READER FEEDBACK SURVEY

Wake up it’s Monday!!

Hey everyone, I hope we enjoyed our weekend. I know I did. It’s a new week and you’re probably preparing your mind to at least make it till Wednesday before you start wishing desperately for Friday evening to come. I’m presently hiding in my aunts guest bedroom recovering from my early morning workout and wishing time never has to move. 😁😁😁

So, the blog is having a major facelift soon and part of the preparation for it is to find out what you think about this blog. Your opinions matter to me and for me to get them and analyze them, you would have to fill a survey.

Calm down! It’s just 8 questions, okay 10 😒 but it’ll take like 2-3 minutes to fill. Pleaseeeee fill my survey, it will go a very long way.

Thanks in anticipation!!!

Click here to fill the survey cutie!

Xoxoxo

❤️❤️❤️

Have a nice week and remember,

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You love me too 😁😁😁

5 WAYS TO AVOID LOOSING YOUR THESIS AS A FINAL YEAR STUDENT

As a final year student in any tertiary institution, there are a lot of fears that you may have. Some of which may include your supervisor’s red pen (my greatest fear), the printer at the cyber cafe malfunctioning, lack of resource materials and finally, loosing your thesis file on your personal computer. Infact, the last one should be the greatest fear of all.

thesis

When I wrote the thesis for my undergraduate programme, I had the scare of my life. I had written my thesis up-to chapter 4 and it was approved by my supervisor up till that level. One day, when I wanted to make some corrections on it, the file suddenly became inaccessible. I couldn’t access over 80 pages of months of research (of course you know I mean google. God bless google) and I felt like dying. I tried everything I could but to no avail. The file was lost and I had no back up so I had to start afresh.

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This hasn’t only happened to me, it has happened to many other students in different ways. I know a friend who had an 8 a.m meeting with his supervisor to submit Chapter 1-3 and his laptop crashed by 4 a.m and just like me, he had no backup elsewhere and his hard drive was damaged. I advised him to go and ask his village people some questions lol. On a serious note though, why does this keep happening even after we see it happen to other people. I’ll tell you:

Continue reading “5 WAYS TO AVOID LOOSING YOUR THESIS AS A FINAL YEAR STUDENT”

STORY – ADDY’S TALE PART 3

 

I walked over to my bedside and gradually lay down face up as advised by the nurses. I looked at my mum who lay fast asleep by my right and instantly froze.

“No, no, no, not again”


“Shhhhh! Sit down. Be quick!” he said in a loud whisper as he pointed the gun at my mother’s head.

“Addy, sit down please. Just sit down.” my mum pleaded in a whisper with her eyes shut. When did she wake up? When did he enter the room? I was shaking so hard both from cold and fear. I slowly walked towards my bed dragging my squeaky drip stand along. I got to the bed and sat down quietly, trying hard in vain to be calm.

“It seems I did not hit you hard enough. You’re very lucky we were in a hurry.” he said.

Then it came to me: I knew him. He was the one with the gun pointed at my face. I remember being dragged out from under the church pew and I remember staring at this same face I was staring at now before I suddenly blacked out.

“I heard you were alive and decided to pay the only survivor a visit with a warning.” he said pressing the gun harder into my mother’s head. “You are only alive because we don’t want media attention. Speak to no one about whatever you feel you saw, or heard. If you do, I will kill every member of your family, let you suffer and then kill you. Do you understand? Do you understand?!” he asked impatiently.

“Addy answer him nau” my mum whispered with her eyes still shut.

“Shut up!” he said, slapping my mum from behind.

“I’ve heard you! I have heard you!!” I cried out. On hearing this, he left the room. Few minutes later the nurse rushed in.

Continue reading “STORY – ADDY’S TALE PART 3”

STORY – ADDY’S TALE PART 2

I struggled with the volume button and finally shut it off and I looked up to a nozzle in between my eyes.


“She hasn’t still woken up?” a female voice in my head said.

I slowly opened my eyes and shut them immediately from too much light and slowly opened them again, blinking to adjust to the light. I was lying down face up in a room. I looked around, trying to recognize my environment until my nose picked up a familiar scent. The atmosphere was filled with a strong antiseptic scent that made me sick to the stomach everytime I perceived it. I was in a hospital. What am I doing in a hospital? I thought as I sprang up to a sitting position.

“Mba mba mba!! Doctor said you should lie down until your drip finishes!” said someone beside me.

“Mummy! What am I doing here?! What happened?!! Where am I?” I asked in confusion.

“You don’t remember? Hian. You are in NAUTH my daughter. Thank God for your life.” My mum said as she guided me to a lying position.

“Remember what? Where is daddy?” I asked still confused.

Continue reading “STORY – ADDY’S TALE PART 2”

EMPOWERED WOMEN,  EMPOWER WOMEN. 

Oh my readers forgive me, I no go do am again o! 😢😢

Hello everyone and welcome to the month of July!  Whoop whooop!!  I hope we have all been good to ourselves. That’s great! 

You can’t wait for the story ba?  See your teeth. 😂 Amebo. 

I’m not talking again 😯 

Just kidding!  Let’s wait for these chickens to pass first.  🕒 

🐓🐔🐓🐓🐔🐔🐔🐔🐓🐓🐔🐔🐔🐔🐓🐓🐓

Alright!  

Yesterday while I was scrolling through my timeline, I came across a post by a girl named Oma. She’s a blogger and talks about everything that deserves an opinion on her blog. She had shared one of her posts and the title suggested that women were their own problem. The post in summary was a story about how she mentioned to her mother that she was tired of the traffic and needed to get herself a car. Her mother yelled at her and asked her if she even wanted to get married at all because when she gets a car it would scare away suitors and she’ll most probably end up alone and sad. 

😕

A friend of mine also shared a story of how she was on a bus conversing in igbo with her friend and was interrupted by the stranger sitting next to her. The stranger scolded her for sounding too “igbotic” and adviced her to speak more English so that she could sound more lady-like and attract suitors. This stranger was a woman. 

😰

The famous Nigerian Architect and radio host, Jumoke Adenowo in an interview for a women’s show explained how dreams have been killed,  crushed and shattered because mothers and women tell their daughters and friends that: shebi it’s Garri that they will do last last,  just study your nuclear physics and get married. 

😮

Everyday on social media and in random discussions, the issue of the discrimination against humans because they are female come up. I sit back and realise that the people who advocate for their freedom do this mostly before the ones who discriminate. But amongst themselves, they feel less. 

Women! We might be our own problem! 
We will not get the treatment and recognition we deserve by lip service,  we get it by working on ourselves and helping ourselves. But no! We have turned ourselves into competitors for a negligible price. Everyday there is a constant struggle for a meal ticket that we can afford. We smile to win, we speak to admonish and we dress to slay. Everything we do is just so that Justine will not do it better than we have done it. 

I envy men sometimes because even in diversity,  there is a sense of community, understanding and respect they have for their counterparts. Correct me if I’m wrong. With us? It’s always a competition. We see ourselves as less and teach our daughters to be less. It’s an endless cycle that continuously mass produces a set of brain washed women who fight for nothing. 

We should owe our daughters, sisters and friends the responsibility to empower ourselves because in so doing,  we empower them too. We owe them belief in ourselves and we owe them success. 

Stop seeing the woman next to you as a competitor and start seeing her as a sister. We are in no competition because at the end of the day,  we all die and the things we kill ourselves over will perish.

Help the lady next to you by first helping yourself. Success and happiness is not gender selective. Stop the ill-advicing, the envy,  the hate,  the fighting,  the scowls and the gossip. Stop basing your happiness in what Obinna thinks or what Chidimma says. Just be a woman. 

This is why I have stopped advocating for gender equality and this is why I have not identified with feminism because I don’t know who to fight for or speak for. We must first unite before deciding to fight. 

Let us empower ourselves and in so doing, we might even prove our worth without even trying. 

Thanks and have a lovely Sunday. 

– Nduka Ifeoma

STORY – ONYINYE’S TALE 3

 

She obviously loved James with all her heart and couldn’t wait to get married to him but the uncertainties of life wouldn’t let her mind rest. Something inside her head kept telling her that maybe her parents had a point.


It was Friday finally and the week actually ended better than it started. Mr. Femi had been going for site jobs for the whole week so there was no yelling or insulting in the office and her mum hadn’t called her again. At around 12 o’ clock, Onyinye was about to step out of the office for lunch when her phone rang and she checked her phone screen and it read “Tari the b*tch”. She picked,

“Tari the bitch!”

“Onyinye the whore!”

The two bestfriends greeted themselves in their usual manner and laughed their heads off for about three seconds. Onyinye met Tari two years ago during her NYSC camp at Delta state and ever since they haven’t let go of each other.

“Babes where have you been oo, you have replaced me abi?” Tari teased

Continue reading “STORY – ONYINYE’S TALE 3”

STORY – ONYINYE’S TALE 2

 

She got home at around 7 pm and performed her daily evening routine. She first unlocked her door, slammed it shut behind her, took off her heels and put them by the door and then hung her keys on the ‘key nail’ as she liked to call it. After that, she dropped her hand bag which also contained her laptop on her reading desk, and then headed for the kitchen to make sure there was food to eat before she took of her clothes.

 

“Phew, this beans didn’t spoil, thank God!” she said in relief.

 

She then took off her clothes and stuffed them into the laundry basket.

 

“How can someone mess up so many clothes in one weekend?” she said to herself as the struggled with the clothes in the rubber basket.

 

When she won the war between man and fabric, she finally stepped into the bathroom for the warm shower she had been dreaming of all day. The harmattan had dealt with her today and her studio partners refused to put off the AC. She always wondered if they had skins of leather. Especially David, he always had the sleeves of his pure cotton shirt rolled up while she on the other hand, had a vest, a jacket and neck tie on and she still felt  cold.

Continue reading “STORY – ONYINYE’S TALE 2”

STORY – ONYINYE’S TALE

She rushed out of her apartment, half-greeted Mrs. Okon her neighbour and didn’t even double-check to see if she actually slammed her door shut. The compound where she lived wasn’t exactly by the main road so she had to pull off her heels and run towards the road to flag down a bus on time. Her boss had already warned her about her lateness, especially on Monday mornings. She never understood why she always made it late to work on Mondays. Maybe it was simply because she hated Mondays, I mean who didn’t?!

When she got to the main road, she walked to the nearest bus stop and stood in line to wait for the next bus.

“Excuse me” someone said from behind her. “Excuse me, hey, I’m talking to you” he said again.

“Not this morning” she muttered to herself. She always expected this every morning and before she turned around to reply such, she said a little prayer to God: “Please let him have sense, please”.

“Yes?” she finally replied

Continue reading “STORY – ONYINYE’S TALE”

THE MYSTERY BLOGGER AWARD

Hi guys! So I was in my room watching an old Jennifer López movie: “The Wedding Planner” when I get a WordPress notification telling me that Bookyglover commented on my post. That was when I saw that she had nominated me for an award known as:

The Mystery Blogger Award

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The Mystery Blogger Award is an award for amazing bloggers with ingenious posts. Their blog not only captivates; it inspires and motivates. They are one of the best out there, and they deserve every recognition they get. This award is also for bloggers who find fun and inspiration in blogging; and they do it with so much love and passion.
– Okoto Enigma

The creator, Okoto Enigma who describes herself as creatively bored, came up with this idea to create a large community of bloggers and also to expose many amazing blogs to recognition. I, personally think its an awesome idea and I hope it continues to grow even more than it already is.

Thanks a lot Booky for giving me this opportunity to join this community and to help spread this concept too! This was very unexpected!

I am supposed to nominate at least 10 others, so if I have nominated you, here are the guidelines:

  1. Put the award logo/image on your blog
  2. List the rules.
  3. Thank whoever nominated you and provide a link to their blog.
  4. Mention the creator of the award and provide a link as well
  5. Tell your readers 3 things about yourself
  6. You have to nominate 10 – 20 people
  7. Notify your nominees by commenting on their blog
  8. Ask your nominees any 5 questions of your choice; with one weird or funny question (specify)
  9. Share a link to your best post(s)

Continue reading “THE MYSTERY BLOGGER AWARD”

NECHE’S TALE

It was 3:00 p.m and I heard it again- Ariana Grande’s ‘Side to Side’ blasting from my nokia phone which was probably somewhere in the living room. I heard it the first time but it was faint as the shower was on and I was singing to myself.

I traced the sound to the sofa in the living room and saw it there vibrating on the couch. I looked at the phone screen.

‘Mum’

“Hello?” I said into the receiver knowing exactly what she was about to say.

“Bia Neche, okwa i ka no n’uno?” she asked in igbo. “What are you still waiting for? Madame Uju would soon leave and she is a very impatient woman! Do fast and get out of that house!”

Mrs. Uju. I remember the last time I had to go with her somewhere. I was supposed to go with her to Ozubulu on an errand. My mum called me an hour before hand telling me she was impatient and I took this piece of information for granted. It was until I had to board a bike in pursuit of her grey mazda wagon car that I understood exactly what the word ‘impatient’ meant.

Continue reading “NECHE’S TALE”