Thursday, 29 August 2013

Lanre Is Venting…..

                                                      Lanre Is Venting…..

Today I just want to give an opinion. If you are in Lagos and find yourself in traffic a lot, you might know DOTUN & TEMI on cool fm.
Well, am one of those people that get to listen to them thanks to the traffic. One of temis topics today was about a girl whose boyfriend is ready to marry her on one condition, get pregnant.
At this point I say pekelepekele- spororo.
This is sooooo wrong. How can you sit there and listen to that and not slap him(no violence please). But seriously how can someone say they love you and give you a condition to be with you forever. That is sooooo BS!!!
Let someone say that to their sister and you will hear all sort of things.
I am practically Yoruba, obviously from my name right. But am sorry to say its my Yoruba brothers and their mothers that started this. Dear brothers’ mother will you let your daughter get pregnant for a man before he marries her?
Can I say in capital letters please: IT IS GOD THAT GIVES CHILDREN!!!!!
If your wife is not getting pregnant, God has not given her. Your query is with God, Get on your mat and repent or go to church and pray, fast, check if there is a medical problem, if there is solve it.
Doing a fertility test before marriage doesn’t guaranty anything man. When God is ready to Bless you with this gift of child he will give you. Stop playing god abeg.
And girls, women, ladies, whatever you call yourselves, have some dignity, don’t wait around for these men and women to say these to you.
No religion allows for pre-marital sex. So how is the baby going to get in there?
Also, my big question, say you get pregnant get married give birth and baby dies, then what???
So far as I am concerned it is quite insultive to ask me to get pregnant before marriage whether it’s the man or his mother asking.
Can I ask you to give me the money you will use to take care of me and my unborn kids before I can marry you?
Yes dear it is as impossible. Cos you see wife is to baby making machine as husband is to money making machine.
If you want to marry, marry. If you want a baby go to an orphanage. Don’t marry me and my sisters with condition.
You see how we will deal with it if you have no job or if your business has a slow period or when we wait for that cheque that is getting late? That is how dear husband we will deal with our baby wants. When it comes we will deal with it if there is a problem.
Lets stand up for our dignity, our pride, lil ones and daughters. Do not insult us with forbidden offers. We are wealth itself. They have to acquire us, we just have to wait and accept the highest bidder considering our wants.
When did men start to give conditions for marriage ehn? Men beg women to be theirs, they used to be ready to roll on the floor, jump, fly, wash, sing, just for 5mins of your time, and now they demand a child. A whole human being fa.
Hmmmmn. These guys better take their time!!!
Cheers guys.

Lanres Pen

                                                                  The Promise.

All those lies they told me.
All that time I held on to the words of my teachers, my mentors, my aunties and parents.
Read they said and it will be all easy.
Read they said and it will be all sorted.
I read, everyday
I still read today.
Darling, I cannot begin to list the advantages of education and reading.
But they lied.
Its not easy.
Reading is not all I needed to do.
Here I am today, with all the right degrees, in the right profession and guess what,
Am grown up and still reading
And still watching out for that promise.
I see it nowhere.
In my frustration for the need to succeed,
In my frustration to get there am search and tossing around every skill I have ever acquired, directly or indirectly.
These things they promised read and you will sign cheques.
Am signing cheques but I need more zeroes before the decimal point.
Its time to look beyond the books.
Its time to make my own promises.
Its time to work towards keeping that promise.

Tuesday, 27 August 2013

Lanres Pen

                                                           LET THE CROSSED LEGS BE

As I walk down the street looking the best my mirror, makeup products and skills can do. Yes walking, with all the confidence. All of a sudden there are hands all over. Hands that I cant count. Free my own hands. No, no don’t go there. No, no, no don’t touch that. Fighting, wiggling, struggling, I need my hands, I need my feet. Hands get off my eyes, I need to see. Hands let my mouth be, I need to say things.
This can’t be happening. Then reality starts. The husky voice drums sense in my ears. “shut up and stay still”.  The voice poured on me like a bucket of ice. All things tied, hands, feet, mouth, eyes but not fear, my fear is exploding into my chest which is about to burst out my heart.
The jewelries start to go off, then relief start to wash over me,its just a robbery, you are fine”, a voice says. Then another voice, “let’s go, the Alhaji will pay handsomely for this”. I became numb. I couldn’t hear or feel anything. Then it occurred to me to beg. But the gag was in the way. The drive to the destination was the longest and shortest of my life.
Scream girl, let someone know, but all my efforts to scream bites back at me through the gag. So, I start to pray in all the languages I know and the ones I don’t know.        
We are back to the hands. Stop, stop please stop. Your hands shouldn’t be there, don’t do that. Nomy dress, voices, hands, o no not there. I am screaming in silence, araging in peace, amfighting without a struggle. My legs are stuck together in a crossed manner. No matter what they won’t get in, I will keep them crossed. They can do whatever they want, but my legs will be crossed. Try as they did, I dint uncross it. A slap that juggled my brain and the next thing I know it’s over. And I cannot scream, I cannot talk. I am ashamed.
Dropped off by a river with no idea what direction home is but the relief that some of the random words I picked up were over. The hands were nowhere near me. I see blood on my shoes. I just lost my husband’s gift. I just lost my pride to a bunch of strangers.
At home, the mirror is my enemy, my room is my safe. Every stranger that comes close is the culprit. Shadows, make mejump. My silence remains through it all.
Day by day, life gains its normalcy. The nightmares fade, but when they come they come just like yesterday.
I know my gown was long and I was well covered. But I can’thelp but think I may have attracted them in some way.
Like a chicken I made no reports, I let them loose. I let them be. I let them go and do it to someonelse. But where do I start to tell my story from.
I have lost my voice for so many years now. But I don’t know how late I have been.
I know, somehow, one way or the other you may have gone through this, let’s get it to stop.
Let the hands be held. Let the hands stay away. Let the legs be left crossed. A thief of an asset gifted by God. He should be stopped. They should be stopped. Fight for your friends, fight for your sisters, fight for your daughters, fight to keep the hands away, fight to keep the legs crossed.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        

Sunday, 18 August 2013

Lanres pen


                                                             Let him be worthy

Tell me girls why do you agree to create the sound of the creaking bed with him
Is it to to get him to decorate the forth finger on your right hand? 
If your answer is yes, then ask yourself this,
How many of these friendly women on the night street have their hands so decorated
If your answer is no, then I ask again,
Why do you agree to be pounded into, like the pound of raw yam
Is it because of the materials that come to you
If your answer is yes then ask yourself this, 
How long does it last that its worth your pride and dignity
If your answer is no, then I ask again,
Why do you bend backwards, and let the hands of an illegitimate owner feel the treasures which the good Lord has blessed you with.
Is it because you want to please the man you call your own and keep him?
If your answer is yes then ask yourself this, 
How many sex satisfied husbands go out to the oceans as single fishermen to seek the fish of another
If your answer is no, then by all means tell me,
Tell me, why will you defy religion, custom, tradition,morals and stoop
Why will you go in the dark and say to a thief, take, take all my treasures which are irreplaceable
Why will you make a sacrifice so dear and receive nothing
The creak of the bed that destroys the life of you and your unwanted child
The pound of raw yam, shall not pass the throat of many that live to say the story,
As the pound leads to deaths and diseases
As you willingly bend and loose all self respect, he finds himself an untouched woman
Yes my dear, there is all to loose as the only one worthy of the creak of the bed, the pound of your yam, the voice of your anxiety, the touch of your delicacies, the dance of your waist, the unconscious rush of your adrenaline is that man who has paid his price in full before all that you call love .
Let nothing fool you my darling the words 'we will',' we are almost', 'I wanted' are nothing but a sham if you don't believe me, try those words in the market with the tomatoes seller and see how you are renamed thief and given the free makeover that comes with the title.
That which you seek my dear is action and trust me, a man with no action is not worthy.
What are words but craft bring a smile for a minute and a fight for too long,
Real value lies in your deeds, his deeds.
Wait for the action baby.