Natural hair ain’t shit


My hair has been natural for the past three years. it has been three years coloured by long periods of hating the hair for tangling into itself, forming knots and just been a basic nuisance and short little periods of actually liking the afro look.

Natural hair, like every other hair, looks pretty. That is all. It doesnt prove you love yoursef the way God made you, doesnt prove you love you for you, doesn’t prove you are celebrating your natural state… doesn’t prove anything. It. Is. Just. Hair.

     I went to the bank some months back and i was on said afro. I met this bank attendant who gushed on and on about how much he loved natural hair and celebrating natural beauty and how he loves girls that embrace their “natural state” and then went on with how girls that use make up are vain and lack confidence in their selves. and i was like..
Hold it.
Hair is just hair, it is not a dictation in self confidence and the art of living. and that i did have make up on?
I had mainly foundation on, so it wasn’t obvious. This was after i burnt my face, and there were very few places i went to without makeup for a while . Makeup was my superman that period. The banker guy, though cute, needed some enlightenment from been so myopic and I schooled him that day. It’s annoying enough when girls say it, but guys who donno anything about it now add their thoughts like they know what’s up?
Getting your face done up isn’t easy and should not be scoffed at. My first time at proper make up? took about 45 minutes, and was done by a professional make up artist. i kept asking her what she was using at each point of the way. all these words were floating around;  primer, foundation, eye shadow, liner, blush, powder concealer, highlighter, lip liner, lip stick. after a while i just gave up.. my brain was overloaded. I know what they mean now, but at that time, she could have been speaking another language for all i know. After a while, I got bored and started asking “are we done yet?” every two minutes. Like a child. When she was finally through, boy, did i look amazing!!!  I dont think I’ve ever taken so many selfies and none was deleted. There was no picture that wasn’t a hit. i couldn’t stop looking at myself!!!


(This picture was taken like 4 hours after i was made up)

I felt beautiful and its a feeling we low self esteem girls need to feel. I felt confident and empowered… I know some of you are thinking, all from makeup? Bullshit!
But, think of how you feel when you’re wearing your favourite awesomest looking clothes, that’s making your body look spectacular, hitting all the curves just right, covering up all the no-no zones. You feel like “dayum sister (or brother) everybody’s eyes are gonna be on you… You are killing it… Somebody call 911 because this is murderrrrrr!” It’s no different from makeup. makeup is pretty much clothe for your face.
Let’s be honest, God made us naked. We did not slide out of our mothers’ wombs with soaps or sponges or body cream or underwear or dresses? I know i didn’t.
They ALL are artificial things. Some girls can wear crop tops and body cons and bikinis and look amazing… and some of us have little pudgy bellies and will not be caught dead on any of those and we all know how funny it is to see a fat pudgy person stuffed into a bodycon… its like flab nation.
Some girls can wear short shorts and flaunt their amazng legs and some of us have stout legs shaped like tubers of yam and will never wear such out. Wouldn’t it be exciting if they gloated about how they celebrate their natural state and you don’t?
Sit! take a chill pill. It’s not that serious. You like natural hair? go natural. You don’t like makeup? Don’t use it. Your choice. Same way it’s someone’s choice to use it. Respect that.


These are a few of my favorite things


With 2015 getting ready to take over the party, One of the oddities I engage in at this period has boiled up in my chest, ready to spill over with joy unto my noble readers. You!
Spring cleaning Or Hamattan cleaning.
I recommend this for everyone, not necessarily the hamattan name, though I will be pleased at that.. But the clearing up pre-new year.
I know some people don’t believe in all this.. Everyday is just a day, the day after december 31, 2014 isn’t so much of a new year as it is another day since the calender.. Blah blah.. Lunar moon blah blah. To you, i say “wow. Must suck to be in your shoes” and to the rest of you who aren’t sucking shoes, come with me if you want to live!!

This year, i decided to add giving off old and unworn clothes to the mix. You know, those clothes you look at and assume you will one day wear because they were pretty expensive but, you haven’t worn for the past two years, so the likelihood that you will EVER wear is like.. Errr… 0.00000000001?
Leave that in 2014. I know you love them, had it soooo long it’s like an extension of you.. Like an arm. If your arm was made of fibre and buttons. Wiggle your arm, people.. Does it go fluid-like. No? Then let the fibre arm go. Let. It. Go.
Go to where, you wonder.. Well for one a church. Most churches have a charity-hospitality section. If you don’t want your church members seeing your old stuff, that’s okay too. Look for uncompleted buildings that people are living in and drop it off for them. Another thing is to package it in a bag and leave beside your garbage bin outside.

Another thing i found myself cleaning out is my underwear bag. You guys, that place is a terrible place. So many holes… So much slackened elastic. It’s bedlam. I wish i could show you pictures. No. No i don’t wish to show you pictures. It’s embarrassing. Those underwear were terrible. Nothing cute and admirable in those holes. A disgrace to my fashion hood to be honest. But with my garbage bin thirstily grasping all things holey and gross, i have been rescued from disgrace. Hallelujah!


And there’s the final clean out and scrub and mop, of course. Strip your bed, use clean bed sheets. Dust up the 2014 dirt. Make 2015 welcome and get all the goodies he’s coming with.

Break that bad belle button


My friend got a new job today… Not the normal new job. I mean the kinda job that cuts your tax and pension and you have to sign on a line that you’re willing to travel out for company errands. I was so excited for her. I know how much she had waited for it. It was like her very own miracle tied up in pretty bows.
Green doesn’t look good on me. I’ve not been in the position of being jealous in a long LONG while. And no, giving a girl your boy-friend hugs the evil eye is not jealousy. It’s a necessity actually.
But I was soo jealous… Like thoughts of “Taiwo, maybe you should quit the sewing classes and get into the workforce” running back to back in my mind… Minus the number of marriages I hear of weekly.
Makes me feel a little stagnant. I told her how I felt, and her understanding was a relief. Because, i truly wanted her to know I was happy about her news, and if she sensed anything else, it was more my disappointment with myself.
I need to work harder. And faster. But more than that, I need to have more faith in God’s plan for me (Jeremiah 29: 11) and keep my eyes on that. Fear is the opposite of trust… This is a sign I don’t trust Him as much as I should. #causeForPauseRightThere.

Taking pictures 101


Remember when I said I’d be posting my fashion stuff on here? Well, that hasn’t changed except that I am TERRIBLE at pictures. That effortless chic thing? Completely over my head.
Do people learn this?
How to stand?
How to look down?
How to look into the distance the future is bright and they can see it?
How to look away from the camera like the paparazzi took the picture?

I’m totally awkward at it. I bet if I’d joined instagram I’d be good at this…

Like, This past week, i got myself a yellow bag and I was going to do a post with it. How yellow bags are the new totes and such. Took some pictures with it.
The pictures brought bile to my throat when I looked at them Like village girl meets nice setting… It was worse actually. And i knew, “Houston, we have a problem”.
Good thing I haven’t started my sewing yet. I’d have been in a helluva fix. Having to beg people to model my things and such… I hope not… I really want to use me for this (vanity)

But sewing classes have been going great! I feel i might have a talent.
Best. Feeling. Ever.
On the side, i’ve been stocking on thrift clothes to work on once I’m good enough…DIYs, re-modelling clothes, that kinda thing. Those will probably kick off first before I start my REAL sewing. Loads to look forward to for me, and hopefully for you too. Stay tuned. 🙂

Work it out!


I haven’t worked out all last week.
I’m being lazy.
Then i remembered, at the end of the year, y’all are gonna get a bikini pix… Avēc flat belly or not. And these meme-ing people have no chill at all. Can’t have my picture trend on twitter, Facebook and Instagram.
No sireee… So next week, we begin again and hopefully, we’ll stay at it all through to December.

Just out of curiousity, does anyone enjoy working out? Maybe it’s one of those things you do because you have to, not because you like it but because of the result…
Nobody “likes” seeing their menses.. It’s painful and makes everyone and everything around you smell stinky… Makes you feel dirty and grimy. But when you don’t see it… It’s like, “oh my God! What’s happening”… For Normal people though.
I love when I don’t see mine… It’s like christmas. My friend told me it’s because I’m not having sex with anyone that I enjoy it… That when she missed her period, she nearly went mad. She and her boyfriend.. All in tears and praying she wasn’t preggers. She wasn’t but. That ‘s another story though.
How can I enjoy working out more? HELP ME!!!

Welcome back, you sexy whitie you!!


The washing machine is back! He’s been admitted for over 4 weeks. But now, he’s back! I’ve felt so lonely without him and My hands are so happy to have him back. This must be what love feels like.
Washing is so sucky. I’m pretty sure the first thing I’ll start saving up to buy once I move-out is a washing machine. You can survive without a cooker; water, biscuit, gari… You’re good. But dirty clothes? You CANNOT survive with dirty clothes.
There should be a disorder about been disgusted when clothes you’ve worn touch your clean ones.
I have it.
It’s called disgust.

Clean, ironed clothes… That’s my thing… My whole room can be buried deep in dirty crusted plates of half eaten food. But, as far as my clothes smell like sunshine and are crease-free, i can sleep well at night. To each their own I guess… Everyone has their own iffy tidbits. It’s what makes us all awesome and different in our own way I guess.

Do bettter


A few days ago, as i waited outside the house for my brother to open the gate, i looked in the rear-view mirror to check if my black eye-pencil had lasted the seven hours I had been out.
It hadn’t.
Then I saw them. Four boys advancing towards the car. A bit in front of three was a fat huge boy; he spotted a mohawk. They all wore singlets, tattoos and i could see ear-rings sparkling.
i immediately pressed the buttons that locked all the car doors and made to call my brother to not open the gate yet. My heart was in my throat as my network provider’s automated voice told me that there was a network problem. I calmed myself down with what I had read of Isaiah 56 that day. I would be safe. But, deep inside, i was a little scared.
With barely a glance at me, the four of them walked past and continued down the street…
I’m not proud of my eyes, brain and mentality.
Do better, Archer. Do. Better.