For the one with whom infinity will not be enough.

 

To the one who will ask, for the one that’ll hear my vows; ‘I do’ wrapped up in lilac.

 Two words dressed in apparent frailty, spoken with strength and certainty. Carried by love that I convey and that which I do not know I am capable of:

I don’t have a list, that’s how I know your love will constantly leave me in awe. When I pray about you there are two things which have been spoken of; that you love him recklessly and are totally dependent on him. That you become the shepherd’s tree, with roots unbelievably deep in Christ, so, each time I look at you I’m reminded of Christ’s love for me. The second is that you be taller than me.

To the one that the father prepares for me, I am being prepared too. I am learning patience, and my faith is being watered. I know that the world is changing, I pray that you remain anchored.

To the one who will love me every day after we meet, I’m constantly evolving, tomorrow never meets me the same as yesterday did- you have your onions set out for you, a discovery every day. It is certain you’ll be kept on your toes and life will never be a bore with me.

To the one who will wait at the altar as I emerge in silk drapes, and yes you will be crying- I pray that you plant, reap and rest. In that order.

I absolutely cannot wait to do life with you, walking on water, leaning on you, trusting wholly and exhaling. I’ve been holding my breath for way too long.

I look forward to the moments where we’ll discuss our lives up until when we met, how our lives had been simultaneously meaningless and meaningful. Our meeting, the last piece of the puzzle- our picture becoming just like the master intended.

I want you to know that you have your work cut out for you with; flaws, quirks, sensitivities and a bunch of other things. I hope than when you look at me you do not think for one minute that our walk will be easy, that you acknowledge what an inconvenience it will be, that you count the things it will cost you, that you recognize the expectations our cocoon will birth, and still choose us.

I know that with you I’ll never question my sacrifices, that as I put you first, you do same. I’m convinced that I’ll never have to ask if I'm giving too much. This love will be sure, enough, and a safety net. That your arms will be synonymous to expressiveness, I will not have need to hide. That my soul forgets what it is to hide with you.

I know that we will fight, I look forward to growing with you, learning your quirks and the things that make you tick tick tick.

I cannot wait to be your friend, to be home. To be the place that unravels you. That with me you become undone- vulnerability, softness and warm hugs await you. I know without a doubt that even when I get tired and when my energy is diminishing you will continually pour into me. Its how I’ll know that you’re the one for me. Wanting for me and not from me.

Until then, my soul mate, you’re strengthened in your evolution,

Just as I am.

All of my love.

 

Transportation Palava.

I live in the Capital. For clarity, I reside in Abuja the city of hustling, bustling and mad road men. These mad road men that I speak of have made it their goal to ruin my trust in road activities. They are the only reason my house is safer and better than the outside.

I do not have a car and if I did, ‘me no fit drive’. The roads of Abuja will always be either too smooth or too rough. The steering wheels and tires of these machines that the ‘oyinbo’ man has brought to us will remain my enemies. I will walk, and in the process burn some calo calo. I’d rather walk than leave my life's longevity to these mad men.

See, in this madness thing there are ranks. Taxi drivers come last in this pyramid, I am convinced that they have been told that only those who speed will make heaven. That is the only explanation I have for the racing of my heart each time I take one. A close second goes to ‘keke na pep’ drivers, I leave them at the feet of God, the Judge of all. Finally, the Kings and owners of Abuja roads, ‘okada’ men. Ah! As a matter of fact, I believe that they have an association and there are meetings held with my picture with a goal  to frighten me.

I promise you; I’m not lying there is proof. Let me tell you, my story.

Two days ago, I had to rush to my sister’s school to give her something that she needed for her exam, the exam was for 8:00 am and my landlords told me some minutes to 8- the thing is I don’t do anything impromptu and because of this if you saw me on the road that day, you might have questioned if it was me. Days like that leave me thinking I have a second nature, ‘a bambiala’ nature. I walk out of my estate gate and stop the first bike man I see, ‘oga small small’ oh, is the first thing I say, because it is not like this I will go and meet my Jesus.

He nods his head and I struggle to climb his instrument of movement as usual, and hold on to the metal behind me (rear grip), if you’ve seen me, you know how small my hands are- I strongly believe the only thing a person has to hold on to so tight is a relationship God, but I did not want to fall. It was either that or hold the ‘okada’ rider, if you gerrit you do! If not, another day. My hands were sweaty and my heart was going faster than flash could ever.

We proceed to take the shorter route, and my people, the bumps on that road had my bum lifting severally from the seat and my leg slipping from the area provided for legs (footpeg). ‘Ahn, is it like this I will go?’ ‘I’ve not even told the man I like how I feel about him, and we would’ve worked oh’, ‘so, like this I will never collect allowee’ these are a few of the thoughts that ran through my mind. I’ve not even lived at all at all. Ahn no. these men are wicked.

I got to the school oh! my brethren, asked the man to kindly wait for me so that he will take me back. Bear in mind that this young Lady’s school is on a hill, ahnn, what if like Jack and Jill I came tumbling down? What next? It even appeared to me that the man thought to himself, if this girl survived the first round, this will be nothing. Na so Oga enter gear 1million. If he was flash before, lightening was what he became. To think I was busy saying small small, and making exclamations so he’ll get a hint and slow down. He did not slow down oh.

That is how the journey ended oh, I got to the gate of my estate and gave him his money. Guess what? His ears were plugged through out the journey! Listening to music, how was he even hearing the horns? These men are not of this world, they belong somewhere in between the clouds.

Brethren! In all get wisdom, and avoid the actual owners of Abuja roads!

 

Children of Blood and Bone (how chapter 79 should have ended)

 

He’s supposed to be safe.

   Mama Agba is with him, protecting him so I must be seeing things. Maybe they’ve become so versed in magic that they can make a person who’s not present seem like they are. These are the thoughts that simultaneously barge my mind when I see him.

   Baba looks beaten and I’m unable to reconcile him with the Baba that I actually know. His eyes are blood red, his back hunched, and he is unable stand straight- somehow, he still manages to look at me with love in his eyes. ‘I love you’ he mouths. The first thing that comes to my mind is that he should save his energy. It’s not until I see who holds him that Rage kisses my brain. Inan.

   The artefacts in exchange for Baba’s life. this is what Saran has requested.

   I still remember Mama chained by magicite, her magic evaporating into the air, the helplessness in her eyes and the limp form her body takes. They will not take Baba from me. Magic resides in me, I’ve been chosen by the gods, Oya will not forsake me. King Saran interrupts my thoughts and my body shivers, the trauma from the tattooed words on my back still very present, a reminder that I’ll always be maggot to him.

   I step forward about to surrender, because Baba cannot go, clutching the sunstone and dagger to my chest- placing them at the feet of Saran, secretly whispering to Oya to do something, I say every incantation I’ve learnt since this started. Ba mi Soro, jo. You can’t leave me now. It starts from my fingertips and inscriptions begin to light up my skin, Oya has woken is the first thing that comes to my mind like she was ever asleep. The temple begins to tremble and that statue of our ancestors begin to light up.  

   Saran and Inan exchange a look, one that requires Inan to attack. He picks up his arrow ready to shoot at the same time I makeup my mind that not another life will be lost. So, for Mama, Bisi, Lekan, Zulaikha and the many lives lost, I call on Oya to one more time express her rage through me. Light so bright is vomited through my fingertips, I stretch my hands to each of them, on opposite sides of the temple and I let go. The light weakens them so much they fall to their knees, I’m yet to decide if I want them dead. Inan for once again shattering my heart and Saran for the million maji lives lost. Even their guards are blinded by the light so they cannot attack. I shout at Roen and Kenyon to get my father, rescue the artefacts and run. Oya is with me, I’ll be fine.

   I brush off the sting that I feel when not even Roen asks if I’m sure I want to be left alone, and focus on Saran and his soldier son. When I see that their bones have turned custard, I ask Oya to carry me and she does. I’ll deal with the angry betrayed team when I get there.

   Baba could not die. Not with me standing there.

'Yinka, Where is Your Huzband'

 

‘Yinka, Where is Your Huzband?’

I cannot be the only one who sees the title of this book, and answers in their head.

It goes- Huzband no dey!!!

I like this book for so many reasons, biased reasons and unbiased too.

I like it because it was written by a woman first, and secondly because it was written by a Nigerian woman.

 

Huzband. Pronounced auzband.

I enjoy how Damilola takes us on Yinka’s journey in search for her Huzband- I love how honest the journey is, the way Yinka is portrayed. Confident and otherwise, how she draws out a plan, the dynamic of her friendships, and of course her very Nigerian mother.

Another thing that stands out for me in Damilola’s work is how she shows the internet to be Yinka’s friend first, with a plethora of her hilarious search histories ranging from ‘what are the chances of meeting a guy and getting married when you’re a thirty-something woman’ to ‘Good excuses for not going to a Bridal shower’ Damilola is certainly not a stone-age writer.

It's promised that you’re going to get a front row experience to all of the drama that is Yinka’s life. From Femi, her first and now her ex, to being let go at her place of work, then Alex from aunty Debbie. You’ll also see the classic and cliché hiding your feelings under the guise of ‘hate’ with her ‘friend’ Donovan and you’ll get to see the one man that slapped her out of her trance; Marcus who chickens out when he finds out that Yinka is a vargeeeen (virgin). I won’t tell you how many times Yinka called him when he ghosted her, me too I wanted to slap her.

It’s like watching Friends, the relationship between Yinka, Jon, Ola, Rachel and Nana is just miles away from being catastrophic. Aunty Debbie, Ola, Yinka, and Yinka’s mum dance around each other to the beat of comparison, there’s nothing that will rightly explain the dizziness you’d feel when it has been sang to you severally that you could try a little better to be like another person.

The growth and transition of the characters is one that deserves a standing ovation. Yinka, being our main character went from her big chop, to a weave, back to her hair. She also went from not caring that she didn’t have a Huzband, to needing one before Rachel’s wedding, and lastly to being content without one. Her journey with her insecurities is also really beautiful to see. Yinka at the end also got to do what she loved most in the world, work in charity! There’s nothing better than doing what you love.

I love how compromises where reached, between Yinka and her mom. How her mom came to realise, in her words that ‘Happiness is the utmost Importance’.

The best part of the book, the part which will leave you at the edge of your sir is when Yinka, asks to say a prayer in church I thought her mother was going to march to the pulpit and give her a dirty slap. The next best is where Yinka gets her mum to cry, and be honest about the loss of her own Huzband.

When I said the book was a journey, I wasn’t joking, the events are categorized from January to July, a whole whipping 7 months of the year!!! If this were my life, I’d never stop sweating.

Damilola Blackburn did a beautiful job of capturing the life of Nigerian women specifically and African women at large, it however leaves me thinking about Yinka and Donovan and whether their ‘friendship’ flourished. At many points in the book, you’ll catch yourself sending Aunty Blessing virtual hugs and doing the opposite for Aunty Blessing.

I loved it, you’ll love it too.

 

 

Temi's Discrepancy.

 

/SENSITIVITY/- a tendency to have strong emotional reactions, especially to be offended easily.

Temi constantly likened her emotions to blown up balloon, she opined that the slightest thing could deflate her. She was constantly aware, overly observant and read the actions of people like it was a best seller. She was constantly at war with words, words often spoken with nonchalance. Every night, the words of men put her to bed, and each morning served as her alarm.

Temi’s skin was very aware too, it was as flexible as dough subject to the shift and turn of the baker’s fingers and submitted to his strength. Every pinch too hard, her skin was dressed in scars from actions that whispered on the skin of others, while they screamed on hers. She was like a flower, frail and beautiful- plucked and serving limited purpose, at least that was what she thought.

Temi hated being so sensitive, it was a curse.

/EMPATHY/- the ability to understand how someone feels because you can imagine what it is like to be like them.

The thing is, she was also an empath. So, she lived her life in other’s shoes, it could be said that it was not her life that she lived, but the life of whoever she understood. Temi was attuned to hurt, she knew how it was to have your emotions slashed, so she never slashed.

Temi was burdened with the knowledge of pain, much pain had been given to her- as a result she awarded herself the obligation to treat others with care. Knowledge didn’t bring freedom for her, it brought chains.

This was how she carried on, understanding everyone. When you think of Temi, think of a warrior with a sword in his middle, and a hand to his wound, crawling in pain, not giving up but struggling to take others to safety. Temi and her heart heavy with pain walked around, promising that it would be okay, because she knew more than anyone what it was to be not okay.

/PEOPLE PLEASER/- a person who tries to make others happy, at the expense of their comfort.

She lived for others, and the only time she was really happy was when she was serving someone. Like a junkie starved of heroin, she itched when she had nothing to do for people, and like a workaholic she loved the feeling of being spent.

But the thing about doing for people is that you believe that they’ll do for you too. Temi believed so much that if she continued to give herself, she’ll never really have to search for help if she needed it- but you know and I know that lies like masquerades danced in her belief.  

So, Temi gave- and when in need, was merged with disappointment. She became one with heart ache, they were declared so by this self-acclaimed preacher called people pleaser.

/BOUNDARIES /- something that indicates or fixes a limit, or the extent to which a thing will go.

At this point, I’m sure you know as much as I know that Temi didn’t know when to stop. She didn’t even know how to stop. There seemed to be no lines, no middle ground. She was either over doing it or over doing it. The concept of boundaries seemed too harsh, and how would she get her fix of a minute happiness if she didn’t do, or give.

Temi had reached an impasse, at her fountain water had ceased.

And in the words of Rupi Kaur;

“When I hit the rock bottom

That exists after the rock bottom

And no rope or hand appeared,

I wondered,

What if nothing wants me-

Because I do not want me”.

Temi came to a realization that she was all she had, that she owed all to herself first. She was cloaked with the duty to nurture her sensitivity, to appreciate it, to love it- it was how being an empath wouldn’t hurt her.

She owed her time, love and affection to herself first before any other person, that she could only fake loving herself for so long, and if she didn’t truly love herself, she couldn’t show up authentically for people. Temi had to please herself FIRST.

She knew she had to create boundaries, so she could stop when the need arose.

 

PS: I really really want to end this by saying I’m Temi, but the truth is it’s never easy. You’ll catch yourself over sharing, and over giving sometimes. Do me a favour and remind yourself that you deserve to be PRIORITY. I’ll do you a favour and remind myself too. Love you.💓

 

 

 

Affirmations

 

To the year that shaped us,

 Thank you for bending us backward and pushing us out of our comfort zone! Thank you for painting the pictures of mediocrity that comfortability can cause- we did it! We moved! We fought! We rested! Look at us now, pieces of puzzles both fractured and whole- yet still a beauty that words if apportioned, will underestimate.

This is a reflection- this is for those who cried themselves to sleep, for those who cried in the shower, for those of us who woke up every day choosing to let God. This is all of my love to you.

This is a letter- for those who took big steps even as your hearts failed you and doubt hugged you, for those who graduated, for those who found love and those who remained secure in their singleness. This is all the flowers you deserve.

This is a hug, and a tub of ice cream to those who invested, and got nothing in return- to those of us that got our hearts punctured and to those who disappointment sang to often. This is my solidarity.

This is for those of us who lost the people we loved, to those that this year taught the meaning of helplessness. This is peace for you.

To those who lost friends, who outgrew friends, to those of us who grew and wanted better, to those of us that had to leave people behind because they were not in line with sight, for the friendships that did not survive redefining - this is my understanding, it cannot have been easy.

This is me offering my words as a balm- trusting that it be soothing to the places that hurt, to the parts of us that remain unrevealed, to the children in us that want to be assured, who stay wanting to know just how right what we’ve done is, and that we’ve done great.

This is me lighting a candle, asking you to meditate- this is me offering you whispers of love, you’re doing just fine. You couldn’t have done it any different- you couldn’t have done more. Every day of this year- each second and minute, you worked your brain and flogged your mind thinking of how to make a thing better, you did just what you could do. Take a deep breath in, and then out. Give yourself a hug, and tell yourself how proud you are of the things you've done. Not a single one of them is too small.

Just in case nobody told you- the invisible battles matter too.

So, my love, the person whom all of my gratitude and appreciation goes to- you did absolutely splendid this year! The times you left it all to God, the times you put yourself first, the days that you died to self, and even the days that you fought habits that threatened to ruin you. Take a look back, think about it- the days that your heart was breaking and you still put a smile on someone’s face? Don’t you know how proud the creator is of you? Can you not see the marvelous works of his hands when you look in the mirror?

My precious warrior reader- you who fought what only your mouth can speak of; this note is your flower, your balloon and your trophy!

Go, my giant Rockstar- you did spectacular!💗💗💗

 

Wishes upon pain.

 

 

I AM

Triggered. That’s what I am- that’s how I feel, there’s no other word to describe it, no other adjective will do it justice. The second it takes for a hand caressing a gun, and a finger to romance the trigger, is the second it takes for your presence to make me undone.

WANT

I want to call this piece stupid, but I’m yet to decide whether it’s because of how you make me feel, or it’s another way to describe you.

I despise you, and yet 'despise’ is too much a word, with emotion too great- as opposed to your irrelevance.

Sometimes your audacity surprises me, and when you look in the mirror, I want your foolishness to scream in laughter at you.

WISH

Dear- sorry, that’s a lie.

Deer, so I’d shoot you in the name of hunting. But no, you aren’t dear to me.

Despised, Mr. Stupid.

I hope you woke up today with a smile on your face, but with a heart that’s full of torment.

I hope that tomorrow when you go to bed, it’s after a bottle of pills.

I hope that your decisions hunt you- like a Lion to it's prey.

Frankly speaking, I don’t want you happy.

 

YOU

There is no proper way to express the pain in my heart, or the storm my tears have caused.

Like a red hanky, before a bull- you showed me ‘love’

And like an alcoholic to Hennessy, you intoxicated me with what could be.

I hope you experience it too.

This is why I say that maybe I was stupid- because you became all I had,

But since, this was nothing but a game of cards- the king is what you were,

 Now I have nothing, likened to a stray broom stick, somehow away from the bunch.

I want to wake up, and hear something happened to you- and I hate it

I hate it because it dresses my heart with burden.

You make me want to stand a hill and scream- ‘tis too much!

This pain is unbearable.

I’m an open zip, in need of closure.

Other times I want to walk up to you, and ask why?

I want to ask- what it was about me, that made disrespect like taking a breath in.

You awaken things I thought I had buried, and pain I thought I was over.

I hope you someday know how it feels to long for something.

And so, like wishes upon a star, but this wish drunk with pain- it’s almost a prayer

 I wish for your disappearance.

WIN

Take your award- have your medals.

Blow the trumpets! Your poker expressions- and your silence

Aided you, I’d have never seen it coming!

Congratulations!! The king of cards, a happy life and many cheers.

From the recipient of your stupidity.

FINAL CONFESSION

 

Who would have believed?

Who would have believed if I told them that Jide, the son of Kosoko liked children, and he liked them anyway he could get them?  No preferred sex.

How could I have formed the words that I write now?

I can smell the scandal, it would have caused- “the son of catholic priest, allegedly molests girl member of his father’s diocese”

How can I explain to you the currency with which my silence was bought?

You see, Jide was everybody’s star- the choirmaster, altar boy, he was in everything- extremely present, with his smile that made everyone see a halo on his head. The crown of this evil was that Jide went to my school, and he was the people’s man too! I had no safe space.

How could I have communicated, that it was best me, with confession after, a confession of all of my 'sins'- it was going to be me in submission, or my brother and I - when I showed disobedience or just my brother if I dared to never show up for these bible classes. Bible classes, that was how he got me on Saturdays, every other day it was mandatory that we saw, now that I think about it, I think that life just wasn’t my friend.

 Myself or my brother? And of course, to save my brother from this churchly wickedness, I was present every time, like a lamb ready for slaughter. I hope now you understand- that this suffering was bigger than me, and the consequence of not suffering even bigger.

I truly want to be able to say that my mother noticed my absence- not physically, I mean my mental absence, how I never truly spoke again, or how eating became laborious, the way my eyes lost their shine and how I became a shell of everything I was- if there’s anything worse than an empty shell, imagine it- I was it.

I remember one of those times, where Jide had buckled his belt and was about to leave the church office, he turned to look at me, tears in his eyes and apologized. I wish I could say that it ended there, and this was the end of all of it, but the next time- he came at me stronger and harder, with so much anger- like I caused his tears. Jide was SICK.

Sometimes, when I think of how I’ll tell this story. Yes, ‘this’ not ‘my’.

 It’s not my story, it’s an unfortunate series of events, that I was greatly unfortunate to have the first-row experience of. I think of how much fingers will point and not in sympathy, because as much as I hated it, Jide was god to some.

There was a time I was free though, my body not my mind- the only benefit of me traveling for university.  My body was free from unwanted intrusion and hands who held it in disgusted worship, so if you saw me- I was put together, and looked like all was well, I was however losing my mind, because the nights weren’t for rest, they were for battle- fighting with despicable memories that Jide left me with.

I wish I could say that Jide changed. I went home and my brother no longer smiled- and I knew, I just knew, that it was time for an end.

I want to sugar coat the end- the freedom of my brother and I- and right now I wish I did it in a way, that I’ll be cheered for, sweet and nice and full of spite. No, it was gritty and messy, twice with a knife to his chest in his sleep- then I watched him bleed to his final exit.

That day, I could’ve run, really far- I chose not to, and I sat in the corner of his room and waited.

This is the last confession I’ll ever make, the one before, being my plea of guilt. I will not stand in court for one more day and be paraded like a killer, when I helped Jide, I helped him stop. When you find this letter, I’ll be long gone.

This is what happened, this is why Jide was killed- I think that twelve years was enough silence, lucky for me- I will not be here to listen to your opinions.

So, my last words will be; I CONFESS TO HELPING JIDE, I HELPED HIM STOP.

 

  

 

FRAGILITY or something like that

 

If you had asked me last year, I’d have told you

That nobody would ever see me finish.

I have come to tell you my loves, that I have been SEEN.

Like an onion, I have many layers, we all do-

And I used to be so scared,

 Completely frightened of letting people,

See all of me.

Soaked in awareness of my flaws, and if I felt and breathed them so much,

How much more you?

And so, I tied my tongue, keeping all truth contained

Modifying all of my words, till they weren’t mine anymore

Saying maybe, when I meant NO.

Bending and twisting my standards, till they weren’t standards anymore

And sometimes, I wasn’t sure who I was,

And if I wasn’t, someone else was sure to define me;

 Timid  to some, confident to others-

There were times that contempt reigned, each part showing,

Depending on who I was with.

My life was void of identity, better that, than to;

 Love without restrictions and end up in pain.

And so, this was me; battling with truth that threatened to spill

And with the love that I was capable of.

 

In all of these, fragility soared,

Because a person cannot be completely without truth,

And so, the little part of me that wanted to care,

 without restrictions, was so desperate to be seen!

Searching in every window, the ones that never lie,

For words with no voice.

Words that speak of being antiques, to be loved

And to be special, carried with care- and saved.

Because ‘tis what I desire.

 I thought I had it!

I could’ve sworn, I found it!

Hence, the see finish.

Like a boomerang, all of my expressions of fragility, thrown back to me!

And that’s okay. I’ll try again.

Because the freedom that comes with being yourself truly,

When you wear honesty, sashaying in it - freeing yourself of pretense

It’s like, jumping off a cliff.

Only experience, can tell it all.

 

 

An endless wanting.

 

Have you ever been exhausted?

Like mind draining, a gallon of tears awaiting.

Ever tried to explain pain that you don’t even understand?

Betrayal that you absolutely cannot comprehend?

Ever craved to feel at home, like at peace

With your body and all that you are?

Do you ever feel like you’re in the crowd- watching life happen to you?

It’s like no matter how hard you try, you can’t make life work for you

From one event to another, watching life take and take, then take some more.

Have you ever wanted to scream; I mean scream so bad?

You hurt your throat.

Do you also wait until night to cry, you know; the silent tears

Into your pillow.

Is your pillow also your therapist? Friend? And judge, in one?

Is insomnia your friend? And loneliness your husband?

Can you explain this hurt that is cancerous? It keeps growing.

Do you look forward to your night terrors? You know; to at least feel fear,

Because every other time, it's like you're a breathing machine.

Is love also foreign to you?

Why haven’t you ended it?

What keeps you going?

I'm genuinely interested in what keeps you going, talk to me.💓