Friday, April 11, 2014

I know Oga.

Hello people.
Twitter has become the place I blog. I'm not so frequent there anymore but instead of sitting here and typing, which is the same thing done on twitter, I prefer plenty 140 words posted randomly.

Have you watched TERRIBLE BOSSES?

I should have been in that movie. I have an even worse scenario. Now is one of those times I prefer anonymity. One craze person could see this and go on to tell "oga" which actually I don't care. But then, I have enough office beef. Even spare to take home for my soup and I don't want "oga's" beef.

Sexual harassment. Favoritism. "I-know-oga" characters. Gossip. Envy. Yada. Yada.
You know when you condone something till you wake upset that you're condoning something you're scared to handle..... Number 1 and 2. That's it.

I love Igbo people but the ones I work with can make you loathe the whole Igbo tribe. I have wonderful Igbo friends. Online and in real life. My best friend, Chiamaka, who is also my editor, is Igbo.

But you meet some people and you can't help but notice their tribe. Because they make it obvious. That they are Igbo, Yoruba, Hausa, Ibibio, etc.

Number 3. The I-know-oga characters. This one drives me crazy.

Normal standard procedures. Some people just swing themselves into a place and want to intimidate you because they know Oga. You can't even say one word before they go off on how Oga is their brother, uncle, best friend, father, boyfriend, sugar daddy, lover, fucker and Yada Yada. At least I haven't heard husband yet.

I can handle the visitors. It's the staff that "know oga" that is my issue now. Some are just junior staff. You can't send them on an errand and they do it willingly. They grudge, get upset, frown, murmur, insult, slam their faces on the wall and eventually mess up what you instructed them to do because as oga's person, they shouldn't be bothered. I've raised the issue a thousand times. And the response is just what makes me keep saying "Igbo people" and shaking my head.

Please. I know anyone and I mean anyone from any tribe could exhibit these animalistic attitudes. Even my lovely people too. But I work with Igbo people. 99 percent. In fact, I'm the only person from Akwa Ibom in my work place. And I like some. Yet, some just spoils it. So, make person no come write another post with plenty grammar in an attempt to table my matter. Listen, I will deal with you.

So, let's continue.

Since "I don't know oga" I respect myself by doing my work, acting mean and harsh and unfriendly and also reminding everybody that I don't know Oga, the rich perv that is toasting me.

You know it's crazy when someone says "even if you earn 1 million, I know oga, he is my brother, we used to extract shit from each other's butt and compare the length of our dicks before the governor of so and so state, forget that he's wealthy now and I'm still struggling and managing, that's life for you." Noisy, loud, flimsy and totally annoying. And it hides my happiness. And turning me to a snob. Yes. I said snob.

As long as my cheque clears every 28. And the boo cracks a joke. And I get my deliveries from ASOS and OASAP and climb one more stilettos. Keep on fucking him. I don't care. Again. That's my way of handling terrible bosses.

There's free wifi. That's why I'm ranting. Plus it's few days to my birthday. Precisely Easter Sunday. And I feel elderly.

I love giveaways. I just don't know how to go about it. How I'll get to deliver it. I for do. And don't think I'm lazy. Maybe I am. But then, I've never bothered about these things.

I've been rocking burgundy color lipstick. Ruby Woo by Mac. I look very old. And I like it. I look 35. And I have straw curls on. I look big. But I love the look.

I'm listening to a song. Hold me for a while. I don't know the artist. And I miss the old me.

I wish you all the best in this beautiful life. Let love rain on you. And devour you. Completely.