Tuesday, April 14, 2009

For The Love Of Laide

Sometimes a man has to do what a man has to do even if it means admitting to certain things he never would normally admit to…

I love Laide!

There… I said it. Those of you guys who don’t like what I’ve said can find the nearest river, mercifully tip yourselves inside and drown. Your neighbours will be graceful enough to tell the Police it was an accident. As for the females who might wind up feeling a teeny-weeny twinge of jealousy after reading this, I’m glad I’ve got your attention now.

And I’m really trying hard not to feel conceited or anything but just remember that this brother has been crying for love for so many years now and suddenly who knows, his prayers may soon be answered. Don’t ask me how because I don’t know.

So back to what I was saying. I love Laide. QED. My love for her has never been a secret. Anyone familiar with my (numerous) crush lists can attest that she features prominently in ALL of them. Ever since the very first time I read her blogs, “met” her on Facebook, texts and calls on the phone and finally meeting her in real life (thanks Woomie, how can I ever forget?) I have wondered what it is about her that’s gotten me so spell-bound.

I recall reading one of Wellsbaba’s early posts where he reflected on how caught up one can be by certain bloggers’ personalities. Quoting him, he says something like “…and this ex-Schoolnerd (Laide) is a human oh! With one head…” Many times, cocooned by these warm feelings reminisces about her trigger, I remember that like Wellsbaba, like me, this Laide has got but one head. Why then do these strong feelings overwhelm me, like as if she were a superwoman or something?

Laide is all I’ve dreamt of in a woman and more: she is attractive, she is MAD funny, has all the curves in the right places (for me), she has the brains. She can keep me entertained no matter the conversation topic. She is awesomely creative. Moreover, having gone through periods of rejection and depression myself, I find myself relating a lot easily with what she talks about. And we both happen to be looking for love and the search for it seems to be making both of us miserable, not as if we’ve suddenly discovered we are married to the wrong people or something. Oh, and did I mention those curves?

I believe I am caught in what I might call a ‘Bachelor crisis”. Young man like me, first degree done, National Service done, the next state of priorities include getting a job, accommodation, a wife and a family (not necessarily in that order) most especially when your peers seem to be toeing those lines. But of all these worries, the most disturbing I think is the choice of whom to call your woman.

Take me for instance. I am rather confused. Laide you see, isn’t my only love interest.

First there is Vera. Ah… Vera! No other female awakens my highly dormant matrimonial genes like Vera does. I read Verastic Vera, I dream of her and I just want to be so married. I have stared at the various hued pictures of her one eye. I have marvelled at the beauty of that one finely-shaped hand even though it bore an engagement ring that broke my heart. I’ve spoken to her on the phone and I was so tripped by the way she switched from an American accent to a Nigerian one once she realized who I was.

She wants to be celibate before marriage? Suits me very fine. She’s lactose intolerant? Big deal! She might be older than me and I even have absolutely no idea what she looks like? Like as if I bother… Arranged marriages may work even better than all these love-at-first-sight hook-ups of nowadays. And Vera, improbable as may seem, I do want to marry you. Remember when you said that together we could make my potential into actual? That’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.

Then again, I love SpicyTee. Spicy, spicy, spicy Tee… Darling, you sure deserve an award for finally turning me around to see the beauty in big-bodied women. Unlike Vera, I love the way you aren’t photo-shy at all. Looking at you, I drool. That smile, those lips, those eyes, your lovely dimples, that ample bust, everything… But it isn’t just the physical you know. I love the bright mind you possess. That romantic heart of yours, a heart that spews forth your ideals of love and relationships from your pen. Did I tell you I love all those romantic insights that make up your FB status messages? Remember B.I.G.P.E.N.I.S.? Time without number I have wished I had all those qualities and more so that I can woo you.

I love Rayo. Ok, not exactly… I like Rayo very much. Very, very, very much! I used to love her at a time but she has somehow succeeded in making me love her like a sister. Whatever…. I see her as that young fiery sister I never had who isn’t unafraid to say her mind. And she’s fine too. Small, stunning solicitor she is.

One thing I love about Rayo is her heart. I sense she has a strong sense of loyalty to her man and no other, whoever he is or will be - part of why I remain content to settle with her sisterly compromise. Another great thing about her is that she really cares. It might not seem like much to most people but it’s rare since I had a female call me up to check up on me. She listens when I complain, laughs at my jokes, points out my faults. She is always there. Sometimes I worry of what will happen when her loyalty wins and she tires of me.

And did I mention my love for Woomie too? Young, vibrant, clear-headed, I don’t know why I thought of her instantly when I read Laspapi’s hurricane piece. Behold a hurricane in the making. Stand in her path and be crushed. I don’t know where she gets all her insights from, this darling of mine. Funny how my heart remains so attracted to her that I barely even notice the physical. Sadly, the thing about loving such an intelligent young woman is that she tells you her mind in words that are glaringly clear in their meaning. She has told me to look elsewhere. In her words, I should seek an “unbiased sample”. That’s what I get for loving a hurricane.

Last but not least is Buttercup. OK Chari, cool down… Recall that some of us have always been active members of the Buttercup Background Boyfriend Bunch from way back. I’ve remain convinced since forever that all her exes were plain blind and stupid, otherwise I just can’t understand why they would let a babe like that go .Burrax, like my Spicy is wildly bootylicious but what I love is her frankness, evident even in the way she writes! An open friendliness she posseses, something which is worth much more than its weight in gold. Chari is a lucky young man but I know in your typical fashion, Buttercup will remind me that she is a lucky young woman too.

Laide, Vera, SpicyTee, Rayo, Woomie, Buttercup, LG and lots of other women out there.

Women I love. Women I am not in love with.

For yes, though I love each one in their various ways and to various degrees, being in love with them implies a reciprocal element of love, a factor which is missing in all these cases.


PS: The last instalment hopefully comes up on Friday the 17th at 16:00 GMT.

** UPDATE: My PC just crashed with EVERYTHING I had on it so I won't be able to post anything till I get it fixed. Please bear with me...***

Friday, April 10, 2009

Looking For The Real Blogger

Nothing to do. Inspired by no-one. The words just flowed…

Dear blogville,

As you read this, I am on a search. For years I have trawled blogville looking for someone, or maybe something. The personification of a concept.

I am looking for the real blogger.

The real blogger is almost impossible to place, hard to find but I’m still looking.

The real blogger does not reside in Lagos; she does not live or work on the Island. She might never reach Ozumba Mbadiwe in a year unless the need arises and when the need does indeed arise, she does not ride there in a Toyota Avensis equipped with factory-fitted A/C. Instead she gratefully takes the molue any morning she can get it so as to save her hard-gotten cash.

The real blogger has never entered The Palms on any excuse whatsoever. What has the fish got to do with the birds? She thinks malls can only be found in the U.K. She has dreams though. Dreams that someday soon she will get to watch a movie at Silverbird so she can also brag to her friends about it, about the ambience of the place. Prior to that day she will beg, crawl and if need be, offer me sex so I’ll take her there. And like the gentleman fool I am, I will reject the sex and still take her there all the while ruing the fact that I can buy several pirated DVDs, each containing about 16 movies for the same price of watching one at The Galleria. Ambience does come at a high price but I have to brag to my friends too, don’t I?

Or maybe I’ll just take Real Blogger to Terra Kulture instead to watch one of Laspapi’s plays. After all, I love the theatre even though Terra K’s price is way above the 50 Naira I used to pay to watch the occasional play at The Lobster in the Uni days. But of course I won’t tell RB that, will I? Instead I will smile at each joke the thespians crack or shed real tears when my favourite character dies. Part of the tears will be for my wallet as the busier part of my mind calculates the transport fare back.

RB always has problems going to the bank because she is a low “net worth customer”. Her two ATM cards from two different banks never work and the Customer Service lady keeps saying “we’ll get back to you”. Last week, when I escorted her there once again, RB told me the male cashier implied he could change her world forever as he slyly passed her his business card. All she had to do was say yes! Like that bank advert…

RB loves reading books but she can’t afford to shop at Nu Metro. Instead she stops by the roadside bookseller’s to pick up a dog-eared second-hand book if her meager salary’s been paid. If it hasn’t, she tells Osondu to reserve it for her till next time. He never does.

But RB never complains of her situation because she has an escape. She has a blog where she’s a 5 foot 11 inches tall all-woman, dashing in her good looks, confident in her feminity and assured of her sexuality. Beyonce, J-Lo, Shakira and Paris Hilton combined can’t measure up to her. She has multiple dates, each beginning at Marco Polo and ending in heartbreaks in Ocean View whenever she tires of the wealthy Adonises.

She has never used an ATM in all her virtual life; MasterCard and Visa are now her currency. The last time she held a Naira note was when one mistakenly fell into her lap during the shooting of 2Shotz’s last music video. She’s an investment banker by day, leading socialite by night.

She doesn’t suffer anymore the real-life risks of possible Police detention while sitting bum-bum to bum-bum in a stinking cyber café with soprano-sounding crooks who speak with platinum-fake accents to their magas then curse them afterwards in Yoruba. Why would she when she now has a killer Acer Aspire laptop and broadband internet access in her bedroom thanks to her latest catch: the bank manager who promptly fired that randy cashier.

The real blogger doesn’t have my time anymore. She’s always off to book-reading sessions with authoresses or album-listening parties. Shopping in the malls or partying on private beaches. Appearing on TV entertainment shows or in the Fashion & Style pages of magazines.

You see, that’s why I’m still looking for the Real Blogger.

The former real blogger is gone. She doesn’t swim with the fishes anymore. She now flies with the birds.

And I want her back...