I want to lose weight but I don’t want to hear the mention of exercise, dietary changes, portion control, surgery or any non-surgical procedure, starvation, or any slimming tea that cannot work within 4days of use and cannot prevent the recurrence of fat. In other words, I need to lose weight by doing one magical thing once to make the extra fat disappear never to appear again.

One concept (out of many) brought by the white man that I do not appreciate is that of ‘fat’ culture. Fat girls used to be the divas in Africa. But no! The white people zoomed in and said ‘hey, see those bunch of chubby happy people, let’s go call them fat and try to make them miserable’, all because of what? So that I’ll stop eating fried meat? Lai lai.

What is fat to me maybe not be fat to you. My definition of a fat person is completely different from that of the white man who categorizes people as either anorexic or obese. What they don’t know is that all those ‘fat girls’ who get bullied in high school are normal in weight over here. 

Anyway, as a fat girl everywhere (and I use the adjective ’fat’ with so much fondness), problems unique to your body size tend to arise. For example the extra awareness of body mass and the space it takes, especially when you want to take public transport and the only spot available is one between two fat women (I hardly see fat men in public transport), and you have to squeeze your own fat to join them, and they just mash you to one side, you literally feel your own fatness getting rolled like dough, that’s when you’ll know fat is elastic.

How many of you can’t climb Okada because you feel like the tire will burst, the Okada will not move and your side will slowly go down while the driver goes up until your weight under-balances the whole thing and the driver falls off. I have a friend who has this as a phobia.

Let’s talk about image. Wearing clothes can be easy enough before you look in the mirror, that’s when you start to find everything wrong with it. From the fitting to the bust to the waist to hips, you might take it back to the tailor to shape the waist because it will look better and by the time the clothes are back, you can’t fit in them. Reality check: our waists are layered, what did you expect?

I usually look at myself in the mirror each morning to monitor my belly’s activities. Are you getting rounder, flabbier or flatter? And when that slimming tea I’ve been taking for two days whispers ‘flatter’ to me, I see that my stomach has shrunk and I yelp in joy. My 20k slimming tea is working. It will take 5 days for me to realise I was just sucking in my stomach. My 20k wasted. And I’m like…

Slimming teas are stupid something. As a novice, I advise you to maintain. Do not start using those things if you will go to work, school, bank and definitely not market because it will turn your stomach into a craze house. Make sure you will be at home for the 30 rounds to the toilet to come. One will think with all those trips your stomach will touch your back after one bag of tea. Instead, it’s like you have just shited out your intestines but the fat dey gan.

When you feel like you are ill and you google what it means to have itching fingernails, hard feet, rumbling stomach and fat thighs and they tell you that one of the diseases has symptoms such as Weight loss and you are like ‘Well, the disease doesn’t sound so bad’ even though another symptom is dimentia. But then you are stupid.

When you are ill for days and you lose 5kg and everyone is lamenting how the sickness has taken a toll on your fat and you are also nodding with a sober expression but inside you are jumping and screaming in happiness. You don’t mind if the illness will eat up all the excess fat without making you feel sick.

But then you get better, and you start making up for all your lack of eating. And now you eat 2 big indomie and still feel hungry instead of one. You can literally feel the Kg add up till you are fatter than you were. It’s annoying that all that sickness and nothing to show. 

Stop watching reality shows, movies, cartoons, news and TV if you want to maintain your sanity in a world that celebrates and rewards slim. They’ll just remind you of your extra weight every minute because their fine is characterized by being weightless while yours is not but sometimes you forget that. The Kardashians will make you want to get a waist trainer to slim it in but it’s a lie, it wasn’t waist trainers and exercise, it was surgery. Nigerians die during Liposuction, be warned, case study: Former First Lady.

What fits the goose might not fit the gander. My skinny friends and sisters can eat 50 tonnes of fat loaded food and never gain an ounce (witchcraft and wizardry), I dream about eating cucumber, I have gained 23KG. And then once you start eating junk after a diet, forget that thing, you are broken rollercoaster, you must go all the way and then some. Your eyes will become a scale and as every bite of juicy goodness hits your stomach, your KH has upped but you can’t stop. Don’t worry, perks of being a great person.

Even disney princesses are slim. The fattest is Tiana who is black and no more fatter than my thin sister… and she still has flat tummy. They make it feel like we can’t find our Prince Charming. Just because you can’t run and hug our prince charming without toppling him over and suffocating him and we can’t be carried bridal style expect Prince charming is a weight lifter (in that case Prince Charming will want to make you start gyming, it’s a trap), doesn’t mean our happily ever afters will be less beautiful.

I, for one have grown so much fond of my fat. It’s my shock absorber. I’m less shocked at turn of events or actions of people than slimmer people who lack the padding to absorb the shock before it reaches their heart. Plus it takes more effort to break my heart because my heart lies on a pillow within. I think that’s why fat people have better sense of humor and are more sarcastic.

I’m not fat to the point of being unhealthy… Thank God. And I don’t advise anyone to be, if you are please do something about it. I try to keep fit by walking and strolling and that’s why I can cover more distances on foot than many. I’m just an average Jane who, in a sea of thin, hungry looking people looks not chubby, but fat. So I’m not a ‘not-healthy’ advocate. I just want to rock my flabs in peace, and I’m addressing my number one critic- Me.

I have more. Maybe will share it in part 2. 

What are you fat girl problems?

Disclaimer- The writer writes to connect, to be relatable, to be a home for people who might just not have the right avenue to vent. This is in no way depicting my everyday life. I am not bemoaning a condition or anything serious. This is real life issues on a light note and I shouldn’t be explaining my writeups but well…

The relationship between myself and I is a love-hate one. I love myself, I absolutely do but there’s this lady, her name is ‘I’, she resides somewhere- I’m not sure where but I think it’s either my brain, my mind or my body. Sometimes I think ‘I’ is my shadow but then she lingers even after I can see no visible shadow. ‘I’ is more than the physical or tangible, in fact the fact that she’s not tangible makes her more powerful.

‘I’ is annoying, she annoys me to no end because she is too dauntless and daring and adventurous and she lands me in trouble all the time. Are you looking for bad advice cookie? That’s ‘I’. And she nags so much I find it hard to ward her off so to make her keep shut and have her off my case, I just go along with it… bad decision.

I want to lose weight so I try to cut down on food portions and avoid ‘bad’ food and even when I see a super juicy and cheesy chunk of junk, I direct my mind away by myself, but not ‘I’, ‘I’ redirects me. She comes with this super therapeutic voice and goes ‘do you really want to do this to yourself Hafsah? Do you really not want to indulge in this piece of edible luxury? You only live once you know’ and she is sooo good like an expert siren, I usually end up trailing her demands.

And later when I’m drowning in the guilt of it, she sits cross-legged on a plush chair by the side of the grey cube room that’s my mind and smirks to herself. She’s usually writing on a notepad- that’s one thing myself and ‘I’ have in common- and I think she’s scoring herself. By now it will probably read: ‘myself’ 7- 10834893 ‘I’.

‘I’ doesn’t like letting go of people so even when I have a crush on a guy and I want to move on, ‘I’ pushes me to just check his Instagram page one more time for updates, ‘It helps with the healing process’ she says. But she’s lying because I end up stalking him for three more hours….unhealthily.

‘I’ is (am) a hoarder. Like when she tells me I need stuff I don’t need. She’s like ‘Hafsah we are going to need this in the future, keep it’ and the future comes, and it goes and we never need it but we’ve kept it.

And she even hoards memories, some good ones- I must give her credit- but she hoards even the unnecessary, bad ones and that makes her hold grudges like an expert in the field of grudge keeping (there’s a pun lying here somewhere).

For example there’s a family gathering yeah? And I see that cousin and I’m approaching her because I want to catch up and… ‘I’ actually stops me. She says ‘remember when you were 4 years 7 months 1 week old and this cousin flicked a lit up match at you and it burned your arm? You still want to talk to her after THAT?!!! And the memory comes back anew, I feel the pain of the matchstick sizzle on my arm and I make a 360 turn away from the cousin. ‘I’, you are here on banned from interfering with my family life ever again.

When I learn a new song (which is usually some few lines), I don’t like letting ‘I’ know. Because when she gets hold of those lines, God in Heavens! It takes the whole spirit of the Earth to make her stop endlessly chanting them like a breathing mantra. And it annoys me because it’s stuck in my head every moment! But ‘I’ enjoys it. She just loves tormenting me.

You think you have naysayers? Mine resides within! This lady is my worse critic. Everything I do is subject to judgement. I can’t try to look pretty in front of the mirror, ‘I’ will start dissing me. And if so help me God I try to dance or worse sing, ‘I’ contorts her face like she’s smelling poop and grimaces, I’ll have to shamefully stop. That’s why I don’t like taking pictures because ‘I’ calls each of them ugly save one or two. Because of that, I may take 100 pictures and two days later, I’ll delete the lot to one or two. The ones approved by ‘I’. I hate her guts.

I know you are thinking I should let go of her and I’ve thought about it but even as I’m typing this right now, she’s in here laughing her heads off (wickedly) because she knows she’s here to stay. She knows she’ll outlive me, because I know that house, my mind will breathe and exists even after my body gives up the ghost.

And I can’t mute her because in between it all, she drops the most amazing writing and story ideas. She’s my perfectly ever-engaging muse. That’s where our love relationship comes in. I love her for the endless supply of stories she provides. Ever wondered why my stories are usually sadistic? Well….

And she’s my gossip partner, who else will I laugh about my boss with? Most times when you see me laughing to myself, it’s myself and I sharing an inside joke. And she spins the most romantic stories when she’s on her monthly’s. And she can be sweet in a mean way. She comes up plenty horrible ways to get back at people many of which I thankfully forcefully dismiss.

‘I’ is (am) a creative fellow, sometimes mean but usually to me and generally, there’s not a single dull moment between ‘I’ and myself.

I’m not Hausa, or Kanuri or Fulani. I’m from the Bolewa tribe of Yobe.

I can neither sing, nor dance, nor paint, nor draw nor do anything creative apart from writing.

I learnt how to read in primary 4 (I think I was dyslexic)

I learnt how to speak English towards the end of primary 4. Prior to that, I knew only the basic ‘Good morning, yes, no, stop’. 

I write faster than anyone I know

I love everything natural. My hair has been natural from birth. I’d rather go out with my face bare than apply even powder.

I am a pretty good masseuse. But I don’t tell people because they might demand a massage all the time. If I were on another dimension, I probably would have been a professional masseuse.

I never eat chips with ketchup only. I eat chips with ketchup and yaji (ground pepper) together. So much sizzle and spice God!!!!!

My favorite colour is green and favorite number ,7

 I am a highly principled person and stubborn to a fault! I can be very obstinate 

I absolutely love pringles. I can eat a can in one sitting.

At some point in my life, I didn’t believe in love because I had never actually ever fallen in love. But then the craze that love does exist was (and is) still on so okay… yay! Love is real.

I sleep better with a pillow on my head

Sometimes, I direct my own dreams. Like a movie script.  Cut! Bruce Willis do not shoot him yet! God! . Okay take two. And…. action. I honestly dreamt up an action dream with Bruce Willis in it (would have been better if it was The Rock but no problem) and I controlled the whole movie.. sorry dream. So no one could shoot me without my permission and even if you do… it’s a dream so joke’s on you.

They call us Lucid Dreamers… we can bend our dreams to fall in line with our will.

I want to take up a second degree in psychology 

Plenty people who read my works assume I’m a small person. So they are mighty surprised to find an almost 6 feet, plenty KG human looking down at them.

There was a time I’d often confuse bakwai and takwas , dankali and doya, tattase and attarugu. I still confuse Sahoor and Budabaki😂😂

I’ve never watched (and I’m not proud of this)… I’ve never watched ‘The Sound of Music’

I live off lists. I make lists of what I should buy, what I buy, who I owe, who owes me, sometimes what I should do…. I don’t really love lists, lists love me.

The more comfortable I am with you, the more the likelihood that I’ll unleash the full fury of my sense of humor which happens to be quite dreadfully hilarious. So if I’m holding back, comfort-o-meter is down.

If I can really, fully eat bones, goriba and sugarcane before you, then I can trust you.

I was a very very shy and reserved kid, I couldn’t look people in the eye.

What I consider the most beautiful thing on my face are my full eyebrows.

If I could add 4 feet to my height, I will

I’m not actually 6 feet tall… yet. I’m 5’10 (close enough) but love it when people think I’m 6 feet.

I’m addicted to newness.

I’m easily tired of talking except to people I really enjoy talking to, then I never get tired.

I still haven’t met a person who has read the book ‘1984’ by George Orwell apart from myself.

Plus- I make mean grilled steak

I don’t have an ex

I can look at the sun rise and set, and the moon, and the stars, and the clouds and sky and trees and anything nature all day

I’m lowkey a romantic at heart

Awkwardddd!. Okay it has been established by now that I can be fazed by stuff and being called beautiful or receiving nice compliments in general are a major cause.

Before now, when people say I’m beautiful, I just smile uneasily at them and try to think of how to reduce that ‘beauty’ so that I become less noticeable. 

Then people started thinking I’m rude so I reply ‘thank you’ drop a smile and wish they hadn’t said that because now I’m self-conscious.

You want to see Hafsah lying on the ground, stone cold, dead, zero heartbeat, just get a man I consider attractive or have a crush on sincerely say that in public , au revior! I’m off to heaven for embarrassment.

🤦🏽‍♀️

What was worse is that I never even believed it. It wasn’t until I started seeing myself as anything good looking that I actually started taking people seriously. So chances are that if you’ve ever said that, you’ve just wasted a compliment and  caused me to face an unnecessary episode of embarrassment. Thank you.

Now, because I understand how the human mind works and what looks good to you may not look so to me because of perspectives differing and aesthetics being subjective and stuff, I might actually believe you but then I’m at a stage where looks are just by the way many times(depending on my phase because sometimes looks are everything to me) so I’d appreciate the compliment and honesty and that’s it.

Am I less awkward at receiving compliments? Yessssss. I can even be jokingly arrogant about it but not in public because I fear I may varnish in plain sight.

I was the most frustratingly awkward human to wake up on this Earth.

It’s better now but that doesn’t mean I don’t get awkward, just less. Even today, I’d rather watch as people talk when we are in a closed group than to be the one talking, that means the limelight is on me. But ironically, I loveeee public speaking and I’m pretty good at it. I can speak on a stage before thousands of people but no, I do not want to be the one speaking in a closed group, weird much?

When I was younger, especially during my secondary school days, it was bad. I know we all went through that phase because hey adolescence! but I was the typical Wattpad novel awkward teen with body image issues and lack of confidence. I couldn’t look people in the eye, not even a newborn.

I couldn’t speak to people straight and guys??? Shoot me please. I get wobbly kneed when passing a group of guys… who may be 2 junior boys.

I get nervous talking to the ladies too, I feel like they are always forming opinions and passing judgements about my self and body and my awkwardness which made me more nervous and therefore more awkward.

I know you are tired of the word but I can’t help it. I never wanted to be noticed among the crowd, the limelight was my enemy but that was kind of hard for the second tallest girl in the whole set so I always stood tall, but somehow made sure I was never seen, just seen through.

I think that was when I developed my reading habit. Books saved me when nothing else was looking bright. Thank you books, I love you too.

I hated mingling with others (still kind of do), I conversed with myself (still very much do), I craved alone time (still do), I’d rather listen than speak (Same even now, except when it’s in writing) but at least, I don’t get awkward around people and around men because, well, they are men…nothing special ( full disclosure: I don’t get as awkward)

Today, some things considered normal make me cringe, some conversations make me want to run, some people make me nervous, I still don’t know how to react many times and I still don’t like being among people but am I very awkward? Sometimes, but it’s better now. 

Some people are people’s people. They can be around people 20 hours a day and never get tired. They’d rather be with people longer than they will be with themselves. They are extroverts, social, and very confident and comfortable around people.

Some people cannot stand others. They’d rather be alone 20 hours in a day. In fact, they don’t even like people. They are very reserved and might not be confident around others. Socializing is a strenuous task for them.

Then there’s me. I can be around people, I can socialize, I can be with others 20 hours in a day but honestly, I’d rather not.

Sometimes I want people around, most times I want them away. And I know why.

It’s a different thing to chat or be on social media, I’m at home so no (much) problem. But for me to actually go out of my house! That is a mighty problem. I don’t go out except I can’t help it (Market, Hospital…. oh yes of course, work). Socializing and hanging out are major tasks even for a productive purpose.

When I share no common interests or point of view or discussion point with a person, then I can’t relate much with him. If I can’t relate much with a person, then there’s not a point being around the person. Now I might feel this way around people I can even converse with.

For me to want to be around a person then that means the person really gets me to a certain extent and I can be myself with the person at all times. I can handle otherwise (when I’m not comfortable with a person) but I’d rather not, so I’m always surprised when some people are comfortable with everyone and they can be with everyone and speak to everyone. How fam?

I don’t even like talking much except it’s about a novel or cartoon. I don’t like repeating stuff, if I say it once I’d rather not say it again.

I don’t like arguing with people’s opinions and beliefs.

I don’t like it when people think my normal conversation is a battle of intellect and so they start showing off their IQ when in fact I don’t even know if I have one.

Generally, except when I really see the need to (because of the person or topic), there’s little or no point to talking more than absolutely necessary. Ever.

Life’s not meant to make sense all the time.

Sometimes we don’t make sense and life has no sense and nothing makes sense.

It’s a topsy turvy world. An hourglass kind  of place, today you are high up the contentment scale and tomorrow, rock bottom.

I won’t tell you that you can do it and you’ll be fine and you should pick up the fallen senses and build a six story mansion in the sky because then I’ll just be like a con-artist motivational speaker.

I’ll tell you that in my years on earth (which might seem not that much) I figured that you are entitled to your plenty ‘life is not making sense periods’.

It’s not necessarily teenage years or mid-life crises, everything in between counts and should not be downplayed.

If life makes sense 24/7/4/12 then I doubt life will even be any fun or interesting. I mean you’ve figured everything out, move on to the next level.

There’s a reason why we need God , there’s a reason why we need to confide and seek His guidance, if everything is spelt out then I hardly think we will.

The figuring out part, the contemplation on direction, the part where you are trying to reconcile who you really are, who you thought you were and who you’d like to be , the confusing part (who should I be with, what’s best for me), the unraveling part, the puzzle-solving part of life is actually 80% of it and eventually it gives life meaning and keeps you on your toes and growing.

So life doesn’t make sense? Yup, mine too most times is jumbled up but las las, we go dey alright.

I live in phases. I phase in and phase out. 5 years ago, I started my blog. It was my not-secret diary. I write stuff that mattered to me. It was liberating… but that was just on one part because on the most rewarding part; people read.

People actually read my scribbled thoughts, my thrown-together muses, my detachable imaginations and they appreciated it. Some even sent DMs to express their appreciation for reading my diary (weird when I say it like that) but I was happy I wrote.

Then I stopped, I had phased out of open diary writing stage and moved on to the next ‘thing of interest’. Looney human.

Anyway my loyal and ever-willing blog hadn’t seen an update for 2 years plus and yet, it never gave up on me. Thank you blog bae, I’ll be more caring now In Sha Allah.

So after reading tnene.com, a blog kept by a fellow lawyer who had contacted me about liking my write ups some 4 years ago my motivation came back and I found myself DMing her about hers. Check out her blog, it’s insightful… very.

I just hope this is a phase I can maintain. I intend on making the posts short and sharp.

So, all my poems, short stories, worries, crazy thoughts, perspectives, humor, satirical writing and anything writing from now on (to the duration of this hopefully forever phase) will be on my blog.

Do keep up with the escribbler and let me know what you think always.

See you (more).