For Chiazom, Testament to God's Mercy and Might

I still remember the shivering that came after it all ended. It was profound and my mouth shook as I spoke, ‘I’m so cold’. The medics placed bags of fairly hot liquid around my neck and shoulders to keep me warm. Still, the shivering continued. ‘Turn off the air conditioner’, my Obstetrician said. She worked feverishly, stitching my abdomen. Then it dawned on me that I was shivering because my insides were exposed to the cold. The doctor continued to sew me up after having cut me open to bring you out of my body.

As they continued their work, a song came on in the theatre. ‘I’ve never been more loved than I am right now. I wasn’t holding you up, so there’s nothing I can do to let you down.’ Jireh by Maverick City Music blared soothingly from the speakers in the theatre and at that moment, a wave of gratitude washed over me. Gratitude for the 9 months that had culminated in a great celebration. Gratitude for the grace that fortified me even on the most daunting days. Gratitude for my life and the new life that has come out of it.

A nurse brought you to me, she held you over my face as she asked, ‘Is this a boy or a girl?’ ‘He is a boy”, I replied smiling with tears, and then she placed your tiny brand new body on my shoulder. I couldn’t move my body or hands as I lay still on the operating table, but I managed to move my head, trying to catch a whiff of your smell. "My baby, my son, thank you, Jesus," I whispered as you cried. Your tiny hands and feet shook with each cry—hands and feet that had kicked and moved within me for months. "Mommy is here, darling; don’t cry," I said, even as I continued shedding tears of joy.
The song Jireh continued playing as I reminisced on the events of the last 9 months. It had a been a walk of faith for us and God indeed proved himself as Jireh.

One whole year has passed since that day when you came and changed everything. One year of late nights and early mornings, of faith, resilience, and perseverance, unlearning, learning and relearning, of rediscovering joy in its many forms, of you discrediting my idea of love, opening me up to a love that gives without expectation, of trusting in the Lord Jesus Christ to perfect what he began.

All this time, I have not just grown, I have been reborn. A different woman has emerged - a mother and a warrior. For indeed as you were born, a mother was born in me. All these months I have seen Jireh come through with his work of providing resources both material and immaterial, for many a time what I needed was wisdom to make a decision, knowledge to act with, strength when my body was tired from exhaustion, and patience when I felt tried beyond my ability.

Beyond the rebirth, there’s been a reawakening for me. A new ability to decipher everything in the grand scheme of things. To delineate the ephemeral from the subliminal. An awareness of the many miracles I once took for granted. A consciousness of the rare privilege bestowed on me, of raising another human, of nurturing a life. It has been like having a front-row seat to a show that features the unfolding of a miracle. And that’s what you are, a miracle, a masterpiece, a sign, a wonder.

You are proof of God’s mercy and might. Being your mama has been my favourite role, the greatest privilege of my life. It’s been a blessing watching you morph from the neonate who couldn’t open his eyes to the toddler who prances about, knocking down everything within reach.

It has also been an unveiling, of my strengths, revealing sides to me that I never knew existed.

Today, I thank God for you, his heritage, and his reward. I thank God for the good work he has begun because I know he will perfect and complete it. If nothing, I have learned the truth in your Daddy’s words that “God is a perfectionist”. As we begin another year together, I look forward to the future with faith and gratitude. I am most thankful that I do not get to do this alone having been blessed with a supportive husband and siblings who would walk to the ends of the earth for me. I have also had a community of encouragers and helpers, gardeners for my soul.

Today, I pray that God will grant us a sufficiency of enoughness. I pray that He will lavishly endow us with the courage to forge ahead and faith in the enormity of the future He has designed for us. Here’s to many more years of love, fulfillment, joy, and peace to guard our hearts.

Finding Agape, The Love You Rise Up To

The first time you fell in love, it was with a woman - dark and beautiful. It wasn't her looks however that made you love her for you were yet to decipher the true meaning of beauty. It was the way she catered to you and doted on you like you were the only one in the world. She nurtured you,fed you, nursed you, smothered you with affection, played with you and was always there even when it didn’t seem like you needed her. 

You had no choice really, loving her came naturally. With time though you came to learn her name, not the name everyone else called her but the name exclusive to you, her firstborn son. "Mummy."

The second time you fell in love, it was with a girl. Onome was your cousins' neighbour and you first saw her during the holidays you spent with your cousins, the one that preceded your 2nd year in primary school. Unlike other girls, she ignored dolls and played with the boys, stood up to bullies and always shared her snacks with others. She seemed wise in a way that was unusual with other kids and you stuttered each time she tried to make conversation with you.

The love however disappeared that day you played the game of hide and seek. Everyone hid and she was to find them. You watched her from your hiding place as she walked straight to you - you still do not know how she knew exactly where you had hidden. Instead of screaming that she had found you, she leaned in and kissed you. You stood frozen for some seconds and bolted. You still do not know why you ran but your love for her turned to fear and died that day.

The third time you fell in love, it was with a boy. You knew it was love because even though your Mum, Dad and other relatives were in the room, it seemed like you were alone with him. Everyone else faded as you stared at him. You touched him and he purred and broke into a smile, the best you had seen. That day, even though you didn't know how, you promised yourself that you would always protect him.

The next day at school, you excitedly told your friends about him. Your mother's new born son, your baby brother.

Love for you came in phases, and as you grew, you experienced and received love from different people - family, friends, girlfriends and even strangers. You however learned that some of what you thought of as love were crushes and infatuation - pseudo-love.

You recall that day many years ago in Sunday school where the teacher said love had different types and classified them into three - Eros, Phileo and Agape.

Eros or romantic love he said, is selfish as it is dependent on certain conditions. It is the type that exists between lovers and isn't built to last. Phileo or brotherly love on the other hand is less selfish and is the type a mother/father has for their child. Agape however isn't dependent on any condition or relationship, it loves inspite of faults, errors and mistakes.

You asked if Eros could transition to Agape and he said it could. He said it is the only way Eros could last.

On that day, you promised yourself that you would search for a love like that. One that isn't selfish and dependent on conditions.

Through the years you searched and waited for her, the one who would give you that agape kind of love and even when after medical school you were yet to find her, you didn't lose faith.

You kept your promise to wait, until that day when you sat at the isolation centre with Mitaire, your colleague who was being treated for a virus that she contracted from a patient. As you watched her cough through the pain that racked her body, smiling weakly as she said "hazard of the occupation", you realized you had found Agape.

You really didn't find it, you chose it.

You chose it the day you took the Hippocratic oath, promising to serve as a Doctor in a country where occupational hazard fee for Doctors is less than #50,000 and Doctors sometimes perform surgical procedures with rechargeable lamps and torches.

You affirmed this love each time you place your hand on the forehead of a patient to feel their temperature, unaware of any pre-existing medical condition you may contract.

You practice the patience of Agape each time you deal with a patient feigning sickness just to get the attention of their loved ones or to escape work (malingering). You would let them think they had you fooled too by playing along with them.

You choose Agape’s kindness every time you assist women in labour as they scream in the delivery room and its gentleness on nights when you stay awake with mothers, battling to save the lives of their children.

On that day you realized that instead of holding your breath as you wait for that 'special' one, you ought to pray for her because while you'd share your life with her, she'd share you with a hundred thousand others whom you have sworn to care for.

As you watched Mitaire battle for her life, not sure what the outcome would be, not holding a grudge for the patient that infected her, you realized that Agape love isn't something to be waited on. It is a love you give even when there are no guarantees of receiving.

Agape is a life and you chose it the day you decided to care for the sick regardless of their sex, creed, beliefs and social status, or whether their condition came by error or by their recklessness.

Agape, love in its purest form you have learned, is not something to be waited on but something you rise up to, it begins with a purpose and is done on purpose.

For The One Who Loved With No Plan B

Today you sit by yourself and you take a sip from the glass of wine in your hand - tart and sour.

Yesterday, you were not by yourself. Yesterday you sat with her as you watched the sky together. The sky was starless, not even the moon was in sight and you laughed when she said the stars and moon must have broken up with the sky.

Today you listen to the playlist you really like. The one with songs that remind you of fire, joy, life, happy days, love - and her.

Yesterday you listened to the playlist with her but you didn't tell her. You didn't tell her the songs reminded you of magic and your childhood and sunshine and happy days - and her. But you should have.

Today you replay your conversations in your head. You recall everything, every word, sigh, joke, laughter, arguments, and even the unspoken words - the ones communicated through each other’s eyes.

Yesterday you listened like you were not really interested, but you were. You were happy about, and very interested in the conversations and would have given anything to hear the words that were left unsaid. But you didn't tell her.

Today you hear her voice again as she spoke, "no day passes without thoughts of you on my mind". She said. And you knew it was the truth.

Yesterday you heard those words from her, she spoke calmly and wholeheartedly in her ‘I don’t care if this makes me vulnerable’ kind-of-way. But you kept mute because you were angry - maybe because you felt vulnerable too, and scared. Really, you were unsure how you felt.

Today you sip from your glass and you are not sure if it's regret you feel. Regret for the words you could have said, the thoughts you could have shared, the hugs you could have given, the kisses you could have drank in, every scent of her that you could have taken in and the contours that you could have memorized.

Yesterday you were not sure what to feel either but you knew one thing for sure. You liked your conversations. You were afraid because you felt vulnerable, yet you wanted to talk, to hug, to kiss, to take in her scent and to memorize every curve and contour. But you said nothing and barely did.

Today you feel the tingle in your throat as you swallow your tart and sour wine. You feel the tingle as you recall the words you should have said to her. Your truth, the gospel of all you adored about her, with veracity that held no contradiction.

Yesterday you wanted to say those words but you didn't. To tell her she meant more to you than she knew but you let fear stifle your truth because you thought that would be giving her power over you. And your heart.

Today you wish you had said those words to her. You wish you had let go of your fear or acted in spite of them.

Yesterday you tried to be strong for you, to protect yourself, your pride, your heart.

Today you wish you had stayed weak for once. Weak enough to be human. Human enough to admit that you wanted the friendship, the laughter, the joys and moments of rapturous delight.

Yesterday you held back, yesterday you chose you, yesterday you did what you thought was right. Yesterday she questioned your aloofness and told you she needed certitude about what you shared but then, you asked her to never reach out to you again.

Today you wish you had not said those words. Today you wish you could speak to her just one more time. To tell her all the things you didn't say yesterday.

Yesterday you worried that letting her in would start a fire that may never go out. That she had effortless va va voom and would always be the one who made the hours seem like seconds.

Today you know for sure, she did start a fire that may never be quenched. Today you try to forget, but you are learning a new truth, that the heart has a mind of its own.

Yesterday you didn't tell her that no matter what, she would always hold a place in your heart.

So today you write to let her know that you still carry her and may never stop. And that regardless of what she thinks, your heart still remembers.

Today, you sit by yourself as you sip from your glass of wine and you raise that glass to the girl who loved you with no Plan B for though she is not here today, you will always know that it is her who loved you with her spirit. It is her who would have walked to the ends of the earth with and for you …and perhaps, even bleed for you. 

But yesterday, you let her go.

The Blind Spot, What If?

 

A colleague once shared a video that showed a father run his car over his child.

The father was driving in from work and as he maneuvered his car so as to park, his young son (about 3 or 4 years old) ran out of the house to meet him. The car is an SUV so the man doesn't see the boy and the tyre climbed the son who laid down screaming. It was the mother who walked out at the time that ran to her husband, gesturing for him to reverse as their son was trapped under the tyre.

I couldn't watch the video and only listened to others talk about it. Watching it would have given me nightmares as I do not have the heart for blood, violence, torture or horror. 

My colleague who shared the video said the baby survived but we all agreed that the father may develop a phobia for driving as a result of the trauma. It is not his fault though, his baby was in his blind spot.

A blind spot is a place in which people or objects are invisible even though they are there.

Days later, I listened to a message by Bishop T.D. Jakes titled 'The Blind Spot' and it made me realize that just like the father, I too may have people being crushed and smothered because they are in my blind spot.

It could be a blind spot created by my beliefs, values and experiences. So I may treat people unfairly without knowing it just because I'm minding my business and staying true to me.

It brought so many questions to the fore, like, if my faith were to be measured by how I treat people, would I still be worthy?

Has my spirituality saturated my behaviour that my vertical now overwhelms my horizontal so I focus on what I think is right and do not care if others suffer because of my actions?

When after singing in worship, lifting up holy hands and praying in tongues I am mean to others, do I reflect God’s love?

If someone goes on their knees tonight asking God to take out their enemies, would I be that enemy?

What if while castigating people in the name of God, I am destroying his elect - the ones he died for?

If my love were weighed on a scale, would it be mature? Perfect enough to cast out fear? Pure enough to make me blameless before God's judgement seat?

Or do I have selective amnesia? Focusing on the glaring flaws of others and forgetting that not so long ago I was enmeshed in the dirt and mud of sin?

Do I reflect the mercy I have been given?

Have I forgotten that mercy doesnt end with me but begins with me?

Do I hold others hostage for being human? Do I love things more than people?

I could be saved and still be wrong - so I have learned, but am I honest enough to admit that I can be wrong or that having good sense of judgement doesn't guarantee right(eous)ness?

Am I living for love?

Am I freely giving the same grace I have received? The same amazing grace that gives me the audacity to say:

Once I was lost but now I am found.

Once I was blind, now I can see.

Once I was hurt, now I have been healed.

Once I was broken now I am whole.

Can I give of this grace without compromising my values, my faith, my essence (ME)?

If I step out of myself to see me as others do, what will I see? If I shift my focus to look from others’ point of view, would I be horrified?

What if like the Dad in the video my former colleague shared, I have run over the ones I should love and cannot even see them gasp in pain because I am operating from a blind spot?

What if it is I who desperately needs grace, who needs to step out, who needs to see the light? What if?

Go BIG or Go HOME!

Will an extremist mindset not set in, resulting in perfectionist tendencies? Where do we draw the line in becoming insensitive and losing out on other aspects of life? In breaking the rules one mostly acts before thinking but will there be repercussions we may never recover from? 

These were my questions and comments after an opening speech at a meeting I participated in. It was a review meeting and as the name implies, it is geared towards evaluation of work done within a programmatic quarter, actions taken, how they have served to achieve targets set, sharing best practices and brain storming on what needs to be done to improve work and quality as well as ensure sustainability of a given project.

People are called out on performance issues, sometimes voices are raised, methods are scrutinized, egos get bruised, good work is commended, people fight, make love - fight again and make love again - or not, but ultimately the goal remains growth for the organization which will in turn mean growth for all. 

So my questions were some of those going on in my head as the Speaker delivered his speech titled ‘Go BIG or Go HOME’. 

I pondered as he spoke and eventually asked my questions when he asked if anyone had comments or questions. The nod of other colleagues as I spoke showed that they too had probably been thinking the same. He noted that with success most times rationalization and sensitivity takes the back burner as growth and achievement leaves no time for being emotional with decision making. 

This mentality forces one to be creative and to utilize every second maximally because it is in the maximizing of the moment that we are able to make sense of the hours, days, weeks, months and years. 

“What then becomes of family?” Another colleague asked. “Would it be worth it to win at the detriment of family and have no one to share success with?” 

“How do you find the balance with work and family?” He added.

“Family will be fine especially as going big also means winning on all fronts.” This was the Speaker’s response to the questions posed by my colleague. 

As the conversation went on I recalled recent conversations with mentors and contemporaries about finding a balance with work - and life. 

The consensus has been that once one gets into work, it becomes life too and trying to find a balance will leave one burned out or even frustrated because the overlap is inevitable. 

Work will always be there and may sometimes take away the time that should be given to family, friends, spiritual activities, social activities & others (clubs, charitable causes et al). 

The best way to go therefore to find this balance, is in not delineating work from life by accepting that work is life too because more often than not it defines life, and even gives it the value that we desire by paying for the cost of living. 

Knowing this helps to create a different perspective and let’s us embrace work as well as incorporate it into other aspects of life. 

For example, I function as a Daughter, Sister, Friend, Aunt et al and having this consciousness helps me to take on these roles and to switch between my responsibilities with grace. Adding Colleague or Team member to the list of roles I take on will birth the balance that I desire and work will become life too.

Then I will be able to plan better and not feel guilty or inadequate to handle work and life. So instead of feeling guilty on days when I cannot meet the demands of one of my responsibilities, I reflect and seek ways to improve and succeed. This brings the balance.

This balance will however be only meaningful and gratifying if I win at work by leaving no room for mediocrity and choosing to ‘Go BIG or Go HOME’. 

But am I willing to be knowingly irrational and insensitive in my quest for success? 

Will I intentionally kick or even cut off another human’s balls so I can score a goal? 

Can I be excellent and still be humane? 

Perhaps ‘yes’, I can choose to not settle and still be sensitive. I can be rational and humane but still be known as the one with a knack for excellence. 

The one who separates feelings from logic when it comes to work because they understand that emotions do not win races. The one that would not stop until the goal is achieved and who like Apostle Paul is focused on “pressing towards the mark for the prize of the high calling”.

Maybe I will have days when no one and nothing else matters but the ball and the net in front of me. For as Nelson Mandela said “there is no passion to be found playing small - in settling for a life that is less than the one you are capable of living.” I can do my work and still have personal relationships thrive.

So like the Speaker, I say to you too ‘Go BIG or Go HOME’ but strive to always check to ensure you do not sacrifice family, health and life in the process. 

Be determined to go BIG and I hope this determination becomes the yeast that causes you to rise and rise until the lamb in you becomes a lion that roars so loudly that the world has no choice but to stop and listen.

The Thing About Growth And Love

The thing about growth and love is that with time, our expectations become more realistic, they change. How a person looks pales, and their stability, values and integrity become priority.

Dependability becomes important as it is a great measure of personal integrity, so you watch out for their ability to keep the simplest promise.

Accountability and a high sense of responsibility then overrides even the number of degrees acquired. Excitement takes the backseat and stickability fills the front burner.

The butterflies in your tummy are ignored and the entire tapestry of the ‘relate-tions’ take the fore. Each thread - of respect (for self, others, boundaries), compassion, confidence, empathy, altruism, vision, motivation and even faith, comes under scrutiny. 

These matter more now, because unconditional love is not an event but a result, a tapestry of unique threads woven painstakingly and intentionally, over time by hands that know imperfection is irrelevant where there is a determination to harness the differences and create a harmony of the good, ugly, and everything in-between.

A Million Little Miracles

Those days of trying not to remember, of trying to forget and block out memories of pain, treachery, loss and the hardest things you had to deal with. Memories that tug at your heart, moments when faith fled in the face of repeated failures and incertitude got the better of you reminding you that the vanquisher can sometimes become the vanquished. 

Those days, a reminder that even tough souls can feel diminutive and puny when confronted with the reality of hope deferred, of promises broken, of powerlessness in the face of danger, of love lost. Memories that are a mocking, almost jarring reminder of your humanness, that just like everyone else, you are not immune to the rocks life throws causing even warriors to stumble, to fall. 

Those days characterized by chills from icy rains, when the sun became an alien element and the stars all but disappeared leaving vestiges, prints from a seeming distant past – a past filled with warmth, and laughter and light. 

Those days, don’t you see now how they toughened your now valourous soul? Don’t you see how like an eagle they came to teach you discomfort with the mundane, the mediocre, the ordinary? Don’t you see how when you seat with kings you too speak with wisdom having experienced firsthand the pain of loss and the joy of victory? Don’t you see the sagacity you now possess that has made your mind a rich repository of insight gained from falling and rising? 

Those days, don’t you see how they have transcended the realm of reality to become just memories? Don’t you see how you now dance with intent knowing that any kind of dance is better than no dancing at all? Don’t you see how when you laugh it is hearty and without restraints? 

Those days, the pain, hurt, agony, struggles and losses have now deadened fear because in retrospect, they really were tiny little cells that now make up the whole that you have become. 

The rain stopped, the fog disappeared, the sun rose, and every breaking of the dawn has become a reminder that much more than flesh, blood and bones, you are an enigma consisting a million little miracles.

A Victim Of Truth

The day your cousin Tanure was shot on campus, two things happened to you. You learned a hard lesson and also discovered your life’s purpose. You learned to never trust anyone and it was the hardest lesson of your life. A lesson that left more questions than answers. How could anyone be angry enough with Tanure to the extent of killing him? How could anyone even hate him? 

Tanure, your sweet, handsome and gentle cousin was one person whose integrity you could vouch for. But it wasn’t just you, everyone who crossed his path could have sworn that he was the epitome of a well brought up child who had grown into a responsible young man, the kind any parent would be proud of. You always joked that you would organize an audition to select a ‘befitting’ wife for him when it was time to get married. You knew it was funny and unnecessary because he didn’t even have a girlfriend, you had never known him with one, so whoever he eventually decided to get married to would be a ‘befitting’ girl he really loved.

Tanure had an answer for every question and gave a timeline to provide answers to the questions he didn’t have answers for. He would read up and provide the answers as promised - he read books like they were food and literally consumed any information material within sight. He neither smoked nor drank. He never made a promise he wouldn’t keep and never paid compliments unless he meant them. He periodically organized outreaches to give food to the less privileged within the community that hosted the campus. He was loved, admired and respected, the archetypal man of the people even at his young age.

So when news about his death being a retaliatory act by a rival cult group began to spread, everyone was taken aback. It had to be a lie. Everyone swore that investigations would help ascertain the truth but investigations proved that Tanure was not just a cultist but the head of his cult group. He was called the Capone. 

The truth was a pill too bitter to swallow. How could your favourite cousin and best friend be a cultist yet you didn’t know? When did he attend meetings? He was available almost anytime you wanted to see him. How could someone as gentle and well informed as him be involved in cultism? He was neither insecure nor one to prove a point to people. 

You cried so much at the realization that you never really knew him & you felt betrayed. You wished you could talk to him one more time so you could ask ‘why’. You knew you would never trust anyone again, you had become a victim of the truth that anyone is capable of anything.

Tanure was in his 3rd year as an Accounting student while you were in your 2nd year as a Law student when he was killed.

It was a tough time on campus as killings became a regular occurrence. Shortly after Tanure’s death, a series of coordinated killings followed. The head of one of the boys killed was even hung on a pole within the campus, students and lecturers woke up in the morning to see the gory sight. The Vice Chancellor announced that academic activities would be suspended for a while and students were asked to go home till it was deemed safe enough to resume.

After Tanure’s death and burial, you decided that you would dedicate your life to educating young people about the dangers of cultism, to reduce the burden as much as possible. So upon graduation, you abandoned your Law degree and started a ‘Cut Cultism (CSquared)’ campaign. You organized outreaches in primary and secondary schools to educate and dissuade young boys and girls from joining cults. You organized events, planned youth camps and trips geared towards exposing young people to better. You sought mentors and coaches for them and also supported them with finances to learn valuable skills. You gave your time, energy and resources to ensuring young people didn’t tow Tanure’s path. You would save as much as possible. This was your purpose. 

So when 5 years later you met Gerald at the launch of your foundation, you were excited to know he shared your vision. He had sought you out for partnership with his organization focused on the reformation of ex-cultists. He also partnered security agencies to provide support and protection to those who wanted out but were scared of the repercussions of denouncing cultism. He shared his testimonies noting that the reformed cultists could serve as mentors for the youngsters you worked with by sharing their experiences, and guiding them against pitfalls. You liked the idea and told him you would think about it. He asked to continue the conversation over drinks and dinner another time, and you said yes to what would be your first date in 2 years. That first date led to many more and your friendship blossomed alongside the partnership. 

Gerald was like Tanure in many ways. Calm yet firm, a voracious reader, an introvert yet influential with people, a man who kept his word. He had also attended your school and when you shared Tanure’s story, he said he recalled the period of cult rivalry and killings as he was in his final year and had his graduation delayed because of the temporary suspension of academic activities.

You liked him and decided that you would say yes if he asked for a romantic relationship. 

The day he did, he simply paused the video game of FIFA you both were playing, months after your first encounter, called your name and said “I love you.” He paused as though to let his declaration sink in and continued. “I like your zeal, drive, passion and commitment. I admire your discipline and fortitude. I am fascinated by the fact that you can be serious yet sexy, feisty yet sultry. I like the fact that I can let down my guard with you and trust that I am safe. I love you and would be honoured to be your man.”

You were taken aback because it was unexpected but you smiled because he had proven again that he was not one to mince words about his purpose and intentions. You said “Yes”, and as you looked in his eyes, for the first time in years you decided that you had found a man you could trust. That evening, you shared a glass of Champagne and sealed your new union with a kiss.

Gerald was a good man and an even better lover. You wore his love well, you wore it with pride. He was yours. This man whose presence made everyone else comfortable, who worked hard and played hard. He wasn’t perfect but he was enough, enough to make you feel like you won a prize you could never have earned. You were in love and for the first time, marriage became something to look forward to.

The day everything changed you learned two lessons. You learned that forgiveness is easier preached than practiced and that love is never enough. 

It was the day after Gerald asked you to marry him. You said yes and the next day he asked his Chef to take the evening off. He wanted to cook for you personally, a celebratory dinner he called it. You smiled as you watched him chop the vegetables he was to cook with. As you conversed he sought to know if you had any concerns or questions you wanted him to answer. 

“What is the worst thing you have done? What have you not shared with me?” You sat down as you asked, a glass of wine in hand.

He responded that it was a question he did not expect and one he would rather not answer as he didn’t want to tell a lie. But you pressed and  after a while, he gave in.

“I was the leader of the cult group that carried out the coordinated killings on campus in my final year. I gave the orders and supervised all the killings.”

He finished and waited for you to respond but you said nothing. You studied him, his beautiful face and well manicured hands holding the knife and for the first time you felt fear in his presence.

You muttered “Tanure” and he nodded.

Your Gerald, this disciplined, intelligent and refined man whom you had agreed to marry, was the same brutish boy that ordered the death of your favourite cousin and others, and even master minded the hanging of a human head on a pole for all to see. 

You tried to get up but your legs felt heavy, as though they were no longer yours.

He stood still watching you and you heard him saying something about his past activities being the motivation for his work with ex-cultists but you were not even listening. 

Tears trickled down your face, and he moved quickly to hold you but you shrugged him off. Minutes ago, he was perfect but the truth he shared made him seem like a monster.

You know that he loves you genuinely and is no longer the person who committed those atrocities but none of that matter as your only thoughts are about how to cleanse your body of his every touch and erase every memory of him from your head. You admit that you have once again become a victim of the truth.

Warri: A Town of Diminished Glory And A Story Yet To Be Written

Photo Credit: Wikipedia

Dilapidated and washed out buildings adorned the roads lined with dirt like confetti on an aisle. Tri-cycle operators jostled for space with car owners who were maneuvering through the roads that were fast wearing out from an apparent lack of maintenance. The market we were driving past had spilled onto the road as traders hawked their wares on makeshift sheds and tables that they placed by the side of the roads hindering the free flow of traffic. 

As we progressed, I stared in wonder, all the while thinking how this town that seemed to be deteriorating by the day no longer felt like home to me. The air of gloominess was palpable and seemed to reflect through the lines of worry etched on the faces of residents who seemed to have nothing but complaints when they spoke. 

“Things tough o” had become like a mantra on the tongue of most people and I had to make a note about protecting my mental space by building walls of faith to keep out pessimism. Reality however made it seem like a Herculean task. 

Is it the aftermath of the lockdown induced by the COVID-19 pandemic? Is it the sequel to the much touted recession declared by the Federal Government? Is it the effect of years of neglect and ineptitude on the part of local leaders? 

I sought answers but was jolted back to reality by the loud voices of two commuters who were now quarreling on the road. Apparently one vehicle had hit another, and as the owners stood assessing the damage caused by the impact of the collusion, curse words spoken in pidgin rented the air. Their vehicles had blocked the roads and I looked on in amazement, bewildered by the fact that they didn’t even bother to pull over to the side of the road in order to pay proper attention to their fight, and also gave no thought to other road users who were now stuck because the road had been blocked by the accidented vehicles. 

“It is a Nigerian thing”, I thought to myself and as I watched them yell at each other, I wanted to plead with them to stop because the accident only provided an outlet to vent and transfer aggression resulting from pent up frustration, and that recent national events would make any sane person stressed enough to snap at the slightest provocation. I wanted to tell them that it wasn’t their fault that roads were not constructed with growth and exponential population increase in mind and that expansion of the roads would have made commuting easy.

I wanted to tell them that the traders who had encroached into the roads with their goods were also part of the problem but I reminded myself that an effective Local Government and State Ministry of Environment would have put the traders in check. I also wanted to tell them that mentally sound adults do not resort to insults and exchange of blows in public when confronted with challenges when I heard a fellow onlooker scream “Warri nor dey carry last!” 

His excitement would have been noticeable even by a visually impaired person and as I shifted my gaze to him, I wondered if he knew that Warri deserved better than had been meted to it. I wondered if he knew that the state of neglect would take years to correct, years that could have been spent focusing on sustaining development and innovation. I wondered if he knew that he was a victim of a retinue of leaders that could have invested in education, healthcare and improved infrastructure like the overburdened road. I wondered if he would recognize better if it stared him in the face or if the deprivation that the city suffered had eroded the part of his mind built for that purpose. I wondered if somewhere in his heart he knew the truth but had bought into the lie “Warri nor dey carry last!” that had become a consolation for the mediocrity that pervaded the state of affairs in a town once touted as Nigeria’s ‘Oil city’. I wondered if he knew that Warri in its current state would not even hold a candle to the shadow of its former self. 

As I rummaged my mind for the right words to say, I noticed that the fighting duo had stopped and that vehicular movement had begun again but before I could heave a sigh of relief, I sighted another long line of vehicles ahead, another traffic had built up. It was evident that we would spend at least 30 minutes before we advanced from that spot. 

I scanned the environment and saw that there was no way out of the traffic, then I heaved my sigh but it was not one borne out of relief but pain for a town whose decline would be uninhibited if there is no intervention, a town that houses Nigeria’s second refinery but had now reportedly become a hub for a high number of internet fraudsters, majority of whom are in their teens and twenties.

I heaved my sigh for the town that was once amongst the cream of the crop of towns in the Niger-Delta but had now been set back by incessant communal clashes and poor leadership, a town whose residents seem to have lost the fight in them, but though its glory may seem to have diminished, Warri still holds hope of rising and its story rewritten.

P.S: I have enjoyed local delicacies like banga soup, owho soup, starch, kworka (corn moi moi), banga rice, tapioca and many others.

Above All Else, Let Him Be Kind

I recently watched clips of a video posted by a friend on her WhatsApp status. It was a speaker talking about the kinds of children there are and the kind to pray for. She stated that there are Male, Female and Kind children. As such having 10 children wouldn’t guarantee love, respect and affection especially in old age if the children are not kind. In the same vein, a person with one child may get so much attention and affection if that child is kind. 

She went on to talk about a woman who sold her property and jewelry to ensure her child schooled in one of the best universities in the world. He graduated, got a great job abroad, got married and forgot Mummy. He had not contacted his mother in about 4 years because his wife said his mother is a witch. If like me you grew up in Nigeria, then you would not be alien to stories like this. In the boy’s case, I dare say a witch who didn’t kill her son but went on to sacrifice for him to be successful is a good witch who deserves that boy’s affection and honour.

I pondered on the message long after I had watched the video and thought to myself that kindness - consideration, generosity and compassion is indeed underrated and so days later when I had a conversation with a friend who sought to know what I desired most in a spouse, I said I desire a man with a kind heart. I used to say respect was more important to me than affirmations of love but I am learning that while love and respect is good, love that goes with kindness is best.

I know the great Apostle Paul while writing about love, stated that “Love is kind” amongst many other virtues against which to measure love but I think it is easier to just quote than to practice what has been written.

I think also that love is like a vehicle with parts, as such it would be good to treat kindness as a part of love, extricate it and examine it independently to see how functional it is in the vehicle called love. This in my opinion would bring to the fore some inadequacies that we may not be aware of and may overlook.

I say this because we (me inclusive) majorly think of, describe & measure love against generalities like a partner’s ability to cause the butterflies in our tummy to flutter, turn heads when they walk into a room, fly across seas and oceans just to surprise us, give head spinning gifts, acquire more degrees than a thermometer and want us enough to commit to a lifetime union.

This reminds me of a story I read sometime this year about a groom that gifted his bride a plot of land on the moon, the land cost $45. I thought it was funny as I wondered who the realtor for the property is, how the land was surveyed, who issued the title deed, how she would go to inspect the property amongst other issues. I thought it was funny until I read that her friend had also asked her own Fiancé to get her a land on Moon too. 

For real? 

I laughed really hard and loudly too as I wondered how I would react if someone said they had gotten me land on the moon. Land that I cannot see or use? Thanks but I'll pass.

I know women say they want a man who would give them the moon but I didn’t think a man would take it, literally. Maybe women should stop using too many metaphors and just say what we mean, huh?

Anyway to my conversation, I think that it is not bad to seek the afore listed traits in a partner but rarely do we ponder on what their reaction would be if for example you have a surgery that makes it impossible to engage in sexual intercourse for 12 months or more - God forbid bad thing, it’s not your portion abi? What if it happens? How would he or she react? 

Or if you lose a limb or more, or suffer a burn that makes your face unrecognizable or never achieve the dreams and goals you talk about everyday while they stare in pride and awe, those dreams that made them leave their ex because you fit what the book they read described. What if life makes you a shadow of yourself? 

Is it not a kind heart that would see your soul instead and chose you even when you wouldn’t choose yourself? Is it not a kind heart that would look at you all cranky and teary eyed from sleepless nights spent nursing your new born and just hold you as you cry? Is it not a kind heart that would not jeer when your erection is not as turgid as when you were in your teens, 20s and 30s but lovingly wait till you get it up or not? Is it not a kind heart that would look at your flaccid boobs and saggy tummy and remember that you traded your firmness for the children that now mean the world to you? Is not a kind heart that would seek ways to lighten the other's burden and not let them bear their load alone?

Is it not a kind heart that would speak softly when you lose your money in the business they warned you not to invest in because it seemed shady? Is it not a kind heart that would wait patiently as they watch you wallow in pain and grief at the loss of a loved one so much that you lose interest in life itself? Is it not a kind heart that would on the days when you look at the grey haired person with a wrinkled face in the mirror wondering where your youth has gone, hold you firmly and say they would still chose you if life was theirs to do again? Is it not a kind heart that would focus on the similarities in the face of overwhelming differences? 

Isn’t kindness what Jesus commanded when he said to do unto others as we want others to do unto us? Isn’t kindness the milk that nourishes love? Isn’t it the veil and drape with which love covers a multitude of sins? Isn't it the bedrock upon which responsibility and accountability lies? Isn’t it therefore the crucial thing to seek as we sift through the love professed by our beloved?

Are my thoughts too simplistic and idealistic?

Like the speaker in the video on my friend's WhatsApp status said, is it not a kind child who would inconvenience himself to care for a parent in old age, knowing that even wealth amassed has its limits where care is needed? Is it not a kind hearted partner that would in turn demonstrate and pass on the traits that make a kind child?

Does it not make sense then that while good looks, wealth, status and influence is worthy of being coveted and even necessary, Okiemute believes that above all else, a spouse with a kind heart is better?