"Before pigeons used to get scared at the slightest thing. Now days they look at you as if to say "BLUD, r u gunna dooo me suttin doe!?!?" PIGEONS ARE GETTIN TOO BRAVE!!!!"
-From the Facebook group, Pigeons Are Getting Too Brave. THIS is reason 43,567,170 why I love London town.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!!!!
Happy/Merry/Jolly Christmas!!! Thank God for the gift of Christmas and all it represents...which is embodied in my favourite carol:
P.S: There's no point arguing when Jesus was born. When will the world realise that for Christians its the 'what' rather than 'whys' and 'whens'?
Oh Holy Night
O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
P.S: There's no point arguing when Jesus was born. When will the world realise that for Christians its the 'what' rather than 'whys' and 'whens'?
Oh Holy Night
O Holy Night! The stars are brightly shining,
It is the night of the dear Saviour's birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining.
Till He appeared and the Spirit felt its worth.
A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn.
Fall on your knees! Oh, hear the angel voices!
O night divine, the night when Christ was born;
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
O night, O Holy Night , O night divine!
Led by the light of faith serenely beaming,
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand.
O'er the world a star is sweetly gleaming,
Now come the wisemen from out of the Orient land.
The King of kings lay thus lowly manger;
In all our trials born to be our friend.
He knows our need, our weakness is no stranger,
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Behold your King! Before him lowly bend!
Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.
Chains he shall break, for the slave is our brother.
And in his name all oppression shall cease.
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we,
With all our hearts we praise His holy name.
Christ is the Lord! Then ever, ever praise we,
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
His power and glory ever more proclaim!
The Benettonian Approach
It’s the season to be merry and all that goodness so a jollified seasons greetings to all! May the [surprisingly] unconditional love of God pervade this commercialized Rudolf-ridden season and find its way to your hearts & hearths.
(I haven’t blogged in a bit, not because I have run out of things to say, *whispers “Tufiakwa” whilst simultaneously spitting on the ground and snapping fingers over head like an Igbo elder receiving bad news at the dibia’s shrine*. I have quite simply, been busy. Life happened. As ‘it’ will continue to happen (God willing) there’s no use apologising). To today’s news.
“The British National Party is made up of refugees, migrating from the reality of the real world”
- columnist from the Evening Standard, whose name I forget now.
So I have concluded that I’m definitely not reading The Evening Standard on the tube ever again. I’m sitting here with all sorts of looks running after each other on my rather expressive face. I’m confused, then fascinated, then tickled, then heavily ANNOYED and finally so incredulous that I have to physically restrain the fingers of my right hand from reaching out and poking the now dozing hombre on my right, shouting “Can you BUHHLEEEVVE the nerve of this damn fool?!?!”...whilst pointing viciously at the newspaper in my hand. The reason for this aggression is found littered all over the comment section of this paper:
Race.
Little thanks to the BNP, the general populace of England has, in the last months of 2009, either grown fiercely patriotic or excessively liberal. The normally apathetic of course remain unmoved, but we don’t care about The Don’t Cares.
That many people in 21st century London are rather suspicious of immigration laws, societal intergration and race is not new, strange (or interesting) information. However, most people have managed to hide under the banner of tolerance by putting up an accepting front of people from varied backgrounds and cultures. To a certain extent the BNP debate blew a little of the lid off that tin.
In London today, you would be forgiven for thinking we are all liberal minded individuals roaming round the littered city streets but one thing I learnt from the uproar surrounding Nick Griffin’s appearance on Question Time is that The Patriots *does air quotes* number far and exceedingly above the figure originally suspected. It’s just that in today’s world where Common and Lily Allen duet, you can really only afford to be racist or bigoted inside...DEEP inside. So more people than we would like to believe are distrustful and afraid of people who are unlike them. But they keep any suspicion, fear or even hatred deeply buried, disguised by a veneer of acceptance and normalcy. Just like a religious, married M.P with 3 kids, from Framlingham…whose dearest fantasy is to be a cross-dressing cage fighter. I mean, do you *Kanye shrug*…just don’t let anyone else know and we’ll all live happily ever after. (At least until your insatiable desire to rock frocks causes you to mistakenly wear red kitten heels to a Parliamentary meeting paired with your Brooks Brothers suit... or do something equally media-friendly.)
On the pages of the free newspapers, the comment sections in August and September were sprinkled with comments whose undertones said one of two things on the race/immigration debate. There was an equal divide between the Patriots on one hand and the Liberals on the other hand. The former group support of Griffin and what he represents. They have fallen for the BNP’s rhetoric of reverting the damage caused by ‘foreigners’ (by foreigners I assume they refer to 1st, 2nd and 3rd generation men, women and children some of whom had very little say in deciding to settle in this country…that is obviously overflowing with milk and honey *ahem*). The Liberals on the other hand, argue for freedom for freedom’s sake. With little or no support for the BNP’s policy, they staunchly advocate the freedom of every one with an opinion to spew forth unrestrained, no matter how asinine or insidious to a brittle electorate straining under the weight of an economic downturn and searching for anyone to dump the blame on. While I do support the U.S’s first amendment and believe the right to free speech is a hallmark of a democratic and progressive society in this 21st century, I believe that giving free reign to ignorant and uneducated rhetoric cleverly disguised as fact has caused serious problems in the world’s history. Please refer to Hitler’s hate-fueled propaganda for details. BUT, I will ruefully admit that the dissemination of information, no matter how useless, is the basis of a free society. After all, if we are still allowing the Kardashians drone on aimlessly on our box-screens, why shouldn’t Griffin be allowed to mix verbs and consonants all day long on the public airwaves?
In this case I am especially happy that Nick Griffin and the BNP have been given a chance to expose themselves simply because despite the heavy criticism meted out by vexed members of the public, the BNP confirms that the membership of the party grew after their exposure. For some this showed that insidious ideas must be monitored and not given exposure to prevent them spreading and contaminating the public. For me, this growth merely confirmed the fraud that is the general English public. While we are so quick to point to our solo white, Jewish, hispanic or Muslim friend that will finally confirm to the world our United Colours of Benetton-ian approach to diversity, increasing numbers in the BNP’s ranks surely indicate that we are not as far along in this tiring game of self-deceit as we thought we were.
For some people the revelation of the extent to which we have been fooling ourselves as a society chaffed their righteous consciences. How can there be so many hidden racists amongst us? (Because try as you might, to convince yourself that the BNP is merely aggressive not racist is as foolish as calling an Ikwerre man an Igbo man to his face with full knowledge of the Nigerian civil war behind you and an understanding of the relationship between an Ikwerre man and his cutlass. This would be a foolish mistake you may only make once in your soon-to-be-severed lifetime).
Some people were upset and disappointed by the swelling ranks of the BNP but I wasn’t upset, just saddened but thankful that the truth was slowly coming to light. Rather than a hidden hatred of all things foreign, it is much better that intolerance be practiced in the open, if it at all. If there were a sign to let everyone know where one’s allegiance belonged on sight, that would make things easier. Some people would not bother to apply for certain jobs were class is a requirement, for instance. Others still would not bother going into establishments were skin pigmentation were graded…or even considered at all. And it would be convenient to know who to avoid at networking events. Amongst others.
The world would be much easier if we abandoned this Great Pretense and agreed that Super Barack or not, as a society we are in some ways mentally confined to the civil rights age as we wander about God’s grey earth; each race deathly afraid and eternally suspicious of the other. When the self-deceit stops, maybe the progress and real quest for unity will start. Until then let those of us that understand that the things that separate us are far smaller than those that unite us start the work, gaining one white, Jewish, hispanic or Muslim friend at a time.
(How's this for a Christmas message though!...Baby Jesus, Baubles & BNP..???.. MERRY CHRISTMAS!)
Our forefathers say...
"No be small thing plantain see before e change 'im name to ballee"
-Warri proverbs from Warri No Dey Carry Last
I heard.....
"Every other virgin from the harem took something of value into King Xerxes' bedchamber for their introduction whether it was his favourite food, an exotic dance she had learned with seductive props, or a treasure from her homeleand.
Esther brought herself, esteeming herself as the best gift she could offer."
-Esther 2:15, the Bible.
(See 'Chosen' by Ginger Garrett)
Esther brought herself, esteeming herself as the best gift she could offer."
-Esther 2:15, the Bible.
(See 'Chosen' by Ginger Garrett)
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Take it to churchhhhhhhh!!!! *waves fan rapidly screaming Halle-loooo-jah!!*
Mimic The Master; Jesus & His actions
[Aside; Before I mount the pulpit *ahem* I would like to make it clear that these are my own (honestly flawed) reflections on the preaching at church, Worship Tabernacle in Belsize Park. I have decided to share them on this blog because…er, it’s my blog and I can do what I want to. (Well, short of killing an endangered species of Brazilian toads and smearing the blog with pictures of the bleeding Neckless…if the Blogspot.com users handbook is to be believed).
This is not a bible-thumping message of the “…Sinners, perish in the wilderness of the fiery beast…” variety. BUT if you don’t already believe Jesus is your friend and only real help in these trying times you should probably consider taking a leaf from your Facebook stalker and add Him…yes, you may poke Him several times a day and clog his messages, just to feel close to Him. He loves that stuff. If not…well, the rest of the post will be read with one of your daintily hairless but precisely measured and arched pseudo-eyebrows lifted and/or full of random mutterings and curses from you. Do yourself a favour.
Alors, allons y.
In church this December, we are learning about the mind of Christ (the reason for this season). What did this teacher/ brother/ deceiver/healer/friend/miracle worker/pretender/ arrogant so-and-so/saviour, have within Him that has kept billions bound through the ages? What was this mindset that made Him, son of God or great pretender, stand out through the ages? What can we learn from Him, Christian or not? Christians, how can we emulate the one who set us free, the one who redeemed us, this friend who listens?
This message is a continuation of last Sunday's(06.12) sermon. It was supposed to be posted on Sunday(12.12). Apologies.
The sole purpose of being Christian is to be like Christ. Not to get things. Not to live an adversity-free life or a poverty-prone one. But simply to be like Christ. The word Christian itself means to be Christ-like in nature. That’s our purpose on earth. Christmas is about the reality that Christ came into the world to duplicte himself in me. And you.
“As a man thinks in his heart, so is he…” according to Solomon the Sage in Proverbs 23:7. You are a process of your thoughts…that is why thinking like Christ is so important. Your thoughts shape your actions and words…in essence your thoughts determine your life. Your thoughts are an amalgamation of your exposures and influences. Doctor Luke in chapter 5 verse 16 of his book, tells us that Jesus often withdrew to out of the way places, to pray. This suggests that he had a constant, open, on-going relationship with God. In other words, he talked to Him a lot. He must have either enjoyed talking to Him or felt that each one of his prayers were precious and important to a Father & Friend that can and is willing to listen… or else what business do you have braving wilderness animals to find some quiet time to speak to yourself??!
The way to build your confidence, knowledge, skill as a person, as a Christian is to spend time around people with the relevant abilities. By constant communion with them you are inspired. That is what Jesus did with God, that’s what Paul did with the scriptures and that is what we need to do with Jesus. Spend time in God’s presence, He is the source of confidence, and wisdom, and hope, and peace, and mercy, and …(this could take a while) the more you spend time with Him, the more he rubs off on you and you begin to develop those qualities you like. Soon they become second nature to you. This one is tried and tested. *Nods aggressively*
Jesus was a calm person. We must realize that a restless heart leads to a reckless life. When you have peace in your soul, despite the surrounding circumstances, you will not be overwhelmed because you are in control. You can not be internally chaotic and expert to address the external chaos surrounding you, properly. You need to “Come to me and I will give you rest” Jesus says in Matt 11:28. Rest, not freedom from all adversity, but rest even in the midst of adversity. Peter suggests that you “…cast your cares upon the lord for he cares for you affectionately AND watches over you. “ (Peter 5:7). You matter, in the grand scheme of things your life is a NECESSARY part of the puzzle.
Even on the cross, with thick nails wedged between crossed feet, with shattered bones and pierced, torn flesh, Jesus was still about the Family business. Was it not on the same cross that one sinner would have missed out on heaven and eternal life by seconds if he had not held on to Jesus’ garment mentally, trusting in His power and in doing this, securing his salvation? Death and hell was cheated right in their faces, at the very end, Jesus snatched that sinner and would not let Him go. Right at deaths door…to see death’s face when cheated of so scrumptious a sinner when Jesus assured the thief that He would be with Him in paradise that evening. SO even in the midst of the worst of life’s storm, Jesus was still fully and calmy in charge. Talking to the frightened prisoner about to be crucified, giving him hope, showing compassion, and saving people by God’s love. Even in the midst of the most terrifying adversity. Right on the cross he was saving sinners and all what not like he was in a Bethlehem camp revival or Men’s league fellowship.
How did Jesus maintain such calm in the midst of the storm, move without urgency through life and achieve everything he did in his ministry?
1. He prioritized.
See the story of the 10 virgins in Matthew 25:1. The wise virgins refused to give out their oil to anyone that asked, understanding that the oil was given to them for a purpose. A purpose higher than the current urgency, the present request, the forced demand. So they said “NO! We can not, we will not, we shallll not be giving out none of this oil this here lantern, mmmkay??” *Finger snaps in ‘Z’ formation* Well they didn’t say that exactly but they definitely meant that. The 5 foolish virgins gave out their valuables to the wrong party and at crunch time, there was nothing to show for their sacrifice. Priotise your life. Put God first. Make time for God. Place value in yourself also. You are L’oreal-style, so very very worth it.
2. Jesus lived a life of faith. Not fear. 10% of life depends on what happens to you. 90% is dependent on your reaction to it. Life will suck at times. That is standard. But what do you do at those times when all you can feel is your fear? In the words of one poet, “I want to know if you can source your own life from its own presence…What sustains you from the inside when all else falls away?” One practical way to stay on the ball especially in this season, is to go into W.W.J.D mode. …*waits for all the snide laughter and smirks from the many possible meanings of that acronym to subside*. Think first, in any situation where you are conflicted, tempted, anxious, joyful; WHAT WOULD JESUS DO? While I’m not sure that this will guarantee success as I have just started practising it myself this week but …well it could save you from a lot of trouble…think, if only Yung Tiger had W.W.J.D’d it maybe he’d have still just been that one Asian-black celebrity that missed the Hott Bus.(Seriously, Tyson Beckford, Pharell, Kelis, Amerie, Kimora. And Mr Woods?)
As usual, I digress.
As Christians we have some defective attitudes that prevent us from thinking and acting like Christ.
Denial
Pretending the problem does not exist is not going to magically make it disappear. Face your problems head on and address it to the best of your ability.
Defeat
Playing the ‘Victim Role’ also known as the ‘Woe-Is-Me’. Or going by the lesser known name of ‘Dun Nobody Known Ma Suffrin’. There is never a situation where the words “….there is nothing I can do” applies. So long as you still have breath in your body and a rational thinking mind, there is always something you can do. Now is that something rolling on the floor from corner to corner like a recently revived Gerasene demoniac is really up to you.
Running
Don’t run from your problem or you will spend your life playing catch up. Face your problems squarely or they will keep cropping up.
As long as you live on this earth, you will face adversity. The wise ones amongst us make the most of adversity recognizing its character building propensity. Adversity will come, the only guarantee we have as Christians is that Jesus will not let us go through it alone. Truth, its at the worst times of my life that I have felt God’s presence the strongest, (whether I wanted it or not). Maybe because those were the times my human limitations were so obvious that I moved from slightly leaning on this power that is greater than me and my understanding to resting my all 65 kilograms of myself on Him.
According to God’s word*, the storm came against the house built on sand and that built on strong ground equally. What was the difference? At the end, there was only one house left standing. The house on the solid rock. Simply because it was founded on tougher material than the storm. Unshakeable rock, able to withstand storm after storm. After storm. Without breaking. That’s the kind of base we need to survive this volatile life.
What is your base?
*Matthew 7: 24-29
Monday, December 14, 2009
Our forefathers say...
"Lion say na him be the king of the jungle, elephant say him no dey the meeting that day"
-Warri proverbs from Warri No Dey Carry Last
Foolery
Now I ask;
"Who dey new star...huh?!"
The ONLY reason I'd become a Twigga* is for the chance to send this video to P. Diddy 'Take that x2' Combs & 112.
Happy Monday! Happy Last week of school! Happy Exam week! Excited for 2010...yes, already. *beams*
*Yes apparently there are Twitter-niggas roaming around these here virtual reality streets...still not sure who they are though. Twitter fans with black thumbs? Or just those sending out Black Panther messages via Twitter? I heard the word from Sheri Shepherd. *Kanye shrug*
"Who dey new star...huh?!"
The ONLY reason I'd become a Twigga* is for the chance to send this video to P. Diddy 'Take that x2' Combs & 112.
Happy Monday! Happy Last week of school! Happy Exam week! Excited for 2010...yes, already. *beams*
*Yes apparently there are Twitter-niggas roaming around these here virtual reality streets...still not sure who they are though. Twitter fans with black thumbs? Or just those sending out Black Panther messages via Twitter? I heard the word from Sheri Shepherd. *Kanye shrug*
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Our forefathers say...
"Escort me..Escort me....na 'im slave trade take start"
-Warri proverbs from Warri No Dey Carry Last
Take it to churchhhhhhhh!!!! *waves fan rapidly screaming Halle-loooo-jah!!*
Mimic The Master
10-13 “The Spirit, not content to flit around on the surface, dives into the depths of God, and brings out what God planned all along. Who ever knows what you're thinking and planning except you yourself? The same with God—except that he not only knows what he's thinking, but he lets us in on it. God offers a full report on the gifts of life and salvation that he is giving us. We don't have to rely on the world's guesses and opinions. We didn't learn this by reading books or going to school; we learned it from God, who taught us person-to-person through Jesus, and we're passing it on to you in the same firsthand, personal way.
14-16 The unspiritual self, just as it is by nature, can't receive the gifts of God's Spirit. There's no capacity for them. They seem like so much silliness. Spirit can be known only by spirit—God's Spirit and our spirits in open communion. Spiritually alive, we have access to everything God's Spirit is doing, and can't be judged by unspiritual critics. Isaiah's question, "Is there anyone around who knows God's Spirit, anyone who knows what he is doing?" has been answered: Christ knows, and we have Christ's Spirit.”
[Aside; Before I mount the pulpit *ahem* I would like to make it clear that these are my own (honestly flawed) reflections on the preaching at church, Worship Tabernacle in Belsize Park. I have decided to share them on this blog because…er, it’s my blog and I can do what I want to. (Well, short of killing an endangered species of Brazilian toads and smearing the blog with pictures of the bleeding Neckless…if the Blogspot.com users handbook is to be believed).
This is not a bible-thumping message of the “…Sinners, perish in the wilderness of the fiery beast…” variety. BUT if you don’t already believe Jesus is your friend and only real help in these trying times you should probably consider taking a leaf from your Facebook stalker and add Him…yes, you may poke Him several times a day and clog his messages, just to feel close to Him. He loves that stuff. If not…well, the rest of the post will be read with one of your daintily hairless but precisely measured and arched pseudo-eyebrows lifted and/or full of random mutterings and curses from you. Do yourself a favour.
Alors, allons y.
In church this December, we are learning about the mind of Christ (the reason for this season). What did this teacher/ brother/ deceiver/healer/friend/miracle worker/pretender/ arrogant so-and-so/saviour, have within Him that has kept billions bound through the ages? What was this mindset that made Him, son of God or great pretender, stand out through the ages? What can we learn from Him, Christian or not? Christians, how can we emulate the one who set us free, the one who redeemed us, this friend who listens?
We began by dissecting the gospel of Jesus. Random fact, I heard that the word ‘Gospel’ literally translates from Greek or Aremaic (I forget which) to “News that is so good, it can NOT possibly be true!” But I digress.
WHY?
Why be on your WWJD grind? What are the merits of a Christ-like mind?
1 Corinthians 2:13-16 quoted above, tells us that the essence of God is His spirit. As we are made in His image, our essence is our spirit. This is why John prays for his friends success in business as well as the prosperity of his soul.
1-4 “The Pastor, to my good friend Gaius: How truly I love you! We're the best of friends, and I pray for good fortune in everything you do, and for your good health—that your everyday affairs prosper, as well as your soul!”
The prayer from 3 John 1-2, is for the well-being and joy of his friend Gaius based on the understanding that for the outside to prosper without the inside equally prospering, death of an emotional or spiritual kind is stalking close behind. When your soul prospers, everything else follows. King Solomon the Sage, tells us that out of the abundance of the soul the mouth speaks. The key to change the outside, is inside of you. Not the reverse as extreme make-over shows tell us. Waiting till your surroundings change so you can be happier, more fulfilled, at peace and so on is not really the way to go, it is in motivating your spirit and nourishing your soul to produce the optimum from your body and maximise your mind that your surroundings flourish.
Your mind should take instruction from your spirit. Which in turn gleans understanding from the Master’s Spirit. The spirit is the channel of communication with God because it was this Spirit that God breathed into us to give life in the first place. This is the lasting thread connecting the made to the maker. When your soul; your spirit-being does not prosper, how can you be fulfilled when the body is made of mind body & soul? Its like having a cerebral mind with a body ravaged by illness, you can not be described as in full health because all your faculties are not aligned. This is why a Christ-like mind is necessary; to give you balance, contentment in all things and confidence in yourself.
How?
How can one get this mind of which you speak oh street preacher on these thugging e-streets?
First, you cant mimic someone you don’t know. Hebrews 3:1 tells us to “Consider (observe, study) Jesus, the…High Priest of our confession”. How can we know Him when we don’t spend time with Him? We can’t study him when we are too far to see Him, make out His features, understand His ways, recognise His presence, His advice, His peace. The pastor suggests we wake up a few minutes earlier than normal (he actually said 20 minutes but I saw too many balking faces within his congregation especially from the 5am Cityboys & girls). But those few minutes draw us closer to the source. To the source of our strength, our hope, our joy, our peace...SO necessary to face another Monday of disturbingly dry classes. In practicing and imitating, we begin to look like him.
For our spirits to be healthy, we must study the Word to feed ourselves with things that speak to our spirits and nourish our souls. Feed ourselves to build our spirits and make us people that stand for God, for our values and beliefs in this day and age. Church is an addition, a snack or treat to balance the diet you fed on during the week. Not a 6 course meal that lasts from 11 to 1 every Sunday. What are we reading, watching, doing from Lundi a Vendredi, Monsieur et ‘demoiselle Dimanche?
Another way to build up your spirit is to help others. We must support the people around us because our salvation lies in uplifting, encouraging and looking out for others. That is what brings the joy of Christ, that David the psalmist sings is “…the strength of our life”. Its by helping others that your help comes…sometimes through the sudden realisation that someone has it worse than you, so much worse that your problem seems almost petty. It’s not gone, but it sure as hell is looking better from where you’re sitting.
Two things I like about Jesus’ mind
1. Jesus’ mind never seemed to entertain failure or defeat. He knew it could come, but he did not entertain it. He found solution after solution to problems no matter how dour things seemed or how anxious Peter & the crew were. 5,000 people and no bread? Look for someone with any food at all…even a miracle starts with SOMEthing. People crowding the temple and selling livestock? Bring me my whip Pete! Arresting time in Gethsamane? Your will be done. His mind was solidly anchored to victory. And Timothy 1.7 tells us it’s the same mind God has given us; a sound mind not a fearful one.
To be anchored to victory does not mean depression will not come, that fear will not race to us unbidden, or worry will not knock loudly after dropping its heavy suitcase on our porch. Lady Life is after all nothing but the bastard daughter of a diseased goat and will do her very best to unseat us from our throne of grace. But we like Jesus must be solution finders not problem hoarders, anchoring ourselves to the victory giver, Jesus. He calmly and boldly faced death, triumphing in the face of adversity because of a mindest that understood that victory regardless of the circumstances is assured.
The thing is, we don’t even realise what damage our thoughts can do. The devil acts on our most dominant thoughts, propelling us towards those thoughts and when they finally manifest we stand looking around confusedly like a foreigner at their first New Yam Festival. Not realising that you are the steering captain of your wrecked ship.
Finally, Christ’s never doubted his identity.
Jesus Christ honestly believed He was the image of God, viewed Himself as the image of God and his thoughts and actions aligned to this belief. We also, are made in God’s image (Genesis 1.26), that is why the bible says “Don’t you know that you are are god’s” in Psalm 82:6.
Your identity determines your ability. What you see when you look at yourself really limits or propels you. As a Christian if you knew who was backing you, you would un-limit yourself. It’s like playing that game where someone stands behind and promises to catch you when you fall backwards. To fall in the first place, you need to trust the person behind you has the ability to catch you. Only then will you fall freely. When you trust God to be there, you can live your life fully, expectantly, happily.
The problem with us is that we are so aware of what we don’t have that we forget what we do have; God on our side. If God is for us, Paul asks, who can be against us???! The fact that you are still alive means God has a plan and purpose for you. You are not forgotten. You have to remember that you are somebody, not just anybody. YOU matter, your life is purposeful, and very very precious to the one who created you, in His grand scheme of things.
Christ thought, did and believed the impossible. Know yourself, trust your God…with Him , impossible is nothing. Matthew 17:20.
Remember Romans 8:28; “All things work together for good for those that work according to his purpose.”
The Message bible version says; “That's why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.”
Like Houston, I like that.
Our forefathers say...
"...No be today nyash get centre parting"
-Warri proverbs from Warri No Dey Carry Last
Saturday, December 5, 2009
I heard.....
Miranda: "But there's all those mixed signals..."
Burger: "Yeah, all code for he's not that into you though."
-Sex & The City
Burger: "Yeah, all code for he's not that into you though."
-Sex & The City
Nigerian Kate Moss
So something has been bothering me for a bit. The niggling doubt at the back of my mind began sometime in August, on a couch in a house in Lagos on a barmy Saturday afternoon. The quiet whir of the air conditioner and the reduced muttering of the voices on screen did nothing to distract me from the conversation going on in the sitting room as my parents and their friends discussed, the only way we know how; loudly.
People wonder from time to time how I became the assertive sometimes (SOMEtimes) aggressive woman I am…then they meet my dad, or watch my mum…or visit my house and a light of comprehension is kindled in their eyes. I love my home, it’s noisy, boisterous, warm & loving (in an a strange way). But I digress.
So sitting in the living room hearing the loud discussions that revolve around the basics; politics, social ills, war…yeah the basics in every household. We discussed for the umpteenth time the Problem With Today’s Youth. The talk winded slowly to women’s dressing. At this point a visiting uncle boldly suggested that women are the architects of their destruction. Apparently the way women dress today is the reason our graduates are half-baked, they seduce their way through the higher institutions. Yeah, you see the way women dress is the SOLE reason they continue to be used as pawns in banks to bait wealthy investors. In fact it’s the reason constant electricity and clean water are unavailable to the masses. Oh! If only you women would cover your mammary glands and not wear those damned thongs our streets would be paved with gold as clean water suddenly gushes forth from silver taps and electrons collide to provide constant electricity. Yes, YES this is definitely the way.
In fact, the conversation went on to include a proverb. Apparently, our forefathers say “If a woman stands naked in the market place, she should not be surprised by the events that unfold”. Oho! That is when my ears pricked up like a rabid dog sighting a chubby cripple. SO, a woman who dresses in an 'exposing manner' should not be surprised when unflattering overtures are made to her. Ok, the feminist in me struggled but I could see some method in the madness, see the reasoning behind the statement.
Fast forward to one Sunday afternoon in November. Relaxing in another sitting room watching HiTv. A serious debate is raging on my screen as a Nigerian talk show hosts a lively discussion between some Nigerian youth and select lecturers and officials from several homegrown universities.
To my chagrin, a well-read lecturer admonishes a young girl for suggesting that some centres of higher learning house severely lecherous men who harass their students into bartering sexual favours for good grades, grades that they sometimes deserve sex-free. The female lecturer sharply informs the undergraduate that these ladies are not victims because their dressing suggests, nay BEGS the lecturers to trade scores for sex.
Still I muttered “method in the madness” and moved on. Worried that if I thought too much about this, I might not like the conclusion I reach.
But yesterday night, I read a very interesting article on the entertaining 234next.com. The writer made some solid points about Nigerian women, indecent exposure and the “I’m aware” syndrome. (That carelessly arrogant reply that follows a passer-by’s anxiety that a lady’s right boob might do a Janet Jackson on us). While I found the article interesting, the comments that followed fascinated me no end. The most entertaining were;
“Daughters and sisters of Jezebel, eh! What do you expect?.Notice me. Signs of the end times we are in. A result of the seeds we have been sowing for long now. Do you think it will abate soon? May be when we change our thought processes as well as embrace lasting VALUES. Until our females start becoming WOMEN. I dare to say that we have few women around today. Any female on skirt should not considere herself or be considered as a woman. Woman is a name of honour. So agree with me when I say that there are very few women alive in Nigeria today. Majority are just females , with no enduring values to offer. Cry my beloved earth.”
“'i am aware' that 99% of the 'girls or 'ladies' that this piece is directed at do not know how to read or listen to anything more serious than fashion mags and Mtv.This generation is totally different..i saw a 3-year old the other day that had been dressed by her mum in a tight-fitting tank top exposing non-existent breasts plus a micro-mini skirt complete with knee-length boots and permed hair..talk about 'catching them young'! think of how fully AWARE she will be by the time she is 16!”
“Nigerians go too far at times. Undergraduates in the UK do not have money to wear expensive clothes or time to reveal parts of their bodies because it is very difficult to get a pass mark over here. Nigerian undergraduates reveal too much and blame "Messrs" Lecturer for chasing them.”
And the one dear to my heart;
“To all the holy rollers....shut the **** up and focus on how we can have electricity 24/7.”
You see, the only reason this indecent exposure issue gives me pause is that it reveals a deeper rooted problem in our society than originally assumed. Before going into this identified problem, I will humbly put to you that the fact that Nigerian women might sometimes dress inappropriately is often simply due to a minor miscalculation on our part. What looks decent on a mannequin or size 0 model is grossly transformed to the archetype of suggestiveness when worn on a stereotypical African woman; heaving bosom, small waist, round tummy, wide child-bearing hips, high and proud backside, toned legs and a strong back. Now what Kate Moss looked like a pre-pubescent teen in, our Nigerian Amazonian transforms into sex-on-legs. What our ‘holy rollers’ fail to understand is that most of these women are not necessarily looking to seduce, they are just going for pretty. If they land at sexy then Hey! What’s a sistah ‘posed to do?!
Now am I saying we should not dress age and size appropriately? Nope. It is advisable that we indeed do so. But we musn’t go round assuming women are all out, looking to seduce…because if we did, the alternative is to go burka-style, covered head to toe…because there will be a man somewhere who gets excited by a woman’s ear wax and will surely complain (another commenter mentioned this in reply to the article).
NOW, to the issue that has worried me since August. So we say our women are not the true victims with their exposed cleavage and midriffs, that in wearing ‘revealing’ (refer to ear wax comment) outfits, they are in essence asking to be derogated to/fondled/raped etc. Are we also suggesting that our men can not be controlled? In essence they have no self-control? Potentially so tempted are our men, that they regress to tapping on animal instincts and seize without summon from the woman in question? Because if we are, we have the same fear as those racist so and so’s we always condemn. Those colonialists, neo or otherwise, who believe the African man is sub-human. Half man and half beast, stuck in his current crisis due to an inability to dominate his baser urges.
So these our Nigerian men should not be blamed because our voluptuous women tempt them beyond their control? Our 21st century men, our lecturers in all their wisdom and knowledge, our bank managers with their power and control should not be held liable for seizing without permission because the woman implicitly asked for it? Well that is good news. Now I know that those lecturers in the premier universities of the world with students half dressed in the summer heat MUST be lesser men. Let us continue to excuse the actions of our men and heap the blame on the neatly braided skulls of our women as this will make those gold-paved streets and silver taps a reality.
*Shrugs*
Randoms
Growing up, my Lagos-bred mama often told my second sister (who is now appropriately at Harvard. Yes, totally irrelevant but I am still terribly proud... so will keep dropping names like they fell out of my pocket), that she is a "SOBOLATION". The first time I used it on the earliest Busybody I encountered in boarding school, in the appropriate mind-your-business context mind you, everyone looked at me like I spoke parseltongue.
SO, seeing this video by veteran musician Labaja confirmed, Sobolation is indeed a word not a creative insult I invented to shut a nosy parker!
That is all.
Oh, and I love the impromptu concert on the busy Lagos street!
SO, seeing this video by veteran musician Labaja confirmed, Sobolation is indeed a word not a creative insult I invented to shut a nosy parker!
That is all.
Oh, and I love the impromptu concert on the busy Lagos street!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
I heard.....
"Carpe Diem Quam Minimum Credula Postero."
"Seize The Day And Place No Trust In Tomorrow."
-Horace
"Seize The Day And Place No Trust In Tomorrow."
-Horace
Favourite Things
Love Sonnet XI
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
Pablo Neruda, another favourite.
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
I hunger for your sleek laugh,
your hands the color of a savage harvest,
hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,
I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.
I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,
the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,
I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,
and I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,
hunting for you, for your hot heart,
like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.
Pablo Neruda, another favourite.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
I heard.....
"Don't be all up on your significant other, all vulturesque like Impending Danger."
-How To Get You & Keep You A Man...by a commenter on verysmartbrothas.com
LOL.
-How To Get You & Keep You A Man...by a commenter on verysmartbrothas.com
LOL.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Birthday.
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." (From a Headstone in Ireland)
Little Sister,
I want to tell you how very very much I miss you today. Not because I miss you any more today than any of the other days combined but because today is the one day I fully allow myself indulge in the act of Missing You. I lie in our memories, let them quietly cover my head or noisily scream inside my head as my tears soften and melt them, causing them to stick to me; heart, mind and soul. I miss you today not because you are less special any other day but because some days don’t deserve the indulgence of mourning. Some days are not special like today. Today when the heavens stopped to watch the tiny fair being squeeze and struggle to eventually dislodge herself, noisily, from mummy’s person.
Today I am letting it be yours because in all truth it belongs to you. It’s the one day you would preen and prance, turning your head this way and that as the other kids yelled their happy birthdays from their wooden seats as you strolled past their classes on your way to yours trying to restrain your excitement and appear with vacant eyes when your classmates shout “SURPRISE” as you enter into your class. Beaming as everyone pushes a card, or a gift most random…or starts a little chant accompanied by the drum-on-desk to the now appropriately afro-beat remixed Happy Birthday song. I can see your face as you write me a letter or the now permitted email from the breezy computer room that is Mr Sani’s (The Alchoholic’s) lair. I will later read your notes to myself and smile as you describe each present that was obviously much thought of even as we share the understanding of boarding school students with the prioritizing and rationalizing of tiny daily usefuls as gifts. A notebook here, a glittery pen there…You go on and on, throwing about names of friends. The ones I called imaginary. Names, names, names…when will I meet them???!
Then my smile turns to a full-bellied laugh as I read your very serious inquiry; “Why do you always write one-zero-one’s to me when something is funny?” and I glorying in my role as big sister, tease you mercilessly for mistaking my fancily crafted “lol’s” for “101’s. “
Shame I no longer use that account. I can’t afford to look at those messages.
I miss you. As the years go by, I worry and worry that I will not remember your face. The pretty one we told you we would use to get a husband to pay all our school fees and give daddy a break whenever you didn’t do well at school. I worry that your laugh, that almost annoying one that reminds me of a gurgling fart (yes, it did!) will no longer be familiar due to misuse. I worry that my memories will not be enough, for me , for my children when I tell them colourful tales of growing up in a house with too much laughter and so little seriousness. But most of all, I worry about you. Where are you? Are you ok? Who is watching out for you? Who are you hoarding your boarding school stories for? Whose clothes are you stealing? Who is sending you new and improved Yo Momma jokes? Whose friends are you stalking? Who are you grudgingly saying “I love you” to after much cajoling and bribery?
I wish you were here. That everything could go back to what it was. That we didn’t have to cry on the last day of every November or mope on the 10th of December. I wish we didn’t light candles in our hearts and houses, as if their burning flames should remind you that there is always a home waiting for you here, house or heart.
And I will tell you a secret, that death day means nothing to me when perhaps it should be everything. It was after all the walls round my life did a Jericho and fell down round my ears. The date I literally (can you believe it??) saw my entire life, past, present and future sail unchecked away from me as my heart seized and my breath caught as I realized for the first time, “What if my little sister dies?” The first time I realized that I had come to deem Us, The Untouchables.
I can’t believe you are gone, sometimes it seems like I’m talking about someone else’s sister, watching someone else’s life; hearing someone else’s mum cry, seeing someone else’s wonderful daddy’s heart break…or that other girl’s sisters try to be strong. So while I think about you everyday (its amazing, sometimes I don’t even know when I am doing it), I don’t dwell on it. That would make me mad with longing, weak with “What-ifs”. And you know, the spinning on the axis continues with or without you, unfortunately. (Seeing as you weren’t the Hercules holding the world on your shoulders stopping its spins, this of course makes sense).
My Sister, on your deathday when the world mourns for you, I can’t. That day has no meaning to me. It wasn’t with me long enough to accord it that special honour reserved for the day you came into my 6 year old earth. Your birthday. The one I’ve been privy to since I was six. Since I saw your too-fair self for the first time. Since I sat in the kitchen on a tiny stool scooping 2 sweets and 3 lollipops amongst other ‘goodies’ into those party packs for your birthday as you buzzed excitedly around after choosing your ‘fabulous’ party clothes…you the little lady of style, dictating to maids what colours went together once you could talk. I still remember mummy coming back from the hospital after she had you and telling us how she told the doctor on the 30th of November 1992, “The baby must come out today! I have one December child already. I want a November baby. I will not give birth in December!!” Not that I need to remind you but mummy is still a movement by herself.lol.
My dear Abu, lover of tea, licker of limes (which I always happily gave you just to see that ugly, squeezed look on your face as the tart taste slaps the insides of your cheeks even as you look up pleadingly at my 4foot nothing frame and beg the imperial 8 year old majesty for another taste of that sour fruit). I remember just sitting with you watching cartoons after Baby came with her coup d’etat that dethroned you from the Last Child position of power. Your downfall was so sweet to your big sisters who had been dethroned at one time by several military regimes of the baby kind. In its fourth republic, the territory was quite old to us but you didn’t know what to make of it; suddenly your crying was no longer the priority as tired hands dropped you to play with your ‘big’ sisters who teased you wickedly, pinching your eyeballs and calling you Aladdin’s thieving monkey Abu…to your very annoyed screams. Lol. Goodtimes.
In writing this, I realise (thanks!) that I will never forget you. The contours of your cheek bones may fade in my mind, like the sound of your voice or the swagger of your ‘S’ shaped walk, but you are too much a part of me to be forgotten. We belong to each other and like two people that go to the very distant corners of the earth, never to see again in life, we are each sustained by several lifetimes of memories. Poor substitute for the real thing but my sister and friend, I am so happy that you have left these with me.
I Love You.
Your biggest Big Sister
"And, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of Heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun." -William Shakespeare
Little Sister,
I want to tell you how very very much I miss you today. Not because I miss you any more today than any of the other days combined but because today is the one day I fully allow myself indulge in the act of Missing You. I lie in our memories, let them quietly cover my head or noisily scream inside my head as my tears soften and melt them, causing them to stick to me; heart, mind and soul. I miss you today not because you are less special any other day but because some days don’t deserve the indulgence of mourning. Some days are not special like today. Today when the heavens stopped to watch the tiny fair being squeeze and struggle to eventually dislodge herself, noisily, from mummy’s person.
Today I am letting it be yours because in all truth it belongs to you. It’s the one day you would preen and prance, turning your head this way and that as the other kids yelled their happy birthdays from their wooden seats as you strolled past their classes on your way to yours trying to restrain your excitement and appear with vacant eyes when your classmates shout “SURPRISE” as you enter into your class. Beaming as everyone pushes a card, or a gift most random…or starts a little chant accompanied by the drum-on-desk to the now appropriately afro-beat remixed Happy Birthday song. I can see your face as you write me a letter or the now permitted email from the breezy computer room that is Mr Sani’s (The Alchoholic’s) lair. I will later read your notes to myself and smile as you describe each present that was obviously much thought of even as we share the understanding of boarding school students with the prioritizing and rationalizing of tiny daily usefuls as gifts. A notebook here, a glittery pen there…You go on and on, throwing about names of friends. The ones I called imaginary. Names, names, names…when will I meet them???!
Then my smile turns to a full-bellied laugh as I read your very serious inquiry; “Why do you always write one-zero-one’s to me when something is funny?” and I glorying in my role as big sister, tease you mercilessly for mistaking my fancily crafted “lol’s” for “101’s. “
Shame I no longer use that account. I can’t afford to look at those messages.
I miss you. As the years go by, I worry and worry that I will not remember your face. The pretty one we told you we would use to get a husband to pay all our school fees and give daddy a break whenever you didn’t do well at school. I worry that your laugh, that almost annoying one that reminds me of a gurgling fart (yes, it did!) will no longer be familiar due to misuse. I worry that my memories will not be enough, for me , for my children when I tell them colourful tales of growing up in a house with too much laughter and so little seriousness. But most of all, I worry about you. Where are you? Are you ok? Who is watching out for you? Who are you hoarding your boarding school stories for? Whose clothes are you stealing? Who is sending you new and improved Yo Momma jokes? Whose friends are you stalking? Who are you grudgingly saying “I love you” to after much cajoling and bribery?
I wish you were here. That everything could go back to what it was. That we didn’t have to cry on the last day of every November or mope on the 10th of December. I wish we didn’t light candles in our hearts and houses, as if their burning flames should remind you that there is always a home waiting for you here, house or heart.
And I will tell you a secret, that death day means nothing to me when perhaps it should be everything. It was after all the walls round my life did a Jericho and fell down round my ears. The date I literally (can you believe it??) saw my entire life, past, present and future sail unchecked away from me as my heart seized and my breath caught as I realized for the first time, “What if my little sister dies?” The first time I realized that I had come to deem Us, The Untouchables.
I can’t believe you are gone, sometimes it seems like I’m talking about someone else’s sister, watching someone else’s life; hearing someone else’s mum cry, seeing someone else’s wonderful daddy’s heart break…or that other girl’s sisters try to be strong. So while I think about you everyday (its amazing, sometimes I don’t even know when I am doing it), I don’t dwell on it. That would make me mad with longing, weak with “What-ifs”. And you know, the spinning on the axis continues with or without you, unfortunately. (Seeing as you weren’t the Hercules holding the world on your shoulders stopping its spins, this of course makes sense).
My Sister, on your deathday when the world mourns for you, I can’t. That day has no meaning to me. It wasn’t with me long enough to accord it that special honour reserved for the day you came into my 6 year old earth. Your birthday. The one I’ve been privy to since I was six. Since I saw your too-fair self for the first time. Since I sat in the kitchen on a tiny stool scooping 2 sweets and 3 lollipops amongst other ‘goodies’ into those party packs for your birthday as you buzzed excitedly around after choosing your ‘fabulous’ party clothes…you the little lady of style, dictating to maids what colours went together once you could talk. I still remember mummy coming back from the hospital after she had you and telling us how she told the doctor on the 30th of November 1992, “The baby must come out today! I have one December child already. I want a November baby. I will not give birth in December!!” Not that I need to remind you but mummy is still a movement by herself.lol.
My dear Abu, lover of tea, licker of limes (which I always happily gave you just to see that ugly, squeezed look on your face as the tart taste slaps the insides of your cheeks even as you look up pleadingly at my 4foot nothing frame and beg the imperial 8 year old majesty for another taste of that sour fruit). I remember just sitting with you watching cartoons after Baby came with her coup d’etat that dethroned you from the Last Child position of power. Your downfall was so sweet to your big sisters who had been dethroned at one time by several military regimes of the baby kind. In its fourth republic, the territory was quite old to us but you didn’t know what to make of it; suddenly your crying was no longer the priority as tired hands dropped you to play with your ‘big’ sisters who teased you wickedly, pinching your eyeballs and calling you Aladdin’s thieving monkey Abu…to your very annoyed screams. Lol. Goodtimes.
In writing this, I realise (thanks!) that I will never forget you. The contours of your cheek bones may fade in my mind, like the sound of your voice or the swagger of your ‘S’ shaped walk, but you are too much a part of me to be forgotten. We belong to each other and like two people that go to the very distant corners of the earth, never to see again in life, we are each sustained by several lifetimes of memories. Poor substitute for the real thing but my sister and friend, I am so happy that you have left these with me.
I Love You.
Your biggest Big Sister
"And, when he shall die, Take him and cut him out in little stars, And he will make the face of Heaven so fine That all the world will be in love with night And pay no worship to the garish sun." -William Shakespeare
Monday, November 23, 2009
I heard.....
"Observe the women of France how they achieve what they want not be stamping their little feet. But by making the men believe that they are in charge. THAT is the art of being a woman."-Mrs Boleyn, The Other Boleyn Girl.
A Lot.
"Who will grieve for this woman? Does she not seem
too insignificant for our concern?
Yet in my heart I never will deny her,
who suffered death because she chose to turn."
-Anna Akhmatova
There are certain things that happen in life that have the potential to humble a person; death, divorce, defeat. Sometimes inevitable parts of living on God’s Grey Earth. For some life is chequered, with these Inevitables sprinkled here and there. For others life in it entirety is one big hustle causing them to tiptoe through life simply to arrive safely at death. Still for others, some very fortunate ones, nothing has impeded their enjoyment of this life. Not too long ago I counted myself a proud part of this fortunate class. *Dusts Membership badge*
I rephrase, I did not count myself a part of the class more like I considered myself an elite and privileged sub-section of the genus Untouchable. There I was a carefree woman, never believing any evil could be audacious enough to approach my dwelling space not because I am God’s favourite child (I didn’t even know this then) but just because in my idealistic, idyllic, sheltered world, bad things just did not happen to Us. I do not know why but they just did not. *Shrugs*
Oh to go back to those days where such assurance was concrete. The older you get, the more life seems determined to remind you that all the world is a stage and we herein are merely its unpaid amateur actors. The script has been written. Now, now ‘I Am The Captain Of My Faith, I Am The Master Of My Soul’ proponents reel in your bulging eyeballs and palpitating hearts, I am not talking about predetermination here. I am not Sibyl; the only wondrous orbs I glare into from time to time have little plastic people inside and fake snow falling when it is overturned. I merely suggest when I say that we are but actors on this great stage of life, that sometimes the control of this life is out of our hands...far beyond the reach of our greedy, yearning phalanges.
How do I know this? I don’t.
I don’t know, I think so though.
I think so because, I plan my life; map out my memories, determine my destination and propose my purpose for the year/5 years/10 years ahead. I make plans based on my hopes, goals AND ability. But as Robert Burns warns us “...The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry”. King Solomon a.k.a The Sage agrees with cher Monsieur Burns, pithily he tells us “Man proposes and God disposes”. (Prov 16:9 Paraphrased). It seems that the older one gets the less likely the world is willing to indulge the individual. Life’s lessons do not bring you up…they drag you up. Forcefully. As the years pile on themselves in a vicious effort to draw you ever closer to your twilight years, you will find that childlike qualities are very quickly replaced, as a paradigmatic shift in perceptions occur. Your perceptions change and you find your sheltering idealism suddenly snatched away from you like a wig you find yourself holding after a violent breeze blows it off its owner's skull.
For me, after a life of very few hard-knocks and idyllic life that might be surreal to many, I found that the very first slap Life gave me almost took me out of the match; I almost passed the baton to the next runner and abandoned the field of play. First life blow-slapped me with a death. To say it left me reeling is an understatement. There was after all the well established rule that bad things did not happen to me or mine. “I thought you knew this?” I asked God. This was a well recognised law. The universe respected it, the stars didn’t but appreciated it anyway and nature, naturally cooperated. But death visited and snatched a life from me, exalting in its victory. A short lived victory because here I am having lived through my worst nightmare. I stumbled, badly, after Life gave me the first hard-knock but as Tolsoy says, "If I know the way home and I am walking along it drunkenly, is it any less the right way because I am staggering from side to side?" I found my way back home.
In recent times Life has again attempted to blow-slap me into submission. Not to the same degree as before thanks to the God that watches out for me and mine, but still a healthy slap was dealt. I failed an examination. This is humbling for me because it is an entirely new experience. This is deeply embarassing for me because...well it just is. No one likes to fail I guess. *Shrugs*
So the exam for which I studied for two months and this very blog helped document some of the struggles, is the same I failed. I was close to the pass mark, a blessing and a curse, but obviously not close enough. I cried and cried like the broken hearted negro slave on a plantation bound slave-ship I referred to in a previous post. (I’ve always thought that though crying is cathartic, it’s very useless as a relief tool. It has no ability to wipe away the past, it largely serves an indulgent purpose..making me feel better.)
After this epic fail(who knew the term would ever be used in seriousness), I am humbled. As I try to make sense of this, I realise that this failure for me sounds exactly like a reverberating death knell on my joy. I hear the heavy bell ringing as if in mockery of my many successes, so loud that my accomplishments seem a distant dream. And I am awed by how much past failure can limit future success. 3 solid weeks, 21 days, atleast 504 hours and potentially trillions of seconds after receiving my results, I still find myself sad, constantly doubting my intellect, mentally limiting myself, questioning my abilities and warring with my emotions. Some how I have managed to plummet into the proverbial 'Funk' y’all. * That made more sense in my head.*
I read the story of Lot's wife today and it's gone some way in giving me insight that God willing, will drag me out of this 'funk'.
Lot’s wife in the Bible.
Lot’s wife’s suffering in the Bible is a story I never really paid attention before. BUT this is an amazing analogy of human beings & life today. (The Bible has done it again!). Lot’s wife had been told to leave her city with her family because it would be destroyed by God. “Don’t look back!!!” Lot warned and warned according to God’s directions. But as Lady Lot ran out of her city, she cast one last look back at her city.
In sadness, seeing her city full of her friends perish? In wonder, at what God rescued and saved her from? In happiness, at her ‘haters’ eventual downfall and total destruction? In fear and worry, as she witnessed all that she had worked so hard for go up in hellish flames? Whatever the case, Madame no look road she stay dey look back. Lady Lot wouldn’t focus on the road in front, instead she looked back and received her punishment. Not just for disobeying God but for two other reasons, I suspect.
For one thing, Lady Lot did not trust God and His promises enough to let go of her past. Secondly, by turning around to take inventory of what was behind her, she inevitably slowed herself down. She hampered her progress by those few minutes or even seconds that she stood staring at all that she HAD rather than looking forward at all that she would HAVE if she trusted her Maker.
Lady Lot turned into a pillar of salt. An immovable block of salt is actually the paragon of stagnation. If I was Aunty Nkem of ‘Tales By Moonlight’ fame, I would tell you that the moral of the story is that her past had held her so captive that she could not move forward to face the future. A free, unlimited, unmarked, potential-filled future by the way. Maybe she should have been considering the future with anticipation of another chance? Perhaps with thanksgiving to God for remembering The little Lots in their tiny Sodom home? Or maybe standing in awe of God’s mighty power in saving herself AND her family.
I realise that in many ways I have been Mrs. Lot. Standing mobile crying over the lot I have lost. Shame really, when my best is yet to come.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Favourite Things
WHO UNDERSTANDS ME BUT ME
They turn the water off, so I live without water,
they build walls higher, so I live without treetops,
they paint the windows black, so I live without sunshine,
they lock my cage, so I live without going anywhere,
they take each last tear I have, I live without tears,
they take my heart and rip it open, I live without heart,
they take my life and crush it, so I live without a future,
they say I am beastly and fiendish, so I have no friends,
they stop up each hope, so I have no passage out of hell,
they give me pain, so I live with pain,
they give me hate, so I live with my hate,
they have changed me, and I am not the same man,
they give me no shower, so I live with my smell,
they separate me from my brothers, so I live without brothers,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?
who understands me when I say I have found other freedoms?
I cannot fly or make something appear in my hand,
I cannot make the heavens open or the earth tremble,
I can live with myself, and I am amazed at myself, my love, my beauty,
I am taken by my failures, astounded by my fears,
I am stubborn and childish,
in the midst of this wreckage of life they incurred,
I practice being myself,
and I have found parts of myself never dreamed of by me,
they were goaded out from under rocks in my heart
when the walls were built higher,
when the water was turned off and the windows painted black.
I followed these signs
like an old tracker and followed the tracks deep into myself
followed the blood-spotted path,
deeper into dangerous regions, and found so many parts of myself,
who taught me water is not everything,
and gave me new eyes to see through walls,
and when they spoke, sunlight came out of their mouths,
and I was laughing at me with them,
we laughed like children and made pacts to always be loyal,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?
Jimmy Santiago Baca
*I love Latin American poetry. And poets:-)
They turn the water off, so I live without water,
they build walls higher, so I live without treetops,
they paint the windows black, so I live without sunshine,
they lock my cage, so I live without going anywhere,
they take each last tear I have, I live without tears,
they take my heart and rip it open, I live without heart,
they take my life and crush it, so I live without a future,
they say I am beastly and fiendish, so I have no friends,
they stop up each hope, so I have no passage out of hell,
they give me pain, so I live with pain,
they give me hate, so I live with my hate,
they have changed me, and I am not the same man,
they give me no shower, so I live with my smell,
they separate me from my brothers, so I live without brothers,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?
who understands me when I say I have found other freedoms?
I cannot fly or make something appear in my hand,
I cannot make the heavens open or the earth tremble,
I can live with myself, and I am amazed at myself, my love, my beauty,
I am taken by my failures, astounded by my fears,
I am stubborn and childish,
in the midst of this wreckage of life they incurred,
I practice being myself,
and I have found parts of myself never dreamed of by me,
they were goaded out from under rocks in my heart
when the walls were built higher,
when the water was turned off and the windows painted black.
I followed these signs
like an old tracker and followed the tracks deep into myself
followed the blood-spotted path,
deeper into dangerous regions, and found so many parts of myself,
who taught me water is not everything,
and gave me new eyes to see through walls,
and when they spoke, sunlight came out of their mouths,
and I was laughing at me with them,
we laughed like children and made pacts to always be loyal,
who understands me when I say this is beautiful?
Jimmy Santiago Baca
*I love Latin American poetry. And poets:-)
I heard.....
"Nigerians laugh at themselves a lot, though. Never mind that it hardly appears that way in our literature. Maybe we are afraid that the foreign aids and grants will stop coming if the world catches us laughing." (Adaobi Nwabauni interview)
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Sod's Law
So 12.39pm finds me not in my class, as expected of a respectable College of (the) Law of England and Wales' student with classes from 12pm to half two, but in the library blogging away in reckless abandon.
The reason for this is not my purpoted(read; disgustingly shameless) laissez-faire attitude to the things I am uninterested in. The College of Law currently ranks in the ‘Supremely Unconcerned’ zone...with every suspicion of its languishing in this zone for the foreseeable future, what with the daily barrage of work they pile on my dainty coiffure. Honestly, for someone who works best….ok then, someone who works ‘okay’, right at the very end of the year by subsisting on cramming and sheer willpower, having to attend classes everyday and hand-in substantial amounts of work DAILY is not really my thing….*hears mother’s voice in head “Oho! So whose thing is it then?!”* Well, for one, it certainly is some other Law students’ thing, I assure you! If I hear one more solicitor-in-training excitedly chirp about the glorious joys of detangling Tax Law equations, or spot another raising hands, unprompted, to answer questions like his armpits have hedgehogs lodged in their depths, oh it will be on! *snaps finger in ‘Z’ formation*
I have never been a stickler for daily attendance at school largely because I honestly believe that the amount of money we pay as tuition fees can NOT possibly cover the amount of suffering each disturbingly boring class brings. (Sit down Mr Cameron! I don’t mean I agree with your hair-brained scheme to increase fees…we all know who will be the real victims of that; England’s Money Pigs a.k.a The International Students. The BNP always conveniently forgets this group of sacrificing youth, in its incessant lectures on immigration. And all their 'Nigger Get Like Me, I'm Ethnically British' swagger. Ok so that was a David Banner remix of what the BNP actually say not what they have said, well at least not what they have said in public. Yet. But one does hope.
One digresses.
So, supreme unconcern aside, I have long since the first term of my first year at university realised that law was not really my passion in life. *Hears daddy reasonably intone, “Its stability not passion that provides food for one’s table”. Regardless of this untimely realisation, I have gone on to complete a law degree from a renowned university, attained a masters from another prestigious institute, studying at the ‘UK’s best law school' and I’m looking to crown my scholarly pursuits with knowledge of the nefarious laws of my motherland. (So yes, I do believe I have successfully stolen the Great Pretender award from King Edward VI).
So attending classes and doing all those things that are necessary in the quest for the haloed grail of good grades is something I have gotten quite skilled at. Even when all i want to do is make like Little Britain's Vicky Pollard and ask the world "AM I BOVVERED THO'?" Now, after this long winded whine session, you may conclude that this general disinterest in my daily studying is the reason I am currently lounging in the library blogging away with nary a care in the world as my class goes on 3 doors away? Simple answer, Transport For London....To borrow a most Nigerian term; in short, LONDON as a whole!
Now, I must profer a disclaimer at this point to my accusing TFL when I am Nigerian. Mainly because the Nigerian traffic causes us to give at least a two hour grace period when scheduling appointments. I guess I shouldn't complain about slow trains and all. I will anyways.
As I was saying, from time to time it seems like the universe syncs with all its natural accomplices to frustrate the milk of human kindness out of a person’s spirit. Apparently this is called Sod's Law. The stated law is defined by the Urban Dictionary as "A humorous axiom stating that anything that can go wrong will go wrong." In London, 'time to time' appears to be every other day for most commuters.
Take for instance this ordinary day in the life of a regular London student.
Today you have an early, essential lecture. This is of course, the very day that the bustop in front of your house is ‘Not In Use’ as the bus has to be diverted due to an accident at dawn caused by rival gangs playing Stab-Da-Bredrin on your street. You finally decide to walk to the next available bus stop 15 minutes away on this blisteringly cold morning. Halfway there the heavens open and blessings of the wet variety descend on your newly coiffured hair which you were rather eager to show off at this morning’s lecture.
You hurriedly sweep your fingers through your heavy bag, frantically searching as you still attempt to walk briskly along, stopping only once to remove your gloves for a more thorough search. Refusing to believe the obvious...that your umbrella is cushioned warmly between your wallet and housekeys, both still laying calmly forgotten on your dresser. Dearly wishing you were in a country littered with street hawkers with whom you would have conveniently picked a fight and vented your frustration, you instead Bolt to the bustop like a mature post-graduate student towards a ‘Free Food’ sign.
You obviously miss your bus. Wait 10 minutes in the vicious, sleeting and perpetual English rain, finally smiling as you see another bus approaching your bus stop. As you look into your bag to find your Oyster, Oga Driver just take style scale pass you, leave you dey gawk!! In English, the one second you put your head down to withdraw your Oyster card, the bus driver assumes you are not waiting for his bus and it sails past on its merry way.
You finally get on a bus, and there is no place to seat. Of course. So you stand there creating your own puddle as little children in bright wellies look longingly at the water pooling at your feet even as their mothers give them that 'Step Into That Water And Feel My Wrath' look that must be a compulsory elective at Mummy College. You stand for the short ride to the tube station and quickly rush to your platform on your arrival....then watch your train go chugging past IMMEDIATELY you arrive at the platform. Just like your train was waiting for that ‘monkey-sucking-a-lemon' look you now have on your face as you stare at its cheerfully retreating backside.
The next train of course will be delayed because today is the day someone decided to end their life AND inconvenience the world at the same time, by jumping in front of a train. Not to make light of suicide, but it seems a rather selfish thing to do. Furthermore, jumping in front of a train seems the very height of selfishness. Think about the driver who will now live with a guilty conscience forever. And how about the other commuters who might be scarred by the experience. Although admittedly many Londoners will unremorselessly think ‘good riddance’. But still!
So, the train is delayed and when you do get on a train(FINALLY!), it moves so slowly that you immediately believe that what you have always suspected is indeed true, “Little midgets move trains”. Yes indeed, the train proceeds to move like it is being slowly pushed by a group of elderly midgets. Is this train-crawling limited to the Northern Line only?? Oh BORIS!!!!!
Anyways, you finally get to your destination, in my case School, so late that barging into the class at this point is tantamount to slapping your teacher Leona Lewis style (Is it too soon?... For someone to be so angry at her lack of personality that he slaps her is NOT funny. Well, not THAT funny.) So, you find yourself quietly seated in the library blogging away. Pretending you are not beyond elated to be given a reprieve from the mindless boredom that is an Accounting Law class.
I heard.....
"Everyday millions of people suffer from Monogomy. There is no known cure."- Carrie Bradshaw, Sex & The City.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I heard.....
"On the wedding day, the groom is smiling because he believes he is achieving something great by marrying this woman. The bride is smiling because she has been able to convince him that he is achieving something great." -Julie Garwood, No1 historical romance Author. In my book anyway.
Photographic Pornography
So Monday afternoon finds me actively procrastinating, BookFacing away while my Legal Ethics book stares accusingly at me, and I come across an interesting picture(the one above). At first, I did not actually know that the picture was of a Congolese man fleeing his home after devastation from war so imagine my slight surprise at the comments that followed what appeared to be an ordinary picture of an African man in the rain....
1. “OMG!”
2. “I actually have tears in my eyes”
3. “....The raw determination in that man's eyes is humbling. For them survival is the only alternative. There is a profound sense of duty and sacrifice. Very Emotive. Thank you for sharing. x”
My first thought: *Blank stare*
Me, secondly: *Er.....Why can’t he just be a man walking home in the rain and thinking “Stupid rain caught me two damn blocks from my house!...Shoot!...Umbrella-less as well....of all the bloody days....!”*
I know that’s exactly what would have had MY face in that mean-mug!
On seeing the picture and comments, I started to think of the relationship between the African as an individual and our depiction in the ‘Western’ media. Not Africa as a whole continent, just us as individual people. The media has done a great job of making all 900+ million Africans(yes, we breed...this is what we do. Get over it) into one big caricature. One suffering-disease-ridden-corrupt-AIDS-wielding-yet-stupidly-smiling-and-suffering stereotype. This attitude of stereotyping Africans and especially sensationalising our suffering trivialises the experience for those concerned. Someone once called it Photographic Pornography (thats neither here nor there, I just always wanted to use those words in a sentence).
And then I thought, do they know who we are?? Do they realise that our history as Africans is littered with Sages, Kings, Warriors, DIVAS, Amazons and Prophetesses amongst others? In Nigeria for instance, long before we were conveniently ‘discovered’, before the English ‘taught’ us representative democracy, we had our ‘Ohia-cracy’ (government of, for and by the people) in the East, the well structured Oyomesis and Bashoruns in the West and the scholarly Emirs in the North. Long before Mr. Mungo Park conveniently ‘found’ the Niger for us, we fished, bathed, washed...for goodness sake we ‘chillaxed’ on its muddy banks daily! Chinua Achebe and the other greats have detailed tales of warriors that drank from the skulls of slain enemies and women that led whole tribes to war. Where are they today? Where are the spirits of our ancestors?
Perhaps in the sultans that rule large villages and command the respect and admiration of their people? The revered herbalists with their alternative medicines? The 28 year old mothers working 10 hour days whilst caring for 2 toddlers plus one 32 year old kid? Or the African boys and girls sleeping in the library daily, working and dreaming of channeling their inner Barack in about a decade? These are todays africans, descendants of warrior tribes and Amazonian kingdoms. But, why don’t we see them on the news about Africa you ask? Well, they are the exact same people shown on your TV. But they are unrecognisable when they are reduced to one dimensional characters in the evening news or captured by the lens of modern day Mungo Parks on their gap year prior to university, intent on exploring Africa without attempting to understand the depth of its story. It’s little wonder that the stories and pictures produced therefore inspire “OMG’s!!” and “Tears in Eyes!” comments. The image of the african in the foreign media seems to be threefold only; Stealing & Smiling, Suffering & Smiling, or just Suffering.
Somewhere between the pictures of the African children clamouring hungrily around the foreign photographer’s camera and the last scene of the ‘Indepth Special on Africa’ on one of the popular foreign news channels, the humanity of the African is diluted. The simple joys found in the uninhibited celebration of small mercies, the contentment found in the life without the excessive trappings of wealth does not make it to the final footage shown on our t.v screens. The only thing that is apparent to the viewer at the end of these ‘specials’ is the idea that these people need your pity because they do not have your opportunity, your resources, your life. They do not tell you though, that some of these people don not in fact want any of the trappings of this ‘great’ life. They just want life as it is best lived; simple, unhindered and free.
Just remember the next time you are tempted to sensationalise a picture of an African that these are people like you. People living real lives, worthy of respect not just pity, fun loving, ordinary, happy and PROUD people. Just like you. I wish the media could learn to leave Africa to dance to the beat of its own drum or maybe tell our stories from our own eyes. Or just stop speaking for us and for goodness sake STOP translating when we are speaking English! The Texan accent is arguably as heavy as the Ghanaian yet they insist on using the 'invisible subtitles' for the Texans when they are interviewed on CNN. Lol! Ridamdiculous!
So, leave Africans to find OUR bliss if we choose not to pursue yours, after all who defines poverty? Who determines what suffering is? Maybe dancing in the rain (whilst watching the backdoor for signs of your mum’s arrival) is the new swing set? Or lying on a mat in the moonlight listening to grandma's stories is as good as a GossipGirl Fest? Who knows? Happiness is individual, like Africans. Our way of life is not less important or valuable or good. It might be simpler, easier, and freer....but never less.
In the immortal words of the Queen that is Kanye West “Let me be great, WHY WONT Y’ALL LET ME GREAT?????”...lol....I ask, “WHY WONT THEY LET AFRICA BE GREAT Y’ALL!?!!!!!!!?!”
*steps off soapbox and returns to studying*
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
I heard.....
"The fight for a pure mind is not a days job so don't give up when it doesn't appear overnight. It's a fight that might take days, weeks or months. Appreciate every small step you take forward and when it feels you have fallen, don't give up! Just get up and continue the fight. This is a fight you are guaranteed to win because God is on your side."
-2nd Corinthians 14:4
Reason number 9,556,663,436 iLOVE the Bible.
-2nd Corinthians 14:4
Reason number 9,556,663,436 iLOVE the Bible.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Favourite Things
I've Learned
I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.
I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back.
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
I've learned that it's not what you have in your life, but who you have in your life that counts.
I've learned that you can do something in an instant that will give you a heartache for life.
I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides.
I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words.
I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I've learned that there are people who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it.
I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I've learned that just because someone doesnt love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
I've learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
I've learned that no matter how good a friend someone is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.
I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I've learned that we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I've learned that you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.
I've learned that there are many ways of falling and staying in love.
I've learned that no matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar, you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.
I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon.
I've learned that although the word "love" can have many different meanings, it loses value when overly used.
I've learned that love is not for me to keep, but to pass on to the next person I see.
I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.
I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love that human touch - holding hands, a warm hug.
I've learned that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I've learned that it's not what happens to people that's important. It's what they do about it.
I've learned that it's a lot easier to react than it is to think.
I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.
I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for ourselves.
I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do, but to the best you can do.
I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.
I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will be the ones to help you get back up.
I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.
I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I've learned that learning to forgive takes practice.
I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by someone else. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I've learned that making a living is not the same as making a life.
I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I've learned that if you want to cheer yourself up, you should try cheering someone else up.
I've learned that you can make someone's day by simply sending them a little card.
I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of minutes by people who don't even know you.
I've learned that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I've learned that mental stimulation is the way to a person's heart.
I've learned that just because your not together now doesn't mean it wasn't meant to be. Now is just not your time
I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.
*Many thanks to my friend 'Batty Katty' for sending me this poem
I've learned that you cannot make someone love you. All you can do is be someone who can be loved. The rest is up to them.
I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people just don't care back.
I've learned that it takes years to build up trust, and only seconds to destroy it.
I've learned that it's not what you have in your life, but who you have in your life that counts.
I've learned that you can do something in an instant that will give you a heartache for life.
I've learned that no matter how thin you slice it, there are always two sides.
I've learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words.
I've learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.
I've learned that there are people who love you dearly, but just don't know how to show it.
I've learned that true friendship continues to grow, even over the longest distance. Same goes for true love.
I've learned that just because someone doesnt love you the way you want them to, doesn't mean they don't love you with all they have.
I've learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you've had and what you've learned from them and less to do with how many birthdays you've celebrated.
I've learned that no matter how good a friend someone is, they're going to hurt you every once in a while and you must forgive them for that.
I've learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn't stop for your grief.
I've learned that just because two people argue, it doesn't mean they don't love each other. And just because they don't argue, it doesn't mean they do.
I've learned that we don't have to change friends if we understand that friends change.
I've learned that you shouldn't be so eager to find out a secret. It could change your life forever.
I've learned that there are many ways of falling and staying in love.
I've learned that no matter how many friends you have, if you are their pillar, you will feel lonely and lost at the times you need them most.
I've learned that the people you care most about in life are taken from you too soon.
I've learned that although the word "love" can have many different meanings, it loses value when overly used.
I've learned that love is not for me to keep, but to pass on to the next person I see.
I've learned that even when I have pains, I don't have to be one.
I've learned that every day you should reach out and touch someone. People love that human touch - holding hands, a warm hug.
I've learned that either you control your attitude or it controls you.
I've learned that it's not what happens to people that's important. It's what they do about it.
I've learned that it's a lot easier to react than it is to think.
I've learned that sometimes when I'm angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn't give me the right to be cruel.
I've learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for ourselves.
I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to the best others can do, but to the best you can do.
I've learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't.
I've learned that sometimes the people you expect to kick you when you're down will be the ones to help you get back up.
I've learned that regardless of how hot and steamy a relationship is at first, the passion fades and there had better be something else to take its place.
I've learned that heroes are the people who do what has to be done when it needs to be done, regardless of the consequences.
I've learned that learning to forgive takes practice.
I've learned that it isn't always enough to be forgiven by someone else. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.
I've learned that money is a lousy way of keeping score.
I've learned that making a living is not the same as making a life.
I've learned that my best friend and I can do anything or nothing and have the best time.
I've learned that if you want to cheer yourself up, you should try cheering someone else up.
I've learned that you can make someone's day by simply sending them a little card.
I've learned that your life can be changed in a matter of minutes by people who don't even know you.
I've learned that it's taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.
I've learned that mental stimulation is the way to a person's heart.
I've learned that just because your not together now doesn't mean it wasn't meant to be. Now is just not your time
I've learned that I still have a lot to learn.
*Many thanks to my friend 'Batty Katty' for sending me this poem
I heard.....
"Chief Gani Fawehinmi was simply inimitable, puritanically committed, inscrutably remonstrative, ideologically transcendental, quixotically cosmopolitan and a ready conveyor-belt of legal tomahawks which he intrepidly ...deployed in his cascading fulminations against our philistine military and political class. His transition is not just the fall of an Iroko but indeed the grand initiation of an iconic legal salamander. We only hope that we didactically learn herefrom that it’s not so much our sybaritic life styles that matters more than the quality of service we render whilst we sojourn on this earth plane".
-Comments by Nigerian Senator, Hon. Patrick Obahiagbon
EPIC. FAIL.
-Comments by Nigerian Senator, Hon. Patrick Obahiagbon
EPIC. FAIL.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Lady.
LIFE. There is never a break. Every mountain you conquer, every pinnacle you reach is the beginning of a new struggle. You surmount your 19,331 feet Kilimanjaro only to confront your 29,002 feet Chomolungma patiently waiting for you to attempt its treacherous heights. Relaxation periods seem minimal and far between in this rat race that all mankind seem to be perpetually running. Like the imprisoned hampsters we amusedly watch on endless ferris wheels, humans are also on the ferris wheel of life. Amusment, minimal. Hobbes has arguably, come the closest to describing the true state of life; Nasty, Brutish and Short.
Arguably.
At age seven, life’s greatest conundrum revolved around the monumental decision; ‘Sky Dancers OR Jem & The Holograms?!?!?!’ When K-TV and Cartoon Netwrok dared to show both at the exact same time! Throwing little girls into fits of pure panic and apoplexy.
By ten, getting detention at school for something as criminal and dangerous to the morality of the youth as forgetting my slippers under my bed (one never forgets one's first encounter with a disturbingly over-zealous prefect,) was the death-knoll signifying the end of life as I knew it. How I wept and wept on thinking about the mark that first detention would make on my afore this time, Tabula Rasa of a record. Oh if only I knew how ‘graffitied’ that very slate would become, and how quickly I would morph into the African version of Miss Blyton’s Elizabeth Allen that I did eventually became in that local jail for children cleverly disguised as a boarding school (a ruse many a parent fell for), I would not have wasted my carefully rationed crocodile tears.
By thirteen, getting a result that boldly declared me ‘an average student’ to the consternation of my father meant that my quintessential purpose in life revolved around destroying any suspicion of mediocrity in my erythrocytes. So with the fear of Dear Daddy’s wrath weighing heavily upon my 13 year old shoulders, my life’s blood went into proving that mediocrity was indeed my kryptonite. That achieved, 16 found me trying to explain why the Government AND Literature-IN-English awards did not come home with me at the end of the year....in addition to the History award sitting in its honourary place in our family’s home.
So you see, with one problem comes another. Life goes on, for every problem there is a solution. AND an additional problem. Often the new problem is an inherent part of the solution that once provided much relief. For instance, there I was thinking if I did well enough I would have solved my problems. But ‘well enough’ opens your eyes to the realisation that there is MORE to achieve. 'More' quickly leads to 'Much More', then to 'Too Much' and Beverly Feldman wisely tells us that “Too Much Is Not Enough.”
From a sixteen year old girl to a 23 year old woman, I am beginning to understand that “...To Whom Much Is Given, Much Is Expected.” Luke 12:48. Leave what you heard, the Bible continues to spew forth relevant and surprisingly accurate advice that goes to the centre of today’s dliemnas. But I digress. The universe does not owe any of us a singular thing, in fact it is the most dubious of creditors, a veritable Shylock who will demand that ounce and a half of flesh, whether you are Ready or Not. Fugee la la la. I always thought this 12:48 referred to wealth but it can apply to any and everything you have. Be afraid. Be verrrrry afraid.
At 23 (as a barely 2 weeks old 23 year old, see how I brandish the number about. Eyes still gleaming with the joy and pride of registering another year on my life’s calender...not yet dimmed with the realisation that I am aging. Quickly. Benjamin Button style) I realise that the more years you hoard in your Basket of Life, the more, hell, the MUCH more is expected of you!
In the most basic of examples for instance, a 23 year old woman walks into the room and what people see is a young WOMAN. A young LADY. Not a young GIRL. Not just “The daughter of...” or “The friend of...” but she is seen first as a person in her own right. One whose actions will be attributed to herself alone. Rude words wont be easily chucked into the ‘Bad Home Training & Blame The Parents’ basket as easily as they once would have. Reactions to rudeness are quickly directed straight to the source, the rude woman. She very quickly deteriorates from ‘The young woman...’ to ‘ That young woman that can not carry herself in public’. As a young woman, you are now fully responsible for your words and actions in a different manner than you were as a young girl.
Long gone are the days when men look at a you and think ‘She’s a little girl, she will grow into a beauty.’ The time has come when much more is conveyed in received looks and first thoughts are not necessarily of the ‘Duckling to Swine conversion’ variety. (So woe betide you in this image-driven world if you have not shaped into the promised beauty!).
Rambunctiousness is no longer considered the ‘...excessiveness of youth’...smilingly said with a nostalgic sparkle in the speaker's eye. Boisterousness is often equated with loudness which seems to be indirectly proportional to a womans age and attractiveness. All of a sudden, carriage becomes the watch-word.
So at 23, at this new junction in my life, I am carefully consolidating all the information I have learnt in 23 largely pleasant years on God's Grey Earth. I’m observing the subtle nuances each additional year brings to the world’s expectation of me. Everyday, reveals more of myself as I interprete my role as an actor in the stage of life and my contribution to that niche in the world where my placeholder stands, with my name engraved waiting patiently as I find my place and fulfil my purpose.
I am learning that childlike charm like beauty, has its place. A 23 year old of the female specie is expected to be a woman. It’s like as soon as St. Peter italises that ‘21’ next to your name in The World’s Registry, He sends an internal memo to everyone you will meet and the expectation of ‘Woman NOT Girl’ is there from the start of the conversation to its very end. At 21 or even 22, you may still be forgiven for slacking and regressing (not too far back though) to your glorious teens. But by 23, the world staunchly ignores that Little Girl Inside Every Woman. And if she is not careful...or listens too carefully to the world.... the woman will neglect rather than tame her inner child, until the child's spirit is broken. And the Lady loses her Little Girl.
Arguably.
At age seven, life’s greatest conundrum revolved around the monumental decision; ‘Sky Dancers OR Jem & The Holograms?!?!?!’ When K-TV and Cartoon Netwrok dared to show both at the exact same time! Throwing little girls into fits of pure panic and apoplexy.
By ten, getting detention at school for something as criminal and dangerous to the morality of the youth as forgetting my slippers under my bed (one never forgets one's first encounter with a disturbingly over-zealous prefect,) was the death-knoll signifying the end of life as I knew it. How I wept and wept on thinking about the mark that first detention would make on my afore this time, Tabula Rasa of a record. Oh if only I knew how ‘graffitied’ that very slate would become, and how quickly I would morph into the African version of Miss Blyton’s Elizabeth Allen that I did eventually became in that local jail for children cleverly disguised as a boarding school (a ruse many a parent fell for), I would not have wasted my carefully rationed crocodile tears.
By thirteen, getting a result that boldly declared me ‘an average student’ to the consternation of my father meant that my quintessential purpose in life revolved around destroying any suspicion of mediocrity in my erythrocytes. So with the fear of Dear Daddy’s wrath weighing heavily upon my 13 year old shoulders, my life’s blood went into proving that mediocrity was indeed my kryptonite. That achieved, 16 found me trying to explain why the Government AND Literature-IN-English awards did not come home with me at the end of the year....in addition to the History award sitting in its honourary place in our family’s home.
So you see, with one problem comes another. Life goes on, for every problem there is a solution. AND an additional problem. Often the new problem is an inherent part of the solution that once provided much relief. For instance, there I was thinking if I did well enough I would have solved my problems. But ‘well enough’ opens your eyes to the realisation that there is MORE to achieve. 'More' quickly leads to 'Much More', then to 'Too Much' and Beverly Feldman wisely tells us that “Too Much Is Not Enough.”
From a sixteen year old girl to a 23 year old woman, I am beginning to understand that “...To Whom Much Is Given, Much Is Expected.” Luke 12:48. Leave what you heard, the Bible continues to spew forth relevant and surprisingly accurate advice that goes to the centre of today’s dliemnas. But I digress. The universe does not owe any of us a singular thing, in fact it is the most dubious of creditors, a veritable Shylock who will demand that ounce and a half of flesh, whether you are Ready or Not. Fugee la la la. I always thought this 12:48 referred to wealth but it can apply to any and everything you have. Be afraid. Be verrrrry afraid.
At 23 (as a barely 2 weeks old 23 year old, see how I brandish the number about. Eyes still gleaming with the joy and pride of registering another year on my life’s calender...not yet dimmed with the realisation that I am aging. Quickly. Benjamin Button style) I realise that the more years you hoard in your Basket of Life, the more, hell, the MUCH more is expected of you!
In the most basic of examples for instance, a 23 year old woman walks into the room and what people see is a young WOMAN. A young LADY. Not a young GIRL. Not just “The daughter of...” or “The friend of...” but she is seen first as a person in her own right. One whose actions will be attributed to herself alone. Rude words wont be easily chucked into the ‘Bad Home Training & Blame The Parents’ basket as easily as they once would have. Reactions to rudeness are quickly directed straight to the source, the rude woman. She very quickly deteriorates from ‘The young woman...’ to ‘ That young woman that can not carry herself in public’. As a young woman, you are now fully responsible for your words and actions in a different manner than you were as a young girl.
Long gone are the days when men look at a you and think ‘She’s a little girl, she will grow into a beauty.’ The time has come when much more is conveyed in received looks and first thoughts are not necessarily of the ‘Duckling to Swine conversion’ variety. (So woe betide you in this image-driven world if you have not shaped into the promised beauty!).
Rambunctiousness is no longer considered the ‘...excessiveness of youth’...smilingly said with a nostalgic sparkle in the speaker's eye. Boisterousness is often equated with loudness which seems to be indirectly proportional to a womans age and attractiveness. All of a sudden, carriage becomes the watch-word.
So at 23, at this new junction in my life, I am carefully consolidating all the information I have learnt in 23 largely pleasant years on God's Grey Earth. I’m observing the subtle nuances each additional year brings to the world’s expectation of me. Everyday, reveals more of myself as I interprete my role as an actor in the stage of life and my contribution to that niche in the world where my placeholder stands, with my name engraved waiting patiently as I find my place and fulfil my purpose.
I am learning that childlike charm like beauty, has its place. A 23 year old of the female specie is expected to be a woman. It’s like as soon as St. Peter italises that ‘21’ next to your name in The World’s Registry, He sends an internal memo to everyone you will meet and the expectation of ‘Woman NOT Girl’ is there from the start of the conversation to its very end. At 21 or even 22, you may still be forgiven for slacking and regressing (not too far back though) to your glorious teens. But by 23, the world staunchly ignores that Little Girl Inside Every Woman. And if she is not careful...or listens too carefully to the world.... the woman will neglect rather than tame her inner child, until the child's spirit is broken. And the Lady loses her Little Girl.
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