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The year 2015 has started and it has been mixed reactions for me, a part of me is excited about what is in store for me and then there is that part where I question if I should be so enthusiastic with all the bombings, deaths, the missing #Chibok Girls and other ills plaguing Nigeria. It is well, I wonder if God will not one day out of stress wipe out Nigeria just as he did Sodom and Gomorrah.....can any nation have so much issues and still remain so clueless to finding a solution to one of the issues. It’s almost as though we thrive in chaos and abnormalities ....... kilode, na so suffer head sweet us.

Mama Sykik, has fashied my side oh, she has eyes only for her new grandson, I am not jealous sha.... my time will come and it’s so soon. Daddy Sykik is now a bachelor as Mama Sykik has relocated to my brother’s place to help with the baby. It’s not a funny something; Papa Sykik has gba-kamu- sha.

Abeg, how do people get married within months and start worrying about conception immediately, don’t they know that there’s an unwritten rule that you should “enjoyment” the marriage for some weeks or months before babies start arriving. Don’t mind me, jare; I know that in Nigeria people start counting down nine months from the wedding night. Infact, I am sure some “poke-nosers” won’t mind peeping through the window to ensure that the action is taken place and in proper position on the wedding night.

When I grow up, I want to be like @ilola oh, she has been travelling all over the world showcasing her talent and I am mightily proud of her achievements. I have been using her to pose in my office, like say I be her manager or blood sister. This brings me to the question, Sykik, what is your talent? When will all this your talk-talk take you to Brazil? Hehehehe, I need to start learning big-big English and forming cliques in this blog-ville so that you all will keep coming back to read my “meaningful” posts.

In one of my previous posts, I mentioned that ladies in my office are on the “keep fit, stay trim” diet. The other day, I saw a babe who had one of those “nyansh” of life” in the building, as in, this “nyansh” (notice, I didn’t say “ikebe”) is an all time harasser, that thing moves to cause commotion. Can you imagine my shock when I saw her looking all trim and the “nyansh” was almost non- existent? I shock, I freeze, I open mouth and almost fainted......I couldn’t help but ask, Babe, where your “nyansh” go? Why didn’t you tell me to come get some when you were getting it reduced? It’s not fair oh...since thy kingdom come, I have been shouting and crying for small “ikebe”, only for someone with “nyansh” to lose all that “nyansh” and not give me some.  God, why nau?  

FATHER CHRISTMAS

Did I mention that I am now an Aunty, yes oh...my brother’s wife had a bouncing baby boy some months back and this is the beginning of a new generation in my family. Papa Sykik and Mama Sykik are first time grannies and their excitement can’t be contained. The baby is so cute..... God forgive me, I wish babies don’t grow up... the cuddly, chubby, sweet looking face...they look so innocent, I feel like “sin” beside any baby.

Anytime I buy gifts for anyone I make sure I buy something I love and won’t mind using....I have often times “kolobied” gifts I bought for people because my longer throat won’t let go of the item. I then go buy something else.....Sykik is a nut case. Who does something like that? I plead guilty, some items are simply irresistible.

Who ever made it compulsory that rice (in whatever form, jollof, fried or white rice) and chicken are the official Christmas meal? I am so looking forward to eating firewood jollof rice this Christmas; I think Christmas rice tastes differently.  Can anyone remember visiting Father Christmas, going to amusement park, shopping for Christmas cloth inside Lagos market? Kai, I don old finish oh. Back in the days, we use to go from LTV8, NTA channel7, channel 10, channel5 e.t.c for Father Christmas. Wait for this, I was the cry baby of the house.....Father Christmas scared the shit out of me...I would, scream, scratch, claw and everything because I just didn’t want to be left alone with the Father Christmas...if Mama Sykik say make I no enter the Father Christmas grotto, na wahala be that, because I wanted the gifts without having to see the scary Father Christmas....it was always a battle, but someway somehow....I survived each year and came out with my gifts....hahaaha.... I scare easily till date, forget all this my mouth.  

Christmas was a season of gifts, Papa Sykik and Mama Sykik knows how to give gifts oh, my brothers and I got lots of gifts each year. I couldn’t wait for Christmas to come then, but I don’t know why my parents refuse to give gifts again now that I am older and married...after all I am still their child nau....abi do people outgrow Christmas gift and Christmas cloth ni? Maybe I should sue them, for reneging on their parental duties. Abi, they think have handed over to Hubby ni, I no gree, Hubby is husband, Papa and Mama Sykik are my parents...I will start protesting from today.

Dear Santa,

2014 is gradually wrapping up. It has been an eventful year and I can’t begin to count my blessings.

I have tried to stay cool, kind, calm and good this year. I have played by the rules and even stopped applying the “an eye for an eye” rule. I tried not to allow the “evening go down on my anger” and also had a kind word for my mean colleagues. Above all, I reduced my chocolate intake and now play #teamwater....... it was a tough call, but I remained faithful to the cause. I also shopped less, so I got to save more.

I know I will have the best Christmas this year if you will be kind enough to reward me for being a good girl.  I am all grown up but I still believe you exist; I am not like some people (side eyes to Toinlicious, and Simply mee) who don’t believe you exist.  Kindly prove to them that you do make dreams come true. I know you come in through the chimney (we don’t have chimney in Nigeria sha)...... I will leave the kitchen window open so you can still sneak in and drop my gift.  It won’t be a bad idea if you came calling with a gift bearing “Sykik, darling. You have played fair, you have stayed true and though I saw you act like an asshole some few times, you deserve a memorable Christmas this 2014” :) 

PS:

During my days, na Father Christmas we know oh

#Ajepako......Father Christmas

#Ajebutter........Santa Claus

MAMA SYKIK .....

I remember the day mama Sykik found a love letter in my closet.

Back in the days, love letters where the “ish”, it was the means through which boys wooed babes. I  have mentioned in some earlier posts that I was a late bloomer so I didn’t get boys paying attention to me till my undergrad years........there was the random boy, here and there but Mama Sykik played her “breathing down my back” role so well and co-opted my brothers into saving their sister’s purity till marriage.

There was this boy who had taken a big brother/boyfriend role over me in school, come to think of it he never toasted me sha. The boy had to change schools in our second year and so we were separated and there were no GSM phones then. It was a tough time for me, I felt lost and so when I got a letter from this bobo (he sent it through a student who had visited his school). I read the letter every day and mumuishly took the letter with me home during the holidays....somehow Mama Sykik poke nosed through my stuff and read the letter, this was a letter I kept well folded inside my bible (I had to keep the letter holy abi nau). Mama Sykik doesn’t understand that there is anything called boundaries or personal space. After this incident, I learnt the trick of Eneke the bird that “since men have learned to shoot without missing, he has learned to fly without perching." I learnt to keep my privacy from her prying eyes.

I got home from my Mum’s store that day and met Mama Sykik at the door, brandishing my love letter (she doesn’t waste time attacking) immediately I saw the letter, I died and travelled to heaven..........it was easier facing God than Mama Sykik, I swear. She was gangster like that.....all I heard again was

Mama Sykik: Sykik am I not talking to you

Sykik: Ma, what did you say ^{(My heart was skipping and I still couldn’t make sense of what she was saying)}

Mama Sykik: are you listening to me at all, since you are deaf, let me explain myself better

Mama Sykik delivered one of those her “abara” slap, “abara”- is a back slap that brings you out of a coma. It works; ask any Nigerian Yoruba girl who grew up in the 80s and 90s. That “abara” brought me back from my coma and I can’t remember what my explanation was, but I must have confessed to sins committed and uncommitted. I was made to promise to break up with this bobo and cease all form of communication. After the beating and threats of that day, I am sure I never spoke to any man except my brothers for weeks.

How do you break up with someone who never toasted you sef? I told bobo about the incident and we just remained discreet until Mama Sykik caught us again and this time around she drafted Papa Sykik to cast the “spell of boyfriend” from my life.

I love Mama Sykik and  wouldn’t trade her for anything, though back in the days I had no “relationship” with her because I felt her parenting methods were cruel but I won’t be half of  who I am today without that strict grooming. Papa Sykik blended her parenting skills with his modern methods which she felt was “ajebutterish” but see me today, I turned out right even if I have to say so myself.

Will I trade my growing up years  for anything......NO......will I train my child(ren) same way......not really......but I am certainly going to do some “abara” giving or how else will they know I am a Yoruba mummy...lol....and God loves a cheerful giver :)