Archive for the ‘Life Style’ Category

Available For Sale in Abuja FCT

August 28, 2017

Available for sale at Diplomatic Zone, Katamkpe, Abuja FCT

Within a serviced gated estate of 8 detached units. ONLY TWO UNITS LEFT

Large downstairs living room. fully equipped kitchen, 3 en-suite bedrooms, Penthouse Suite comprising bedroom, and roof terrace Communal swimming pool

Parking for up to four vehicles Contact me for more details and inspection 0909 426 0058



The Gospel According To Lesley: Talking About Beauty, SLEEP WELL O

March 12, 2017


Sleep covers a multitude of sins. Take my word for it. Have you ever recovered from an illness and someone says “Ah, you look so well”? Sleep and rest are linked to all sorts of good outcomes. I used to sleep three four hours a night. If I slept a long time I slept 6 hours. And no matter what time I went to bed I couldn’t sleep beyond 9am. My conscience would have me out of bed and running around like a headless chicken after an all night binge that ended at 7am.

“Work hard and play harder.” I famously said once. “Not on two hours of sleep” the Universe replied and hit me with thyrotoxicosis.

Now I get my uninterrupted 8 hours of sleep every night.  If I go to bed late, I wake up late. If I have a sleep deficit I make up for it real quick. Next night where ever possible. And I sleep late on Sundays. Every Sunday. Just lounge around in bed reading, napping and ringing the bell for service.  If god could rest one day out of seven then so can I god damn it. Its my definition of ‘Keeping The Sabbath.’ No other rules apply.


Oil painting by Oresegun Olumide

In Nigeria I can bloody well do that too because everything runs on ‘African Time’ anyway. Even the Mexicans know about it. When we plan events and we want the event to start by 6pm we never put that on the invitation. We put noon on the invitation hoping the guests will start to arrive by 6pm. And start at midnight anyway. Go figure. Anyway its part of our planning process, African Time is. I know all you Nigerians in abroad find it infuriating. Kpele.

Depending on the power dynamics I can arbitrarily reschedule a 9am appointment or even not inform you that its been rescheduled at all if I need a couple hours of extra sleep. You’re probably late anyway. My sleep is more important than your good will.

It wasn’t easy putting my needs first, at first. My ‘oyibo’ conscience would scream at me and burden me to get to the meeting and I would convince myself that 3 hours of sleep was okay because I felt just fine.  Margeret Tatcher famously slept 4 hours a night. She had Alziemers or dementia or something when she died. So did my late mother in law who also had sleep problems.

I don’t play with my sleep o.

My bedroom is the nicest room in the house, airy, comfy and soothing. Music, yes. television, no. No television in bed. Only a couple of books on the night stand. My boudoir. I try to fall asleep and wake up feeling happy to be alive.

I also know how to sleep rough. Catching as many or as few hours as possible in the most uncomfortable conditions. Because  sometimes even where you sleep is determined by power dynamics and you sleep and wake up with uncertainty. And maybe work hard to escape and create a personal sense of security. Or status. Or dignity. Refusing to give in to those forces. Or giving in.

Don’t compromise where you sleep o and – as my friend used to say – who you sleep with it. And why.

Till soon.



The Gospel According To Lesley: Talking About Beauty II

February 12, 2017

Last month I wrote about some of the stuff I’ve done over the years in the name of ‘beauty’ and promised to fill you in after I think about it some more.

For many many years I tried to prove that I was just as hardy as the Natives. Because the natives always told me I was soft because I was half white. They said we are not strong like them. So I used to run around under the sun at noon and otherwise look very hardy during the hottest time of the day and all day till the sun went down. We got up and went to bed with the sun.


Sun Hustle by David Osagie, Digital Artist

They were right. I was wrong. I am not as hardy as the natives. All that running around in the sun just over heated me and made me sick. So nowadays I follow oyibo advice – I stay out of the sun. My friends tease me because I use these uber cute and kitschy sun umbrellas and hats if I’m even 2 minutes in the sun.

I avoid  being outside between 10am and 5pm. If I could get away with it I would only come out between 7pm and 7am but they might call me a vampire. The natives are very superstitious. They go to bed early. There will be no one to do business with at that time of the night anyway. The ones that stay awake may not make good business partners.

Nigeria proves the stereotype that only bad  things happen at night.

I used to eat a lot of garlic. I still eat garlic but not so much. My ayurveda diagnosis does not recommend it. I eat just enough to prove I am not a vampire and to keep real vampires at bay. Beware the ones that go “Hmm. You eat garlic.”  Like its an accusation of witch craft.

The most common age related damage I seen on Nigerian women is sun damage.  Even in the ones that are not so yellow.  We live almost at the equator, with only gods knows what type of environmental ozone and atmospheric damage making us super vulnerable to the worst of the sun’s radiation.

SPF just doesn’t cut it for me. It also made me sweat too profusely so I dont use it. I just don’t go out during the hottest part of the day. Oyibo is deceiving you to buy sunscreen. The smart oyibo’s are the ones in Spain and Greece. The ones that close all business and take siesta during the hottest part of the day. Americans like to  suffer. Always busy. You understand why Nigerians of the Igbo extraction like them so well? By the way you can read a short history of the tan here.

I don’t want or need a tan. Nor do I need to worship the sun. I’m pretty sure it will rise tomorrow, that I’ll have roughly the same number of hours of sunshine and that I will get some living in Abuja. Imagine what it must be like where they have 24 hours of night or 24 hours of day for a season?


Dark Side by David Osagie, Digital Artist

The changing lengths of  the days in London, Moscow and St. Pete’s freaked me out good enough. After four months of cold short days cooped up indoors I almost rushed out to worship the sun too.

Around here we tend to worship the rain storms, thunder, lightning, the earth that yields food, water, rivers, oceans, creeks and springs. My skin loves the rainy season when the air is heavy with moisture. In Nigeria we have real rain storms. The rain in England is civilised. You can walk for hours and not get wet. In Naija you are soaked within seconds by just one gust.

Avoid the heat too. In the absence of air-conditioning in the village I found that generous applications of nzu, a chalk like mud from the river beds, when left to dry on the skin, would cool the body and leave the skin wonderfully moisturised. I would lounge on a mat under the mango tree in white chalk and a wrapper reading or listening to music on the radio. Of course the natives thought I was crazy. What do they know. Suffer head people. Running around in the sun. Perspiring. Smelling funky.

Avoid the sun joor. Apu na anwu.

Chao bella



Introducing The Gospel According To Lesley – Talking About Beauty

January 8, 2017

Sisi Eko, Digital Art by David Osagie Dot Com


I just turned 51. I’ve been told often enough that I do not look my age and asked just as often how do I do it. I shrug it off, blame it on gene’s or one way or the other avoid the topic. I feel uncomfortable talking about it. A lot of women are. Even Chimamanda used to be.

The other day I was talking to a young woman about how I protected my skin from dryness during the UK winter. I described abhyanga, ayurvedic oil massage for her. I always used an oil massage before a shower during the winter never soap. And when I soaked (once a week maybe less) I dumped a bottle of Johnson’s baby oil in the tub with the bubble bath.

“So after using that sisal brush on your skin you took time and used oil to give yourself a massage? Hmm. You dey pamper yourself.”

I guess you could say so. (I’ve used a sisal brush to dry brush the skin before bathing in the every morning for more than ten years. Read about it in Vogue back in the day.)

“I’m just trying to keep my skin supple. I’ll always been obsessive about my skin even as a child. What was  an unhealthy obsession then is just what I need now. ”

I’ve also used Boots ‘Glycerin and Rosewater Tonicto clean my face everyday for over 20 years. Never soap and water. It suddenly occurs to me. I’ve had a very sophisticated beauty regimen all my life. I do pamper myself and take care of myself. No small thanks to My Evil Step Mother who tried to make a lady out of me. And curb my vanity. Was she successful?

In the tropical heat I always use a loofah and a gentle soap or shower gel. Currently using PH balanced Sebamed. And last last I will use Dove or Pears. Gone are the skin punishing days in the village when Dad bought me Tetmosol or Dettol soap. And Vaseline. And I would run around at high noon like one of my dark skinned brethren. My Father tried to make a revolutionary ought of me. And curb my vanity. Was he successful?

I’ve also used a body scrub at least two three times a week for well over 20 years. St.Ives Apricot Scrub used to be a favourite. It was always available in the market sha. At reasonable price too. Then I when I started to travel plenty I got into Soap & Glory. Now I am in love with Lizzy Ab’s All Natural Sugar Body Scrub. All natural ingredients. Leaves the skin feeling baby soft and smooth. It even taste’s good. I really take time when I’m scrubbing. I put all the attention into it I once put into bathing my new born babies.

I don’t let my skin feel tight. If it feels tight I know I need a moisturiser.  I use coconut oil daily right after a bath or shower and Jergen’s Ultra Healing lotion during the dry months. I apply as often as necessary in between to relieve the tightness. And drink more water. Till I am peeing every hour or two. Dry skin has to be attacked from the inside too. I eat right and take my vitamins. 

I take care of my skin because I figure clothes are disposable but I got to live in my own skin for my whole life. So I might as well keep it healthy and looking great. I mean if you can do it for those Blue Suede Shoes you can do it for your skin right? It just another piece of leather. Just that its still ‘alive.’ Can you relate? No?

Don’t worry about it.

I treat my feet well too. Notice how the feet do so much work? Show them some appreciation. Give them a massage with the nicest smelling richest cream or lotion you can afford. Pamper your feet. Wash and pamper them when you come home from the market square. Appreciate the work they do. The intricate engineering that keeps you upright all day long.

Say ‘Thank you.’

A proper pedicure once in a while would do. Not the road side kind. I swear I judge a person by the state of their feet.

And how they smell.

I get complimented a lot that I smell good. Thank you. I appreciate the effort that goes into smelling good. I make a lot of effort to smell good. My revulsion at unpleasant smells is primal. I think its evil to assail your fellow human beings with funky body smells. Or any other kind of unpleasant smells. Like cheap perfume. Cheap perfume smells cheap. I do not use it. I’d rather withdraw from polite society.

I  frequently do.

Let’s see. What else do I do to stay healthy and strong? Let me think about it and get back to you.

Chao bella


Chimamanda, Digital Art by David Osagie



May 12, 2016


Fuckability: A measure of how much you would have sex with a person. Often ranging on a scale of 1 (lowest) to 10 (highest).

I’ve had to give some thought to fuckability. It’s just one of those things I never really thought about before. I always thought women had intrinsic fuckability merely because we were women.

You can blame my Russian step mother for that. We were watching a wildlife program on TV and I asked her why all the male birds looked flamboyant and eager while the females looked drab and nonchalant. Her response – males wanted to attract and mate more than females.

In other words females had intrinsic fuckabilty while males needed some extra help.

Of course I was 7 at the time and yet to find out that females want it just as much. Or that we were a bit more complex than the birds and the bees. I retain an unshakeable confidence in female fuckability that has nothing what so ever to do with looks, or behaviour.

The matriarchs in our house did not tell is ‘fuckability’ was our ultimate goal. Our matriarchs pretty much ignored what men were up to, told them off once in a while and instilled in us the importance of hard work and self sufficiency.

It was assumed that you would marry and have children whether you were male or female.

In their opinion only men with lots of lands for a woman to exploit were marriageable. You did not marry a man with no land. How on earth would you survive? Men did not feed women and children. They provided the land on which women laboured.

In my village the primary measure of a woman’s ‘fuckabilty’ was her industriousness. A beautiful, sexy but lazy women was just as likely to starve as a lazy man. That was how it worked back then. I still feel privileged to have grown up with these women. Things have changed.

The first time I heard a woman of my homestead define ‘fuckability’ as a woman’s sexual value was from my town dwelling elitist uncles wife who was coincidently the first woman in the whole of village to go to the white man’s school.

She represented a younger generation that was more educated, more religious and yet more dependent on men. And she represented the sort of Victorian and religious values I’d already come to disdain.

Rihanna’s latest single “Needed Me” is all about fuckability and the new feminism.

“Fuck your white horse and a carriage”

I’m Going To Write About Prince And Men’s Fashion

April 22, 2016


The first Prince song I ever heard was “I Wanna Be Your Lover”. It was 1980. I lived in rural south east Nigeria. I was captivated. I voraciously read the album sleeve. The picture of the bare chested young man on the album sleeve looked vaguely like the only picture I had of my older brother.

I developed an obsession for this artiste that looked like my brother (and me I guess) and this single. Those carefree days when one had time to listen to a song over and over and over and over again. Till you knew every word, every crescendo, very note, every chord, every accent, every lead in.

It’s lyrics were just the right amount of risqué for prudish me. Compared to his later lyrics “I Wanna Be Your Lover” seems innocent and romantic now. Just like the album cover. Then one day I read in Ebony Magazine that Prince was a diminutive 5’2″. I don’t know why I felt betrayed and heart broken but I did. I took down his poster from my bedroom wall. Thereafter I always looked at him with side eye.


(I must seriously explore my issues with diminutive men. I am not similarly dismissive of diminutive women.)

What I didn’t ignore, what I paid keen attention to were his fashion choices. I loved his glamorous subversive 80’s style. I remember thinking “If I were a male rock star I would totally rock high heels, makeup, purple, crop tops and frilly shirts like Prince” because men’s fashion (especially white male inspired fashion) is generally really really boring.

Rock stars, royalty and African men seem to be the only ones that can break male fashion rules with impunity. And few aristocratic men do anymore except at ceremonial occasions. Prince evoked the extravagance of men’s fashion in Louis XIV’s France and Tudor England. Men’s fashion has become decidedly plebeian and conservative in the last few centuries.

Was that the influence of the American Revolution or the Communist Revolution? Or both? I’m sure some intellectual somewhere has expounded a treatise on it. Fashion has always been a status symbol. Only royalty ‘dressed up’ everyday. Only royalty was permitted flamboyant sartorial displays. Only royalty could afford it.

For the rest of mankind it just wasn’t practical because, you know, they have to do real  work. So they created these acceptable uniforms for ordinary men and women that both announced social and gender status and kept the people trapped within them. It was and is a display of power just like any masquerade contest in Africa attempts to do. Its all theatre. Village Square Theatre.

I always felt sorry for men because of the social restrictions on their fashion choices. At least women, royal and plebeian, were still allowed to adorn and display themselves. I hated shopping for my sons, there never seemed much variation in the offerings for young boys. I spent hours obsessing about dressing them with some individuality.

What happened to men’s fashion that all you can boast of is the quality of the fabric and cut? Anyway I looked at it, it was still a a rather uniform suit, whether it had three buttons or one, a peaked or notched lapel,  made in Aba or by Ermenegildo Zegna. The suit and tie seemed so status quo, so reactionary.

Music is visceral. Art is visceral. And good music and good art challenges and questions the status quo. We feel before we think. And Prince, his music, his art and his fashion made us feel. Both comfortable and uncomfortable emotions and that was his true genius. Then it made us think. And his visionary style empowered many to break out of anachronistic fashion rules. Today we have cool fashion lines for boy’s and Jaden Smith. Prince was part of THAT revolution.

That he was a black man is no surprise (because Elvis was just too theatrical if you know what I mean.)



MzAgams@50: The Essential Birthday List

January 5, 2016

I have never made a birthday list but something about attaining 50 feels appropriate to start one. So I am now accepting birthday presents. Here is a comprehensive list of what I will and what I will not accept as a birthday present. Yes, I DO have a choice.

  1. Cash – in millions only be it Naira, Yen, USD, GBP, Euro or the Shilling. However we do not accept Zimbabwe dollars. Nothing less than seven figures is acceptable.
  2. Jewellery – must be real and expensivediamonds are a girls best friend and I am partial to emeralds. Artsy crafts jewellery is not acceptable. I can buy that for myself.
  3. A Bang & Olufsen  BeoVisionII Television and hone sound system
  4. A Car – a Mercedes AMG , or an Aston MartinD810
  5. Country Estate in England
  6. Leslie Castle lin Scotland
  7. chateau in the south of France
  8. 510,000 acre ranch in Texas
  9. An island in the Caribbean
  10. Tableware preferences can be found here (Cornucopia and Gold Collections)
  11. Baccarat Glassware registry is here
  12. Rare expensive repatriated African arts like this Urhobo beauty that sold for over $100,000 at Sotheby’s. Or this Benin terracotta head that went for a cool $1,930,000!
  13. Any Diane Arbus photograph will always be a welcome part of my collection of Arbus.
  14. I’m now collecting Peter Lik too. His photograph ‘Ghost’ is stunning.
  15. Rare books and collectors editions of my favourite authors – Agatha Christie, James Hadley Chase, Dr. Suess, Pushkin and Eric van Lusbader. Would be especially happy to receive a first edition copy of ‘Out of Africa’. Someone stole my original 1937 edition bequeathed to me by my beloved uncle.
  16. Foodies – I love fine food. Accepting gifts of Beluga Caviar (you can get it at the Russian Tea Room, they ship.)
  17. I will accept dinner at the Carnivore in Nairobi and the
    Churrascaria Palace in Rio de Janeiro
    Things you are not allowed to present to me and if you do I will reject them but as nicely as possible –
  1. Household appliances – no circumstances can ever warrant it
  2. Cheap celebrity branded perfumes
  3. DVD’s or CD’s (if that the best you can do you probably need the money more than I need a present)
  4. Cheap liquor
  5. A Volkswagen of any type, year or model.
  6. A Toyota, a Kia, A Honda or any other car made over there. yes, that includes the Lexus.
  7. Cheap wine (unless you’re presenting me with the vineyard and why cheap eh?)
  8. Beer (unless its the fucking brewery)
  9. Groceries – including rice, garri, yam and plantain
  10. Livestock (unless it comes with the ranch)
  11. Lingerie (Sorry, I don’t know any of you all THAT well)
  12. A wedding ring

If by any chance you review this list and find nothing that fits your budget remember – humour is priceless, `come and give me a laugh. I cannot never resist roses – the more of them the weaker my resistance. And champagne, chocolates and strawberries will create enough endorphins to make a girl of any age happy – for while – at least long enough for you to make your escape.

You know where to find me. Waiting


I really like THESE diamonds


MzAgams@50:Better Than Ever

January 5, 2016

My father loved to tell the story of how I was born at precisely 12noon on Wednesday, January 5, 1966 at my grandmothers apartment on Leninovsky Boulevard in Central Moscow. It was -14*C outside. Snow covered every where, white and fluffy on the spaces in between black and melting slush in the streets. It must have been easy to convince him not to go for lectures that day, and easy not to want to rush off to the state run hospital till it was too late. I made my prompt arrival right there with just the two of them attending. My mother was 18 my father was 28 or so.

I arrived squalling and squealing at the indignity of it! Why on earth would you NOT go to the hospital on time and ensure that I had the best medical care available from the minute I took my first breathe! If I coulda I woulda slapped them upside the head for putting ME at such risk. I mean, anything coulda happened! Thankfully I survived their youthful inexperience and stupidity. I’m pretty sure my grandmother slapped them upside the head when she came home from work.

The Beatles were trending around the world. That doesn’t sound quite right. The Beatles were causing mass hysteria all over the world and going viral 30 years before the internet gave viral a new meaning. My father travelled to the UK from Russia pretty regular and brought Divine Mother Ludymila all their records.

The Cold War between Soviet Union and the West was at detente. Brezhnev was Chairman of the Communist Party and head of state and Lyndon B. Johnson presided in the White House. Of course the Queen was and is still the Queen unaffected by mere economics or democratic whims.  My grandmother named me Elizabeth. Not Leona and not Linda.

Black demands for civil rights were growing in the United States. Malcolm X was killed in 1965  and the Watts Riots followed in July of ’65 and again in March of ’66. The Black Panthers were formed later that year. The increasingly violent racial tensions in the United States reflected similar tensions in the newly independent colonial states heavily influenced by Franz Fanon struggling to carve out an identity for themselves and severe the yoke of colonialism.

Liberations struggles flourished across Africa. Samora and Machel in Mozambique, Joshua Nkomo and Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe, Mandela and Tambo in South Africa. Nigeria  had gained independence in 1960 and Nnamdi Azikiwe was the President but unrest was brewing in the Western Region. My birth  seemed to herald the 1966 coup, the ensuing slaughter of Igbo-Nigerians and the civil war that followed.

Would you be tempted to say – if thats the case perhaps better you had not been born then. I know I’m thinking the same thing but I was. I also think I would have to be a narcissist of anti-christ proportions to think my birth heralded so much drama, chaos, death and blood shed. I’m pretty sure there is no metaphysical correlation what so ever. Still, it makes for a compelling story line, don’t you think? A Hammer House of Horror Special – the Anti Christ is actually a WOMAN!

I could also frame the narrative of my birth around space exploration, in 1966 the Soviet Union led the Space Race and it was a great source of pride and common dinner conversation topic.  My aunt and my grandmother were all committed communists. The state could do no wrong. They were very proud. I grew up believing I could be an astronaut if I wanted to be.

Then there was the pop culture backdrop; the mini skirt was becoming a staple fashion item, Andy Warhol ruled New York, Jacqueline Sussan published ‘Valley of the Dolls’, and Harold Robbins published ‘The Adventurer’, classics I didn’t read till 20 years later.

In Africa Chinua Achebe published his third book ‘Arrow of God’ and Lagos, Nairobi, Accra, Abidjan and AddisAbaba competed for position of most cosmopolitan African city south of the Sahara.

In Moscow produced excellent soviet films, theatre, ballet and opera. Perhaps my grandmother was a bit racist in steering me towards dance and music where she assumed my half black nature would lead me to excel  instead of chemistry or physics where I guess she assumed my half black nature would not. I think I would have excelled at maths if given the opportunity.

Later in 1966 Pope Paul VI and Arthur Michael Ramsey, the Archbishop of Canterbury meet in Rome – the first official meeting for 400 years between the Roman Catholic and Anglican Churches. And England will defeat Germany to win the World Cup. The first episode of the science fiction television series Star Trek premieres in the US.

I arrived in the midst of all this creative tension and euphoria of possibility and potential. And I arrived in a hurry. I’ve never slowed down. I’m always in a hurry.  I graduated high school at 15, university at 20 and law school at 22. Company secretary at 26, set up my first enterprise business at 28.

I also found time to get married, have three children and lose one by 20. By 22 I had lost the husband too having decided he was more of a hindrance than a help along this highway to somewhere fast that I was on and I became a  single mom. Now with hind sight I have to marvel at this very young woman’s very big balls. She had very big dreams.

She also has a big big heart. No matter how many times her heart was broken she kept looking for that elusive crazy little thing called love – with lovers, friends male and female, family, mentors it didn’t matter the relationship. There had to be love.

Its truly amazing looking back on my five decades of experience. I never really thought i would see the Big 5-0. In my melancholy troubled youth I determined not to live longer than my Divine Mother who died at 41. In protest or loyalty or just childish angst or maybe just out of vanity influenced by Blondie’s song – ‘Die Young And Stay Pretty’ – I decided I would not live beyond 41.

Despite my high risk self destructive lifestyle I made it to 50. It is truly a miracle. I should have been dead long long ago.  Well me and most every other Nigerian living in Nigeria too. Life expectancy for women is 55 compared to 52 for men. Technically I’m in the twilight of life already, an elder with just 5 years left on the clock. Well I feel like life is just starting!

Kind of tragic when you think about. People dying in their prime in Nigeria. I’m no longer so young that feel I have all  the time in the world and yet I’m not so old that I feel life is over for me either. I really does feel like a whole new possibility of life. I didn’t feel this positive when I turned 40.

I mean I was grateful that I was no fool at 40. I remember thinking – phew I made it!  I just didn’t feel a momentous difference. I didn’t really feel grown up yet. And I guess I do now. Well sorta. In some sort of way. I feel myself consciously ‘putting away the things of youth’ – like the insecurities, and the neurosis and the angst and the driven pursuit of an elusive ‘happiness’.

There is confidence in looking back and knowing you’ve played this game called life for 50 years and survived. There has been trauma, crisis, divorce, melodrama, birth, death, sickness , bankruptcy. Amid all the thorns there have been beautiful roses – children, family, friends, weddings, feasts, ceremonies, christenings, graduations, special places and special events.

I started travelling extensively at 23. I told people I was collecting memories and experiences instead of silver and gold. Boy was that true. Its been a rich and rewarding five decades. The good, the bad and the ugly have all shaped this amazingly unique person that I am. I like her. Anybody else’s opinion doesn’t count.

I’m looking forward to the next five decades. You know me, the overachiever. Now that I have passed my previously set age to die of 40 and clocked 50 I fully intend to reach 100. And why not? Its like a second chance at life. Might as well start planning 2066. Age we do not fear, we just don’t want to be decrepit.

The second half of the adventure is just beginning. Stayed tuned. MzAgams at 50 is better that ever.


MzAgams @50: The Essential Listicle of 50 Lessons

January 5, 2016

Every one  and there dog is doing listicles. Twenty Five Lessons at 25. Fifty Lessons at 50. I don’t want to feel left out so here go my top 50 lessons at 50. (I’m sure there more but I’ll save those for later.)

Fifty Life Lessons From 50 Years of Experience

  1. Family IS the most important thing
  2. Nobody owes you a damn thing – not even god, if she exists
  3. Never give up on love
  4. Be yourself
  5. Know yourself
  6. Just do it – there is no perfect moment
  7. Mind your business
  8. It REALLY is not your business
  9. Don’t cut your hair during the full moon or any other emotionally turbulent moments
  10. Spare no time for green bananas
  11. Beautiful is how you feel
  12. Be resolute about what you want
  13. Everybody has a hard luck story
  14. Don’t be a victim forever
  15. Let it go
  16. Don’t believe a word that fine boy says
  17. Actions speak louder than words
  18. Love is a VERB
  19. Relax, its going  to be alright
  20. Forgive those all those bastards you dated and/or married
  21. Keep the house when you get a divorce, give him the children
  22. Keep the house when you marry or remarry. You do own a house, right?
  23. Always find the silver lining
  24. Be spontaneous at least once
  25. If you must marry, marry the one thats crazy for you
  26. Marriage is a full time job – some pay better than others. Chose carefully
  27. Relationships need maintenance, either high maintenance or low maintenance. Your choice
  28. Marriage is not for life, thats just a myth. Philippines is the only country in the world where divorce is still illegal
  29. Do not sign a pre-nuptial – who signs away their legal rights? Is that even legal?
  30. Believe in something bigger than yourself unless you’re a narcissist in which case there is nothing bigger than yourself, I get it.
  31. Give your demons a bear hug and sit with them in love and compassion
  32. Do not be afraid
  33. Travel regularly – even if its to the next village
  34. Follow your passion – burn baby burn! You are a phoenix!
  35. Have children when you’re young
  36. Go ahead and have children when your older if you want to
  37. Exercise regularly and eat right
  38. Stand tall, stand straight, look people in the eye, shake hands firmly
  39. You ARE gorgeous – whatever your age, size, colour or shape
  40. Stay out of the sun or use a high SPF even if you are ebony skinned
  41. Drink lots and lots of beer while you can
  42. Eat lots and lots of food while you can
  43. Eat lots and lots of fruits and vegetables anyway
  44. Read books often
  45. Fall in love at least once or as often as possible
  46. Surrender to love at least once in your lifetime
  47. Old hearts and old bones take longer to mend
  48. Be amazing
  49. Do epic shit
  50. Love yourself more than anyone in the world – then you can love others


What I Hate About Religion

June 28, 2015

First of all you can’t talk back and you can’t question what some one else – another living-breathing-shitting-pooping-fucking human being just like you – is telling you about ‘God’ and how to serve worship or believe in Her. Everything must be accepted ‘by faith’ in God’s mouth piece.


And they’re all men. Every dominant religion today was proposed, interpreted and headed by men! The Bible – written by a bunch of men that could have had schizophrenia for all we know. Isn’t hearing voices a symptom?

The Koran; written entirely by one man who also said his is the last message of God. Ever again. Like after him She can’t possibly have anything else to say. Him don talk am finish. No more prophets. Ever. Are you trying to muzzle God?!

The Catholic Church, the Pope, the Dalai Lama. You catch my drift right? Oh sure, women are being allowed into the ranks of previously exclusively male priesthood’s. So what?

All the dominant religions speak and practice exclusion and domination. The ‘us’ versus ‘them’ dynamic. What happened to love and compassion? Even the ones that preach love and compassion! We need safe spaces for enlightened discourse, community and worship! Not training centres for intolerance and guilt!

And all this fire and brimstone talk about going to hell and sin. The righteous should be gleefully happy that us sinners are going to hell to burn forever but no they chase us up and down trying to save our ‘soul’. I mean what arrogant bullshit! Abeg save ya self first!

You want me to buy your BS that you care for my immortal soul? Na so. Na you good pass.  Surely if I have the right to choice my husband and how many children I have and where we live I have the right to decide where my ‘soul’ goes when I’m dead

Not that I sit around worrying about where I may or may not be going after I die. I got my hands full creating my heaven right here on earth and getting out of the hell intolerant religious extremists people make it. Religious bunkum! Its not the homosexuals making it hell.

Why is so important to you that we sinners change our ways? Why is important to you that I believe in your god more than my own anyway? The world will go to hell? It is hell already! And Nigeria is the hottest part of it, after India and Pakistan that is.

I know you probably think earthquakes and epidemics are God’s punishment for sin but that doesn’t make it true you know.

Religion has become an indoctrination not an education.

My vision for a tolerant future?

A world where parents and governments aren’t allowed to indoctrinate children. Where children learn about all religions, including atheism (yes, I believe it is a religion) read their various texts and MAKE UP THEIR OWN MIND at graduation and whatever ritual that comes with it. That would be my ideal world.

Religions are cults!