I cant really say. it is not that i dont want to tell but i really dont know. Before i knew it the month of April is over.
I will be back in May!! I promise
Allied
Thanks to all those that checked up on me.. I really missed u guys
Monday, April 28, 2008
Monday, March 17, 2008
Look at Greed
Stuff found in Dr Daudi Balali's house. He is the ex-president of Bank of Tanzania. Apparently he had a branch of the Central Bank in his house.
This is ridiculous …had to share
Long Live Africa
This is ridiculous …had to share
Long Live Africa
Thursday, March 6, 2008
The Engagement
The square, fold over pearlized ecru wedding invitation card passed around the room. With each hand that briefly held it came a “wow” or “it’s very beautiful” from its owner. Mrs. Bodunrinde was pleased with the reaction the card received. Her investment in the optional beveled borders was well worth it because members of her NGO thought it gave the card a distinguish look.
She described her daughter’s wedding gown as a satin A-line dress. The satin she chose because of its exquisite drapes and as they would all agree that an Inverted triangle figure like Tejumade’s will flatter an a-line dress. The bodice would be embroidered not with sequins but fourteen karats diamonds which would later be made into a necklace and bracelet for her unborn granddaughter. The details and color of the aso-ebi she left unsaid, her intention is to wow them as she did with the wedding invitation.
“Are your in-laws the same Akindugbe? The Akindugbe enterprise?” Mrs. Komolafe the vice president asked. Her face wore a somewhat quizzical look almost mocking.
Although her demeanor did not betray her, Mrs. Bodunrinde felt uneasy. This question was one she was afraid of. Her constant fights with Tejumade had been why she had to pick Sesan Akindugbe for a husband. He was first introduced to her as an entrepreneur until she probed further and got to know he owned a small shop managing fifteen workers – he is the head artisan. – A mere carpenter. “If you want to do charity, please donate money and not your entire life” she advised Tejumade on several occasions.
“No, they are not the same Akindugbe, but I think they are related one way or the other. It doesn’t matter if he is not from wealth, you know children of nowadays want to marry for love. Anyway, let’s get back to the agenda of this meeting. Where are we with the funds for the orphanage?
***************************************************
Sweat trickled down Sesan’s armpit even though he took a shower thirty minutes ago. The heat is merciless on those it considers lazy and sitting in traffic is regarded as idling away the day. He removed his fila, as if the breeze will somehow flow through his head to dry the sweat under his arm which by then had moved down his side. He tried to maneuver his way into the middle lane which seemed to move at a snail’s pace but his mother’s gele obstructed his view. She looked sad. Although her head was abased, Sesan could see the traces of wrinkles around her eye area. It only happens when she squints – an askance look of disapproval. He glanced at the rearview mirror a few times trying to catch her attention but to no avail.
Mrs. Akindugbe did not object the union between her son and Tejumade but she felt the Bodunrindes overbore them with their superior attitude. After the momi nmo e, both families agreed that the Akindugbes will host the engagement party for the couple but to her dismay, she got an Invitation with a letter inviting her to her son’s engagement party stating ‘the consensus of opinion is that we should do the engagement as well’. The opinion of whom they took, the letter didn’t say.
Sesan drove through the landscaped arc driveway to the massive building that stood in the middle. The valet attendants did not approach him; they simply looked at the car and pointed to where he could park. The Mercedes behind him got a different treatment; they almost carried the man into the building. Sesan walked with his parents to the entrance where he was asked for his invitation. “I am the groom” he mentioned. With a swift pass the guard motioned him in but not without a thorough glance.
The hall was beautifully lit with chandeliers. Orange and white bandhni drapes along with gold tissue surrounded the entire room. Inflated vinyl champagne bottles decorated with colored streamers added décor to individual tables. Waiters carried trays of intoxicating drinks served in slender transparent glasses to warm the atmosphere for a successful party. On the right side of the room sat the rest of the Akindugbe’s relatives who exhaled a sigh of relief when Sesan and his parents entered the room. It was not that the groom was late but many of them were on pins and needles watching the unaccustomed glamour being played out. At a point, each and everyone secretly checked their invitation again to see if they had indeed come to the right party.
The Alaga iduro started the ceremony. Sesan’s relatives did the customary prostration to Tejumade’s family. After much cajoling from the groom’s relatives they were allowed to sit down. A fabricated story was told on how the couple met, alluding to their difference in economic background. Tejumade was praised for her education, manners, beauty and character.
“Sesan, you can't find a girl better than Tejumade” the Alaga iduro bellowed through the microphone. “But we all know she can”
The room rang with laughter but it was louder on the left side.
“We now call on soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Bodunrinde …oh I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Akin…. Akindubi… Akindugbe” the Alaga Iduro managed to say
The left side hearty laughter rang again.
Tejumade was asked to take out one item she will always need out of the trousseau Sesan’s relatives presented as a gift to her. She looked through the box and drew out a set of iro ati buba; she hesitated for a minute then she picked up the oja aran instead. She walked briskly towards the Alaga iduro who paused in her speech; unsure of what to say.
Laughter rang on the right side of the room this time
Mrs. Akindugbe knew her moment had come. At last she will be recognized as the Iya oko.
Her gesture was calculated. She took the microphone from the Alaga iduro and walked to Tejumade.
Although, she knew it was unnecessary and petty, but still opt for the chance
“I am glad that we still have two things to teach you in our family. Things your refinement cannot erase nor can your family wealth buy. They are our culture and customs.” Mrs. Akindugbe guided Tejumade back to the trousseau and handed her the white bridal bible.
“This is what you were to take.”
Her speech was a waltz to the rest of the Akindugbe family. They welcomed their triumph with thudding claps.
Tejumade dropped the bible and spun on her heels; she ran as fast as she could out of the room. Sesan followed. Confusion and murmurs overtook the hall and shame of ruin registered on both the mothers’ faces.
**********************
Aso-ebi - Attire for the family
Fila - hat
Gele - headtie
momi nmo e - Introduction
Alaga iduro - MC/Narrator
iro ati buba - Blouse and wrapper
oja aran - Velvet clothe used for securing a child when backed
Iya oko - husband's mother
She described her daughter’s wedding gown as a satin A-line dress. The satin she chose because of its exquisite drapes and as they would all agree that an Inverted triangle figure like Tejumade’s will flatter an a-line dress. The bodice would be embroidered not with sequins but fourteen karats diamonds which would later be made into a necklace and bracelet for her unborn granddaughter. The details and color of the aso-ebi she left unsaid, her intention is to wow them as she did with the wedding invitation.
“Are your in-laws the same Akindugbe? The Akindugbe enterprise?” Mrs. Komolafe the vice president asked. Her face wore a somewhat quizzical look almost mocking.
Although her demeanor did not betray her, Mrs. Bodunrinde felt uneasy. This question was one she was afraid of. Her constant fights with Tejumade had been why she had to pick Sesan Akindugbe for a husband. He was first introduced to her as an entrepreneur until she probed further and got to know he owned a small shop managing fifteen workers – he is the head artisan. – A mere carpenter. “If you want to do charity, please donate money and not your entire life” she advised Tejumade on several occasions.
“No, they are not the same Akindugbe, but I think they are related one way or the other. It doesn’t matter if he is not from wealth, you know children of nowadays want to marry for love. Anyway, let’s get back to the agenda of this meeting. Where are we with the funds for the orphanage?
***************************************************
Sweat trickled down Sesan’s armpit even though he took a shower thirty minutes ago. The heat is merciless on those it considers lazy and sitting in traffic is regarded as idling away the day. He removed his fila, as if the breeze will somehow flow through his head to dry the sweat under his arm which by then had moved down his side. He tried to maneuver his way into the middle lane which seemed to move at a snail’s pace but his mother’s gele obstructed his view. She looked sad. Although her head was abased, Sesan could see the traces of wrinkles around her eye area. It only happens when she squints – an askance look of disapproval. He glanced at the rearview mirror a few times trying to catch her attention but to no avail.
Mrs. Akindugbe did not object the union between her son and Tejumade but she felt the Bodunrindes overbore them with their superior attitude. After the momi nmo e, both families agreed that the Akindugbes will host the engagement party for the couple but to her dismay, she got an Invitation with a letter inviting her to her son’s engagement party stating ‘the consensus of opinion is that we should do the engagement as well’. The opinion of whom they took, the letter didn’t say.
Sesan drove through the landscaped arc driveway to the massive building that stood in the middle. The valet attendants did not approach him; they simply looked at the car and pointed to where he could park. The Mercedes behind him got a different treatment; they almost carried the man into the building. Sesan walked with his parents to the entrance where he was asked for his invitation. “I am the groom” he mentioned. With a swift pass the guard motioned him in but not without a thorough glance.
The hall was beautifully lit with chandeliers. Orange and white bandhni drapes along with gold tissue surrounded the entire room. Inflated vinyl champagne bottles decorated with colored streamers added décor to individual tables. Waiters carried trays of intoxicating drinks served in slender transparent glasses to warm the atmosphere for a successful party. On the right side of the room sat the rest of the Akindugbe’s relatives who exhaled a sigh of relief when Sesan and his parents entered the room. It was not that the groom was late but many of them were on pins and needles watching the unaccustomed glamour being played out. At a point, each and everyone secretly checked their invitation again to see if they had indeed come to the right party.
The Alaga iduro started the ceremony. Sesan’s relatives did the customary prostration to Tejumade’s family. After much cajoling from the groom’s relatives they were allowed to sit down. A fabricated story was told on how the couple met, alluding to their difference in economic background. Tejumade was praised for her education, manners, beauty and character.
“Sesan, you can't find a girl better than Tejumade” the Alaga iduro bellowed through the microphone. “But we all know she can”
The room rang with laughter but it was louder on the left side.
“We now call on soon to be Mr. and Mrs. Bodunrinde …oh I am sorry Mr. and Mrs. Akin…. Akindubi… Akindugbe” the Alaga Iduro managed to say
The left side hearty laughter rang again.
Tejumade was asked to take out one item she will always need out of the trousseau Sesan’s relatives presented as a gift to her. She looked through the box and drew out a set of iro ati buba; she hesitated for a minute then she picked up the oja aran instead. She walked briskly towards the Alaga iduro who paused in her speech; unsure of what to say.
Laughter rang on the right side of the room this time
Mrs. Akindugbe knew her moment had come. At last she will be recognized as the Iya oko.
Her gesture was calculated. She took the microphone from the Alaga iduro and walked to Tejumade.
Although, she knew it was unnecessary and petty, but still opt for the chance
“I am glad that we still have two things to teach you in our family. Things your refinement cannot erase nor can your family wealth buy. They are our culture and customs.” Mrs. Akindugbe guided Tejumade back to the trousseau and handed her the white bridal bible.
“This is what you were to take.”
Her speech was a waltz to the rest of the Akindugbe family. They welcomed their triumph with thudding claps.
Tejumade dropped the bible and spun on her heels; she ran as fast as she could out of the room. Sesan followed. Confusion and murmurs overtook the hall and shame of ruin registered on both the mothers’ faces.
**********************
Aso-ebi - Attire for the family
Fila - hat
Gele - headtie
momi nmo e - Introduction
Alaga iduro - MC/Narrator
iro ati buba - Blouse and wrapper
oja aran - Velvet clothe used for securing a child when backed
Iya oko - husband's mother
Monday, February 25, 2008
She is Cultured
Six years old Wemimo sat between her mother's thighs making faces to ease the pain that came from her hair plait. Her mother’s hand moved rapidly as she passed the three part hair sections over one another in turn. “Gbo ri duro fun mi*” her mother snapped sporadically in between her talk with Mama Comfort who came to share the latest gossip in the compound.
“… although I heard her scream I just couldn’t be bothered. Maybe when he beats her black and blue then she will know not to bother him when he is drunk. When will she learn not to provoke her husband? It is as if she enjoys what goes on in their lives. Imagine, she went crying to the landlord this morning. I don’t understand why she craves so much attention” Mama Comfort tattled.
“So she can cry?” Wemimo’s mother let out a loud hiss. “Can you believe she wanted to fight me this afternoon? All because I removed her dry clothes from the barbwire fence. She terrorizes the whole building with her bickering when her priority is to take care of her husband. Don’t even get me started on how she mollycoddles that rotten son of hers Subomi. He is bad influence; Wemimo I hope you stopped playing with him like I ordered?”
Wemimo murmured a yes accompanied with a nod. She felt the compulsion to defend her friend Subomi who is more mannered than Comfort the mango stealer but it was best to please her mother at the moment because she knew a knock on her already throbbing head will definitely increase her misery.
Twelve years old Wemimo walked into a scattered mess living room. The room resembled the aftermath of a violent storm. A stray paper here and a lone book there, at the corner laid her brother’s football and sneakers smeared with mud. On the center table, specks of garri swam in a ring of water, stray cheerios played on the floor while the box stood at the base of the entertainment center. She watched as brown dried leaves were swept in an air vortex then its lazy rage quit as suddenly as it began.
“Bamidele” she screeched “why is the house so messy. Tidy this place up before mummy gets home”
“Why should I do it, aren’t you the girl?” he stated nonchalantly
Her face turned red with rage. “You must be mad. Did I participate in this mess? You made it and you must clean it up” Wemimo’s mother walked in during her outburst and was taken aback at the mess.
“How can I have a daughter and still come home to a dirty home?”
“But mummy, Bamidele, made the mess, I just ….”
“Clean this up now before you father comes home. As for you Bamidele, are you a pig? Look at the mess you created for your sister to clean up. I don’t ever want you to make such a mess again. Do you hear me?
“Yes mummy” he beamed and feasted his eyes back to the television just in time to see Clarke Kent change into superman
Eighteen years old Wemimo woke up to her mother terrified screams; she lunged for her wrapper and ran towards to her parent’s room. Her mother crouched on the floor with both hands on her head; the inarticulate sounds she uttered could not be deciphered. Wemimo’s father had a Koboko in his right hand, he looked like someone who had just quenched his rage of thirst but wanted more to get the sweet feeling of the very first drop. His smiling face disturbed Wemimo, it was the same facial expression he gave when he was promoted the year before and when Alaji Bakare forgave his huge loan. To him, that smile is associated with good. To him, what he just did to her mother is good.
Wemimo helped her mother up and led her towards the door then she turned to her father “I would have been proud of you if you had done this to Alaji Bakare’s son Ibrahim when he slapped you for stepping on his shoes.” She didn’t say more but the shame of that day crowded her father face.
She returned from school to see her mother waiting at the gate. “Wemimo, I hope you did not mention what happened this morning to anybody? What happens in this house should stay in this house. When you get inside, please apologize to your father. Under no circumstances should a daughter talk to her father the way you did this morning. Things happen in marriage, when you get married you will understand”
Twenty eight years old Wemimo rushed into her parent’s home crying with her two children in tow. “Mummy, i am divorcing Kunle. He slapped me twice in front of the children.”
“What did you do to him” she said calmly
“What did I do? Did you just ask what I did to him? What ever I did should not warrant any beating from him.”
“pele, ile oko, ile eko ni. He is only teaching you”. Go in and sleep but tomorrow your father and I will go there with you. Under no circumstances should you ever leave your husband home. Do you know how many women will gladly take your place”?
Wemimo fought, she pleaded, she left for her uncle’s place but she heard the same thing there “ile oko, ile eko ni*”. She sought the help of friends, she got a small place to live, She was gossiped about at work, she was insulted and spat upon – “after all a woman who earns as much as she does can never respect her husband”. She was fired from work, her children were taken from her, she was evicted with no place to go.
Tired and broken she went back home
Home was with Kunle
He gave her a room, he gave her the children, he got her a job, and he beat her once a while
But she survived
Fifty four years old Wemimo sat on the balcony in her house with a newspaper in hand. Temilade her daughter rushed in crying “Mom, I am done with Dapo, I cannot take his daily physical and emotional abuse any more”
“What did you do to him”? was the first sentense Wemimo uttered.
*****************************************************
Gbo ri duro fun mi – Keep your head straight
Pele – Sorry
Ile oko ile eko ni – Your husband house is a place of learning
(Sorry for the errors.. no time to proof read)
“… although I heard her scream I just couldn’t be bothered. Maybe when he beats her black and blue then she will know not to bother him when he is drunk. When will she learn not to provoke her husband? It is as if she enjoys what goes on in their lives. Imagine, she went crying to the landlord this morning. I don’t understand why she craves so much attention” Mama Comfort tattled.
“So she can cry?” Wemimo’s mother let out a loud hiss. “Can you believe she wanted to fight me this afternoon? All because I removed her dry clothes from the barbwire fence. She terrorizes the whole building with her bickering when her priority is to take care of her husband. Don’t even get me started on how she mollycoddles that rotten son of hers Subomi. He is bad influence; Wemimo I hope you stopped playing with him like I ordered?”
Wemimo murmured a yes accompanied with a nod. She felt the compulsion to defend her friend Subomi who is more mannered than Comfort the mango stealer but it was best to please her mother at the moment because she knew a knock on her already throbbing head will definitely increase her misery.
Twelve years old Wemimo walked into a scattered mess living room. The room resembled the aftermath of a violent storm. A stray paper here and a lone book there, at the corner laid her brother’s football and sneakers smeared with mud. On the center table, specks of garri swam in a ring of water, stray cheerios played on the floor while the box stood at the base of the entertainment center. She watched as brown dried leaves were swept in an air vortex then its lazy rage quit as suddenly as it began.
“Bamidele” she screeched “why is the house so messy. Tidy this place up before mummy gets home”
“Why should I do it, aren’t you the girl?” he stated nonchalantly
Her face turned red with rage. “You must be mad. Did I participate in this mess? You made it and you must clean it up” Wemimo’s mother walked in during her outburst and was taken aback at the mess.
“How can I have a daughter and still come home to a dirty home?”
“But mummy, Bamidele, made the mess, I just ….”
“Clean this up now before you father comes home. As for you Bamidele, are you a pig? Look at the mess you created for your sister to clean up. I don’t ever want you to make such a mess again. Do you hear me?
“Yes mummy” he beamed and feasted his eyes back to the television just in time to see Clarke Kent change into superman
Eighteen years old Wemimo woke up to her mother terrified screams; she lunged for her wrapper and ran towards to her parent’s room. Her mother crouched on the floor with both hands on her head; the inarticulate sounds she uttered could not be deciphered. Wemimo’s father had a Koboko in his right hand, he looked like someone who had just quenched his rage of thirst but wanted more to get the sweet feeling of the very first drop. His smiling face disturbed Wemimo, it was the same facial expression he gave when he was promoted the year before and when Alaji Bakare forgave his huge loan. To him, that smile is associated with good. To him, what he just did to her mother is good.
Wemimo helped her mother up and led her towards the door then she turned to her father “I would have been proud of you if you had done this to Alaji Bakare’s son Ibrahim when he slapped you for stepping on his shoes.” She didn’t say more but the shame of that day crowded her father face.
She returned from school to see her mother waiting at the gate. “Wemimo, I hope you did not mention what happened this morning to anybody? What happens in this house should stay in this house. When you get inside, please apologize to your father. Under no circumstances should a daughter talk to her father the way you did this morning. Things happen in marriage, when you get married you will understand”
Twenty eight years old Wemimo rushed into her parent’s home crying with her two children in tow. “Mummy, i am divorcing Kunle. He slapped me twice in front of the children.”
“What did you do to him” she said calmly
“What did I do? Did you just ask what I did to him? What ever I did should not warrant any beating from him.”
“pele, ile oko, ile eko ni. He is only teaching you”. Go in and sleep but tomorrow your father and I will go there with you. Under no circumstances should you ever leave your husband home. Do you know how many women will gladly take your place”?
Wemimo fought, she pleaded, she left for her uncle’s place but she heard the same thing there “ile oko, ile eko ni*”. She sought the help of friends, she got a small place to live, She was gossiped about at work, she was insulted and spat upon – “after all a woman who earns as much as she does can never respect her husband”. She was fired from work, her children were taken from her, she was evicted with no place to go.
Tired and broken she went back home
Home was with Kunle
He gave her a room, he gave her the children, he got her a job, and he beat her once a while
But she survived
Fifty four years old Wemimo sat on the balcony in her house with a newspaper in hand. Temilade her daughter rushed in crying “Mom, I am done with Dapo, I cannot take his daily physical and emotional abuse any more”
“What did you do to him”? was the first sentense Wemimo uttered.
*****************************************************
Gbo ri duro fun mi – Keep your head straight
Pele – Sorry
Ile oko ile eko ni – Your husband house is a place of learning
(Sorry for the errors.. no time to proof read)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Things
I was going to put up another story then I realized it wasn’t appropriate for Valentine’s Day. I don’t want the heaviness of it to tamper with the love in the air (eyes roll)…instead I decided to do the game of THINGS… This should be intresting. I love to see some of your answers and please feel free to add to Things you think people should know..
Things your parents forgot to tell you
That being an adult came with it set of problems -a whole lot of them. If I knew, I wouldn’t have been in a hurry to grow up.
Things you can do to get rid of unwanted guests
While talking to them, go and in out of rooms lighting candles of different colors, then ask them if they want to join you in evoking the angry spirits that live within the wall of your house.
Things you wouldn’t want to find in your Christmas stockings
Vagisil
Things you shouldn’t do at your wedding
When the minister says that you may kiss the Bride that does not include a full body grope.
Things you shouldn’t say to your friend before they go into battle
Be self assured that i will take proper care of your husband. He will not lack anything.
Things people do when no one is looking
Truly being themselves or pulling out a wedgy
Things you shouldn’t do on an airplane
Wear too much perfume or cologne. Please lay off the duty-free shops when you are about to board. Perfume should be a seductive scent when you pass and not make the eyes of the person next to you water
Things you wish were delivered
Men – I wish I can just order them according to how I like and if it is not what I want, I have 30 days to return him.
Things you should not do if you want to make a first impression
Please don’t pick your nose, flick the booger then clean the tip of your finger with your shirt
Things kids know more about than Adults
Forgiveness
Things paramedics shouldn’t say to a patient on the way to the hospital
Any last words?
Things your parents forgot to tell you
That being an adult came with it set of problems -a whole lot of them. If I knew, I wouldn’t have been in a hurry to grow up.
Things you can do to get rid of unwanted guests
While talking to them, go and in out of rooms lighting candles of different colors, then ask them if they want to join you in evoking the angry spirits that live within the wall of your house.
Things you wouldn’t want to find in your Christmas stockings
Vagisil
Things you shouldn’t do at your wedding
When the minister says that you may kiss the Bride that does not include a full body grope.
Things you shouldn’t say to your friend before they go into battle
Be self assured that i will take proper care of your husband. He will not lack anything.
Things people do when no one is looking
Truly being themselves or pulling out a wedgy
Things you shouldn’t do on an airplane
Wear too much perfume or cologne. Please lay off the duty-free shops when you are about to board. Perfume should be a seductive scent when you pass and not make the eyes of the person next to you water
Things you wish were delivered
Men – I wish I can just order them according to how I like and if it is not what I want, I have 30 days to return him.
Things you should not do if you want to make a first impression
Please don’t pick your nose, flick the booger then clean the tip of your finger with your shirt
Things kids know more about than Adults
Forgiveness
Things paramedics shouldn’t say to a patient on the way to the hospital
Any last words?
Monday, February 4, 2008
My Journey
I surveyed my future inheritance from the massive balcony overlooking the northern courtyard in my father’s palace. The dandelions and purple tulips gave the plains a unique color of deep blackish brown. From afar, the plains look dead and blanched but close up it becomes a beautiful place filled with flowers; swaying to the rhythm of the wind. Life is really good at home but I needed to see what was beyond those plains.
My father is a very powerful and wealthy king. His reign and praises is known in the entire kingdom and beyond. As an heir to the throne, I enjoyed all the rights I am entitled to in the palace. One of those rights includes the freedom to see and talk to my father any time of any given day, even when he has other pressing matters to attend. One day I told him how bored I was in the kingdom. I want to see the world and all its glory.
He called me a child for my lack of understanding. “I love you and want you here. Life is terrible down there. It is filled with hunched backs caused by drooped shoulders pulled down by the heavy weight of their self inflicted problems”
“But you are very powerful, why can’t you make them all happy”?
“The problem is that my people do not acknowledge me as their king therefore, they refuse to obey the laws of my land. The few who obey don’t fully understand the law hence the chaos.”
“But daddy, I want to see for myself.” I pouted
With a heavy sigh, “Do your will. Tomorrow you will go on your journey. All I said will be revealed to you.”
I mulled over the conversation I had with my father as I packed all I thought was necessary and compulsory to go on a pilgrimage. I stood before him the next day combat ready. He advised me to leave my luggage behind because it will not be needed. He descended the throne and embraced me, his warmth enveloped my whole being, his fatherly love tugged at my heart and immediately I was ashamed for wanting to leave home. With my eyes closed, he kissed me on the cheeks and bade me farewell.
Suddenly, i was in a dark warm enclosed space. There was not much room for movements but surprisingly I was very comfortable. I heard blurred familiar noise and sounds which put me to sleep. Without warning, I was transitioned from the dark amniotic sac into an infinite cold space with bright lights as coarse voices shouted “dhukha, dhukha*”
“Woh ladki hai (n)*” the disappointed midwife exclaimed. I heard my mother sob. My entry to the world was like being in a warm swimming pool right after a dive and abruptly you raise your head from the water. It was very uncomfortable. The world felt huge, alien and cold. My mother Lata kissed me and whispered into my ears. “Asha”. My dad Vishnu scolded her for what she did then took me from her, “you should not have named her” he sorrowfully added “she cannot stay” A bucket of cow milk was brought into the room, and he submerged me into the opaque white liquid till I stopped breathing. I had come as hope for them but because I was born a female in Bihar, my faith was death. Since my parents have no money to pay for a future dowry, the problem had to be taken care of now. If they had let me live, I would have lived up to my name - Asha*.
I returned traumatized; into another sac within minutes of leaving the first one. I prayed to be born a second time to a place where females are cherished. My prayer was answered; my new mom Jennifer was overjoyed to see a beautiful baby girl with a head full of dark hair. Frank, my new dad cried the tears of joy when he held his first child. My grandparents spoiled me very much. Life was good in Little Elm, Texas.
I turned one, two, and three, on my fourth birthday Frank passed away. Two years later, Jennifer’s new boyfriend Tom raped me continuously till I turned nine. I passed away the night he held tightly to my neck so I would stop screaming when he thrust his member into me.
I reentered benumb into yet another sac. This time I prayed to be born a male. Again, my prayer was answered and I was born to Nkem and Etim Ebong in Nigeria; a place where male children are a source of pride for the family. My birth was celebrated and I received many gifts for being the first son. I was happy in that household until my parents accused me of wizardry at the age of four. I was beaten and tied to a tree in a nameless street in a town called Esit Eket in Awka ibom for five days without anything to eat. Weak in spirit, I closed my eyes and whispered a message to my daddy “please forgive me; I am ready to come home”. The plains looked even more beautiful with its dandelions and purple tulips when I opened my eyes.
***************************************************
dhukha - Push
Woh ladki hai (n) - She is a girl
Asha - Hope
My father is a very powerful and wealthy king. His reign and praises is known in the entire kingdom and beyond. As an heir to the throne, I enjoyed all the rights I am entitled to in the palace. One of those rights includes the freedom to see and talk to my father any time of any given day, even when he has other pressing matters to attend. One day I told him how bored I was in the kingdom. I want to see the world and all its glory.
He called me a child for my lack of understanding. “I love you and want you here. Life is terrible down there. It is filled with hunched backs caused by drooped shoulders pulled down by the heavy weight of their self inflicted problems”
“But you are very powerful, why can’t you make them all happy”?
“The problem is that my people do not acknowledge me as their king therefore, they refuse to obey the laws of my land. The few who obey don’t fully understand the law hence the chaos.”
“But daddy, I want to see for myself.” I pouted
With a heavy sigh, “Do your will. Tomorrow you will go on your journey. All I said will be revealed to you.”
I mulled over the conversation I had with my father as I packed all I thought was necessary and compulsory to go on a pilgrimage. I stood before him the next day combat ready. He advised me to leave my luggage behind because it will not be needed. He descended the throne and embraced me, his warmth enveloped my whole being, his fatherly love tugged at my heart and immediately I was ashamed for wanting to leave home. With my eyes closed, he kissed me on the cheeks and bade me farewell.
Suddenly, i was in a dark warm enclosed space. There was not much room for movements but surprisingly I was very comfortable. I heard blurred familiar noise and sounds which put me to sleep. Without warning, I was transitioned from the dark amniotic sac into an infinite cold space with bright lights as coarse voices shouted “dhukha, dhukha*”
“Woh ladki hai (n)*” the disappointed midwife exclaimed. I heard my mother sob. My entry to the world was like being in a warm swimming pool right after a dive and abruptly you raise your head from the water. It was very uncomfortable. The world felt huge, alien and cold. My mother Lata kissed me and whispered into my ears. “Asha”. My dad Vishnu scolded her for what she did then took me from her, “you should not have named her” he sorrowfully added “she cannot stay” A bucket of cow milk was brought into the room, and he submerged me into the opaque white liquid till I stopped breathing. I had come as hope for them but because I was born a female in Bihar, my faith was death. Since my parents have no money to pay for a future dowry, the problem had to be taken care of now. If they had let me live, I would have lived up to my name - Asha*.
I returned traumatized; into another sac within minutes of leaving the first one. I prayed to be born a second time to a place where females are cherished. My prayer was answered; my new mom Jennifer was overjoyed to see a beautiful baby girl with a head full of dark hair. Frank, my new dad cried the tears of joy when he held his first child. My grandparents spoiled me very much. Life was good in Little Elm, Texas.
I turned one, two, and three, on my fourth birthday Frank passed away. Two years later, Jennifer’s new boyfriend Tom raped me continuously till I turned nine. I passed away the night he held tightly to my neck so I would stop screaming when he thrust his member into me.
I reentered benumb into yet another sac. This time I prayed to be born a male. Again, my prayer was answered and I was born to Nkem and Etim Ebong in Nigeria; a place where male children are a source of pride for the family. My birth was celebrated and I received many gifts for being the first son. I was happy in that household until my parents accused me of wizardry at the age of four. I was beaten and tied to a tree in a nameless street in a town called Esit Eket in Awka ibom for five days without anything to eat. Weak in spirit, I closed my eyes and whispered a message to my daddy “please forgive me; I am ready to come home”. The plains looked even more beautiful with its dandelions and purple tulips when I opened my eyes.
***************************************************
dhukha - Push
Woh ladki hai (n) - She is a girl
Asha - Hope
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Confute
Ariyike admired her naked figure in front of the antique bureau in the master bedroom. Her left hand hiked up her hair in a ponytail-like manner while her right traced an invisible line into the smoothness of her dark skin. The trail started from the nape of the neck, passed between her breasts and ended just below her navel.
“All a waste” came her whisper. She quickly grabbed a night gown when she heard a knock on the door. “Who is it”? The door opened just as she managed to pull a house coat over her transparent night wear. Her father in law poked his head in the room “Bahu*, your saas* and I are going to the mandir*, please tell Vinod to pick us up at six”.
“Teak ke. Phir milenge Sasur ji*” she did a quick one knee bend as she voiced these Hindi words Vinod taught her, but she wasn’t sure it was right to have added “Sasur*” at the end. In the Yoruba culture, your father in-law becomes your father. Next time she will say “Baap*” instead of Sasur*. Her father in-law gave no indication he heard her practiced Hindi. He closed the door quietly and walked silently down the hall to meet his wife. Not until Ariyike heard the front door close, did she realize she had also greeted him the Yoruba way. He will soon mention to Vinod that her knees keep bending whenever she talks to them.
It has always been WE, THEY and THEM from the beginning
Seven months ago, she came into this very house as a guest. Vinod had finally shown courage to tell his parents about their plans to marry. She sat stoically on the sofa while her past and future was discussed. Her mother in law cried and shook herself violently clamoring “Kyon beta? Kyon? tumara patnii nahee hai*” over and over again. Those were the first Hindi words she looked up herself. She expected rejection not shame. To the Sharmas, her marriage to Vinod would result to the lost of their family honor. Their tashrif*. How are they to look other Indian families in the eye without shame? Does Vinod remember he has two unmarried sisters? Who will marry them?
Two weeks before, she had dealt with the same issue with her parents, but the worst her mother said was "no family member will attend Your ceremony". The emphasis on 'your' was for her to know she is in it alone. Her father called the extended family to talk some sense into Ariyike but she did not relent. In a mist of tears, she informed them she had made her choice, her love transcends language and culture, they would understand if only they left their cultural cocoon.
The same scenario played in the Sharma’s house. Vinod told his parents “its either her or i will never marry”.
“Beta*, they don’t understand marriage like us. They leave their husband at the first sign of trouble. Understand us beta*, we are your parents. We know what is good for you”
“She is the solution to my life”
Ariyike got up from the plastic covered sofa and knelt in front of his parents. She cried and swore never to leave Vinod. Without speaking, Vinod’s father helped her up and took her to the altar room they kept in the house; he pointed to some statues and told her to swear before them. He lit incense and chanted some mantras. Ariyike swore to Ganesh, the statue with the head of an elephant, then to Brahma, the three headed god in the Buddha position. She was also asked to present flowers to a blue colored god who is known as lord ram. On her own accord, she brought out a small bible from her purse and swore to her own God never leave to Vinod.
******************************************************
It would have been easy for Ariyike to cope if she experienced inevitable mundane changes of the seasons in marriage but hers was extraordinary. She left Vinod a note on the fridge to pick up his parents from the temple at 6pm. They have not spoken since she found the pictures under his cufflink box. She went to the room and stared at them again. The first Polaroid was of a naked stranger sleeping peacefully, ‘sleeping beauty’ was written on the back of the picture. The second had Vinod holding the stranger in a loving clasp, ‘frozen moments’ it said. In the third and last Polaroid, Vinod was kissing him.
She chose to stay. She had to stay. She has to prove to her in-laws that she can grapple just like any Indian girl. She has to prove to her parents that she did not make the wrong choice by marrying out of her culture. She has to prove to Vinod she is more than enough for him. She has to prove to herself that she is happy.
**********************************************
Bahu – Daughter –in law
Saas – Mother in law
Sasur – Father in law
Mandir – Temple
Teak ke. Phir milenge Sasur ji – Fine. Good bye father in law
Baap – Father
Kyon beta? Kyon? tumara patnii nahee hai – Why Child(male)? Why? This is not your wife
Beta - Male child
Tashrif - Honor
“All a waste” came her whisper. She quickly grabbed a night gown when she heard a knock on the door. “Who is it”? The door opened just as she managed to pull a house coat over her transparent night wear. Her father in law poked his head in the room “Bahu*, your saas* and I are going to the mandir*, please tell Vinod to pick us up at six”.
“Teak ke. Phir milenge Sasur ji*” she did a quick one knee bend as she voiced these Hindi words Vinod taught her, but she wasn’t sure it was right to have added “Sasur*” at the end. In the Yoruba culture, your father in-law becomes your father. Next time she will say “Baap*” instead of Sasur*. Her father in-law gave no indication he heard her practiced Hindi. He closed the door quietly and walked silently down the hall to meet his wife. Not until Ariyike heard the front door close, did she realize she had also greeted him the Yoruba way. He will soon mention to Vinod that her knees keep bending whenever she talks to them.
It has always been WE, THEY and THEM from the beginning
Seven months ago, she came into this very house as a guest. Vinod had finally shown courage to tell his parents about their plans to marry. She sat stoically on the sofa while her past and future was discussed. Her mother in law cried and shook herself violently clamoring “Kyon beta? Kyon? tumara patnii nahee hai*” over and over again. Those were the first Hindi words she looked up herself. She expected rejection not shame. To the Sharmas, her marriage to Vinod would result to the lost of their family honor. Their tashrif*. How are they to look other Indian families in the eye without shame? Does Vinod remember he has two unmarried sisters? Who will marry them?
Two weeks before, she had dealt with the same issue with her parents, but the worst her mother said was "no family member will attend Your ceremony". The emphasis on 'your' was for her to know she is in it alone. Her father called the extended family to talk some sense into Ariyike but she did not relent. In a mist of tears, she informed them she had made her choice, her love transcends language and culture, they would understand if only they left their cultural cocoon.
The same scenario played in the Sharma’s house. Vinod told his parents “its either her or i will never marry”.
“Beta*, they don’t understand marriage like us. They leave their husband at the first sign of trouble. Understand us beta*, we are your parents. We know what is good for you”
“She is the solution to my life”
Ariyike got up from the plastic covered sofa and knelt in front of his parents. She cried and swore never to leave Vinod. Without speaking, Vinod’s father helped her up and took her to the altar room they kept in the house; he pointed to some statues and told her to swear before them. He lit incense and chanted some mantras. Ariyike swore to Ganesh, the statue with the head of an elephant, then to Brahma, the three headed god in the Buddha position. She was also asked to present flowers to a blue colored god who is known as lord ram. On her own accord, she brought out a small bible from her purse and swore to her own God never leave to Vinod.
******************************************************
It would have been easy for Ariyike to cope if she experienced inevitable mundane changes of the seasons in marriage but hers was extraordinary. She left Vinod a note on the fridge to pick up his parents from the temple at 6pm. They have not spoken since she found the pictures under his cufflink box. She went to the room and stared at them again. The first Polaroid was of a naked stranger sleeping peacefully, ‘sleeping beauty’ was written on the back of the picture. The second had Vinod holding the stranger in a loving clasp, ‘frozen moments’ it said. In the third and last Polaroid, Vinod was kissing him.
She chose to stay. She had to stay. She has to prove to her in-laws that she can grapple just like any Indian girl. She has to prove to her parents that she did not make the wrong choice by marrying out of her culture. She has to prove to Vinod she is more than enough for him. She has to prove to herself that she is happy.
**********************************************
Bahu – Daughter –in law
Saas – Mother in law
Sasur – Father in law
Mandir – Temple
Teak ke. Phir milenge Sasur ji – Fine. Good bye father in law
Baap – Father
Kyon beta? Kyon? tumara patnii nahee hai – Why Child(male)? Why? This is not your wife
Beta - Male child
Tashrif - Honor
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Mirror of Choice
With the instructions her mother left behind, Olape spoke with authority to Asabi. “You cannot leave until you clean the freezer”. Asabi merely grunted, if it were another day she would have hissed or sang aloud how tomorrow is very pregnant. The master always ends up serving the servant in most of her songs. Today is different though. It is Asabi’s last day as a maid in the Iteyin’s household. She is traveling back to her village to get married.
“Aunty Olape, what are you going to give me before I go” she shouted with glee. The girls are only eight months apart but because of the position Olape held in the house as the master’s daughter along with Asabi’s upbringing in a community that believes one has to give respect to anyone who is at least six months older, Asabi is bond to call Olape an honorary aunty.
“Give you? I don’t know why you are happy, you barely know the guy” She remarked in disgust.
Twenty year old Asabi gave a coy smile. She twisted the dust rag around her index finger as she answered “I remember he sold fish in our night market before I left the village five years ago but now he is rich. Mami said he now owns three okadas and he rents them out to drivers. I will be his first wife”
“How old his he?”
“I cannot say, he should be Baba Iyabo’s age but I know he will take care of me. Mami said he paid for my trip to come back to the village, she also said I will be the madam of his house”
Olape felt sorry for her. Baba Iyabo is the Iteyin’s driver and he is in his early fifties. She wondered in amazement the poor choices these illiterate girls make. Items not worthy of being classified as luxury dangles in front of them and they fall for it. Asabi is going to marry an old fart just because he has three okadas. Thank God she, Olape Iteyin is educated and can see beyond okadas.
*************************************************************
“Olape, you have to weigh this option carefully. Kola’s mother just spoke to your father and me concerning your hand in marriage. When did you start dating Kola? I thought it was Segun family you introduced us to?
“Mummy, Segun is not serious. He never wants to do anything, we don’t go to the movies nor do we go out to eat. There is nothing romantic about him. I met Kola two months ago and mummy can you believe he is based in the US” ?
“Olape, your choice should not be based on that. We know Segun and his family very well and they are nice people. We don’t know too much about Kola’s family and they want to hold this marriage next month. As your mother, I will advice you to give it a thought.”
“Mom I have made my choice. I love Kolawole very much” her eyes glisten as the thought of living in Boston came to her already distant mind.
“Aunty Olape, what are you going to give me before I go” she shouted with glee. The girls are only eight months apart but because of the position Olape held in the house as the master’s daughter along with Asabi’s upbringing in a community that believes one has to give respect to anyone who is at least six months older, Asabi is bond to call Olape an honorary aunty.
“Give you? I don’t know why you are happy, you barely know the guy” She remarked in disgust.
Twenty year old Asabi gave a coy smile. She twisted the dust rag around her index finger as she answered “I remember he sold fish in our night market before I left the village five years ago but now he is rich. Mami said he now owns three okadas and he rents them out to drivers. I will be his first wife”
“How old his he?”
“I cannot say, he should be Baba Iyabo’s age but I know he will take care of me. Mami said he paid for my trip to come back to the village, she also said I will be the madam of his house”
Olape felt sorry for her. Baba Iyabo is the Iteyin’s driver and he is in his early fifties. She wondered in amazement the poor choices these illiterate girls make. Items not worthy of being classified as luxury dangles in front of them and they fall for it. Asabi is going to marry an old fart just because he has three okadas. Thank God she, Olape Iteyin is educated and can see beyond okadas.
*************************************************************
“Olape, you have to weigh this option carefully. Kola’s mother just spoke to your father and me concerning your hand in marriage. When did you start dating Kola? I thought it was Segun family you introduced us to?
“Mummy, Segun is not serious. He never wants to do anything, we don’t go to the movies nor do we go out to eat. There is nothing romantic about him. I met Kola two months ago and mummy can you believe he is based in the US” ?
“Olape, your choice should not be based on that. We know Segun and his family very well and they are nice people. We don’t know too much about Kola’s family and they want to hold this marriage next month. As your mother, I will advice you to give it a thought.”
“Mom I have made my choice. I love Kolawole very much” her eyes glisten as the thought of living in Boston came to her already distant mind.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Did Somebody say Weirdo?
Ok, I for fear.
Happy New Year!!! I haven’t bloggd in a while. I was so busy. Ok I lied; I was not busy jare, just lazy to blog. My muse and I were luxuriating during my 2 weeks vacation doing absolutely nothing. I invited some bloggers over to my place and we had (Ok, let me speak for myself) I had the most amazing time with them. We gisted till 7 in the morning. These bloggers had lots of funny stories to tell, they are even more animated in person.
Anyway, I know this is really late. I was tagged by many people but it was hard to come up with 8 weird things about me. For the sane reason that I don’t consider myself weird at all, so this is my lousy attempt to join the Weirdo crew.
1. If you help me in any manner, I will always be loyal to you. Not to say I am disloyal to other people. Example, Let say I need $3 and you came to my rescue, there is nothing you can do that will make me say I won’t be there for you. Even if you treat me bad. I will always remember what you did for me.
2. I cannot sleep when someone else sleeps beside me. I don’t know what I will do when I get married. I will wake up if they move, breathe loudly or God forbid they snore.
3. When I am bored I write my name and cell number over and over again. I will write them in Caps, then lower case, then Caps and lower case.
4. I have lots of native for someone who is not an owanbe chick. Once a month, I try most of them on, complete with accessories excluding the Gele (head tie). I then admire myself in the mirror but sadly no place to go. But this year I have decided to start wearing them to my friends function. Most of them are Indians and they wear their own outfit. So why shouldn’t I wear mine.
5. When I am angry, I clean. I don’t know how to fight. Not with words, fist or silent treatment. When the place is spotless, I feel better and I move on. If I hold in bitterness, where will my happiness dock?
6. I detest Malls. I would rather spend my time watching Cspan. (Which I also dislike) Please why do people go window shopping? What purpose does that serve? Why do people hang out at the mall? For what reason? I only go the mall like 1 or twice a year and it is to places I know I can’t find outside the mall like Things Engraved.
7. I don’t like to memorize people cell phone numbers. I dislike it when people ask you what their cell phone number is just because they know yours. I don’t even know my Mom’s new cell phone number. In this day and age that I don’t have to dial, all I do is store you name, number and press enter. I only remember numbers I dial. Another reason is when I delete you from my cell phone what is the purpose when I know your number off head (please tell me I am not the only one that do this? Delete a number you know by heart from a cell phone)
8. I remember people’s birthday. If I meet you once and you tell me your birthday, be sure that I will remember for life.
Ok, I made it to number 8; you can see that I am not weird.
Ciao
Monday, December 10, 2007
The Narrow Escape
“Iyabo Olayinka”
“Nurudeen odeyemi”
“Murktar Yaradua”
“Bolanle same last name as Allied”
My heart skipped a beat as the name bellowed through the loud microphone. My eyes; although fixed on my sandals saw the chilled stares of the other students through my peripheral vision. I also heard whispers of scandal rumored through the whole assembly.
“Bolanle same last name as Allied”
Even though I considered Bolanle a wimp, I knew she would not dare go on stage. Punishment was inflicted in the presence of all while exoneration was privately awarded, that was how it was unjustly done in our school. She couldn’t take the chance for a tabooed crime as mine.
“Class teacher and house mistress of Bolanle last name as Allied” please see to it that she reports to my office immediately. She is in more trouble than she can imagine, no one is allowed to skip morning assembly” Mr. Paseda and Ms Osikoya both nodded to the principal.
Courageous enough to return an intense gaze of my own, I looked up to search for Bolanle in the next row. Our eyes met. She gave me a deadly look which was contrary to her character. Molade and Rita, her friends did likewise. I made a mental note to write their names as both noise makers and vernacular speakers for that afternoon. The ascendancy of a class captain gave me such rights. The extent of my power was limitless within the thousand square feet of our classroom. It wasn’t my fault her name was called at the assembly, our English teacher Mr. Adeyemi made his common mistake.
Mr. Adeyemi, who regarded himself as a no nonsense teacher with well behaved students had a snobbish mannerism to him. He was one of those teachers who affect an offensive air of self satisfied superiority in matters of taste and intellect. I think he schooled in Ghana because he seized every opportunity to correct students and staffs alike; on their English pronunciation. “It is not pronounced eDUcation, its eJUcation”.
I still cannot fathom why Mr. Adeyemi called me Bolanle. She and I had nothing in common except our last name. We looked nothing alike neither do our initials. Bolanle is short, fair and robust compared to my tall, dark and lanky. There was a day I was brave enough to correct him after my rationalization of his unexcused able behavior. You would think wining the best English student for three consecutive years and also being one of the top students in the school would make my name an icon, but his man couldn’t be bothered. That day ended with me kneeling down in the sun for three hours because I interrupted him during his lesson.
Students trotted out of the assembly hall after we were dismissed to our various classes. Bolanle cornered me on the staircase.
“Allied, you need to rectify this situation. We need to let the principal know the wrong name was called”.
“I will take care of it”
I made the decision to confess to the principal. He was amicably calm when I told him I was responsible for the crime and not Bolanle. His disbelief echoed in his voice. He knew of my achievements in the school and would not have guessed that a nerdy quiet Allied is capable of breaking serious school violations. With his head abased he declared his judgment. The utmost punishment was my parents being notified of my infamy. My grandmother would be disappointed the most. She recently told my dad that he needed to trust me more.
The rangy bursar was called to thrash me. I was glad that it was done in the privacy of the principal’s office and not in public like the others. My cooking stove was confiscated along with a small bag of rice and a carton of indomine noodles. I was also given a long stone throw portion of dry and stubborn grass to cut. That punishment was for inviting Murktar Yaradua into the girl’s hostel for dinner during extention.
Mr. Adeyemi was called by the principal to see to it that our parents were informed of our recalcitrance. I watched him outside the principal’s office as he dictated to the school secretary what the letter is to say.
“Can you please give me the names of the offenders’ sir, I need to pull out their files to get their home address” she asked
“Sure. The miscreant names are Iyabo Olayinka, Nurudeen odeyemi, Murktar Yaradua, and Bolanle same last name as Allied”.
“Nurudeen odeyemi”
“Murktar Yaradua”
“Bolanle same last name as Allied”
My heart skipped a beat as the name bellowed through the loud microphone. My eyes; although fixed on my sandals saw the chilled stares of the other students through my peripheral vision. I also heard whispers of scandal rumored through the whole assembly.
“Bolanle same last name as Allied”
Even though I considered Bolanle a wimp, I knew she would not dare go on stage. Punishment was inflicted in the presence of all while exoneration was privately awarded, that was how it was unjustly done in our school. She couldn’t take the chance for a tabooed crime as mine.
“Class teacher and house mistress of Bolanle last name as Allied” please see to it that she reports to my office immediately. She is in more trouble than she can imagine, no one is allowed to skip morning assembly” Mr. Paseda and Ms Osikoya both nodded to the principal.
Courageous enough to return an intense gaze of my own, I looked up to search for Bolanle in the next row. Our eyes met. She gave me a deadly look which was contrary to her character. Molade and Rita, her friends did likewise. I made a mental note to write their names as both noise makers and vernacular speakers for that afternoon. The ascendancy of a class captain gave me such rights. The extent of my power was limitless within the thousand square feet of our classroom. It wasn’t my fault her name was called at the assembly, our English teacher Mr. Adeyemi made his common mistake.
Mr. Adeyemi, who regarded himself as a no nonsense teacher with well behaved students had a snobbish mannerism to him. He was one of those teachers who affect an offensive air of self satisfied superiority in matters of taste and intellect. I think he schooled in Ghana because he seized every opportunity to correct students and staffs alike; on their English pronunciation. “It is not pronounced eDUcation, its eJUcation”.
I still cannot fathom why Mr. Adeyemi called me Bolanle. She and I had nothing in common except our last name. We looked nothing alike neither do our initials. Bolanle is short, fair and robust compared to my tall, dark and lanky. There was a day I was brave enough to correct him after my rationalization of his unexcused able behavior. You would think wining the best English student for three consecutive years and also being one of the top students in the school would make my name an icon, but his man couldn’t be bothered. That day ended with me kneeling down in the sun for three hours because I interrupted him during his lesson.
Students trotted out of the assembly hall after we were dismissed to our various classes. Bolanle cornered me on the staircase.
“Allied, you need to rectify this situation. We need to let the principal know the wrong name was called”.
“I will take care of it”
I made the decision to confess to the principal. He was amicably calm when I told him I was responsible for the crime and not Bolanle. His disbelief echoed in his voice. He knew of my achievements in the school and would not have guessed that a nerdy quiet Allied is capable of breaking serious school violations. With his head abased he declared his judgment. The utmost punishment was my parents being notified of my infamy. My grandmother would be disappointed the most. She recently told my dad that he needed to trust me more.
The rangy bursar was called to thrash me. I was glad that it was done in the privacy of the principal’s office and not in public like the others. My cooking stove was confiscated along with a small bag of rice and a carton of indomine noodles. I was also given a long stone throw portion of dry and stubborn grass to cut. That punishment was for inviting Murktar Yaradua into the girl’s hostel for dinner during extention.
Mr. Adeyemi was called by the principal to see to it that our parents were informed of our recalcitrance. I watched him outside the principal’s office as he dictated to the school secretary what the letter is to say.
“Can you please give me the names of the offenders’ sir, I need to pull out their files to get their home address” she asked
“Sure. The miscreant names are Iyabo Olayinka, Nurudeen odeyemi, Murktar Yaradua, and Bolanle same last name as Allied”.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Stolen Childhood
I imagined the aran*; hung over the open closet across the room wrapped around my ill and shriving body. The image conjured surged a powerful urge to get the velvet fabric at all cost. I contemplated over the two options available; it was either I gather enough strength to walk the painstaking steps to the closet or scream loudly, which would send Asiata running into my room to get it for me.
I decided on the latter but my voice was weak. It sounded as if the echo did not leave my room. Or it could be that Asiata heard me but was bent on her revenge because I freed her caged butterflies? She kept them in order to send messages home to her people in Ilorin. “Backwards bush girl” was what I called her before i opened the mesh-like cage and released her diurnal insects. Doesn’t she know moths are for sending messages not butterflies?
The former option it had to be. I pushed away the Ankara wrapper the aran* is to replace, for it did not do much to keep me warm, besides, it reeked of Robb. I made the five seconds walk to the closet in thirty five seconds. I pulled at the fabric but the corner of the velvet snagged on the tiny nicks on the closet door and its end was caught in between the cracks. I tugged at the cloth until my legs gave in due to fatigue and i sunk to the floor. Everything went dark.
I woke up to the sound of wood cracking in fire and the aran* wrapped around my body. But to my dismay, the surrounding was alien. In the middle of the room was a real camp fire and behind it was another girl sleeping on a straw mat at the extreme. There are two entrances into the room, one had a door and the other had a curtain. A depicted calendar with the image of Jesus was hung on the door and on the floor by the right, sat a small amu* covered with a metal tray with different color plastic cups arranged on it.
A tall light skinned man entered through the curtain entrance, he took water from the amu* with one of the plastic cups. He hiked up his glowing white sutana*; a result from its several rinses in robin blue powder water, revealing a black trouser underneath. I would have labeled him an albino but he is freckles and blemish free. He came up to me and placed his hands on my forehead. I shrunk away from his touch for I did not know who he was. He handed me the cup of water which I took but did not drink and he said in Ijebu* dialect that we will start in thirty minutes.
A plump lady came in after he left. She was also dressed in a sutana* and with her was a small bowl, a wad of paper and a folded white cloth. Without speaking, she took me to the river to bathe. In the paper was a ball of black soap, which she generously applied to my hair with a twine sponge. I was given the white cloth to wrap around my wet naked body. I shrived to no one in particular as we walked back, the night was dark and cold and I was scared. We entered a building; a place I assume is some sort of sanctuary. Stick inscent were burning at the four corners of the room and there were benches arranged for an audience. She left me there and came back with two other women and two men, the light skinned man included.
Surrounded by the five church members, I was asked to kneel down in the middle. At this point, i found my voice and asked them why I was there and where my parents were. All my questions fell on deaf ears. They sang praises to God and the prayer session began. The light skinned man who was the leader explained to the rest what their mission was. He stated that i have been ill for the past month and my family had brought me here to be cured. He also claimed they are to command my spirit friends to leave me alone to enjoy life. For an eight year old girl, it was terrifying to hear of ghosts and spirits in the middle of the night. I crouched where I was and screamed.
At the tintinnabulation of the church bell, whips made from the remnant of a sugar cane plant landed on my back. The five of them shouted gibberish as the cane descended on me. I cried and danced to the canes like my life depended on it. Before I passed out I heard one of the females say in ijebu* “her case is a strong one; she might not make it through the night if we don’t beat the little devils out of her”
I almost did not make it through the night. Times without number, buckets of water was poured on me while the canning continued. I was asked to repeatedly send these spirit friends I neither could see nor hear away. I was to denounce my imaginary spirit land and claim earth as my abode. Broken in spirit and weak in stamina, I made up my own images and bade them goodbye for I wanted to live. The canes stopped as dawn broke over the valley. The advent of an adult began with this day. For there is no night so long that will not end with a dawn. And no day dawns like another.
** Aran – A velvet fabric used as a duvet
** Amu – A dome shaped water vessel. It cools the water in it.
** Ijebu – The literary dialect taken from the Yoruba language.
** Sutana – A white garment worn by the church organization. (e.g., Celestials and Cherub and Seraphim)
I decided on the latter but my voice was weak. It sounded as if the echo did not leave my room. Or it could be that Asiata heard me but was bent on her revenge because I freed her caged butterflies? She kept them in order to send messages home to her people in Ilorin. “Backwards bush girl” was what I called her before i opened the mesh-like cage and released her diurnal insects. Doesn’t she know moths are for sending messages not butterflies?
The former option it had to be. I pushed away the Ankara wrapper the aran* is to replace, for it did not do much to keep me warm, besides, it reeked of Robb. I made the five seconds walk to the closet in thirty five seconds. I pulled at the fabric but the corner of the velvet snagged on the tiny nicks on the closet door and its end was caught in between the cracks. I tugged at the cloth until my legs gave in due to fatigue and i sunk to the floor. Everything went dark.
I woke up to the sound of wood cracking in fire and the aran* wrapped around my body. But to my dismay, the surrounding was alien. In the middle of the room was a real camp fire and behind it was another girl sleeping on a straw mat at the extreme. There are two entrances into the room, one had a door and the other had a curtain. A depicted calendar with the image of Jesus was hung on the door and on the floor by the right, sat a small amu* covered with a metal tray with different color plastic cups arranged on it.
A tall light skinned man entered through the curtain entrance, he took water from the amu* with one of the plastic cups. He hiked up his glowing white sutana*; a result from its several rinses in robin blue powder water, revealing a black trouser underneath. I would have labeled him an albino but he is freckles and blemish free. He came up to me and placed his hands on my forehead. I shrunk away from his touch for I did not know who he was. He handed me the cup of water which I took but did not drink and he said in Ijebu* dialect that we will start in thirty minutes.
A plump lady came in after he left. She was also dressed in a sutana* and with her was a small bowl, a wad of paper and a folded white cloth. Without speaking, she took me to the river to bathe. In the paper was a ball of black soap, which she generously applied to my hair with a twine sponge. I was given the white cloth to wrap around my wet naked body. I shrived to no one in particular as we walked back, the night was dark and cold and I was scared. We entered a building; a place I assume is some sort of sanctuary. Stick inscent were burning at the four corners of the room and there were benches arranged for an audience. She left me there and came back with two other women and two men, the light skinned man included.
Surrounded by the five church members, I was asked to kneel down in the middle. At this point, i found my voice and asked them why I was there and where my parents were. All my questions fell on deaf ears. They sang praises to God and the prayer session began. The light skinned man who was the leader explained to the rest what their mission was. He stated that i have been ill for the past month and my family had brought me here to be cured. He also claimed they are to command my spirit friends to leave me alone to enjoy life. For an eight year old girl, it was terrifying to hear of ghosts and spirits in the middle of the night. I crouched where I was and screamed.
At the tintinnabulation of the church bell, whips made from the remnant of a sugar cane plant landed on my back. The five of them shouted gibberish as the cane descended on me. I cried and danced to the canes like my life depended on it. Before I passed out I heard one of the females say in ijebu* “her case is a strong one; she might not make it through the night if we don’t beat the little devils out of her”
I almost did not make it through the night. Times without number, buckets of water was poured on me while the canning continued. I was asked to repeatedly send these spirit friends I neither could see nor hear away. I was to denounce my imaginary spirit land and claim earth as my abode. Broken in spirit and weak in stamina, I made up my own images and bade them goodbye for I wanted to live. The canes stopped as dawn broke over the valley. The advent of an adult began with this day. For there is no night so long that will not end with a dawn. And no day dawns like another.
** Aran – A velvet fabric used as a duvet
** Amu – A dome shaped water vessel. It cools the water in it.
** Ijebu – The literary dialect taken from the Yoruba language.
** Sutana – A white garment worn by the church organization. (e.g., Celestials and Cherub and Seraphim)
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
30 Days of Thankfulness- Day 21
I have been tagged by sis Believer and friends Aijay and Writefreak. Thank you guys! You forced me to look beyond my trouble today and count all the numerous blessings God has bestowed on me.
Join me in the Thankfulness Chain....if you've been tagged, please complete the tag on the assigned day example... if you're tagged for November 21... that is day 21 and you should title your post 30 Days of Thankfulness - Day 21 provide a link to the person that tagged you previously Also provide a link to the two people that you're tagging for the next day so we can all follow the chain... Do let them know they're being tagged.. why they're being tagged, and how to grow the chain if you're unable to do the tag on your assigned day... still choose the day to reflect the date you do it (if you're choosing not to back date it) ...example... if you're tagged for November 25 but dont get to do it till November 27... and you're not back dating.. it's okay to do it as Day 27 you can post these rules or something to this effect to help it along.. :-)
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Abba Father, your praises are my thanks. You have revealed to me your character through your names. You are the God that never lies and I am thankful I am your child.
Yahweh, I am that I am, you exist and pre-exist. I reverence your name for you shall always be forever.
ELohim, I thank you Lord for creating me for your purpose. I am here to give glory and honor to your name. I will praise and give thanks till the end of my days. I also thank you for the ones whom you created me through, my mom and dad. I couldn’t have chosen any better. I thank you for allowing my siblings to be created through the same blood and for placing us together. They are just so wonderful. My household and I will forever serve you Lord.
ELshaddai, I thank you Lord for being sufficient enough for me. Though, you have placed good friends and acquaintances in my path, I am happy that my worship is all for you. When the night was long you broke the dawn. When the storm raged so long, you calmed your child.
Jehovah Jireh, I thank you Lord for having everything under control and providing at the right time for my needs. Your gifts and blessings do not tarry and for that I am grateful.
Jehovah Nissi, I thank you for being my banner of hope, love and encouragement. Lord you are my rallying point and my means of victory over the devil. My battle belongs to you Lord.
Jehovah Shalom, I thank you Lord for your envelope of peace and rest in my life.
Jehovah Shamma, I thank you for being there for me. When I was in ruins, you restored me. You did not abandon me when I turned my back on you. Lord I say thank you.
Jehovah Rapah, I thank you for being the great physician who heals the physical and emotional needs of his people
I thank God for all the wonderful friendships I have made on blogsville. I can’t name you all. I am especially Thankful for TERC. It is wonderful to talk to people who are sold out to Christ. I pray that we not only be hearer of his word but also doers. And the good fruit will yield and produced more fruit which will feed the world in Jesus name (Amen)
I tag Rinsola, Afrobabe, Yayi, darkelee, solomonsdyelle, daddy's girl and Belle.
Join me in the Thankfulness Chain....if you've been tagged, please complete the tag on the assigned day example... if you're tagged for November 21... that is day 21 and you should title your post 30 Days of Thankfulness - Day 21 provide a link to the person that tagged you previously Also provide a link to the two people that you're tagging for the next day so we can all follow the chain... Do let them know they're being tagged.. why they're being tagged, and how to grow the chain if you're unable to do the tag on your assigned day... still choose the day to reflect the date you do it (if you're choosing not to back date it) ...example... if you're tagged for November 25 but dont get to do it till November 27... and you're not back dating.. it's okay to do it as Day 27 you can post these rules or something to this effect to help it along.. :-)
**********************************************************
Abba Father, your praises are my thanks. You have revealed to me your character through your names. You are the God that never lies and I am thankful I am your child.
Yahweh, I am that I am, you exist and pre-exist. I reverence your name for you shall always be forever.
ELohim, I thank you Lord for creating me for your purpose. I am here to give glory and honor to your name. I will praise and give thanks till the end of my days. I also thank you for the ones whom you created me through, my mom and dad. I couldn’t have chosen any better. I thank you for allowing my siblings to be created through the same blood and for placing us together. They are just so wonderful. My household and I will forever serve you Lord.
ELshaddai, I thank you Lord for being sufficient enough for me. Though, you have placed good friends and acquaintances in my path, I am happy that my worship is all for you. When the night was long you broke the dawn. When the storm raged so long, you calmed your child.
Jehovah Jireh, I thank you Lord for having everything under control and providing at the right time for my needs. Your gifts and blessings do not tarry and for that I am grateful.
Jehovah Nissi, I thank you for being my banner of hope, love and encouragement. Lord you are my rallying point and my means of victory over the devil. My battle belongs to you Lord.
Jehovah Shalom, I thank you Lord for your envelope of peace and rest in my life.
Jehovah Shamma, I thank you for being there for me. When I was in ruins, you restored me. You did not abandon me when I turned my back on you. Lord I say thank you.
Jehovah Rapah, I thank you for being the great physician who heals the physical and emotional needs of his people
I thank God for all the wonderful friendships I have made on blogsville. I can’t name you all. I am especially Thankful for TERC. It is wonderful to talk to people who are sold out to Christ. I pray that we not only be hearer of his word but also doers. And the good fruit will yield and produced more fruit which will feed the world in Jesus name (Amen)
I tag Rinsola, Afrobabe, Yayi, darkelee, solomonsdyelle, daddy's girl and Belle.
Friday, November 9, 2007
Premonition
“I have been here before” I thought to myself. The warm room I stood in had a strange sense of familiarity to it. I surveyed the place like an architect looking for his signature on a building. I turned around confused; and there you were standing with your arms akimbo
“What are you thinking about?” you asked
“Your place looks very familiar. I feel like I have been here; in this very room”
You shook your head and turned away as if I was crazy. We both know it was impossible, the house was completed two months ago and this was my first visit. I moved towards the sofa but sat at its edge with my coat still on, fiddling my car keys. You pulled me into the couch, thinking it was the game we play, the one where I pretend to leave and you beg me to stay. Whereas, this time I was really feeling uneasy about the oddness of the intimacy with the room.
We watched a funny movie on TV and you placed your head on my lap, unconsciously I combed your hair with my fingers while you laughed at the silly dialogue. I laughed too. Not at the movie but at you because you giggle like a school girl in love. Your laugher was replaced by soft snores, your chest heaved at the sound of each breath you took. I still marvel at how fast you fall asleep. The movie was over and as if on cue, the grandfather clock chimed one and I knew it was time to leave.
I kissed you on the forehead and whispered into your ears “I am leaving”. You asked me to let you fall asleep before I do. I smiled and obliged even though you are already sleeping. I lay next to you and it took me thirty minutes to find my way to slumber land.
I woke up and could see the crimson sky with autumn leaves dancing to the wind’s praises through the parting of the curtains. It must be cold outside. The feelings of strangeness and familiarity came back strongly and I felt it should not be ignored. With my eyes closed, i tried to remember where I saw this room and what it signifies to me. I dug and dug deeper into my mind image box. Suddenly, it came back to me; everything much brighter and in more detail. My heart sank and I knew before I looked, a dark ring stain made by your coffee cup would be on the table.
I sprang up and checked, there the evidence was. The dampness and color of the stain on the wood gave its timeline away. The mark was recently made; it couldn’t have been more than a day old. I looked at you sleeping and tears filled my eyes. Slowly, I put my coat on and found my shoes. It was not until I got into my car that the tears let out. Yes, I have been in that room before. The same room in my dream where you would cry and plead with me to let you marry someone else and all I could do is stare at the fading dark ring on the coffee table.
“What are you thinking about?” you asked
“Your place looks very familiar. I feel like I have been here; in this very room”
You shook your head and turned away as if I was crazy. We both know it was impossible, the house was completed two months ago and this was my first visit. I moved towards the sofa but sat at its edge with my coat still on, fiddling my car keys. You pulled me into the couch, thinking it was the game we play, the one where I pretend to leave and you beg me to stay. Whereas, this time I was really feeling uneasy about the oddness of the intimacy with the room.
We watched a funny movie on TV and you placed your head on my lap, unconsciously I combed your hair with my fingers while you laughed at the silly dialogue. I laughed too. Not at the movie but at you because you giggle like a school girl in love. Your laugher was replaced by soft snores, your chest heaved at the sound of each breath you took. I still marvel at how fast you fall asleep. The movie was over and as if on cue, the grandfather clock chimed one and I knew it was time to leave.
I kissed you on the forehead and whispered into your ears “I am leaving”. You asked me to let you fall asleep before I do. I smiled and obliged even though you are already sleeping. I lay next to you and it took me thirty minutes to find my way to slumber land.
I woke up and could see the crimson sky with autumn leaves dancing to the wind’s praises through the parting of the curtains. It must be cold outside. The feelings of strangeness and familiarity came back strongly and I felt it should not be ignored. With my eyes closed, i tried to remember where I saw this room and what it signifies to me. I dug and dug deeper into my mind image box. Suddenly, it came back to me; everything much brighter and in more detail. My heart sank and I knew before I looked, a dark ring stain made by your coffee cup would be on the table.
I sprang up and checked, there the evidence was. The dampness and color of the stain on the wood gave its timeline away. The mark was recently made; it couldn’t have been more than a day old. I looked at you sleeping and tears filled my eyes. Slowly, I put my coat on and found my shoes. It was not until I got into my car that the tears let out. Yes, I have been in that room before. The same room in my dream where you would cry and plead with me to let you marry someone else and all I could do is stare at the fading dark ring on the coffee table.
Monday, October 22, 2007
And it came to pass
From your trials and errors in the past 9 years you gained insight. Patience was the key and deceit was its lock. The plan was flawless and the lies were secured. Every step had to be thought carefully, the very end had to have had the perfect beginning.
With the dice cast and the game won, you placed me on the board for your amusement. First, it started with the phone calls, then your rigmarole; both elaborate and complicated. I know you will say I pushed you to it. Yes, I have heard it numerous times “Allied you never let things slide, you are too inquisitive”.
Since the ordeal, I have asked myself several times, how come I never saw it coming? I am usually in tune with things of this nature. Thinking about it now, I should have known. I saw the signs but my sunglasses blurred the vision. The warnings too were echoing but my ipod was more deafening. The secrets were glaring but I couldn’t be bothered.
I think the real reason I didn’t think you could do it was because I didn’t believe you could. After all, you failed for 9 years. What I didn’t realize was, though you failed all those years, you always tried. Noting all your wrongs and furthering it towards perfection.
The deed is done and it has come to pass. I am sure you are glad you pulled it off. I am also glad even though you know I hate surprises.
Thank you guys. I really enjoyed my surprise party.
** Me in the middle asking them how they did it. The plan was perfected to the point that I INVITED THEM TO THE PARTY**
With the dice cast and the game won, you placed me on the board for your amusement. First, it started with the phone calls, then your rigmarole; both elaborate and complicated. I know you will say I pushed you to it. Yes, I have heard it numerous times “Allied you never let things slide, you are too inquisitive”.
Since the ordeal, I have asked myself several times, how come I never saw it coming? I am usually in tune with things of this nature. Thinking about it now, I should have known. I saw the signs but my sunglasses blurred the vision. The warnings too were echoing but my ipod was more deafening. The secrets were glaring but I couldn’t be bothered.
I think the real reason I didn’t think you could do it was because I didn’t believe you could. After all, you failed for 9 years. What I didn’t realize was, though you failed all those years, you always tried. Noting all your wrongs and furthering it towards perfection.
The deed is done and it has come to pass. I am sure you are glad you pulled it off. I am also glad even though you know I hate surprises.
Thank you guys. I really enjoyed my surprise party.
** Me in the middle asking them how they did it. The plan was perfected to the point that I INVITED THEM TO THE PARTY**Tuesday, October 16, 2007
What you call them they will become
This picture was taken 20yrs ago. Funny enough i still look the same except for the hair. I am not into didi* anymore :)I look back at the events that had transpired in the last 356 days and all I can say is THANK YOU LORD.
There were days I cried like there is tomorrow. Days I laughed and I ask you why you Love me so much. The days I was too ashamed to come into your presence, because I thought my sins separated me from you. Those days I ask you stupid questions. Days I asked you to renew the right spirit within me. Daft days I get angry at you for not keeping your promises. Fulfilled days I realized that I have not received your promises because I am ill-equipped for them. Countless days of my foolishness. Constant days of your loving and kindness.
Father, I don’t say this enough, but I Love you so much. I thank you for giving me the privilege of being your child. Because of your favor, I get the favor of men. I thank you for your mercies which are abundant in my life. Not only do you keep me safe, you also get me out of punishments I truly deserved.
Every year, a month before my birthday, I go into this “reflecting on my life” mode. I try to weigh the growth and stagnant places in my life, spiritually, physically, economically and socially. This year is no different. I went into my reflective mode, but with the WRONG attitude.
Originally, I got the attitude “this birthday is going to be different" because the things I thank God for last year now had a BUT or FULL STOP somewhere. That thought started the escalation of frivolous emotions…
Then I stumbled on Jeremiah 17vs 7 “7 Blessed is the man that trusteth in the LORD, and whose hope the LORD is. 8 For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit”.
I got on my knees and began to pray for forgiveness. The “God in Heaven who reveals secrets “(Daniel 2:28) has revealed to me that I need to be steadfast in spirit. I need to trust him.
All my reflecting should only be spiritual. Because when we are in good fellowship and intimacy with God, it is generally difficult for Satan to attack us in our spirit. Attacking our bodies is an entirely different topic, but Proverbs 18:14 (The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?) does show that if our spirit is in good condition, especially if our relationship wand fellowship with God is good, we can sustain through even physical/ emotional infirmity.
If I take on the attitude of not having a Good birthday, it will be so because I thougt and willed it. The battle starts from the mind. By establishing defeat in our minds, Satan can render us ineffective with minimal effort because that condition will dictate us, fueling off our own efforts!
For example, a baby circus elephant may originally need to be restrained by a chain around its foot. It will strain and strain against its bonds but after a while it knows that it is impossible to break free, so it eventually gives up. When the elephant is older, all that is needed to keep it from running away is a small rope. The adult elephant is very capable of breaking its bond now, but because it has been conditioned with the impossibility of breaking free for so long in its mind, it's given up without trying!
Things become what you call them. I call my birthday HAPPY and blessed.
Henceforth, I will start calling unspeakable Joy, everlasting happiness, heart full of praise and all the good things that the lord has willed in my life.
My life will become what I call it. And I call it a God Shaped Life.
Happy Birthday Allied. This year is just the beginning of uncommon favor in your life
There were days I cried like there is tomorrow. Days I laughed and I ask you why you Love me so much. The days I was too ashamed to come into your presence, because I thought my sins separated me from you. Those days I ask you stupid questions. Days I asked you to renew the right spirit within me. Daft days I get angry at you for not keeping your promises. Fulfilled days I realized that I have not received your promises because I am ill-equipped for them. Countless days of my foolishness. Constant days of your loving and kindness.
Father, I don’t say this enough, but I Love you so much. I thank you for giving me the privilege of being your child. Because of your favor, I get the favor of men. I thank you for your mercies which are abundant in my life. Not only do you keep me safe, you also get me out of punishments I truly deserved.
Every year, a month before my birthday, I go into this “reflecting on my life” mode. I try to weigh the growth and stagnant places in my life, spiritually, physically, economically and socially. This year is no different. I went into my reflective mode, but with the WRONG attitude.
Originally, I got the attitude “this birthday is going to be different" because the things I thank God for last year now had a BUT or FULL STOP somewhere. That thought started the escalation of frivolous emotions…
Then I stumbled on Jeremiah 17vs 7 “7 Blessed is the man that trusteth in the LORD, and whose hope the LORD is. 8 For he shall be as a tree planted by the waters, and that spreadeth out her roots by the river, and shall not see when heat cometh, but her leaf shall be green; and shall not be careful in the year of drought, neither shall cease from yielding fruit”.
I got on my knees and began to pray for forgiveness. The “God in Heaven who reveals secrets “(Daniel 2:28) has revealed to me that I need to be steadfast in spirit. I need to trust him.
All my reflecting should only be spiritual. Because when we are in good fellowship and intimacy with God, it is generally difficult for Satan to attack us in our spirit. Attacking our bodies is an entirely different topic, but Proverbs 18:14 (The spirit of a man will sustain his infirmity; but a wounded spirit who can bear?) does show that if our spirit is in good condition, especially if our relationship wand fellowship with God is good, we can sustain through even physical/ emotional infirmity.
If I take on the attitude of not having a Good birthday, it will be so because I thougt and willed it. The battle starts from the mind. By establishing defeat in our minds, Satan can render us ineffective with minimal effort because that condition will dictate us, fueling off our own efforts!
For example, a baby circus elephant may originally need to be restrained by a chain around its foot. It will strain and strain against its bonds but after a while it knows that it is impossible to break free, so it eventually gives up. When the elephant is older, all that is needed to keep it from running away is a small rope. The adult elephant is very capable of breaking its bond now, but because it has been conditioned with the impossibility of breaking free for so long in its mind, it's given up without trying!
Things become what you call them. I call my birthday HAPPY and blessed.
Henceforth, I will start calling unspeakable Joy, everlasting happiness, heart full of praise and all the good things that the lord has willed in my life.
My life will become what I call it. And I call it a God Shaped Life.
Happy Birthday Allied. This year is just the beginning of uncommon favor in your life
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I stayed up all night preparing u guys these delicious food
Nigerian food is a must
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sins of the Parents
“Allied, I have gist for you oh” said an acquaintance of mine. I guess every one has this type of friend, who always has gist. You listen and nod, maybe a comment here and there but you never dive in too much for fear of her mentioning your name when she is relating the gist to someone else. Also, you never get to close to her because you hate people that gossip but you never send her away because her stories are always juicy.
“Eh, you do? What happened” my ears already perked. Ok, I like gist as the next person. What can I say?
“Yes oh, but don’t say I told you. I am just telling you because I think you should know”
“Of course” I said, we both know she will use the exact same line to the other twenty people she tells.
“Do you remember Gbohunmi?”
“Gbohunmi? Gbohunmi? That name sounds familiar. I am not sure…..who is he?”
She smiled “You don’t remember, but you know I was talking about a boy. It might have been a girl now. Anyway, Gbohummi in night vigil”
Of course I know who Gbohunmi is, I was just “demoing’ for the girl. Before i know, a concocted a story about Gbohunmi and I will be carried through the tri state“cobalizing” me in one of her numerous gist.
“Is he the tall dark guy that plays the drum”? Another white lie, I knew Gbohun is the guy that plays the guitar. He is a cutie, but a lot of girls are after him and I don’t want to be counted in the number.
“No, the other one that plays the guitar” she said impatiently
“Oh, ok…. What about him?”
A laugh with mirth escaped her lips “My dear, the guy really likes you oh. It’s been a while now, we were talking yesterday and he told me”
Pulse racing, heart pounding… but I managed to stay clam “really, since when? And why are you the one relating the message”
“What message? he did not send me to you, I am just telling you. Infact let me land before you bury me. I asked him what he will do about it, but he told me, he can only like you from a distance. Cause of the complication” she paused for the effect of her words
“Complication? what complication?” asked curious me. “But I am not married, neither do I smoke or drink. Or is it because I don’t go to his church?” I shamelessly listed my biodata.
She laughed “no, he said he did his home work and he found out your parents are separated. You have been exposed to divorce, so it’s not likely you will make a good wife”
My jaw dropped. “What”?
She repeated herself, like I didn’t hear her the first time. “What a shame, you guys would have been a cute couple; I hate it when something like that happens”
“He said that? Who wants to marry him anyway” my ego was bruised. If she knew that I had already envisioned what our twins would look like. Nimi (Oluwalonimi) will inherit his dimples, and my beautiful face and long hair (by Nigerian standard) and Kintan (Ireoluwakintan) would have his daddy’s long eyelashes and mummy’s almond shaped eyes.
“Yes, he did. Guys think like that sometimes…. anyway I got to go, bye”
She left, and I stood there for another minute or two pondering on what she said. I have never heard of this before... “What?” I said loud again.
I decided to investigate further. No, not with Gbohunmi, but talk to other people and see if this is another disease that needs to be purged from the society, and Boy was I surprised. I found out that a lot of guys believe in such things. From, Nigerians, to Indians to Guyanese. They all punish the children for the “sins” of their parents.
Notice I put sins in quotes. Sin is defining what is morally unacceptable in each culture. WOW
I refuse to believe people think this way, WE ARE CHRISTIANS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
For once i am speechless…
“Eh, you do? What happened” my ears already perked. Ok, I like gist as the next person. What can I say?
“Yes oh, but don’t say I told you. I am just telling you because I think you should know”
“Of course” I said, we both know she will use the exact same line to the other twenty people she tells.
“Do you remember Gbohunmi?”
“Gbohunmi? Gbohunmi? That name sounds familiar. I am not sure…..who is he?”
She smiled “You don’t remember, but you know I was talking about a boy. It might have been a girl now. Anyway, Gbohummi in night vigil”
Of course I know who Gbohunmi is, I was just “demoing’ for the girl. Before i know, a concocted a story about Gbohunmi and I will be carried through the tri state“cobalizing” me in one of her numerous gist.
“Is he the tall dark guy that plays the drum”? Another white lie, I knew Gbohun is the guy that plays the guitar. He is a cutie, but a lot of girls are after him and I don’t want to be counted in the number.
“No, the other one that plays the guitar” she said impatiently
“Oh, ok…. What about him?”
A laugh with mirth escaped her lips “My dear, the guy really likes you oh. It’s been a while now, we were talking yesterday and he told me”
Pulse racing, heart pounding… but I managed to stay clam “really, since when? And why are you the one relating the message”
“What message? he did not send me to you, I am just telling you. Infact let me land before you bury me. I asked him what he will do about it, but he told me, he can only like you from a distance. Cause of the complication” she paused for the effect of her words
“Complication? what complication?” asked curious me. “But I am not married, neither do I smoke or drink. Or is it because I don’t go to his church?” I shamelessly listed my biodata.
She laughed “no, he said he did his home work and he found out your parents are separated. You have been exposed to divorce, so it’s not likely you will make a good wife”
My jaw dropped. “What”?
She repeated herself, like I didn’t hear her the first time. “What a shame, you guys would have been a cute couple; I hate it when something like that happens”
“He said that? Who wants to marry him anyway” my ego was bruised. If she knew that I had already envisioned what our twins would look like. Nimi (Oluwalonimi) will inherit his dimples, and my beautiful face and long hair (by Nigerian standard) and Kintan (Ireoluwakintan) would have his daddy’s long eyelashes and mummy’s almond shaped eyes.
“Yes, he did. Guys think like that sometimes…. anyway I got to go, bye”
She left, and I stood there for another minute or two pondering on what she said. I have never heard of this before... “What?” I said loud again.
I decided to investigate further. No, not with Gbohunmi, but talk to other people and see if this is another disease that needs to be purged from the society, and Boy was I surprised. I found out that a lot of guys believe in such things. From, Nigerians, to Indians to Guyanese. They all punish the children for the “sins” of their parents.
Notice I put sins in quotes. Sin is defining what is morally unacceptable in each culture. WOW
I refuse to believe people think this way, WE ARE CHRISTIANS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.
For once i am speechless…
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