An Embarassing Tale

                                   
I have a friend who never gets embarrassed.


She baffles me quite frankly. I get very embarrassed, very often, probably at least once a day.

Now, my friend, let’s call her *Jane is in many ways your very typical, happy go-lucky young woman. She’s a total Sanguine, always upbeat, extremely down to earth and almost annoyingly constantly cheerful.

On the day she made this revelation about herself, we were having one of those nostalgic conversations where you reminisce about your secondary school years and all the antics you got up to back then. The chores you skipped, illegal provisions you snuck in, boys you totally ignored because you secretly had a crush on, etcetera, etcetera. She’d just concluded a story on some particularly wild behavior that landed her and her friends in trouble; the school authorities had brought them before the whole assembly the following morning in a bid to punish them through ridicule.

“Oh my gosh” I said “you must have been so humiliated, I’d have been”

At this she shrugged “Nope”

Really?

Then she tells me that she’s never been embarrassed in her entire life. “Honestly Mimi, I don’t really get it when people say they’re embarrassed, I have no clue what they’re talking about. It’s not an emotion I’ve ever felt”

I am stunned. Then she asks me what kinds of things humiliate me; lots of things actually, being called out for deviant behavior in front of a crowd of my peers for example.

“What else”?

Being nabbed mental stalking, being caught in a fib, bumping into an old secondary school rival at an event where she looks totally glam, and you’re having a bad hair and everything else day (not saying it happened to me, I’m just ‘ahem’ saying, you know?) Loads of things

“Why”?

“Why what”?

“Why do I feel embarrassed when any of these things happen to me”?

“Well, because any normal person would”?

She objects to this, “I’m normal and I never get embarrassed” she said.

So I start to really think about it, and when I’m done, I believe I have the answer.

I think it has more to do with the fact that my minor choleric nature has perfectionist tendencies, which puts pressure on me to be perfectly behaved at all times. Whenever I feel like I’ve dropped the ball, or not lived up to my standards, the result is instant mortification.

It seems I need to learn to give myself a break. I am not perfect and God doesn’t expect me to be, He only wants me to strive towards it.

In a bid to do this, and become more like my friend, I shall from hence forth adopt the following behavior/attitude:

1. I shall no longer tell fibs:

Quite frankly, there is no such thing as a white lie. Telling your best friend “No, creating a fake FaceBook personality/profile so you can track your ex’s every ‘like’ is not creepy at all!” or, in a conversation with your colleagues claiming that “of course you’d date a homeless guy in a heartbeat if he was really, super nice, after all, It’s the love that truly counts”, is actually an outright lie. Having such fibs exposed can leave you (or your best friend) feeling extremely ashamed.



2. I shall always be perfectly put together /poised at social gatherings:

Yes. I shall ensure that I have my game on at all times. From now on, prior to any event where I suspect that there maybe obnoxious members of the Nigerian Paparazzi, or, that I know is likely to be a gathering for young, upwardly mobile, city dwellers, I shall arrive prepared. What’s five or six hours of facials, manicures, pedicures, massages, waxing, stringing, plucking, pulling shaving and flat ironing/curling of my hair extensions (Erm, Peruvian, no less) if it saves me the humiliation of been seated beside a former School Senior/Bully looking anything less than Chic?



3. I will no longer feel the need to explain myself at all times:

If you happen to live in my apartment building, and you frequently see me stumbling home at 12am on Saturday mornings, you can choose to assume that I’ve been very, very, naughty that weekend. I really will cease to be bothered by this, as I know that any attempt to explain that I may be coming back form a church organized activity for workers will be met with unbelieving smirks and knowing winks. I know what I did last weekend, and trust me; it was far less exciting than you think.



4. I will desist from any behavior that may result in my being called out in front of my organization, to be used as an example of how not to behave and break company ethics. Being led away to the back of a Black Maria Van by the EFCC while over two thousand people, may of whom know me look on is not what I consider the best way to learn a lesson in “How not to care about others opinions of you”

At the end of the day, that would just be plain embarrassing.

Cheers

Avoiding Social Profiling: A Christmas Guide

Criminal Profiling:The act of drawing on prior research and knowledge to create a psychological profile of an unknown criminal offender. Criminal profiles are created in order to allow law enforcement to catch criminals more efficiently.

 

Folks! Its that time of the year again. The time when the city streets empty out, the markets become full of tacky looking coloured lights and badly packed hampers, and our local TV stations start to air live footage of the ubiquitous children’s parties, crammed full of kids in their ‘Christmas Dresses’. We are forced at times for hours on end, to watch as they give shout outs to their “their Mummy and their Daddy and their brother and their sister and their teachers and their friends”, while clutching tightly to their nylon bags filled with plastic toys and cheap biscuits that Father Christmas gave to them.

 

It is also the time to become especially wary of the Nigerian law enforcement agents who completely ignore the science of criminal profiling in favor of what I like to call, Social Profiling.

 

Social profiling as opposed to criminal profiling is the act of drawing upon stereotypes, assumptions, personal perceptions and prejudices, to create a physical profile of a non criminal, accused offender.

  

Simply put, the intent behind criminal profiling is to arrest and prosecute criminals, in order to make the society a safer place. The intent behind social profiling is to harass and embarrass law abiding citizens in order to financially enrich certain members of the Executive arm of government.

 

                                        

 

 

 

 A number of these law enforcement agents take a great amount of pride in what they perceive to be their resourcefulness in applying their Social profiling skills to unsuspecting members of the public. Most vulnerable to this, are the road users who are fortunate (unfortunate?) enough to own private vehicles, and possess enough knowledge of how to operate them along our nation’s roads, streets and highways.

 

Driving a car in Nigeria I am told is simply not what it used to be. It is not enough to ensure that you take care to obey all traffic rules and regulations and stay awake long enough to arrive at your destination safely. Some street smarts are also required in order to ensure that one does not become a victim of an over zealous social profiling officer.

 

 
 
 
 
 

Popular opinion seems to suggest that certain demographics are far more vulnerable to this form of harassment than others. For example, young, single women driving vehicles are far more likely to be pulled over for a stop and asked to produce the obligatory documents/items before they may be allowed to go on their way.

 

 

 

Middle aged men who appear to be private chauffeurs are also routinely checked, as well as cars full of young men between the ages of 18-30 who may seem to be having way too much fun. Woe betide the unfortunate driver who lacks any thing from a fire extinguisher to a waste paper basket (yes, I’ve been told they ask for those as well), you shall surely pay for your mistake, through the exchange of a certain kind of paper.

 

To avoid becoming a prey of social profiling this joyous season, one may need to employ any of the following measures:

 

• Engage in light banter and convince your profiler that you really understand where he is coming from; he is not a bad person, only a victim of an unfortunate circumstance/system. Then shake his hand.

• Prominently display a sticker representing one of the arms of the executive or legislature in order to convince profilers that you are either one of them or extremely well connected to some of them. This gives the impression that pulling you over might end up being more trouble than it is worth

• Appear to be a gentleman who is a member of the middle to upper financial class and put on an aloof expression throughout the entire exchange

• Be a woman. Cry. Explain that you had no idea that you were expected to drive around town with the original copy of your car’s receipt, which you were given at the dealership where you bought it three years ago. You promise you will never, do it again. Ever. Then offer to drive them to your husbands’ office at the National Assembly or official office of the State Governor so he can assure them that the car you are driving is indeed your property. Watch them immediately begin to scatter in different directions while energetically urging you to get into you vehicle and drive away, as fast as you can, as soon as you can, and pretend the whole thing never happened.

• Step out of your vehicle. Claim to be a lawyer and pretend to jot down the identification numbers on their name tags. To appear more authentic, it will be useful at this time to reach into your glove compartment and begin to rummage through it in a bid to produce your personal copy of the constitution of the Federal Republic of Nigeria. They must be made to understand that you know your rights and will not be intimidated.

 

• Pick up your cell phone, dial a number and say “Hello? Uncle GoodLuck? Yes it’s me, good afternoon-“ Then look up, realize that there is no one standing in front of your car, switch on your ignition and drive off into the sunset.

 

 

 

If all of these fail, put on your very best smile and heartily wish them a very Merry Christmas. Tis the season to be jolly after all.

Cheers



                                    

A Gift of Thanks

Its amazing how sometimes, we hear the same words of advice over and over again and yet never think it applies to us. Recently, and I mean, very, very, recently. I realized how completely and totally ungrateful I’ve been.



God has been so amazing to me this year.


I finished my Youth Service and was retained by the organization I served in. In spite of the fact that I was told throughout my entire service year that this would never happen, as the company had placed an embargo on employment. To be fair, the embargo was strictly complied with throughout the year, lifted temporarily to allow me (and my batch members) to be employed as staff, and then placed back on firmly. If this isn’t a miracle then I don’t know what is. To be honest, God was faithful, He led me to sow a certain seed while I was serving and I obeyed even though it wasn’t always easy. Looking back, I have no idea how I did it. All I can say is that God deeply loves us “and wishes above all things that we prosper and be in good health” and somehow the grace for obedience came upon me supernaturally. So at the end of the day, it all comes back to him.


So, I got a job, without hustling, writing a test or knowing any Uncle on the Director’s floor. It came to me on a platter of gold, ‘and the Lord gave it to me as a free gift, smiling as He gave it to me’. So with all this, you’d think I would have been out of this world excited the day I got the call that I was offered the job right? Nope. Quite the opposite. I’d gone back to Lagos immediately after my Passing out Parade (POP) and was looking forward to grown up life in the big city of Las Gidi. In my own mind, I had no intention what so ever of settling down in Abuja. I didn’t want to leave my comfort zone and my family and circle of friends. So it was with tantrums and tears that I was bundled on a plane, mentally kicking and screaming, back to the F.C.T, where I knew so many people longed for an opportunity to live and work in. I just felt I wasn’t one of those people. Throughout this entire ordeal, the only thing that gave me comfort was knowing that I would be returning to the amazing church that I had found a home and comfort in during my service year.


So I came back, and I have to say I have no regrets. Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t all been fun and games, and I am still trying to settle down in some ways. But, I have now come to accept and understand the simple fact that I had been hearing all my life, as someone who was born into a Christian family; that God has a unique plan and special purpose for my life. I am at peace, because I know that


“The plans he has to wards me are thoughts of good and not of evil, to give me a hope and a future”


I may not know what the year 2011 will bring, or even where I will spend this Christmas but the Lord knows. That’s all I need to remember, that my life could not be in better hands than that of the Lord God Almighty.



In addition to blessing me with a job, I can honestly say that many of the prophecies that my Pastor and Mentor, Pastor Biodun Fatoyinbo has said over my life in the last few months are already coming to pass and I am amazed, over whelmed and grateful to the Lord most high. Truly this has been a remarkable year.



It has not been without its share of challenges though. And difficult ones at that I must say. It’s been hard, but God has and continues to see me and my family through.


Now back to the issue of my ungratefulness. I realized like I said, very recently that I had been choosing to focus on the things that hadn’t worked out this year, instead of being grateful for the things that had worked. My thanksgiving and praise had been so fleeting, and my complaining, asking and grumbling had been lingering.


Now, I seek his forgiveness. I have been listening to an amazing sermon by another of my mentors Reverend Sam Adeyemi called “Thanksgiving” and I know that I must give an offering of praise and thanksgiving for all that he has done for me.



“Be cheerful no matter what; pray ALL the time; thank God no matter what happens. This is the way God wants you who belong to Christ Jesus to live” 1 Thessalonians 5: 16-18 (MSG)



This is the scripture I have been mediating upon for awhile and it has given me great comfort, peace and joy.


So yes, like I said I choose to be Grateful and not a Great Fool


In addition to the “big things” I am just as grateful for the “little things as well”. This Christmas, I am thankful for many things a few of which I shall mention:


I am grateful to be healthy. I have had friends and family spend Christmas in the hospital on their sick beds away from their family and loved ones. I am grateful to not be in that position


I am grateful for my friends both new and old who have been great sources of joy and blessing in my life


I am grateful for the peace that I have which passes all human understanding and for joy unspeakable


I am grateful for my new nephew, whom I already love with all my heart.


I am grateful for the freedom I have to worship the Lord as I desire, how I desire, when I desire. It means so much to me in ways only God can understand.


I am grateful for the opportunity I have had to be so blessed by various men and women of God in the last few weeks. It’s been such a privilege.


Above all, I am thankful for life. Mine; as well as that of my family and friends.


Flowing from my heart, are the issues of my heart. It’s…..gratefulness.


This Christmas, what are you thankful for?


Merry Christmas people.


Cheers.

The Ten Conversations

There are several conversations I would happily and willingly never, ever, have again, if it were up to me. I am tired of answering certain questions about myself, my background, my name, my race, my beliefs, my boyfriend, or lack thereof. I would love to be able to use this medium to officially tell all Ye “Aproko Ninjas”, to please MYOB- Mind Ya Own Business, but I know that that will never be.

Therefore, I hereby proceed to outline all the conversations that I never want to have again, in the hope that answering all those questions here and now will save me from ever having to repeat them ever again. So here goes:

1. My name is Weyinmi and no I’m not Yoruba. My full name is Oritseweyinmi. It is Itsekiri, and yes, I am aware that it means ‘watch my back’ in the Yoruba Language. Every third Yoruba person I have ever met in my life (and having lived in Lagos trust me I have met plenty) has told me so. So please feel free not to repeat that particular piece of information to me. I already know.

2. My name is WE-YIN-MI. It is three syllables. How hard can that be to pronounce? Please refrain from calling me any of the following; Wah-yeh-me, We-hi-n-mi, or Why me. I especially cannot stand it when people call me Barbara. My last name is Barber, unless we are in a formal/professional setting, please call me Weyinmi. It is my name and I have no problem with it. If I am not you Aunty, please don’t call me Aunty, even if you are three years old. If I am not your Sister, please don’t call me Sister, even my brother doesn’t call me that. Also, I checked my birth certificate a while back, and I am quite certain that I saw none of the above written as prefixes before my name.


3. No. I don’t speak my language. Or my mother’s language. Or any of the indigenous languages spoken in any of the Nigerian cities I grew up in, and I am deeply ashamed of this fact. There is no need for you to make me feel any worse about the matter by quizzing me about it. I know it is a totally disgrace, and I still think that some day, I will wake up rapping in Itsekiri, singing in Delta Ibo, and Soliloquizing in Hausa. Till that day, please give me breathing space about the matter.

4. I am from Delta State; I also have ancestry from Sierra Leone. It is a long story and I never feel like talking about it.

                                         

5. I only have one sibling. Yes, that means my parents only had two children. Why? Well I really don’t know you’d have to ask them. Maybe they were trying to be the poster children for birth control, or maybe, just maybe, they were satisfied with having a son and a daughter and didn’t see the need for any more. We may never truly know.

6. No, I didn’t break my arm as a child. If you have any questions about my genetic make up, you can ask the big man upstairs. Please don’t ask me. Believe it or not, I actually didn’t make myself or get to choose what I’d like to look like. None of us did. So asking people why they look the way they do is just impolite.

7. I may or may not have a boyfriend. If I do, he is none of your business, unless I think he is and then I will freely and gladly tell you all about him. If I don’t, it is none of your business, unless I think it is, and then I will freely and gladly tell you all about it.

8. I don’t do favorites; as a result I don’t have a favorite colour, book, author, actor, actress, ice cream flavor, musician, genre of music, TV series, movie, website, designer, or anything in particular. I love many variations of different things.

9. Yes. I am a deeply spiritual person. I love to talk listen to and talk about ‘The Word’ of God, and I strongly believe in the power of speaking/praying in tongues. I am very, very far away from perfect, but I believe in living right according to the bible’s instructions. That means; No cheating/stealing/doing dodgy deals/fornicating/lying/telling dry jokes (Oh wait, that’s not a sin? Well it should be) etcetera, etcetera. I am trying really hard to make heaven here, and I’m sure many of you out there are just like me. What? I don’t look like it? Why? What do believers look like? Oh I see. Hmmm. I’m going to need to dedicate an entire blog post to fully address this issue, maybe I’ll do so, sometime in the future.

10. If you have any conversations you never, ever want to have again, please feel free to let me know about it.


Cheers.

A lesson in Feminine Behaviour

I am not usualy a Monday night blogger. I seem to prefer to release my thoughts sometime around Friday afternoons or early evenings. There's something about the weekend that brings forth fresh doses of inspiration. However, I was motivated to write this particular post because I saw that there was a need to correct certain misconceptions that many men have about the female folk. Yes, I am aware of the fact that no blog post could capture concisely all the false impressions men have about women, or vice versa. I however intend to limit the content of this post to one specific issue. Why women dress the way that they do.

Listen up guys, you need to understand that while yes, it’s true that women enjoy being complimented about the way we look by men, the real reason why we spend a fortune, an obscene about of time, and uncountable hours in the markets, malls, boutiques, online, scouting for new tailors, and generally priping in front of a mirror is indeed far more complex.

I will boldly affirm that there are three major reasons why women take such care with their appearances. Not all of them have to do with looking for a boyfriend/husband.

I set out below to state and make attempt to explain in a comprehensive manner, what I call the ‘Big Three’ motivators behind a female’s fabulous outfit:

       Women Dress to feel good about Themselves:
                         

                                

The truth is, there are a lot of beautiful women out there. If you’re petite, dark skinned and cute, there’s always a voluptuous, light skinned beauty round the next corner, whose looks may be at par with yours, but who you are likely to feel intimidated by because she represents a type of beauty that is so vastly different form your own.  One way you can outdo her (at least in your mind) is through your impressive style. In other words, if you feel you “baffed” up more than her, you’ve won, no matter how much prettier than you she is. Besides, nothing beats the feeling of walking into a room full of people confident that you look good and are appropriately dressed for the occasion. Feeling like you’re not has the tendency to wreck havoc on your self esteem, no matter how fashion unconscious you consider yourself.

 

        Women Dress to annoy/intimidate other women:

Most of the time, only another woman will know when she sees you exactly what brand of expensive weave you have on, or that those ridiculously high heels with the bright red under soles are $650 Christian Loubouton’s, or that the suit you’re wearing is a custom made Chanel, and that the purse swinging from your shoulders is a limited edition Chloe Paddington Bag.

The moral of the story, most women will admit, is that it feels good to oppress other women.  All women have experienced at one time or the other the satisfying feeling of having another woman stare at your amazing hair do/wristwatch/jewelry with envy. A few bold ones will even come up and ask you where you got yours, you smile confidently and depending on your mood tell them the truth, of claim to have developed fashion amnesia-you’re so sorry but you simply can’t remember. Then you spend the rest of your day with an extra bounce to your step.

                    

        Women dress to impress men:

\     

Yes. Sometimes women dress to impress men. It really is that simple. No long explanation required.

Cheers 

How to Spot a Bad Idea

“Never hold in your farts, they travel up your spine and into your brain, and that’s where bad Ideas come from”

                                     

The above is a line I stole from a friends’ BBM profile picture.

I’ve had a lot of horrible ideas in my life time, which in itself is not so unfortunate. Most people have had a few. No biggie. However, I have also had the misfortune of trying to carry out many of those bad ideas. Therein lies the problem. I tend to have an overactive imagination, as most readers of this blog I’m sure are already aware, and it has put me in a lot of trouble over the years.

I remember being four or five years old and deciding that I wanted to fly. Blame Peter Pan. All his talk about kids being able to do anything if only they just believed totally messed me up for a while there. I spoke to my brother about it and he convinced me that it was a great idea and worth a shot. In hindsight, I see that he was probably trying to get back at me for the little incident/accident that had happened the previous week. It involved a tree, a piece of string and a guava. I think he totally overreacted by the way, I mean I know he was nearly strangled to death but seriously, little girls will be little girls’ right?

Moving on, so after getting my brothers blessing, I decided that I was going to take a leap (literally) of faith and earn my flying wings.

I got my favorite towel, made it into a cape around my neck and climbed to the top of the wardrobe in the room we both shared, while he watched form his bed. “Go on” he said, with what I now realize was an evil glint in his eyes. “Jump, you can do it!”

                                  
“Yes!” I shouted “Yes I can!” I began to flap my arms while yelling “I can fly! I can fly!” then I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and jumped. Three hours later, I find myself in the hospital with a bandage round my ankle and a nasty bruise on my lip. I scream in pain as a surly nurse stabs me with an injection needle, while my brother calmly licks his Fan Yogo ice cream. He is watching my ordeal with great interest from the visitors chair in a corner of the room where he is seated. I get scolded multiple times by my parents who tell me to be more like my brother, the 'Angel child' who never did anything stupid. As I glare at him, I see in my minds eye the imaginary halo my parents have created around his head positively glowing, and at that moment, I make a mental note to myself; jumping off elevated platforms of any kind is a no, no.

Then there was the time when I made up my mind that I was going to become a health junkie. It started with the Atkins protein only diet that was all the rage back then, and ended with me in the gym at 6:45am in the morning while sane people slept. After nearly passing out on a street corner because my body was so weak form lack of Carbs (now I know why they taught us to chant: Cah-boh-hy-drate is for he-ner-gie! In Integrated Science class when we were kids); I dropped the Atkins plan like a hot potato. Soon after, I found out that the founder, Dr Roberts Atkins himself was at the time of his death clinically obese, go figure.

The gyming stopped too, after I woke up one morning in so much pain that I couldn’t move my fingers to turn on the shower for my morning bath. They literally just froze, I had to limp around my bedroom for literally half an hour (I had lost the ability to walk properly days ago) speaking in tongues before I regained feelings in my upper limbs again. I had to advise myself to take it easy, its not be force to look like Serena Williams, she got paid millions of dollars to stay that fit. I paid thousands of naira (not that it’s in any way comparable) to try to look half as fit. You get my drift?

Then, just last week, I woke up one weekday morning feeling just a tiny bit more fly than usual. I decided I needed some extra swag to my outfit to work; they came in the form of four and a half inch gladiator heels. I have to say they looked amazing, I was sure I’d be able to cope; after all, my job mostly requires me to work behind my desk. So I put on my shoes, and sashayed out the door. I hailed a cab and arrived in front of my office building feeling fresh. I noticed a few women giving my feet admiring glances as I walked in and held my held just a bit higher.

For the most part, I worked on my computer all morning just like I’d anticipated and I was fine. Then came my lunch hour, I remembered that I had quite a few important errands to run that day, so I went downstairs to get some cash from the ATM. Getting there, I was pleased to see that there was none of the usual lunchtime queue, I realized why a few seconds later when the machine informed me that it was unable to dispense cash. Darn! That meant a trip to the next ATM, in front of a bank, two streets away. I’d have to walk there, because the distance was too short to take a cab, it just wouldn’t have made sense. Yet, long enough for me to work up a serious sweat with each painful footstep I took. Finally, I got there, annoyed and upset with myself, the shoes, the sun that was so hot, the orange sellers comfortably seated under the cool shade of a large umbrella, that lady in the stall next to me who looked so calm and collected, everyone and everything in fact. And yes, my feet learnt a painful lesson, next time; take a cab, no matter how silly/lazy you look, being stylish and elegant requires that you must from time to time I suppose.

I’d love to say and there lies the end of my fallacies, from now on, its wisdom all the way, but I’d just be lying to myself. I know that that mistakes are a part of life, we stop learning the day we die.

The hallmark of a bad idea however, is that your mind says no, but your body says yes.

I have vowed to never again jeopardize my health and well being in an attempt to carry out what my BFF THS usually tells me is a bad idea. Oh yeah, I always get warned, I just choose sometimes to ignore the warnings. At the expense of my body parts and my shoes.

Like I said. Never again. After all, with God all things are possible

Cheers

*BFF-Best Friend Forever

*THS-The Holy Spirit

A Case of Mental Stalking

I have an unfortunate habit of people watching whenever I find myself in a public place. It’s just my thing, some women love jewelry, some 28inch waist length Brazilian hair, yet others, anything their boyfriends love. Me? I enjoy mental stalking.

For the sake of clarity, I will set out to explain my definition of mental stalking. It is the art of watching total strangers on the street, in fast food restaurants, at the cinema, church, weddings, funerals, or any other public place and making up stories in your head about their lives; Who they are, where they are form, why they have a funny looking hat on, and so on.

Now, let me tell you, metal stalking is an art, and like all art forms, it requires a certain amount of talent, which after careful training can be fine tuned into a skill. It’s not easy coming up with anecdotes about people you never even spoken to. You have to harness your powers of creativity. It also requires a high degree of subtlety when glancing at people. You don’t want to be caught ogling red handed, else you be mistaken for a crazed, lonely weirdo who has no life; or even worse, a thief. You know how paranoid we Nigerians can get, especially those living in Lagos. Being caught staring at someone, can lead the ‘staree ‘to the illogical conclusion that the ‘starer’ must be the leader of a gang of robbers who haunt people down at social gatherings. Most especially if the ‘staree’ considers his/her self to be a person of means and high social standing.

You also don’t want to be caught staring because let’s face it, at the risk of sounding hypocritical, it’s just plain rude. I mean who really wants to be out some where having a blast, or in a state of worship, or pretending to weep at the funeral of a 99 year old great-grand mother, and look up and see someone you can swear you’ve never seen before in your life gazing intently at you. Let me tell you, no one does. Yep. Not even me. Go ahead, call me charlatan, I understand. Truth is, its just plain creepy.

One day, I went for a wedding. I had woken up that morning with absolutely no intention of attending the event. I hadn’t even known about it. I was in the kitchen trying to whip up a heart attack on a plate, i.e English fry-up breakfast of eggs, bacon, and sausage, when my mum strolled into the kitchen and casually informed me that my third cousin twice removed; or something to that effect, was getting married that morning. Good for her I thought, but what’s my own? Until I realized that that was my mother’s way of saying she expected me to go with her. Some people who know me know that I am not a huge fan of weddings. Especially weddings of people I don’t know, whose guest lists naturally comprise of their friends and family members that I have never met. I find such events to be extremely tedious and boring. So I grumbled and mumbled, whined and moaned, but my Mum was having none of it. Two hours later, I found myself walking into the church in a peach colored dress and silver heels; everyone else, including my mother was dressed in the wedding colors of green and gold, so I looked totally off. Strike one.

Then, the wedding march started and all arose for the bride as she walked in. I craned my neck to catch a glimpse of the cousin I had never met. Then finally I saw her, resplendent in a strapless, blinding white dress with a heavily protruding tummy that the empire waist line cut failed to hide. Watching her walk down the aisle was quite nerve wracking, I was afraid she was going to drop at any second. Looking at the faces of the guests around me, I could see that I wasn’t the only one who was thinking the same thing that I was, which was that, it appears orthodox churches are a lot more lenient these days. Many Pentecostal churches would never have allowed it. Why, a strapless dress in church! Who’d have thought?

Anyways, an hour and a half later, we are at the reception, the bride thankfully has not yet gone into labour and the MC is trying in vain to keep the jokes flowing. Unfortunately, many of his gags come out sounding extremely awkward as they mainly revolve around the highly sensitive issue of the couples’ first night. It is quite obvious to all that they have probably already had many nights. All this after the grooms’ best friend was called out to give a speech about how the couple met, but ended up rambling for fifteen minutes about how the bride is such a good and disciplined girl, with high moral standings from a well brought up home. Strike Two.

                                            

Then, it is the lady who baked the cakes’ turn to describe the inspiration behind her design. The cake is predominantly green, everyone knows green usually symbolizes fertility; there is no need to pray about the couple’s fertility as we can all quite clearly see that the marriage is already fruitful. Another awkward five minutes is spent by the cake maker, trying to focus on the tiny splashes of gold on the cake, and how that symbolizes wealth and prosperity, and so on and so forth. Strike Three.

At this point, I am bored. I can’t help it. I start to mental stalk. My eyes move around the room searching for interesting subjects. They settle on a young adult woman with an amazing looking natural fro. Back then, I had been seriously contemplating going au naturel with my hair, so I was fascinated by any woman I saw rocking a natural do. Ironically, the few minutes I spent looking at her were not spent thinking up tales about an imaginary pot bellied boss who had a crush on her. I was actually trying to visualize my self in that hair style, and to figure out whether or not that was her natural texture, or if she’d had it texturised, when it happened. I got caught. I watched for a split second as her eyes met mine before I quickly looked away, she gave me that “are you a total psycho?!” look, then tapped her friends and pointed me out to them. I could imagine the conversation that they would be having at that moment. What on earth is wrong with that girl? Do you think she might have a few loose screws? Could she be your boyfriend’s crazy ex? I had been totally busted and I was mortified. I had to spend the next few hours seated across from them and putting up with their nasty stares until, finally, the reception was over and we could leave.

The moral of this story?

If you want to be a mental stalker, you have to make sure do it with style, grace and finesse at all times. That way, if you get caught, you can simply brush it off, ‘What? Oh no sorry, was actually looking at that piece of artwork right above your head’ for example would be a very valid excuse.

Then again, you can simply choose not to engage in it at all.

Quick Question: I hear there’s Peruvian and Chilean hair now, ethnically speaking, what’s the difference between a Chilean, a Brazilian and a Peruvian woman? Aren’t they all the same race? Just wondering.

Cheers