“I do” and ensuing matters of nakedness

I like being naked.

I don’t think there is any unit in existence to measure my love for being naked. There is a frenzy with which lovers who haven’t been together in a while, shed their clothes -that is the exact same speed with which I shed mine when I get to be home alone.

(Confession: Dear friends, when you visit and I tarry to open, i’m really not always looking for the key)

Have we established something here?  I am very comfortable in my skin, and this is not a function of how good you may think it looks. I loved my body when I had unsightly scars, I loved my body post partum, flabby, stretch mark laden. 

Let me tell you a story.

A few days ago, I woke up late. This meant that I had missed my own bath time and I gave myself brain to head to the children’s bathroom, leaving ours for chief. You see, our bathroom has the loo and bathtub confined in one space. 

I was out a few minutes after and he was still sitted at same spot, concentrating deeply on  Laptop.

“Uncu, no toilet moments today?”

(All of you who see the toilet as your thinking room, where you go in with your bibles, magazines, laptops, see ya brother here)

“No, I need to finish this”

I shrugged and went my way. 

I spent a few minutes after, thinking about how you get that comfortable with a person after you decide to be with them. How you can enter your bathroom, leave the door open and begin to e.g pee in front of another person, even have conversations while at it. I think it is such an amazing height of comfort and intimacy. 

In the first few months after our marriage, I would jump up early, just so I could enter the bathroom, do my business quickly, bath and move on. He knew, we never spoke about it. Sometimes I think he would have told himself “Hmnnn, wetin concern me? afterall the coyness no reach the bed”, other times, I think he showed me.

If I was bathing, he would step in if he wanted to use the loo, my bathing in the tub was irrelevant. He would also step in to pee and not bother closing the door if I was sitted in the room.

One time I had been sitting on the toilet when he walked in.

This was me, nude, lone tear, holding my breath and my shit.

I honestly can’t say how I got over it, but I think it is something time does. 

I recall one day we were lying in bed watching tv, I stood up and walked to our bathroom, leaving the door open as he liked to

“What are you doing?” He asked wide eyed when he looked up

“My pad is full” 

It was hilarious! I made zero efforts to shield any part of the process. He got over it quick and got interested funny enough

“So this is how you people fix it to your pants?”

“Yes, sir”


A lot of people share sterotypic rules about what a marriage should be, about how being married shouldn’t mean losing your privacy. I figure, you go through a lot together -running the home, down moments, stress moments, vulnerable moments, and yet being naked for non sexual purposes in front of each other should be uncomfortable?

October brings extra giddy feelings to me. It’s our anniversary month, like play like play, over five years of see finish, literally!



Afternotes: If like me, you love african fiction, I asked a few questions on ÈKWÉ, my column on the Musty corner website http://www.themustycorner.com/quill-tip/culture-infused-themes-unnecessary-unavailable-unappealing/

Also, for my fiction lovers, here is my last piece for Bellanaija prose titled Common denominator 
Happy reading!

One last thing, hit the ‘follow by email’ option, you get to have notifications on your phone. I heard Oladimeji Ojo -author of ‘Monitored’, say the other day that he is upset I have refused to author a novel for his pleasure sake, and manages this displeasure by the excitement of seeing a WordPress new post mail from my blog

Help me manage too, subscribe via mail like Oladimeji.😄😚

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Flawed…and owning it

P:S: This is not one of those sugar coated narratives about accepting yourself the way you are.

That said, I woke up yesterday and did a census of the acne on my face, I was heartbroken. 

I have enjoyed relatively good skin since I crossed my teens, so when I began to get painful cystic pimples along my jawline, I blamed it on my enemies. 

Their last attack was on my waistline, that pouch sent me running, feet touching back of head kind of running, to my core routine. 

The acne took over, everywhere apart from my forehead. I decided to try make up, my sister got me some foundation and concealer. I enjoyed the coverage and glow, but I didn’t like what was underneath when I washed it off at night. Besides, it was extra stress for an erstwhile lipgloss wearing girl.

I have answered every question there is as to finding the cause of the breakout. 

-They are not period induced

-I am not on contraceptives of any sort

-I am not pregnant

-I am not stressed out (this is not to say I shall refuse if my Boss looks at my face and says, go home for two weeks)

-I have not changed soaps, still my good old baby soap (was convenient, can’t be buying different packets of soap)

-Body Lotion? N/A

-I didn’t change diet. If anything, I started ensuring I didn’t skip meals, I increased my water intake by a lot, began to exercise on the steady. I wouldn’t expect this to reward me negatively.

Kabiyesi smiled at me last night when I whined 

“But you are still beautiful, very”

I hissed. 

This man that when I was pregnant, with stretchmarks dancing thick black atilogwu all over my hips and back side, told me I was beautiful. 

This man that looked at my face half swollen after a dental visit, told me I was beautiful.

This man who when malaria dug my collarbones badly, told me I was beautiful.

This is not bad o, just reiterating that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and he always sees beautiful. This should be good abi? No, if I agree like that, where would my womanity be na?

But you see, when I woke up this morning, I decided it was time to stop fretting over these pimples. I pulled my hair into a bun, so my face was entirely on it’s own without something to hide. I slapped on my red lipgloss and hit the road.

After all, a watched pot never boils. 

So I am owning this phase till it is tired and lets go of me.I shall wash my face as I was directed. I pledge to myself, that I shall not spend money on any acne treatments. I pledge to not bother my friends anymore asking for what could help. I pledge to stop the google searches.I pledge to not lower my gaze when it feels like anyone is staring at me longer.

The one last thing I need help with, Mrs. MJ said to me

“Acha, keep your hands off your face!”

So help me God.


After notes: I met these guys with an amazing vision for their new website ‘The musty corner’. Very interesting writes on there. I am pleased to announce that they house a column for me ‘Ekwé…rhythms of a golden pen’ one extra place to read from Achalugo. Ekwe is an igbo musical instrument, the sounds attract you to listen. You can read my first post –How I lost my top four reading spots

Posted in mommy diaries, motivational | Tagged , , , , , | 10 Comments

I learnt to knot a tie!

I’m excited.

I learnt to knot a tie. It’s probably a silly reason to be excited, but I am.

A few nights ago, Kabiyesi struggled with knotting his tie in preparation for work the next day. 

“Acha, don’t tell me I can’t knot my tie again”

I looked up from wiping my mascara smudged cheeks.

“Apparently, you have”

He rolled his eyes

“You can’t even help somebody, see how unconcerned you are”

I laughed (sarcastically)

“Yep, like you’ve helped me tie Gele 99 times”

End of discussion.

Two minutes later…

I had a swift change of heart, because Coldstone icecream pocket money and tinz. How can I bang a door I would want to walk through sometime?

I went back

“Oya come let’s watch a tutorial on Youtube”

He refused. He says most youtube tutorials talk an unneccesary 70% and do the actual thing 30%. I know this from watching hair styling and make up tutorials.

I took the pain to find a relatively straight to the point tie knotting one, set the phone,  got separate ties and we started.

It was a reminder for him, but a whole new learning for me. For instance, did you know most ties come with a manufacturer’s indicator for where the tie should cross? 

I was also glad to find time with him, in this busy schedules we find ourselves living, every us time counts.

A huge thank you to everyone who shares their knowledge with others, especially the ones we can easily access at the tip of our fingers. 

Share a know-how you have, with someone today. It doesn’t have to be something big, you’d be surprised at the little little things that may matter.  A candle loses nothing lighting another.

Be a magnet towards opportunites to learn anything, anything at all. Don’t tell yourself it is irrelevant, you never know where you would need them.

Like me? Let me see which children party compere will embarass me with knotting a tie again!

Okay, jokes apart, you gerrit?


Posted in motivational, relationship matters | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

On neglect, loss and redemption

I love body art.

I have a past of qualifying my love for body art, explaining that my love for tattoos and piercings were limited to their reasonability. I still do not understand some tattoos, nor some multi-positioned body piercings.

I stopped.
I stopped when I realised that body art was no different from artworks. Some people would never be at an art exhibition, some would attend to admire and never purchase(me and tattoos), and some would buy some small but treasured frames -me, and my two ear piercings.

I always wanted a nose piercing, and an extra ear piercing, I got the latter years ago and it taught me a few lessons yesterday.

It was friday, I like fridays. They are the days I can switch off my corporate look and don on a native attire, or rarely, jeans.

I reached for my preferred tiny earrings for my second piercing and tried to pass it through, I met resistance. I dropped them and reached for another pair, same thing. In horror I drew close to the mirror and realised the piercing had begun a closing process.

I began to ponder, how many things have we lost because we neglected them? Friendships? Assets? Skills? Knowledge? Talent? Body fitness?

A very deceitful thing we tell ourselves, is that because we know something, or have the ability to do something, we always will. We take practice for granted.

While that is bad, the next process taught me something else. We may be lucky enough to hit this realization at a redeemable point.


Instagram: @ba_ahdae

I got my piercing at a body art shop, I was weakened at the thought of going to get it redone. I knew of some people who pierced with earrings and swore it didnt hurt. I convinced myself that well, the spot already had a pierced memory. I picked the earrings, clenched my teeth and passed it through each of the lobes. It hurt, slightly.

Yet, that was a needless pain.

Practice and care always trumps a refresher class, loss, repurchasing option, etc as the after effect may be.

It’s a cycle, with the pencil in your hands. You choose the direction the arrow goes, avoid the loss, and if it does occur, do not be afraid, clench your teeth and try again.

You get it?


Afternotes: You may enjoy my recent fiction, inspired by tailoring, friendship, loyalty and memories of the old Tejuosho market on BellaNaija titled “Mama Bene”

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The aftermath of mills and boons vs reality

“Acha, those romance novels lied to us o”

My friend said to me, days ago. Then today, I found a colleague immersed in a novel, smiling dreamily. I snatched the book from her and took a shot.


A page from the book

When I clocked my teens, I had classmates passing around mills and boons novel, it was hip back then. One person’s novel could have a long queue waiting to read it, some got impatient and we had cases of missing novels.

I read a bit, but in all honesty, not very much. I didn’t have the energy to play hide and seek at home with my mom, who had a very close marking on the kind of books I read. Also, I was called oke library* at home, because on many afternoons, my mother would comb the nooks and crannies of my school, ask all my guardians and school mothers and none would have seen me. I would saunter out of the library later, floating on cloud nine from the well crafted words of Chinua Achebe, Elechi Amadi, Mabel, and dearest Buchi Emecheta. I doubt there is a work of african fiction in the library of Queens College that I didn’t read.

I digressed.

But you see, african fiction probably saved me from the heartbreaks of expectations which these romance novels built.

Sometimes, you would travel and return and no, there won’t be one hot sexy half naked husband waiting to kiss you at the door and take off your clothes ever so slowly and gently, moving from your neck, to breasts, to navel, to… Sometimes, there would be a man who will open the door and scream

“Ope o!* ehen, TheBoss, 100watts, Container, come and jump on your mommy, she has come back”

And send you right back into your routine of diaper sniffing and changing, homework perusing, fingernails grooming, etc.

This flower business.

It is not bad and absolutely romantic in everyway, but there will be evenings of superior romance, if that man comes in with Ugu or Nchuanwu* when you are fretting over a pot of soup and realise you bought too little, and that is all that would matter.

I’m switching back to love making, that’s the crux of this, I just used that Ugu to pretend small.

What are your love making goals?

There are couples who this thing have become mere routine to, some women feel like stress relievers to their spouses. People who are expected to part their legs for two minutes without any consideration for their own satisfaction.

This is a far cry from what some of them have read in these books, those handsome strong stallions of a prince, who exude unrivalled expertise at using their mouths, fingers and waists to wreck pleasurable havoc on these women, in some novels, ten times a day.

It becomes unsurprising to find a disconnect between wants, needs, satisfaction and reality.

I read a lovely book years back, with more sex scenes than a story. One thing I took away from the book, was that it was possible to reach orgasm together. Years after, after an internal struggle to, I realised that the writer was simply exploring her ability to craft romance, sex and fiction and I had unconsciously taken some bit of it and kept for reality. The day(s) it happened, it had been amazing, but most importantly,  absolutely without a conscious effort to.

Sometimes, everyone is truly tired and it’s alright to hold hands and sleep. Sometimes, one person is tired or sleepy and gets up in understanding for the other, and sometimes you keep your needs aside and simply love the company. Sometimes, you both tear the sheets apart and raise the roof.  

These things are not a one way street, and the curves are part of the journey, the need to balance those dreamy eyed imaginations with the realities of married living.


*oke library – literally, library rat
*ope o- a shout of relief that is masked as thanksgiving, but whoever can decode, knows
*ugu, nchuanwu- Pumpkin leaves, Scent leaves

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On study breaks and mental perambulations

Because my mind is roaming.


I wonder why bats come out only at night. I think to write a bat story, but I have not done fiction this year.

I wonder if my paper tomorrow will be like the one I had today, where you study twenty chapters and the five questions you should answer are from two chapters only. Is it allowed to sue examiners for torture?

Thoughts of lecturing stroll through my mind, I wonder what happened to that dream. I wanted to be a lecturer badly, there is a certain joy I enjoy from sharing knowledge. But then, who doesn’t know there is a box with about 37 more things I want(ed) to be.

Then, I think of orgasms.

It’s just my mind roaming, I tell you.

Orgasms is a nice place to end this roaming. I am tempted for a moment to stretch and set the process in motion to obtain one. But I know I shall not be answered.

It’s my fault.

The last time I left my books and went to pinch and tickle, the aftermath threw me into a deep sleep. I woke up dazed the following morning

“Did you still wake up to study?”

“Study? What books?”

Why do the sleeps from there go so deep?

Tomorrow is my last paper. I’m exhausted, mentally. I am glad, but I dread the files that have piled on my desk from my leave.
Can monday crawl here, ever so slowly, please?

My mind roams back to orgasms. There is a box of cottonbuds within arm’s reach. I reach for one.

Do you know, that the twisting and turning of that thing in your ear is another pleasurable wonder?

I’ll be fine with this one, even ear cleaning orgasm is orgasm.

1.40am, Lagos, Nigeria,

Posted in mommy diaries | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

There is nothing like fallen breasts

Pre warning: This post might be better suited for women who have breastfed

We coined a remix to some of Flavour’s lyrics back then, it translated to

“Breast that has fallen, has fallen. The one that is standing will still fall”

The key message, was that all our mammary glands would obey the laws of gravity at some point in our lives.

Breastfeeding is said to accelerate this process, so you see some young women declare

“I will never breastfeed”
“I want to keep my breasts standing”

As always, I shall not concern myself with the scientific investigation of these ligaments.

Breastfeeding is a wonderful experience, a beautiful thing right next to the wonder of birthing a child. As all beautiful things, it has had all manner of stones flung at it, yet I tell you, breastfeeding wins.

Just when you think the ridiculous arguments of where, why, when and how to breastfeed is over, some women are told that their breasts have fallen.


Photo from @mommyneedsacoffee Instagram

Dictionary definition of fall: To move from a higher to a lower level, typically rapidly and without control.

So let’s apply it to our scenarios. A woman’s body enters puberty, and her breasts develop, but pretty much sit on her chest. After childbirth, these breasts move from mere physical attributes, to the food system of a newborn(s).

This move, is a fall?

I hope to continually tell women to love their post baby bodies and accept the changes that come. Something gotta give!

Also forcing your child to quit breastfeeding when they are not ready, singularly to salvage their ‘standing’ defeats the entire purpose. Same applies to men who force their wives to stop breastfeeding to protect their ‘property’.

The next time you look at a woman, and think that her breasts has fallen from breastfeeding, you need to appease the gods.

You, woman, are not your breasts.

These have been my thoughts,

Posted in mommy diaries, motivational, Pregnancy humour | Tagged | 7 Comments