A Tale for the Lonely

Dear Koko,

Can I call you Koko?

I have no other names springing into my head right now; well, none besides Koko. I wonder what it means.

Mo went to bed earlier tonight and I was left working on some freelance website, on my design portfolio. I’m trying my hand at freelance work; a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Money is not always easy to come by these days.

If you’re wondering what time it is, it’s 2:50 A.M.

I should be asleep especially because I have an appointment today by 1 P.M. I wish I didn’t have to go. But I have no option.

Koko, loneliness is a bad thing.

You have to deal with the feeling of being alone and being without someone to talk to. The people in the churches say you should talk to God. I try to do that, but sometimes, on some days, it doesn’t work. Like today.

I’ve lain in bed and gotten up a few times. I feel like I could just cry. But I won’t. It’s not always this way, the loneliness. I think it’s just more noticeable these days that I have someone I can talk to almost every time and want to talk to all the time. I guess loneliness is harder with love.

But let me tell you what I’ve been up to.

I worked on the a few monograms for D’ and then on the freelance website till the images for my last project would not upload to give a thumbnail. Then I had a cup of beef and tomato noodles after I tried to play some games on my phone and they wouldn’t keep away the sadness.

So, while I ate, I started reading The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. I read it once when I was much younger; I’d like to read it again now that I’m older and have more understanding. Might I add that I think I’m more critical now than I’ve ever been.

The book reading was going well and I climbed into bed after I was done eating my cup of noodles – I washed the cup packaging that came with it and hope to use it for some DIY project (I don’t know which one yet). But I felt alone again and headed back tot he kitchen for some bread and Nutella. The bread was soft and the Nutella spread was so nice with it. Mo is afraid I’ll get addicted to Nutella. I won’t.

Then I tried to drink water from a large bottle without a cup. The water rushed out and splashed onto the front of my hoodie and the side of the cupboard and the floor. And, somehow, that pesky cupboard opened on its own and I would have had to wake the entire house shutting it; it doesn’t shut easily -you practically have to slam it to get it to shut.

I mopped up the water and climbed back into bed. Mo’s perfume called me from the letter he left so lovingly beside my bed. The loneliness grew stronger as I picked it and sniffed at it.

Koko, it’s bearable. But I’d rather not bear it.

I feel lonely. And I don’t know what to do about it. But I should go to bed now.

I’m thinking about doing some reading before I fall asleep.

My eyes are heavy.

Good night, Koko.

Thank you for talking.


Dear C – this is goodbye

Dear C,

Mo and I had a conversation yesterday and you came up. And I remembered that I’d been trying to write a letter to you for over two weeks now.

The idea came to came to me some morning, late in October as I lay awake thinking that I had to do this. It’s long overdue and it’s been too long coming. But here it is.

This is goodbye.

I remember the first day I saw you on that side road in Victoria Island. You were as gorgeous then as you are now. You weren’t smiling; just walking down the road quietly, dressed impeccably as always – I suspect now that you were heading to the VRR. And I remember that I thought to myself that you were fine and then, “Who’s this one? I’m sure I’ll talk to him soon if he’s a member of staff”, and I went on my way to the white building on the left.

And true to my predictions, we were introduced by our darling mutual friend who thought we’d be good friends.

She was right. We hit it off almost immediately, clicking on an absolutely incredible level that scared me then and scares me now; how did it ever happen?  Mo and I were not an item then, but I know that in some way you reminded me of him; maybe that’s why we hit it off. But you can’t fake a connection, and we HAD a connection.

I digress.

I don’t think you’ve ever really spoken about it to me, maybe not to anyone, maybe not even to your friend who’s getting hitched to my namesake, about what happened.

You remember the attention I gave you that I got back pretty much equally? The afternoons we’d sneak out to have ‘forbidden’ conversations in the lobbies/reception areas? The days I’d senak up to your office door to hand you that extra yoghurt tub? The nights after work when we’d sit and talk about faith and truth and trust and life and love? The looks we’d get from those passing by? The pinches? The shoe kicks? The kicks? The laughter?

. . .

Do you remember?


I remember.

And I’d like to forget, because this is goodbye.

I remember our mutual friend getting hysterical when she found out that our faiths were different. I remember the annoyance I felt when she called me and asked to talk and pleaded with me to be okay. I remember telling her that I was okay. I remember that I wasn’t okay – I was hurt and devastated because like I remember I told you, we couldn’t work based on faith.

Maybe I shouldn’t have. But deception is a terrible thing and you’d have found out eventually.

You started to change. You no longer seemed to give your attention. You held back. A lot. You hid and disappeared and when we did see, we would ‘play’ but not without my looking at you questioningly, wondering where the C I knew had gone.

And I remember again, that night we went out together to find cake, and ended up getting ice-cream. You asked me to come because you needed my help, and I did – it was an opportunity to help, and to be with you. I remember that we walked the streets trying to find a cake place and when we finally found one, you wanted a hug but just danced around it, danced around me, till I thought I would just grab you and take the hug. It never happened and we just ended that night on a note so bad that Mo noticed when I got home that I was hurting.

Whatever! Mo and I were a thing by then. I had to be strong. And this IS a goodbye letter.

I’d just like to forget everything, and not remember how much I miss you, how much I wanted you to be my him because you were the one I could see, and because absence does not always make the heart grow fonder but sometimes just drags you towards another ember with whom you can glow. I remember how much I wanted you to be different, and how you may never be different.

But, this is goodbye.

And as I watch Mo sleep now, I remember why it’s him and not you and I’d like to say goodbye, not because you’re not a good person. Oh believe me, you’re one of the best people I know. And it reminds me how much I wanted to change for you, about how I’d dream at night and see myself dressed differently and know it was related to thoughts I had the previous day.

I dislike our mutual friend for ever introducing us, but only on that matter. I care about her dearly, and besides mistakes happen.

So, do I think of meeting you as a mistake? No, I don’t . . .

I question my motives for writing this letter. I feel like I want to remind you, make you remember what we ‘shared’, make you feel guilty for hurting me, for not talking, for not saying what I wanted you to say. It’s like I wanted you to say it so I could let you off gently and tell you that I was no longer available, and then I’d find peace and forget, get closure.

But it’s written and I can’t take the words back. I don’t want to.

It’s goodbye. You said once that you thought we’d be great together. I couldn’t agree more when you said it. But now, I have to disagree.

Thank you for being a good man, a great friend, a fun connection. Thank you for the laughs and the pizza and ice-cream and a good time. Thank you for the many pick-ups and drop-offs and the help. Thank you for being my friend and letting me share myself even for a short time. I appreciate you. And I’ll miss you.

Goodbye, C.

Have an amazing life.



It’s been too long

Hello world.

I’m here again; dusting cobwebs off this door, coughing at how heavy the dust is, the silence thick enough to slice through with a machete.

I’ve been on a bit of a hiatus, and I haven’t felt like a writer for so long.

Got a couple of nudges last month to try again (thank you Mofe, Deinma, Kunmi Owopetu, Randi Rogers), and I’m willing to start again.

I’ll share as much as I can about what had happened in the past 3 months without boring you, and share what’s happening now as succinctly as I can.

And of course, there will be stories to make you laugh, or cry, or think.



Hello world.

Glad to see you again.

It’s good to be home.

❤ ❤ ❤



It’s Wednesday night [yeah I know, right? very obvious], and I’m fighting sleep to stay awake and watch the introductory video for a class I’m running online. I could be watching it now, but I’m here writing to you, dear reader of my blog [ you had better applaud my beautiful, giving unselfishness 😛 ]

Anyway, remember how I told you I would get driving lessons done on Friday? Somebody? Anybody? *Simba in “Lion King line*

Well I did. And it was on Sunday. And I managed to drive over something that completely destroyed my instructor’s vehicle. The full details of the story???

Nah! I’m too tired. And besides you won’t be interested in hearing the fun story of how I drove and couldn’t figure for the life of me how to put a car in reverse and drive it backwards. Maybe it’s because the car is a stick, or maybe it’s because my left leg felt like it was stuck in limbo, or it could just be because I was not listening to how to put a car in reverse.

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I drove. And if you want the full details, I could take my precious time to give you the dets if you ask nicely.

And, so this rant is not a total waste, I will put up a post of something I did a while back. Its title is the title I put up there in the space for a title titled optional title *how many times can I really say title in one sentences right?* & *why does WordPress say the title is optional but won’t let you post it without a title?*. It’s a part of the LIW series, and today, I would appreciate comments and I would love to get some criticism on my writing style. This year, like I told my babies in church, I’m open to criticism. Please don’t let it hurt too much #bitingnails #apprehensive #anticipatingcomments #pleasepostacommentsomyblogcanseesomeactivitybeisdesmyposts #extremelylonghashtag #howdoyouspellhashtag

Anyways, do enjoy my rant.
Love y’all.



You know

You shouldn’t have

You could have resisted the urge

You could have said no to feeling

But you went ahead and told me that you liked me

And now I sit here

Wallowing in the pain of like lost

Holding back my tears

And all for what?

For a man who would rather stare than talk

Who would rather tell a friend than tell a love

Who has no heart save for himself

And has no soul but the one that knows fear

Let me put it to you this way

Let me take out the parables and just have my say

I had a life that I once called mine

I was content to let my heart flit and fly

Dance up the road to Calgary

Walk down the streets of Aberdeen

I couldn’t care less what they said

For I was deaf, I couldn’t have heard

Till one fine day, somewhere on the Niger coast

I caught a bug

And, I was toast

My once flitting heart got locked in a cage

That swore to have you in its embrace

And though many had tried in days long before

None had the allure to hold this heart secure

They lost hold one time and a million

Like oranges slipping out of loose scarves made of silk and chiffon

But you, grappling the hook and seizing the eye

Threw it in once, and got the set die

You tossed it around like a yo-yo on fritz

And held it at once without any flourish or ritz

It hurt like a bee sting on my burnt core

I’d never known anyone could be so false

And then, for your final disappearing act

You pushed with enough force to have me flat on my back

You ran stage right and made your exit

Leaving me with overwhelmingly more pain than I’d get from a punctured zit

And when the day was over and done

You looked through door holes like a man on the run

Hiding from the police that seek to grab you

But, hey, it’s alright; because you’re not the world’s first fool

For even if the yo-yo fell and my heart fell from its string

It’s hale and hearty, and you’re darn lucky that it didn’t get broken