Motherhood: The Gift You Cannot Purchase

"Eyes on the shuttle. No matter what is happening around, keep your hand firmly on your Racket and stay focused. Until the game is over, nothing else matters".

You smile as you watch them. Kore, your husband of 12 years teaching Makashe your 4 year old daughter to play Badminton.

As you watch them you recall your sessions with him, many years ago.

You were an amateur player and he was an award winning Badminton champion.

You met on the court where you first started going to play. Playing was a hobby you took up more from boredom than passion.

You had just finished your final exams and project defense and was home waiting for your results and also preparing for the National Youth Service Corps program.

"Eyes on the Shuttle. Focus...no, forget about me and keep your eyes on the Shuttle...wait...hold your Racket firmly. Like a sword." He would take the Racket from whomever he was coaching, to show them. "Can you see the way I'm holding it? It is your sword, for defense and offense. So use it and make sure you never drop the ball or in this case the shuttle."

He would hand back the Racket, and the game would continue.

There were other Coaches but he was evidently passionate about the game and each time he tutored you, your passion grew.

After each game, while others sat to have drinks, he would briefly exchange pleasantries, get in his car and drive off. He never stayed back for small talk.

You admired his passion and discipline but more importantly, you admired him.

He wasn't drop dead gorgeous but he was attractive. He had a calm demeanor and a look that seemed to say "I'm here to win the game of life."

Those were his words the first time you talked. It was after a tournament that your team won.

"I see life as a game that can be won with the right strategy and I am here to win the game."

As you conversed, he commended you. "I like your discipline and commitment" he said. "If you put this into other aspects of your life, success is guaranteed. That's why I like Badminton, it's like life itself."

Hearing him compliment you meant more to you than winning the tournament.

That was the day he asked you out on a date. For some seconds you didn't know what to say. A Date? With Obakore the disciplined, suave Doctor cum Badminton Champ?

You kept smiling when you heard him say "You don't have to say yes. I just thought it would be nice to hang out in a different environment, away from the court."

"Yes. It's okay" You retorted quickly. "I would love to."

Then he smiled and you smiled too.

You watch him now with Makashe. Like him, she seem like she was born to play and win the game. She served the shuttle and returned his passes with vigour. She didn't even look in your direction, her eyes were on the Shuttle and nothing else seemed to matter.

As you watch them, you reminisce on all that has happened in the last 13 years. So much has changed from that day you both went on your first date.

Kore proposed marriage 5 months after and 10 months into your relationship, you were married. You were 24 and he was 29 years old.

You were still serving at the time and in those early days you felt your heart would burst from too much happiness. You were happy in a way that felt illegal. Kore was an all or nothing man and loved the same way. He held nothing back in showing how much he loved and valued you. Life was perfect.

After service year, you joined your Mum in her catering business and 2 years after, you started your own company.

Kore's medical practice was sailing smoothly. All was well until three years after, then the questions started. "Why is your tummy still flat? Why have you not started a family?"

Even friends asked when you both planned to start a family.

You had thought marrying meant starting your family but soon learned that for society a couple become a family only when a child is born.

You didn't give much thought to comments but three years passed and you still hadn't taken in. The tests results said you both had nothing to worry about.

In the fourth year of your marriage, you decided to try In Vitro Fertilization (IVF) but two attempts failed. 

You had faith still. Then five years passed and people started using words like 'barren' and 'infertile' to describe you.

You would attend baby showers and then naming ceremonies and dedications and birthdays and yet another baby shower and you wondered why your case was different.

You started having sleepless nights but the last straw was an altercation between Kore and his Mum.

Kore's sister who lived in Norway was expecting a baby and his Mum who was to go nurse her stayed the night at your house. She was to fly the next day from the Nnamdi Azikiwe International Airport. 

It was the kind of visit you dreaded but all seemed to be going well until she brought up a conversation about a Pig rearing business she intended to start because a church member doing same business said Pigs bore as many as 10 to 14 Piglets per litter. She thought it would be good investment unlike Fishery where she lost over 300 fishes. From Fishes and Pigs she began a sermon on fruitfulness. Even Jesus cursed a Fig tree for not bearing fruits. Then she turned to you and asked if you knew of anyone that may have cursed you.

That questioned turned into an argument that ended in Kore asking his beloved Mum whom he revered above everyone else never to come to his house or interfere in his life again.

The next day, his entire family began to call. The clan came down on you, the barren woman who makes a son disrespect his mother.

Those were the worst days of your life.

You curled up and cried but Kore would remind you that you were enough.

"You are the prize my darling, not a baby."

But words no longer meant anything to you. You couldn't hold words in your arms or feed them and play with them like you did with your Nieces and Nephews.

"You can't let life dictate to you. You have to set a new standard for your happiness" he would say.

You tried to be strong like him but you couldn't. The world judged you more than it did him and before long you began to question his love for you. 

What if he too got tired? What if he left you?

As your insecurity grew, your faith and confidence waned and you began to lose yourself.

In your quest for a baby, you met other women in the same predicament.

You visited churches, herbal homes and fertility specialists. You chewed leaves that you never knew existed, drank concoctions of all kinds and even carried out rituals but it was all an effort in futility.

You still remember the day you were told to buy a pregnant Monkey. You were to care for the Monkey till it delivered and when the infant was born, you would strap it to your back, a few hours for seven days chanting incantations.

You bought the Monkey and got a farmer to nurse it till it delivered. You were there on the day it delivered and as you watched the newly born Monkey suckle its mother's breast you pictured it on your back and you realized that you were going crazy.

You left the farm on that day crying. You wondered what Kore who had no idea what you had been doing would say if he knew half of what you had done.

That was the day you decided to dictate to life.

You vowed never to stress over a baby and focused on your relationship with God. You took courses for your business and made peace with Kore's Mum. She was still hostile but you didn't let her attitude bother you.

You began to work with organizations that support girls looking to sell their children because of poverty, neglect/abscondment by their partners or because of the circumstances surrounding their pregnancy like rape. You joined in counselling them and setting them up with businesses and jobs.

It was in the 7th year of your marriage that you became pregnant for the first time. You still recall the day you held Makashe in your arms, her little fingers curled around yours as she breathed gently against your skin. You cried so much as you watched her, and called her Makashe an Urhobo name meaning 'Angel'. She is the gift you could never have paid for.

Aside the girls, you also started a group for other couples trying to conceive. Everyone shares their story, encouraging one another and praying with each other because a couple with the right information and a strong support system will have an easy journey.

Like you, they too learned to dictate to life and not waste their pain. Some members of the group also started to have their babies.

Today, you are pregnant again and as you watch Makashe play with Kore, tears fill your eyes because more than anyone you understand that children are priceless gifts that can never be earned. The only thing a recipient can do with their gift is VALUE and NURTURE it the best way possible.

You have learned that Motherhood is a gift that can't always be purchased.

Surviving Abuse, Today The Caged Bird Sings

You look at the young lady sharing her story of rape and your mind flash back to that day, many years ago.

"Kiss me." He had said the words calmly.

You stood dazed, unsure of what to do. 

As you stared at him, you could tell that he wasn't joking. You felt your palms getting warm and moist but you did not move.

He sat down, then he pulled you unto his laps. You followed like a dummy, almost as though a spell had been cast on you. 

You who would mince no words in telling any guy off, sat still on his laps, his hands groping your body. He moved from your waist to your breasts, but you cringed and he stopped. 

He waited for about thirty seconds and moved up to your shoulder.

He tried to massage your shoulders, maybe in a bid to calm your nerves but you just sat still. Then he turned your head and tried to kiss you. You were uncomfortable, your neck hurt because of your sitting position and every part of your body screamed "NO!", but you said nothing. 

You did not respond to his kisses either, but he continued and kissed you for about a minute.

Then he stopped.

As you sat on him, you could feel his erection building and your feet curled in irritation. He was breathing heavily, you could feel his heart beating fast. You wanted to tell him off, but you couldn't. You just sat still and when he tried to pull you in for another kiss, you wrigled out of his arms, shaking your head. You couldn't stand up and it was as though a force kept you down. You simply shook your head and fought back tears.

Then he turned you to himself and whispered the words he had said many times before. The words that made him earn your trust, enough to get you in a hotel room alone with him.

"You are like a daughter to me, and I always have your best interest at heart. I'll never hurt you."

You believed those words and even though his present actions negated his promises, you couldn't react.

How could you? He was the one you confided in about almost anything and even your parents had come to trust him.

You imagine what their reaction would be if you told them what just happened.

"Chief Lucky? No, he wouldn't do that."

Even your friends would ask "are you sure of what you are saying?" 

He was your hero and your faith in him had earned him the respect of the people in your life. He probably was a hero in their eyes as well.

Chief Lucky.

Those who had not met him had read about him on the news. He was an overachiever, a pioneer in the field of Engineering, a doting father and loving husband.

He was a quintessential gentleman. Refined and elegant. He spoke about everything with aplomb, from international politics to local politics, cars, sports, music, culture, dance, books, fashion, food and wine. He loved his wine and had them delivered from different parts of the world.

You still remember when he invited you on a trip to Paris. You wondered aloud what you'd be doing with him on such a trip and he had joked about wanting you to drink Champagne in Paris and to see 'high fashion, real Couture'.

You declined politely noting that you had exams coming up and he gave a half hearted laugh saying "what would be my excuse to my staff for travelling with you? I was just teasing and I'm impressed that you said no, just as I expected. Not many young ladies would say no to such an offer, I'm proud of you."

He had pulled you in for a hug that day and you suspected that he wasn't teasing but you shrugged it off.

He was someone you looked up to and he had consistently been a pillar of support from the first day you met him, a meeting you had termed as divinely orchestrated.

You had gone to his company to seek Internship placement.

As you sat at the reception waiting to see the HR officer, he walked in. He was seeing off a guest whom you later found out was the Speaker of the House of Assembly.

He glanced in your direction briefly and before you could mutter any greeting, walked out with his guest.

The HR officer later said they had accepted the maximum number of Interns for the year and politely turned down your application. As you walked out of the premises, in low spirits, you saw him again, standing at the drop off area as he waited for his driver. He asked what you wanted and you told him. He gave you his card and asked that you call later as he was in a hurry.

When you spoke that evening, he said that even if he could give you an Internship opportunity or even a job, he wouldn't, as he was a man of integrity and loved to follow due process.

He referred you to another company in the Oil and Gas sector where his friend was General Manager. He said you'd have to earn the position there as a referral was all he would give - he was a man of integrity.

You were accepted as an Intern and for one year, you learned the practical aspects of Petrochemical engineering. You also developed a relationship with Chief Lucky.

He monitored your progress, offering advice, opened you up to training opportunities and chastised you where necessary. He never gave money and you never asked but he always reminded you that you were meant to do great things and had the potential to be great.

It was the weekend your Internship ended, that he joked about taking you to Paris.

Weeks after that, after you returned to school, he called to say he had returned from his trip and was in your town for a business meeting.

You had gone to his hotel room with excitement and as usual spoke to him about everything, all that had happened since as well as your plans after school, seeking advice.

He had offered advice and called up a friend who was the General Manager of a multinational company in the Petroleum industry. He put the phone on speaker and you were excited as you heard him extol your virtues and qualities. You knew with his influence, you would easily get a job after graduation. You were in awe of him.

So minutes later when he asked you to kiss him, you were too petrified to tell him off.

As he reminded you "You are like a daughter to me, and I always have your best interest at heart. I'll never hurt you", you were not sure what to do, how to respond because you trusted him too much and never saw this coming.

As you left his hotel room, you didn't know whether to be angry but you felt desecrated and weak.

After graduation, you got a job - not in his friend's company nor through his influence, but you shared the news with him excitedly. 

As you progressed through your career, he was always on hand with advice and counsel. Everyone in your life including the men you dated, knew and respected him as your mentor. What they didn't know was that he tried to make you kiss him many times after that first day but you were never bold enough to confront him.

Sometimes you simply stayed rigid in his arms and at other times you stood up to sit away from him. But you kept going back even though you were no longer the naive young girl that sought validation and support from him. 

You kept going back even after he pleaded with you to have sex with him saying he had been 'inexplicably drawn to you' from the first day he set eyes on you. He cried so much that day, saying no woman ever made him feel so weak and you still wonder how you were able to resist him.

Years later, you sit on a Panel discussing 'Power Dynamic: Abuse In the Workplace and the Various Forms It Takes', you had been invited to share your success story and help other young women navigate a male dominated industry. 
As you listen to participants share their stories, you recall your experiences with Chief Lucky and for the first time, it dawns on you that you too have been a victim of abuse.

You recall the time he begged you to spend the night with him, you agreed because you couldn't bear to see him cry the way he did. You felt pity for him even though you knew it was wrong and you thought he was helpless. 

The next morning you were thankful that he didn't force himself on you but today you realize that he did force his will on you. You realize now that he abused the power he wielded over you, took advantage of the fact that you were hungry for success and broke the trust of a girl who held him in awe.

You had read stories of abuse and you never considered yourself a victim but sitting in this room full of women who had faced abuse in various forms took the scales off your eyes.

You too are a survivor. 

But unlike many of the women, you are still attached to your abuser. He is still in your life occupying the space of Mentor, his name is still tatooed on your heart.

As you watch the women brave enough to share their story, you realize that all along, you had been a caged bird bearing the agony of an untold story inside of you.

Today, you will tell your story! Today, you will sing! Today, you will EXHALE!

Sugarcane...Friendship...Him

You still remember the first time you told a colleague you didn't like Sugarcane.

She had a bewildered look as she raised her head from her computer to look at you.

"Really? What woman doesn't like Sugarcane?" She asked.

"I prefer Bananas", you said. "They are easier to eat."

She gave a wry smile and said "now I see, you like them curvy and smooth instead of just straight and rough right?"

You let out a guffaw as you realized that she wasn't referring to the actual fruits. She had misconstrued your statement and sexualized the fruits.

You had to explain to her that you were referring to the fruits. You didn't like Sugarcanes because you didn't see the point in stressing oneself to bite into a fruit, suck out the juices and then spit out the stalk. Bananas were easier. Soft, easy to peel, sweet to the taste and you could swallow everything.

Weeks later, you had the same conversation with him. It was three days after you both met at the birthday party you attended. You didn't know the celebrant who had turned 60 but an older friend had invited you, so you went for it.

As expected, it was a gathering of big wigs. Drinks flowed so much that one would think all the drinks in the city had been purchased for the event.

You were on your third glass of Champagne when he walked up to your table.

"May I refill your glass?"

You looked up as you eyed him. And nodded.

He refilled your glass and sat on the chair next to yours. You both talked till you were set to leave. You liked the fact that he made you laugh.

And so when he asked for your number, you didn't hesistate. He became a regular caller, spending hours laughing on the phone with you.

But it wasn't just the laughter. It was the consistency of his calls and the depth of the conversations you had. He would spend hours xraying social issues like equal representation of women in politics and business, the role of the Nigerian civil war in defining nationalism or the lack of it today, lack of political will in making health care affordable and accessible, how globalization has redefined fashion and even simple things like funny memes.

3 days later, he noted that he was a nutrition enthusiast and as you both spoke about food and fruits, you stated your dislike for Sugarcane.

He then went on to reel out the health benefits - "it is good for the Liver", he said.

That weekend he dropped by with a pack of neatly cut Sugarcanes and Ice cubes. You admitted that those ice cold pieces, were the best you ever had.

Sugarcanes soon became a staple. He also brought the juice and you had it served with ice, sometimes he added Lime. And you grew to like it, alot.

You grew to like him alot too. The challenge though was that he was an unavailable man. He wore a wedding band on the day you first saw him and had it on a week later, when you had dinner together.

You ignored it as you reminded yourself that you would keep your emotions in check. You enjoyed the conversations and the friendship.

All was fine until that day he called to say he had something to tell you.

You still recall the look on his face as he spoke. He talked about his Fiancee that died in a car crash 3 weeks after their engagement, 3 years ago. The band he wore was a tribute to her - he didn't think he would be able to love another woman, but then you came along.

As he spoke he cried. You reached out to touch his face, cleaning the tears with your thumb.

He looked at you for a while and then revealed that he was dying. He had End Stage Liver Disease with a few months to live.

You laughed as you thought he was joking but the look on his face said he wasn't.

He went on to show you his medications. His condition made him love Sugarcanes as they are good for the Liver.

He took off the ring that day and that night you stayed over at his place.

You spent the following weeks reading to him, learning to play Badminton together, taking dance classes, doing Karaoke and painting abstract pictures in the name of art.

His health deteriorated and he spent the next months in and out of the hospital.

You were with him that morning at 5 am as he writhed in pain, you drove him to the hospital and was by his bedside when he died at about 3pm that day.

You wrote a Eulogy which you read at the service organised by his friends.

You picked the suit he was buried in and assisted in moving things from his house.

You spent the next months grieving him, the man who redefined friendship for you. He epitomized loyalty and loved you in simple ways.

Today as you stopped to get fruits from the market, you spot the man pushing a wheelbarrow full of Sugarcanes. They were evidently succulent but as you look at them, you feel a lump in your throat and you think of him.

As memories of him flood your mind, you realize that as long as you would never dance or laugh with him again, you would never eat Sugarcane again.

The One Minute Man

One minute man.

You have probably heard or even used the phrase. It is used to describe a man who ejaculates too quickly during sex. 

It is a tag that says a man is incapable of satisfying his partner sexually. A tag capable of deflating a man's ego. A tag that in some quarters, puts a question mark on his 'masculinity'. It is a tag that no man wants, especially because it implies the risk of losing his partner. 

One minute man.

This phrase has birthed a very lucrative industry - that of sex enhancement products (pills, potions, tablets, toys etal). Products that promise miracles and wonders - in the other room.

Honestly, there's hardly ever a day that I do not stumble on an advert of a product - online and on the streets, that promises to make men last longer in bed. Sometimes the overall appearance of the people advertising these drugs on the streets make me fear for the man that is willing to risk trying their *concoction*. And if it does work, there's fear for the woman on whom the experiment would be performed. Sis, you are in for a looooooonnnnnng thing!

The one minute man tag is a weapon for some women. They brandish it during fights as if to say, one wrong move and I'll tell the world who you really are. This weapon is powerful enough to make even a Type A man hide the proverbial 'tail between his legs.' Because then the 'tail' would be what it is - just a tail, not good enough to deliver the expected. And if any such revelation is made public, he becomes just the 'one minute man', the one who talks a big game - his achievements and persona diminishes in the face of that tag.

I have realized though that this tag no one wants, is the tag we would all have to bear someday. We - men and women.

I say this because of an experience I had about a week ago, and it has nothing to do with sex.

It was an event that had major players in the health sector, Governors, an ex-Head of State, traditional rulers and other dignitaries in attendance.

During the course of the event, one of the speakers announced the death of a Doctor. The late Doctor was a Professor of Medicine who rose to become the Chief Medical Director of a tertiary health institution. He was the archetypal man who came, saw and conquered. He had passed on, in the early hours of that day.

As his death was announced, I heard gasps, sighs and exclamations in the hall. He was apparently deeply loved and admired or at least, was well known within the sphere of medicine.

The speaker spoke glowingly about him, and afterwards urged us all to observe a minute's silence in his honour. We all stood up and I began the count...1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10.....before I got to 30, he wished the dead man's soul a peaceful rest. I had been counting in my head and didn't know when I voiced out my thoughts.

"It's not even 30 seconds yet." I said.

The person sitting next to me responded immediately with "So you were counting too? I just thought so myself."

As we sat down, we bantered about how the 'minute silence' observance never really lasts up to a minute.

Our conversation was interrupted by the speaker who had begun cracking a joke. Laughter erupted from the audience and as I looked around the hall, it seemed like a different crowd. Everyone was gay and excited. It didn't seem like the same people who were sober less than a minute ago.

The hitherto mournful crowd had moved on from the Professor of Medicine and his many achievements.

I thought about his family - wife (if he was married), children (if he had any), siblings (if he had any) and maybe close friends. Those ones would not move on after just a minute's silence. Some of them may never even get over his death but every one would eventually move on. They would all find a way to cope. And he would become a memory. 

On that day however, in that hall, he became the one minute man that didn't even get up to a minute.

And someday, we'd all be him. Someday, somewhere, someone would talk about us and ask a group to observe a minute's silence in our honour.

You may not get up to a minute, but even if you would, I pray the day doesn't come too soon for you. 

I pray that you do everything you planned to do before that day comes. 

I pray that there are people who would spend much more than a minute, maybe all of their lifetime remembering you.

So if today you are the man who doesn't last more than a minute in bed, don't kill yourself my brother. Sex isn't food and even if it was, man shall not live by bread alone.

If you are a one minute man, you might need to stress less, exercise more, drink less alcohol and more water, stop smoking & drug use if you do, eat more fruits and vegetables, take some time away from sex and when you do it again, spend more time on foreplay. Also stop thinking you wouldn't last long, because your mind is powerful. The experts say all these help - I am not an expert.

Whatever you do though, honour God with your body and time because while we are all prospective 'one minute men', he is infinite and EVERLASTING and it is to him we'll give the account of every 'one minute' spent on earth.

Extraordinary Love, The Antidote For Pain

Pain isn't prejudiced.

It is a visitor that comes to every home, to everyone regardless of gender, race, creed and orientation.

If you live long enough you would realize this is true.

Pain visits all and oftentimes come unannounced, when you are ill-prepared.

Pain is what it is, painful. Its only antidote is love.

Love extraordinary. The kind that keeps one safe in an unstable world.

That holds you when a loved one walks away, that you cry but do not die.

A love like God's - RECKLESS!

The kind that steadies my gaze so that I see beyond the present to the future.

Gracious enough to show me his plans in glimpses, faithful enough to deliver the promises he's made.

Moving me from the phase where he met me so that I can boldly say "I have experienced the fragrance of his presence, been enveloped in the perfume of his grace - a whiff of which leaves me intoxicated." 

"Been rocked in his arms, firm yet tender - protecting fiercely, guarding jealously, keeping me safe."

When all hell breaks loose, his is the voice that reminds me that he will perfect the good work he has begun, speaking words that are hidden in a space that cannot be hacked - my heart.

He has crushed me and the grape I once was is becoming wine - fine wine.

His is an extraordinary love - choosing me in all my forms. So even when I am unsure because I can't see myself and the gifts I am blessed with, he sends friends, encouragers, with whom I can be vulnerable.

His sweet Holy Spirit stays as a Comforter and Counsellor, never judging, ever present.

You God - the hand that guides me through the phase of pain to a place of healing.

It is to you I breathe, on you I call, for you I live, on you I wait. 

Like an expectant mother, waiting 9 months to hold her baby. Like a man standing outside the labour room, waiting for the news that says he is now a father. Like a farmer who's done all he should and now trusts the ground and time for his harvest. Like a groom at the altar watching his bride as she walks down the aisle, resplendent in white.

You God, in whom I find my worth and identity. The ONE who never leaves the one behind - you would leave the 99 to chase the 1, ME.

You whose words make a hundred billion failures disappear.

Pain isn't prejudiced. Its only antidote is a love like yours - a love that crushed me and changed me.

Chairman, This Is For You

It happened again today, like it does when I say I cannot buy something because I cannot afford it at that time.

I usually get a "call Chairman na, let him support" statement. This statement which I find idiotic, is usually accompanied with a wry smile.

'Chairman' here, is you. Everyone assumes that you can pay for anything and in fact are responsible for everything I have.

I do not blame them though, it is the prevalent  mentality in the environment we live in. A woman always has a man somewhere 'sponsoring' her.

Getting support isn't bad in itself but the truth is that, I wouldn't always let you do things for me and while it may get to you sometimes, with time you would understand that I like to take responsibility for me.

You would know too that it doesn't in anyway affect my loyalty to you neither does it reduce your masculinity.

It's just a matter of values for me - a sense of responsibility and respect for self.

You would learn all these with time just as you would know that my values begin with God, family and work - in that order. But I also can't imagine life without music, high heels, Akara, short dresses, wine and some other things that I can't write here. I'd have to whisper them to you.

Sometimes at events, I keep a straight face as though I'm deeply engrossed when in reality I don't even understand a single thing of what's happening.

Sometimes I smile and nod during conversations even when I do not understand a thing about what's being said.

You would also learn these with time.

Sometimes I think of all that God has done for me and I cry. So on the days I burst into tears while looking at you, don't be alarmed. It would be because I am wondering how I could have deserved you. I would be wondering how of everyone else, it is I who can get away with anything. I would be overwhelmed by the fact that I can kiss you anywhere, anytime...just because I can. Say what?

You would also learn that I am not a girl that likes Pink. I do not like animation films. I do not like reading messages written with abbreviated words. I have a challenge remembering roads, so you may find yourself checking up on me when I go to places just so I don't get lost even though I have visited those places ten times - Google Maps helps a lot now though. But I like long drives and cake and chocolates and rice and wine - ok, I already mentioned that.

You would realize with time that one of my weaknesses would be my inability to hide anything from you - even the most embarrassing stuff and also, my inability to stay mad at you for long. No matter how angry I am, one look at you would melt my heart, though I might still refuse to talk to you.

There are days you would look at me and thank God for the gift of me. And on other days, you'd ask yourself why you still put up with me but on those days you'd have to remember that when we choose to love people, we give them permission to hurt us. It's up to us to decide who's worth it - I hope I'd always be worth it, for you.

When people look at us, they may wonder, "how does she cope with him?" They wouldn't know you are my heart. How can I live without my heart?

And, in a world where there are blurred lines, I know you would still be a man who listens to the Holy Spirit.

In a world where normalcy is wearing a new face, I know you'd stay true to God's word.

I know you'd be a great worshipper and therefore a great lover because a man who can genuinely pour out his heart to God, declaring his worth and magnificence, is a man who would also pour from his heart to express his love for me, my worth to him.

I also know that I wouldn't have to bother about issues of respect and equity with you because you are refined. Yours is a refinement that comes not just from education and exposure but from the transforming power of the Holy Spirit. He guides you.

And having said my values begin with God, family and work, you needn't bother about where you fit in because "You are my family, coming only after God."

So Chairman, if you ever find yourself wondering who my favourite person is, you'd only need to look in the mirror.

There's so much more I want to say to you but I'll keep them till I see your face.

In the words of Michael Buble, "I promise you Kid that I'd give so much more than I get, I just haven't met you yet."

Forgetting June

I looked at the movie title again before deciding whether to trash the DVD. 

I was rummaging stuff I had not touched in over a year. Movies, music albums, old journals, daily devotionals from years past all tied in a bag.

I tossed the things I didn't need and kept those I thought I would still need.

The movie 'FORGETTING JUNE' was one of them. It was given to me by an acquaintance years ago and I couldn't return it before relocating.

As I held the DVD I recalled the arguments I had with him and others about the story line which I didn't like.

The movie tells the story of a young happily married couple who were seriously in love. Suddenly the wife gets involved in a fatal accident - almost all the passengers were burnt alive - and the man thinks she is dead. He decides to date her best friend only for her to resurface after he impregnates and marries her best friend. Turned out she didn't die but was rescued by a good samaritan who nurses her to health and keeps her as his 'lover' because she lost her memory in the accident. She recovers her memory after a while and returns to her husband...yadayada *rolling my eyes*

Her name is June. When June returns, her husband had to choose between her and the best friend turned wife. Given the bond they shared as depicted before the accident, I thought he would pick his now resurrected wife in a heart beat but Oga chose the friend. Really? You choose a woman you knew yesterday over your wife whom by the way, you were head over heels in love with until you thought she had died?

I thought it didn't make sense but others said it is possible. Again, really? Is it that easy to just forget a person who gave us great memories? Moreso in this case where a false news of death separated them?

Personally, I have moved on from people without batting an eyelid or pausing for a moment to miss them. So I guess that makes me like June's husband right? Nah, I wasn't married to any of them.

I have learned though that we can easily forget some people even after spending years with them, but miss others whose skin we never touched and whose smell we do not know.

There are voices and laughter that will stay nestled in a tiny part of our brains. And when we least expect, we would hear them.

So maybe June's husband didn't forget her but his heart found a voice that spoke to it like no one else ever had. And so his soul chose that voice.

Maybe it's part of being human. Inability to let go of certain memories while easily flushing some down our mental sewage tank.

Maybe forgetting is an art that requires the right amount of time, practice, patience and love.

And maybe, June's husband would someday realize that he never really forgot her as a tiny part of him would see, feel and hear her in movies, songs, places and even in the arms of the one he finally chose.

I have trashed the DVD and now listening to Zayn Malik and Sia's 'Dusk till Dawn'.

C'est bien.

The Long Road Home

I recently stumbled on a book I read over a decade ago. I was probably about 13 or 14 years old when I read Danielle Steel's 'The Long Road Home'.

The book's main character Gabriella, suffered abuse as a child, abandonment, sexual assault and many more travails but she eventually found happiness and love - I know it's a cliched and predictable ending but I loved it.

Years later, I have read many other books but this still resonates with me.

As I saw it online days ago, I told myself the road home is indeed long and I had underestimated what that journey would require of me. I never envisaged the cost of finding my way home.

You are probably wondering if I never had a home but I'm not referring to the place where you were born and raised. Home here, isn't a physical space that is filled with just people who are your kith and kin. It's a place where your voice finds expression, faith trumps your fears and your heart is safe, protected. A place with people whose loyalty you wouldn't have to question, they are one less puzzle to solve.

The journey however should begin with our nuclear family as most people who end up wandering do so because, they are not welcome amongst their relatives, so even when they are home their minds are elsewhere. But, the home should be a safe space. The place where your eccentricity, weirdness, otherness and weakness are tolerated.

The book 'The Long Road Home' is summarised as a story of hope, courage and love and I have learned that no meaningful life can be made without these three. 

Without hope there would be no point in living, without courage we would never make any real progress and without love, we would be miserable creatures. 

I have learned also that hope and courage can be acquired and instilled as we go through life but with love it is different. It isn't just something you acquire.

Worse still, there's a void in us that only love can fill and until that void is filled, we would never really be home.

It is why some people work so hard that even the demons in them die, but the void is still there. 

I have met people who have had sex with people they can't even recall and they are courageous enough to admit that sometimes it's a result of loneliness. Knowing they are needed and irresistible in the moment makes them feel powerful even if temporarily. Some have given up on being truly loved and so they just have sex for the company.

What the world calls promiscuity is a coping mechanism.

Some people make more money than they can spend in their lifetime but still can't find a place to lay their head and feel peace.

We mask it with fame, drugs and accolades from people who would run if they knew the truth but what we really need is a safe space. Until that is found, we'd be always needing and seeking to fill the void in our hearts - with whomever, doing whatever.

I know this because I have been there too.

It reminds me of Samson whose story is told in the Bible, in the book of Judges.

Samson was strong, an undefeated champion who lost it all when he shared the secret of his strength with Delilah, the woman he loved.

A man who has many enemies knows he cannot trust just anybody so how did Samson become so vulnerable with a woman that he told her his deepest secret?

It is the simple fact that inspite of his strength, fame and influence, he too needed a safe space, a home.

The Bible says that when the Philistines came to capture Samson, he was asleep on Delilah's lap. 

For a man of Samson's ilk to let down his guard and lay on a woman's lap, that woman must have made him feel safe. Safe enough that he let her clean the wounds sustained in his battles. Safe enough to let her run his bath and scrub the dirt off his body after a long day of war. Safe enough to let her feed him as he regaled her with tales of his exploits. Safe enough to lay still as she massaged his temples, his feet and body, each moan and gasp revealing his weakness. Safe enough to lay on her laps as she stroked his hair, discovering the soft spots in his body, and smothering him with kisses until he falls asleep - like a baby. 

A man like Samson who gave nations sleepless nights, whom the nation Israel looked up to for deliverance would only become a baby in the arms of a woman he trusts absolutely, whose arms feel like home and in whose presence all his fears evaporate.

It is the prize he paid in the quest for home - a place where he wasn't a warrior or deliverer. A place where he was just a man.

The road home is indeed long and sometimes difficult.

Christ also epitomizes this difficulty when he told people to "go home" after he healed them. Like he did with the man possessed with so many demons that he cut himself and lived among tombs. 

The journey home is not easy and while some arrive early others do not because they have to first offload the baggage life burdens them with. Baggage of secrets, unhealthy habits, negative mentalities and bruises from words spoken by the ones they trusted.

I have learned though that it really does take hope, courage and love.

Hope that what lies ahead is better than the past, courage to forge a new path and love that must begin with you.

You must love yourself enough to go through the discipline of unlearning old ways of thinking, doing and being. Then, opening up to new information that recalibrates your mind such that you act differently and attract new people and experiences.

The road home is long and if like me you are still on the journey, I pray that you do not faint.

May the words of your mouth and the meditations of your heart be acceptable in God's sight.

May you stand blameless and faultless before him, assured that if you have him, your journey though tumultuous, will be safe.

May you find fellowship with his sweet Holy Spirit.

But first, get up from whatever you are entangled in and just GO HOME!

Beware of What You Become Else...

"I have given it serious thought and I want to go ahead. I just don't think I have the patience for a baby or a toddler."

I searched her face for a sign that said she was joking, but there was none.

I smiled because I didn't know what else to say and then quickly said "Good thing, you are open to adopting. There are kids who just need a good heart and home."

I studied her. A woman in her forties, beautiful and financially independent.

I wanted to ask if she had made enquiries on the process of adoption in Nigeria but I didn't.

I simply sighed and she shrugged as if to say "I wish I could turn back the hands of time."

I do not know her story but I had seen the look she had, on the faces of others before.

I have seen it on the face of the Executive advising me not to trade time for loved ones and family in pursuit of a career. 

I have seen it on the faces of men and women who are stuck in a marriage because they were too scared to walk out before they said "I do". 

I have seen it on the faces of men who say they lost a good woman because they didn't treat her well. I have seen it on the faces of women who say they lost a good man because they were impatient. 

I have heard it in the voices of people who wish they had acquired formal education when they had the opportunity. 

I have seen it in the eyes of those who wish they had been brave enough to pursue their dreams. 

I have heard it in the voices of those who say they have realized that they are no longer as young as they once were. 

I have heard it in the voices of people who wish they had said some things when they had the opportunity and those who wish they hadn't said some things to those they loved. 

I have seen it on the faces of people who carried out criminal acts out of anger or even envy. 

I know the look of regret and have seen it many times especially because as a Broadcast Journalist, I meet people who while sharing their stories, express deep regrets sometimes unintentionally. 

One thing they all seem to say is "life is transient, make the most of it while you can" and one reality they have to deal with is that they have missed their turn.

The underlying message with each expression of regret though is what Jim Rohn said "beware of what you become in pursuit of what you want."

There are sacrifices that are inevitable to achieve certain goals but we must be sure to prioritize.

Pursue a career, make money, get those degrees, own as many homes as you dream of, start that business, get into or leave that relationship, do whatever you have planned but be intentional enough to pause once in a while and pay attention to other things that matter like family, friends, children, the community of people around you and most importantly a relationship with Jesus Christ.

It's like the Bible says to us about "redeeming the time."

Be ambitious but don't overdo it because you may look back only to realize that it cost you too much and made you compromise your virtues and values.

The most devastating thing would be to see that you finally got everything you wanted but are unhappy.

 "Is this thing turning me into someone I am not?" "What am I becoming?" These are questions we must pause to answer once in a while.

So by all means dream big, aim high, aspire for more and pay the price required but BEWARE of what you BECOME in pursuit of what you want.

He Was Big and Tall and Dark and Happy

I recently received news that an Uncle of mine had died after an illness. He was 61 years old.

I screamed as my Mum told me, I could tell from her voice that she had been crying. They were quite close.

I comforted her and urged her not to dwell too much on his death but on the fact that he lived well. I reminded her also that it was enough reason to be grateful for her life.

I called several times afterwards just to urge her not to be afraid because I knew she would feel fear knowing that her once bubbly brother now laid cold and lifeless, gone forever.

As I went about my duties for the day, I kept thinking of him. I had not seen him in years but growing up, he was one of those people who seemed larger than life.

He was really tall, dark and big. All of my 5 feet and 4 inches frame reached up to his ribs when he held me.
He had a deep, rich voice and spoke rather loudly. He was boisterous but stern. He reprimanded without holding back and loved to drink but he was a hard worker.

As I thought of him, the temporalness and transiense of life dawned on me. Life is fleeting. Short. Brief.

It's like Elton John sang about the late Princess Diana "she lived her life like a candle in the wind."

A candle in the wind can have its fire blown out at any time.
Humans are like that, here today and gone tomorrow, never to be seen again.

Moments like this make one question the essence of life and makes every offense seem forgivable. I mean, why hold on to a grudge or pride when you are not even sure what tomorrow holds?

I think of my uncle, a man who made me laugh many times as a child. A man who also reprimanded me and others. He was one of those I thought would be there when I get married - he always wanted me to bring HIM. He was a man who seemed like he could take on anything. He had a presence that enveloped any room he walked into and could easily have been called 'Anikulapo', one who carries death in his pouch.

I was told that he lost a lot of weight due to the illness he suffered. But, I choose to remember him as I last saw him - big and tall and dark and lively and happy and healthy.

I choose to remember him so I will not forget to be grateful for life, family and love.

I choose to live more from intention than habit.

I choose to remember God and live this life He has given me as a sacrifice to Him.

More Than A Miracle

Photo Credit: United Bible Societies

I scanned the bookshelf seeking out the titles, in search of the next book to read. I had finally finished Michelle Obama's 'Becoming', a book that has left me profoundly challenged and also, probably caused a new side of me to emerge. 

I had opened it up not knowing what to expect but each word, phrase, sentence, paragraph, chapter and part of the book reinforced the reality of the world we live in. 

A world that defines and classifies you from the day you are born, based on the colour of your skin, gender, social class and creed. A world of complexities, pain, juxtapositions and ironies. A world which offers you the option of fight or flight. A world that is both harsh and warm, depending on the perspective you choose. A world that can also be better maneuvered with the gift of family and a community of encouragers. Voices nudging you on in the face of challenges, helping you on your feet, keeping you steady and pulling you back up when you stumble or fall.

While I would never understand the struggle of being black and female in the America Michelle grew up in, I would say that I am grateful to her for sharing her story because while her achievements are enough evidence that anyone can rise, knowing that she had every reason not to would be great consolation on dark, difficult days. She emphasizes the importance of education as the tool to helping you find your voice and the major vehicle to a better reality.

Her story tells me that even the 'Greats' are just like me, sometimes unsure and terrified and do not always feel qualified.

Unlike me though, they have managed to make a mark in the world and reading their stories make me question my purpose in the world. 

I have spent about three decades on earth and I am clear minded enough to know that purpose isn't tied to one thing. I have also been bold enough to not put a label on myself and have given myself the grace to take up different roles - even when I didn't feel qualified to handle them.

Still some niggling questions remain. 

Am I doing enough? Are there people apart from my immediate family who would go out of their way to keep me safe? Have I impacted or invested enough in anyone to make me immortal in their minds? What more can I do?

I have held myself from a lot of things out of fear and I have also lurched forward and taken the bull by the horn at other times. But, sometimes I fear that I have not exercised enough faith and courage to be all I can be.

Sometimes I fear that I would leave this earth and not do all I was created for or explore the amazing possibilities and opportunities that could be birthed through me.

Sometimes, I feel small. For this reason I am always grateful for encouragers & nurturers. Those who take time from their own life just to nod and say to me "never doubt yourself." My personal gospel choir, voices which though not all sonorous call out the deep inside of me.

As I scanned the shelf, I picked up 'Soar' by Bishop T.D. Jakes but I put it back on the shelf as I have done many times. I just feel not ready to read the book.

I scanned once more and my eyes fall on the title 'More Than A Miracle'. The author Chinwe Ezeanya autographed and gifted me this book in December 2018. I had gone to interview her on the story of her son Diken'agha Yobanna Nadim Victory Ezeanya - now eleven years old. Dike is the first baby to survive Biliary Atresia - a congenital Liver disease - in Nigeria (other Nigerian children who have survived it, didn't live in the country). She had to donate her Liver for a transplant that was done in India and her baby survived against the odds. This birthed the idea for the book.

I am set to read it almost one year after owning it and as I scan the pages, I am certain that it will be not just educating and insightful, it will open me up to a higher level of loving - sacrificing unto life and a determinism to protect the eternal bond of family.

I hope though, that it will serve as a reminder that I have not done badly and that for every story like Chinwe and Dike's that I have told as a Journalist, I have made a mark in the world.

I hope also that I have been more than just a daughter, sister, friend, colleague, neighbour, aunt and human to those I have met on this journey called life.

I hope that someone, somewhere, someday would think of me or maybe even call me up just to say "for what it's worth, you have been a miracle...and even more".

I hope.

For The Boy Who Taught You What It Means To Love

You stare in disbelief at his phone, you still tell yourself it is a dream. A bad dream that you'd wake up from.

You read through the chats and tears roll down your cheeks. You do not bother wiping your face because your tear glands would only keep producing more tears. They seem to have a mind of their own now, a mind that instructs them to keep the tears flowing.

As you feel the torrent of tears, you shrug. It is what pain does, it leaves you helpless over certain emotions.

As you peruse the chats, your mind drifts to the day when you first saw and held him in your arms. On that day you realized that you'd gotten the definition of love wrong all along. On that day you knew you had found the one you would bleed and die for. And you did bleed on that day.
The day he made you a mother and you learned what it truly means to love.

You see his face now, your first seed and you wonder when and where you missed it. How did you not see the signs? Or weren't there signs?

"When did he lose it?"
You sob as you ask no one in particular.

What you do not know is that he didn't lose it in one day, it was a gradual process. A slow fade.

You recall the first day you dropped him off at school. He cried so much and the teachers said he was a fussy child. You were embarrassed because you wanted him to act like a boy and boys do not just cry but you forgot he was only a baby. A baby does what babies do, cry to express displeasure, pain and host of other emotions. And boys cry too.

You also recall the times he clung to you as you went about your chores. You would shove him and urge him to go play. He would go after failed attempts to get your attention. You thought he was learning independence but now you wish you had held him even if for just a few minutes on those days.

You had bought him exotic toys and even had a small car customised for him. You were willing to give him what you lacked as a child - money and the things it can buy. But you forgot to give him what you didn't lack, the affirmation of love and reinforcement of his self worth.

You recall the day he showed you his paintings, his eyes glistened as he said he wanted to be an artist when he grew up. You reminded him that he would someday run his father's business, he would employ artists and not be one.

You watched him grow into a fine young man. He had his Dad's handsome face but everyone said he was a bit aloof and cocky, like you. You didn't kow that underneath the cocky posterior was a young man begging to be heard and loved.

You and his father had his life planned out and gave little room for him to voice his thoughts or preferences. It was the best for him- or so you both thought.

You recall when he first told you he was in love. He seemed smitten, almost drunk. His eyes lit up when he talked about her, she was the prettiest girl in his class.
You thought he was just happy and in love, you even told his dad he was in love and really happy.

You didn't know that beyond happiness and love, he was holding on to the first woman who gave him attention and made him feel special.

Those were the words in his chat with her as he expressed his love to her. You recall the times you could have hugged him, held him, looked him in the face to let him know you saw him, validated his strengths, extolled his virtues but there was always a meeting, project, course, presentation and your role as mother and wife getting in the way.

You never had anyone dote on you as a child and you turned out fine.

Today as you stare at the chat, you sob heavily. Your little boy was begging for attention from a girl who didn't want him anymore. He told her he would not be able to make it if the only woman who has shown him attention left him.

Why didn't he speak up? Why didn't he talk to you? How would he give so much power to another human being? How did you raise an emotionally and mentally unstable young man?

Questions arise in your head but all you can do is cry because now all you have are memories of your baby boy who took his own life because he was heartbroken.

And you blame yourself because you were too busy trying to care and provide for that you forgot to just love and be grateful for the boy who taught you what it means to love.

A Better Way Of Making Love, Fighting and Being

You stay seated as the speaker asks if anyone else is against abortion and is not yet standing.

As he counts those standing because they are against abortion, you imagine that in a not so distant past, you too would have been standing.

He paints scenarios to those standing asking that they seat if they thought abortion would be okay in those situations.

Some seat and others remain standing because for them even if a daughter is raped and impregnated by her father an abortion is still impermissible. Some people protest because they think those standing against abortion no matter what are being unrealistic.

You watch and you smile because now you know better.

You know better than to judge them for their choices but more importantly you know better than to insist on a right or wrong way to do things.

You have experienced and learned enough to realize that life isn't always in black and white, there are grey areas in-between. Grey areas that may not make sense to you and may hurt your sensibilities but that should be taken into cognizance and tolerated as a mark of respect for other people's humanity.

You have learned that there is always a better way of doing things, of being, of living.

You are now open to opposing views without letting them colour your opinion.

You are now learning not to demean people when you cannot convince them.

You are learning to pay attention as you have learned that it is also a form of kindness. Letting people know that you see them.

You are learning that sometimes saying 'hello' or 'good morning' matters a lot in a world where people take pride in 'not caring' about or knowing their neighbours.

You are becoming deliberate in making friends because you realize that being too busy working to have time for others is not cool or wise because there are hollows that success will not fill.

You are learning to say 'thank you' and 'I'm sorry' because you are learning that it is a mark of true confidence to accept that you need help and can be wrong.

You now gravitate more towards people with whom you do not feel the need to put up an act. People who appreciate the journey you have undertaken to be the person you are and appreciate that more than who you are now, who you are becoming matters too.

People who reside in their truth while striving to be better.

You are learning to be family with those who are not your kin or related to you by blood.

You are opening up to more, now more than ever ready to receive all that life offers.

You are learning to compliment people more without questioning your own attractiveness.

You are learning to be proud of all you have achieved as you remind yourself that better is possible and that everything good will come.

You are learning to see the beauty in variety. You feel freer and better now because you have accepted that no one person knows or has it all.

Most importantly you have come to realize that if one is open and willing they would find that there are better ways of loving, fighting, correcting, convincing...of being beautiful...of making love.

You drift to the present as the argument about abortions, ethics, right and wrong is presented and you smile because you have learned that even when you are convinced of your correctness, there is always a better way of doing and being without compromising.

To Own Your Sexiness, To Own Your Story... To Be Human

To yawn with your mouth open forgetting the simple courtesy of covering your mouth, to make slurps and have your throat gurgle as you drink and swallow because you do not really have control over how your throat accepts the liquid, to fall asleep after a long day too tired to even bath or eat, this is what it means to be human.

To not have the power to control certain reflexes like crying when you really want to be strong or letting them hold you for longer than usual because having another human hold you gives a certain reassurance that you are not alone, this is what it means to be human.

To look a loved one in the face and tell them a lie because you think the truth would hurt, to chide yourself for lying to them but still keeping shut and withholding the truth. To say 'I'm fine' because you fear that appearing vulnerable would be giving away your power, to burst into laughter at times when you are expected to be serious or empathetic because what you have just heard or witnessed is really funny, this is what it means to be human.

To have days where you look at the person(s) who look up to you, throw your hands in the air say 'I do not know what to say or do'.
To feel ashamed, embarrassed, hurt, befuddled, confused, despondent, unhappy and angry, is to be human.

To be human is to be a lot of things and if you live long enough, you will realize that it involves accepting other people's choice/preference even when it makes no sense to you.

To be human is accept that you think thoughts you would be too embarrassed to share with anyone and even do things you have criticized. To think you might not measure up, fit in, stand out, be accepted, achieve your goals, make a difference, is to be human.

To forge on in spite of your fears trusting that come what may you would be fine, to try one more time while nursing the bruises sustained from your last fall, to wake up everyday telling yourself 'today is the day it will turn around', to not give up against the odds, to block out the voices of naysayers, is to be a better human.

To give yourself the chance to grow, learn from your mistakes, accept chastisement, be grateful to those who choose you in spite of your shortcomings, is to be a better human.

To let yourself feel joy, love, pain, disgust and discontent. To accept betrayal, disappointment and failure without losing faith in yourself and humanity. To own your beauty, intelligence, sexiness, flaws and your story.

To know that you are on a journey designed for you, on a path custom made to lead you to the place for you. To be able to after a long day, heave a sigh at dusk and retire with hope and gratitude in your heart, is to be the best human you can be.