debrief08: What good does my emphathy or fake respect do for her? Just pay a visit to the thread on staying with an adulterous man so all screaming never ever leave, stay and fight pray and fast. What do you want me to say? Women have chosen unhappiness , pain and misery because they donnt want to "shame" or they don't want to put in the work in raising well grounded kids as a single parent and this is the result, am not an messenger of doom but we will continue to witness such until we begin to say enough is enough marriage is not a do or die affair. Any woman who chooses to commit suicide by staying with a bad man does not get my sympathy

My mum is crying. I can see her from here. She has aged since the last time I saw her.

Why does she look so old and why is she so thin? Can someone console her? Can someone make her stop crying?

I try to get up but I can’t. I try to reach for her, but I’m stuck where I am. It is very dark in here, and very cold, so very cold.

What am I doing here? Where is everybody? Where are my children? I begin to panic, to struggle; I want to get out of this dark room.


I can hear Uzo calling. She’s calling my name. Then, I see mum again. And I hear Uzo again. I don’t see my children. Where are my children? I can’t see beyond the walls of this dark and cold room.

Uzo calls again.

She sounds desperate to rouse me from my sleep. I am struggling to wake but I can’t. I open my eyes and they shut of their own accord.
I am powerless to keep them from shutting. And I find as soon as I stop struggling, my sleep becomes sweet repose. Suddenly I don’t want to wake from it just yet. It is peaceful.

I see mum again, and I see Uzo. Uzo keeps calling. She won’t stop calling. She is crying too, just like mum.

Can someone bring Kamsi and Amanda to me? Can someone bring my babies to me? I need to hug them, Kamsi, especially. Is he crying too and calling out for me?
Does he understand that I am gone? Kamsi will miss me.

He is a special child, you know; Kamsiyochukwu - my son and my first child.

I prayed and longed for his birth. He was the blessing from above that would seal Kevin’s love for me and give me some footing in his home and some acceptance from his family.

Before Kamsi, I was a nobody in Kevin’s home. I was born the last of nine children, the baby of the family. I was used to love and affection. I was everyone’s baby. I grew up knowing that everyone had my back, I grew up knowing the safety and security of being the baby of the home. You may then understand my shock when I stepped out of my home and into new territory with the man of my dreams only to find that I was really not as special as I had been made to believe. I look back to that day when Kevin took me home to introduce me to my new family. The cold and rude shock of the welcome his brother’s wife gave me set off an alarm in my head.

These people didn’t think I was special. In fact, her first words were, ”Kevin, ebe kwa ka isi dute nka?” (Kevin, “Where on earth did you bring this one from?) That would be the first time I would be addressed as “this one” and from then on, I grappled with the realization that I was not welcome in my new home.

I remember my first Christmas at Ihiala as a new bride. My brother-in-law’s wife would sneer and clap and refer to me as “Ndi ji ukwu azo akwu” (the people who process palm fruits with their bare feet). I knew she meant my impoverished home town of Nsukka. She would sing to me all day long telling me the only reason why their brother married me was because of my beauty and complexion.

Now, I lie here and I wonder if I was in my right mind to ignore the several other alarms over my 12- year union with Kevin.

I had to ignore them, I told myself. I had already taken my vows to be with Kevin until death did us part.

They never really wanted me, I can now see. But I was too blinded by love to realize that. I needed to do something to cement Kevin’s heart with mine. I needed to remain Kevin’s wife and to prove to the world that indeed Love would conquer all.

When after one year of marriage there were still no children, the painful journey that sent me to my grave started. I went from specialist to specialist, ingested every kind of pill that promised to boost my fertility. As my desperation grew, so did pressure from Kevin’s family. My horror-movie life story started playing out; the horror-movie life that has sent me to an early and cold grave from where I write this letter to my husband.

************************************************************************************************
My sweet Kevin,


We started to fight over little things. The fights were worse after you visited home or attended any of your numerous family meetings. You came home one evening and asked me to move out of the bedroom we both shared and into the guestroom downstairs. The next time you returned from the meeting, you tied me up with a rope and used your belt on me. No one heard my screams.

I remember when you told me that your family had asked you to remarry. You showed me documents of all your numerous landed property including the house we lived in. Your brother was listed as next of kin. When I asked you about it, your answer rocked the ground I was standing on. You said, “What have you to show that entitles you to any stake in this household?” You were referring to my barreness.

It is funny how to my family and friends, I was the beautiful and loving Ogo, whilst to you and your family I was a worthless piece of rag. You called me barren. I could have fled but your love and acceptance was of more worth to me than the love and admiration of the world outside our home. I desperately sought to be loved by you, Kevin.
In your family’s presence I felt unworthy, unloved and unwanted. Yet, I stayed on. I would make you love me one way or the other and I knew that one sure way would
be to produce a child, an heir for you. That was the most important thing to you.

I began the numerous procedures, painful procedures, including surgery. I gave myself daily shots. At some point the needles could no longer pierce my skin. My skin had toughened to the piercing pain of needles.

After seven years of marriage, our prayers were answered. God blessed us with our son Kamsiyochukwu, which means ‘’Just as I asked of the Lord’’. God had intervened and miracles were about to start happening because for the first time in seven years, my mother-in-law called me. Finally I was home. I had been accepted. I was now a woman, a wife and a mother. Finally there was peace. Kamsi will be four in November.

The miracles stayed with me because 18 months later through another procedure, Chimamanda was born. Her birth was bitter sweet for me. Sweet because you Kevin, my husband, and my in-laws would love me more for bearing a second child, but bitter because this particular birth almost cost me my life. The doctors had become very concerned. You see, I had developed too many complications from all the different procedures I had undergone in the journey to have children and these were beginning to get in the way of normal everyday living. I developed conditions that had almost become life threatening. So the doctors sent me off with my new bundle of joy and with a stern warning not to try for another child as I may not be so lucky.

I chuckled, almost gleefully. Why would I want to try for a third child? God had given me a boy and a girl, what more could I ask for. I was only ever so thankful to God.
Kevin, you and I gave numerous and very generous donations to different churches in thanksgiving to God. All was well. I was happy and fulfilled. Kevin, you loved me again. Your family accepted me. Life was good. And all was quiet again. …………………… For a while.

Then fate struck me a blow. As if to remind me that my stay in your house was temporary and was never really going to be peaceful, Kamsi – our son, our first fruit, my pride and joy and the child that gave me a place in my husband’s home, began to show signs of slowed development; the visits to the doctors resumed, this time on account of Kamsi.
We started seeing therapists. After we’d been from one doctor to another I decided I had to resort to prayer. I was frightened. I was terrified. I was
threatened. I started to feel unwell. I had difficulty breathing. I needed to see my doctors, Kamsi too. He wasn’t doing too well either. He had difficulty
with his speech. He was slow to comprehend things. I did not know for sure what was wrong with him but I knew all was not well. Not with him and not with me. We
were denied visas to the USA because we had overstayed on our last trip on account of Kamsi’s treatments. So whilst we waited for a lawyer to help us clear
up the immigration issues with America, I applied for a UK visa and sought help in London. But by then, trouble had reared its head at home, again.

Kevin, you had again become very impatient with me. My fears were fully alive again. The battles it seemed I had won were again in full rage. My husband, in your
irritable impatience and anger, you told me to my face that our son, my Kamsi, was worthless to you. You said he was abnormal. You said that our daughter, my
Amanda, was a girl and that you had no need for a girl child because she would someday be married off. I remember, in pain, that you didn’t attend Amanda’s
christening because you were upset with me. You told me your mother was more important to you than “THESE THINGS” I brought to your house. You were referring
to our children, were you not? “THESE THINGS”.

My heart bled. I wept bitterly. Then I quickly calmed my fears by telling myself that you were under a lot of stress at work and that you were also probably reacting to all the money that you had spent on my treatments. Surely, all that was getting to you? Even when you threatened me with a knife, twice you did that, I still felt unworthy of you and very deserving of your hatred. Even when you would say: “I will kill you and nothing will happen because you have no one to fight for you”, I kept on struggling to get you to love me because, Kevin, your validation was important to me

You had refused to give me money for my medical trip to London. I knew then it was because you had your hands full with caring and catering for everybody who was dear to you. Your finances were stretched. I thought then that in time you would come around.

My health continued to get worse. Eventually, I made it to London. After extensive consultations and tests, I was given a definitive diagnosis. My condition was life threatening. It was from this time, when it was clear that I required surgery to save me life that I came face to face with a different kind of war from our home.

Kevin, you stopped speaking with me. I was in pain, in anguish and in tears. I didn’t understand what was happening. I had stayed three weeks in London and Kevin, you never called, sent a text or inquired how I was faring. You stopped taking my calls. Instead I got a call from my cousin in whose care I had left my children. She was frantic with worry because there was no food in the house for the children to eat;
Kevin you had refused to provide food for our children. Kevin, you had also refused to pay for Kamsi’s home schooling.

Then Kevin, I received that e-mail from you. The only communication from you for the entire period I was in London.
Do you remember?
It was an angry email. You berated me for putting your integrity at stake at your work place. Apparently your employers had called a hospital in London to inquire about me and were told that no one by my name was ever their patient. I later found out that you had given the wrong hospital name to your employers. Do you remember, Kevin?

For the first time in my 12 year marriage, the alarm bells in my head began to sound real. For the first time in 12 years, I felt real anger stir up in my heart. Kevin, I was angry because you paid no heed to the hospital where your wife was at in London. You had no clue and cared little about what I was going through. Yet you would
berate me for putting your INTEGRITY at work at stake. Your integrity was your primary concern, not my health.

Then it hit me! All these years I was trying to be all I could be for you, Kevin, to make you happy, to please you, Kevin, ……… you actually hated me. You didn’t want me in your life. The signs were all there. Your family had showed me from day one that they didn’t want me. I was the object of a hatred that I could not explain. I
couldn’t understand why.

Then I saw the hand writing on the wall, all those many things that went on. You even sold my car whilst I was still lying on a hospital bed in London, with no word to me. I was not to learn of what you had done until I returned to Nigeria. The doctors had allowed me to return to prepare for surgery.


Kevin, do you remember that on my return I gave you a pair of shoes I had bought for you? Kevin, my husband, do you remember hurling those shoes at me? Kevin, do you remember me breaking down in tears? Kevin, do you remember me asking you that night, many times over, why you hated me so much, what I had done to make you hate me as much as you did?

“You are disturbing me, and if you continue, I`ll move out and inform the company that I no longer live in the house. Then they will come and drive you away”. Kevin, my husband, that was your response to me. Did you know then I only had days to live?
Is that why you told me that would be the last time I would see you physically? Did you know it would only be a few more hours?

I still had a surgery to go through. Kevin, since you wanted no part in it, I had contacted the medical officer in your company directly for referrals. I left Eket for Lagos on
Saturday. That same day I consulted with the specialist surgeon and surgery was scheduled for Monday morning.

In those final hours, as I prepared for my surgery, I was alone, my spirit was broken. I had lost all the fight in me. Kevin, I knew that nothing I did or said would turn you heart toward me, and I had nobody for whom you had any regards who would speak up for me.

In those final hours, Kevin, I called you. This was Sunday morning, less than 24 hours to my death. Do you remember, Kevin? I called you to share what the specialist surgeon had said. I was still shaking from your screams on the phone when I got in here. You did not want me to bother you, you screamed. I should go to my brothers and sisters, you screamed. I should pay you back all the money you gave me for my treatment in London, you screamed. Kevin, did you know that would be my last conversation with you? My last conversation with you, my husband, my love, my life, ended with you banging the phone on me.

Recalling the abusive words, the spitting, the beating, the bruising, the knifing, and the promise that I would not live long for daring to forget to buy garden eggs for your mother, an insult you vowed I would pay for with my life ……., I knew then it was over for me. There was no rationalizing needed any longer. Even the blind could see ………. You did not want me in your life.

I went in for surgery on Monday morning, February 27, 2012, and after battling for several hours, I yielded my spirit.

Kevin, my husband, I lived my promise to God. The promise I made on the day I wedded you.

For better ………………………… For worse
For richer …………………………. For poorer
In Sickness ………………………. And in health
To love ………………………….. And to cherish

Till DEATH US DO PART!

And it has.

NOW I AM DEAD!!!!!!!

Just as your mum predicted ….. Her cold words follow me to morgue. She swore to me that I would leave her son’s house dead or alive. I couldn’t leave whilst I still breathed. It had to be through death, and death it has become.

Kevin, you are FREE! And, so am I.

Your freedom is temporary. Mine is eternal.

Whilst you still have freedom, remember Kamsi and Chimamanda.


Lovingly yours until death,
Ogo.


I am gone. Gone forever. But if one woman, just one woman will learn from my story, then maybe I would not have gone in vain.

My heart weeps for my children, my mummy, my sisters and my brothers, my extended family. These ones, I was a gift to. These ones, they loved me. These ones, they wanted me. These ones, they needed me. These ones, they wish I had spoken out earlier.

A five year old boy who rejected his gender is now living as a girl with the support of his family, doctors and school.


Zach Avery was three when he started questioning his gender, and began wearing dresses and ribbons in his hair.
Following a psychological evaluation he was diagnosed with Gender Identity Disorder (GID), and has now been living as a girl for more than a year.

The disorder is a conflict between a person's physical gender and what they identify as. It prompts Zach to feel like a girl trapped in a boy's body.

According to his mother Theresa Avery, until the age of three Zach was a regular boy who loved Thomas the Tank Engine, but suddenly he became obsessed with Dora the Explorer and started dressing in girls clothes.

Ms Avery, who has three other children, told the Daily Telegraph that Zach's anguish at being a boy was such that "he used to cry and try to cut off his willy out of frustration."

Eventually NHS doctors officially diagnosed Zach with GID, one of the youngest affected children in the UK.

Ms Avery said: "They told us that although he had a male body, his brain was telling him he was a girl."

Zach's primary school now addresses him as a girl and has changed the toilets to Unisex.

Ms Avery said the school has been very supportive and Zach had experienced no bullying from other children.

"We explained to the other kids at the school that Zach's body was that of a boy but in his brain he was a girl. We said Zach was just happier being a girl than a boy," Ms Avery told the Daily Telegraph.

According to the Tavistock and Patman Foundation Trust in London, where Zach was diagnosed, 165 children received a GID diagnosis in the past year, of which only seven were under the age of five.

A spokesperson for the Trust said: "The trend in referrals has been up over the years - this may reflect greater awareness.

"In general when younger children are referred it is in relation to cross gender preferences in play, play mates and activities. It is more unusual for children of this age to express cross gender identification."

e-mail:

observation: the last two pictures are not real. The rest of them are 'wow!' good job Chime.

Hardunnii:

Arab women with jew men

Yup yup. I think they could even kill the girl [b]AND [/b]the guy. 

MsSophista:

OP, very truthful and insightful.  Language was somewhat explicit but the points were clear.  Like harvesting yams from dirty soil.  It's always good to hear these truths from a male's perspective.  Bravo!

Good analogy  However, I did not write the article. I posted the link on the first page. 

MarcAnthon:

Y'all necessarily have to cultivate reading habits, else you might just be guilty of what the man was saying - shallow, unintelligent girls won't be taken seriously by men. No one's intelligent all by himself. It's the body of your knowledge and experience that sets u apart. That's where reading comes in.
Having said that, I think the whole man-woman thing is overrated. People have been known to be happy all by themselves. Having to constantly do self- assessments all for the purpose of attracting a male or female is really stretching it, IMO.

kelz88:

Not articles about being a wifey or pu ssy, I don't.

How do you keep a man? The Ratchet answer would be to give him the best ass he’s ever had. But those who think that are single and currently figuring out what dress to wear to the club this weekend. Women who have locked down men, and I’m not talking about 6 months, I’m talking years, those women brought something to the table much more powerful than good sex.

You think you’re pretty, you think you’re smart, I bet you think you’re the most interesting woman on the planet right? But how do men view you? I’m not talking about does he turn and look when you walk by, let’s go deeper than the physical bullshit girls use as a crutch. Does he think you’re smart? Does he find you interesting? Are you classy in his mind or just another basic broad he’s ran through? Take a moment to think about the last dude you were seriously involved with. What did he like most about you? If it was something like “My smile” or “The way I rode it” you have a serious problem. Are you the type of woman he can spend all day talking to and has a connection deeper than the physical attraction or are you simply Pussy? And by Pussy I mean your only value to that man is to satisfy his physical needs. Your job is to make him cum. Pussy isn’t just the hoe or the slut, it’s also the girlfriend who we have no intention of marrying or keeping around past a year. Men love pussy, but we do not marry Pussy. A man may show Pussy off to his friends. He might buy Pussy gifts. Occasionally Pussy gets to come out of the house and get treated to dinner. Pussy even gets pregnant and becomes the Baby Mama. But he NEVER EVER marries Pussy. All men see women as Pussy initially, but after a few conversations we can decide if she’s more.



Are you the type he wifes or are you just the pussy?

Does he take you out? Stop being the drive thru hoe. Yeah he’s on hard times, his pockets aren’t built like that, but guess what? That nigga has money to buy a $59.99 PS3 game; he can scrape up a few dollars to take you to a restaurant that doesn’t have pictures on the menu. Your homgirls are single and fine dining and you’re taking Wing Stop to go, you’re not winning because you have a man, you’re losing because you have a man who keeps your dumb ass on Dracula duty, buried in the crib, only coming out when it’s time to buy condoms and Dutch masters.

Have you met his family? I’m not talking about his boys at the smoke house who he chills with and you happen to tag along. Has his mother laid eyes on you? I remember sneaking this girl into my mother’s house and she caught me. I was pissed because this girl was dumb as a brick, and my mother is nosey. My mother asked how she was doing and the bitch stood there as if she were asked to name elements from the periodic table. For years she joked me about the “retarded chinky eyed girl”. If he’s feeling you, you’ll meet the people who are most important to him. Being in the car and waving “hi” or seeing someone for a minute isn’t an introduction. Stop being smuggled hoe!

What do you talk about? “We spend all night on the phone talking, we have so much in common”, Bitch please. Do you know how many hours I’ve spent on the phone with girls who I couldn’t stand? I’ve stayed up until 6am more times than I can count, and it wasn’t because the girl was interesting, it was because I wanted what she had and was putting in work. Take away the gossip, the TV show talk, and the sexual flirting; what the Bleep did I talk to you about? We both like the same colors… wow. We both randomly know Chauncey the stick up boy… incredible.  Spending twenty minutes saying “Did You Miss Me” and having a back and forth on who missed who gets played. The number one question a man wants to know, “When can I see you”. Why? Because you’re Pussy and we can’t get Pussy over the phone.

Are You Jeopardy Girl or Family Feud Girl? You’re not the brightest, you can tie your shoe and put your hair into a bun, but that’s where your genius ends. Stop pretending as if you visit CNN.com before you visit mediatakeout.com.  It’s okay to be into basic shit, but be able to put together a sentence. If I say, “So why didn’t you like Black Swan” don’t come at me with, “That was some white people shit”. That’s not a movie review, that’s a woman with poor analytical skills who tuned out as soon as she realized this wasn’t a comedy. There are more important things than Chris Brown’s dick. If I wanted to date a woman with the life experience of a 17 year old I would have become a gym teacher or a stepfather. Stop being afraid to ask questions, research things you don’t understand, have a desire to be the best dressed at the party and the most interesting.



If a man won’t commit then he sees you as Pussy. You were in a relationship for 3 months, and he started acting funny… Did you really break up with him or did he sabotage the relationship after your Pussy expired? Yes, pussy has an expiration date. It expires exactly 3-4 months after we first hit it. The more you smash the faster it expires. It’s not milk, you can continue to hit pussy after it’s long expired, people are married and love hitting expired pussy, it still feels good. But it will never be at the height it was when it was considered new pussy. As a wise man once said, “There’s no pussy like new pussy, and that’s how a nigga feel”. Being extra freaky or dating during the winter months may buy you an extra two months of that new pussy smell, but that’s it. No matter If it lasts 4 months or 6 months, the man will show signs of cabin fever because you don’t have anything real that keeps him tied to you. This man didn’t suddenly become an asshole, that’s not the real reason you’re arguing after months of lovey dovey shit, he’s tired of your pussy and he’s ready to move on to the next girl because you don’t stimulate him mentally. Sure he may come back to hit it after the relationship is over, but no junkie stops cold turkey. The point is he’s now only using you for Pussy, and that reaffirms that from the jump he saw you as Pussy never wifey! There is no such thing as Marry Me Pussy. No matter how good you think your shot is, there has yet to be a vagina built that can make a man throw a ring on it. Personality, charm, charisma > Pussy. If you want to keep a man, not just have someone to roll around in the bed and eat lemon pepper strips with, look in the mirror and ask, “Would I want me?” It’s like a job interview, the strengths are obvious and often times exaggerated. The weaknesses, those are hard to figure out, it’s not because you don’t have any, it’s because we rarely take a serious look at what’s wrong with us. Other than stupidity which we can’t really cure, there are several things that hold men back from promoting women, but here are my top two,

Are You Boring: No one wants a girl who sits around saying “I’m bored”? If you’re a bored female, that means you are boring. I don’t care how pretty you are I don’t want to waste my time with a boring chick who always needs to be entertained by the most basic shit.  I’m bored my phone’s not ringing today. I’m bored nobody’s texting me. I’m bored nothing’s on TV. Guess what? I’m bored after fucking you for a month because all you do is seek attention. Your coochie may be wet, but your personality is dry! There are people that make things happen and there are people who complain that nothing’s happening. Which are you?

Are You Loyal: Yeah yeah you would never cheat physically, but who do you talk to besides him? Who do you flirt with besides him? Men know when a female has an active phonebook. Do you think he’s going to see you as more than a good time girl if you have dudes blowing up your phone? He can say, “cut every other dude off for me” but let’s be realistic, you have excuses to why you talk to these niggas, he’s your brother, he’s your best male friend, you work with him… the list goes on. If you’re not willing to let go of your backup dick then why should he upgrade you from the Pussy to the potential wifey?



If you are a girl who’s tired of the dating game and want something deeper than 9 inches and a text message, then it’s time to get serious and change the way men view you. When you go out on dates have something to say, push the conversation in directions you haven’t taken it before. Show him that you aren’t like the rest of these girls out here; make him feel as if you’re the type of woman he can raise children with… not drop children in. They say that beside every great man there is a great woman. History doesn’t remember women who could do it with no hands; they remember women who could do it with their brains. Stop Being Pussy, that’s how you keep a man.