Category Archives: Uncategorized

I am so sorry to disappoint the hopeless romantics tonight. However, the disappointment might last a while, since this series is not likely to end today. I hope my story inspires someone and helps him/her find his/her feet and direction.

So, how did we arrive at this story sef?

Last week, my friend, Oyebola Omolola, started a Purpose Discovery series in my church, Gracepoint International Christian Center, and this made me start to think about my own journey – How did I realize what I was supposed to do with my life?
The way I was raised gave me many options. It also streamlined my options. My dad was a great guy, as you probably already know…

I was reading a novel a week from Primary One.

I was acting in the school drama team from Primary Four.

I could tell that my future would have a lot of reading and speaking…

Secondary school followed basically the same pattern. I was acting before they were nice enough to assign us to classes. I acted till I left, I even acted in stage plays and soap operas that were aired on NTA. I also sang in the school choir in senior secondary school. As you probably already guessed, I was the library prefect in my set.

Career choice was not an issue until JS3. Everyone seemed interested in what I wanted to be. That was also when I started writing poems. I remember that my first set of poems was written for MKO Abiola after the 1993 Elections. My dad was nice enough to take the poems to him.

I got attracted to the legal profession when I had to do Legal Register in JS2 English Class with our teacher, Miss Babatola. I actually took my Dad’s Black’s Law Dictionary to school for a month.
Unfortunately for me, during our time, science class was for the brilliant students who scored high grades generally, and in integrated science specifically. I was one of those students and as such, I just flowed along those lines without considering particular interests. One thing stood out for me though. I couldn’t negotiate my literature. I became one of the five science students in my set in SS1 that offered Literature in English instead of Geography.
At a point, my best friend referred me to the guidance counselor. After talking to her about my likes and hobbies, she recommended that I should abandon my study of science for English. She actually thought I should get a bachelor’s degree in English Language. However, in my limited thinking, that meant I would have to be a teacher in the future. Teacher kè?
I did not like the Teacher idea at all. The ones around were not inspiring; they didn’t have the high profile, neither did they have the money I saw in my future.

The only other option for an English Graduate was to cast news. The press wasn’t so free in the military era. I didn’t see a future there either.

So, what do you do when you like to read, write and talk?
So I continued my science studies and continued my literature studies. I only found a way around my desires when was time to write JAMB. By the way I wrote Jamb in 1995, when I was in SS2; that was when I had the privilege of studying the JAMB brochure and I discovered something really interesting that solved my problems temporarily.
I discovered that the University of Ibadan used to offer admission to study law to science students, who wrote a combination of Physics, Chemistry and Biology in JAMB but who had a credit in O’level literature.

This meant that I could continue my science study and still end up a lawyer!
This discovery made a difference to my perspective but it did not impact my circumstances immediately. This is because at that time, parents still filled JAMB forms for students unlike now, when you fill your form yourself online.

Thus, when the form was filled, “my” first choice was Pharmacy in OAU and “my” second choice was Dentistry in UI.
As it turned out I actually passed JAMB enough to gain admission to study Dentistry in UI in the year 1997.

We resumed 100level on the 19th of May, 1997 but on the 24th of May, 1997, I was at another centre, writing JAMB for the second time with Law as my first choice and my second choice. This time it was all about me and not about anybody else.
By the time that JAMB result came out, I passed with a score of 204; not as high as the score that got me into Dentistry, but high enough to get me into Law.

I had gone far into my study of Dentistry and formed a clique with Tunbi Alabi, Aina Anibaba and Sydney Esiri. We were balling as a quartet. It was hard to imagine leaving them to start all over.
The Dean of the Faculty of Law believed it was my dad forcing me to study Law. He denied me admission.
So I continued my study of Dentistry into medical school. I started doing Anatomy, Physiology and Biochemistry. I started doing dissection and I actually still managed to be the best student in Anatomy, even though where I was was nowhere near where I wanted to be.

I joined a fellowship and within a semester, I became the Head of the Drama Department. That part stayed with me through it all.
Thinking about it now, if I go into the story of how I managed to leave Dentistry for Law, I would exceed my weekly story length.

So, this is where we would have to call it a day.

Do you have any questions about career choice from your likes and hobbies?

I would definitely be glad to have a discussion with you around this.
Until next week, when we follow this story to find out how I got to this exact spot, ✌🏼

Do you want to share this story with people you know are having career choice issues? It would be on the blog by Monday.

https://jummycaxton.art.blog

Anybody home? I know it is time, no need to remind me.

To those who were patient enough to accept their fate, thank you.

To those who slid into my DM to threaten me that they will write the rest of the story themselves because they know it (like Dunco), God is watching you in 3D.

To those who wept, wailed and wheedled just to get me to complete the story last week (like Taiwo), the rest is here now, relax.

To those who regaled me with my history to tell me that they have been with me from when I discovered my writing skills (like Nike), I hail o.

Oya, let’s get cracking! Where was I?

That was how in the days of not knowing what type of sweetness would be in the rock, I gave my word not to take honey from the rock. You don’t know what I am talking about? Oya, here is the link, go and read up – https://jummycaxton.art.blog/2021/12/05/almost-in-love/

After reassuring MyPearl that I would never date him, he found his peace and regained his smile and we went back whole-heartedly into our daily 2-hour calls. Of course, for those of you who love love, you already know that in no time, the 2hours were no longer enough. That was when we now added the scattered mid-day calls. In essence, MyPearl turned me into a hermit. I couldn’t go out for long because he would soon call. Imagine walking a visitor and excusing yourself to go back home and sit beside the phone… The silly things we do for emotions we cannot call love.

I am sure you are wondering what stage of life I was in in the year 2000. Well, I changed departments to Law in 1999 and as such I was in 200 Level Law (since I had to repeat 200level). As with University studies back then, it was riddled with all sorts of strikes. So, the boost my relationship with MyPearl had was a strike. Our “honeymoon stage” situationship was truncated when the strike that kept me beside the phone was called off and I had to go back to school, which meant no more access to the phone. There were still no mobile phones then.

Aside from the lack of communication, resumption introduced a new complication into our relationship – his younger brother. Let’s call him Jon. Don’t think too far yet. Let me take you there. Now, MyPearl was 6years and a week older than me. His brother, was two weeks older than me. However, I has spent over 3years in the University environment and as such I was a veteran student. So, my first official contact with Jon was when money was sent to him through me. MyPearl’s girlfriend gave me in church for onward transmission to him. I went on a quick visit to his hostel room to deliver it. By then, I had headed the Drama team in fellowship for some two years. I was a respected somebody.

Almighty Jumoke, Departmental Head and PCF Leader came to visit bearing good cash tidings from his brother. Well, my friendship with Jon was an instantaneous hit. This was not a telephone-induced closeness. We literally became inseparable. Of course, my course of study and his were not the same and as such we could not be joined at the hips. However, I got stuck to him like white on rice and so, come 4pm, Jon would be the very first person to walk into Queens’ Hall to mark register in my E2 Room. We would be together till fellowship time or nightfall, depending on the day of the week.

MyPearl was around every weekend. He worked in Ilorin but worshipped in Ibadan. As you already suspected, his relationship didn’t make it to the 3-month mark after we started communicating with such intensity. I am sure she blamed me for the end of the relationship. However, after signing my pact, when he soberly announced to me that the relationship didn’t seem to be working, I promptly dissociated myself from the break up process and stayed on my lane. It didn’t stop them from breaking up. It didn’t make the break up less painful for either of them either. I stayed away because my name must not come up. No one accused me of anything to my face. All was well, with me.

Like you probably know, there are two sides to the reduced communication coin. One side reads “Out of sight is out of mind”, while the other side reads “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” So, while MyPearl and I were busy missing each other, I was relatively busier and so I missed him less. He took that to mean he was out of my mind, while my absence was worsening the attachment at his end. He also had to watch Jon and I grow closer steadily, on a weekly basis. I never sought his take on this. After all, we had signed a pact that I would stay on my lane forever.

On weekend, work was going to keep him in Ilorin for the weekend. That was when he proposed that Jon should bring me over for the weekend. This is the part of the story where my siblings and family members (in general) should close their eyes and skip reading. Anyway, MyPearl sent money and Jon and I were on our way. We took a cab from Ojoo. I am sure I slept with my head on Jon’s shoulder. I always slept when traveling back then. We got there early. MyPearl hadn’t closed from work so he took Jon and I to his apartment and left us alone to return to work. Of all the things he had to entertain me with, he gave me a jigsaw puzzle. The type with a million pieces. I have suffered in this life.

When he closed, he brought us food and we ate and were replete. However, being with both of them that night drew my attention to something – I was in trouble. I had two doe-eyed young men hanging unto every word I spoke. Kai. The apartment was a one-bed. Decisions had to be made. Would they both sleep on the floor with me on the bed? That sounded like the way to treat a lady – if you ask me. You know when you embark on an adventure and you jump off the aircraft only to remember that you did not wear your chute? Realization of the quandary dawned late. What had I gotten myself into???

As you probably guessed (I know you imagined the worst! Get your mind out of the gutters joo), nothing unusual happened. Now you want me to define what is usual, shey? Na you know. I got the bed. Yet, the way these things go, two of the three of us did not get much sleep that night. We talked all night. It sounded like Christian courtship. Where you get all the tense moments, fear physical contact and then keep talking to each other, especially since you had company that was looking up to both of you spiritually. It was a long night because of the tension. It was a short night because of the emotion you can’t call love.

Well, that was the story o, and we lived happily ever after. Now I know some people are definitely coming for my head. MyPearl and I were and are very good friends till date. I suspect that he cannot really understand why our friendship never made it to the next stage. Let me tell you the secret – because of my superpowers. I honoured my word of never dating him. Jon, apparently, never really understood my relationship with MyPearl. Thus, he never understood why our own relationship was not progressing to the next level either. Unfortunately, because of MyPearl, he had been brother-zoned before he even made it into my life.

Don’t think the ending of the story was easy o! Sometime in 2001, I had to explain my relationship with MyPearl to Jon. We didn’t have the opportunity to talk at length and so I wrote him so long a letter, as was my custom at the time. You would not believe it o, that letter I wrote was the end of our tight and committed friendship. After reading that letter, he just stopped talking to me. Looked through me if we met anywhere, like I didn’t exist! Now, that hurt more than wanting to test the dating waters with MyPearl and not being able to. I lost a true and dear friend to mismatched expectations. At least, with MyPearl, I made a conscious choice. With Jon… It is what it is.

Are there any sisters in the audience with stories of brothers? Please share your experience. This wasn’t my first brothers escapade sha. One day, you will hear the gist of S and B; brothers that stayed on my street when I was in secondary school. That one was even more dramatic. Until then, please stay safe and define your relationships. Shadows will cost you so much more than good intentions would get for you.

See you next Saturday!

Yes, it is time!

But, you people too like gist. Simple title of “Almost in Love” and the way people have gathered round for a sensational romance story is unbelievable. One of these days, I will change the storyline to _Ayah Matanga_ and see what will happen to all ye love story lovers. Lovers of love…

Have you ever been in love?

Have you ever almost been in love?

Since you have come to listen to this fantastic tale, tell me the difference.

I was told that loving and being in love are not the same thing. Loving isn’t the butterflies. It is the decision and the commitment willy-nilly. Being in love is the giddy feeling; the racing hearts and breathless moments. How many have seen it coming and still been able to escape it? Draw close and share your experience. How did you escape? How did you manage not to get trapped like the moth that is drawn to the flames that would singe its wings? If you escaped, you have skills to teach, I daresay.

I acquired that super human skill in the year 2000. I had to be 19 to be allowed to join the Singles’ Fellowship in the church I used to attend. I did not qualify until 1999. This story started from the first time I ever registered to attend a Singles’ Meeting in church. The feeling was novel. I was no longer just a teenager. I was officially single. You might not understand what this meant.

This meant that the reason the Hero and the Heroine in “The Little Black Dress” broke up (which you were not told in that story) did not apply to me. It meant I was not too young to love truly, madly and deeply. I would not be considered precocious if I said I loved someone or if we behaved like an old married couple. It was liberating!

Anyway, that was how I registered to attend the Singles’ Conference with my full chest, like _Titi_ would put it. Little did I know that that simple act was going to put my singlehood to the test sharply. Singles Conference was a 2-day conference; starting on Friday evening and continuing on Saturday morning. I was excited about finding out what they used to discuss. Sometime on Friday afternoon, the landline at my parents’ house rang. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it is a phone that is connected to other phones with wires. _(and ps: I am not your mate)_

“Hello”
“Hello”. I picked. I usually sat by the phone with a novel anyway, so I got to pick most calls. The voice was male, not as guttural as it was nasal. It was a very unfamiliar voice.
“Please may I speak with Jumoke?”
“Jumoke on the line. Please may I know who is speaking?”
“I am calling from the Singles’ Fellowship.” That got a smile out of me. “You registered to attend today’s event.”
“Yes, I did. That was how you got my number.”
“Yes. My name is MyPearl.” (That is what we will call him for the purposes of this story). “I am the head of the Singles’ Fellowship. I just want to find out if you would be able to make it today.”
“I definitely will. I am almost ready. I am just whiling away time till I have to leave the house.”
“Cool. See you later in the evening.”
“Thank you so much for calling. I appreciate it.”
“You are welcome.”

I was beaming. I had been officially recognized as single and a guy had called to make sure I would attend. Wow!

Anyway, two hours later, the phone rang again.

“Hello”
“MyPearl” I recognized the voice instantly. I had not ever spoken with anyone else with that nasal voice quality.
“Yes. It is almost time to head out.”
“Is that why you called? To remind me?” I started feeling very important.
“Not quite.”
“Okay. What is it then?”
“I work in a bank in Ilorin and I have not been able to get away from work. I might not be able to make today’s program. Can you please inform those on the organizing committee about this? I have been trying to reach them without success.”
“Of course. No problem. Just give me the name of the person I am to inform.”
“Thank you very much.”
“It is nothing.”

That was how I became the messenger of love. Maybe not of love, but I went to deliver MyPearl’s message. The conference was amusing. So much talk about what dating is and what courtship is and the difference between them. Saturday was reserved for talking about what to look out for in people and relationships. I enjoyed it because I was called “single”. Not like I didn’t already know much of what they spoke about. Lol!

On Saturday morning, I was sitting comfortably in the auditorium when someone tried to blind me with his smile. I didn’t understand it much until the person got to my side and stretched out his hand to me and said “MyPearl”.

“Oh! Pleased to meet you.” I took his soft palms in my calloused one. Daily pounding of yam had taken its toll on my hands.
His smile was too wide and he was too keen on maintaining eye contact. I had seen him around, I just didn’t know the dulcet voice was his. He was the elder brother of someone from my campus fellowship that I did not talk to much. I did not know how to warn him that mere mortals used to fall when they looked into my eyes for too long. If you like, don’t believe it. Don’t try it next time you see me o!

Moving on. I saw him again on Sunday and his smile was not reducing. So, I concluded that that was his trademark. Over the years, I have seen him sad and angry. I know now that something must have been tickling him back then. Single Conference was over. I enjoyed my new status and resumed my normal life on Monday.

However, there was a new twist. MyPearl called on Monday to ask if he could call me regularly. Apparently, he thought my voice was dulcet too. Back then, I did not know not to say it so I told him I thought the same thing of his voice. I asked him to call as often as he felt like. In essence the feeling was mutual. But wait – what feeling?

MyPearl started calling twice a day; morning and evening, both at 6. Within 2 days, the calls started lasting an hour each. By the third day, things had gotten serious. For those with landlines back then – you know that jolt you feel when the phone rings and without seeing a caller ID (because there were none), you knew who was calling? I had started jolting. Wednesday evening’s call was sober. I could tell he was not smiling.

“What is the matter?”
“I am afraid that things would go wrong.”
“How do you mean?”
“My girlfriend doesn’t have a phone at home.”
“Okay. How does this mean things would go wrong?”
“I have been talking to you more than I have been talking to her.”
“Okay… I still don’t understand why this would make you sad.”
“That was how we started dating.”
“I don’t really understand. Can you explain?”

That was how he told me of his first girlfriend in school. They were a perfect fit. Even though he had decided not to date in school, she melted his resolve. It was heaven on earth. As it turned out, she was my best friend’s friend but that one sef is another story. Anyway, he graduated, went to serve and met the lady he was now dating. Communicating with the first lady had gotten hard and the other lady was always around. Gradually, they drew apart in the first relationship and he grew into the new one. He was afraid because he was sensing that cycle repeating itself.

“Jumoke, this is not a good thing. I must not drift in and out of relationships.”
“I agree. You must not.”
“Will you help me?”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Please make sure that whatever happens, I don’t leave her for you?”
“I can’t promise that you won’t leave her o. I however promise that if you leave her, it won’t be for me, because I would never be available for you. This isn’t because I don’t consider you fantastic, someone anyone should want to be with, but because you have asked for my help.”

Has you ever given your word before and wondered if you were mad when you did it?

Na so we see am o… We have reached our weekly story length. If you convince me to tell the rest of the story, I will continue next Saturday. Till then… Arrivedeci!

Hey! It is story time!!

Story land, story land, time for music, fun and joy, story land, story land, bring your friends along.

Please, all of you people that do not know this song, just realize that our generations are different. I am talking to both you oldies and you youngies.

So, tonight, we are going to be talking about horrible bosses. I am sure that my bosses on my TL have started wondering what would be said about them. Lol. Watch this space.

Today I will be talking about my bosses in xxxxxxxx Bank Plc. I joined the Bank in August 2010. The Head of the Legal Department then was xxxxx xxxxx. She was replaced that month by xxxxx xxxxx. The Company Secretary was also female – xxxxxx xxxxxx. When I handled perfection, I reported to xxxxx xxxxx. When I moved to Ibadan in September, 2011, I reported to xxxxx xxxxx. She was my boss until December 2014.

At a quick glance you would come to the conclusion that life must have been pretty hard for me, surrounded by female bosses, who are notorious for being hard liners… These women were sweet women. xxxxx had a hard face but she stayed in Surulere and gave me a ride home several times. xxxxx, with her smiling face, was stricter than XXXXX. She taught me that the reward for hard work is more work and man, she could drive anything, including slaves. _She almost take work finish me, chai!_

How do you cope with a boss who you meet at work at 6am and who you leave at work at 9pm? Your excuses are all water off a duck’s back. Worse still, the woman remembers everything that happened since the civil war! Unfortunately for you, she will pretend not to until you trap yourself in a lie you can’t get out of. Today isn’t about xxxxx, although I will talk about her a lot. She is the singular most influential boss I have ever had. She harnessed my culture of work though she maintains that my upbringing was responsible for my having it in the first place. She believes that any child that grows up in a loving home would always make great staff. What do you think of this theory?

It is time to make a confession o. All those women are not the object of today’s story. XXXXX was playful. She paid too much attention to me and my legion of visitors. She kept track of who came when and who brought what. (People never visited without bearing gifts). XXXXX was epic – feeding my children and changing my wardrobe annually. It is amazing which experiences come to mind when a name is mentioned, isn’t it?

Anyway, I only worked with two people who gave me experiences that can fit into this topic. They are actually very nice people; sweet *men*. Lol. This is not gender discrimination; it is saying it as it is. They are men who work hard and *force you to be on your toes and produce your best at all times, whether you want to or not*. You see this small thing that I have just written is what makes people cry at work. Yes, the men made people cry. However, I am not the crying at work type. I don’t get emotional at work, except maybe to get livid, and this doesn’t lead to tears *in the office*.

So, let’s meet xxxxxxx xxxxxxx. A few weeks into xxxxx’s reign as HOD, xxxxxxx was recruited as second in command. Tall, good-looking gentleman. We couldn’t tell if he was coming in to do fine man for us or if he was going to be sweet and crunchy like boss lady. He also had some adjusting to do with so many women at the helm of affairs. However, when he looked at the shop floor, he was always glad only one was his boss. Unlike xxxxx who smiled her way in, xxxxxxx’s plan to fit in was to quickly establish his authority. Madam xxxxx put him in charge of meetings and reports. That was when _wahala_ started.

The first crisis was xxxx. xxxx is an intelligent lawyer who is more academic than administrative. Xxxxx helped us discover that. Unfortunately, what xxxxxxx was in charge of administration. Xxxx and I sat on different sides of the office but we came together at meal times which was several times a day. One day, from my cove, I heard a few shouts and then I heard the sobs. Xxxx was in tears. I don’t know if the argument was over a late report or the biscuit crumbs on her table but he didn’t address the issue. He tackled her and the babe broke down. I had to console her but of course, she couldn’t do anything meaningful again at work that day. Strike one.

Sometime later that week, still ensconced in my corner cubicle, I heard someone bellowing. I couldn’t make out what was being said but within a few minutes, xxxxx was wailing. Another report was late and instead of addressing the issue, our supervisor had addressed the human. Two strikes in one week. The office was agog with furtive looks and calm trepidation. (I know what I did in that sentence). Everyone started approaching work with fear. I don’t know if that was xxxxxxx’s aim but I wasn’t one to fear work. I still carried my air of self-importance, after all, xxxxx had named me as her personal assistant and no one would dare touch her girl. That was what I thought.

The following week, it was my turn. I think the strategy was to get the weak ones cowering and then use a big one to show your dominance and then everyone would fall in line. One day, he asked me to construct records for a function of the department that I had just been moved to from scratch; an impossible task. Then, he went ahead to give me a 24hour deadline for it, seeking blood from stone. I seldom respond to instructions so I said nothing. My comeuppance came the following morning. I remember it today as clear as that day in September 2010.

He strolled in in a black suit, white shirt and black tie, with his suit unbuttoned. He was swinging his leather laptop bag while taking long strides across the office. If he had deigned to look at me, maybe the foible would not have been so great. He started shouting at me from the door and did not stop until he got to his seat.

“xxxxxx, I cannot understand why you are so inept. I asked for a schedule. If you couldn’t do it, you should have said so and I would know how to tell Madam xxxxx that you are simply lazy, seeking only to either occupy space or feign activity from morning till night. How hard can creating a schedule be? To further worsen matters, you did not either acknowledge the instruction or give feedback on it. I will not accept such nonsense from anyone in this office. If I do not have the schedule within the hour, you would be getting a query for it and I will copy HCM.”

Although, I am not naturally a proud person, I have some self-pride. You remember that I am from Ekiti. Those of us from that side of Nigeria believe in ourselves. I am sure you know what I mean. I looked at the open door to xxxxx’s office and simply got up and walked into her office without saying a word.

“Mummy, e wa mu aja yin o.” If you do not understand Yoruba, I am glad. I will not translate. Just know that it was a very rude statement.

“Ki lo sele?” she replied.

“I am the one xxxxxxx is shouting at and I think it is because you let him get away with shouting at those other two ladies. It is unacceptable behavior in the office!”

“Well, he isn’t unreasonable. He can’t start shouting for nothing. What did you do?”

“That is where I have a problem. I did not do anything. He sent me a mail yesterday morning asking me to prepare a schedule and send to him. He didn’t send a reminder or even ask me for the schedule, he just started shouting on his way into the office this morning.”

“Where is the schedule?”

“In his email. I sent it at 9pm last night.”

“Pardon him. He doesn’t know that my baby is an over-performer.”

“Can I just go back in there and embarrass him by shouting at him the way he shouted at me since we have decided to let chaos reign in the office? You can’t let him continue to behave like this.”

“xxxxxx, sit down.” That was the beginning of the lecture of my life, the one I have for you all today.

“One luxury life does not give to us is this – it does not allow us to choose our bosses. We do not have a choice in who they would be or what their personality would be like. The same way you did not choose your parents, you do not get to choose your boss. What you can control is how you react to your boss. I am happy that unlike the other two ladies, you have refused to let him steal your joy this morning and mess up your day. I am also happy that all the bad things you have to say were said to me and not to him because that also has the power to make life very difficult for you at work.

It is important to understand why you are here. It is also important for you to understand that you will have to manage several people in order to fulfill your reason for being here. Learning how to manage xxxxxx is necessary if you want to survive in this office. A few queries copied to HR can make things hard for you. It will become an appraisal issue. Work isn’t just about doing what you were recruited to do, it is also about learning how to work with other people, as difficult as they may be. The choice of whether you would enjoy it or not is entirely yours.

Let me quickly reassure you though that you are on the right path. If he has shouted at you for what you did not do, then you have taken the fuel out of his fire because he will soon find out you were right and he was wrong. What would then happen is that your “account” would be credited with respect, especially for not responding even though you would have been justified. Xxxxxx doesn’t know you. He has had contact with everyone else and he knows they seldom do what they are supposed to. Knowledge is progressive. He will come to realize that you are not like them and he will stop treating you like them.

So, go back to your desk and behave like nothing happened. It hurts, yes but you need it to learn how to move from here to the next stage. I am sorry he hurt you but I am not sorry that you are growing on the job.”

“Thank you, ma.”

Needless to say, xxxxxxx never shouted at me again. He didn’t apologize when he saw the email though. I guess men don’t leave their ego at home when they go to work. Lol. That speech from xxxxx xxxxx has however stayed with me ever since.

Is your boss badly behaved? Add it to your testimonial. If you can work with him/her, you can work with anyone. Also, guess what? Your work will always speak when everything else is against you. So, no matter what is going on, politicking and all, please do your work. Beef can edge people out or make life difficult for them but the hardworking person would always find room in a tight corner.

Please share the lessons you have learnt from this story. Thanks!

Welcome to our Saturday story series. The romantics won. I would be sharing a love story today. If you are hoping for a Harlequin or M & B Grade story, kindly check next door. We only write Christian romance.

Today’s story is titled “My Little Black Dress”. It is set in the University of Ibadan in the year 1998, a notable football year that witnessed both Burkina Faso ’98 that held in February and France ’98 which held in July.

Some people who know me would be slack-jawed. They have never put Jumoke and football in the same sentence before. My dad was a football lover. My childhood was spent loving and watching football. My husband is indifferent to football. I no longer know who is playing what. This is the power of influence.

For those who are not used to historical romance, please note that in 1998, mobile phones and social media did not exist, neither did we have access to the internet. There was Maryland cookies though and the hero of today’s story (let’s call him Hero) loved the orange one, caramel flavour. If these sound strange, please note that it means I am not your mate.

[Insert picture]

This story is dedicated to my pastor of 18years. You see, he does not believe that people younger than 23years of age can truly understand what love means. However, we, the hopeless romantics, are convinced that anyone can find love in the most unusual places. Your test for today is this- tell me, after reading the story, if it was love or stupidity.

Anyway, in 1998, our heroine was 18 and our hero 19. We shall be calling them Hero and Heroine so that all ye contacts will not come and disturb me for their identity. That year, they crossed over to medical school. Hero was from a rich background and so he got an allowance of N6,000 per month. Heroine wasn’t quite middle class. She got an allowance of N1,000 per week. Oya, do the maths.

When school was resuming in January, medical students got a lot of money from home for dissecting sets, textbooks and lab coats, in addition to their school fees and allowances. Hero somehow convinced his mum to give him his monthly allowance for the entire semester at once and so he was balling.

Heroine got the fees, money for the dissecting set and lab coat. Her mum, who had just collected her gratuity, only gave her N3,000 to cover one textbook each for anatomy, physiology and biochemistry. She had to interview the seniors to know which textbooks to buy. She planned to study with friends. Alas, she was always with Hero and this meant she couldn’t study with others if they were not studying together.

Don’t ask me how they met, that is another story. Know this – they were in the same class. They were on the same dissecting table, Table 13. They had the same friends and so they hung out together after class. Naturally, things would begin to get “technical” the more they spent time alone together. They were an item in the eyes of their classmates. In their own eyes, they were friends that were too close for comfort. Let’s leave it at that, ok?

Hero’s money galvanized his business thinking. His brother also got a stash that time. Thus, they started brainstormed on what business they could do. That year marked the official beginning of viewing centres for the multiple football tournaments. Hero and his bro pooled their funds and decided to start one at Faculty of Arts Large Lecture Theatre. Of course, as with any other start-up, that meant Hero was broke when the business started.

He never felt broke. Family finance kicked in. They used couple money dynamics. He paid his fees and did nothing else. Since Hero and Heroine were on the same dissection table, they used one dissection set- Heroine’s. She read the instructions, while he did the cadaver cutting. She wiped his face during dissection, since he used to sweat on his nose. Their study was compatible with romance. Everyone else on their table enjoyed the soap opera. It was very entertaining.

They shared her single textbooks, which stayed in his room, along with the dissection set. She brought weekly food supplies to share; cooked meals shared over the weekend and her allowance for the week split between them. They got toiletries via a joint list prepared and sent to her dad for purchases. St. Ives body lotion for combination skin. #CoupleGoals

Are you looking for the little black dress? It is the conclusion of the story. After the first month of setting up the viewing centre, it became quite glaring that it was not going to make the anticipated profit. The brothers started working just to get their initial capital back and even that looked bleak. Heroine had to provide comfort and ensure a lack of depression from the loss. That was easy though, the romance was very distracting.

Things changed for the better after 3 months. I think Hero actually confessed to his mum what they had done with their money and how things turned out. Like a true mother would, she sent him an allowance on the first day of the following month. The inflow of N6,000 was worth celebrating, for both Hero and Heroine who hadn’t seen more than N500 at once in a long time. Joy and peace flowed freely.

“Let me get you something from the shop in the garage next door.”

“What?”

“Caramel Maryland Cookies, your favourite.”

“At least this time, I can get you something from the shop next to it.”

“That is a boutique.”

“I know.”

“I am not sure they have anything I want.”

“Let’s check.”

Twenty minutes later he asks “Don’t you like this one?”

“This one?” It was a little black spaghetti strapped dress. “Isn’t it too exposing?”

“I think it would look good on you.”

“The price tag says N2,800.”

“So?”

“I don’t want.”

“Do you like it? Try it on.”

It didn’t take much convincing. It was a lovely dress. However, Heroine had been in a scrimping and saving mode for 3months. There was no how she would let him spend half the inflow on a dress she couldn’t wear to most places. She wore it and pirouetted for him to see. It did look good. She took it off, hung it back on the rack and dragged him back to his room.

When she was leaving that night, Hero handed her a small black polythene bag. Your guess is as good as mine. It contained the little black dress. With his eyes glistening with a sheen of tears, he said to her “I really appreciate everything you have done for me in the last few months. You are worth so much more to me than the cost of this dress. All the money I got cannot even begin to show how much I appreciate you. The dress looks great on you. I want you to have it.”
She couldn’t refuse it after having to listen to those words. Well, she only wore the dress twice. The first time was to a party covered by an oversized t-shirt. The second time was to take a picture. 1998 was 23years ago. Hero still has a copy of the picture although Heroine managed to somehow lose hers.

With this, we have come to the end of our tale of love and money. The question is, was this an example of youthful exuberance or was it plain stupidity? If the latter, on whose part, Hero and Heroine? Oya, talk to me.