Some weeks ago, I went to see my aunt. We are not biologically or family related, and I only recently started calling her aunt, but mostly because she stated referring to herself as my aunt. "Prism, are you not coming to visit your aunt?" "Prism, you did not bother to call your aunt." Before that, I never called her by any name, although I occasionally told her that she's "like my second mom." She and my mom are both about the same age; they are from the same state; they share similar backgrounds; and they both have that light skin Igbo complexion (it's a shame that I mention this, but as we know, complexion matters. When your mom is light skin and you are a dark skin child, Nigerians do not hesitate to point out the obvious and mention how your mom "took all the beauty.")
I had not seen my aunt in months, and she had asked me to come visit her. So I did. I stopped by her place on a Friday night. My aunt has been a mentor and guiding angel. she helped me tremendously when I was depressed and suicidal. Strangely, I ALWAYS ran into her whenever I was about to hit rock bottom. I never had to call her, because I would miraculously see her while going about my regular business, and her words would keep me afloat for a few more weeks. With time I came to believe that God strategically placed her in my path to keep me alive.
On that Friday night, she was excited to see me as usual, and I was excited to see her. She gave me the tight hug that she always gives me, and she said the endearing things and compliments she usually says. There was a time when I was a bit uncomfortable with her compliments because they are excessive and could be misconstrued -- the long hugs, the lingering hands on my shoulders or my hands, the finger tracing out my face, the hands on my waist etc. But I mostly dismissed my concerns because I felt that as a Bible-thumping Christian, my aunt is WAY too spiritual to have any ulterior motives. Additionally, she has children who are my age and my friends. It was through them that I met her many years ago. So I convinced myself that she is just a touchy, feely person, and that that is her way of being nurturing.
After the long hug in her foyer, she asked if I had noticed her brand new SUV in the driveway. She said she bought it with the cash from her rented out house in Abuja. My aunt used to be extremely wealthy in Nigeria. She was married to a successful business man, and they were based in Nigeria. They only came up here for summers. But after he died a few years ago, his family took most of his wealth, and accused her of killing him. They threatened her life and put her through an ordeal. So she relocated permanently to the US. She managed to hold on to a few hidden properties, like the house here, a house in Abuja, and some foreign bank accounts. She went through a severe bout of depression, which is how she developed the empathy and the resources that she shared with me when I was depressed. I told her that there was no way I could have missed the car even if I wanted to. We laughed about it. But I wasn't interested in the car. She looked really good in the fitted tank top and shorts she was wearing. I could see her lacy bra and cleavage peaking out from the top. And I realized for the first time-- well, the second time-- just how perky her boobs are. She was also more toned and smaller than I recalled. I told her she looked amazing. She blushed and twirled, before she told me that she is now a size 2. She also told me about her exercise regime and her diet, and she reminded me of her educational background in Nutrition. "Prism, have you forgotten that I went to school here just like you people?" she said. "I'm an American-trained nutritionist. It's just that in those days, when you finish school, you come back home. Nigeria was good."
I wrapped my arms around her waist and she blushed again. But I unwrapped my arms almost as quickly as I had wrapped them. I felt a pang of guilt and shame for being sexually attracted to my friend's mother and for officially crossing a line. We walked into her living room. It was dimly lit by a chandelier that hung over her dining table. I pulled out a chair and sat in the brightest part of the room - the dinning table-- before I was asked to take a seat. I didn't want to be seated on the couch in that atmosphere. She sensed my unease, so she sat on the chair farthest from me. But she didn't offer to turn up the lights. It was a bit awkward at first. Just the two of us, separated by what seemed like a football field. She offered me dinner and drinks, but I declined. She frowned, and added, "how can you come to see your aunt and not have anything to eat? Why don't you ever take anything from me? Do you think I'm a witch or something?"
I literally laughed out loud at the witch part, but my thoughts dwelt on what she'd said about me rejecting things she gives to me. There was something about the manner and attitude with which she it. And for the first time, I seriously considered the possibility that my aunt may have been a lesbian sugar mommy in Nigeria, despite her spirituality, her marriage, her open rebuke of homosexuality. At this point, what I wanted most was to leave her house, to be released from the grips of a growing fantasy. But I stayed. And she talked, and we talked. And then somehow we started talking about sex, and she mentioned the vow she has made to remain celibate. And then I almost interrupted her with, "but you can break it now." But I swallowed my words before they came out.
We continued talking until it was time for me to go. We stood at the door and she gave me that long hug again.
Go, go, go, Prism. It's your birthday - was your birthday. Hey lovelies, what have you been up to? I don miss this place jare. In the time that I was away, I got to meet another blogger. Twice. The lovely, lovely, MsTizzle. How many times did I call her lovely? Ms Tizzle,........... Ms Tizzle............ Ms Tizzle............ Where do I even start from with describing her and my visits. They were quite interesting....hehe. Ima try to do my best Atilola imitation in describing Ms Tizzle. Hmm... never mind. Atilola is in a league of her own when it comes to meeting bloggers and writing about them. I'll say that I enjoyed meeting Ms Tizzle. She has these big beautiful expressive eyes...lol I told her that if she ever loses her voice, she'll have no problems communicating with her eyes. She can just blink once or twice and it'll say all that she needs to pass across. When I first met her, it took me a while to reconcile the image of Ms Tizzle that I had developed over these years from reading her blog, with the real life Ms Tizzle. Oh gosh, I'm trying to write about everything, but the words ain't coming. So ima leave it at I met Ms Tizzle *wink*.
The other day, my younger sister asked me if i would consider bleaching if it didn't come with any side effects. As a typical Nigerian woman, I snapped my fingers around my head and rebuked such an evil question. Why would i turn my burriful chocolate skin into something else? Why would I let go of this sweet dark poraro that has the DNA of kings and queens? (Yes, I'm drunk on that black spoken word kool aid shit about us all being Kings and Nubian queens in ancient Africa. No slaves, no subjects. Only kings and queens, and we all walked around with crowns of gold and full heads of lush Afros.) Of course, that wasn't my reaction. I didn't even have to think about the question, because i already knew the answer: a resounding yes. If bleaching didn't have any side effects, I'll probably be 10 shades lighter by now, and you probably would be as well. Roll your eyes.
There would be only 5 black girls in the world if bleaching had no health consequences. If you're skeptical about my claim and would like to know how I came to my conclusion, well, I derived the magical 5 number using a little extrapolation from the number of women who use relaxers and wear any hair (weaves, extensions, etc) that doesn't grow from their head. Very scientific. Lol. Ok, so maybe there would be more than 5 people using #TeamDarkSkin, but you get my point. Most of us would have tried bleaching at one point or another, just like we have tried relaxes and there would be few dark skin women.
Good bye inconveniences. Hello world of greater opportunities, time saving, convenience. (Keep rolling your eyes). Isn't that the argument we use to justify our fake hair/relaxer obsession. It would be extremely difficult to resist the social pressure not to bleach. Why would you have to worry about discrimination and prejudices, when all you have to do is harmlessly make yourself a few shades lighter? Isn't life all about doing what you can to create better opportunities for yourself...lol? And what is berra than turning on the tv or going to the movies and seeing people with skin that looks just like yours? Haha....
Anyways..... moving on sha.
A hacker somehow got a hold of my info and treated himself to a nice shopping spree on my dime. Purchased items included tvs, computers, game systems, some private lessons, among other things. I got all my money back, but I had to make a lot of 1-800 calls. That shit is super annoying. I don't have the patience for it. But I couldn't get away from it. Even when I went to the bank, I had to sit through more 1-800 calls. Phewwww... The most annoying part of those calls is when you mistakenly choose the wrong option and have to start all over again. Fix it, Jesus.
Okay o, make I run. Ima try to come around here more frequently.
I plan to post a bunch of posts that have been sitting in my "Drafts" and collecting dust. I probably post them as a series, which I have tentatively titled "From the Drafts." Some of the posts are so old that the things I wrote about are now irrelevant. But I'll post them anyways.
How una dey? It don tey since I last updated! I have so much to share with you guys, but it'll come in my next post. For now, I want to say hi and make sure that you are all doing well, that no one was kidnapped by Boko Haram, that none among you was sent into Sambisa forest as part of NYSC. You know how Naija officials act, giving our recent graduates and bright minds jobs that no one else really wants to do in places that no one else really wants to live.... Hehehe.
Father's day is this weekend, and I don't know what to give my baby daddy.... Just kidding. I don't know what to give my dad. The intersting thing is that many weeks before Father's day, I had a lot of ideas of things that would make perfect gifts for my dad. And all of a sudden, I can't seem to recall any of them. I can bet that I'll remember all of them a day after Father's day. Isn't that how these things happen.
Anyways, y'all should take care. I'll be back soon with a proper post.
Last night, I dreamed that an old secondary school friend who is Muslim took me to a seminar about Islam and social issues in a mosque. My head was covered with a hijab and I was dressed like a Muslim girl. As soon as I stepped in the mosque, I was delighted to find that the guest speaker was a queer Muslim Naija Tumblr blogger who I have a crush on in real life. I don’t recall anything she spoke about, but at the end of the seminar I was making out with this girl. Somehow we started fucking and it felt SO real. She was moaning and moaning and moaning. And then I woke up, and i was like, "oh oh oh, why did i wake up now, mschew." I closed my eyes and tried to dream the dream again, but it no gree. I was sad that I woke up. I wanted the dream to last forever. The dream has been replaying in my mind since I woke up and making me smile #creepy #Even-more-creepier-considering-that-she-sometimes-reads-my-blog-and-will-know-im referring to her. Once upon a time, I would have instantly rebuked the dream as soon as I woke up. Me no want no spiritual wife/fucker tinz.
Speaking of which, at one revival meeting i went to one time in an African church, during the deliverance section, the pastor called one woman forward and said that she has been sleeping with a giant spiritual husband; that he appears physically in her room by 2:00 pm every night. He asked the congregation to stretch forth our hands and pray for her. The woman fell to the ground and was rolling and rolling all over the place. She also vomitted something. That night i slept with one eye open.