The Garden

It’s the beginning of yet another week, I know

I know the dark calls to you sometimes

I know you walk down roads you know you shouldn’t

I know you observe your reflection through a jumble of shards

I know you’re worn out, tired of reliving patterns of painful choices

I sense you feel hollow at times

like life is teasing you, dancing in front of you,

but escaping you somehow

i know you live in the disconnect between where you are

and what’s happening outside of you

i know how much it hurts to live there, in the divide

between what you feel you are, and what you wish you could be

The sun has kissed your skin and you have inhaled it with complete trust

and you sometimes move without knowing what’s next

at times it feels paralysing to live with yourself.

I know you’ve worked so hard to control the outcome of your life

that you forget to meet yourself in the quiet and breath yourself full again

that you live in the shallow end and you forget to go deep,

breath deep ujjayi

you forget there is wealth of abundance and trust in you

i know there are places in yourself that you do not love

the parts you wrestle away

you visit them them from time to time, hoping they’re not there

i know you long to live in bliss

and when you arrive there you are so alive as if everything around you

is telling you yes, you’re home.

but i know shadows come while you’re asleep

and drag you down the familiar landscape of fear

I know you wonder if the light will ever return

because you’re tired of this upbeat dance between the two worlds.

you’re learning to taste heaven, grown wings

you’re accepting the difference

between sun soaked mornings and dark forests

you are human my dear and are allowed to be in both places

you are not damaged

you are not failing

you are allowed to be lost in dark rivers

be gentle when doubt comes, when fear chokes

when darkness debilitates you

spend special care to cultivate the garden of love when you come across these dark corridors.

know that you are offered the chance to tend your garden

the dark offers you a chance to love all the places you’d never dare

all the places you curse

where we deprive ourselves of love is where we need it most

when the dark comes , tell it what it what it wants so badly to hear,

You are loved.

The magpie’s song

Adorned by the brittleness of his aching spirit, the Magpie watches himself in the reflective stream and nods approvingly. His kins would be proud, if they could see him stretch out his nestled wings and glide inches above the water surface.

It is a good day. And it going to get better.

Victory is in the waddling stream, it is in the harvest of the trees rootling. It is in the squeals of the busy beavers. It is in his brother’s pea-sized eyes.

For years and years, his kind had been predated, and hunted down. He remembers his dear mate lying on the zenith of an Alpine mountain, try as he could, her small heart palpated and went silent before she thought of giving up. Stricken down by some hunter fellow. What woes trails the magpie’s life. Loneliness settled faster than the snowy blizzard that brewed on the day that the colours from his flamboyant feathers turned bland…until now.

He gripped the soil underneath his talon and pushed with all his little might. The time to mourn had come and gone. Today he smelt victory in the fields. He’d advocate it all day long

“Hello”, he yelled to the Robin

“Salute”, he tweeted to Frau Puffin

And then he settled on jenny’s windowsill and sang the most serene symphony she’s heard in a while.

When they asked him why he was so ecstatic with curiosity dripping from their lips, he winced and flipped and giggled and said, It’s going to be good day after all, as he pecked off the crust of jenny’s shepherd pie

Monte Claire’s bay

The lighthouse illuminates past the waterbody bordered by a precipice pile of rock leading a trail of the harbour of Monte Claire’s bay. A plantation bordered the harbour on either side. Past the harbour was a grove of vegetative labyrinth around the trail. The trail ended in front of the lake where the water got deeper. One could see pebbles in the bottom reflect clearly in twilight.

No one knows what’s down there and no one has tried for a century. All who visit the bank threaded carefully even in high summer sun. More glorious than the black sea, the waves flowed in unison. Sea urchins from the far end of the water washed up to the shore. A delightful melting pot of invertebrate critters resided there.

Legend had it that a mermaid also existed in the lake, somewhere in the far Northeastern border. Even the most agile swimmer cannot escape the sea witch’s grip.

No one wandered into the territory of the sea witch lived to tell, and worse was for the naive unsuspecting holiday makers .


25. 05. 2008.

Two brothers, both in their 30’s visited the bay for a picnic, after which they went for a swim.

Arthur thrust his hand in the current and Philip was slapped across the face as a consequence. Noting his facial expression, Arthur dashed to the deep end of the water as his brother chased him. Few splashes were tossed around along with hearty laughs, but the fun disappeared and the waves silenced. Right then, something long and slippery wrapped around the elder’s ankle. He wiggled his foot, damn sea weed, he thought, but the more he wiggled, the tighter the grip became alarming the young man. His left limb was gradually obstructed.

He yelped and yowled, till Philip noticed something was amiss. Philip grabs Arthur’s hand and yanks desperately, but now streaks of blood escaped to the surface because Arthur’s limb was almost amputated. Philip tried desperately to save his brother but the “octupus claw” was stronger so Arthur drowned. More blood resurfaced.

Philip’s head bowed as a tear fell from the corner of his eye and touched the water. When he raised his head, twelve meters from him was a maiden so beautiful and alluring. Her golden flaxen hair reached into the water, her supple lips told of her innocent and her chest was humongous compared to the proportion of her lanky body. Philip’s grief was suddenly exchanged for enchantment. Without saying a word, she reached and cradled his face. They disappeared.


06.08.2015.

Abigial pondered under a coconut tree admiring the glistening surface of the lake. Seldom she glanced down and scribbled into her journal. It’s been a little over 2 months she broke up with her boyfriend. She thought she might be fine but it was increasingly harder to get up in the morning and prepare for work, try as she may. So her boss suggested she take her vacation early. He needed his top sale’s manager in tip top shape.

When she arrived home, she broke her piggy bank and checked her account before searching for a holiday spot. It must have been her lucky day too because the Island of Monte Claire had a discount, much unlike these Island destinations. she was paying next to nothing.

She raised her head again to glance at the water when she saw a striking figure in the lake looking at her. Without her glasses she couldn’t see well but it looked like a maiden with golden flaxen hair and juggers, the size of watermelon. In the blink of an eye, she disappeared.

Abigial felt her anxiety melt, for the first time since the break up and although she didn’t plan to, the circumstances was perfect for a swim. She dipped her toes in the water and started to untie her robes when she noticed a bottle float to shore. She picked the bottle and opened a paper stuffed inside. One word; HELP !!.

She immediately dived into the lake. She was tired of obsessing over her ex and somewhere here was an adventure she couldn’t turn down.

Silent eyes

I was standing at the front of my mat with my feet rooted to the earth, much like a woman with silent eyes waiting for hours at a bus stop.

Prudently listening and smiling, like her cares had been washed away with dunes on midnight’s wave and she didn’t have anywhere to be. Though she receives no visual input, her ear are busy and constantly overwhelmed.

She could hear the school children chattering, snacking, doing what school kids do. The cars swoon past her, like they were racing against the impending mortality of their desires.

Today she met me, and I met her. neither of us could see each other, and it was perfect that way. Her whites of her eyes had turned to the heavens as if she was permanently searching for a starlight. Mine were shut, temporarily.

I sensed her graceful smile and her kind colours that illuminated from her fragile soul.

Her silent eyes saw everything and reflected nothing. Her ears followed the every sparrow’s song, every lingering moment. Every cutthroat Innuendo. She held the implosive secrets of many-a-man that transformed into feelings that could set her ablaze.

She spoke to me like a long-time friend, her successes and anecdotes of her pain. I was moved by her words of wisdom and the passion in her voice. Sometimes she weaved her secrets between the strands of poetry.

Finally, my ears were overwhelmed too so I opened my eyes to greet her face. It was then she told me the most important thing that contained no words, and a smile that stretched from her lips to the edge of her silent eyes.

The Root of Nigeria’s problems

“MENTAL SLAVERY IS R.E.A.L”

In today’s episode of “Wetin this one dey yarn?”, I wanna stress on a topic that really hits home.

You may have heard about Nigeria in your local media. A lot of foreigners associate us with Boko haram, religious wars, poor infrastructures and welfare etc, and a lot of foreigners are not wrong.

Permit me to do a throwback and shed a little light on the history of Nigeria.

In 2015, Nigerians voted an incompetent  authoritarian named Muhammed Buhari, into the presidential office. As a result of that, we’ve suffered great losses as a nation.

But wait!  wasn’t it obvious that he was the wrongest candidate to elect? You may ask.

YES!

Six decades ago, after Nigeria became Independent from the British colony, we were subjected to military rule. Whenever a Military leader was not effective, a Coup d’état would ensue, as a result of that, the nation was always on her toes.

In 1983, Muhammed Buhari organized a successful Coup d’état and became the head of Nigeria, albeit,  his reign was one of the dingiest in Nigerian history. He was relieved of power in a bloodless Coup.

The man had no business getting the power in 2015, yet because Nigerians have a ph.D in outstripping their prior misfortunes, oodles of people supported his campaign.

How foolish are the people who don’t learn from experience.

It’s obvious that I hate our current government, nevertheless I prefer to look at the root of problems and deduce a solution rather than allowing my anger overshadow my sense of reasoning.

 

“WHEN WILL THE VICIOUS CYCLE END?”

 

 

From the moment a Nigerian child is born, they are taught to follow the rules. Don’t ask questions, respect the elders as questioning authority is the seed of rebellion that is not tolerated.  This is directly enforced by our primary care takers like our parents, school teachers, and religious leaders.

We grow up being fearful,  far from respectful as though we are still serving slave masters, colonial leaders, Militants. The average Nigerian child does not know the meaning of liberal.

Democracy is just a word. Even when you are right, you’re wrong!

Some Africans suffer from Mental captivity, the older generation especially.

This eventually shapes the youth’s mind so that when he travels to foreign land, he cannot socialise with  others, and he thinks of himself as a lesser human.

Ever wondered why Nigerian youths become successful after they have spent years in another man’s country?  after they have realised that they should not be repressed for thinking the right way?

Nigerians are some of the most innovative, creative minds in today’s world, but that potential is only discovered in foreign institutions. This is why instead of hearing about technological advancements made in Nigerian, we hear about innovations led by a Nigerian inventors working for, for example, a Canadian company

That’s right, there are no jobs for majority of youths in Nigeria, and that’s the main reason we emigrate.

Buhari recently said that Nigerian youths are the laziest people in the world.

Lol.

Sooner or later, these old greasy scumbags fighting for power will be gone, and where will the youths be? contributing to  the sublimation of another’s country’s economy.

Good job Federal Govt. Good job Buhari. Well done!

I’m sorry for my tone, if you picked up on that, I’ve just really wanted to say this for 4 years. If you made it to the end of my rant, Thank you for coming to my TEDx talk.

 

Image from Twitter

 

 

 

A Painful Soul

“Scars

from battles hurt

as It should”

 

 

Way back when waking up every morning was a struggle (honestly not too long ago), I used to write into  my Journals aka my ugly notebook. I sometimes browse through them when I feel stuck.

My first journal is actually really depressing, I can’t believe the state of mind I was in back then, but there are some OK memories in there too.

This week I decided to reedit one of my poetry from it to prove to my readers who battle mental illness, and to myself that life can indeed get better. It is a journey, I still struggle and flop. However,  I am no longer that person, yet it is my story of which I’m proud 😀

Happy Friday!


 

Eyes

like alabaster

reaching into the darkness

of my soul,

I gasp.

 

Aroused

Inside me

A faux without doubt

Another life I’ve lived

stringing cords of distrust,

 

Or paranoia

the  definition of toxic

screaming out someone else’s pain

sliding through impressionable doom

unwillingly

 

The taste

like kolanut lingers

on my tongue

masking the chamomiley one

the ones before left

 

Scars

from battles hurt

as It should

yet I must separate the truth

from fallacy

 

Staggering

dysmorphia is crippling

oodles of bubbles ripple

through a heavy

fragile heart

 

let the  legs sink farther

quaking in unison as they bite dust

again and again

my soul will find your

darker soul.

 

Help.

friend, help!

For in solitude, I live

In solitude

I will dine.


 

CALL TO ACTION

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Love Only

 

” Love alone is the plug”

I’ve been dealing with  a lot as of  late. As a result, I have been meditating more to get me through. This phrase have helped me this week to counteract negativity, that’s why I decided I’d drop it  for anybody who needs to be empowered as well.

 

“There is no condemnation.

There is no judgement.

There is only love.”

 

I suppose the quote came as a result of  the fact that I have been too  hard on myself. I want to speak perfect Deutsch and I want to speak it yesterday.  It has been stressful on me because I held myself to a deadline that I think I may not meet.

On top of that, my sister got a tattoo. I tried to be as supportive as I could be when she told me she was getting one. Full disclosure, I didn’t know how to react or what to expect. When I saw the tatt, I kinda wished we would go back in time so I could tell her that it’s an absolute no from me.

These two  abstract emotions were what occupied my mind.  I believe in God’s holy book, and even more in his love. His love for me will manifest  in love for myself, and love for others.

For me that means that whether I meet my deadline or not, I can’t kill myself, in fact I ought to be proud of myself, and my sister. She’s young, maybe she will perhaps make terrible mistakes as I have, but she’ll bounce back even more so, as well.

For you, it could mean anything from self-love to world peace, whatever it is, I pray God’s guiding hands pull you towards the direction he wants you to go.

Namaste.

 

The Black hair Fiasco

“Every Hair-day  is wahala

 

I was twisting up my hair the other day.  It was the end of a wash day routine, and I randomly asked my boyfriend to help. He says yes much to my surprise meaning I’d actually have to trust him with my hair. I gulped, sectioned a portion of my hair for him.

This got me reminiscing about the time we met, I had the faux locs then.  He was in love with my hair. Months later, I decided to cut my hair as it lacked lustre. I was anxious and self aware, I didn’t know how he would react. But I trusted him. Three years later, I find myself still trusting him.

I’ve also learnt quite a bit about what Europeans think about African hair;

 

“Braids combined with dark skin  are a unique combination”

 

  1.  They think it’s exotic: Braids combined with dark skin  are a unique combination for the average eastern European, it’s not uncommon to get stares in public spaces, especially from the older generation. This reminds of the time, we went to a friend’s wedding, we visited the bride’s family home as well, and I introduced myself to their grandma. The look on her face was that of disbelief , it was meme worthy.
  2.  They think it’s natural: My boyfriend also thought the faux locs was my hair hair. But after some time together, he knew the difference between hair styles. I often get a lot of questions and requests to touch. I assume I’m not the only one.
  3. They find the natural hair rather comedic:  My german teacher confided in me once that the afro was sometime in the past known as, microphone head.  I died from laughter, apparently the phrase is still used, just not as popular as before. We also went through a phase when my hair was short, where my boyfriend’ll pat it and say, “sheep”, lol, in the sweetest way possible.
  4.  hair style change means new person:  I had reintroduced myself a few times to teachers and colleagues simply because I took out a previous hair style and rocked something entirely different. This is the stressful bit, and then the questions roll in which  exasperated  me further.

Three years  since going natural, and two big chops later, I have to  say it’s been an exercising journey. There has been up ups, down downs, and safety breeches, but I’ve loved and nourished my hair (and self) through it all.

If you’re wondering why I dedicated a whole post to talking about hair, it’s just because I think that black women, and our rights as a whole have come a long way, from doing everything necessary to have our hair look like our caucasian counterpart, and consequently destroying it in the process, to just letting ourself be loved as we naturally are. I don’t know who started the natural hair movement but I’ll use this opportunity to say thank you.

Now, let us flourish!

 

 

Different

Must we let society dictate our fate?

Must we allow our tumultuous mind gain control?

What seed could sprout approval from your heart?

what is it you’re afraid to  give up, or the world may take away?

It all begins with one person. One mind. One entity

Yes it begins with  who you believe you are

Time and again we draw ourselves towards the fear of unconformity

When we were truly born to stand out

If only I’d know it all along

I threw away my beliefs so no one would think I was conceited

I could be ostracised, as a freak of nature

But I was never meant to be her

and she was never meant to walk like me

and we were never meant to think alike.

We are divergent and that works better

so what is it you believe in?

shout it from a rooftop today.

 

Ready to let it go

Yesterday was a considerably long day because I made a phone call. This phone call was one which is particularly important to me.

It was my brother’s birthday, and I needed to confront parts of myself that is connected to him. If you haven’t already, please visit my post titled; Young. If you gave that a read and you were wondering what that was about, here’s the other part I purposely omitted because I wasn’t ready to go into depths that day I published Young.

My brother started behaving different when I was maybe 8 and he was 10. I was prolly the only one who noticed at the time until his grades came in.

We went from being best friends to me wondering why he was so withdrawn. He wasn’t talking much and I spent a lot of time hypothesising what it could be, I just couldn’t fathom it.

I was mad. I was resentful, I eventually became withdrawn as well.

When folks ask questions about my family, I’m always avoidant. A lot of people actually think I’m the first born until I get too comfortable and spill, something I regret immediately after, they would then go; ” Oh, you have an older brother? what’s he doing, where’s he at?

And I would deflect and feel ashamed

The authorities, doctors in Nigeria didn’t know either. When I learnt about Autism and Autism spectrum disorders, I began comparing it with his routine and repetitive mannerism and I was so sure I’ve diagnosed it.

The more I researched Autism and Asperger’s, and compared with him, the more I realised this wasn’t it. But for lack of better diagnosis , I stuck with it.

When his MRI scans came out, it showed that the plump parts of  the internal capsule that connects the left and right hemispheres of the brain did not develop completely, so called agenesis or hypogenesis of the Corpus callosum. Extremely rare tho

Finding the pathology brought a touch of closure for me, I guess. Since I was 8, I’ve only ever wanted to understand what it was. For those interested, I will leave a link here and below.

Odudu didn’t go to uni or technical college because he doesn’t have the mental capacity to deal with it.

Nevertheless, his meek soul is one I’m proud of.  A lot of our childhood experiences taunted me with guilt, shame and with a touch of inadequacy, feelings I’m all too familiar with and extremely tired of. Right now, I’m working on  building a new ,unbreakable relationship with my brother again

When I struggle to get my life together and to get a continuous stream of income, only 30%  is about my future.

Life is not fair but my brother deserves a future and it’s up to God and me to bring it into fulfilment.

Thanks for reading my daily thought <3

Here’s the link on Ageneis of Corpus Callosum