What a Woman Really Needs..


This is a question that has been asked still asked and will still be asked. Yet the answers have always been evasive.

Adeola, is a final year student in one of the nations federal institutions. She is gorgeous and she knows it. Just last week she was chatting with a friend on what marital life she hopes to have. “Before I get married my husband must have built a house, have a car and be comfortable. I can’t get married and continue to suffer, laelae” I heard her saying. “Why am I getting married if my hubby can’t take care of me?” She asked further.

Cynthia on the other hand wants a man who would love and cherish her as well as accept her for who she is. “Every other thing is secondary for me. Just love me, accept me and understand me.”

Do Women themselves really know what they want in their men or relationships? Do they even know why they are in one or just following the trends?  Time and priorities change in life. That’s why the answers to this question differ at every stage in their lives. At 16-18 she’d be asking for rich, tall, dark and handsome”. At 25 after several heartbreaks, she’d be asking for “God fearing man”, at 30 it’s “I want a good husband” at 35, 40 and above, “I just want a man.

While I have no qualms with anyone saying what they desire, it is important to note that some women can be overbearing, demanding and unrealistic. They shift the goal post every time.  *Hides under the table 😛 * And I can’t help but ponder on these questions.

Can you protect and provide?  Can you give the things you want in your man? Yes you need this, you need that but what are you bringing to the table?

Marriage or relationships are not meant to be lopsided. The men alone should not bear the whole burden of the union. It’s supposed to be a win-win situation where we both lay our cards on the table and play a fair game. When I say burden, I mean emotional, social marital and of course err… financial. *dodges the eggs and tomatoes*

Thank God all women are not like Adeola, some of us may never get married. And what stops a man from aspiring to marry a rich woman. What stops me from marrying a woman who has all the qualities women want from me? I thought whatever is good for the goose is also good for the gander. No??

My Ghanaian Princess.

“Good evening customer, how work today?” She said beaming with smiles like a child at his birthday present.

“I’m fine” I replied managing to muster a smile. “Work has been wonderful. How market?” I asked her.

“Market dey move Oh! In fact market don move as I don see you.” She said as she packaged my kenke. “Just for one person ma.” I told her.

She arched her brows. “Why now? Where is your sister, she no come today?” She asked me

“She has travelled” I replied.

“Ooohhh Kay! My regards to her O!” She said handling the black nylon containing my kenke and fish.

That was mama john. She sells kenke at the junction to my house. I’m not Ghanaian; neither do I have a Ghanaian relative. The only Ghanaian word I know is kenke it self.


Yet my love for kenke increases by the day and it’s the only thing that gets me close to her.


Eating kenke has become a ritual of some sort for me. It’s more like an obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD). If a prophet told me that in just three months I’d relish kenke this much, I’d have cursed him. But when love touches your heart, you do the unthinkable.

As I made my way back home my thoughts wandered. All I could think of was my Ghanaian princess.


  Hmm hmmn! She replied as she hurried into the bathroom, that was our first encounter. It wasn’t a love at first sight kind of thing ‘cos it was dark. It was at my cousin’s place. I had come to spend the weekend.

Who was that I asked my cousin?  Giselle.

She replied.  “Giselle?

“What kind of a name is that? She’s black” I asked puzzled.

“Whoever said only whites can bear Giselle, are you been racist?” Taunted my cousin.

“Cut the crap gurl and answer my question”. I snarled at her.

Well she’s here on a visit and she’s Ghanaian.

“Oh oh! Lil wonder. I exclaimed. Is that why she wouldn’t greet well? This is Naija O, and we greet well, you better tell her.”


My cousin looked at me, shook her head “she’s a very nice girl  just get to know her before you crucify her and she’s not feeling fine.” She said rolling her eyes as she went into the kitchen. “By the way, what’s eating you up egbon? You don’t get worked up over trivial issues like this.” Kike my cousin said as she served my meal.

“Nothing. I’m just a bit tired.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that shola, I know you too well to let you be on this. Oya spill the bean.”

Kike sure knows how to get me talking. We’ve been too close for me to lie to her. I tell her everything. She knows when I’m happy, sad or bothered. Since I broke up with my ex, we’ve been even closer. That was two years ago.


I began to tell her my tales as I ate. Giselle strolled into the living room and walked up to me. “Good evening Uncle, I’m sorry bout the greeting earlier; I’m just having the usual erm… ladies stuffs. I didn’t mean to be rude. You must be uncle Shola. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She said. I was fixed, but managed to say hi.

“I just came to apologize before going to bed. I hope you are not cross with me anymore” she asked smiling.

“Uhm! No offence taken. I didn’t know you were not feeling fine. I said. Just take good care of yourself.”

I will she replied as she made for her bed room.


Whoever thought I could be so fond of you?

Everything about the kenke reminds me of her. The kenke balls as hard as they are remind me of your boobs. They are pert, perky, and firm. It makes me wanna hold them again.


The hot kenke sauce reminds me of the first time we were together. It was a mixture of pain and pleasure as I unveiled her. She was a virgin. She squinted and dug her nails into my back. It was painful for her at first but she got used to me. She wrapped her long legs round me and synced her hips with mine.

The fish reminds me of your elegant shape, your skin and velvety black skin. Her father must have meant gazelle. I loved to watch her undress and she was aware. What a great seductress she was!

She would tease me as she made for the bathroom.  I would chase her like policemen after a fugitive. Then we’d make passionate love in the tub.



It was sad you had to go. I didn’t want you to leave. You didn’t either, but you had to. We had just finished making love when that call came through. It was your mum. Dad was sick and you had to go home. He’s actually been sick for a while. So you told me.

Though Ghana is not too far and we’ve been calling each other, it’s not like been with you. Life has been very bland.

It’s been 3 weeks since you left and I’ve never missed my kenke, because you cherished it. As I begin to eat my kenke, I remember mama john asking after Giselle. If only she knew you were not my sister. She must have concluded so because you always called me uncle.

My Ghanaian princess even though you are miles away, I still love you and will always do. I will also continue to eat kenke, even if it gives me heart burns, I won’t stop patronizing mama john even if the kenke sauce purges me.


Till me meet again here or there, my solace lies in mama dokunnu.

PHCN Privatisation Disco: Are We there Yet?

For once in recent times, I never have to fret whether my laptop is charging or not. I must tell you, it’s been comforting. I simply put my mind to use in other productive ways. Not thinking of when the lights will be restored so I can continue working.

In the past couple of weeks, I have noticed a drastic change in the power distribution of the nation. My humble abode in city of Ibadan has been enjoying an average of 16 hours per day with little interruptions which need no worries. The same can be said of my sister’s place in Lagos somewhere in Ipaja and I can’t but beam at the possibility of a vibrant power sector in the nation and how it would drive the economy as some other people would be able to carry out economic activities.

While I was still basking in the euphoria of the moment, my little niece picked up the rechargeable lamp and attempted to charge it. I asked her to drop it and she resorted to begging. “Uncle Femi please let’s charge it, you know there’s light now.” but I refused. This made me see the damage that has been done to our minds as youths. Even as there had been electricity for the past 48 hrs and the lamps were charged overnight, she still begged to charge them more. Besides the fact that further charging would damage the cells of the lamps, She saw the available electricity as an opportunity. She had done all she could with the light, ironed her clothes, watch movies, pumped water etc. yet she wanted to do more.

However it was not always like this. I was raised in a time when we had at least 18-20 hours of electricity. we never bothered or scrambled to make use of it. Even if the lights go off, it never bothered us cos we knew it won’t be long before they restored it. Gradually it started becoming bad. I remember the first time we were told the light would be rationed between two streets. It was a strange experience. Little did we know it was a prophecy of things to come. But now this is where we have found ourselves. Even as I write, I know there are still some areas been deprived of electricity. If Nigerians could have their way, they’d attempt to diffuse electricity from areas with sufficient supply to deficient areas.

PHCN recently announced generating about 4,237MW of electricity and we applaud them. The power sector has been riddled with varying scandals and attempts to restore the ailing elephant but to no avail. Just this January, the tariffs were jacked up. As for me, I have no problems whatsoever with the tariff increase as long as I can see what I’m paying for. With the privatization exercise going on in the sector should we hope for better days or it’s just another Disco?

How has electricity supply been in your area?

Of Men, cocks and their offsprings.

As I watch through the scene, the same story plays out in almost every black movie I see. The woman and children are having a hard time living, paying the bills, feeding etc while the man who is supposed to be the father is out there living a freelance life. A life with no worries. Even when the lady makes attempt at getting some upkeep from the man he chases her off like a goat. He puts down his foot and rebuffs all attempts to milk him as he thinks.

Am like what the hell is wrong with the male folk? Why do have to answer to the wrong names for all the right reasons? I’m sure it wasn’t like this years ago when you fell in love in high school. Promising each other heaven on earth. “I’m gonna take care of you babay”

The dates, the flowers, the dinner, some even go to the extend of giving out rings to make her double sure he’s Mr Right , while he’s only Mr. Right Now.

Where did all that love go? Where are all the dreams you both had as teenagers?

So many instances as this paint the female folk as being gullible. Whereas, the men in their lives are not living up to expectations. Failing to fulfill their part of the contract. Only to surface years later when the child makes a head way in life, hoping that an apology will suffice all the years of absence. Where were you when the child was growing up. what investments did you make in his life. And talking about investments, it’s not all about money. what about the psychological, emotional investments?

As I ponder on these thoughts I begin to see the reality even in our world. The same thing happens and what pervades the movies is not just a work of fiction or an attempt to libel.

This whole story bears a striking semblance to the cock and the hen. While the cock is about to mount the hen he makes his feathers wide showing off his strength and level of protection he offers. On getting his object of desire, he goes his way as if nothing happened. Weeks later the hen hatches the chicks and then the problems begin. She has to feed the chicks rooting the dumps and gutters around. She has to provide the shelter and heat for the chicks most of all she needs to protect the chicks from the hawk/eagle.

Coming back to saner climes, the African mentality, sometimes absolves the father of the outcomes of dysfunctional homes err… relationships. Proverbs  exist such as “omo to da ni ti baba e, eyi ti o da ni ti iya e”. (a good child is the father’s, a bad one is his mother’s). Why should only the men take glory for the success of the children and the mother for otherwise? If the man wants a good child why didn’t he sleep with himself and bear the child. Another of such proverbs is “oke oku loku re baba omo lo lomo”. ( No matter what, a father owns his child.)

African Society paints the man as solely independent. He can do whatever he decides with little or no implications to him. A man can have as many wives/mistresses he wants but a woman is restricted to one man. A man’s decision in a family or relationship is final. Why must this happen?

While I would not want to be hanged for treason, I need to ask some honest questions

What makes a man to neglect his duties as a father?

Was it intentional?

Are men just after the thrills of the moment while they roll in the hay?

Did the woman offend her?

Or were his dreams just a flash in the pan or just what they were … Dreams?

As the case is, questions are always more than answers…

Scribblings In Idleness: Her Decision.

Not all that glitters is gold…whenever she had to deal with a man, this was her watchword, and indeed it was one that had never failed to protect her. That men had elastic hearts devoid of elastic limits and breaking points was a well-known fact to her, their hearts could only be stretched, it could never be broken. The females got the breakable hearts from God. Men were thespians, subject them to tests, stand aloof for some time, do not yield to their advances, and they are bound to move on. They seldom wait; those that do must have found other amusements while waiting for you to make up your mind. Stay objective, remain watchful and you are bound to see them for what they really are. This is all you need do to avoid heartbreak. It was just so simple and she never quite understood why females still got their hearts broken like a piece of Chinese porcelain. Her friends never quite appreciated her too; some labeled her crazy, while the others thought she was just plain childish. However, whenever any of them had to nurse a piece of broken china, which was what she called their shattered hearts, they agreed with her wholeheartedly, albeit temporarily. At such periods, she was their pillar of support. A role she got to play ever so frequently. A few weeks later though, they would heal, and were ready to give “love” another chance. She never could understand those friends of hers!

Like her father she had exceptional looks, and like her mother she was intelligent. Perhaps this was the cause of her hard stance on men. Perhaps this made it difficult for most men to sweep her off her feet. She could match most of them looks for looks, brain for brain and wallet for wallet. She was quite a handful for any man, any day. She had so many suitors, but separating the wheat from the chaff wasn’t tedious at all, given that, to her, virtually all men were chaff. Operating on the same frequency with most of them was an idiosyncratic problem. Some bored her stiff with dry jokes, with nothing to talk of except their favourite soccer players, clubs or their new acquisitions. Most tried to make impressions with ephemerals.  Some others painted pictures of a rosy future, of weddings where she was of course the bride. One of them went as far as saying he dreamt she was his wife and they had three kids. That same guy got married two months later. Men! How on earth did they come by those sugar-coated tongues of theirs? She never took them serious, and never allowed any of them too close for comfort. With men, she never used her heart. It was head over heart all the way. Undeniably, none of her numerous suitors made any impression on her, none except one.

They lived on the same street. He moved into their neighborhood less than two years ago. Like in the movies, he was dark and tall. Also like in the movies, the first time they ever talked, she had had a flat tyre just outside her flat on her way to work. He drove by, saw the car boot opened, parked his car and offered to help. In no time, she was on her way to work again. From there, they became acquaintances. He was a senior lecturer at the university in town, an enviable achievement for his age. He had a good sense of humour and a strong awareness of purpose. He would always regal her with tales of his postgraduate years abroad, he had studied human nutrition and dietetics in Tokyo. He would always say “I am a Tokyo man” And for a man well short of thirty, he was much-travelled. In his company, she was very comfortable; he was one man with whom she could have a rational conversation with her guards down, or so she thought.

One evening however, he had come to her house and professed his love for her. Initially, she thought he was at one of his many jokes. And so she tagged along. By now they had become well acquainted, but she never saw him as a friend, simply because she didn’t know any member of his family. She was that practical. But with every passing moment, she became deeply involved with him. He looked and acted sincere enough. His routine was quite predictable, unlike most men. He was devoted and committed to her, and was never quite successful in hiding anything from her. All of a sudden he became shy and many times, she had to encourage him to speak his mind. He would continually say he was a novice in matters of love, and it seemed like he truly was. Gradually, she began to look forward to his calls and his crazily compiled texts which weren’t spaced. But she couldn’t bear to put her heart on the line. For all she knew it could be a grand scheme, after all he was a man.

Sometimes later, she got angry when he didn’t call to say good night. At that moment she realized something was wrong. She was falling for the cheapest trick in the book, and she hadn’t even put him to the test. She was becoming attached and possessive, this was a negative sign. Her friends would surely taunt her if they heard of this. She was supposed to be their Margaret Thatcher. Explicitly, she decided to change gear. She became cold and unreceptive to him, refused to pick his calls or reply his texts. She didn’t laugh at his jokes anymore. These did not in any way deter him, he remained steadfast. He stressed the subject of love, his unflinching love, to which she just laughed before reminding him of what his previous opinion of love was. He asked to be considered on the basis of their previous friendship. She scolded him for thinking that by changing her car tyre and their having a few conversations they had become friends. She offered to pay for his service so all would be square. That obviously hurt him, yet he remained relentless. He continually articulated that she was his jewel of inestimable value; it was either her or nothing. She went as far as accusing him of trying to con her into his bed with the well mastered skill he used on his female students. He had a distinct ready smile for her scathing remarks; he appeared to have it all figured out. It didn’t look like he would be so easily dispirited.

The manner in which he handled it all uncovered a specific and vital statistic, he may be a rookie in matters of love, but he absolutely wasn’t one without game or experience when it came to women. She knew was walking on thin ice. Enlisting the help of her friends, she took the game to him. They were so willing to help her ridicule him. And like the men in her seemingly infallible theory, he had moved on. Only if he had waited, only if he had lingered.

Whatever it was she said or did that finally made him back off she didn’t know for sure, but in the end she had achieved the most important thing; she had protected her heart. Now, many weeks after, she admits she misses him, and maybe she could have handled it better. But there is no way for her to know whether she was right or wrong.