Silence

Silence

Silence has two faces

Pretty and ugly

Life and death sometimes

While it helps you to step away from the chaos around, it can also disconnect you from the reality of being you.

Silence

In it we can draw strength to overcome life challenges or sadly loose the will to continue fighting for what we truly desire.

Silence

It can be so soothing and peaceful, same way it can be so loud when it has defeat of self esteem, pride, ego and confusion written all over it; unfortunately, the society is too busy to read the handwriting no matter how clear it is written.

Silence

From it, ideas that shaped humanity were birthed and still are, sadly humanity has lost many from decisions taken at this season’s of silence.

Silence

So powerful, it can shut the whole world out in one blink and yet so weak to be able to reach out back to it sometimes.

Silence

Dreadful as it may sound, still every soul needs a visit to this powerful part of our minds. A healthy visit, not forced or coarsed by pressures and the demand to fit into the noisy chaotic world around us. The world so selfish, always demanding from us in exchange for vanities (time for money, time for comfort etc) leaving us with the illusion that we are successful but inside we empty, because the best things in life are free: our imagination and creativity.

Silence

Silence speaks when we are re-energized from it and kills so quietly when we loose what we took there!.

 Depression is real. Reach out to a forgotten friend today. You might be saving a life.

Is Love Really Enough?

It was magical,

All the excitement that had filled my system since he proposed,

Butterflies flying around my tummy.

The silent giggles whenever his thoughts or face flashed through my mind

And then the D-day came,

Obviously the event planners knew their onions,

The arrangement and planning was on point,

Family, guests, all had a nice time.

Did I forget to mention the honeymoon? Far away in Hawaii.

I dreamt of it as far back as secondary school,

I flooded the internet and social media with different pictures and video of how it all went down.

Hmmm!

It was all I could ever ask for, a perfect union made in heaven or so it seemed, at that point.

Boom! Reality check,

Fast forward to present day.

That was four years ago,

It’s some few minutes past eight and he is not yet home.

The last time I checked,closing hour was still 5pm.

Normally,20 minutes tops after closing he's home.

My last redial just ended, the eleventh ring out.

Few minutes later,an SMS comes in "hanging out with some old pals"

How come?

I thought I was his best partner at "hanging outs"?

I just realised that was the third time this week!

Is he too engrossed with the drinks/buddies he couldn't spare few minutes to talk over the phone?

Why won't he answer my calls? Maybe he mistakenly left it inside the car.

No call? I am sure he ran out of call credit....

That's me trying so hard to make excuses for Bayo.

Wait!

Could Cynthia be right?

"Don't mind them, they will do everything for you just for you to marry them,get into his house  and then you will know his true colors".

No it can’t be, but all the writings on the wall are pointing to it.

Bayo is different, he has to be,

Two years of courtship and I never saw a trace of this trait.

Could it be that he was so good at hiding it or I was just too blinded with passion I couldn't see what was right there in front of me?

So many thoughts rushing through my head-it aches badly,

Then a sharp pain on my waist, 8 months gone and he kicks like every minute.

Just to remind me that it could happen at any time,

I tried to turn on the couch just to ease my discomfort.

I totally forgot I left the phone on my protruded belly,

Down it went with the screen smashing into a thousand pieces as it hit the marble floor,

Damm it- how I hated myself!

Now I can't even call Bayo, even if he tried, he can't reach me.

I am stuck on this couch until he gets back because I can't bend down to sweep no more.

"Madam,do not get into positions that will hurt your baby,especially domestic chores...let your husband or maid if available help you do it" That was Dr. Smith issuing instructions to Bayo and I  the last time we went for antenatal 3 weeks ago.

His concerns hinged on the fact that I had threatened abortion /miscarriage twice in my second trimester hence my pregnancy case file was tagged "Delicate".

After struggling to conceive for four years before it finally happened, the family doctor has been extra careful to make sure the baby arrived safely.

"The more reason Bayo should be here with me all the time and not with buddies, whoever they are" I screamed out.

"Aunty, what is the problem? Do you want anything?"

I was so lost in my thoughts, I didn't realize Uduak the maid had entered with the groceries I sent for,

I felt embarrassed and ashamed of myself but didn't want to show it.

"No....em em , I mean yes dear" I stuttered,

"get a broom and clean this mess" me pointing to the remains of my phone.

I could see the shock in her eyes, I am sure she remembered how I gushed on my birthday just last week when Bayo gave me the sleek Samsung galaxy note,

"don't just stand there,get it done already"!

How I wish I didn't turn down mamas proposal of coming in time to stay,but it was because I wanted Bayo and I to share those last moments together. Not being abandoned like this, certainly not like this.

And then the hour bell struck nine, as much as I tried to keep them out, Cynthia's words flashed again

"your husband is every woman's dream,tall,dark and not only is he handsome but rich as well. Even if he doesn't go after them, they will hunt him. My dear, you have to be closer to God and pray o,this is Lagos o,those girls are very wicked . As for me,I had to engage local insurance policy...em you know what I mean now aunty Bisi:.

I promptly rejected her assertions and ideas in my mind "Bayo will never cheat on me, I don't need black magic to keep my man, he loves me, very much".

As I remembered those lines,it didn't sound convincing to even me anymore,fear gripped me.

I removed my chaplet from my neck and started reciting the rosary "God please protect him, bring him home safely".

That's me trying to obey what my mum told me " always pray for your husband,no matter what. Pray first before you conclude on his behalf".

If there was anytime in my life I needed quick response from heaven, it is now. " if you can hear me oh Lord,bring him back to me NOW!" heaven could tell I was desperate.

The baby kicked once more and I adjusted the throw-pillow behind me to make it more comfortable, with that last movement, I slept off on the couch.

Hours later,I woke up in a frenzy,stood up and only then did I realize I was in our bedroom upstairs. Still confused as to how I got there, and with Bayo not snoring loudly by my side I reached for the door. The door that lead downstairs, mid- way through my descending the stairs, I peeped through the tiny tinted glass on the wall to see if his car was in the parking lot, but to my surprise, it wasn't.

" so he didn't come home last night,Bayo has killed me" I was breathing heavily as I turned the corner to embark on the final descent towards the living room,there he was!

Kneeling on one leg, the same position he took when he proposed five years ago at the bar beach, only that this time he had a teddy not an 18 karat gold ring.

It was a surprise baby shower party! Everyone who meant anything to me was already there, I am sure the public holidays made it possible to assemble them all. Bayo had been making secret preparations all this while trying to keep it away from me hence the late nights.

I couldn't take the remaining steps down,I practically froze on my knees. Tears rolled down my eyes as he held and raised me gently to my seat in front of everyone.

I was so overwhelmed with emotions and it didn't matter I was still wearing my pyjamas,I had never felt that special my entire life!

Even though the baby kicked that very moment,I didn't feel the pain. All I felt was paradise!!!

To all women who have endured the pain of pregnancy to give life. God bless you eternally

From A Child's Point Of View

We used to free, playing on the streets,kicking empty cans all the way to school and back.
We were free to visit the stream,coming back home with eyes so red you can’t deny where you’ve been ( you really didn’t need to anyway)
We used to be free to eat,drink in the neighbours friends house coming back home with big round tommies and shirts stained with oil due to the struggle for meat.
It was actually allowed to remove our sandals and walk bare feet, swinging them in rythims of songs learnt from the village square last night.
Parents yes, but the society was the standard model and watch dog. Kids getting spanked by total strangers when due and still complimented for not sparing the rod when the news filtered back home.
Teachers were idolised as mini gods due to the importance society placed on them- a noble profession with “rewards in heaven”. Life for us as kids was super fun.
We built castles with mud,using our legs as designs. Creativity and natural instincts buzzing in our heads.
The girls quickly learnt singing and clapping while gathered around in circles,cooking with empty cans and pawpaw leaves while the boys,armed with catapults,ventured beyond the boundary of the stream in search of that elusive old wise tortoise grandpa always talked about so they could be as wise as him. They actually did venture because the fear of evil men to kidnap them wasn’t a part of the society. But all that faded away.
We now grow up in houses with fences so tall they reach out to the moon, our freedom the society wickedly took us. The society you adults have created.
We play yes, but with toys and TV game consoles more than with the kids next next door.
We eat yes, but from cans and packs,beautifully sealed nylon wraps picked from the kitchen shelf cos mummy has to beat the traffic at 5:30am, and yet we dare not eat or dine even with our best friend in school because we don’t know the source of the water in their houses.
The closest I have been with my cousins is looking at their pictures on Facebook( the ones I know or heard of ) cos they all bad people who do not like us. While I struggle to make a sentence with my own mother tongue,teachers trying so hard to make me speak and sound like the half baked humans I see on DSTV,they say I will be accepted easily when I sound like them, why can’t I sound like you mum? If you don’t like the way you sound who else will?
Boys growing up on their own filled with Internet curriculum and modelling their lives to the edited content of celebrities on E channel because Daddy is busy meeting deadlines and targets set by the corporate world, a vicious circle that keeps him away like forever but to which he says pays the bills and allows me the luxuries I enjoy. Luxuries?  Seriously?  You mean being caged as soon as school ends is now luxury? That used to be when the fun was just about to start.
And so I get to spend so much of my developmental time with nannies sorry I mean uncles and aunties who are too busy on social media to notice me and when they do, explore my purity and violate my innocence , setting me on a dangerous path.
Cooking is now an odd ugly task meant for the chef while I dwell on the society short cuts: 2 minute noodles and coco pops. The joy of splashing and goofing around in the stream washing clothes now long as I only toss them into the washer.
You might argue that they have made life easier but also, it has taken away an essential part of learning and altered the natural balance of life teachings as we grow up. We now juggle between British and American curriculum expressed as Montessori for the elite while the poor languish in so called public schools at the mercy of unpaid teachers struggling to find motivation but surrounded by frustration hence the then noble profession now a shadow of itself.
Education should never be categorised based on it either being private or public; opportunities in life aren’t! No kid was born to come face this societal divide, we innocent.
In case you adults have not noticed,our innocence is a  different kind of beautiful that most of you only dream about.
When next you sit on the decision making alters and tables,remember we have the right to be protected and provided for but most importantly we have the right to be free, free from the mental walls and societal barriers you adults have created.
Happy Children’s Day

Broken

What happened? 

How did we end up on this side of the lane? And yet I didn’t notice – till now when we crossed!

The sparks we saw in each others eyes  became so faint and yet it seemed so bright when you blinked.

The chemistry long gone and yet I felt our relationship was scientific (all figured out ). Even when the “hellos” became so far in between I still didn’t  feel alone!.

How come silence became the language we spoke so loudly? No wonder the simplest of discussions ended in chaos, while I remember vividly when we could go on for hours without noticing we’ve talked all night.

Those thoughts are a far cry to what we have become today – sadly so. It’s so easy for us now to spend time with outsiders and on social media with virtual friends than ourselves.

A song writer was sang “ if I can turn back the hands of time”, my prayers and wishes right now. Am desperate!

I don’t think it was ever a question of love; I had that in excess for you but it turned out it was not enough to keep you happy and walking from away. Walking away from what I thought we had and shared.

Even though we walked hands in hand during the day, creating a picture of a perfect couple but yet I wake up to a complete stranger in bed by morning.

Even when you tried smiling, all I saw was a frown rooted within. When you laughed, all I heard were sounds of a weeping heart. A heart filled with regrets and pains.

In as much as I do not want to accept the reality staring me in the face, but making you stay amidst all of these is a punishment I do not want you to endure – not anymore.

Because I still love you, I will always love you. Hopefully someday, you will walk back through the door of my heart because it will never be shut when you walk out.

I pray you find happiness and joy as you go, but, just in case you want to give love a chance with me- I will be waiting

Ekaete

The sudden strike of thunder jolted me back

Even thou the room was dark,

The lightening produced a rough view

Another soul lying innocently beside me

Hiding from the cold underneath the small wrapper

Ekaete oh poor girl!

Sent parking from home by her wicked step mother!

You wonder why?

Let me tell you my pathetic story,

We were young and full of unguarded energy.

I literally saw sparks whenever I saw her!

Her smile left me speechless,

The sensation her skin produced on mine

Can only best be imagined.

In simple words, we were “LOVE BIRDS”!

And in our final year in school,

Reading at night was inevitable!

Then came that night.

On a chilling November night

The harmattan season at its peak here in Jos,

A gentle tap on my back distracted my unsettled concentration.

Turning back,

What stood in front of me can best be described as an “angel”!

As we walked out of the auditorium with her in front,

Staring at the curves exposed by her tight jean and armless top,

Lustful desires stormed my head!

The dark path to her hostel was just perfect

The cold winds narrowed my options

If only I had not obliged to walk her

If I had listened to her solemn pleas

Caught up in the heat of the passion

I forgot my safety kits!

Now just five months after that evil night

Here I am,

Serving in a remote village in the East, Orji River in Enugu State to be precise

Ekaete out of school and without a home

Forced to pitch her tent with me

Both forced to survive on my mean allowance

And worse, expecting baby(s) I never planned for!

I ask myself,

Is it my fate or my destiny?

Must I suffer all my life because of one night’s mistake?

How long will this last?

How long will my so called love withstand this trial?

I face everyday with so many challenges I can’t overcome!

Now you’ve heard my story

Before you judge me,

What’s yours?!

Beyond The Storms

Five years after we got married our son finally came,the pains of waiting for that long instantly vanished when I saw the Doctor hold him up,still covered with tiny drops of blood and wriggling his tiny feets. I was too excited at the sight I didn't notice the fact that he didn't cry as expected of a new infant. Exhausted from the 3 hour labour process I fell asleep almost immediately. Hours later I woke up in the private ward and there he was,perfectly wrapped fast asleep on the bed just beside me. He looked every inch a perfect baby coming in at 3.6kg and did I forget to mention he had Debo's eyes? The resemblance was striking even at a distance. Our lives changed with this perfect gift from God and we were more than ready to face the responsibility of raising our son Ayomide Adeniyi-Jones. Weeks quickly turned into months right before our eyes and I began to notice some "delays" in his development. Physically he was alright,he's appetite was good too but he was slow in movements and coordination. And just like every Y2K complaint mum I started researching the internet on what to expect from a baby of his age and I realised he didn't quite tick all the boxes. "Every child has he's own time table o,don't compare him with others". My Ghanaian neighbour trying to offer some words of encouragement after I opened up to her concerning my worries. I just had to speak to someone because Debo would not hear any of it "nothing is wrong with my son! Its not in our family lineage to be sick like this". Those were his words the last time I tried talking to him about it. But I was scared and confused,scared for my son!. When alone with him,I would stare at him for long periods,not in admiration but curiosity,trying to see if there were improvements in his cordination and speech but nothing happened. "who did I offend,who has done this evil against my grandson? Lets go and see my Pastor,he's very powerful and anointed". My mother Inlaw will cry and cry untill finally Debo agreed for us to go for a deliverance session. I went through all sorts of prayers and fasting,from,dry to white,sowing seeds in cash and in kind yet nothing happened. When it was time for him to start school,it was hell!. No school would accept him,one of the proprietress openly told me that she didn't want other parents to withdraw their children from her school due to the presence of "your son" around their kids. I couldn't believe she was referring to my son as a plague that needed to be avoided. My heart broke into a thousand pieces,I was the subject of discussion every where I went,even in the church!. "The woman with the boy who has refused to talk or is it that he cant talk? He must be possessed!" Whispers everywhere behind my back. Emotionally I was drained but I didn't want my son to see me cry. After one of such fruitless days searching for a school for him,I got back home and Debos call came in "Honey,there is an,Indian woman who has accepted to take him,he starts on Monday". I couldn't wait for the weekend to roll by for him to start. It was a huge relief for the whole family. This would finally help him to improve. Two weeks passed and I wanted to know the progress report from the Indian angel who has come to salvage my sons destiny. " I don't know what to do with him,am a teacher not a psychiatrist". Her words hit me like a sledge hammer,at that point I felt like giving up on my son. Why did God curse me like this instead of blessing me even though I waited for five whole years!. Maybe I should drop him off at the orphanage home or should I just pray he dies in he's sleep?that will save the family from this shame. Morbid thoughts filled my mind as I drove back home that day. Dinner was more of a ritual ir routine that needed to be done that night as the report from school hovered over everyone. Before we slept that night,Debo uncharacteristically asked us to pray holding hands,and while I slept,I had a dream of me and Ayo singing and dancing in church. Upon waking up,I had a new desire in me to know God for who he is and not just as a father Xmas figure we go to for presents alone and in my own case-a miracle. That turn of event and change in focus helped me to find peace within me and hence love my son Ayo even more. I realised he wasn't an error but a different breed that sees the world from a different perspective. And so he was not incapable but needed a different support system to learn. There was a paradigm shift in my view from him being sick or having a disease to him being just different. And while we were all thinking that he was ignoring us and the whole world,he was actually waiting for us to enter into his world!. I finally got to know about Autism and the brilliant work that had been carried out on the topic. With each passing day,I got more confident and proud of my son. I wasn't ashamed to take him anywhere I went,even to church. Few months later,we travelled to London to have my second baby. He wasn't allowed into the theatre like Debo and so when Atinuke Abeni-Jones came,he wasn't there. I was so eager for him to see his sister and so I requested he'd be allowed in. That was the day he spoke for the first time ,walking towards the bed where I layed and Debo holding her carefully wrapped in his arms he asked " Is she my sister?". My world practically froze,the joy was too much to bear ,it was as if I just gave birth to two kids at the same time!. Today on his 18th birthday,I had to scold him to keep quiet cos he talks too much, " just cut the cake and let the party begin for heavens sake". Hoe quickly we forget the pains of yesterday....


Inspired by Nneka Anyachebelu

Mama-Na's Tale

Mama-na! Mama-na!! He will call me.

I can never forget that deep baritone voice of his approaching our compound’s perimeter-walled fence made from dried millet stalks.

You could not mistake the excitement in his voice; another calf, the third within a week. This meant we had extra calabash full of fresh dairy milk.

More than enough for my Baba and I, and for that naughty friend of mine – Halima. She could have a cup, just one, when she comes to make her hair later in the afternoon that’s if she comes with my favorite gorrriba fruit, I know the one in their house has some ripe ones already; but definitely not Tanko, my cousin. If he wants some, he would have to go to the farm where the cows are and milk some for himself.

Not even the lure of beautiful big houses, fancy cars and colourful hanging lamps lined on their streets could make me leave the calmness of Kateri my village. We were told in the village square that you could walk for long stretches and your feet will not get dirty, because it was covered by a black wrapper that was so thick, thicker than my woven mat bed, a gift from my late grandpa.

Halima and I wondered how long it took their women to wash that black wrapper and how big the stream could be, compared to Kunstwa; our village stream down the valley as you exit Kateri.

Life was beautiful and growing up in the village was even sweeter! From the rising of the sun very early that gave me an even darker skin tone and smoothened it like Halima’s long hair; to the dusty winds my father claimed were our ancestors in the Sahara coming to visit us. We were contented, but most of all we were happy.

Suddenly, the room became bright…the lamps came back to life. This was swiftly accompanied by shouts of joy by children playing outside the yard. Only then did I realise I was in the rehabilitation camp in the city capital. I had been day-dreaming all along. I stood up and leaned back on the wall, my hands resting on my chin. I stared straight to the full moon outside the window up in the skies and my thoughts flashed back to that fateful day.

Even though he called me like he usually does, his voice was not as reassuring as it used to be. He seemed downcast; the look on his face did not help either as it was furlong, apprehensive and tense. He tried smiling but I could tell it was not genuine, same smile he had when he told me years back that grandpa had gone to be with our ancestors in heaven. It just was not his thing to lie to me.

He had been selected amongst the local coalition of vigilante villages to fight the bad people the Waziri talked about in the village square a night before.

I realised he had a bigger sack with him this time compared to when he goes to weekly market in Zango village. He told me he was going to be away for a couple of days but will be back before my supplies ran out.

By midday, he bade me farewell and warned me not to go anywhere especially at night even if Halima asked me to. I was sad and cried as I watched him ride his bicycle away with his gun dangling on his back.

For the first time, I was alone and lonely. And so it was for a whole week, the days seemed so long and unending as I waited for him to return. The atmosphere around the village got really tense; fear gripped those of us left behind, of what may have become of our loved ones. The many rumours flying round the village, did nothing more but worsen the situation. The uncertainty was killing me.

Finally, my supplies finished and I could barely leave my hut all day. My prayers intensified for my father’s safe return. But then, that same night…

Kaboom! Kaboom!! The loud bang was deafening and it seemed as though an unknown object from the sky had hit the land.

Half an hour later, I could barely hear any sound

The room was half lite as only the first ray of dawn filtered through.

My lamp had run out hours earlier, even though I could see shadows of people running across the door and window. I laid there trembling, my heart racing and thudding, almost jumping out of my body. I could only manage a few words of prayer for my life,

Seriously hoping that no one else will realize I was inside.

In a flash, I recalled Tanko, warning me of rumours filtering the village.

We were next to being attacked!! Could this be it?

The next sensible thing I thought to do was to run! Run as fast as I could! But the five hundred kilometer walk to Maradi village across the Sahara desert is in itself a death sentence. The insurgents had raided the surrounding villages days before, leaving a gory sight of maimed bodies and burnt houses.

My father who volunteered to join the local vigilante didn’t survive the first attack on Zango village. Here I was, already an orphan as I had lost my mother during childbirth hence my name “Mama-na”.

We had hoped that government forces would heed the call to relocate their base to our village before the instruments of terror got here.

At least, that would have kept us safe before the evacuation team reached out to us, or so we thought.

All those hopes quickly faded away when that first grenade exploded just behind my hut. Fragments of the brick wall and sections of the thatched roof fell on me. Even though it itched so badly, aided by the thick sweat running down my body, I was hoping it will cover and hide me so that no one else will know I was there as they conducted their door to door search.

As the echoing sound in my ears started to ease out,

I could hear cries of women and children all over the place.

Men shouting as bullets pierced through their bodies, the smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air. The symphony of the automatic riffles piercing through the air. I could tell the difference because the sound was different from the dane gun my father had. I just laid there hoping for a miracle.

Even though I knew I was seconds away from death, a fifteen year old all by herself in what seemed to be a war zone! Really? It was difficult to even comprehend it, I had to swallow the ball that had formed in my throat, and then, My worst fears were confirmed.

A ferocious kick in one swoop brought down my wooden door. Armed with a military lamp that made the room so bright like noon; he quickly spotted me where I laid. I was too scared so I was shaking uncontrollably. We exchanged short quick glances and what I saw was a figure replica of Rimi, the village wrestling champion who was tall, well-built muscular frame. He stood there just watching me from across the tiny mud room.

I could hear the rest of the gang members calling out to him “Mun gama! Mu je! Mu tafi” We are done, let’s go!! How I wished he obliged immediately, he bent over, laid down his gun and lamp

and he forcefully violated me. I could barely offer any resistance since

I had not eaten in two days and was very weak.

The last thing I ate were two pieces of unripe gorriba fruit Tanko brought for me. I was there motionless till midday, when the evacuation team finally arrived, bruised and bleeding out with a complimentary black eye to show for my lame resistance! One of the team members told me: ‘You are lucky to be alive, my friend.” I wasn’t sure if I agreed or disagreed with him. But the mutilated remains of men, women and children all over the place made his argument convincing of some sort.

But, that was a year ago. Today I have a three month old son, a product of that near death experience. I was advised to abort the pregnancy when they found out I was pregnant but I remembered my father had told me some time ago: “Mana-na, abortion is the same as murder!”

“A child is a gift from God” he always reiterated

And so I opted and determined to keep the baby. I promptly named him after my father. The society today call him a bastard, a product of wickedness and evil, but I love him, still.

He is the only family I have! Tanko was killed that day.

And Halima was abducted. I pray she comes back home someday-alive!