Bend down, shake to the beat...

Whoa people! Let's talk Lagos parties!!!
Imagine the music and the feverish dance-steps! Most of you Lagosians, Nigerians, and lovers of Afro beats know what I'm talking about. Whatever you're doing, wherever you are --whether at home, out in the city, or even totally out in a foreign country-- whenever you hear the beat, you just feel like getting straight down and doing a jig or two. Lol!!!
My favorite is the song my Uncle always starts off his parties with, a song that created so much buzz in 2001/2002, I've been told:

"Pade mi ni sale...!!!!!"

"Aaaaahhhhh Under!!!!!!"

Yeah, that's right. You totally know who I'm talking about. You're already standing in that legendary dancing pose, shoulders back, hips down, butt stuck-out, and backbone set to undulate. You wait for the next cue:

"Le le le le le le le-- le le le le-- le le le le le le..."

The metallic sound of trumpets, then:

"Arege ji ah! Arege ji ah ah...."

"Aaaahhhh, Under!"

Then follows the well-known lyrics accompanied by staccato crazy beats with the Yoruba talking drums.

"Isale ele ele, konko konko..."

"E gbe jo oooo!!!"

"Kon Below! Konko Below!! Kon Below!!! Konko Below!!!!"

"UNDER!!!!!"

I never really figured out if the catch word is "Under" or "Thunder", or both. But the song is quite addictive, I must admit. Can't be totally captured with just words. This here, friends, will require a depicting video.
Just so we're clear, I'm talking of the one and only, Lagbaja, the masked King of the new millennium Afro beats. See link to a you-tube video of his hit song:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NpOzwVAQ7M8
Very captivating, huh? I thought so too when I first heard it, even though I couldn't understand a word, except "Below". Lol!!!
To tell the truth, I'd still like to find out what the lyrics mean some time.
Anyways, Lagos parties are something every teenager needs to experience at least once in his/her lifetime.
"What about High-school parties?" You ask, not sure what on earth I'm totally driving at.
Teenage American parties, you mean? Oh puhleease, give me a total break! There just isn't any comparison!!! Those stolen-beer and pizza-driven excuses for a good time totally fade right into the background beside a Lagos street party.
Yeah! That's right! It's not just the colorful attire of the party-goers, the wide-reaching head-ties of the women, the rich agabadas worn by the men, the flashy jewelries, great high-life music, or delicious foods and refreshments supplied as 'item seven.' Lol!!!
To be frank with you, in comparison to what I now know as an 'Owambe party', which is the most common native party in Lagos; prom parties just feel so drab and boring with the punch and pizza--nothing really much to it. Ugh!!!
One thing I noticed about Lagos parties though, you don't really need an exotic venue to pull-off the perfect entertaining scene. Most people just use their compounds and the free spaces behind their homes. However, if you're one of those who live in a flat (apartment) or totally don't have a wide compound, don't sweat it. Just use your street!!!!
"No way!!!" You eyes almost pop out of their sockets. "You mean as in streets where cars commute and everything?" you ask, looking quite incredulous. "Seriously?"
Yep!!! Totally!!! Just wait till it's about 6pm, then measure-out about a two-hundred feet of the street in front of your home-- spanning to the left and right-- and clamp-down some road-block signs at each end. Then scatter around several plastic chairs and tables and position a few bouncers at strategic points to warn and redirect traffic. Mount an intimidating sound system with heavy-duty speakers wired from the inside of your building with plenty of extensions.
Voila!!!
You totally got yourself a party venue. Lol!!!
"You must be kidding me?" You remark, totally blown outta your mind. "A street party, how cool is that?" You think for a coupla minutes, then ask, "What about the cops? Howddya deal with 'em, huh?"
Cops? What cops? The same guys the party host already 'sorted' with a coupla thousand bucks (Naira)?
Naahhh, street parties don't get bothered by no cops, irritated neighbors, or grandparents. The general rule of thumbs for such gatherings is very simple:
If you can't beat 'em; join 'em!!!
Lol!!!
"Wow," you say, totally blown away. "I so wanna spend my summer hols in Lagos.
Now, that's what I'm talking about. Remember, the above also goes for coming-of-age parties, birthdays, school proms, naming ceremonies, bachelor parties, burial wake-keeping, golden-jubilees, after wedding parties, church functions, sports victory, etc, etc. You can basically celebrate anything in Lagos, even your first job, your first car, college graduations or your house opening. These parties bring the body and soul of the city together in perfect harmony. And you wanna know something cool?
Everyone is totally invited. In effect, a second home for street parties are:
M'ogbo, mo branch!
Indirect translation: I heard the music, I totally invited myself. And all my hommies.
"Yeah right!!!" You roll your eyes. "The more the merrier, huh?"
Yep!!! That's exactly what I'm talking about! All ya party rats outta 'ere, please join me:

E gbe jo o!!! 

Lotta Luv,

Carlotta

Get a copy of the "Feddie Girl" novel by Nona David on Amazon.com or from the publisher https://bernardbooks.com

To buy this novel in Nigeria, please contact our sales agents:

LAGOS = 08023226389, 08023002049, 08098012049
ABUJA/JOS/KADUNA = 08066370106
PORT-HARCOURT/OWERRI/ABA = 08037974482
ENUGU/NSUKKA/ONITSHA = 08030908351

Also available at the following Nigerian Bookstores:
1. Goodlife.com/ng
2. Walahi.com

Don't you love 'em Lagos street-hawkers?

Got bread???

Street hawking in Lagos. What a unique experience! Where else on this earth can one afford prompt service coupled with freedom of choice and the chance to compare, contrast, and haggle prices of goods and services with vendors, and totally feel like a celebrity?

Not in a million cities. Only in Lagos, Nigeria.

Yeah, that's right. I totally said it. What you gonna do? Drag my white tush to Kiri-Kiri prison?

Anyone who's ever been to Lagos, even for one day, totally knows the chant of the street-hawkers:

Bread-dy Agege o!

Ewa Agoyin, o wa o!

Buy pure-water!

Ewedu re!

Coke! Fanta!! Sprite!!!

Guguru ati ekpa!

Hot Moin-moin!

Akara, Kpoff-kpoff, Chin-chin!!!

Guinea-fowl eggs!

Dodo! Boole!

It goes on and on and never ends, one street hawker--flat metal tray balanced on his/her head--after another, selling edible goodies from dawn till dusk.

Who can resist their call? No one! That's why their service is so world-famous.

Indigens say Lagos is for the active and highly energetic individuals. Yeah, right!

Ironically, the lazy and sedentary thrive well in Lagos too. Basically, the street-hawkers live for these people. All one needs to do is drag oneself outta bed and go camp in front of the gate to ones home. All the stuff you need for the day will pass by you in the space of thirty-five minutes. From bath soap to toothbrush and toothpaste. From hot tea and freshly baked bread to heavy meals, snacks, and soft drinks. Hell, you can even make a phone call with a rented cell phone! What more can one ask for?

And to totally cap it all, stuffs are hawked in convenient quantities. You need just two slices of bread for a sandwich? No problem! the street-hawkers will totally sell just two slices. Lol! You only need a squeeze of toothpaste? Not an issue! You only wanna purchase just three tablespoons of hot cocoa and a dash of milk for your morning drink? Sure, they're totally up for it! You need a handful of detergent for your laundry? Okey-dokie, one handful of 'super-blue omo' is measured and priced accordingly. Lol!!!

One favorite theory of mine is that many Europeans are in the wrong country--especially the heavy and lazy ones. Oh yeah? What other city encourages the sedentary lifestyle in humans more than Lagos? Imagine a city where sloth and bumming around is totally acceptable. Vendors bring everything you ever wish for to your doorstep, enabling you to just sit right there on your backside while you lose weight and acquire a long-lasting tan without much trouble. Lol!!!

Oh and it doesn't end with just hanging outside your gate. While riding in vehicles you can totally buy stuff off the streets too. Who says you gotta stop and exit your vehicle? Nope. No need to bother your precious self. The street-hawkers totally get it. They already anticipate your needs and will rush their wares to your car window. Don't worry, they are adept at chasing after your car even in the heaviest of traffic. Some of them can totally keep pace with a vehicle moving at 30 kilometers per hour. Amazing, huh?

Lol!!!

While in a car, please, the last thing you wanna do is push your head outta your window and yell, "Bread!" Lol!!! The next thing you're gonna know, many different kinds of bread are so gonna be shoved in your face. Large loaves, small loaves, dark-chocolate, white, wheat, mixed, milky, sliced, heavy--name it, you got it!

So basically, you now get the idea, right? Hey? You still with me?

I steal a look at your face and realize you're totally fast asleep.

I've been totally rambling to myself for the last hour. Fat luck!

I'll be back with more!

Lotta Luv,

Carlotta

For information about the upcoming novel, FEDDIE GIRL by Nona David, visit Bernard Books Publishing http://bernardbooks.com

Yeah, Right! Welcome to Lagos, Nigeria...

So why did I get on a plane heading to Lagos, Nigeria?

To be honest, I asked myself the same question everyday for the past year. I don't know why I let my parents talk me into it, despite forebodings at the back of mind. Guess I just wanted to be cool and show them no amount of punishment would totally faze me.

Oh boy, was I wrong!

First off, my mom came along for the ride but my dad refused to comply, even though the punishment was his idea in the first place.

You look at me in an odd way, as if to say, you dumb babe! "That probably raised a red flag, huh?"

It did, believe me, but I was too busy bitching about my cell phone privileges being taken away, to notice. Talk about the classic 'penny wise, pound foolish' syndrome.

There I was, sulking about my Blackberry, not even noticing my parents had something more sinister in mind. When I finally caught up to what was on board, it was too late!

"Jeez!" you yell, "what are you? Like the dumbest kid on the block?" You shake your head in disgust.

I cringe from you and and your snarky attitude and hide my irritation behind my words. I know you're right, but say what you may, had you been in my shoes, even you wouldn't have seen it coming.

You roll your eyes to high heavens and smirk, "Yeah, right!"

Seriously!!! Lagos, Nigeria isn't exactly San Francisco, California.

So like, we stepped out of the Muritala Mohammed airport building and it suddenly hit me:

Mosquitoes are truly the most evil and vicious insects you'll ever come across.

"No kidding!" you exclaim, running my pink hairbrush through your hair. "You think I oughta shave?" You peer at your reflection in the mirror, caressing your smooth jaw with long tapered fingers. You have no stubble--you're only fourteen.

Well, yeah. I'm referring to the mosquitoes, not your non-existent facial hair. Like most pre-pubescent males, you're already obsessed with growing a moustache.

Anyways, back to my story. In Lagos, the mosquitoes are as large as moths, noisy and unrelenting. They must have a unique way of discerning fresh blood, cos they descended on me and my mom in droves as soon as we stepped out in the open, forming a distorted halo over our heads and singing in our ears.

Their bites are sharp and stinging, the pain akin to none other than that of bees. They never let-up, no matter how hard you slap at them. Hiding under layers of clothing don't help either cos they've figured out a way to feed on you through your pants.

The frustrating part is, you put up your hand to wave them away, they go ahead and bite your knuckles and the skin underneath your nails, the two places that are the most difficult to appease by scratching--assuming you can find the exact spot to scratch.

"I can imagine," you say, not really getting it.

But I won't blame ya cos, unless you've been to Lagos and have been attacked by a million of those bad boys at once, you'll probably never get it. End of story!

Mosquitoes are just one of the many evils of Lagos. The traffic congestion, air and garbage pollution, lack of traffic laws, harassment by road-side vendors, and general lack of law and order will blow you away.

"How come?" you ask, finally letting go of your boyish chin. You pick up a scraggly sneaker and stuff your sock-less foot into it.

What I'm saying is, you don't wanna make the mistake of taking Lagos, Nigeria for granted. It's a city like no other. Lagosians fondly refer to it as Eko. As far as they are concerned, no other city in the world can totally offer what Lagos does.

And, after spending a whole year in Nigeria, I began to see it too.

The exciting night life, the sleepless natives, the exotic and mouth-watering foods, the language, the accent, the thankfulness of the people when blessings come their way, the frustrations of business owners when power goes out, the rowdy markets sporting anything you desire under the sun, the intimidating area boys, the church functions, the parties and ceremonies, the music, the pulse of the streets. It's a whole lot to take in at first glance. But before long, the city gets to you and you get infected with the feverish enthusiasm.

You pause in the process of knotting the laces of your second sneaker. "You don't say?" You stare at me with eyes wide as saucers.

On the contrary, I really do say. Just three weeks in the city and I totally found myself screaming with the rest of them:

Lagos for life!

Eko o ni baje!

Lotta Luv,

Carlotta

(Definitely more to come, so stay connected.)

For excerpts and information about the upcoming novel FEDDIE GIRL, visit http://bernardbooks.com

Nigeria, West-Africa!!! Why me...?

So I beat-up on two kids half my age and landed them in the emergency room with cracked ribs.

"What's the big deal?" You ask from the side or your mouth, not letting go of the Nintendo cruiser you clutch in your hands.

Well, the big deal is that my parents panicked and catapulted us from the our lovely home in San Francisco to the middle of nowhere in Owasso, Oklahoma. Major downer!

You sip from your soda can. "I still don't get it," you mutter, slurping the drink around in your mouth, "so you relocated to the mid-lands, who gives a shit?"

I have just one question. You ever been to Owasso, Oklahoma?

No?

Then shut the hell up and take my word for it. After living most of my life in 'Frisco, Owasso felt like cowboy land to me. Shoot! They even have cowboys and totally have like, native Indian names for their towns. Osawatomie, Oolagah, Owasso, Okmulgee...

Like, who the hell named these towns? The guys from 'Dukes of Hazard?' Crazy!!!

Anyways, we moved to Owasso (pronounced 'Owass-ah' by many natives), and I hated my parents for it. They put me in some middle school filled with a bunch of stupid kids that know nothing about being cool. Many of them wouldn't even know what a cigarette looked like if it came poking them in the eye.

Bummer!!!

I had no friends. My best friend Sasha was back in 'Frisco dating cute guys and lounging in pools and beaches, sipping slushies and eating ice-cream. Me? I was caged in Owasso, wearing drab clothes to school and eating cafeteria-cooked-crap for lunch. Yuck!!!

Even the extracurricular activities in the school was like, totally booorrriiing! There was no group for aspiring actresses like me. No serious music group with incredible talent like mine. And definitely no musicals or talent shows whatsoever. Instead, they had baseball. Who the heck wants to play baseball?

You give me a reproachful stare. "Baseball is an American fave," you say.

Yeah, yeah, Baseball and the Angels and the Braves and yatty-yatty-yada!!! Give me a break!

So, like, the only kid I identified with at that middle school in Owasso was this guy named Samuel Machiovich. Cool kids in the school nick-named him 'Slinky Sam.'

I was cool, so I called him Slinky Sam too. He was the major and the most widely connected supplier of cigarettes and drugs in the school. I was one of his frequent customers...Lol!!!

"What!!!!" you scream. "Cigarettes? Whatcha go picking up that disgusting habit for?"

First off, smoking is not a disgusting habit, at least, not when you stick to the occasional cigarette. It's when you become addicted and or graduate to reefers that it becomes disgusting--and at whatever age you start doing it.

In my case, I started smoking cigs when I was like, eight? Nine? I forget. But, while in 'Frisco, I only smoked like one or two sticks in three months.

Then we moved to Owasso and I met Slinky Sam and the likes of him. Things quickly took a turn for the worse. I started smoking more frequently, you know, just for relaxation and to let-off steam. I was netting in at about two sticks in three days. Then the urge to smoke became more insistent. Before I knew it, I was smoking a whooping pack of cigs in two weeks! Gawd!!!

Then guess what?

"What?" you ask, all eyes and ears now. (Finally, I've been able to gain your full attention. Lol!)

Okay, so, Slinky Sam totally introduced me to something stronger than just tobacco.

"I knew it!" you yell. "The Slimy bastard!"

Well, it's not totally his fault. I could have said no if I wanted to. Problem was--I seriously needed something to get my mind off my parents selfish decisions and judgment. Jeez! What do they know about my life?

So, at first, I tried a few kinds of weed, nothing too serious, just harmless grass and stuff. Then one day, Slinky got me the real deal. Marijuana!!!

"Marijuana??!!!" You yell...

Yup, it cost me ten bucks a roll too. Slinky said it was the best weed in town.

"Whatcha do? You smoke it?" You are now at the edge of your seat, perched and staring at me in awe and unbelief.

To be fair to you, the answer is yes! I did smoke the reefer... We cut classes and went behind the school dumpster during school hours. I took one puff and closed my eyes, hoping to savor the promised freedom the warm smoke would bring.

The next thing I knew, a heavy hand clamped down on my shoulder.

I was busted!!!

By the time I snapped my eyes open, Slinky Sam was nowhere to be found.

You laugh so hard you fall to the floor and roll around. "I told you so!"

Yeah, and honestly, I don't blame ya! That weed-smoking escapade was the last straw for my parents. I got expelled from middle school and three weeks later, I found myself on a plane nosing its way to Nigeria, West-AFRICA!!!

You betcha! I'll be back with more, so hang around!

Lotta Luv,

Carlotta

How to purchase this novel:

1. From Amazon.com

2. From the publisher

3. Buy in Nigeria

For more information, excerpts, and reviews of the FEDDIE GIRL novel, visit Bernard Books Publishing

Jeez! How was I to know?

You’ve been waiting to hear what I did to merit a punishment as extreme as boarding school in AFRICA of all places. Okay, I’m totally gonna tell you. But bear in mind that this happened a long time ago, like when I was twelve.

At that time, I guess I must have been a really frustrated kid, full of angst and bitterness at the failing relationship between my parents.
How was I to know, at that time, that trying to be a punk was not the best of solutions to an impending family divorce?

I was only twelve–duh!!

How was I to know that by letting my rage overtake me, I was gonna hurt other people and myself?
Really, how was I to know???
Guess I learned the hard way.

Okay so you still wanna know what I did?

“Spill the beans, Carlotta,” you reply, ready for gossip.

Okey-dokie. But remember, you asked for it!!! Lol!!!

*******

I hated the two kids. They were about half my age, skinny, and obnoxious as hell. They had tiny little noses that seemed turned-up at the end, almost snobbish.

They never shut up, especially the female. She had this annoying way of chanting in a high-pitched voice each time she crossed my path:

“Car-lot-ta! Car-lot-ta!! Carrr-llooot-ttaaaa!!!”

“Enough, already!” I snapped at her one morning. I was in a particularly sore mood and didn’t care much for being pestered.

The li’l kid, wouldn’t listen, she kept chanting.

“I said, stop it!” I yelled at her, “or I’m gonna bust your butt!”

The girl shut up at once. There was a moment of glorious quietness, before her male counterpart blurted:

“Watcha gonna do? Car-lot-ta, watcha gonna do?”

I’m gonna totally bust you up, that’s what. “Stop it this minute,” I ordered.

The boy ignored me. I hate being ignored.

His female partner-in-crime joined in again, and this time, she made the mistake of poking me in the chest while she chanted with renewed vigor.

That did it! I lost my temper!

First, I caught hold of one and landed her a resounding blow straight across the cheek. Smack!
Dazed, she fell back and let up. The male wasn’t as easy to deal with. Scrawny legs kicking, little arms flailing, sharp voice wailing; he grabbed my arm and began to pummel with his free hand.

With him I took my time. One accurately measured blow to the side of his chest leveled him.
The female jumped to her feet and charged like a suicidal bull, blindly throwing herself into my stomach. I peeled her off me and smacked her across the face. Again!

She wouldn’t be dislodged that easily.

So I leveled her like I did her mate, landing one extra blow to make sure she stayed down. I considered leaving them there, prone as dead logs, but thought better of it. A ring of excited onlookers had formed around us.

“Here is to the silly taunts on the bus every morning,” I spat. With each word, I kicked-out at the two helpless beings, drawing an extended cry of agony from them.

Finally, I stopped kicking and stood there, heaving with fury, staring down at the two six-year olds I almost reduced to pulps of flesh.
I turned to leave. A path cleared within the ring of other students staring back at me in horror.

One boy hooted and several others joined in. Soon they were booing and chanting and running to go find a teacher. Any teacher. And the school nurse.
The injured six-year-olds lay there on the ground, groaning and crying.

“Did I feel sorry for them?” you ask, shocked beyond belief.

Well, to tell you the truth, I felt kinda satisfied. The two punks had it coming. They certainly did.

And it was totally their own fault.

How to purchase this novel:

1. Buy from Amazon.com

2. Buy from the publisher

3. Buy in Nigeria

For more info, excerpts and reviews of this novel, visit Bernard Books Publishing

Stuff about me...

So, I am the only child in my family–can’t say whether this is good or bad, but that’s just the way it is.

My dad’s name is Richard, and like I said before, he is a physician. He’s really tall (like, above six feet), dark and handsome. When people meet him these days, they keep saying he looks like Barack Obama!!! Lol!!! I guess they’re kinda right, after all, my dad, like our dear Mr. President, is a half-breed too. His dad (my grandfather) is from somewhere in Anambra State, Nigeria (I think it’s Neewi, Newwi, or somethin’ like that. Can’t remember the spelling!! Lol!!). My dad’s mom is from Gainesville, Georgia. Great match for the two of them, I must say, even though I never met them!!! How often do you get to have a Nigerian for a granddad and a totally white mom for a grandma? Totally cool, right?

My mom is an English Professor (Ph.D.) and her parents are both from Georgia. Now, them, I got to meet, but can’t remember. I was like two or three when they both passed on. What a bummer!!! My mom is quite tall for a woman and very prim and proper. Her name is Shelley, but she should have been called Margaret or somethin’ like that, cos she always gets on my case. Arrggh!!!

Okay, for the gist you’ve all been waiting for…

Sometimes, I wonder how or why my parents stuck together with each other for so long. Maybe it’s because of me…but I still wonder.

You see, my mom is a recovering alcoholic. Yeah, that means no booze in the house. Did you just say, “Hey, that sucks??!!” Well can’t blame ya! That’s the way things are at home. No booze, no beer, no nothin’ (Another reason I can’t host parties at home. Lol!!!). So, she had managed to stay clean for a long time never saw her take a drink until I was like, twelve? Thirteen? Oh yes! That would be a few months before my thirteenth birthday.

She tries to hide it, most of the time, but sometimes I can smell the alcohol on her breath. Mostly, my dad would pretend like he doesn’t notice, until she starts slurring her words or hurling stuff across the room (it’s sooo annoying when she does that. No, scary is more like it!!). This doesn’t happen often, though, only when she’s like anxious or totally bummed out about my dad’s promiscuity.

Hah! “Promiscuity?” you scream. Well, that’s what I said, isn’t it?

My dad just diggs young ladies with pretty faces. It’s not like it’s a secret or any thing, he just has this cool way of studying sashaying blondes/brunnettes from under his lashes when he thinks my mom is not looking. But he’s only fooling himself cos I think my mom knows what he’s up to most of the time. She just keeps a stiff face and totally ignores him. Or pretend not to notice.

Gee!! Aren’t they like, good for each other? Yep!! Totally!! A married couple that live together and have totally disgusting vices — one is an alcoholic while the other is a philanderer (right word? Just thought I’d put my mom’s constant hype about learning new words to good use.) But you totally get the idea, right?

Well, don’t get me wrong. My parents may be bummers sometimes, but I totally love ‘em!!! At least, I do right now. Lol!!!

So now you’ve met Dr and Dr Ikedi, my next story will be about why they decided it was worth it to ship their only daughter off to an all-girls boarding school in Africa!!!

Watch out, I’ll be back with more!!!

Lotta luv,

Carlotta

To purchase novel visit Bernard Books Publishing

Whaddya know? Meet my family...

So, I am the only child in my family–can’t say whether this is good or bad, but that’s just the way it is.

My dad’s name is Richard, and like I said before, he is a physician. He’s really tall (like, above six feet), dark and handsome. When people meet him these days, they keep saying he looks like Barack Obama!!! Lol!!! I guess they’re kinda right, after all, my dad, like our dear Mr. President, is a half-breed too. His dad (my grandfather) is from somewhere in Anambra State, Nigeria (I think it’s Neewi, Newwi, or somethin’ like that. Can’t remember the spelling!! Lol!!). My dad’s mom is from Gainesville, Georgia. Great match for the two of them, I must say, even though I never met them!!! How often do you get to have a Nigerian for a granddad and a totally white mom for a grandma? Totally cool, right?

My mom is an English Professor (Ph.D.) and her parents are both from Georgia. Now, them, I got to meet, but can’t remember. I was like two or three when they both passed on. What a bummer!!! My mom is quite tall for a woman and very prim and proper. Her name is Shelley, but she should have been called Margaret or somethin’ like that, cos she always gets on my case. Arrggh!!!

Okay, for the gist you’ve all been waiting for…

Sometimes, I wonder how or why my parents stuck together with each other for so long. Maybe it’s because of me…but I still wonder.

You see, my mom is a recovering alcoholic. Yeah, that means no booze in the house. Did you just say, “Hey, that sucks??!!” Well can’t blame ya! That’s the way things are at home. No booze, no beer, no nothin’ (Another reason I can’t host parties at home. Lol!!!). So, she had managed to stay clean for a long time never saw her take a drink until I was like, twelve? Thirteen? Oh yes! That would be a few months before my thirteenth birthday.

She tries to hide it, most of the time, but sometimes I can smell the alcohol on her breath. Mostly, my dad would pretend like he doesn’t notice, until she starts slurring her words or hurling stuff across the room (it’s sooo annoying when she does that. No, scary is more like it!!). This doesn’t happen often, though, only when she’s like anxious or totally bummed out about my dad’s promiscuity.

Hah! “Promiscuity?” you scream. Well, that’s what I said, isn’t it?

My dad just diggs young ladies with pretty faces. It’s not like it’s a secret or any thing, he just has this cool way of studying sashaying blondes/brunnettes from under his lashes when he thinks my mom is not looking. But he’s only fooling himself cos I think my mom knows what he’s up to most of the time. She just keeps a stiff face and totally ignores him. Or pretend not to notice.

Gee!! Aren’t they like, good for each other? Yep!! Totally!! A married couple that live together and have totally disgusting vices — one is an alcoholic while the other is a philanderer (right word? Just thought I’d put my mom’s constant hype about learning new words to good use.) But you totally get the idea, right?

Well, don’t get me wrong. My parents may be bummers sometimes, but I totally love ‘em!!! At least, I do right now. Lol!!!

So now you’ve met Dr and Dr Ikedi, my next story will be about why they decided it was worth it to ship their only daughter off to an all-girls boarding school in Africa!!!

Watch out, I’ll be back with more!!!

Lotta luv,

Carlotta

To purchase the FEDDIE GIRL novel visit Bernard Books Publishing

Hi, my friendly reminder...

Hello there,

Have you read my story?

Read excerpts of FEDDIE GIRL, the sizzling international adventure/thriller by Nona David. This novel features me as the major character and is all about my experiences in an all-girls boarding school in Nigeria. It also tells what my family were up to while I was safely tucked out of the way in boarding house. Lol!!!

Ever been to Africa??? No??? Gosh! You need to read this novel. Lol!!!

Actually, that is kinda what this whole blog thingy is about, wouldn’t you say?

Did I hear you say, “Oh, alright, Carlotta, I will reserve a copy of FEDDIE GIRL”? Yep, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.

Anyways, don’t miss this opportunity to read never-before-seen excerpts of this novel and reserve your copy at the publishers site: Bernard Books Publishing. http://bernardbooks.com

You can also drop a line for the author by signing the guest book!!!

See ya,
Carlotta

Excerpt 1 from FEDDIE GIRL, The Novel

By Nona David

Five minutes later, Carlotta walked into the Sapphire House lobby and the room suddenly became silent. Twenty pairs of eyes turned to stare at her. She bit her lip and looked around at the eager faces deposited everywhere in the room. The faces belonged to students milling around comfortable armchairs arranged to face a wide screen television that was mounted on the wall.

Sandra waved. She stood at a corner with Uche and two other students.

Carlotta waved back and walked to them.

Sandra was thin and shriveled-looking with a large squat nose that dominated most of her facial features. She was dark-skinned and had the kind of face that appeared rough and full of pores—almost like, if you scrubbed hard with a damp cloth, you’d be successful in unearthing a new layer of smoother skin.

Uche, on the other hand, was chubby and jolly, and equipped with a kind face and subtle eyes.

“Hi, girls,” Carlotta said. She looked at the other two girls and couldn’t place them. “I’m Carlotta.”

“This is Yvonne,” Sandra introduced a mousy looking girl, “and this is Emeh,” she finished, indicating the thin girl beside Uche. “They are both in Sapphire-Five.”

“Bonjour,” Emeh said, smiling. “How are you this morning?”

Carlotta nodded. She wasn’t sure the meaning of the first word that Emeh had spoken. “I’m good, thanks.” She smiled back.

“You must be the Feddie Girl the girls in my dorm were talking about last night,” Yvonne squeaked, “they said your parents live in America.” In addition to her appearance, Yvonne possessed a mousy voice.

“Tell me something I don’t already know.” Carlotta shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Is it true your mother is white? I mean she’s really white, n’est elle pas?” Emeh asked, her wide eyes staring at Carlotta as if she were something from out of space. “Pardon my French,” she quickly added when she noticed Carlotta’s irritated look. “I can’t help myself.”

Emeh had two large front teeth, Carlotta noticed, that kept poking out of her mouth as she spoke. Her looks reminded Carlotta of the stuffed Easter Bunny she had seen in a toy store somewhere.

“Well, although my mom’s totally a white-American, being born in California and all, I really can’t tell you her skin’s white in color, if that’s what you wanna know.”

Carlotta’s mouth showed the hint of a smile. “She’s more of a light-tan, you know,” she said and winked.

The girls laughed.

Carlotta ran her hands through her hair, tossed back her curls and asked, “So, what actually is the deal here? Why are we waiting?”

“We’re waiting for Senior Chidi,” Uche informed her. “She is supposed to assign us our morning duties.”

Carlotta noticed that Uche had something in her hand that looked suspiciously like the brooms she had seen her cousin and aunt use to sweep floors clean back in their home in Lagos State. It looked like a witch’s broomstick that was missing the long handle. It was basically a bunch of thin flexible sticks tied up together at one end. “Why do you need that?” she asked, indicating the broom. She realized that almost every girl in the lobby had one like it, too.

“I don’t know,” Uche’s voice was doubtful. “My Bunkie thought I might be assigned a place to sweep for my morning duty.”

“You must be kidding me. You don’t mean to tell me we are actually expected to work? I mean, really work? Like janitors?” Carlotta asked in an unbelieving tone. “How much are we gonna be paid?”

“Ah non,” Emeh remarked, “you don’t get paid for doing your morning duty.”

“Oh, puhleease, give me a break,” Carlotta scoffed, rolling her eyes. The girl and her French were beginning to get on her nerves. “Why should we be made to work if we aren’t gonna get paid? I totally don’t get it.” She tossed back her hair. “I mean, even if we’re gonna be paid, I still don’t want any part of a janitor’s job.”

“Morning duty,” Sandra corrected.

“Whatever. I still don’t want any part of it,” Carlotta intoned.

“Ah, you don’t understand,” Yvonne wailed, “you have no choice. It’s just like the chores you do at home, you don’t expect payment for them, do you?”

“Really? No choice, huh?” Carlotta gave Yvonne a daring look. “We’ll see about that.” She sniffed. “And as for chores, don’t tell me you guys work at home, too?”
The four girls just stared at her. They tried to make her understand that morning duty meant mandatory work that has to be done every morning. And without reward. They asserted that the school head girl said so herself when she addressed the new students the night before.

Carlotta, who wasn’t used to boarding school systems in Nigeria, and hadn’t paid much attention during the speech, had obviously missed that part. She wondered what other unpleasant surprises lay in store for her.

Just then, the Sapphire House prefect, Chidi Anayo, flanked by two dormitory prefects, walked into the room and stood before the students.

Even in the harsh light of the morning, Carlotta noticed that the house prefect still looked as imposing as ever. She also saw that Chidi had the same pompous air like she had the day before, when she’d ridiculed Carlotta about her age—basically telling Carlotta off for being too old at thirteen to be in JS1, which was a class meant for new students not much older than eleven.

Watching her strut to the front of the room like a majestic peacock, Carlotta instantly felt an intense dislike for the house prefect. She stood still and watched as one of the flanking prefects called names off a list, while Chidi assigned each girl to a duty as her name was called.

Soon, Carlotta heard her name. She walked up to the prefects. “Hi, it’s a great morning today, isn’t it?” she volunteered, with a bright smile. She looked at Chidi but the house prefect appeared not to have noticed or even heard her.

“Sapphire-One windows.” Chidi’s tone was clipped. She dismissed Carlotta with an abrupt wave of her hand.

Carlotta’s face burned. “Stupid bitch,” she muttered under her breath, and made to leave. If there were two things she despised, they would be—being ridiculed, and being ignored.

“Come back here,” a voice commanded.

Carlotta stopped in her tracks. She turned.

Chidi was glaring.

The chattering in the room stopped. The air became electrified. The rest of the new students held their breath and turned to watch.

Carlotta hesitated.

Chidi’s lips tightened against her teeth. “I said you should come back here,” she repeated, this time spitting the words out, one by one, like fiery bullets out of a pistol. There was no mistaking the meaning behind the words.

Carlotta took a deep breath and returned to face the prefects. Her heartbeat accelerated to a new level. She tried hard to swallow her hatred and retain her composure.

“What did you say?” Chidi’s voice was low but very distinct. Her lips barely moved.
Carlotta rolled her eyes and shrugged.

“Don’t you dare roll your eyes at us,” one of the flanking prefects yelled.
Carlotta eyed her with distaste.

Quick as lightening, the prefect’s hand struck out.

Carlotta ducked. The sailing hand missed her head by a mere inch. Her heart beat even faster. Warm blood flooded her neck and face. She wanted to scream and strike back, but instincts told her it was best to remain silent and bide her time.

“What did you say?” Chidi demanded in an ominous voice. Her eyes were hot black coals.

“I didn’t say anything,” Carlotta supplied in a voice that was thick with suppressed rage. Her breath came in short spurts.

“Are you sure?” one of the flanking prefects sneered. “I most definitely heard you say something.”

Carlotta ignored the hammering in her chest and continued to stare into the unblinking coals that were Chidi’s eyes. She was a coiled dangerous snake, ready to strike at the slightest provocation. She imagined the satisfying crunch the bone of Chidi’s jaw would make when her fist finally connected with it and a sense of satisfaction trickled down her spine. The prefect was her archenemy.

The black eyes narrowed. “Don’t you ever, never ever again,“ Chidi hissed. “Now, get lost.”

Carlotta uncoiled, then turned her back to the prefects and strode to the door. When she emerged on the other side, she realized her hands were shaking.

Coming in February, 2010
Advance copies available till September 28th 2009
Reserve your copy now at Bernard Books Publishing!

Hi, Welcome to my world...

My name is Carlotta Ikedi, better known as Feddie Girl. I am the major character in the FEDDIE GIRL novel by Nona David.

I was born and bred in San Francisco, California, USA, where I spent the first twelve years of my life. Right after my twelfth birthday, my parents thought it would be a good idea to relocate to Owasso, Oklohoma. Dumb, right? I thought so too. Anyways, I spent several months in Oklahoma--and hating every minute of it--before I was shipped-off to boarding school in Nigeria

"Why Nigeria?" you ask? Well, that story will be for another day! Lol!

This blog site is about me and my readers. Basically, this is where you can interact and learn more about me. I will also be featuring short stories about my experiences and adventures in a Nigerian boarding school. Lol!

You can also join my fan page on Facebook!

Hope you're ready to rock with me. Okay, let's have fun!

Lotta luv,

Carlotta