Skit V

“I feel myself falling into a downward spiral, after weeks of a constant high. I’m not sure why this time but I hope writing would release some of the emotional tension I have been experiencing.
My problem is that I’m still very much madly in love with my ex and it is probably the most pathetic experience I have been through and trust me when I say I’ve been in unbelievably pathetic situations numerous times. I am sorry you have to read this, honestly so sorry and it’s okay if you want to close the tab and toss a couple bullets my way. I will gladly accept them with all the grace I can muster. I am a weak, and pathetic person and I didn’t think I’d ever be this angry at myself. I am not the sort of person to remain in “post-breakup-sadness” for more than a day or two, a week max (depends on who, what and why?) but this has gone on for way too long. I can not simply get myself to not be upset when I think about A, I’ve tried my usual on-to-the-next state of mind, I’ve tried keeping myself busy, I’ve even tried to avoid common topics we shared but to no avail. I am stuck. I need to come unstuck. I don’t know, maybe I need closure or something but he gives me the cold shoulder every time I attempt a conversation. For the first time since I started this blog I am the one in need of help, I don’t have the answers and I really need them. I am sorry to put you through this but I had nowhere else to write this down and no other we to truly understand how I felt.
My dear reader I don’t know what to do.”

Her Story

“At the age of twelve, I lost my innocence to a female. It was a gradual loss, a loss that I allowed to happen as a naïve child experiencing something new. She made me feel loved; she made me feel warmth where I didn’t know I could experience it. We experimented with this newfound warmth over a whole summer; we used each other to learn about ourselves. It was during this time I found out what I loved, and how to love another person but that novelty slowly died as I grew up in boarding school.

I lost my virginity at the age of 14 to someone I did not care for, please do not judge me for this, I was a fool looking for an outlet. To someone I did not love or felt any emotional attraction to. You can say this was the point of my downfall. I felt nothing for this person, but I had let him do to me what I should have kept as sacred as the bonsai trees that stand beside the alter today. I let him ruin me. I let him penetrate my soul and fill me with a lustful evil that resides within the depth of my mind, body and soul. I cannot tell you today why I let him do this to me. I cannot tell you what led to this event. The mind is powerful and mine has succeeded in blocking out the memory and burying it where I cannot find. I imagine this to be the point at which my innocence died and I became somewhat evil from the inside out. There was a growing lust/hate relationship for the male species within me. I learnt to utilise my God-given womanly parts and synchronise this with a mind of lust and evil to get what I required from men. I played games with their minds, I learnt the right sequence of wording to speak to a man to entrap him in this battle of lust and love that he cannot get out of. Like a fly in my web, and I am the black widow. Every man is different and so the tactics changed with the person. I played the game of men as a woman. I taught myself the alpha-male complex of which I lived by and stuck to, no matter the situation or consequence. I had to be in control.

The alpha-male complex in a female, gives her the ability to think in the way men do, and so behave accordingly. This led to many a problem in my life. I could no longer stick to one man; I had the ability to be with multiple people and due to the organisational skills passed genetically to me from my mother, I made no mistakes, ever. It didn’t matter how complicated it got, I had a different voice or personality or different way of dealing with each man, and I never forgot whose was whose. It is a terrible thing to be unable to commit, you can not love a person without the fear of cheating because it is unnatural for you, just like the fake cherry blossoms that line the aisle.

There was no one to talk to; I was alone feeding off the lustful acts I committed on an every-other-day basis. Evil cannot coincide with happiness my dear reader, it simply cannot. I had fallen into a black hole that consumed my heart and mind. I could not see the good in myself and required the touch of another to feel good about myself. When I was alone I saw darkness, nothingness, sadness, and a cold depression that made me feel worthless. I cannot bear to describe what depression feels like to you reader, I cannot bear to see another suffer from such a mental pain that almost destroyed my life. I would let you know this; depression is an inward struggle, like HIV or AIDS you cannot see it on my face, you will never know a person struggling with depression from yourself, so I encourage readers to take this into consideration when you speak to anyone from family members to strangers. It was the fact that he did not run when I told him my story that brought me to this place, where I stand at the end of the aisle in a beautiful dress, veil over my face, staring into the back of the head of the man whose aura makes me feel beautiful without his touch or his word. He became the light that will escape my black hole and the one that will pull me back into the real world, the one I will commit to forever.

This would be my beginning.

A happy beginning.”

Her true story.


It has become such a regular thing for me not to post as often as I used to and then to come and apologize to my readers. I’m working on something bigger so please bear with.

I am currently sat on my bed in my room, supposed to getting my things together before I go out for what would hopefully be a great night with my people, but I have this feeling looming over me that I can not seem to shake that has forced me to sit here and write this post.

I feel incredibly and terribly lonely. I know that I may not look it, I may not act it, I may not most of the time even think of it but the feeling is still there. Not lonely in the sense that I have no friends or anything in that manner, because clearly, I do. I feel secluded, on my own, mentally, and that has an overpowering effect on the way I behave. I find myself keeping to myself more often, trying hard to be alone but hating it at the same time. I am naturally a social person, I love being around people most of the time, and so it is rather weird for me to be on my own a lot. I like to imagine that it’s the realization that I am no longer a kid and I am actually in charge of my own academic career, therefore I must do my own work in my own time, but I’d be lying, because aside from work I sit in my room all day listening to music and staring at my laptop screen.

It is depressing.

I feel depressed.

I feel tired.

I feel stressed.

I am angry.

I am lonely.



I want to feel good again. Feel loved and blessed and very much happy, but somehow only negative vibes are feeding through my channel and it is painful. It is such a shame because I can almost see all the love around me, from my family, friends and boyfriend but it doesn’t seem enough to pull me out of this dark horrible corner I have found myself in again.

I’m going to keep my chin up and plough on through, but I encourage anyone reading this post to always remain positive no matter what you’re going through, no matter how bad it is or how down you’re feeling, you just have to keep going on or it will drag you down and you will find it very difficult to get up again. Share positivity within your friendship groups, you never really know who may need it the most. It irks me to see or hear about friends fighting, your friends should be at your side, in front of you and behind you at all times, that is your squad, those are your people. Don’t fight with your friends over something stupid; it’s a waste of time and energy. Just send positive vibes, people like me need it the most.

Have a great night x

Happy Quality Durex Day

Today, Thursday the 30th of October 2014, I am very proud to say, is the one year anniversary of this blog and I can not tell you how happy I am that a year later I still have people visit and talk about QD like she’s new. Qualitydurex means everything to me, it started off as a way of conquering my fears and finding an outlet for my emotions and thoughts, now she has evolved into a blog I would imagine can and would inspire others, that will teach others a lesson, or maybe spark an idea in the mind of someone that will do great things one day.
There have been rough times when I though about closing QD down for various reasons but I’m glad I did not give in to those pessimistic thoughts. This blog has taught me that I need to have an optimistic yet realistic outlook on life no matter what.
So if you’re reading this right now, friend or foe or none of the above, I thank you so much.
I would also take this opportunity to announce that I’m currently working on something a little different, it’s about time I took QD a little further, to reach more people and influence more lives. If you want to get involved or just want to know feel free to hit me up, whether you want to contribute to further enhancing the awesomeness that is this blog or you just want to chat I’m always here for you guys. So spread the good word, smoke a good blunt, pop a good pill and live a good life.

The Squaaa’

“I hate that it had to end like this.”
I hate when I put in 100% and you only put in 10.
I hate that it took you 10 months to figure my pain.
I hate that you have to sit and bitch and regret but dismiss the thought like it was nothing at all.
I hate how one-sided you think.
How you strive to be so open-minded but yet you are so closed.

I hate that I drink to wash away my pain,
That drink that leads me to meaningless kisses from strangers
I hate when I try to do what’s right,
Then get shot down by the one that did me right.
How dare you call me a cheat?
How can you say that I would hurt you so easily?
Remember that you did the same to me.

Running back to their ex’s when things go wrong or because of nothing at all.
So, where is she now?
Where is she now?

The company you keep make you.
When you’re surrounded by hungry nude lovers who-ain’t-gettin-no-pussy
And a flock of idiots
It’s a wonder you are not the same,
Alas, as I have found,
You are.

I hate that you’re a pussy
Make your own decisions, speak up, think on you own two feet and stand your ground, that’d make you man.

I hate that your pain gives me joy,
Like karma has run her race and caught up fast.
I hate that even after all of this
I cannot hate you.

I love that at 12.08am there is an overflow of emotion overcoming me as I lie in bed, listening to my boyfriend’s soft snores over Skype and watching the features of his face relax into a deep slumber…

The twelve-year-old bride

Hey guys. This is a story i’ve been working on and reworking virtually all summer but for some strange and rather upsetting reason I cannot get it right. It doesn’t feel perfect or finished, like there is something missing but i’m tired of looking and attempting to rework it so here I go.

Just look at him. Look at the way he stands scanning the crowd before him with those dark squinted eyes that tell the most terrifying stories, but are still able to capture the attention of every living soul in the room. They bore deep into you like he is able to read your thoughts and uncover your deepest, darkest secrets, yet there is light; a glimmer, that draws you in, that makes you feel safe and at home with him, that makes you open up to him willingly. His dark skin has aged badly; the wrinkles on his face seem to move as he concentrates on finding what he is looking for. He has a gash on both cheeks that identify him as a Yoruba native; the thick vertical lines run down the sides of his nose to his mouth, they may frighten a young child but he has a smile that can win even the most hostile people over. There is something I love about the way he can seduce anyone into loving him, but I hated that he had chosen me, I was a strong girl and such a man will not seduce me.

I was only twelve. Baba had died when I was very young, leaving Mama and I with nothing. We lived on the streets, we slept where we could, and ate when we had gathered enough money to share a loaf of bread. Some days we were lucky and the nice men and women in their flashy cars would give mama more money than usual, we would buy some bread and stew and a piece of chicken which mama will save for a rainy day. Life was difficult, difficult beyond explanation, but we were able to see the next day and that made us grateful.
Mama had been in touch with Baba’s relatives after he died, they came to take Baba away but they refused to help us, they blamed Mama for Baba’s death, claiming she could not take care of him and was an unsuitable wife because she was too young and had only produced a female child for him, they chased us out of their house, hurling terrible names at us. Mama became a different person that day, she became what Yoruba people call “oloju kokoro”, all she wanted was wealth and she would stop at nothing to get it, even if it meant selling her only child off to get married to a wealthy sixty-seven year old man, as his ninth wife, at the age of twelve.

‘The twelve-year-old bride”, that’s what they called me in the newspapers. Mama was pleased, the happiness in her eyes could not be hidden, her frown lines had disappeared, her eyebrows were raised high in amusement, her loose skin folded at her temples as her cheeks rose and mouth revealed two rows of brown stained teeth, pure joy. Finally, she was living her dream vicariously through me, I was in the spotlight, soon I would be wealthy, soon I would be dressed from head to toe in the most expensive, beautiful clothes I had ever seen, but, I didn’t want any of it.
His ways are traditional, women are not to speak unless spoken to, women are to remain in their quarters unless called for, we would take it in turns to sleep by him unless told otherwise, we are his queens and he is our king, we must obey him.

At the front of the crowd, separated from the rest, sat nine women, they sat in descending order, from the oldest to the youngest. All except the youngest had experienced the joining of a new wife to the family. The eldest wife, Abike, was the kindest of the lot, she welcomed me like a sister the day I arrived, she showed me around the grounds, helped me unpack what little items I had, she made me something to eat as I arrived very late and the kitchen staff had left for the day, she introduced me to the staff and the other wives, she braided my hair to prepare me for meeting the man that would soon be called my husband, she gave me advice and told me stories about her time as his only wife. This was a woman in love with a man that did not love her anymore because he was greedy, a woman that had endured the pain of seeing him bring home a new wife eight times already and was about to make it nine. She would die in a few months from now and she would leave her jewels in a box under my bed for me to find and keep.

He was an ugly man, he was too old, he could not speak proper English, he was a proud man and he was a jealous man. He would tell the guards never to look at me for more than a minute, he would not let me out of his sight unless it was time for me to bathe or sleep and even then a guard would remain outside my door, but during meetings with the council he would show me off, make me parade myself dressed with all sorts of embellishments in the courtyard. The councilmen would lose concentration at the sight of me. My iro was cut short so you could see as my waist beads danced to the swing of my small hips and was made tight to enhance my small twelve year old breasts, and my buba tied tightly around me ensuring my small curves and big backside was on full show, so that if I bent down only the strongest men could turn their heads away. My husband-to-be loved every minute of it; he will wickedly smile at his new trophy before shrieking vehemently at the councilmen to concentrate on the meeting or he would threaten their lives and that of their wives and children. He was a proud and evil man.

I had lived with him for five years now. Somehow he was convinced that it would not be right to marry me at such a tender age and he must wait till I was eighteen. So the date was set, and six months to this day I was to marry him.
The old man died, only two months after our wedding and my mother swiftly followed.Ọ̀kánjúwà baba àrùn. Greed is the worst illness

A year before, I met Akanni, the youngest member of the council. He would bring me gifts when he came, new waist beads in an array of colours, cowry shell jewelry, and my favorite, some delicious hot akara from my father’s town. He would be the man that would teach me to read and write, he would be the man that will encourage me to write a diary on my experiences with my future husband, on how he beat me when I refused him in my bed, on how he will make me parade myself barely clothed in front of his guests, how he would humiliate me and degrade me when he felt like, the emotional and physical pain I endured with him, I wrote it all down. Akanni will be the one I will fall madly in love with, he will be the one that will marry me after the old man dies and he will be the one that I will have my first child with.


Appreciation in my mother tongue, Yoruba.

I believe there is a Chance the Rapper song for every emotion I feel and that’s what makes him one of my favorite rappers today. I feel ‘Wonderful Everyday’ and that’s what this post is about. I want to show appreciation to everyone who has made this blog a success, to everyone who has retweeted, to everyone who has clicked the links, to everyone who has read the posts, to everyone who has referred anyone to my blog, to anyone who has ever spoken about my blog, to everyone that has commented or messaged me with feedback, to all my guest writers, to anyone that has argued with me over any of my posts, and most importantly to those that have inspired me whether you know it or not, I thank you!
I am grateful for the joy I feel when I write. To me it’s like a release of whatever stress and emotional turmoil I may be experienced. It is my outlet, I don’t write particularly for people to read but it feels great to know people actually read my stuff and have a thing or two to say about it. It is difficult to remain passionate about writing I must admit, when everything seems bad or you have no words to write you lose hope that you may never write again, that you may never have anything to say, we call it writer’s block but I have come to understand that it isn’t “writer’s block”, it’s just me being scared to write how I really feel because of what people might think or who it might offend or whether or not I sound like a bitch or a slag or whatever I can think of in order to convince myself that I have ‘no words’ because those are words. I wish I didn’t self-defeat just as much as I wish I didn’t care so much about what other people think or feel, but I’m working on it.
I get inspiration from the people around me, my friends, my ex-friends, my family, my boyfriend, my ex-boyfriends, strangers I happen to follow on my TL, people I have random conversations with online and in person, the barista at Costa Coffee, the vendors in the streets of Lagos, I am inspired by these people and I wish I could thank every one of them but what good would that do, so I write about them and my experiences with them and what they have taught me because I feel I’m doing good by doing so.
It is hard to describe how this blog has helped me become the person I am today but I genuinely feel grateful for every person that has been involved no matter what kind of relationship I have with them presently, without them I won’t be me. This has been a wonderful journey so far and will continue to be.

Thank you!