'A Day's Dream' - My First Attempt at Creative Writing

Ifebuche turned again to stare at her very rounded backside in the mirror; who would’ve thought this would one day be hers. Whatever the reason was – good food or one of the perks of having regular sex- she was grateful for the outcome. She chuckled out, thinking how nice it would be for Ekeoma to see her now. He had thoughtlessly called her ike efere -plate buttocks- in front of his friends, some among whom she had hoped to get a chase. She had been a late bloomer and all her friends got all their body assets way before she did. She often didn’t like to be seen in their company by boys but that was almost always inevitable; they never seemed to forget her whenever there was an outing and she never seemed to muster enough courage to turn their offer down.

Never one to leave her confidence dented, she had given him a sharp retort that day, on how he’d never get kissed because of his bad breath. She had gone over-board and completely ruined her chances by adding that his friends were all too cowardly to tell him. It would be a pleasure to flaunt her well-rounded-no-more-plate buttocks just to see his reaction. She would then ask him if he eventually found a dentist who could endure his foul breath, long enough to give him medical attention.

Her mother had always tried to disperse her worries. First, it was about her not having breasts and buttocks as big as her friends. After that, it was about all of them getting married before her. She convinced her, that her pretty face would make any man forget how slim she was. How pretty was she that at 27 her mother was still consoling her while her friends were all married at either 22 or 23? Now at 30, she radiated happiness and looked more like her friends at 25. She hoped her daughter will be a late-bloomer like her; marriage was a lot more than she thought.

There was a knock and she hurried to see who it was. She had forgotten to tidy herself to meet Ndubisi at the door.

‘Welcome back dear, I didn’t hear you park the car’

‘What happened to my kiss?’

She kissed him then.

‘And speaking of the car, it’s still outside the gate; I need to pick up a friend to have dinner with us, after I’ve had my bath’

‘Are you joking?’

‘It’s just a social call. He’s an old friend who has been in London for the past 4 years and when you said we would have your special yam and stewed vegetables, I figured he could catch up from where he left with Nigerian food’.

‘This is why women should not marry generous men’

Ifebuche used the time she had to set the table and freshen up. No matter how social this call may sound, she’s certainly not appearing before a London-returnee, without every tiny detail in place. She must be the perfect hostess and the sexy wife.

She chose a knee-length, red and black flowered lycra gown that hugged her just enough to announce her good shape without crossing the indecent line. She packed her weave-on into a ponytail; leaving no doubts to the elegance of her neck and completed the look with a tiny set of gold ear rings. Her make-up was subtle; light pink lipstick with gloss to accentuate her natural full lips, matching blush and colourless mascara to increase her eye-brow volume. Ndubisi always said she looked better with less, ‘don’t hide your beauty under those colours’, was his favourite line. She had barely finished when they drove in. She picked up her one year old daughter and headed for the door.

Ndubisi introduced them to each other.

Ifebuche froze as she recognized the face. Edward had to stretch his hands before she remembered the right thing was to give him a hand-shake.

‘You are welcome, please come in’. She managed to move away from the entrance.

‘Eziaku say hello to Uncle Edward’. The little girl stretched out her arms towards her father.

Ndubisi took her and Ifebuche made a beeline for the kitchen.

He turned to his visitor, ‘Please make yourself comfortable’. He switched on the television and flipped to the sports channel.

Ifebuche served them wine and dashed back into the kitchen. After about twenty minutes, she called them to the table. She was eager to begin her inquisition soon after it.

‘Sweetheart, I assume you met Edward in London three years ago?’

‘Indeed’

‘Edward, are you from the east?’

‘I’m not going to play your games, Ifebuche’.

 Ndubisi’s already aroused suspicion, that they had known each other before then grew another inch.

‘I’m from Enugu state, Umuagu to be precise’.

Ndubisi snapped his head to look at her. ‘He is from your town!’

‘Yes dear, in fact we grew up together.

‘I knew it.’ He still managed to sound normal, hoping he had not made an awkward mistake of bringing an ex-boyfriend of his wife into their home.

‘We weren’t the best of pals, my friend. I had an ugly case of bad breath while growing up and your charming wife made a wedge out of it and drove it between me and my friends’.

‘If my memory serves me right, that was after you made sure the same people noticed my ike efere’.

Ndubisi relaxed. ‘You sound like children’

‘Oh we were then. It was terrible for me because I battled with inferiority complex until I could get rid of it. In retrospect, Ifebuche was painfully right; I was being endured'.

 Her buttocks could not be discussed because she was somebody’s wife, but it was obvious that they had both managed to get rid of their flaws. Ifebuche could not help laughing while she did the dishes. She was happy she had chosen that Lycra gown; after all it’s not every time that dreams come true in a day.

Being A Partner

Recently a friend shared a Facebook picture where a black (most probably Nigerian) father  was learning to bathe his newborn while his wife supervised. It was stated that they reside in Utah in the United States of America. The original owner of the picture complained about what ‘our women has turned us into’, referring to the fact that bathing a child is a chore strictly for the woman and inferred the man was being emasculated by doing it. I could not help wondering in which century he was trapped.

The continuous changes in the structure of the society that has necessitated the isolation of the  nuclear family cannot be ignored.  People in search of greener pastures have had to move so far away from their extended families that most times when you meet someone remotely close to you by reason of coming from the same town or village, you automatically become brothers just to feel that closeness to home again or even for the mere reason of having someone to exchange words in the dialect that is so unique to you in a place where people are easily lost in the crowd.  Some of us living in the diaspora know what it means to meet someone who speaks your language, the connection is automatic. But this is not the point here.

The consequential isolation creates an environment where the man is forced out of his traditionally recognised roles to help his partner meet up with tasks. In fact, it forces the couple to live that word ‘partner’ in the full sense of it. The woman steps up her game in contributing both financially and otherwise and the man also sees other roles he must play instead of crossing his feet to watch television programmes while the woman sweats it out, so he can live up to his head-of-the-family title.

Our African culture frowns at this but permit me to say that when we left our first homes and migrated to embrace new cultures and societies, clinging on to such things in order to answer just a name, hurts much more than it helps. The western society has already imbibed this as a tradition and I would say it is because the nuclear family isolation has been with them for a longer time.

A man helping to bathe his baby does not in any way rid him of his very cherished title, rather it opens a wider gate for him to show his strength and love in supporting his wife. Unfortunately in Africa we only feel he earns that title because he is the natural provider  and has the right to put the full stop to every decision.  The unwritten rule that was handed over to us insists that a woman and her new born be nurtured for at least three months before she is left to carry on by herself. For this,  a woman counts it as good fortune if her  mother or mother-in-law or even an aunt is close by when she delivers. We are the only ones who can  tell what we go through after child birth and a man who is alone with his wife in a foreign land without this form of help from their extended families, has a lot to learn in a very short while. He learns there is a reason those three months were traditionally instituted in the first place.

The bible reckons with us as ‘the weaker vessel’ and even though many  interpretations has been  given to that phrase,  it refers to our physical strength as compared to men’s own. ( All this modern bull shit about what a man can do, a woman can do better does not sit well with me, because I know men who split firewood to care for their families, I will dare a woman to go for it. I won’t try it myself). Having said that, I will rather look at the original owner of that picture (I do not want to use it here because I don’t know if the couple themselves even know what the man, who must be their friend to have obtained a picture of them in their house, has been up to with their picture) as ignorant. Women (living in isolated nuclear families) who are naturally the weaker vessels give birth and after a few days get up on their feet to continue the very tasking life of caring for a newborn, with episiotomy or caesarean stitches, sleeplessness and a strange form of weakness that descends on the person when she tries to do any little chore. (I stubbornly went out to buy fruits two days after I was discharged from the hospital. Two minutes walk away from my house and I could have fainted on the road). So, if that man feels that a man learning to help his wife is something to be ashamed of,  I can only hope that by a certain twist of fate he becomes pregnant, goes through labour so we can see if he agrees to get up from the bed after two weeks.

Pregnancy and labour and their effects on the woman’s body need be explained comprehensively to the still-ignorant men folk who are only interested in toting their titles around.

To the men who are rising up to the occasion daily, being  partners to their wives and supporting them with their greater physical strength, I pray God bless you real good!!! 

How Much For A Destiny?

I wished I was God, wished for that almighty power to make things right in an instant and to severely punish anyone who deserves it. Yes, one of the encounters you make and think, ‘there has to be someone to punish the evil men consciously mete out on others’. It’s not boko haram but a young 20 year old,  8-months pregnant girl who is so alone except for her ‘madam’ who brought her to Europe and to whom she owes 30 thousand euro after she had done some trekking from Africa, went through Spain (where the father of her soon- to- be- born baby is) and is currently in Italy to start paying her dues.

 I looked back and all I remember at 20 was being in the University, dreaming of a big bright future and being a dependent who had her parents and relatives to fall back on. But here is this young girl who is Nigerian, with a Ugandan name and documents, no Ugandan international  passport (I wonder how she is going to get that), with  no idea how complicated her life has become because of the forgeries, pregnant and sceptical about going to the hospital for a caesarean  procedure (because her baby refused to turn with his head down), speaks absolutely no Italian and has someone who has tied her down with a huge debt and fear for the oaths she took on her life back home!!!

I didn’t know where to start but one thing I kept telling her was to concentrate on staying alive by agreeing to the procedure,  convincing her the CS was not a bad thing and that here doctors are very qualified to take care of her. I made her call the hospital with my phone (she did not have call credit and was not allowed to, and had refused to take the calls from the hospital before we met), I spoke with them and interpreted for her, took down details of the information they had to pass on to her and made her promise she will go the day they asked her to come for delivery. I asked her to call me if she needed someone to talk to (she pleaded with me not to call her, obviously her madam will not be happy to hear she is making friends who might help her out of her bondage) and if madam won’t be at the hospital the day she will give birth. I asked her to let me call a free toll number I’ve seen on a notice at the city council for help in this kind of situation but she was so afraid her madam will be taken to the police and things will get out of hand at home for her family and for her personally because of the oath. I’m still contemplating on doing that because really it looks like interfering with someone’s life and at the same time like saving someone who doesn’t know her way back to a normal life. I preached, advised, warned her of the dangers of going into prostitution but she kept asking me what kind of work she can do without speaking the language and without having legal documents? I couldn’t answer that but kept begging her to let me call that line for help. I tried getting her to change her mind with stories I had seen on the news about prostitutes who were murdered but I could see I wasn’t getting anywhere.

I got home and couldn’t sleep well! How do you  make a debt of 30 thousand euro before getting to your destination if not that you think money grows on trees at your destination? Where were her parents?  In fact I was later made to understand that most times parents are privy to these kind of arrangements and consent to it, in fact sometimes they force their children to do it because they think Europe has all the answers. Thirty thousand euros for crying out loud! I personally processed my documents for joining my husband here in Italy and even while I complained  about how rigorous and expensive the process was, 3000 euro will be just about it (if not a bit exaggerated) if I take into account the transport fare I spent moving from the Enugu to Lagos and to Abuja on several occasions and the flight fare to Italy.

How do women, women who are responsible for bringing life, giving love and nurturing it turn out to be cruel slave merchants? These are people who have stayed here, who know how things work and still they go home to deceive the ignorant folks in order to make themselves richer at the detriment of another’s destiny. How much for a  conscience and how much does a destiny cost? The Bible tells it as it is, the love of money is the root of all evil...note- the love of money, not money in and of itself!

Presently, I am looking for a way to go beyond being someone that girl can talk to when she feels the need, I am hoping she will let me help her as much as I can without complicating her life further. I am seeking information, advise, whatsoever can help her. If you are reading this and you know what I can do, please leave a comment. It all started with her asking me if she has to take a number for her turn, and me asking what it is she came to the immigration office to do. I believe in going further than exchanging greetings if you feel it in your heart, to know if you have been sent to help the person sitting close to you. We all have this ‘I need to mind my business attitude’, but I know how much I have been helped by people who didn’t think that way. I want to return this favour, I want to keep contributing to changing this our world, one person at a time. You too can!

To Turn A Blind Eye Or Not?

Yesterday I was at the open market that holds every Wednesday in the area where I live, to buy fruits for the week. As I stood at the stall from where I wanted to buy, I noticed this pregnant woman walking nonchalantly with a boy about 7 years behind her. You would not know they were together but I noticed because I saw her  glance back at him making sure he was following. I wanted to attribute it to fatigue from the pregnancy until I saw the boy reaching for a strawberry on the table of the next stall. His mum was standing at a distance pretending to be on the queue. Instinctively, I told him sternly not to. He looked at me and ran to the mother. My ‘aproco’ self  was about to tell her to mind him so he won’t pick things from people’s tables and get called names, but as I turned, I saw the boy telling her he wanted strawberries. She quietly moved away from the queue and started heading back to where she came from, leaving the boy behind her as before. He drew closer again to touch the strawberry and this time I raised my voice while warning him not to touch it. He ran to his mother and as I followed him with my eyes, I saw her looking at me with eyes that could have killed if it were possible. The boy had told her and she was mad with me!!

 I wished  I could call the authorities to take that boy from her. She is breeding a thief and tomorrow the society will pay dearly for it. We have enough menace already, we do not have to look on while some people diligently add to it. Plus that child can become whatever he wants tomorrow, why should that be taken away from him because he has parents who think they can take what does not belong to them, teach same to their children and use poverty to justify it? I was kind of furious because I couldn’t do anything or rather because I didn’t know what to do. (A call to my Italian friends to drop a comment on what I can do, or which authority to refer to in cases like this).

I was just as mad last week when I met a Nigerian young man I know, begging on the street near the centre of the city where I live. I wasn’t mad because he was begging, in fact I would have preferred if the woman begged the fruit vendor for just one strawberry for the kid. But I was mad because  I know him and his wife with their 3 year old daughter. We made acquaintance as Nigerians living close to each other but we rarely visit. So I know he works and also gets support from the city council because his wife came into Italy from Libya while pregnant and was taken into their care. The council have continued to care for that child and they get a generous amount every month to that effect. They live in a house paid for by the council (or I would say subsidized) and have things going for them better than those who work off their asses paying the exorbitant rent we all are screaming about. Imagine my surprise when I saw him standing with one of the guys who usually stand there to beg, with his face almost completely hidden from view  by the big hood of his jacket. I had seen him while approaching but I intentionally greeted the other one who I normally exchange greetings with and passed by. I know he saw me but I saved him the shame because I couldn’t help thinking that greed has eaten him up and there was no need adding shame to his eaters.

He didn’t think for once what that could do to his daughter’s self esteem. Children know much more than we give them credit for and a very expressive child in his daughter’s class might see him and recognise him as her father. What he or she says to his daughter will only be limited by the type of upbringing or discussion by his or her parents. He didn’t stop to think it was better to leave the other guy (who I honestly assume is not working, because I don’t know him from Adam) so he can get more help, he doesn’t think the society has done enough for him. He just has to keep collecting and collecting. Some people like abusing other people’s kindness, and just because he thinks Italians will always look at the poor black beggar and have mercy, he has enough reason to abuse the privileges he has. .  He knew he was doing wrong and tried so very well to hide his face.

 Raising a kid with that mentality is just wrong and when it will really come back to bite him in the ass, he won’t see it coming.  I also felt like he should be reported to the authorities but I don’t know if I have the right to do so. People like to say that parenting style is every parent’s choice and people should not interfere. But when we see a child being wronged with an upbringing that will only hurt us or our children in the future, should we turn a blind eye? Even if we cannot intervene directly, should we not call in the appropriate authorities to right these wrongs. Sincerely, carrying a pregnancy and giving birth does not qualify every woman who has done it to be called mother and donating the sperm that makes the child does not make every man who does it a father. There is much more behind those words, and every human being who brings out children into this already difficult world should not make things more difficult for both the children and the people already in it. 

When The Judge Is The Accused: The Nigerian Government Compensation Method

Suicide bombers in the Boko Haram sect (the Islamic terrorist group opposing western education in Nigeria) believe dying for a good cause will earn them paradise. In addition to this, they are promised  better welfare for their family members.

Sadly, the Nigerian government has adopted this method in providing 'curative' consolation to families of deceased citizens whom they could have well prevented their deaths.

Youth Corpers who were serving their nation in Bauchi state and who were supposed to be under the custody of the federal government  were killed during the April 2011 polls while they were being used as ad-hoc officials. The President declared a 5 million naira compensation to be paid to each of their families and the immediate employment of their siblings into the Federal Civil service.

Again, on March 15, the National Immigration service conducted a job test in some of the nation's state capitals and people were stampeded to death and many more injured in various centres. The President again was quick to show his sympathy and has declared compensation in the form of jobs for their families as reported by the Sun on-line newspaper.

Reflecting on it, I couldn't help thinking, 'the present Nigerian government has gone Boko-Haramic on us!!! Die for a good cause and your relations will be compensated. It is a Nigerian leadership thing to prefer cure to prevention, but this is not even a cure. It is a compensation that does not come close to doing what it is meant for. It is an ugly habit that our president seems comfortable with. Some say 'better this than nothing at all', but I say 'we do not want compensations because we are not all suicide bombers. All the youth corpers and job seekers who died were there for themselves. They did not sign up for suicide missions with 'silly' compensations. If we all have to die for our relations to get jobs, soon the ones with the jobs will have to die for the ones still without jobs or in school. At least if the jobs are not guaranteed, let us stay alive while we hope for a better future. Let's get out of the tests alive!!!!

The federal government of Nigeria should protect the lives of its citizens else there will soon be no one left to govern. There is no king without a kingdom. It is the duty of a government to protect its citizens and provide jobs. Boko-Haram is shedding enough blood already....Mr President, please do not become their convert!

The Boy And His Dog.

I  see this young boy every morning as I run. The way he consciously and calmly walks his dog, minding it so it does not offend passers-by, cleaning up after it and carrying on like an adult, the only thought that comes to my mind is that he will definitely grow into a very responsible adult. I had to stop one day to ask him ‘quanti anni hai?’, and when he responded ‘dieci’ and I followed with ‘sei bravo’, I could only wonder how much more brave and responsible his parents  are to agree to a ten year old walking his dog every morning before school. Instantly, I remembered asking a girl of about 9 years to pray in church and she responded that she doesn't know how to because mum always prays. I asked what if mum is not around, and she responded 'mum is always around'. 

More often than not, we underestimate what our children can do. We limit them because we want to protect them. Undeniably, it is our responsibility but we must draw the lines as well as create opportunities to let them learn independence and  responsibility. So the question that poses itself is ‘how early?’. I am not an expert in child psychology, but I have read a lot since I gave birth and I will only echo what I have learnt. ‘As early as they can learn right and wrong’. Toddlers know when to help if you let them, in fact their rebellion is more an act of seeking independence, adolescents crave it so much that if not handled appropriately, the scene gets ugly.

I always wonder at parents who do not make efforts to improve on what they know. Some people just have one line of response, ‘that’s the way I was brought up’, and then I silently ask, ‘and you believe all your potentials were maximized’, you believe this is the best you can be?’. I don’t say it out loud so I don’t get slapped serially, but I try to pass on this message (depending on how close I am with the subject): we must do better.

I have successfully taught my 14 month old to say thank you, even though she doesn’t understand in what direction it should go (she hands me over something I ask for and says thank you, because she sees me smile and say thank you), but with time she’ll definitely learn it. Then we’ll learn to say sorry and with time, every other essential phrase. I do what I can, yet I always feel like I am not doing enough. I continually read expert advice, comments on good articles, opinions, different methods and expected results and from these I form my own opinion and methods. We are far from adolescence but I look forward to a meeting in the near future with two psychologists who will be addressing the issues of adolescence with a group of women with whom I attend language school. I don’t know if this opportunity will present itself again, so I am arming myself with as much knowledge as I can, whenever I can.  It always feels like my early reading days when I could never get enough of books (I used to be that kid that read newspapers in the convenience, even when the words just end up confusing me) because I am consumed with learning to do the right thing for my child(ren).

I will always remember that ten year old with his dog. I’ll let it serve as a reminder that  my children can do much more than I think at every point in their lives. I will try to create opportunities for them to express who they are, what they love to do and what they can do. I hope I get it right, every parent lives with this fear......but we push it aside and hope for the best.

Running For My Life

It’s been four weeks  since I started running for my life. I attended a 50th birthday in-house party of a senior friend and I could not stop wondering how she managed to look 30 at 50. Yes, she is an Italian and yes it might be genetic but I continued to think that it was not just that. She had learned how to live right, eat right and maintain a great shape. I have been putting off exercises for a long time, making excuses of tiredness and time, but that day I got cured of my procrastination by fire. To add to my fuel, the daily devotional booklet  I use had on that day, encouraged starting an exercise regimen. Call it a coincidence or what you like, it just worked for me and I got started. I waited this long before blogging about it just to make sure I have formed the habit and have committed myself to continuing.

I run round the park close to my house 3 times every morning (I can’t tell how many metres that is, I will have to find out). I run every morning, telling myself, ‘your life will be a lot better for it’. I might not see the benefits now, of course I can’t see my heart working better but I do feel it. My energy level is always higher during the day, my muscles more toned and my spirit motivated. It sounds like an exaggeration but ask any runner, and he’ll tell you.

I have been trying to wish away my post-pregnancy pouch, yes wish away because I know I wasn't doing enough to get rid of it, and I had always said (before my pregnancy) that I would not carry a pouch around because it would ruin my style (I love fitted clothes!) but I have been reluctant to put in the effort needed to get rid of it. But with this running habit and the abdominals that follow once I return home, I am looking forward to getting back to shape again. I've been told that because I did not  tie my stomach immediately after birth, I might not succeed in getting my body back again, but I am willing to try proving that wrong and that is what I am doing. I only do hope it works, but even if it doesn't flatten my tummy, I am glad to know I can make a decision and stick to it.

Many times we know the right thing to do but lack the motivation to do it, especially if it’s not connected to a pay check. Our daily habits, what we eat, drink, exercise or the lack of it will all determine how we age. I intend to age gracefully, to be strong for a long time to come, and if it is what I have to do, then I will keep running for my life!!

P.S :  I had a very big first pregnancy. I used to call it a pencil, it was that long!

Know Your Pride Level

During arguments, when I hear people make comments like, ‘we are not age mates’ or we are not in the same level’, I quickly summarize how they view life. It’s either they think an older person cannot be at fault or they feel their age is an achievement everyone should respect, and that to me means either the person has not achieved much or has no hope or desire to achieve more. Thus, his or her age becomes a trophy for all to behold. 

I am not  promoting rudeness to older people, I am just saying that when two adults are misunderstanding themselves, it should not be the time to call in the number of years spent on earth, which almost always has nothing to do with the bone of contention. Even when dealing with children, one needs to be careful because they also  can be right when an older person is wrong. So, I don’t see why an adult will point out his or her age to another adult as if that is the only criteria for being right.

Then, the level thing, I just wonder what  it really means. Does it refer to financial, intellectual, physical (e.g number of children)  or spiritual (like someone recently pointed out for me) superiority. I am still wondering what spiritual level means because once pointed out, it is tantamount to pride and that brings the person to zero level. It’s worse when the ‘higher level’ person happens to be educated, all that schooling seems to just fly out the window and he or she comes off sounding like an illiterate.

Dare I say that often times the person who is at fault is almost always the one to foul the peace process because just as he won’t check what he says to cause the misunderstanding, he also won’t stop to listen and find out where he erred because he is not on the same level with the other person.

People please, a mis-UNDERSTANDING  is what it is. Whether you think you are above or below, common sense demands you listen to each other and come to an understanding!!!!

So when someone uses that line with me, I just respond silently, ‘yes, we are not on the same PRIDE level, knock yourself out getting to the top!!!

The Adamic Nature: Majority Carries The Vote

There is a saying that when you point a finger to someone, the rest of your fingers point back at you. We like to blame others for our problems and just as often we forget to see the problem almost always comes from us. I call it the ‘adamic’ nature (for non Christians, Adam was the first man in the bible whose wife Eve gave the forbidden fruit). Adam points to Eve, she points to the serpent and I like to think the serpent might have pointed to God for creating the tree in the first place.

Back to us!!!

The solution to most of our problems lie with and within us, if only we stop the finger pointing act. I am not ruling out the presence of some persons whose only aim in life is to constantly constitute a nuisance. Yes, sometimes others can be at fault but how ready are we to see and accept it when the fault is ours, i.e. when the majority of your fingers carry the vote.

Individually and as a society, we must learn the art of taking responsibility for our actions no matter what the outcome is.

One of my friends who had the opportunity of studying in the UK for his masters degree, once opined on facebook that the west (Britain)  was responsible for the ineffective mode of teaching and learning that has contributed to the crippled education system in Nigeria. After some minutes of thought, I asked him why we have not realized that after fifty something years, and why our leaders who travel far and wide have done nothing about it. So it’s either they have also not noticed or they have and decided it is not a priority (after all their own children also get their degrees outside Nigeria). Either way, the finger he was trying to point could not stand the direction of the majority.

In addition, when I  read this article on the recent gay situation in Nigeria and some of the comments directly blamed the west for trying  to force it down our throats, even when the writer clearly stated that as a child, he had seen gay people over 50 years ago and in the 70s, openly showing affection, all I could think of was ‘enough with the finger pointing!!!’

If there is one thing I will teach my children, it will be that actions have consequences. Once you make a decision and act on it, the majority of your fingers will carry the vote no matter how much you point that first finger.

We make life-changing decisions all the time. To study or not, to work hard or not, to marry (for the right reasons) or not. It is an endless list but most times we do not stop to ask what the consequences will be in the long run. Then if/when things go wrong, we go berserk screaming at someone else instead of at ourselves.

Let’s take responsibility of our actions and their consequences, both as individuals and societies. That way we can effectively learn from our mistakes, retrace our steps and make overall progress.

Love Life: Live It Like Meg

My 13 month old toddler loves to be awake!!! Yes, so much so she fights her sleep all the time and can push it for up to 2 hours . But when she does  sleep, she almost always wakes up with a big smile on her face (if her sleep is interrupted, you won’t get any). An infectious smile that can easily be interpreted as ‘oh, I'm still here, where all the fun is’, and it makes you want to pick her up and plant kisses all over her face.

*You will be getting lots of Meg -inspired thoughts, she has been a fountain of inspiration since she was born*

Then I thought, what if I can live that way. Facing every waking moment with a smile. I confess it’ll be hard to ignore the body pains that I wake with on nights that she insists on putting asunder , the ever present feeling that plagues my sleep: how to create time for myself and  the string of tasks always waiting to be done. I'm always racing against time and my guess is, so do you.

We get so busy with life we forget to live it. We forget to smile, hug, hold hands and sit down to chat just for the love of hearing each other’s laughter. It’s worse with all the ‘aiming higher’, not being mediocre’, standing out from the crowd’ messages we hear every day. We are on a race to outdo ourselves and the next person, we often lose sight of the flowers on the path of the race.

I remember looking at the autumn trees and thinking, ‘even the withering process has got its own beauty. It inspired me to continue living each day not minding the circumstances, to see the beauty in my difficult seasons and know that as the same trees that wither with beauty in autumn, bloom again in spring with splendour , I will continue to rise no matter how many times I fall like the withering leaves.

I have resolved to live like Meg. To embrace life with a smile, telling myself I will get through it (in tough times) and stopping every now and then to count my blessings. I've had more downs than ups but every of those down times got me to reflect and conclude that I am far better alive than dead. Like when I broke my two arms (complete fractures) in an accident, I knew I could've ended up paralysed or even dead but I still live a normal life even if I can’t lift heavy things or I just get to carry my daughter for very short periods while standing.

A clearer picture (that I would never forget) will be that of a very young fresh graduate I met in Abuja Nigeria in 2012, who was travelling to another state for a job interview. A month later, I heard she died on her way back from that trip on a route I had plied countless times. I knew it could've been me on one of my endless trips during my job search days. Every time I remember that pretty young lady, I say to myself I’d rather be alive and jobless than dead, so I won’t give up just because I don’t have a 9-5.

So if you are alive and still struggling to achieve your dreams but you seem  to have more downs than ups, I challenge you: remember the autumn trees, remember some people have died in the past trying to reach where you are today, remember to stop and smile, to say to yourself, ‘I’ll get through this’. Remember to love life and live it with gratitude.

It Wasn't Me!!!!!

A whole week and no post after the very first! This has to be a joke. I berated myself for not dealing with my procrastination weakness as I resolved this new year but after 5 days, I knew it wasn't me. This is not the ‘adamic’ habit of pointing fingers, this is the truth. I am a stay-at- home mum, who cannot find time for herself. Housewives’ tale, you say.

I was reading a facebook thread and some chic called a housewife ‘lazy’, and I felt like stretching invisible hands to give her a sound knock on the head. I’m not the housewife type, infact I’m all for the career-loving woman and anyone who knows me personally will attest to that, but this is what I have to do now while I plan the next steps to take, and it is no child’s play.

As soon as my morning prayers are concluded, I hit the ground running until night plus I have  a toddler who makes it all the more fun.....you know how!

Why do stay-at- home mums always complain about being so busy when all they do is cook and clean? If our sisters who work outside the home are honest, they will tell you how challenging it is to do that and manage a home efficiently, or better still the opportunity costs of their careers! Someone I know likes to say, ‘something has got to give’ and this is so true for every married woman.

Yeah, I know the celebrities and unreal people will say you can have it all, but if we face the facts, there is always a price to pay and I like to say, it all depends on what makes you happy and what works for your family.

I started this blog so I can have something that makes me happy, you know what they say...happy mother, happy home...but it seems like I never find time to write. I hear I have to either wake up very early or sleep quite late, so I’m praying, hoping and wishing that Meg will start sleeping at a stretch, without her intermittent wakes at night so I can have  a functional brain early in the morning because nights are ruled out!!!! All I look forward to at night is a good massage from dear husband and a soft clean pillow to lay my head.

Pray tell, who would like to take my place just for a week?

Finalmente!

I thought and re-thought, made name and url options for this blog and cancelled. To make matters worse, Blogger kept telling me all the ones I came up with were not available. Then I changed my mind completely and made a last minute decision because I can no longer keep postponing this launch. It felt like trying to write a novel and never being able to decide on the opening sentence. I know myself, I would never see this through if I keep trying for the perfect name. So I decided what the heck! I can just do it anyway and hope I pass across my messages in the posts. Maybe in the future I will just change the name to suit the ideas that will come.

So here I am, dealing with procrastination, meeting my January ending timeline,  hoping to build an online community this year and  looking forward to growing while we learn from one another

To 2014, the year of productivity!