above) shall be known as Dahling! since this is what I actually call her.

Also, Single Nigerian Man shall be known as either His Majesty (HM) or Not-So-James-Bond (NSJB). Heehee… looks like New King James Version, abi?

Till next time, children. Ciao! 🙂

Con Artist


I feel rather fraudulent being here. This slot is meant for a “single Nigerian girl”, yet I contradict the definition of every word in that phrase.

The single part feels false because, no, I am not “tearing up” clubs on the arm of numerous interchangeable toasters. The Nigerian part because, no, I have never pounded yam before, nor am I fluent in any Nigerian language. Finally, we get to the crux of the matter.

Why I Am Not a Real Girl

= I do not wear make up… makeup??? How is it spelled? :-s I quite simply have no interest in it on myself, maybe I’m just lazy.

= I don’t make small talk. This is a statement and a warning to all.

= I do not wear heels. No, they are not for me. Perhaps in a fit of boredom, I may steal a pair to take pictures in, but that’s it.

= I am never as well put-together as real girls; my hair out of place or generally just too casual-looking.

= My girlfriends once joked that, knowing me, I would probably get married in jeans and slippers if I could get  away with it. For some reason, they looked horrified when I said, “Why not? There’s always white jeans.”

= When it comes to guys, I am not at all lady-like. If I like you, I see nothing wrong in walking up to you and saying hi. I have a long list of good friends, stalkers and pests to prove this.

= I travel light. Unlike many girls I know who look like greedy pirates making off with precious booty (all for a two-week trip), two medium-sized bags are more than enough for me.

= Handbags are sooo not my thing. I lug them around when I must, but that’s it. We are not friends.

= When it comes to anger, I do not explode on the spot, hair, nails and breakable objects flying. I walk away and then, when you least expect, sit you down and calmly inquire as to what exactly drove you to piss me off.

= Finally, when a guy presents a cut finger to a real girl, she will fawn over him, soothing and massaging, crooning on about his strength and bravery, all the while feeding his eyes with acres of cleavage. I, however, will probably ask how it happened, poke gingerly at it, lean back and say, “You’re a big boy, don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

All these concrete reasons notwithstanding, Single Nigerian Man has decreed me worthy of the title of Single Nigerian Girl, so here I am. His majesty has spoken.