Happy Birthday Mama Afam

I've just got to say that some of you people are trying it. I don't mean you afamzers/famzers. You guys are lovely and wonderful and brilliant. I mean the other ones, the ex-afamzers. I mean, I know we didn't work out and stuff, but that doesn't mean I died. What kind of God awful exes are you! Jesus!

It's just like one ratty imaginary ex of mine said to me just now,

"Afam I haven't seen you around for a bit, are you dead, or ill?"

Of course the bit of my brain that thought that has been lobotomized. I do not like it when my body parts wish me ill.

In a similar vein, some of you guys have been coming up to me and asking whether I still blog or not. Dudes! Chicks! Twats! Don't ask me, read the bloody thing! And if you're genuinely not interested, fine! Don't bother me! I won't bother you! Or better yet, google the ramblings of a madman and find out. Stop making me uncomfortable in public.

And now that that's out of my system let's get to the matter for today. Yes, I'm not blogging for the sake of it today. I have a matter that I'd like to discuss. No, not discuss. You lot are not really involved. I'll take it again. I have something that I'd like to blog about.

At this juncture I feel that it is important for me to remind the lot of you that I, Afam, am not an Orphan. I have a Mama Afam and a Papa Afam. While Papa Afam is awesome - I mean the guy is just amazing. If I'm half as strong as he is, I'll move mountains, and tame devils. And if I'm anything like him I'll find a nice Isa L'Eko babe with a brilliant family and settle down. - Mama Afam is beyond. She's like the beyond in Bed, Bath and Beyond. You get a Bed, a Bath, a Laptop, Love, free advice, a rottweiller, a bull dog, a bottle of Amapola (aka what I'm drinking as I write this) and a prayer warrior all in one chocolate 35 year old body. I realise that you must realise that if Mama Afam's 35 then she had me when she was 11. And I know that this sounds unreasonable but you must learn to ACCEPT it to. What this means for you is that if you should ever run into Mama Afam, you must flirt with her. Flirting can be flattering which is why I have a couple of numbers that I'll never use. I like to think of them as souvenirs of my youth. In each of them is a future that I said no to. I like my little mementos time. In one timeline there's an Afam who's a single dad with a terrific 5 year old and in this one there's me. I'm losing the plot here.

What I really mean to say is that there's so much that's been done for me. In 2012, when things seemed particularly bleak, that woman stood by me through thick and university paper work and process. There's really nothing I could say that could possibly describe the depth of feeling that I have towards her, and the brilliant thing is that I don't need to say anything. It's all there, in every look, in every sigh of frustration, in every tear, in every shared laugh, and in every hug, that I have never loved another as I love her, and that I think, is enough.

Happy Days,
Afam