Reader Response: I should not have married that man!

9 Comments

Hi guys,

Today’s post was received from a reader and she granted me full permission to use it. Please read and learn and if you can, share your advice.

Sometime this week, I shall follow up on a little piece of advice for her ( I will include readers’ comments too). I am no expert (AT ALL) but I read a lot and listen to old folks a lot so I have gathered and will still gather more information that I believe will assist in helping our reader.

I have amended the email a bit, mainly for typos and abbreviations, as it appeared sent in a hurry.

Have a lovely week ahead.

Temiville. xoxo

***88% unedited to maintain the integrity of the Reader’s Post***

Hi Temiville,

Welcome back to blogging *side eye*. Unlike another commenter mentioned, I wasn’t just about to remove you, I had completely stopped checking for your blogs. I thought you had abandoned blogging. Anyways, I have enjoyed your recent posts and congratulate you, again, on your son’s birth. May he outlive you and prosper in health and God’s grace.

To my story (I grant you permission to use EXCEPT my photo and name):

I got married to the wrong guy and I knew it, just like I am sure Onome knew it. But I went ahead so it was not a case of not being warned. My own case was not even cheating. It was just plain incompatibility. Like not respecting my cake and icing theory and not going for a man that we will blend well together. Even I knew that my husband and I were and are still not for each other but I went ahead having been told by many that fun, excitement in marriage and running around on the beach is best left for fairy tales… I therefore thought nothing of our lack of excitement: I am not an expressive person and my husband is even worse than I am. At least, I tell him I love him. He has NEVER and I mean NEVER EVER EVER EVER told me those three words.

I remember during my bridal shower, I was asked who said ‘I love you’ first and I just laughed and said “I did”. Little would the girls know that there was no confusion in that regard. This is just to emphasise the point that mine is a passionless marriage. He doesn’t hug me. We hardly kiss. We never hold hands. Sex is without ANY form of foreplay and all these got even worse after we had our second daughter. If I thought things were bad, now they are just plain laughable.

I have been dissatisfied for a while and blamed it on my weight gain. I was size 8 when we married in 2012. I’m now a size 12 but I believe I look alright (see my recent photos attached). I got so convinced I had lost my appeal and to ‘test’ it, I went to the City Mall near the Government House at Azikiwe Road in PH where we live. I went without my ring and was approached by a guy, after a few minutes. I confirmed, at least, that I am not bad like that even if no longer the ‘lepa’ I was back when we met and married. Even when we met, he would never say I look good or look bad. He was just bland. Like you once told people in your blog and I confirm, marriage changes no one. He stayed the very same. Slightly worse sef as then, I knew I was okay but now, with a jiggly lower belly and fatter thighs, a bit of encouragement would really help my self esteem.

I listened to this Myles Munroe preaching (see link below) where he advised women to quit complaining about an unromantic spouse and start organising dates and initiating stuff. So I got gingered and started. Maybe it was my method of execution, but I pretty much had a 40% success initially and now, we are back to where we started.

I remember one ‘date’ we went on. We hardly spoke, so much that the couple beside us kept throwing us glances as if to ask if we were dumb and all. It was only when the waiter took our orders that they confirmed that the cat hadn’t gotten our tongues. We have ZERO chemistry. I at least find him attractive though he lost the six pack he had when we met but with him, I must appear so ugly.

He always looks forward to going out with the boys (who interesting go with their wives sometimes o). His happiest times are when he has to travel out of Port Harcourt to consult somewhere (he was in a consulting firm that means he travels). I have once stumbled on an email excusing him from a trip since my birthday was so close and it also fell on a holiday and all he could do was respond that he is happy to go. I was hurt.

To cut the story short (lol), my marriage is boring and I have tried all sorts of things without much success. Now, I’m just preparing myself to hear he wants a divorce because there is just no way we both can carry on like this. I have seen him so excited and bubbly with friends and colleagues one minute then totally quiet and silent the next once we are alone.

I feel lost. I feel lonely. I feel helpless. I wish I didn’t marry him and save him also from the misery of being married to a woman he clearly has no feelings for. I know he’s doing his bit as a man of honour and will provide and right now, we are more like co-parents and housemates than friends and lovers.

My advice to single and even those in serious relationships is this: marry your friend. Not just a friend-your pally, your paddy, your homie, your buddy, your person. There’s nothing as bad as a rut in marriage and a marriage lacking companionship and excitement. It is tiring. I see my male colleagues at work checking up on their wives during the day, organising trips and weekends away, grabbing moments to text each other and laughing into their phones. Our chat history is a joke. Either its a question about picking up the children or about some other family administrative task, very mechanical. I have friends who go on holiday as a family and also as a couple and plan their leave together, not necessarily expensive, to Dubai, to Calabar to Ghana just to reignite the spark. He prefers being alone and going alone all the time. Our honeymoon was a joke. He stayed in the hotel room half the time, no! not doing the deed o but working, sleeping and watching golf (there was a major tournament that period), the only dinner we went on was just not it.

I know I’m not a naturally bubbly person. Neither do I have the perseverance to keep initiating with no measurable result. I know therefore that Im not contributing much to exciting marriage vibes. So why did I marry a man who doesn’t get moved or inspired by anything but his solitude, solo trips, solo life. Someone like me would have done well to marry a more lively person, someone who would keep the marriage bed alive and active. Someone more loving and caring not a wood who cannot be penetrated or moved. Someone I gel with. Someone who is my friend. Someone who would bring me out of my shell not drive me deeper into it.

In marriages like mine, the woman suffers more as she is the one expected to stay home to take care of things. She has the babies and gets fat. She may feel guilty going out often and leaving the kids and her husband. She will turn down opportunities to travel for work often and will rethink going on extended conferences and trainings. Yet, she will be undervalued and bitter. So save yourself the heartache and marry a true friend. One who genuinely can’t bear to see you hurting. One who lives to make you happy. One who loves you and is proud to let you know. One who loves and will let even his friends and yours know. The type who will respect days you designate as date nights not the one who will forget and call you childish for caring so much about a stupid dinner. The type who would hold your hands and hug you and tell you all will be well. The type who when you are ill will not say you are pretending but will drop stuff to attend to you. The one who would proritise you as you do him. If you don’t have at least 75% of this in your spouse to be, then I second the motion: Don’t marry that man!!!

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Pregnancy Chronicles 2: Where to birth!

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Hi people, I started sharing my pregnancy experience last week by opening up to you about my fears pre-conception and even my worries about my baby in utero. Today, I want to focus on the actual pregnancy itself and touch on the decision to birth our son in a foreign land and how S and I were on opposite ends of the spectrum on that. I discovered we were having a baby boy and I immediately started praying for him specifically.

I prayed about his health- I asked God to make him free of disease, whether genetic, congenital, acquired howsoever. I prayed about his character- I asked that his behaviour will be shaped by God himself, that he will be a man of character, that he will take on all of S and I’s good sides and none of our failures. I prayed that academically, he will outshine S and I (trust me, that’s a great prayer as his dad is a brainy, me too :p). I prayed that in school, he will not join gangs or cults. I prayed that he will remain a virgin till he marries (I don’t think S said ‘Amen’ to that!!!). I prayed that he won’t marry a destiny destroying woman. I prayed that his wife would submit and love him genuinely in the way God ordained it and that he will also submit to her and love her genuinely as Christ loved the Church (yes, the Bible advocates couples’ submission one to another. See Ephesians 5:21). I prayed that he will birth godly and healthy children. I prayed that, I have known his beginning, I will never know his end and that he and his children and his sibling and his/her children will bury S and I at a ripe old age. I prayed that he will fulfil destiny, make heaven and lead many to God.

As part of the desire to give our son the best, I suggested to S that we birth him in the United States and this was immediately met with strong resistance. “That is the colo/kolo-mentality that is not making Nigeria move ahead. If we put hands together to develop this country, there will be no need to birth abroad, study abroad, go for medical treatment abroad. I was birthed and bred in Nigeria and frankly I don’t think any Nigerian-American is better than I am or has more opportunities. Why should we gather our money to dash foreign hospitals who treat you like crap?” It went on and on and on.

I decided to quit harping on the issue and leave it to God. I told God, “I desire for this boy to have things I didn’t have. I want him to have open doors and whichever door he decides to go through is up to him through Your leading. HOWEVER, if it is not your will, let S remain adamant. If it is your will, let him change his mind WITHOUT any further pressure from me”. It turned out it was God’s will. 😀 The whole planning and execution was taken over by God Himself and all went smoothly.

To be continued… *** Today, and related to the above, I want to discuss how to handle opposition especially when you are certain that you are on the right path and your opinion is superior. Always remember: -You are probably wrong and your opinion is probably inferior; -You can’t achieve much through argument. At its best, your now ‘opponent’ brings forward strong points aimed at beating yours. At its worst, there’s a total shut down and you may be tempted to falsely believe you have won. In fact, then, you are the loser; -Let it go by thinking of what will happen if you don’t have your way. In my case, my baby would have been born in St Ives or Premier? Ehn ehn? Where was I born and how has holding a single nationality held me back? Where was my father born? Who is the American in my life that I’m looking up to as the beacon of light and exemplification of opportunities?

I began to prepare myself mentally for a resolute ‘no’ from S and I became fine with the decision. This helped me not to be so desperate in my attitude which would have irritated S and probably made him insist; and -Pray to God to take control. He knows the right way and be ready even where God’s answer is NO! A lot of couples fight their way through decision-making and end up losing sight of what is truly important.

Birthing abroad is not worth my marriage. Sending your child to a fancy 350,000 per month day care is not worth your marriage where your spouse disagrees. Not/having a honeymoon in the fanciest resort is not worth your marriage. Keeping up with the Joneses is sooo not worth your marriage. Interestingly, the art of joint decision-making starts on a large scale when a couple begins to plan their marriage/wedding.

Decisions around where to live, how many people to invite to the event, whether to have a photo booth, whether to engage an expensive decor company or use your fiancé’s aunty who does ‘decorations’ and all she has in her resume is decorating the church pulpit with a few drapes and balloons. The list is endless. You need to know what is very important to you and let others go.

Even with those “very important” things, your presentation is key. Being confrontational never works. Even where the other party budges, it is usually with bitterness and probably resentment and they feel bullied and helpless and hate that! This point is also apt in other areas of life where teamwork is at play be it deciding on a presentation in a team at work, deciding when to keep quiet in a presentation/client meeting and letting your colleague speak for the team, or even planning a baby/bridal shower for a dear friend. I have seen people literally bulldoze their way through decision-making in groups set up to plan showers. Baby Shower : Source Stated in link

Even if you are the mom to be or bride’s twin sister and best friend since fertilisation of the egg, you should not treat these tasks as though you are a commandant handling your subjects. When you notice people just keeping quiet and only you are doing the talking, then there is a problem and you have lost people who either are too fed up based on their previous experiences with similar dictatresses or just love their friend too much to be the one protesting because sure enough, you will report ‘difficult’ people to the bride/mom to be.

I have seen people being charged as much as 10/20k for showers with elaborate themes and ideas for a bride who is financially challenged and would have her sensibilities offended at such ‘wastage’. You need to know who you are planning stuff for and not forget it is not for you and be reasonable in all you do. I digress. This :

OR This:

I know that in every team, there MUST be a leader who when it comes down to it, their views PREVAIL. In marriage, it is the man (yes, throw banana peels at me). But always allow for differing opinions and invite them. They can either make you see the folly in your choice, improve on your views or reinforce your decision as being the right one. But never make it look like a dissenter is an enemy or a party pooper. If after attempts to be inclusive there is still no consensus, then and then only may you hit the gavel on the sound block.

So people, what are your thoughts on teamwork and decision making therein?

Should husbands’ views prevail? When he says no, do you go ahead against his will or sulk?

As a husband, would you put your foot down or allow views you don’t agree with fly?

As a team leader, do you believe in letting everyone have a say or does this lead to confusion?

Let’s muse! Temiville.xoxo

Don’t marry that man!

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It has been raining for over 40 minutes…Well not actual rain, yet not drizzles. Somewhere in between. Segilola lit a cigarette, what she considered to be her only vice since it was harming her health. She is a doctor and she knows what is good for her but she just would not do it. She took a slow, long drag and inhaled to the bottom of her lungs, held it there for about 6 seconds and then did a slow nose/mouth exhale. She loved the way it made her feel woozy, then dizzy. The sound of her phone ringing brought her out of her reverie.

“Hi dear”, she answered, attempting to sound cheerful.

It was Onome calling… Onome Makinde or was it Akindele, whatever, Onome was a pretty messed up girl and was her kinda ex-friend trying to make a come-back. Her story buttressed Segilola’s resolution never to get married. What exactly is the reason why people get married? What is the point of subjecting oneself to a lifetime of either boredom or regret. The thought of being with one person forever was one Segilola refused to even consider. The only way she would ever agree to marriage is if she finds a man who was okay with an open relationship. You can do your thing. I can do my thing. But please let us not pretend we are faithful to each other. It was not just about the sex, it was the thrill of meeting a new man, fronting for a bit or brazenly seducing him till he gave in. In marriage, all that is lost. You are with the same man, kissing the same lips, shagging the same man forever. She shuddered at the thought.

What irritated her most was the lies. Men lie. These days, the women are worse. Would it not be better if both parties laid their cards on the table: we marry but you can do you and I do me.

“Segi, please are you home?”, Onome asked sounding a bit shaken.

“Where are you and what is the problem?” she quipped, taking 3 quick drags. This time, she exhaled immediately, slightly upset at the disturbance.

She was in no mood to receive any guest or play host in any form. She just wanted to be alone, read a book, smoke her fags. It was either she lied that she was not home or she appeared liked a bad friend by telling Onome she was unable to see her. She frowned, waiting for Onome’s response.

“I am at home. Can I come to yours now? Are you at home?”, she sounded impatient with Segilola’s evasiveness.

“Yeah, I am. You can come but what is the issue?”

“It’s Jide”, she mumbled between sniffles.

“Hmm, okay. Take it easy. I’ll be expecting you”, she said as she threw on some knickers and yesterday’s clothes and dragged herself to the living room to wait for her guest.

***
sad-girl-cry

Source:http://www.gollyfolly.com

It was the exact story she expected to hear. Onome had snooped on Jide’s phone on Saturday and saw a text message from an unsaved number asking what the plan for that evening was. Refusing to accept it was a benign message, she promptly inputed the digits into her True Caller app and lo and behold it was a female name that showed up. At about 4 pm that same day, Jide had a second shower, got dressed to the nines, picked up his briefcase and the keys to his new car and announced that he was off to a business meeting.

With the information she had, she decided to probe. She asked him who he was meeting with and he responded that it was himself, Chinedu, his male colleague and a potential client, one Chief Eruwa. As soon he spoke those words, she confronted him angrily with her proof of a lie and announced that she was fully aware that he was meeting up with a girl whose name is …cant remember what she called her but she definitely mentioned the name to her husband.

Jide was half stunned, half angry and still proceeded to go out without saying a word. He didn’t come back home that Saturday and didn’t pick her calls either. Today, the next day, he showed up at 2pm still not saying a word. She screamed at him and in response, he slapped her and told her never to touch any of his phones or snoop on him again. Somewhere in their fight, he admitted seeing another woman who brings him peace unlike her. It was after that encounter that she picked up her phone to call Segilola.

***

Segilola soliloquised.

Onome has never been happy in her marriage. I am one of the few, if not only friend who told her not to marry Jide. I know, for a fact, that I am the only one who actually told her outrightly. The other two semi-bold girls had, at best, hinted at it. I damned the consequences against the warnings of mutual friends who said to leave her alone and pray for her that God will reveal to her that Jide is not the one for her. What is it with hypocritical Nigerians and prayer? You say to pray for a girl who is about to marry someone we all know is a loser and a cheat. How exactly is God to answer that prayer, pray tell?! To send Angel Gabriel to tell her in a dream not to marry him or to give her the strength to endure an unbearable marriage? Gosh!!!

In my opinion, my telling her was the answer to someone else’s prayers for her. 2 months to her wedding, I sat her down and as kindly as I could, told her right to her face that Jide does not have the ability to make her happy and in fact worst still, he would bring her misery. She screamed at me and promptly dropped me off her bridesmaids list. She refunded the N60,000 I had paid for bridesmaid’s dress, make up and accessories and sent me a text that she believes guests at a wedding should be those who wished the couple well not prophets/prophetesses of doom who believed their marriage will fail and in view of that, she would appreciate if I did not attend.

I was hurt. I was disappointed. I had thought Onome to be a pragmatic and reasonable person who can handle truths, however bitter. I was so wrong. Thankfully, my brother’s son chose that period to make an unexpected and early arrival into the world after 7 months gestation, so I spent that period by his wife’s bedside in faraway Medical Centre Arlington, Texas. That is the only way I was able to avoid too many questions as regards my non-attendance. She took me off her BBM as well but we have loads of mutual friends and Jide is a typical “Lagos bobo” so their engagement and wedding pictures were all over social media and my BBM updates as well. I saw the other bridesmaids looking resplendent in the fabric and style I had chosen. I’m glad she was not childish enough to change it.

Onome looked beautiful in both her traditional Urhobo and Yoruba attires. Everyone looked great but I was sick to my stomach when I saw updates from our friends saying things like “Happy Married Life to the most amazing couple”. “I know your marriage will be awesome”. Even Bisi, a bridesmaid, who the week before had told me Onome was making mistake, wrote a long epistle on her instagram page about how great they are together. Hypocrites!

Two months into their marriage, I bumped into Onome in Balogun market. She looked into my eyes and kept walking. I had neither the strength nor the inclination to go after her in the crazy busy market and anyone who knows me knows I’m too stubborn to apologise for a good deed of mine and I have no tolerance for bad behaviour so I hissed and carried on with my fabric shopping. Just 2 weeks after our Balogun market encounter, we met again, this time, at a spa. I met her there waiting her turn but I had pre-booked so as soon as I walked in, I was attended to and ushered into the room for my spa treatment. She looked upset but the receptionist was quick to tell her that walk-ins generally have less priority in comparison to those who had booked and paid beforehand. We never saw again at the spa but that night, she sent me a WhatsApp message saying it was nice to see me. I didn’t respond immediately and waited about 2 hours after reading and sent her a smiling smiley, the one with no teeth. She wasn’t worth the teeth.

The next day, she called and sensing my coldness, said she was coming to mine. I was tempted to tell her I was unavailable but concluded instead that she was not worth my lie. She showed up 10 minutes after and within a few minutes, opened up to me. She cried and cried, telling me I was right and that her marriage had been hell. According to her, two weeks after they returned from honeymoon at the Maldives, Jide resumed hanging out with the boys and clubbing. She didn’t think much of it until she saw a condom in his wallet. She asked him about it and he claimed his friend put it in there and that he was even more shocked than she was to see it. Thank God he uses condoms, I thought to myself.

I didn’t need all that explanation to be honest. I personally have caught Jide in compromising positions at the club many a Friday night. He was a cheat and didn’t even try hiding it. I don’t even know why Onome accepted his proposal. It takes a lady of little or no self esteem to think its okay to be married to such a man and cry when accepting the ring that should have been flung in his face! Up until the day he proposed (and possibly after), he was in serious relationships with at least 3 other girls, so serious that in the eye of external observers, any of his girls could have been proposed to. When he gave Onome that ring, it was as though she won the race because, trust me, there were other contenders. One of the other competitors is known to be a good girl, a young Ibo girl who was reputed to be a virgin but whose parents were both pastors, slightly tribalistic and just would not accept a Yoruba boy whose parents were both politicians, chiefs and non-church goers (what a lethal combo, they must have thought!). They just would not allow it. So Onome was the next best thing and she got the ring.

I gently patted Onome’s back as the tears rolled down. She had wept and sobbed and now was exhausted. The only advice I have is a divorce! Onome was just 28 and many people in happy marriages today had not even met their spouses at that age. Unfortunately, as crazy as I am, I wouldn’t even dare offer that advice. I decided to follow the crowd and speak those words I absolutely have no belief in: “pray and fast, he will change”. Those were the words she said even her mother had spoken to her. Her mother had reminded her of how she had suffered so much in her marriage too and that no one ever has a problem-free home. Her mother had said that all her friends who appear happy all the time in photos etc are pretenders whose true and unedited stories if she heard would make her thank her God that all Jide was doing was cheating and giving her the occasional slap.

If her own mother can advocate staying in agony who am I to suggest otherwise. Had they been in my kind of idea of marriage, no one would be hurt as there are no such expectations of fidelity. Her mother had agreed with her that they would not tell her dad but would commence on a seven day fasting and prayer session. She asked if I would join my faith with theirs. “No problem”, I responded fully aware that I would be breaking each day’s fast with my 9:30 am breakfast. No time!!!

***

These questions play around in my head:

+ Should you tell your female friend she is about to make a terrible decision by marrying a certain man or do you keep quiet hoping she will either find out through some other means or for her sake, the man will change?

+ As a woman, would you want to be told that your fiancé is a cheat just a few months to the wedding?

+ As a parent, all the vendors have been paid and IVs sent, but you discover your son in law to be is a philanderer. Would you pray it away or face the situation head on and advise your baby girl to move on?

Let’s muse!

Temiville.xoxo

Pregnancy Chronicles 1: How I got pregnant

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LOL! More like “Pregnancy Chronicles” not HOW it happened… *tongue out*

I got married in April and saw those twin lines on Sunday the 1st of June. I still remember exactly how I felt. Thank God, I’m not barren and will not have any problems conceiving. All of my teenage years were filled with trepidation over conception and birth. I was so frightened that I will have to be going from one Pastor to one Gynaecologist about getting pregnant as I had been surrounded with people who had struggled with this and the thought left me so numb with fear. I was also Team #GiveBirth9MonthsPostWedding and I confess that I wept when I saw my first post wedding period *covers face*. I won’t bore you with the details but I scared the hubs who must have been thinking, ‘what can of woman have I married o who’s bothered about not having conceived in 2 weeks of marriage. What will she do in 2 years?’

So yeah, what prompted me to do a test? The hubs noticed a cluster of pimples on my face and teased me about it. Well, I wasn’t finding anything pregnancy related funny so I proceeded to the closest MedPlus and got myself a test kit, read the instructions about 5 times then woke up bright and early the next morning to make sure the first day’s pee wouldn’t be diluted by water, pee-ed on the stick and said a prayer. TWO LINES!!! I repeated the test on the second morning because of false positives and voila!!! A confirmation!!!

IMG_2851

After being excited for a few minutes, paranoia set in: Will I be a good mom? Wait mom lohun lohun…will I miscarry? Will my child have defects and be sick as I had consumed some alcohol the week before? Will I have pregnancy ailments? Will I be fat and ugly with spots and swollen feet? Will my child be okay in there? I couldn’t believe how I became so obsessed with everything and so worried. I couldn’t accept the good news and be happy. I kept reminding myself that anything can go wrong so keep calm and take care of your child.

I ended up having a relatively easy pregnancy but it didn’t start easy. I remember my poor driver having to park on Third Mainland Bridge whilst I proceeded to empty the contents of my insides on the tarred road. I remembered how my colleagues nicknamed me Tsunami because mo man sun gan (I slept a lot), I remember how I would bleed for no reason and was convinced I had hurt my baby. I remember being diagnosed with fibroid and googling fibroids in pregnancy and being worried the growth will squash my baby. I remembered all the people I know who had died in childbirth and was worried praying hard that my baby will not call another woman mother. I remember my first naughty sip of coffee and how my baby kicked so hard after and was convinced that I had made him high on caffeine. So many fears.

All through, my hubs, S, kept me grounded. “Temi, where is your faith?”, he once asked. “You will pray and pray yet worry and worry. Is that not a sign that you truly don’t believe in God’s ability to take care of you?” Those words bore into my core and I decided to trust God and let Him take care of both myself and our child.

Little Peanut

Little Peanut

S wanted a a little cute girl. I was indifferent. I just wanted a healthy child but I sure was happy when I discovered: It’s a boy!!!

It's a boy!

It’s a boy!

To be continued…

Related to my Pregnancy Chronicles is this Question: Why do (Most) Nigerian women keep their pregnancy low key? In my defence, I still went for many weddings and parties and hung out a lot with my big belly. My Instagram pictures (@temiville) were never all bump though and only those with a gift for identifying even a week pregnancy could tell. Some people believe it is fear that people (aye) will hurt their baby. For me, I just didn’t see the need really. Amidst battling with severe morning (make that ALL FREAKING DAY) sickness, I just hardly had any post worthy photos. I did put these one up once though:

6 months gone

6 months gone

I saw this hilarious yet true post once and couldn’t help but chuckle at how much I can relate.

wpid-screenshot_2015-05-12-10-36-071-e1431596424680-272x300

Before I got pregnant, I remember asking a pregnant friend excitedly “when are you due?” I got daggers in her stare for an answer. Other questions that engender paranoia in preggies in Nigeria include: “is it a boy or a girl”? I have once gotten “It’s a healthy child” LOL! I hated my belly being rubbed though but not for spiritual reasons. I just hated the feeling but I once invited a few colleagues to feel for kicks.

For me, at work, as a newly married lady, I started getting the knowing glances way before I conceived. Every sneeze, cough or (heaven forbid) menstrual pain earned me the “congratulatory look”. LOL! I tried to keep it coded for the first 12 weeks just in case my earlier described fear materialised. I really didn’t wanna hear any “peles”.

One lesson I have learned is to stay grateful for everything and trust God who has begun a good thing to see it through to completion.

Ice Ice Baby!!!

Ice Ice Baby!!!

Gender

Pregnant woman showing off her belly with her unborn son

Pregnant woman showing off her belly with her unborn son

So what your views guys? Would you announce your pregnancy? Would you announce your baby’s sex or would you wait till you have the baby and write “Welcome Princess/Prince”? Do you get irked by those who are clearly pregnant yet hide it or worst still outrightly lie when you ask or send you a 🙂 smiley? I remember one of my very good friends whose bridesmaid I was who outrightly denied being pregnant when I asked yet 4 months after announced: Thank you Jesus for our beautiful son. Welcome to the world!

Looking forward to reading your views…

Temiville.xoxo

The Cake or the Icing…

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Hi people!!!

How are you? There is so so much to report and I shall do so in the following weeks. You will find a little update in the last paragraph!!!

Now to the day’s post: I have found myself in a position where people feel the need to ask me for advice on relationships and marriage. Im no expert but I read a lot and this informs a lot of my views and actions. I have also learned so much in my year of marriage that I feel like I am right on this one. There are two major points that I must make:

1. Always choose the cake over the icing; and
2. One man’s cake is another’s icing.

Folafunmi is my 27 year old cousin who reached a relationship crossroads last month. She called me and after a 15 minute long explanation, she ends with: Sister Temi, what do I do? Who do I pick? She has two young men on her case. The one is a fine gentleman with a great job that keeps him ALWAYS busy. From her description, they get to meet up for lunch or dinner twice a month. He hardly ever calls and has gone 3 days with no communication only for him to return her call finally and say “I have been so busy”. The other has an okay job that keeps him semi busy from 9 to 4. He has a lot of time on him hands and he spends that time calling her, texting her and trying to meet up constantly. He is not as serious as the former and goes partying, clubbing, weddinging (yes, I coined that) all the time.

Folafunmi’s story exemplifies what many go through in various forms. In cases like these, I feel the matter boils down to what you want as a woman/man. You need to know yourself and the things that make you happy and you need to respect what and who you are. If you are mushy type, you have NO business being with someone who cannot say I love you and who genuinely doesn’t see the utility in calling, checking up etc.

For me, stability, dependability, integrity, character, godliness, maturity and prospect are my cake. The lovey dovey is the icing which can over time be taught/learned till a compromise is reached and frankly, and icing-less cake is fine by me. Not every woman shares my sentiments. I have friends who must be wined and dined for them to feel loved. I have a friend who cherishes love notes and I have concluded that her husband had better be a wordsmith. I know of another who is satisfied with a loaded card even if her man hardly comes home. We have no right to judge and each person should be free to select as they require.

What leads to disappointment in marriage is picking a partner who only brings the icing to the table. Marrying a lady who dresses like Jessica from Suits to work and like Beyonce to parties is usually a nice icing. But I am not sure many a man will consider that the cake. Unfortunately, some will get so blown away by the sexiness and select based on that whilst the cake is sadly absent- no substance, no morals, disrespectful and entitled.

In my opinion, as I was quick to tell her, Folafunmi has not yet met The One because I don’t feel her needs will be understood by either option she presented to me. What I recommended to her is the following:

1. Pray to God to reveal your true self to you.
2. You need to know what vacuum you have and what is required to fill that i.e. your weaknesses. You also need to know the good stuff you are high in supply of i.e. your strengths.
3. You need to know what you really truly like and what you cannot stand or handle and once you discover these, you must respect yourself enough to choose a partner who does not exemplify everything you loathe about life. You are all for women empowerment, what on earth are you doing with a man who believes he is marrying so that his wife can take care of his needs…

Once you break your needs into the ‘major’ and the ‘minor’ i.e. the cake and the icing, you will enjoy a choice made from a focus on the cake/major and less consideration given to the minor. I considered height a major (yes, stone me!) and as silly as that sounded to most people, I didn’t compromise in that regard. I’m 5′ 9.5″ and I love high heels and I love to be able to look up at my man. I wrote about it once here and also here . So there was just no marrying a short man for me.

I hope this post has enlightened someone and reminded another about the important things in life. No one should put himself/herself through the torture of enduring a marriage. It is not worth it at all. You will suffer and also the partner you compromise for will suffer because no matter how hard you try to stifle your needs, they will show up and lead to bitterness and resentment. Conversely, when a person tells you things about themselves that do not align with your own cake, respect them and their wishes and keep walking. No use forcing a person into becoming your cake when they really have not very much in common with you.

***

It’s absolutely amazing to be back blogging. Its been too long and I’m not gonna make any more excuses (Please if you know a website developer, send their email as a comment. Thank you). New facts since I was here last:

6 months pregnant

6 months pregnant

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9 months pregnant

9 months pregnant

9.5 months. Same outfit

9.5 months. Same outfit


-I am a mommy now to the most adorable little human
-Pregnancy is 10 months not 9 lol!
-Pregnancy, labour and delivery were not a walk in the park. Hugs for mothers
-I returned to work when my son was 10 weeks
-I work in the most AMAZING organisation with the most mother friendly policies EVER as I leave work at 2 and can carry on working from home
-Exclusive breastfeeding is not for the feeble hearted.
-My pieces will revolve a lot around my pregnancy days, mommyhood and being a young wife and mom (balancing the duties when your son seems to take over your existence)
-Banishing fear and letting others take care of him whilst I am away
-Losing the baby weight
-Getting my career back with a vengeance and staying relevant at work

Thanks to all who keep checking on me! I am back! God bless you.

Temiville.xoxo

For the sake of ‘Peace’- Parts 2 and 3

20 Comments

Hi guys,

Howdy? Hope you’re all well. Job hunting is going good and I’m really excited that something great is around the corner in Jesus’ name! Thank you for all your kind words. God bless you all.x

Here are Parts 2  and 3 of For the sake of Peace. I have had people call my phone asking me to publish the second part. It took a while because I thought it best to publish two parts at once to compensate for the delay. I honestly hope we learn a thing or two from this. It is lengthier than the first one as much of the story unfolds here.

My good friend put this on her status a few days ago, ‘Better to be single and happy than married and miserable’. Ladies (and gentlemen), please keep that in mind whenever you feel a tinge of envy or pain that all your friends are getting married or engaged and you are all alone. Marriage is too important to be messed with or entered into without caution. Get excited, not for that one day, but for the future ahead, the real deal, the Marriage.

Another good friend, Ufoma (CEO, Rubies n Emerald, an event planning company) told me a great wedding can take up to a year planning. That is a 6-10 hour event. How much more should we take in planning a marriage, which we pray will last forever. Go figure!

Please read and learn.

Love lots,

Temiville.xoxo

Marrying you, Dipo was a mistake I knowingly made. It’s like a young girl letting that boy run his hands down her blouse. As his fingers descend, she knows it’s wrong, she knows she should stop him but she lets him go on anyway; not because of any pleasure she feels but because she just wants to go ahead. Now I know it to be self destruct. Oladipo Richard Adeyele, marrying you was an exercise in self destruction.

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Surprisingly, the first 6 months as Mrs. Oladipo R. Adeyele were blissful. I changed my display name to that and our perfect wedding photo was constantly my DP. I felt bliss. Thinking back now, I felt that way because I had no expectations whatsoever. Wrong! I had expectations alright. I expected you to start cheating within the first month. Darn, I even knew one of your exes who had the nerve to show up at our wedding in the tightest, boob baring bandage dress I have ever seen, grinding with one of the groomsmen whilst you, my husband looked on, mesmerized then jealous by her show of shame.

Dipo, you surprised me. You see, dear readers, Dipo was not a great or loving man but he let me be. He would eat whatever I served and say a polite thanks. He would text me ‘I’m running late’ if he would be home after 9pm. He would compliment my homemaking efforts before his friends and family. He would gobble down my ogbono experiment which recipe I got from the Facebook page- So you think you can cook. The sex with him was mechanical, efficient, machine like, ritualistic- kiss, fondle, sex – in that order- nothing like I’d hoped but it was okay and at least, got me pregnant in the 10th month of our marriage.

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My dream had come true! Finally, he would pet me, cuddle me or at least cuddle my bump. I had finally gotten the glue to bind us in love. I was already 3 months pregnant before noticing. I was one of those medical mysteries because I still saw my period during the first 2 months of my pregnancy so though I had gained a bit of weight, I had attributed it to my many trips to Ice-cream Factory. I was slower and easily tired,  but I zeroed my mind that it could never be down to pregnancy. It was my mother in law who practically forced me to get tested. I called Dipo so excitedly as I left the clinic. Oladipo, you were so excited! You screamed. I’d never been the source of so much joy from you and I was so proud of myself. I grinned from ear to ear like a Chesire cat as I drove back to work.

One day, at 4 months gone, you snapped at me as I got ready to go to your office dinner, ‘can you not find something else to wear?! Your folds are all over the place, Sade in my office is 7 months pregnant and rolls are not hanging everywhere, do something about it woman, I don’t do obesity!’  I didn’t know that tears had started rolling down until I tasted the saltiness. Everyone else had said I was looking fit and great in pregnancy. They said I glowed. But I only believed your words. As I grew bigger, I’d get changed in the bathroom before coming out. I’d wear Body Magic. I didn’t want you to see the ‘rolls and folds’.

Nkechi, my friend was also pregnant and spoke of still having sex with her husband and still being just as desirable to him. She made me blush at her tales of their escapades in and out of bed. Dipo, you and I had stopped engaging in anything remotely related to lovemaking at 4 and a half months into my pregnancy. I felt ugly, disgusting, fat. And so I started using slimming products. I looked for the most drastic in result I could find. I read the instructions carefully and there it was- a healthy, herbal, natural slimming aid. It must be safe, I thought to myself. Within the first 2 weeks, I lost weight enough for you, Dipo, to notice and comment on. I was giddy with joy. Yay! I’d be just like Victoria Beckham and look so slim immediately after child birth. I decided to increase the dosage and it worked. The folds reduced, my thighs had that gap between them, my neck had a hollow. I only had vegetables, fruit and the shake that came with the slimming package. After a month of using, in my 6th month, we had sex, at your instance. I was looking great. That night, I gained your attention. That night, I lost our son.

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You wept on the hospital floor. I was numb. The doctor, an elderly family friend, was merciless. I thought it was unprofessional to outrightly blame a woman for her own miscarriage. The doctor threw professionalism to the wind and blamed me for not eating right. My weight was not commensurate with how far along I was given my last statistics when I saw her. I weighed less than I did 3 months before and only had a bump and not as much body to show for my pregnancy. I dared not confess that I was also on drugs to stay slim. She probably would have slapped me there and then. Rightly too. I wanted to kick myself.

On our drive home, you were quiet. I tried to play the victim and would periodically hold on to my belly as though in pain just to get you to touch me and comfort me. Darn! I was the one who had lost her child. But you were having none of it and all you said was, ‘if you need to see the doctor, lemme turn back’. I knew I had lost the battle.

3 months after the miscarriage, on the exact day our son would have turned one week old, I saw the first sign of your infidelity. You received a call, smiled when you saw who was calling and walked out to receive it. You were on the phone for 45 minutes, laughing intermittently.  I knew I was in trouble.

You came back to the house, went straight to our room, had a second bath and got dressed in your best casual native attire, your newest sandals and perfume, took the keys to the new car and mumbled, ‘I’m going out and don’t keep the keys in the lock ’cause I’ll let myself in’. I knew it was over.

I waited for you. My favorite show was on but all I saw were the blurry figures on the screen through my tears. I had finished a whole bottle of white wine. I turn to alcohol when sad. That night, I was worse than sad, I was depressed. It was as though I was waiting for the inevitable sentence of death on my marriage. At 1:15am, you walked in. You were sober and looked happy until you saw me. I brought your straight face out. As much as I wanted and was almost physically itching to, I dared not ask where you had been for two reasons: 1. Early on in our relationship, you had warned me never to inquire as to your whereabouts unless you willingly offered an explanation. 2. I was scared you would be honest and tell me where exactly you had been and the answer would break me. I’d rather not know for sure. So through my post drunken state, I said, ‘welcome, should I bring your food?’.

There was no food but I just wanted to act normal and I was certain you would say no. To my shock, you said yes and proceeded to change the station to watch the replay of your favorite teams’ match screaming at each goal, missed or scored. That confirmed one thing- you had spent the evening and night with someone who didn’t care for football and you sacrificed such a big match for them. You were certainly not with one of the boys, certainly not. I was able to whip up something for you, quickly enough for you not to suspect I’d just started cooking it. You ate it, totally fixated on the tv screen, totally ignoring me. Quietly, I walked to the room and slept off. The time was 2:46 am.

Living a lie is hard. You know your man is cheating, you might even have finally put a face on the bitch’s name. But there you are, playing the dutiful wife. In your mind, it’s better to be an innocent victim, a cheated-on Mrs than have an openly failed marriage. You forget that in both situations, the marriage has failed openly.

sad girl

Dipo got bolder and bolder. He would stay away for weekends claiming he was away on business trips to Abuja, Ibadan, Akure, Kaduna. He forgot who I am. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. I am a master sleuth, always have been, always will be. I know everything or can at least find out. In Uni, I’d help my girlfriends find out if their men were cheating by just listening to the stories they tell. I knew which boyfriend was outrightly cheating and which was just bored.

Dipo forgot that we put a tracking device on all our 3 cars and with a click, I’d know exactly where the car was located. Through the tracker, I discovered that his mistress was living in Akute, in the outskirts of Lagos. I found out that he would leave his work at 5pm everyday, pick her up and head to hers together. I’m not sure if he would drive behind her or actually pick her up but he was a man of routine and he stuck to this pattern during the week. On Fridays, the car was usually around the Island till 11/12pm before making the journey to Akute where he would sleep. These days, it was on the Island till Saturday which means they thought better of driving in the dangers of the night and just decided to stay in a hotel. Unfailingly, by 12 noon on Saturday, the car would make the journey to Akute. The check out time for most hotels is 12 noon.

My first reaction to Dipo’s cheating was pain, then sadness, then anger. I wished he had a string of girlfriends. That way, I was assured he gave his heart to no one else. But with just one person in his life, it was clear he was in love with her. That was the main problem. It is easier to salvage a marriage where a party gives just their body away. It is very hard where the heart has also been taken away.

My second main reaction was to seek revenge. I called up an ex boyfriend of mine, ‘just to check up’. I even agreed to meet up with him, ready to give in if he made the move. I thought to myself that if I slept with someone too, we would be even and I wouldn’t feel this much hurt and pain. Thank God it was Seun I chose. I had dated Seun in Year 1 in LASU. We broke up and then had a moment during our Masters year. He was eager to rekindle our love and wasn’t detracted by the fact that I had met someone else. His reasoning was that since I wasn’t married, then I could move on. He’d travel from Dundee to Leicester on the Megabus just to see me and hand-deliver now wilting flowers to me. It was exhilarating but I was strong and in order not to succumb, I stopped picking his calls or responding to his messages.

It was hard at first. Those who had met him the two times he came visiting loved his pleasant and fun nature. He once lifted me up in the city centre much to the delight of my friends and the disapproving looks of some stuck up British people. You see, it was so easy to like Seun. For my friends, they preferred him to the so called boyfriend they had never seen and hardly saw me speak to on the phone simply because he made an effort. Whenever Dipo came to the UK, I’d have to leave school and go to wherever he was. He never ever stepped into Leicester. I always defended him by saying since he had come all the way from Nigeria, the least I could do was to get my butt off to London.

I was Suzy the Seductress the day Seun and I met up but Seun had become born again and was now a Pastor, well not really a Pastor but a counsellor in his church. I guess the Holy Spirit does reveal stuff because he saw through it all. ‘Gbekeleoluwa, why are you doing this?’, he asked as I flirtatiously flicked my Peruvian hair away from my eyes.

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Earlier that day, I had tracked Dipo’s car. It was on its way to Akute and had just gone past Ojodu-Berger. I reminisced on how Dipo would complain and complain about the distance whenever I suggested that we visit my parents in Okota. The very same man was now making daily trips to Akute which is pretty much in Ogun state! That was what sealed my resolve to commit attempted cheating. I wore my hottest skinny jeans, a sheer top and my only Louboutins (yeah, I once caught Dipo admiring a girl in Loubs and thought to invest in the N100,000 red soles and nope, he never for once noticed them!). I applied my make up like I was going for a modeling competition, each lid was well mascara-ed, brows shapened and well highlighted, lips as red as scarlet, cheeks tinted with blush. I was well made up yet it was subtle and classy. I admired myself as I got into my car. I took a few selfies and uploaded one on my DP with a message that read, ” Off to have fun *wide grin* *dancing smiley* ” hoping to God Dipo would notice and ask where I was off to. Lord knows any form of love from him right then would have stopped me. Within 10 minutes of the drive from our Nicon Towers home to the restaurant off Bourdillon, I had received 11 BBMs, some admiring me, others asking where was off to. None was from Dipo.

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Like I said, Seun saw through it all and refused to encourage or participate in my decision to commit adultery. He paid for the food and told me that for the sake of God and his love for Him, he had to leave. In his words, ‘Gbeke, I’m literally pulling a Joseph here. It’s either I flee now or I fall. I will be praying for you. Your home will be healed and you will laugh again. Don’t call on any man, call on Jesus. All things are possible’. He got up and walked away. There I was with more food than I could consume. I had no a appetite either. I watched as the waiter counted the 18 notes of N1000 asking if all is well. ‘Yes, I’m fine’ I replied. Another date gone bad, he must have thought. Little did he know. I took my bag and walked into my car, turned on the ignition and the AC. Using the Johnson baby wipes that is always in my car, I wiped off every trace of make up from off my face and drove home.

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Today, as I write, I place a curse on everyone, who, knowing full well that a person is married, assists in any way, shape, form, manner, however grand or minute, in defiling the marriage bed and causing them to break their vows. May it never be well with them. May they suffer irreparable loss. May they ask and never receive. May they seek and not find. May they knock and may the door remain firmly shut against them. May their children suffer heartbreak. May the disease of the Egyptians fall on them. May the curses of Deuteronomy 28 from verse 15 to 68 be theirs. I also extend this prayer to everyone aiding and abetting them, to their friends who encourage or even condone such acts, who call you and another woman too ‘our wife’, like Dipo’s friend, Sanmi who hooked him up with his mistress. Sanmi, may you look for peace in your home and not find it. Sanmi, I pray that one day, you will find out that your 2 lovely boys belong to your driver and gateman respectively. Sanmi, as you have put asunder, may God close His ears to your cries and cover His eyes to your pains. Amen.

 *

Nkechi came visiting yesterday. I told her everything. Things I have not been able to voice out, even to myself. I spoke it all. She cried and then prayed with me and invited me to her church. Oh, did I mention that going to church has become a drag? Seeing couples holding hands in prayer of agreement and dancing together, laughing etc just makes me remember the void in my life then sickens me to my stomach. So gradually, I stopped going.

I have now decided to go along with her to her Church to pray for a change. I’m not going to hold my breath but I will try and believe that change will come. I will try to resurrect my dead marriage. I will try to bring back the love. I will return to God and ask that He saves me. I’m only 29 and already going through marital turmoil. It really is not a walk in the park.

I have taken time to report the situation because I was scared of baring it all. But I now know I have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. I tried my best for my home. I did all in the books. I tried to be sexy for my man. By the way, I’m now a size 8 up and 10 down. I would cook and cook and do all I could. Today, it was lasagne, tomorrow it would be ofada rice and stew? Dinner was going to stay fun and unpredictable, I had vowed. On Sundays and Saturdays, it would be the full English breakfast or ‘akara’ made to perfection or the pancakes in the Roman fashion that Fadeke taught me. I was a perfect Hannah the Homemaker and Catherine the Cook. I was also Sasha the sexy fierce vixen in bed, contorting myself till my neck almost snapped. I did absolutely everything, I did all. All but one. I married the wrong man. I was using the right techniques on the wrong product. I went against all I knew was right. I married someone who valued neither my presence nor my absence. I didn’t marry my friend. I didn’t let God choose, I chose and forced Him to approve. I saw the signs before marriage and went ahead. Even after the marriage, I ‘worked’ at it, I never prayed about it. I thought I could make Dipo love me by the things I did. It never works. It’s never in you to make a person love you, never. I’m sure we ladies all have instances of that ‘pest’ who liked us no matter how much we insulted and ignored him. That just goes to show that love is not earned.

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I have been listening to sermons on restoration. If all these happened during the courtship, I’d have left the relationship, but I am married now. So from all the counsel I have received, I now know God will have to turn my mess around. Marrying Dipo might not have been His perfect will. It might have been His permissive will but I am married and because God hates divorce (see Malachi 2:16), I will do what I can to invite Him into my home to fix my mess.

*

Watch out for the Part 4 and how things end…

Help! I can’t afford her!

17 Comments

I knew what I was getting myself into from the very beginning. I mean, dating Kikelomo, a girl whose mom drives a modest 2000 Camry and dad drives a ‘Baby boy’ yet are happy to buy their daughter a 2013 Camry complete with a driver that was to take her everywhere. Kikelomo was spoilt silly by her parents. They gave her everything and when I say everything, I mean that literally. They’d sacrifice their own pleasures just to make sure she lacked nothing. She is an only child of older parents. Some parents of their ages have her as their last child of 5 kids. She is 26 and her parents are 69 and 65. They had after many years of praying, fasting and waiting and they made it clear to God, the world and to Kikelomo herself that they were extremely grateful to have her.

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I first met Kikelomo in my final year of University. I was on a full Shell Scholarship to study Engineering and she was in her Foundation year. She was very popular as she was extremely friendly, attended events, got photographed everywhere, had loads of friends and even more toasters. When she finally started University, she became even more popular. We all thought she was some coded oil magnate’s daughter.

She bought a car as soon as she resumed school as a proper undergraduate. For anyone who understands how the UK works, you’d know owning a car is a total luxury, especially for a student in a campus university. This was not the US or Nigeria where cars are kind of needed. She was also popular for going home (Nigeria) at the slightest break we were given which most people will just spend in London. There were times she’d go for very short periods for a friend’s party or a relative’s event. I remember once we didn’t see her in Church on a Sunday and next thing, I heard she travelled on Friday morning and was expected that Sunday night. She had gone for her aunt’s 60th birthday party. She lived it up in school back then, majorly.

When we eventually started talking, I was expecting a stuck up, proud girl and I was shocked. Kikelomo deceived everyone o. She’s the total opposite of the facade and is quick to tell anyone that is bold enough to ask that she is not a rich girl but a daughter of people with an overprotective heart, who went out of their way to ensure she had everything they would have given 5 sons. Her parents lived for her and gave her everything she asked for and even those she forgot to mention.

I went to hers and saw that they, indeed live a modest life. However, they spared no expense for their daughter and now that she is getting married, hmm, my folks are tired! At first, it was cute, but now, it is getting alarming. Let me give you guys a quick overview of our joint expenses. Oh by the way, they were quick to offer to pay it all if we are uncomfortable with it and that ticked my proud Ondo dad off. Her dad is Ondo too so it was quite something. Anyways, here goes:

Dress: 450k

Ring: Undecided but Kike showed me one she liked on Tiffany website. Me, I look at price before ‘liking’ anything. Kikelomo looks at the thing, likes it and convinces you to get it. I almost wee-ed in my pants when I saw the price. I mean, was it made from the golden calf? That was almost my entire salary for half the year and I have a good job!

Venue: I see absolutely nothing wrong with all these small, cute, venues around town that can seat 200 guests with the maximum price of 750k which I think is ridiculous but doable. Who are we inviting na? Kikelomo and her co-conspirators have picked about 4 options and the cheapest one (which Kike said she would ‘hate to use’ cost 1.1M)

Number of guests: As I said earlier, I think 100 from each side is ideal with allowance of another 100 mogbo moyas making it 300. Kikelomo says her friends alone are about 100! They are planning for 800 guests!

Photographer: Why should we be having a wedding in Nigeria and fly to Jand to do pre-wedding shoots and then fly our photographer, who lives in England, to Nigeria, accommodate him in a 4 star hotel for 2 nights and still pay him a huge sum?!

Entertainment: My mom goes to RCCG and she says their choir is really good. She is a deacon there and can arrange for them to sing songs at the Engagement and Wedding Reception at no cost and we can also get a reasonably priced DJ. Kikelomo has her list of songs that must be played and has one DJ in Festac that she trusts. His price is about 50k more than the one I know but I didn’t mind because I too know of that DJ’s skills. What killed me is that her dad intends to get KSA for the Engagement and trying to organise Wizkid or Iyanya for Wedding! Where’s The Fish! Those guys are bloody expensive and please, guys, answer me honestly, won’t the DJ do a better job of playing their music than they being there themselves panting and lip synching?

MC: I have this funny friend who MCs for a living. He was once popular and you guys may know him sef : Azadus. I met him at Rodizzio in GRA where he is every Saturday at the Freedom Hall Live Band thingy. Kikelomo no gree o. Her mom knows Sonny Irabor and believes he will bring more class to the event. Sonny Irabor charges like a boss that he is!

Decorator: Let’s not even go there. Is it not just balloons and ribbons? How do ballons and ribbons get to 750k?

Cake: Cakes by Tosan. Google the price

The most ridiculous to me so far is the Wedding Planner. Is this Yankee? Why can’t some of her NUMEROUS friends help her plan? Why do we have to pay someone to help us pay vendors? I’m confused.

So while all these are like jokes and all, truth is, I’m getting really fed up. For parents who have never married off a child, they know too much about wedding planning and it is clear they must have been planning their only child’s wedding since she was conceived and they found out they’d be having a girl. I’m not from a poor home, no. But I have younger ones and aside of that, I see no reason spending so much on ONE day! What about other things? More important other things? More lasting other things?

I get their excitement but I need to value my own parents too and this is getting really exhausting for them.  I know it’s a girl’s wedding but Im beginning to think maybe I really cannot afford her. I’ve not even given you guys the little expenses here and there such as fresh flowers, Louboutin shoes with our initials on the red soles, her insistence that I get a suit from Saville Row instead of from the tailor who makes lovely suits for my clolleages and I at work. The list is endless!

What exactly would you do???

Fed up Freddy

***

Hi people!!!

What’s going on? It’s just 12 noon and I have already been hit by 2 vehicles, one of which was a trailer. I was just fed up. When I spoke to my brothers about it, they asked me why I didn’t get down and take his details. I was too fed up to do that. I ordinarily would get down and rant and rave but today, I just let it go. I have purposed in my heart that my joy is unstealable. When I finally arrived at my destination, the security guard helped me hit the dent out and used engine oil to clean the scrapes so now it looks much better. I’ll find a panel beater later on.

So what do you guys think about Fed up Freddy’s post? Is he being a cheapskate or is Kike’s family being ridiculous? Share your thoughts people. How is it possible to have a fun, classy event without going broke…

That’s all folks!

Temiville.xoxo

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