Tag Archives: relationship


How do blind dates work? I have been single for a minute and my friends have set me up countless times with people I do not know. I have gone on every date my friends set up for me and have not had good experiences with them. I remember the one my sister tried to set me up with, “he is a good guy, cool and generous. He just needs a companion. Do this, sis.” I thought it was worth the shot so we got talking, the man and I, but I got bored. Aidee is a dreamer, a playful dreamer. I hate mechanical conversations. I swear I  play too much but I am also a serious person. Fancy meeting a guy and talking about stuff like ‘so what do you do for a living?’.

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Posted by on June 4, 2017 in RANDOM THOUGHTS


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The compound where my apartment is located has about ten flats. I am the only unmarried tenant and I can only recognize two of my neighbours. Everyone minds his business. 

However, I couldn’t help but notice a certain neighbour of mine. Dude has a son who is extremely introverted. When all the children come out to play, this boy (let’s call him Sadiq) would sit outside his flat and watch sadly. It’s almost like he wishes he could play with the rest.

He has a poor relationship with his father, I noticed. A boy of not more than thirteen years old being treated like he is an adult. I’ve seen his mother only once and probably won’t recognise her outside. Quiet family, that one. I admire my other neighbours whose children welcome them back home with hugs and shouts of “daddy, welcome. What did you bring for us”. Sadiq simply comes out to take his father’s bag inside. He appears scared when anyone talks to him and I’ve heard his father call him a fool too many times. 

I am afraid for him and I wish his father knew what he is turning this boy into. 

This is the reality of some of us, our childhood years had us scampering about when daddy returned. When the assigned sentry yelled from the ‘mountain top’, “daddy is back”, we found our inner Usain Bolt and turned chaos into serenity. We grew up afraid of our fathers. I wonder to what end. What exactly were our fathers thinking, making us afraid of them?

Things were easier with the girls than with the boys. While the fathers had almost no relationship with their boys, the mothers had no relationship with their girls. Were they jealous? 

It is clear that Sadiq’s father grew up in such a home and this authoritarian attitude is rubbing off on his relationship with his boy who wishes he can play with his peers but is afraid of his father.

This boy will one day be fed up, fight with his dad and leave the house. He may grow up angry and transfer this anger to his own son. Plot twist? He may decide to never let his own child experience such an upbringing. This decision takes a lot of work and guts. It is not an easy path to follow – forgiving your parents and moving on – but it is the best path. I would know.

These children make huge mistakes later on. The love they lacked, they will crave and eventually do silly things if it means tasting just a little bit of love from a total stranger. 
This post is just me letting out baggage. I still greet Sadiq and hope one day, he’ll respond with a smile and join the others when they play monopoly. 

How was your growing up like?

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Posted by on March 30, 2017 in RANDOM THOUGHTS


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I think everyone at some point has experienced a sudden wave of depression and this is especially true for creatives. A habit I have formed overtime when depression knocks, is reading but when I was out of ideas for the structure of my next project and I picked up a book to read yesterday, I still wept because it gets very hard to tell just anyone what exactly I have planned. I realized that I was actually a lucky specie of human because if I shed tears in public, no one would walk up to me to say, women don’t cry!

Today I realized I do not want to attend singles meetings for a while. It’s for the same reason I refuse to attend wedding ceremonies alone. The loneliness that creeps in is disarming. What strength and strongwill gathered overtime, dissipates and I feel vulnerable. These meetings are a celebration of love, something different from the business and literary meetings I usually attend. Here, a happily married couple come to tell stories of their friendship, they kiss and play and churn out advise while the ones who are unmarried dream of getting married and being that close to each other and vowing to love their partners with their all.

When a friend asked where my destination was after the meeting, I thought hard. Many times, I’ve asked that question, where are you heading to? ‘A friend’s’, was my response but I also remembered that I am a girl, that I should be careful and that the one whose house I would have visited was more an acquaintance than a friend so I said again, ‘Home. I’m going home.’


I stare at trees and buildings and dream of owning structures better than the ones I see, on the taxi ride back home. I want a school someday, houses, companies,  I know that it only takes my dreaming it to get it and I smile because I know exactly what I am working hard to get but from the blues, I realize I want a family to share them with, a partner to dream with; one who will let me fly and not feel intimidated. 

I do not go straight home. I visit the mall instead. It is crowdy today. This is the one place I go to when my room feels like a box. I sit and stare at passing figures, well-dressed mannequins and products on display. I see it clearly everyday I am here, seated on one of the benches, music in my ears, I see my clients, my future. 

I stare at the lady marketers chasing after the wealthy-looking women and the hijabis who ignore their efforts and walk away. I stare at the girls with smooth skin trotting about with long hair and fancy clothes, I see the man on the other bench who is struggling to stay in tune with the lady talking to him while he is distracted by the light-skinned girls with straight legs who walk past him. I watch kids struggle to walk in their heeled shoes along the runway that is the mall aisle, they are dressed like adults. I watch friends hold hands and laugh without caution, I watch daughters hug their fathers, I see happy families and I want mine too.

I write down what I think are the stories they’d rather keep to themselves. I do not believe that they are happy but I still want mine. 

I want to tell one man my dreams. I want to tell him where I’m going to and I want him to say to me, ‘You go girl! We’ll do this together’, but it seems like his kind is taken by someone and that our paths will not cross soon or maybe our paths have and I have held on too tight to my guard that I refused to see him. Whatever the case, I’ll keep dreaming and praying that he comes soon so that I’ll finally have one other than a book to trust with my plans. 

So here in the mall, I want to cry and I blame it on the meeting because at this point, the best I can do to keep my guard in place is block my ears with the pods and pretend not to hear the young man beside me ask for permission to sit on the bench; because if I let him find me interesting, I’ll let down my guards and he will hurt me silly and I will not dream again of those houses and companies. I’ll instead spend the time healing; because another day is ending again and I still have not mapped out plans for this project; because now I am distracted and can’t help this feeling. 

I should not attend these meetings, important as they are in shaping my knowledge about marriage, I should not attend them. 

End of rant.

*ignore errors, this is impulsive, unedited and will soon be made private*

EDIT – June 4, 2017 21:26. Post made public. 



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I woke up to a twitter trend this morning, #WasteHisTime2016 where ladies tweeted many ways to waste a man’s time this year. Some of the tweets were funny and the ripostes by the men (WasteHerTime2016) showed that most of the men felt hurt. Made me wonder what actually started the trend. Women are not smiling!
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Posted by on January 7, 2016 in EDUCATION, RANDOM THOUGHTS


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SEEKING CLOSURE: A peek into the diary of a husstling babe


…as he ended the call, I could only stare at my cell phone. We had just ended an affair, a relationship I put all my heart into. How was I supposed to cope? Even though we had misunderstandings now and then, how could I not have seen this coming? After talking with a couple of friends, I decided it was about time to move on. Starting another fresh relationship would be hard because of the fence I had created around me. My attitude towards men had to change if I was to move on. I had to forget about him at all costs.
So I hit the latest bars and clubs, all those places no one would ever see me, I visited. I drank and danced. I got drunk and I flirted. I did things I would never dream of doing.I was finally free. But no matter how many bottles of alcohol I had, memories of the good times we had together would continue to linger. Accepting proposals from other men was difficult because it was hard to trust men. Knowing well that I had my life to live, I decided to give an old friend of mine a call. I hoped being with him would help relieve my misery. I was broke, he was rich and I was tired of the depression bouts so, against my belief, I invited him over to my room where we would discuss ‘business related’ issues. After a lot of pressure from him, I finally succumbed to his advances and we did what we did. Initially, I felt so much guilt but it didn’t last, as I realized he was more understanding than most young men. He showered me with gifts and love unlimited. Even though he was old enough to be my father,I loved him like my baby, not love…I simply liked the fact that I was finally over my ex. I accompanied him on different trips all over the country and I had the insatiable urge to date other older men. I preferred those within the 50 age range. They were more experienced. And that’s how my journey into the world of the ‘aristocrats’ started.

Being around these men gives me satisfaction, I never have to worry about any young man. Even though I know my future may be affected by this decision I have taken, I can only live life once. This is how my story begins. How it will end, I’ll never know….to be contd


Posted by on March 10, 2013 in FICTION, love


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