Jill Page’s review of Feddie Girl

Feddie Girl by Nona David Review: 

Posted by Jill Page to the blog site “Frugal Plus”

Carlotta Ikedi being a thirteen-year-old teenage girl, that should be a tell-all right there! Can you say rebellious and frustrated inside?
You will find out that a lot of it stems from her home life. Her father, a prominent doctor going through several crises of his own, and her mother, a college professor with little time for Carlotta, and add to that a not-so recovering alcoholic. Her father is at the end of his rope with Carlotta and ships her off to a Nigerian boarding school.

It is interesting to learn of the different cultures and behaviors, especially of teens. However, you will find there are more similarities than realized. Feddie Girl is a bit of a heavier read than I expected due to the author’s syntax. However, it does have an amusing side to the story (as long as Carlotta isn’t your teen to deal with) As a mother, I had to throw that in there The colorful characters will keep you turning the pages, and I enjoyed the very fitting ending.

Stay tuned as there is another Novel due out that follows a parallel story of one of the characters in Feddie Girl!

A Special Thanks goes out to Joan over at Bernard Books Publishing for the opportunity to take a peek into those turbulent teen years within a different culture!

Where to purchase:

From Publisher

From Amazon.com

From Barnes and Noble

 

 

Yeah, right! Welcome to Lagos, Nigeria…

Feddie Girl

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 the 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

To read excerpts and reserve copies of FEDDIE GIRL, the 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

Stuff about me…

Umm…yeah, I’m sure it’s no secret anymore that I was born in San Francisco, in August of 1995. That should make me like what…? Yep, 13 years old as of 2008 when I featured in the novel, FEDDIE GIRL.

Being from California and all, you all would think that I’m all flashy, bitchy, snooty and bratty, right? Well, you’re right… Okay, no, I used to be like a total bitch before I went to school in Nigeria. I had like a ‘don’t mess with me’ attitude which got totally worse when my parents bundled us all to Oklahoma. But that was then — I’m totally mellowed-out and cool now, something I learned from my boarding school experiences (more on that later!).

Anyways, back to me. Just so you know what I look like beyond what is visible from my profile pix, I am like 5’4″ tall and weigh about 105 pounds! Okay, I lied, it’s actually more like 105.57 pounds but who cares about what comes after the dot? Lol! So, I totally have like, blue eyes and long wavy brown hair (got me in a lotta trouble too! You’ll see! Lol!)

My mom is from Los Angeles, while my dad is from both Goergia, USA and Anambra State, Nigeria. You ask, “Where on earth is that?”  Lol! I asked the same question myself last year. But I’ll let you find out by yourself. One hint though — West Africa!!!

Okay, so my dad’s a half-breed! Cool, huh? Well that makes me a three-quarter breed, even though you can’t tell by just looking at me. People tell me I look totally like my mom, which is good — I guess! Actually, it’s rockin’!!!

So why did I get parceled-off to boarding school in Africa? Well to tell you that, I gotta start at the very beginning. You see, you’ve got to understand a few things about my parents to be able to grasp why they would do a thing like that. Not that I’m blaming them for what they did — I’m just sayin’.

So in answer to your question of, ‘Why Nigeria for goddsakes?” I will begin my next post by telling you all about my parents… Lol! It’s such juicy gossip too!

Oh, and did I tell you my Dad is tall and handsome and a medical doctor? No? I didn’t? Sorry! My bad.

And yes, my mom is an English Professor at a local University in Oklahoma and she’s the type that likes to dot her i’s and cross her t’s. You know, the type of mom that corrects your sentences and makes you repeat them after her! Hahahaha… Now you know why I never wanna have parties at home! Lol!

If you’ve stuck with me so far, you may wanna stick around for the upcoming gist!

Just watch out… I’ll be revealing the story of my parents next! And soon!!!

Lotta luv,

Carlotta