I am putting this post up because it is one of the most searched topics on the blog. I believe most girls have been left confused as to whether doing a High Vaginal Swab test otherwise called HVS, would take away their virginity or expose their non-virgin status. Aidee is here to the rescue. After doing two Industrial trainings in medical laboratories, I believe I know something or two about HVS. This short post is a combination of what I know as well as first hand experience for the benefit of those inquisitive people who have been directed to this blog by Google and have instead been led to this naughty post of mine instead.
I wrote a plea post sometime back when I had to cater to a young girl, Clara but was faced with many other responsibilities (Click here to read the post).
I’m so happy at the number of people who reached out and shared that post on their various chat groups. Tonight, someone reached out to me again and I felt guilty that I did not post this update earlier.
After deliberations and series of meetings with some older people from my church, someone was 100% ready to take Clara in. We decided to go see her father before any decision was made.
We fixed a date and went along with a married couple. Details of the meeting with her family are confidential. Eventually, Clara reconciled with her father amidst tears from everyone present. It was during this whole arrangement that I understood some things I initially did not including that her father truly loves her. I really did not want Clara to leave but she had to. The tears I shed were just uncontrollable, the other interveners wept too. It was cry galore!
Clara is doing fine just now, at least that’s what she says. I’m so sure she’s going to grow to be the great woman she was created to be.
My immense gratitude goes to Temi who took it upon herself to find sponsors for Clara. Thank you Richard and Joy for nominating me for that ambassadorial something. These two insisted that I was qualified for the nomination even though I saw nothing special in what I’ve done. It’s who I am, I am so thrilled that you believe so much in me.
Thank you Linda, Faith, Omoye and Jones for sharing. Big thanks to the church mamas who were there for me. It still feels weird when I’m on the other side of the kindness stick. For someone who plays the kind role, I still cry happy tears when I remember how kind these people were to me.
I’m so grateful, very grateful, truly grateful.
I love you all so much.
I have not done any research on this topic so this is really from experience. It is also a note specially written for a part of me that I have been emotionally attached to for years.
Twenty-five is not such a bad age to clock, unless you let it pass so quick and forget to enjoy what life offers. Because knowing that in a few months, you’ll be referred to as the girl in her late 20s, is really a big deal regardless of how I dismiss it.
I woke up on the morning of 7-7-17 and dressed to meet with a client. I had three hours before our meeting time which was more than enough time to dress my long length, very full hair but I was too lazy to do so. Only one thought was recurring on my mind each time I stood up to dress my hair so I impulsively went to the salon outside and told the woman to ‘cut it’.
The surprise on her face was not one she could hide. “Come make I talk to you”, she urged.
“Madam, you dey cut hair for your shop?”, I ignored her call. I did not want to be persuaded. This hair is all mine, it’s a part of me and does not belong to any other human.
She knew I had made up my mind. “I dey cut hair, when you wan cut am?”
“Right now”, I replied and walked inside the salon. There was no going back. I cared less about the comments from the other customers in the shop who clearly hated me each time the woman’s scissors cut my hair, bunch by bunch.
My hair was everywhere. I understood what Abraham must have felt when he placed Isaac on that slab for sacrifice.
No one noticed the new haircut that day, perhaps because I still had a few inches of hair left on my head.
I finally went with my dearest friends (now brothers) to lower the hair length on Saturday. I looked like an 18 year old boy.
I had a few excuses in my backpocket in case anyone wanted an explanation. I knew Ola would demand for an explanation, one I did not even understand myself.
Did I cut my hair because I loved Lola so much that I wanted to show solidarity when her head became bald from all those chemotherapy shots? Did I cut my hair because I was tired of spending so much on hair products just to tame it? Why did I cut my hair really?
Daniel answered correctly. “She’s experiencing life crisis”. He laughed when someone asked. I agreed. It was then that I began to understand the impulse. It’s really not something I can find the words to explain properly. It’s the feeling of taking control of what’s yours, that feeling of knowing you’ve gone through twenty-five years on earth and have learned enough to not let yourself be disrespected, the feeling that you are enough and can be confident in your own skin.
I have always feared that I’d look like a man if I cut off all my hair but you see, my confidence two days after taking all that hair off, is amazing.
I owe no one any explanation (except Ola of course, who was just so sad). Everyone who noticed has promised not to speak to me again. “That plenty hair!” “You cut that hair when I’m here begging God to give me hair!”
I laugh now and respond, “This haircut also looks good on me”, because regardless of what they think and how they feel, the hair was mine, is mine and will always be mine. This is how I shall welcome twenty-six.
Growth is fun. Having to live through life, learning and making mistakes, taking responsibility, living and having fun, is fun. I do not remember how much fun I had when I was eighteen years old but Tarfa came to pay us a visit the other day and I told him about a project Clara and I were working on for teenagers.
“I am not a teenager but I do feel like one”, I said.
“You are always a teenager, Aidee”, he replied then he said something about how I always put myself in their shoes and try to understand what it is that they felt.
Some years back, no one would say that of me. Put myself in whose shoes? My shoes are enough trouble for me plix! But growing does that thing to a lady, yes? A man too. This is how I have learned many other ways to listen, to respect what others feel and to know how much I am worth. I do not think I am at that level just yet, where I totally understand what it all means, but I am happy that I am at this phase where I can point at any of my friends and say of them, ‘this one has a hold of his life’.
Botafrik is here. Botafrik is one of my many dreams come true and so I want my 161st published blog post to be this – that I am grateful to be surrounded by beautiful friends, no, family and that I know what it means to love and be loved, to live and let live, to invest in a life, to make mistakes. I understand what it means to burn out, to focus on passion, to choose what is best, to give without expectation, to look in the mirror everyday and say to myself, “I AM ENOUGH”.