Soooo... She Got Pulled Over

Mom was jejely driving when she got pulled over. Before she finished her story, I was ready to say, "I told you to stop driving like that!" My mom is notorious for giving people an almost-coronary-attack while she's driving. Let's just say her way of switching lanes and making turns are neither friendly to her SUV nor the passengers that let themselves be transported in it. But I digress.

Mom has been pulled over before, most times for driving above the speed limit. But this time, she was pulled over for something else. I'll quote the warning citation before I explain it.

"You have received a warning for the following violation(s):

DRIVING A VEHICLE WHILE A REMOVABLE WINDSHIELD PLACARD IS HANGING FROM THE INSIDE REARVIEW MIRROR"

What it means: My mother was busy cruising around town with what you see below:

The culprits

And what that means, essentially, is that my mom was driving around town with a Hello Kitty stuffed face and a Winnie The Pooh face. Oh, and a rosary! Apparently, it is illegal to drive around with anything hanging on your rearview mirror. Seriously? Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Maryland cops must have stolen the Jesus that used to be on my rearview mirror!

Since the offense on my mother's traffic violation warning has an actual code, I guess it is in fact a real offense.  Thank God it wasn't a ticket.  That said, I only have two questions:

1.  How many people know that this is an offense? I certainly did not. And lots of people - if not most - drive around with some kind of "removable windshield placard" hanging on their rearview mirror.

2.  How many people has this cop pulled over for this offense?

Mom's theory: Since it was a White cop who pulled her over, he clearly did it for the classic reason: DWB (Driving While Black). He had nothing else on her, so he decided to give her a warning for daring to drive with Hello Kitty and Winnie The Pooh hanging on her rearview mirror.

My first theory: Cops have a quota of how many traffic violation tickets and warnings they have to hand out each week/month/season/quarter. The cop that pulled my mom over clearly hadn't reached his quota and was desperately trying to do so.

My second theory: The cop that pulled mom over was a rookie (new) cop, had milk on his breadth, and he was just happy to exercise his new found power, pulling drivers over for whatever and handing tickets and warnings to them.

Oh, then there's this third theory: The cop noticed my mom from afar, instantly fell in love with her with her high yellow skin tone, and did what he could to speak to her.  He has since been camping outside our house, stalking his new found love, and daydreaming about their wedding in Africa. He just wishes he knew which animal he'd rather ride on for their wedding: an elephant or a hippo?

What say you?

Vera Ezimora on Facebook ||| Vera Ezimora on Twitter

Who Stole My Jesus?

My mother is a relentless Catholic. So it was no surprise to me when she said insisted that I hang a rosary on the rear-view mirror of my car.  I did it just to make her happy. A couple of months later, I changed my mind and took it off. She came at me with a determination that could not be matched. I don't remember what her reasons were, but all I know is that at the end of her speech tyrade, I hung the pink rosary bank on my rear-view mirror.

It's not as if I had a problem with hanging the rosary on my rear-view mirror. Rather, I felt like my mom was not putting her faith where it needed to be : in Jesus.  But that's a story for another day. The climax here is that I recently noticed something strange. The Jesus that has been hanging on my pink rosary has suddenly vanished.  Yes, vanished!!

Once upon a time, there used to be a Jesus, crucified on a white plastic cross, and hanging at the end of that rosary where there's a loop.  Now, both Jesus and his white cross have vanished. Whatever would have caused this? I know I have my issues, but goodness, I hope I did not make the Jesus that was on the rosary to just walk away.  It's been the strangest thing, I tell you.  

In light of this recent confusion, I am now proposing that the FBI, CIA, and Whatever-The-Nigerian-Ones-Call-Themselves all come together and search for my Jesus. This is an outrage! A girl should not have to drive her car without her hanging Jesus. It's simply unacceptable.  And to make matters worse, the culprit(s) is (are) not asking for a ransom to release my Jesus.  An internal investigation will commence at once.  All readers, bloggers, listeners, twitters, facebookers, friends, family, and lurkers of Vera Ezimora will be considered as primary suspects.  Everyone is advised to not leave town at this time. Leaving town would be a very suspicious move.

Some theories have already been formed as to the whereabouts of the Jesus that once hung on a white plastic cross and dangled from my rear-view mirror:

1.  He got tired of hearing Vera scream, "What the heck is wrong with you?!" at all the drivers on the road.

2.  He got tired of Vera blasting her music and dancing while driving. 

3.  Vera's driving made his life feel endangered.

4.  When Vera rolled her window down, a terrible wind blew, and it blew him off the rosary.

5.  Funmie entered Vera's car, spotted the white crucifix, and stole him while Vera wasn't looking. He has since been living in Funmie's wallet.

6.  An anti-catholic broke into Vera's car and stole the Jesus and his crucifix from the rosary.

7.  The Jesus got tired of hanging from a pink rosary.  Him, pink??? No way!!!

8.  Being suspended from a girl's rear-view mirror was just not his idea of going into the world and spreading the gospel.

9.  After Vera played Yori Yori (by Bracket) over and over --- over, he decided that He couldn't take it anymore.  How can a person play Yori Yori for so long?

10.  Let's face it. He got tired of watching Vera play with her breasts while driving.  It was quite distracting disgusting to say the least.

So, what say you?

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Whose Husband Is He Anyway?

Michelle's?  Or my mother's?

On Wednesday, January 27th 2010, President Barack Obama gave his State of the Union address in Washington, D.C.  I assume that other families, just like mine, were seated in front of their television, glassy eyes glued to the bright screen, ears as eager as alert dogs, and feet and hands just waiting to give standing ovations after standing ovations.  Or maybe it was just my family then.  Specifically, that mother of mine.

So ecstatic was she; so hopeful was she; so passionate was she --- about Obama that she refused to use the bathroom, even when her bladder threatened to give way.  She did not want to miss the speech, she said.

"Tell them!" She chanted every now and then.

"Intelligent man!"

"Look at McCain's face, very jealous man!"

"Look at the Republicans; they're not happy..."

... And so on, and so forth.

And when Obama said, "...I want to acknowledge our First Lady, Michelle Obama, who this year, is creating a national movement to tackle the epidemic of childhood obesity and make our kids healthier..." mom showed her support by clapping and shouting a thunderous, "Yes!"

But when Grandma asked, "Gini k'okwu?" [What did he say?]

Mom said, "Anuro kwa'm" [I didn't hear oh].

Well, if this isn't passion, what then?  Thankfully, I was there to tell them what he said --- though I was actually in the kitchen --- washing dishes.  On that note, I must say that Obama's speech was verastically appetizing as usual.  With the kind of ability he has to touch people through his spoken words, I wonder the kind of damage he would do to the dark world, if he were a Pastor.  And I wonder, too, if we would ever have a leader like him in Nigeria.

Amidst the wondering, however, life must go on.  So, please don't forget our virtual date tomorrow morning.  Verasticall Speakin' Talk Radio will be airing as usual at 10am U.S. Eastern (4pm Nigerian time).  Topic: Pre-marriage Marriage.  We'll be talking about the consequences - good or bad - of living together before marriage.  If you have not voted in the poll, please do.

P.S. You can watch Obama's State of the Union address in its entirety here.

P.P.S. We're still accepting pictures for the Valentine Blog Event.  Read the details here.  Send all pictures to project@verastic.com.  If you have any questions or concerns, you're welcome to contact me through e-mail, phone, and text.

P.P.P.S. And, of course, there's still time to win that giveaway.  You have till 11:59pm (U.S. Eastern time) on February 6th 2010 to enter for it.  All you have to do is leave a comment.  The more, the merrier.  Do it here.

Don't forget to vote!!!

There She Goes Again...

My mom.

There she goes again.

Yesterday was Halloween. For the Non-Americans, Halloween is a day that people - children and adults alike - dress up in costumes and go around at night (or evening time, rather) knocking on people's doors and begging for candy. As a Christian - a Nigerian one for that matter - I don't celebrate Halloween. Several years ago, I read up on the history of Halloween. It's been years, so my details might be rusty, but according to what I read and what I remember, Halloween Day is a day that ghosts of dead people are believed to roam the earth. So in order not to be attacked by the ghosts, people dress like them, so that way, they blend right in with the ghosts.

That said, Halloween is not quite as scary as it used to be. It's gone sexy all of a sudden - just like every other thing. People now dress in skimpy little outfits (like Wonder Woman, Cat Woman, etc) all in the name of Halloween. Some people dress like bugs - example, my neighbors. I wonder if I would be held responsible for hitting a human being if I were to knock down one of these human sized bugs with my car. I wouldn't want to find out anyway. People were roaming the streets today looking like all sorts of things. Some were cute, I admit. But I'm still not celebrating Halloween - and neither are my future children.

So, back to mom. few days ago, she was complaining about how she did not want to take part in Halloween by handing candy to the kids that knock on the door. Typically, people that don't want to take part in Halloween just turn off their lights and call it a night. But not my mom! She came up with her own handy dandy plan, which made perfect sense - in her head: she'll hand the kids akara. Yes, akara. As in the greasy balls we [Nigerians] make from beans and deep fry in oil. Yeap, that one.

No, the kids are not Nigerians. In fact, in my neighborhood, they are mostly White.

Yes, this idea made perfect sense in my mom's head.

Her reason? "It's just to show them what else they can do with beans ...."

I've got a few questions for mom:

1. Who told you these kids want to know else what they can do with beans?
2. Who even told you they eat beans?
3. How are we going to serve this akara? In ziplock bags or straight into their little palms?
4. Will the akaras also accompany a recipe?

Thankfully, we never did get around to handing out akaras - not because mom changed her mind and decided to save us the humiliation, but because she was too busy to make the akara.

Thank God for small mercies, huh?

Sins Of The Mother

Remember when I put up that angry post about people flashing me at odd hours of the night? Well, it's really amazing because there is this particular person that does it most, and I know that he/she reads my blog. I also know that he/she read that particular post. So why did he/she still continue to flash - although no longer at that ungodly hour???

Here comes my aha moment. My mother is the cause! No, no, she does not know him/her. However, this is a case where the sins of the mother have come to hunt the daughter. Mom does not flash anyone. The sound of this last sentence compels me to explain once more time that flashing [in Nigeria] does not mean what flashing in America means. In Nigeria [or in Nigerian terms], flashing is when a person calls you, lets it rings about once or twice, and then hangs up. The idea is to have his/her number flash on your phone and then you call him/her back.

So as I was saying, mom does not flash anyone [in spite of the previous explanation of flash/flashing, this sentence still sounds very awkward. Mom & flash just shouldn't be in the same sentence. Ah, I've been in this country too long]. What mom does instead is call people in Nigeria at 11pm. No, not 11pm their time; I mean 11pm our time. That's 4am their time! And as if that's not bad enough, she starts the conversation by asking, "Oh, did I wake you up?"

Seriously???? No, of course not, mom. People just usually stay awake at 4am ... especially on week days. You know how good it feels to get two hours of sleep before springing up for another day's work. Woop-tee-doo!!! I don't even know why she asks that question because the person's response will not deter her from saying what she called to say. It might take anywhere from zero to twenty-one minutes (which is the maximum that a $2 Nigeria DC calling card gives).

I - wherever I may be during this conversation - am usually boiling with anger ... for this person, of course. I just don't get it. Why would you wake someone up at four in the morning??? What is it that cannot wait till later? And there I was raising fire and brimstone for the people that flash me at three in the morning while my own mother was [still is] busy waking people up from their REM sleep. No wonder the flashers have targeted my phone. I need to start giving out my mother's number as mine. Justice must be served!

If by any chance I do move back to Nigeria before mom, I need to warn her to cease and desist from dialing my number between the hours of 8:59pm and 8:59am - Nigerian Time. No, I will not be sleeping during all of those hours, of course, but before the children come into the picture, they will first need to be invented... will they not??? These things don't happen by themselves, peeps.

A Priest Has Been Reading My Blog!

That said, I know that he will also read this post. But at this point, it cannot possibly get worse.

On Saturday, Mom gave me the phone. She said Father John Doe (not his real name, obviously) was on the phone and wanted to talk to me. He heard my radio show. That automatically made me very uncomfortable. So I spoke to him. He commended me on a job well done, asked me how often I do the show, etc. I was very uncomfortable. I really don't like discussing my blog, articles, and/or radio show with grown folks.

But it got worse. Oh, yes it did. Imagine my discomfort when he talked about the oral sex bit. Whew!! He said I was laughing about it and refusing to take any side [refusing to say if I'm for or against oral sex]. Why on earth did he find that post? Why didn't he find the post about when I rededicated my life to Christ? Or my Thanksgiving post? What about the one where I quoted the bible and said that faith without action is dead? And where I said it's so ironic how God takes care of me all the time. What about when I called God a romantic?

Why, why, WHY did it have to be the one about oral sex?!?!

On that note, I also need to tell Mom to stop helping me spread the gospel of my radio show. Mom knows I do a radio show every Saturday morning. What she doesn't know is how she can listen to it, where she can listen to it, and what the heck it is that I talk about. I intend to keep it that way. Imagine my mother listening to me talking about size. Nooooooo!!! This is one familiarity I don't want to have with my mother. We have already watched glorified porn together. That's good enough.

She told her sister, my favorite aunt - who happens to be a Deeper Life Church-going born again Christian - about my radio show. My aunt bombarded me with questions. I tried my darndest to dodge them like arrows. What is the show about? How do you do it? What do you talk about? Do people hear you? So people call in? So do people ask for your opinion? Who do you do it with? What radio station is it on? It's online? What website is it on? How does it get online? So you have a private conversation with someone and make it public?

Oh, darn!! I don't need this right now.

Well, I told her the website is Blog Radio. She doesn't need to know the rest of the link. I told her we talk about relationships. She doesn't need to know about that episode that addressed the size of certain body parts. I told her a few people call in from Maryland. She doesn't need to know that people call from America and other continents for that matter.

Well, there. That wasn't too hard now, was it?

***Little prayer: May the Holy Ghost Fire destroy every temptation my aunt has to google me. Amen.***

In case you have not heard, the Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio intends to be hot this Saturday! Oh, yes, it will be. Our topic of discussion: What do men want? Seriously, what the heck do they want?! And co-hosting with me is none other than Ekene Agabu. He's a writer and a speaker with a distinct focus on sex and relationships. Oh wee!! Yum, yum!! Click on his name to visit his website. And for the ladies that are wondering, no, I do not know if he's single. Fear not. I'll find out - all for you. You see the hoops I jump for you? Don't say Vera has never done anything for you. Click on the show title to go to its page and set up a reminder. You don't wanna miss this!

I Think I'm Married...

.... to my Mother!!!

Lately, Mom and I have been having couple fights. I've been trying to ignore them, but I cannot ignore then anymore. At this point, we just need to decide who will be the man between us. Mom has the bigger breasts. I have the bigger butt. Hmmph. This is not gonna be an easy decision.

Yesterday, she had a score to settle with me. I was about to leave the house in the morning when she decided to tell me what I had done.

Mom: I need to talk to you.

Me: Uh oh. What did I do?

Mom: There's something you've been doing lately that I don't like.

Me: What is it?

Mom: Why is it that every time you use the toothpaste, you don't cover it back? You did it with the last toothpaste and I didn't say anything. Now, I have bought a new one, and you're doing the same thing again. Why?

Me: Uhm...

Mom: Let this be the first and last time you ever do it again. (Why say "let this be the first and last time..." when we know this wasn't the first, and probably won't be the last either).

Me: I'm sorry, Mom. Didn't know I was leaving the toothpaste open.

Nawa ooo! This our relationship sha... What next? I'm squeezing the toothpaste from the middle instead of the bottom?? Well, I've got a few complaints of my own (although I did not bother to list them to Mom. She might have rewarded me with a classical Nigerian back-handed slap. I'm not too old to receive a slap from my Mom).

Complaints: Mom leaves her magazines littered all over the living room - even though she knows she's done with them. Why not just put them in the trash as soon as she's done? She's always printing something - whether it's one page or one hundred pages. They are always crap to me. When the trash can is three-quarter full, I'm ready to take it out. Mom, on the other hand, will keep putting stuff in it until it becomes too heavy for me to carry out. I'm not a weight lifter.

She's always jamming the shredder. I keep telling her not to put so many papers in it. If she buys one more Obama magazine, we're gonna have a problem. She does not put enough pepper in her food. She says I eat too much pepper like Yoruba people, and one day, all my front and side hairs will fall off like Yoruba people. Mom's theory of the correlation between pepper and scanty hair remains to be proven. Funmi's and Busola's hair is full. Come to think of it, Funmi's and Busola's hair is chopping in front and on the sides. Hmmmm. Could Mom be right?

Last but not least, can somebori please tell my Mom that a du-rag is not a scarf. A scarf is not a du-rag! If I catch that woman wearing a du-rag outside one more time, there is no telling what I will be compelled to do to her and the du-rag. I can't have my Mom looking all gangster when she's outside. What next?? She'll soon start blasting rap from her speakers and smoking blunts as she drives. Oh, LORD!!!

There are many other complaints, but these will have to suffice for now. Meanwhile, I have to find us a divorce lawyer because with the way things are going, we're headed straight for divorce court!

P.S. Don't forget Verastically Speakin' airs on Saturday (July 25th) @ 10:00 AM U.S. EST/3:00 PM Naija time. We'll be talking about the importance (or lack of importance) of the size of certain body parts. Yum! To listen to it on Saturday, just click HERE (or call 1-646-929-1905 to listen in and/or join the conversation).

What To Do.... What To Do....???

The other day I was watching a new Ghanaian movie, The Perfect Picture (you know I'm current with these things. Oh, you didn't know?). Anyway, it's a really nice movie, beautifully done. It doesn't have twists and turns. I expected it would end the way it did. But that's not the point of this post.

You know how love making scenes in Nigerian movies make you wanna puke and remain celebate, right? Don't tell me I'm the only one they have that effect on. This movie, however, was different. The love making scene was really nice. It didn't have them sweating profusely under a thick, ugly, multi-colored blanket and grunting like they were trying to force out a slice of shit that was double the size of their anus. Too graphic?

Instead, it looked like they were making love AND loving it. In fact, it didn't even look like one or both partners were being punished through sex. It didn't look like the man was trying to jam his penis and his entire body into the woman's little orifice. Ah, that must be what making love looks and sounds like.

Oh, get this. They even did it in more than one position. Yes! This movie had Africans procreating in a position that did not involve the man lifting and throwing his entire weight on the woman. They like to refer to this as missionary. It's not the position that I have qualms with. It's the way the Nigerian/African movies usually do it. Makes my eyes hurt.

Funny enough, that is still not the gist of this post. The gist is that I was watching the movie with my mother. So what exactly was I supposed to do when the love making scene came on? Watch it with mom? Eww. Concentrate on my laptop and pretend I didn't know what was on TV? Yawn, stretch, and pretend to be sleepy? Say 'Eww' and forward that scene (only to come back and watch it when Mom is not around)? I even thought about prentending not to know what they were doing.

[INSERT SERIOUS IGBO ACCENT] Mommy, why are Uncle and Aunty naked and looking dazed? Sex????? Mommy, what is this sex that you speak of, and why are they doing it? To have children???? But Mommy, is it sweet or bitter? [EXIT SERIOUS IGBO ACCENT].

On second thoughts, I figured that wouldn't work either. So I braced up and finished the movie. I am woman enough to watch soft porn a movie with my mom.

P.S. The Verastically Speakin' Talk Radio will air on Thursday, July 2nd 2009 @ 10:00 AM U.S. Eastern time (3:00 PM Naija time), Nigerian Tact (Or Lack Of It). We'll be talking about the way Nigerians use the least diplomacy when dispensing their usually not-sought opinions. E-mail me with your stories/comments/questions. radio@verastic.com

It's My Mommy's Birthday

My gorgeous mommy turns plus one today.  I was tempted to put up a picture.  But I decided maybe next year.

I've been looking at her a lot recently.  She has changed.  Age is beginning to creep up on my ageless mommy.  Her hair is not quite as dark as it used to be.  Greys are sprouting up everywhere.  I see the wrinkles on her face.  When she smiles, they're there.  When she laughs, they're there.  She doesn't see quite as well anymore.  She cannot read without her glasses, and even with her glasses, she has to hold the paper at a certain distance.

A decade ago, she had tons of shoes with pencil-thin heels.  She walked majestically on them.  Dad could never understand how she walked in them.  She's probably the reason why I love heels so much now.  These days, mom's heels aren't quite as high.  Or as thin.  They're lower and fatter, and she doesn't wear them for so long anymore.

When I look at my mommy, I see a woman who is beautiful - both inside and out.  She pisses me off so many times, but more times than that, I get on my knees and thank God for her.  On my account, she has given up so much, done so much, and suffered so much.  And on this XXth birthday of hers, I pray to God once again to favor me, and give me the strength to do the little things that excite this woman He gave me to.  I pray to be able to buy her that freezer full of stockfish she has been dreaming about.  I pray to send her on a trip to Russia, London, and wherever else she's been dreaming about.  I pray to get her that big house with the two garages - a house she would not have to pay for because I, her only daughter will take care of it.

On this birthday of hers, I am reminded of all the dreams I have for my mother.  Things I intend to do for her.  Little ways I intend to say thank you for being the best mother.  No amount of gifts can ever be enough, but knowing my mother, she will not say no to them.  I dream of handing her gifts and having her sing that Igbo song that says, "If not the child, who else will give?"  I intend to give her the world, plus me in it.

So on this blessed day of June 2nd 2009, I want to wish my dear, beautiful, wonderful mommy a very, very happy birthday.  I wish her health, joy, peace, long life, and prosperity.  I wish her the blessings and favor of the Lord, and I pray that He who made her meets her at the point of her needs.  I pray that He showers more blessings on her than she ever thought possible because I know that He is able to do exceedingly and abundantly more than we expect.  I pray that He makes Himself manifest in her life.

And we all said, AMEN!!!!!

Happy birthday, mommy!

In Preparation For Marriage....

"It will be a very big shame for you to get married to an Igbo man and not know how to cook onugbu (bitterleaf) soup."

- Spoken by Vera Ezimora's mom on Friday, March 20th 2009 10:41 PM

You know, sometimes, I just don't understand my mother. When and where did she see an engagement ring on my finger? To my recollection, I have not told her that any man - let alone an Igbo one - is seeking my hand in marriage. She has not told me that any Igbo man has come to pluck the ripe flower in our garden either - unless they (mom, dad & the Igbo man) are planning to give me a surprise wedding. So where did mom come off telling me it will be a shame to get married to an Igbo man without knowing how to cook onugbu (bitterleaf) soup??? Alright, I'll explain.

Prior to that verbal assault you read up there, I did not know how to cook onugbu (bitterleaf) soup. I was curious enough to ask mom to teach me. Remember that I said I asked her. She did not tell me I had to learn it. I
asked
begged her on my own to show me. We have been attempting to do this mother-daughter cooking for the longest time - I'm talking years now - but you know how time is exactly what we don't have enough of. Finally, we agreed to do it on Thursday (March 19th), but mom was too tired. I guess that meant it was automatically postponed to Friday, March 20th, but I didn't know. So off I went to hang out with Funmi #1 and Funmi #2 (Yes, there are two Funmis, but Funmi #1 is the one who comments on my blog).

I decided to call mom at 10:41 PM to check up on her... as per good daughter and all, and that verbal assault up there was what I heard. And after speaking, she hung up on me ooo! LOL. Couldn't stop laughing walahi. I finally got home more than an hour later to realize the woman had not even started cooking the soup - even though prior to hanging up she said, "Don't worry, I'm cooking my soup myself" ... you know one of those things they say to make you feel guilty. Anyway, I ended up joining her in cooking.

I was required to
wash
scrub the bitterleaves till they were no more bitter. I wanted to wear my rubber gloves because I didn't want the finger nails I had been growing to turn green after washing the leaves, but I was chastised by my mom, "How can you wear gloves to wash what someone will eat?" After two minutes of washing, I became tired, but I had to keep going; apparently, the leaves were still bitter. By the end of it, I came to one conclusion: I must have a house-help! I am not cut out for this. I refuse to bend over the sink to wash bitterleaves. My mom laughed @ me. She asked, "So you'll have a house help as soon as you enter your husband's house?" I said, "Yeap. She'll be my hand luggage."

Mom: What if your house help is not Igbo? Or what if your house help is not a female?

Me: I don't even want a female anyway. Too many house-girl/husband casualties. But if he/she isn't Igbo, he/she will be trained on how to wash bitterleaves.

Mom: Who will train them?

Me: Obviously not me.

Mom: *Shaking head.* You're not serious.

Me: Very serious, mom.

Soooo after about an hour in the hot kitchen, a pot of yummy onugbu soup emerged. It is safe to say that I am now ready to be given away to an Igbo man. I took pictures to show you my soup. Oh, but you know what my mom said after we finished cooking? She said, "You know you didn't learn anything. All you did was walk around here and take pictures; we have to do this again." Lai lai! We don't have to do anything again. I have learnt. I'm good.

The bitterleaves I was washing...


After I washed them...


You know what that is? Blended cocoayam. It makes the soup thicker. In Naija, we woulda pounded it, but as per Yankee, we had to blend it instead.

"Assorted meat" but no "roundabouts" lol

Stockfish

Ogili (stinky Igbo spice. It stinks! But darn it, it makes the food yummy)

Voila... the result!

Dear Igbo man, I am now ripe to become your wife. When is the wedding gonna be??? :-)

All Things Are New...

2 Cor 5:17 says, "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come!"

Lovely readers of Verastically Livin,' please excuse me while I get a lil serious. Yes, I know you're not quite used to this. But contrary to popular belief, Vera can be serious oooo.... ehen. This is a scheduled post. At the time it appears on my blog, I'll be in church, worshipping. What better way to bring in the New Year? Below is my public letter to God. Since everyone is on the internet these days; I figured God must be browsing Verastic.com every now & then, ey? [Yes, I'm still being serious].

*************** Clearing Throat*******************

Dear God,

2008 was something else. Honestly, I still do not know if I should call this a good or a bad year. Most times, it feels lukewarm. The highlight was the day I rededicated my life back to You. I can honestly say that life has not been the same since then. Unfortunately, since my rededication, I have done some things, said some things, and thought some things - all of which I should not have. But I have sought Your face after every fall. And I have hoped and believed that You have forgiven me.

I am sorry, Lord for everything I ever did to hurt Your feelings - and boy, do I have a long list of that. In retrospect, I realize just how very foolish I was. If I could, I would go back in time and undo so many things. Unsay so many words. And unthink so many thoughts. But I cannot. Honestly, what hurts most is the things that I have done. All those times I thought I was smart and grown, I realize now that I was foolish...and a mere baby before You.

I have been waiting anxiously - almost impatiently - for 2008 to end because the thought of it brings so much pain and sadness to my heart. You know these things, Lord. But I am hopeful that 2009 will be better. Ironically, the blessings and prayers I received in 2008 are the reasons I believe that 2009 will be better.

I am grateful for everything You did for me in 2008. For every time You were there to wipe my tears, console me, keep me company, guard me, guide me, listen to me, and even laugh with me, I am grateful. For every time You made a way for me and turned my mountain into an invisible pebble, I am grateful. I am grateful for the births (especially that of Busola's baby, Chidi and my cousin in Nigeria whose name I shamefully do not know), and even though I do not understand why I should be, I am also grateful for the deaths too.

I am grateful for my life. I am grateful for my health. I am grateful that You preserved me. I know that not everyone I started the year with is here today, but You oh God, have preserved me. And I have done nothing to deserve this. I am grateful for the life of the man that I am so in love with - my father. You cleansed him of that liver malfunction, God. When I asked him what would happen if it was not taken care of and he answered - like a true doctor - precisely, concisely, and a little too bluntly, "Ultimately, death," I thought my life was over. But my dad promised he was not going to die; he said he would live for me. I cried to You, and You, oh God restored his life. [Note to Funmi & Busola: Sorry I did not tell you about my dad's condition. It was just too much to talk about.]

I am grateful for my mom's life. Sometimes, I think of all she has gone thru on my behalf and I cannot help but break down and cry. I only hope to one day be able to spoil her the way I know she'd love to be spoilt: by giving her a few grand-children and then sending them all on vacation to Russia, so that I and my hubby can have some free time to frolic in the sun and possibly make some new babies. [Yes, I'm still being serious]. She is the best mother a girl could have ever prayed for. I trust You, Lord. I trust You to give me the opportunity to make her smile a smile that her face cannot contain.

So for 2009, oh God, I take all my troubles and I hand them over to You. Everything that has been troubling me, I hand them to You because I am powerless. My worrying can only get me so far; it has gotten me as far as it can, and it has not gotten me anywhere. By the end of 2009, I will be back here to give the testimony. You know the one, Lord. I thank You in advance for the message I will receive today. I thank You for the blessings, for the favors, and for the new beginning. I thank You in advance for helping me to publish my book in 2009. I thank You in advance for everything. I just thank You, Father. In retrospect, 2008 was a good year. But 2009 will be better. It will be great. Say Amen for me.


Happy New Year everyone!!! May 2009 bring you all of your heart's desires according to God's will. Amen. I'll be back on Sunday, January 4th 2009.

So It's My Fault???

I found two out of my closest friends in Naija on Facebook the other day. Imagine my pleasant surprise. One of them was my best friend [in Naija] and she got married in August. The other one was also really, really close to me, and she got married before my best friend. Anyway, they're now both married. This wasn't news to me since we talk on the phone quite often. Although not as often as we used to when I was in Naija, of course. Time and distance has put a damper on our relationship.


Anyway, they're both married now, and one that got married first now has a child. I was looking at her pictures on Facebook (kai, thank God for Facebook ooo). I saw pictures of her while she was pregnant and pictures of her with her child. It was so weird looking at this chic and her baby. Silly me. All I could think was "I guess she's no longer a virgin." LOL. Hey, don't blame me. I grew up with this gal! Three of us practically grew up together. We went to the same elementary and high school. We grew breasts together and experienced our menarche (first period) together.


Actually, they grew breasts together and experienced their menarche together. I was a late bloomer on all counts. I don't wanna start thinking about those days that everyone but me had breasts. Oh, the tears I shed! But hey, if they could see me now... hehehehehe *I laugh in Russian* It was traumatizing oh, but don't let me bore you with my tales of former breastlessness.


As I was saying before I digressed, I was looking at my friends' pictures on Facebook. I decided to show my mother the pictures to see if she recognized them. My mother and her blunt sef....you won't believe what she had to say to me.


Mom: *twisting her mouth Naija style* Your friends, aren't they your age or younger?


Me: *wondering what her point was* Rita (the one with the baby) is my age, but Linda is a year younger than me. Why?


Mom: Your friends that you started out with are married and having children and you you're here. What are you doing?


Me: *astonished* You're joking, right?! Mom, please! How can I get a husband when you don't want to let me out of your sight? [Yes, that is my reason. No, not an excuse, but a REASON]. If I say I'm going to see a movie, you'll squeeze your face, so how do you expect me to find a husband under such duress? [Yes, I call it duress]


Mom: You don't go to places where you can find a husband. You go to Funmi's and Busola's house.


Okay, I had to laugh out loud. Darn it. Why does she always have to be right??? Come to think of it, I barely go anywhere else and just like Mama Vera said, man no dey for Funmi & Busola house ooo. I have been going to their house for years, and I am yet to meet one eligible bachelor there. I don't think eligible bachelors live on their street. In fact, I don't think eligible bachelors live in their zip code sef.


So strategize, I must. Find new friends, I must too. Funmi and Busola are not doing me any good. As soon as I collect my Christmas and birthday gifts, I will ditch them for some new friends. I cannot be friends with people who cannot hook me up with eligible bachelors. *hiss* Wetin sef? Anyway speaking of my birthday, I hope y'll are preparing?? It's Jan 14th, baby!


And uhm, feel free to read up on my former breastlessness HERE

Err...Don't Really Have A Title

If anyone can tell me what that psychopath by the left who calls herself Funmi is doing, then please do. If you ask her, she'll say she was dancing - yahoozeeing to be precise, but if you ask me, I'll say she had one too many whatever-she-was drinking. I guess it's not too bad since her dimple looks so pweety. That's the only good thing about the yeye gal. Oh, and her culinary skills too. Other than that.... *hiss* The past week & weekend has been so busy for me, hence the lack of an update. All I wanna do right now is close my eyes and sleep, but duty calls. On Saturday, we hosted a beautiful surprise baby shower for a dear friend, Y. We had mad fun. I mean, how many times do you attend a baby shower where there is a DJ and an after-party? lol. So yeah, you can say we had a lotta fun. I took lotsa pics. After I deleted the unnecessary and blurry ones, I was left with 250. I uploaded 28 of them for your viewing pleasure. Now, b4 any1 starts asking questions, lemme respond... No, I am not the one on the home page of my photo collections page. That's Uju & her nephew. I didn't even put the pictures there; the website automatically put them. And no, I am not in any of the pictures you're about to view from the shower...sorry. Just click on the most recent album, which is the one on top. Anyway, click HERE to view the pics.





Mom drove my car to work the other day because she was running late and didn't have time to stop by the gas station to put gas in her car. The next day, I went out with my car. Time to come down from the car and I realized the damage the woman had done. Chei. And she didn't even bother telling me. Maybe she thought I wouldn't notice? lol. So now, every time I wanna get outta the car, I have to wind down the window to open the door. This reminds of the molues in Naija. Haba, I'm too fine 4 this oo! What if I attend a posh party where there is valet parking? Wait, what if there are fine boys outside the parry and they see me getting outta my car in that manner?? That na scandal o. Chai!! Mommy, you no do me well @ all. It has been very inconvenient, as you can imagine because I keep forgetting that the door handle is bad. I turn off the car, attempt to get out, and then realize I have to start the car again to wind the window down. Ah, I will be rich in Jesus name. Shebi money is doing shakara 4 me now abi? lol. Anyway, I will try & fix it by this weekend. When I asked my mom about it, she gave the classical Naija response to everything, "It was the devil."


Come Friday, I may or may not be attending the African Bankers Award. I have never attended it before; in fact, I had never heard of it before now, but I was invited by the publisher of Kitu Kizuri Magazine. Why do I feel like this is one of her attempts to hook me up with an eligible bachelor? lol. She has been telling me to "get out there and meet new people". I've been meeting new people ooo! Look @ all the new bloggers I have discovered lately. lol.



Speaking of meeting new people, I met Ramsey Noah on Thursday. He was pretty cool. I took a picture with him. You can see it on my camera *sticking tongue out* I'll update in two or three days.

The Silly Things We Do (4)

First of all, Happy Easter!! May today be the beginning of better things in my ---I mean your life. Amen. [The 'Amen' was actually for my life not yours, but anyway...]


This is my 4th post on the silly things we do. Somehow, I have consistently been able to find myself in funny situations. Or maybe I just find too many things funny and laugh too much.


Anyway, this happened on Friday, March 21st 2008 (yes, just two days ago). I had to take my car for emissions test, and I did not know the place. I received the letter ever since, but I had just been too lazy to go. According to the letter, the best time for me to go would be in the morning, and I am one who likes waking up early. I do not want to do anything that will make me wake up earlier than I already do (10:00 AM). Before you brand me as a ‘sleeper’, keep in mind that I keep late nights; I usually go to bed at about three, four, or five in the morning. So you see, I am more of a night person. I’d rather stay up late than wake up early.


Anyway, I finally decided to do the emissions thing on Friday – not because I was looking forward to it, but because I wanted to get it over with before the due date, and besides, the letter they sent me said Thursday and Friday are the least busy days. I printed directions off Mapquest since my car is not yet equipped with GPS (*hint, hint* for my birthday gift next year, although I’d still prefer the Range Rover, but I digress…lol).


I should have jejely followed Mapquest oh, but my mom had to come and tell me otherwise. “Why are you following Mapquest?” She asked me. “Don’t you know they give you long routes?” She was right sha; MapQuest does give longer than necessary routes. “Don’t worry, I’ll give you the directions.” She assured me.


I was ready to leave, and these were my mother’s directions:
Mom: Once you go on Pulaski Highway ehn, just go straightttttttt! When you pass that junction where I buy newspaper for a dollar, you will pass a gas station by your left. Don’t stop there oo! You will go to the next gas station and make a left there. Once you make that left ehn, you will see that small fly over where two cars cannot pass by each other at the same time.


Me: Huh? (a little confused)

Mom: You know that small fly over where there is a traffic light and you have to stop for the incoming car to pass now! Don’t you remember? (Sounding irritated like she cannot believe I don’t understand her ‘simple’ directions)

Me: (scratching head and ‘vaguely’ remembering the ‘fly over’): Okay, ehen continue.

Mom: Ehen, once you pass that fly over ehn, just stay by your left hand side. The people that are going towards East Point Mall will stay by their right. Oh, no, no, no, wait, I made a mistake. Once you pass under the fly over ehn, stay by your right, and the people going to East Point Mall will go left. On that right side of the road, just go straighttttttt. Then you will see the Emissions place by your right.

Me: (puzzled) But how will I know when I’ve gotten to the Emissions place?

Mom: You will see a building where people are driving in and driving out.

Me: (satisfied) Okay.

Did anyone notice that my mother’s directions did not include any street names? The landmarks sef were not concrete enough. All I had to go by were nameless gas stations, the junction where she buys newspaper for $1, the fly over where two cars cannot pass at the same time, and the building where cars are driving in and out of. LOL.


I don’t know which kin nonsense trip I embarked on. I live in Baltimore county, and the emissions place is at Baltimore City. I do NOT know my way around Baltimore City, especially the part close to downtown. My people, na so I wan lost for inside Baltimore City oo. I should have known my mother’s directions had K-leg the moment she could not remember which side of the road I was supposed to be on. The Emissions place is located on Erdman Road. Erdman is a very busy street, full of buildings where cars drive in and out of.


That was how I drove aimlessly, blocking the road, suddenly switching lanes, and making abrupt stops and illegal U-turns. It did not help that Erdman Road has traffic lights like almost every other block. At one point, I stopped in the middle of an intersection because I did not notice there was a traffic light. In short, na by the Grace of Baba God I did not get a big, fat ticket ooo because those City cops can be cruel. I had to keep stopping and asking for directions. Somehow sha, I finally, finally found the building. And guess what? There were no cars driving in and out of the building. You know why? It was Friday – one of the least busy days. Lol.


My baby (car) passed the emissions test sha, and after that, I jejely asked the lady for directions. All I had to make were three right turns. They were soooo flippin easy! And you know what? It was the same direction MapQuest gave me. Chei, this my mother sef. She’s lucky I’ve got nothing but love for her.

Speaking of directions, I was watching a Naija comedy later on the same day. The name is Bone in the Throat – starring John Okafor (played the part of Ignatius, fondly called “Iginae” or “IG”) and Uche Jumbo (played the part of Olamma).

Anyway, Ignatius (John Okafor) spent 15 years in Panya (where the heck is Panya?) and did not accomplish anything before coming back to the village where he became engaged to Ola (Uche Jumbo). Desperate for money, IG embarked on a trip to Asaba in search of a woman known as ‘Nwanyi Asaba’ (means ‘Asaba Woman’). The myth was that all you had to do was suck Nwanyi Asaba’s breast to become rich. So off he went with two of his stupid friends. He grabbed every big-breasted girl he saw and tried to suck her breast by force. Needless to say, no one ever told him that Nwanyi Asaba had big breasts o; he just assumed she did (I guess after so much sucking, the breast had to be of considerable size, huh?). His friends got tired of chasing a waterfall and went back to the village. When IG’s fiancée, Olamma (Uche Jumbo) questioned the whereabouts of IG, his friend, Okey, gave her the following directions:


“Once you enter Asaba kpaaaaaa! (kpaaaa is the sound you hear once you enter Asaba, lol). Just go straiggggggghhhhhhhhttttttttttt (this sounds too much like my mother’s direction. Is this déjà vu?) Then you go right. Then you go small and go left as if you want to go….no, no, no, this direction will confuse you (you think?!). I’ll you another direction. Once you enter Asaba and pass the main bridge that says ‘Welcome to Asaba’ any girl you see with jumbo sized breast, approach her; one way or another, she might have encountered IG.”


…lol. So much for giving her a better direction. [I actually had to rewind the movie to write the directions down, so I can blog about it]

Needless to say, IG never did find Nwanyi Asaba. However, he constantly dreamt of being rich and his afa otutu (nickname) was Chief Chop Money. LOL. Question: since ‘Nwanyi Asaba’ means ‘Asaba Woman,’ doesn’t that mean that every woman in Asaba is “Nwanyi Asaba?” Finding Nwanyi Asaba in Asaba has to be like finding a needle in a haystack.

My friends (better known as the ‘Inter-Galactic Force’ ever since I wrote that article about them) and I had a gal’s nite out last night. It was a romantic date with them, although none of them brought me a dozen roses as I requested. Better luck next time, I guess. The picture by the left is Funmi. She took it herself because according to her, she was "smoking!!" Now, you see why I believe my friends are abnormal.






First, we went bowling. Before we went, Uju could not stop making noise about how good she was. We played three rounds. Timbo & Ibukun did not play. Funmi came first in the first round. I came first the second and third round. Uju did not come first at all. In her defense, she just didn’t want to show all the men at the bowling alley her skills coz she didn’t want them to think she was a superwoman. And she did not want to be recruited as a pro either. Yea, Uju! The picture shows the scoreboard at the end. I had 102 points; Uju had 91, and Funmi had 68. You can click on the picture to see it better, and uhm, I'm currently signing autographs.


After the bowling, we went to see Tyler Perry's new movie: Meet The Browns. Lastly, we had dinner at TGIF where I could not stop laughing my head off at the silly things were saying. You know what happens when you have five ladies, food, and alcohol??? Whew!

There are more pictures of our night out. View them at http://verastic.shutterfly.com/


Need some laughs? Read:

The Silly Things We Do (1) HERE
The Silly Things We Do (2) HERE
The Silly Things We Do (3) HERE


Once again, Happy Easter!!

The Silly Things We Do (1)

This story isn't actually about me; it's about my dear mom. It happened about four years ago, I believe.

We (my family & I) had gone for some Naija occasion (can't remember wat the occasion was), and my mom saw some lady, who she believed she knew. So she walked up to the lady and said, "Hey, Ify!"

But the lady was giving my mom one kind funny look sha, as if she didn't know who my mom was.

So... (by the way, this conversation took place in Igbo, which made it even funnier)
Mom: Ah ah, Ify, why are you looking at me like that? Don't you remember me?
Woman: *confused* Ugh, no, I'm sorry, I don't.
Mom: *perplexed* Ah ah, Ify, how can you forget me? You always come 2 my junior sister's house now; don't u remember?'
Woman: I do? Who is your sister?
Mom: Chi-------
Woman: Ah, I'm sorry oh, I don't remember you.
Mom: Nawa oh, well, how is Jasper? (Jasper is Ify's hubby)
Woman: Who?
Mom: Jasper, your husband now.
Woman: I'm not Jasper's wife
Mom: Yes, you are
Woman: No, I'm not
Mom: Yes, you are
Woman: No, I'm not
Mom: Ah ah, how can you say Jasper is not your husband? Don't you know your husband, Jasper?
Woman: Jasper is not my husband
Mom: Yes, he is.
Woman: No, he's not
Mom: Okay, lemme show you my daughter (me) so you can remember.

*mom comes to me with the woman following behind her*
Mom: Nne (mummy), look at Jasper's wife o! She says she doesn't remember us.
Me: Mom, that's not Jasper's wife
Mom: What are you saying?! This is Ify, Jasper's wife
Me: No, she's not. *pointing to the real Ify on the other side of the room* that's Jasper's wife over there
Mom: *looking from Jasper's wife to strange woman and back to Jasper's wife* Oh! Ewo! *turns to woman* My dear, adi'm very sorry (i'm very sorry)
Woman: *laughing* It's okay *walks away*

I couldn't stop laughing that day. What was even funnier to me was the fact that she was arguing with the woman and telling her she was Jasper's wife. Ah ah, na by force? Even if the woman had forgotten my mom, could she have forgotten her hubby too?

Of course, I've never stopped teasing mom about that cause it was soooo ridiculous. As soon as the woman said she wasn's Ify, that was mom's cue to walk away, but she had to stay and FORCE the woman to accept that she was Jasper's wife. And you know what? That woman didn't even look a bit like Jasper's wife. For starters, she was like half the size of Jasper's wife.

Oh mommy!

If indeed, I am crazy on some level, it is obvious that it's genetic. Next time, I'll talk of Dad. He's another character - the funniest man I know!

Night y'll. As you can see, it's rather late @ night.

We go yarn tomorrow!