Edima Usoro

Fancy that! I wish I was a lady; a very pretty lady. Fancy that I was a sexy lady; a very sexy lady. I would swing my hips like a pendulum in my old grandfather’s clock. I would tease all the men that come by and make them pay hard currency to gaze at my rare beauty. I would make kings fall at my feet and beckon on princes to stroke my hair. I would make their servants bathe me with the best of ointments and oil my skin with Monoi Oil. They would rub my feet and brush my hair then, shall they know that I am the fairest of them all.

Fancy that! I wish I was a lady; a very pretty lady. I would walk the streets during the day for other women to see. Fancy that I was a sexy lady; a very sexy lady.  I would be in no form of competition with them for I alone shall possess all the qualities of a desirous woman for Delilah would only have learnt from me. Women from far and near would come to ask for advice and beauty tips; jealous of how I stand out as the ‘Beauty’ only that they are the ‘Beast’.

Fancy that! I wish I was a lady; a very pretty lady. I would sleep at night for I shall not want my beauty to fade away in the morning. I shall have servants feed me with Kiwi, pomegranate and berries to keep my skin fresh for another day. Fancy that I was a sexy lady; a very sexy lady. I would have breakfast in El Celler De Can Roca, Spain, lunch in Le Cinq, Paris, brunch in Pikayo, Puerto Rico and dinner in La Pecora Nera Ristorante, Costa Rica then go to bed in Banyan Tree, Seychelles.

But I am not a sexy lady, I am only a guy from Nsim Utong village in Akwa Ibom State and no wonder I was born a man and not a lady for then I would have made grown men shed tears; tears for the price of pleasure.

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The man in me has so many dreams and visions. Visions to help you, help me, create a new world, rebuild a broken society and place Nigeria on the map among her peers.

The man in me stays awake all night thinking of how to achieve all these but the man in me can’t find the nerves to move a muscle. He’s eager to get out but can’t find the legs to move about. His desire to conquer knows no bounds but the limitations far outweigh the possibilities.

The man in me struggles with the man outside for the man outside is domineering. The man outside thinks he knows it all has seen it all and has heard it all. So, we can call him ITK (I too know). He silences the man inside and subdues all his efforts to help him become a changed man for good. Oh how I wish I can cane the man outside for several dreams he doth did bury and countless goals he never achieved.

The man in me doesn’t have ego problems neither does he battle with low self-esteem because he knows his place and respects others space unlike the man outside whose sole responsibility is to antagonize others and criticize others.

The man in me is tired of being held back and I sense that someday soon, he will break free. He will loose the fetters put on him by the man outside, stripping him of the wolves clothing giving way for the lion to emerge.

How I long for that day for many will be astonished; astonished to see the man outside responsible but for now, I wait patiently wait till passion consumes my quest to conquer; conquer the man who wears the shoe.

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I am pressured on every side by the person called a man. I struggle to make my voice heard and not just a reflection of my wifely duties in the kitchen.

I am pressured on every side by the person called a man. I’ve worked for 10 years with passion and dedication not just a responsibility but a willingness to contribute my own quota to the company.

When will my place be recognized among men? When will I become a boss in my company? When will I become a Governor and the wish for Presidency; a far cry?

I’m tired and bent on every side for tis a man’s world we live in…they rule, we follow.

Behold the feminist thinking! The thoughts of a few women captures in a few lines.

I am no feminist my darlings for we know not the things we say and understand not the true meaning of feminism. Look around you today, can you see a true reflection of women emancipation or a disrespect of the place of a man.

We hate to hear the truth but someone has to tell it. We can’t dispute the place of a man because we need the blend and at times, a superior authority to take a stand in certain areas of our life and society. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t support oppression of women on any grounds.

Who says your voice cannot be heard, who says you can’t be a boss of your company and who says you are still living in the 18th century where times were tough for women?

If you claim to be all independent, why do you desire to get married? Ok, I get it, this is rendered invalid now thanks to the drift in societal values. So moving on: why do you leave difficult task for men to do like servicing your car? You should fix it yourself, stay with the mechanic and get your hands all dirty. You should open the door for men and the car door for them as well. Let them exit before you and say: ‘After you Michael’, since you are competing to take their role so bad.

Perhaps we need another word to replace ‘FEMINISM’ for the sorry excuse we have to disregard men. Try walking in the shoes of ‘Sojourner Truth’ maybe those of ‘Annestine Beyer’ will fit better and let’s know if it itches.

My dear woman,

Aim to develop yourself and due respect will come. I have said mine. Can you say yours?

Do you believe in the feminist theory?

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I deal with soliloquy not because I am mad but because I am crazy. I am crazy and it’s beyond control. I am sure because my Psychiatric Doctor said so. I can still hear his words clearly: Miss. Usoro, only you can cure your craze. Our drugs have failed; the pharmaceutical companies have failed. The nurses stared at me like I’m some sort of character out of a scary movie.

At times I sit and wonder how I got to this point. How did I ever let it escalate? Why didn’t I curb it when I had the chance? Well maybe, just maybe I didn’t want to stop it. Maybe, just maybe I enjoy being crazy. Craziness has given me a new light; a way of seeing the world. Craziness made me ask my boss for a raise I deserved and resigned when not granted. Perhaps even the spirit behind the craze made my boss plead for a re-negotiation for a higher pay.

During the early days of my craze, friends left because they thought I was mad. It was good for me as it gave me the opportunity to use my time wisely not on incessant visits and unnecessary hangouts. My concerned family never understood. Some stopped calling to check on me while others encouraged the doctor to sedate me though I still have some who hang in there for me.

It’s good to be crazy I tell you. You just have to draw the line between crazy and madness. If you cross over, no one will be able to help you; not even me.

I can proudly tell you that I made someone crazy. Oh yes I did! She hung out with me for just a week and KABOOM!!! the world rejected her. Plan worked well and I sent her to another location to spread the charm.

Today, if you choose, I can help you to be crazy; I can guide you as well because a little craze is what the society needs now. It’s not ok to shut your mouth and watch things go wrong. It’s your duty to correct, help and inspire the people around you. Friends will come and go. Believe me when I say you don’t need all of them. Family may never support your plans: know when to stop explaining and start doing.

The capital may not be readily available to start the business you desire; worry less and just start from anywhere: tiny drops of water make a mighty ocean.

Remember, there is a price for greatness which you must pay. I paid mine so you must pay yours. Pray take my hand and let’s build a world filled with crazy people.

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Today on my show, the crew analyzed a story on deceit and negligence, the ‘I don’t care’ attitude we possess as humans. It’s disheartening how we leave things undone because we believe someone else will get it done. Eventually if it’s done by someone else, we assume a new role: CRITICISM; pointing fingers and discrediting.

Have you sat back to ponder on the recent happenings around you? Have you wondered what little difference you can make in your own little capacity? One thing we all do seek for directly and indirectly: Positive change, though it may vary in different terms.

You hate the way the cleaner in your office smells: that’s fine but have you thought of buying a perfume or deodorant for her? You detest your grumpy neighbor: that’s perfect but have you tried smiling at him or her and simply asking: How are you today? Your boss is a total pain in the ass: that’s allowed but have you ever smiled at your boss when no one else is around? A simple ‘You look good madam’ Your tie is lovely sir’, can do the trick.

My father once told me: Mummy girl, there is more joy in doing something even when you are unsure of the results because if it turns out well, the same you will beat your chest and be proud of you. Really let’s look at it critically. You effect a change in your office, family, environment; you will want to tell as many people as you can that you made it happen or were a part of it.

Not everyone gets a second chance at life. Not everyone sleeps and wakes. Not everyone has the resources at your disposal and not everyone has your brain. So, now that you’re here, make it count, now that you’re here, start your own business. Now that you’re here, invest. Now that you’re here love and now that you’re here, be patriotic.

There is a call to serve Nigeria; a great call to save humanity. Don’t let the few people do all the work in rebuilding. Don’t let the cries of others not be your concern and don’t let the unkindness that is fast spreading amongst us be your sunrise.

Let the sun never set without you doing one thing for someone to show you care. Now I’m here and now that you’re here, this is my love song to you.

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Where the heart lies is not in its toes. Where the heart lies is not in its knees. Where the heart lies is not in its head but where the heart lies is in its heart.

The pumping rhythm it makes is a reminder of a lie; a lie I once heard, one too many.  A tale of love, true love and deceit; a tale that can make a grown man cry. And so I place my hand on my chest; an attempt to get closer to my heart, for with each thud comes an ache; an ache of love once promised.

I did try oh yes I did! I gave my all and all my best. Day and night I toiled and strived, to make you love me for me. Oh please don’t leave on this cold night, for I’m afraid of what lies ahead. Looming danger, I perceive but no his words he bent on it.

He took his jacket and headed out, out into the icy night. I did run after him, I tell you I did, as fast as my tiny legs could carry. His anger didn’t let him see, what true love I did have for him. And so he shoved me to the ground and took wider steps ahead.

Tis then I looked up and saw, the tree did fall a fall indeed. “Peter Okon”, I screamed but no my Peter was gone… I picked myself and ran to him “Peter please stay with me” but Peter turned an icy cold, with his cold stir at me. “I’m sorry Peter but I do love you” but Peter… Peter had passed away.

Did I kill Peter? I don’t think so for I feel sadness all around. Where the heart lies is grieve and pain; pain of a love unreturned. Where the heart lies is hurt and fear; fear of ever loving again.

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I’m stuck in the middle of the road, not that I have intentions of being knocked down by a car. I really want to walk away or run across but no, I simply can’t. No matter how hard I try, my feet refuses to move and so, I stand there hoping not to get knocked down.

I’m crushed on the inside, unloved and abandoned; no wonder I’m stuck at cross roads I’m not suicidal but maybe hallucinating of moments that the nose will cease to breathe and the heart will stop to pump.

I’m stuck in the middle of the road, not that I have intentions of being knocked down by a car. I stand there making wishes of things I long for; of things I want to change and the sacrifices I’ve made for others.

Why is human desire so consuming like a hungry bushfire ridding everything in its path. I once knew love but now I know pain; its sweet taste lingering in my mouth.

I’m crushed on the inside but I turn just in time to see the truck heading for me; the driver had lost control.  I closed my eye waiting for the moment when I’ll be free. Then, He grabs me out of nowhere and pushes me to safety; whispering in my ear: ‘I’m always here for you’.

I find warmth in His arms such calm and peace and joy.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU MY LOVE”. Tis then I smiled the smile I longed.

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20 years ago, I would never have imagined this. 15 years ago, I would never have written this. Six years now, I’m under my bed, rolled up in a ball, scared to death with a pen and a torn paper in my hand. Oh! How unpredictable life can be.

20 years ago, it was so easy being a baby and oblivious of the happenings around me. 15 years ago, it was so easy being a child and listening to tales my mother told me which I have no memory of and now assume I must have enjoyed. Six years now, fear grips me like a warrior whose king has been conquered.

It was hard when they went house by house forcing young boys to carry weapons and harder when they went home by home destroying families. Then, you could turn off your light and hide so if they break and enter, they find no one. Now, it is hardest because the bombs don’t need to know you. They are not humans thus, no feelings.

As I lie here, all I can remember are the last two lines of the national anthem: To build a nation where peace and justice shall reign. All I can remember are the friends I have lost, my sister who was raped and kidnapped, my 10 year old brother who fights against Nigeria, my father who was slaughtered like a cow, my mother who was blown up in the market while buying food stuff and my uncle who gives the go ahead for the destruction of mankind.

I may be raped, kidnapped or blown up today but I pray this torn paper gets across to you. You don’t live in my village and as such don’t know what we go through. Please pray for us, for the peace of Nigeria, for love for each other and tolerance amidst diversity; for we are stronger together.

My name is Rajia Ahmad and I am the last of my family.

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