I’m a creative person and this thankfully extends to the kitchen. I’m also extremely choosy with food plus I live alone (mostly) so I have had to develop strong culinary skills. I learnt to cook by trial and error and in my current state I can confidently challenge most women; I am like the new breed of men, the kind who don’t get bullied by their wives or girlfriend through food. PS dear future wife, you cannot demand I choose between sex and dinner. I will choose sex, screw you silly then go make myself dinner. If you like remain boneless on the kitchen counter, when you are blinded with hunger and find yourself eating raw tomatoes and pepper you will realize that I – The Zibah will not be bullied.

Dear readers, kindly ignore the rant above; I tend to give in to momentary bouts of ZD (Zibah dementia).


I remember growing up as a child and being excited when mom would announce that we were going to have pancakes for breakfast during the weekend. I would look forward with frenzied anticipation and even manage to not wet the bed in celebration of pancake weekend. Pancakes-golden brown fluffy sweetness shaped like a tennis ball. If pancake was a god, I was its loyal bitch. Years later I had accompanied mom to the store to grab grocery when I had stumbled upon a row of pastry ingredients and my attention had been drawn to the stack of pancake mix. The wrapper had several images of extremely attractive ‘pancakes’ that looked nothing like the balls mom makes. “What wizardry is this?” I had whispered in shock then hurriedly went in search of my mother and pulled her back to the shelf.

“Mom that can’t be pancakes, yours never looks like that” I asked innocently Continue reading

Mrs. Ibironke

Hi, Zibah here. This is the concluding part of the robbery post. It contains screenshots of my initial conversation with Mrs. Ibironke (the current owner of my stolen blackberry device).

It starts with me adding my (her) blackberry PIN on BlackBerry Messenger sometime around midnight, drafting the invite along the line of “Hey boo, miss you. Add me up on BBM”. Remember this ‘Aunty’ is allegedly married and inferring from her pattern of speech, her ‘husband’ seems like the kind of man whose invite would read something like “Ibironke na me. Oya press accept”.

By morning, I noticed that I had a new contact and judging by the time of acceptance it happened few minutes after I sent the invite. She must have been shivering in anticipation at the prospect of a “Nigerian Prince” (if you know what I mean). See rest of conversation below; Continue reading