My Fight with Fibromyalgia

I have promised some time ago that I was going to explain the condition I'm dealing with but was really hindered by ill health, the lack of a computer and time, but today my church The Bridge kindly let me use their computer in their office so I'll be putting all I know. Now, please note that it took the doctors about 2 years to diagnose me and I had previous underlying conditions like Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and while I'm dealing with the condition now and making the best of it through Nutrition, if you want, you can go to the site and read up on it.

I started by being very tired for no good reason. Typically, I am a very strong person physically; I put it down to going to a Military School but uncharacteristically, I got very tired and went into almost shut down mode. Then shortly after that, I developed a severe headache that did like my head would split! As a typical Nigerian, I called home and started praying. My GP couldn't find anything wrong but I was in agony and because it came and went, some friends thought I put it on, just to get off work, but while I have my moments like everyone, the pain was very real and I was prescribed steroids but they didn't help.

Shortly after that, just when I thought it couldn't get worse, I started having severe pain in my joints and my body would heat up and I had some swellings and no matter what test I did  and believe me, I did them all, nothing could be found. The only explanation my GP could come up with was that it was a blood condition I inherited from my dad-Alpha thalessimia, however, it wasn't enough to create the type of symptoms I was displaying.

Well, I can tell you, it didn't get better. I went out so many times for healing prayers, I went to a Chinese pratitioner to seek help, some people started avoiding me, so many rumours were passed around about me. I was living in hell. I couldn't tell my folks back home the severity of my conditions because I didn't want to alarm them but I can tell you, there were times I thought death had to be better than what I was going through. I was in pain all the time, my bones ached, my nerves were super sensitive, I was tired all the time and I had no strength as before, sometimes, I struggled to even dress myself!

I love to cook but I couldn't even cook for myself. I remember one particular day where the pain was so bad, my body was on fire, I had a raging headache, I could barely make it out of bed to go to the loo. No one was around as I lived alone; and one thing Fibromyalgia does for you is it lets you know who your friends truly are, I was hungry but could do nothing about it until my friend and angel, Laura came over after work and she made me something. I had to sleep with my door open as I wasn't certain if I could get to the door.

Let me tell you one truth, there is no way one will be in that situation especially living alone and not fall into depression and it is dark and ugly, so I truly sympatize with anyone who is going through depression. However, after pressing on, I got a diagnosis early this year in February. Though it didn't take away the pain, at least it had a name and it wasn't some curse put on me because of my many sins ( someone actually told me this-to my face!) and once I knew what it was, I started learning about it and finding ways to deal with it.

I would love to say that I found a cure and its all gone and life is great but that is not true. It's a battle I face daily but I'm facing it. After my diagnosis, I informed my GP and my office and I started treatment. I joined a support group and a singing group at church because one of the ways to feel better is to do what you love as it releases happy hormones and I love to sing especially hymns. My symptoms have gotten worse in recent times as I am now falling more but I believe its just a blip and I'll overcome that. I have also started learning how to tailor my diet to help make life more manageable.

Now note, fibromyalgia is incurable according to the consultants and my entire lifestyle has been adjusted to accomodate, for now, this condition but I believe that one day I will be drug free and I will be able to be the strong Abi again. For now, I  try to live life to its fullest each day, I want to be the happiest, fun filled person people ever meet and I personally have good reason for that, I have a personal relationship with Christ and I've got a joy and peace that nothing can take away now. Yes I know I may have to get into that conversation when I meet the man but I know that he will see the spirited firecracker under the frail skin and fall in love with that. And yes! I will love hard, laugh heartly and be throughly delighted with life.

Do I think I am unfortunate, honestly , no, however I know, I solemnly have to consider this condition within my life but it has opened my eyes to the advantage of good health above money and frills. I enjoy life more, I'm more willing to try things, I am determined to finish whatever I start; it has taken me almost 2 and a half hours to type this as my hands hurt with nerve ache but you're reading it thanks to a massage ball because I finished it and if that is not a sign of one who will overcome then I don't know what is!

This is the life I'm living and what a cracking* life that is!

*cracking in Bolton parlance means brilliant

The Visit

This is something new that I have been working on. I would love to hear what you think. I warn you, its a bit long but keep with it.

The Visit



Trepidation.

An insufficient word to cover

The traces of sweat underlying

My armpits as I pack my

Bags; going through checks

Bars, locks and doors, checks

Bars, locks and locks, checks

Bars, doors and bars to get

To him in his numbered shirt

Like a famous footballer kept

From prying eyes, no photographs

Please.

With steady eyes, he gazed at

Me as with trembling hands

I put my bag down wondering

If I could or should shake

His hand as I lift my

Fingers to my hair, a feeble

Excuse of a salute to the

Shadow of what made him

Once great.

Buttocks almost missing my

Seat, my heart pounds

An unearthly rhythm

I’m thinking with rabid

Eyes, yikes! Is there a

Doctor in this house? His

Steady gaze somehow comforts

And unnerves me simultaneously

The guard indicates the

Number five, fingers stretched

Palm wide, brisk, I clutch my

Pad to furiously comfort me

As pen scratches crazily on

Paper working with his lips

As he uttered new lines of

His memories.

There is no sign of remorse

Nor is there of triumph, its

A steady pace of what has

Been, emotion cannot unchanged

It. It’s a tripping of words of

Life gone past, actions committed

In hazes of black and as it

Flows, he’s lifting while

I’m the one sinking.

Behind liquid brown eyes

I furtively search to see if

Somewhere there could be regret

But my fear stops me from

Gazing too long, so I write

Squirrelling away my

Fevered angst, rage and

Pain. The guard comes

Back for five is past and

I pick up my bag, do

Not say goodbye. It’s a

Nonchalant release

Of a practice that is just

Now a hobby.

A quick backward glance

To this murderer of time

But all I see is the back of

His shirt and regret grips

Me once again by the tails

I am dangling between this

Truth that grips.

Mother, I am sorry. A whisper

As clangs of gates echo

My shame, I grip my bag

Closely, my tears glancing

Past the lines of heated words

My whisper completes my

Fear to face father and ask

Him why?

Instead. My footsteps

Echo the words building

Walls on my heart

As block by block

Sound. With each clang

Of the lock and bar

Repeat. You are

Dead to me.

HairStory

Hello people, remember that I told you about my guest slot on O'Naturals, where once a month, I contribute a story or poem to their site. Well in case, you couldn't get to their page. Here again is the story in its full form. I hope you enjoy and I hope to be able to sort out my insurance and buy a comp soon.

By the Way- Fibromyalgia is a terror but I refuse to be beaten. I will overcome. I fell down in two places this last week and one was in public- my local bank¬ no need to say, it will be in a while before I go back there. Well keep me in your prayers and I'll be telling you more and putting more poetry up. God bless


HAIRSTORY

Time had passed and I knew I wasn’t as easy to recognise but as soon as he saw me, Deji knew it was me. The first thing he did, after spinning me around, was reach for my hair. 'You changed it!' he exclaimed, half accusingly and half incredulously. He knew how much I cared for my hair in the past and how much money he had personally paid for its upkeep. I smiled and shrugged. My hair tossed a bit in the breeze. 'Well, I like it much better this way’ I replied. We talked some more, exchanged numbers and I left in a cab, leaving him standing, waving at me.


Deji and I dated while I was at university. He was a year ahead of me and from the first day he set eyes on me, he wouldn't let me be. He told me he was certain that I was an angel sent to him from ‘Jah’ above. At first, he was frustrating but I soon started laughing at his words and that’s how we ended up spending the day together. Before he left he asked me if I would go out with him and I asked him how he knew I was ‘his angel’. He said that when I walked in and light shone on my head, he just knew.


I didn’t know whether to laugh or choke! I told him that I had just had my hair done with a 100% human hair weave and it was most likely the gloss from the oil that caught the light. He shook his head and said it didn’t matter, I was still his angel and with that he left. From then on, he visited me frequently, took me out for lunches, ate in my room when I cooked and helped me with some of my assignments. And so we just sort of fell into being a couple.


On one occasion, I had just put in an 18 inch Brazilian hair weave when Deji came over. Although my head felt tight, I looked so good. Deji fell in love with it and could not stop stroking my hair. It would have been a romantic time together if he hadn't caught his fingers in my hair, while he was stroking it, and that hurt terribly. He tried to turn around and sat on some of my weave while I was trying to move and the pain actually brought tears to my eyes! It was disastrous. This was to be the script for the majority of our intimate moments. My hairstyles seemed to be causing us hassles and soon enough we started arguing. I got very angry and kicked him out of my room when he suggested me having less extended tresses. Deji tried to get back with me, to be fair, and I did try to make it work but my hair got in the way.


We broke up, Deji graduated and I never heard from him again. I finished school, traveled to the US for my Masters, my hair went natural and I finally got dredlocs. I had been living in the States for five years when I bumped into Deji again. My phone rang as I got out of the cab. It was Deji. He said it was wonderful to see me again and that I looked amazing with my hair. I smiled to myself and said it was good to see him too. He asked if we could meet up for lunch, we fixed a date and he hung up.


From one lunch date to several other lunch dates and then dinner dates. We realized we were still single and Deji asked me to be his girlfriend. We laughed so much and found a new rhythm with each other. Deji said it was like he was with a different woman and it made him happy.


I look into the mirror to check my reflection one last time. Deji’ is standing behind me and he bends to sink his nose and hands into my hair. I don’t flinch or wave him away. I lean back and remind him we’ll be late for the reception. He smiles at me through the mirror and says the guests can wait; after all we are the bride and groom.

Edited by Omozo Ehigie

Work in Progress- Extract from 'Up from the Melon Road'

I've been writing this semi -autobiographical book for years now. Still looking for a publisher. Also been very ill, computer's gone kaput now and I'm in the library. I'd love to hear what you've got to say on this and others to come. God bless




Sunlight streaked in; I’m lying flat on my back, just as I had for the past two weeks. I breathe in deep and feel my shoulder blades contract with the unfamiliar action; I’ve been breathing lightly for so long, it felt unnatural to breathe in deeply, I feel twinges, but it feels so good. I do it again and breathe in real deep.


I rise up slowly throwing the covers from my body gently and I put my feet down on the lukewarm rug, I feel a bit dizzy but its okay. Unbuttoning my pajamas shirt slowly, and standing up I know it’s time. I have avoided facing this demon for so long but now I was ready to embrace it because I knew it was good for me. At last, I see the way to be free. I had prepared for it the night before, getting the long mirror reinstalled into my bedroom, so moving for the first time in two weeks, I was ready to see.

I walk to the mirror, looking into my own eyes, I dread to look elsewhere but I’m also excited. Slowly I raise up my hands and place them gently on them, barely touching and then I palm them; they are so soft and feel strange, so reduced, I circle them, then move up to the nibs and slowly pass my thumbs over them, I think my back groans.

I think I feel pain, but I’m not sure. I feel light all over for the first time, then I look down at them in the mirror and away and at them in the mirror and away and at them for real, they are perfect, round and they are small. The water surges behind my eyes but I blink them away fast, but the waves of a thirty-year pain are hard to dam (ignore). Slowly, then rapidly my tears fall on my naked body and I’m standing in front of a mirror ad I’m raining tears, but I’m not sad, I am very happy, very exhilarated, very, very light.

Love of a special kind

Now I'm no romantic, ok maybe a little bit of a romantic. I like being treated nice like the next girl, being thought of as special. I like to think that a guy somewhere has me on his mind, thinking of ways to make me happy. I have been praying for quite sometime about who my life partner is and how we'll meet and what not and as the reality of it draws closer, I really realise how scared I am of making that commitment, of taking that step and shutting the door on life as I've always known it and open the door to a new life, a new philisophy.

I realise that I can't just say this is how I want my marriage to be and expect everything to fall in line. It is going to be meeting someone who's from a different background and lifestyle and together we lay our dreams down and work together towards us. In this, there's no me, just us. All my notions, beliefs etc have to aligned and adjusted and questioned and I have to answer questions like why,when and how.

I have to think realistically about the future, look at a man and really question if I want him to be the father of my children, the one I sleep next to at night, the one I make love with, look across the table when we're eating, grow old with, etc and it scares me crazy because whether I like it or not, I will have to make that decision and say 'yes, I will marry you' and 'I do'. this is some real scary stuff.

Then I went on Myne Whitman's blog to read whatever new stuff she's written and I came across the StoryCorps video and came across a real love story. I sat and wept like a child for some good minutes. I normally don't cry, but I did because I wondered if anyone would feel the same or something akin to the love between Danny and Annie, I wondered if I would be able to handle such a love and not feel overwhelmed or unworthy of such love. Then I calmed down.

Now, I am a praying woman but I've had to ask God how to pray for my partner, how to know he's the one that will be my shelter in life's storms, the one I can look at thirty years in and say without a doubt that given the chance I would do it earlier and again. I have asked God, I can't say I've gotten an answer yet but I'll keep looking to the skies, waiting for my answer. However, I've come to find out that it is true what the sages say; that love comes to you when you least expect it, when you're not looking, it tiptoes on you and taps you on the shoulder. Crazy thing but yes it is so true.

Please enjoy this video of Danny and Annie and may you find love that stays through the ages, a heart that holds you tight and calls you precious, arms that assure you that their main purpose from that moment on is to hold you, protect you and love you endlessly through time. God bless and take care.

FOOLISH THINGS

Its been a while that I had come to the blog. My computer getting damaged and ill health didn't help but I'm grateful to God that I've got progress now. I have been writing , stories mainly, ramblings from a fevered brain addled with opiate based medication, so many exciting things there.

This is an old poem but one of my favourites, so I want to share it as I slowly return to the land from which I grew fat. I have found one certain truth in these past months. I write because I must; its life, air and living to me. Even when I laid down with painful bones, gnarled fingers and fevered breath. I still picked up my phone and recorded thoughts and stories and songs. It would not leave me, not give me a moment's rest until every last word had been stored for transcribing.

So as I start anew, enjoy the strains of my longing heart years ago and maybe your heart is in this place, don't despair, believe it or not, this too shall pass. You will live.

God bless x



FOOLISH THINGS

You came and conquered me

You conquered me

A strand of hair on my pillow

A note paper with scribbles

A fading picture of a romantic place

These foolish things


A half-empty cologne bottle

A broken pencil

A worn out T-shirt

A chipped glass

These foolish things


A memory, a smile

A song, a laugh

You do these things to me

These foolish things

So foolish things

Remind me of you

And conquer me

What This Woman Wants

This is a follow on poem to the previous poem. Wishing you light, hope and love. God bless x

First published 7th of September 2010


Safety



All I want is to be

a woman.

Sweet mud sucking between my toes

Grass, itchy fresh tickling my back

Strong touch holding yet

Letting me free-fall as my head

Tilts back, eyes squint in the sun

My eyes watching God.


I want to be a woman

Subtle sand seeking secret crevices

Wind tugging my hair, teasing

Asking me to join in play as

Rain peppers my skin with wet kisses

Showing me how love can

Come down as I lift my lips, my eyes

Firmly opened watching God.


All I really want is to be

A woman.

Jumping in the river as currents

Envelope me with wet desires

Tendrils, trail around me, caress

Softly , set me on fire

Call me to the deep, asking

To let go, be free as the waters

Bathe me , my eyes gaze to the

Sky tenderly watching God.


I just want to be a woman

Sunrays warming my back as

Sweet salty trails run from

My back down my legs. Intimate

Marking its way down territory

Wind blowing coolness as salt dries

On my upper lip. I lick, tasting

Love, life. A bird flies with cry,

Smiling , I gaze up, the clouds

Sanguine in the sky and there’s

God’s eyes watching me.

Whatever Love Is

Really...what's love got to do it? This is a question noone's really answered you know? I've heard so many definitions of relationships and one thing remains constant, especially those who have been married more than a year, 'its not about the emotion of love but the discipline'! This didn't make any sense at all initially but a friend kindly broke it down-it means all that mushy gushy thing you feel will not stand the test of farts, stretchmarks, flaccid "nkannkans",unreasonable behaviour, bad habits, hairy chins, skidmarks, body odour, mouth odour, receding hairlines,inappropriate scratching of intimate areas in public, picking the nose, sickness,disease (haba!), not in the mood, complete loss of libido, lack of money excetera, excetera.
What will stand is that two people like themselves enough to say through all the above and more, I have decided to stay by you, with you and love you.

Love is not soft, rose tinted and rainbow hued! It is hard, tough and constantly forgiving, it is graceful, humble and in many cases beyond belief. So I ask those who are 'celebrating' their love and valentine; really...what's love got to do with it?

First published on Wednesday, 19 November 2008


If- Tales of When Love Strikes- Sham Lyrics




The question has always been 'when love hits you what will you write?' I have had the good fortune to come close to the emotion, never been a true disciple, but a good acquintance.

I would like to believe that love and I have gone beyond mere shaking of hands and nodding across the street.

I think we have reached the stage where, we stop and say hello, give each other the outstanding penny at the check out point in the supermarket, we know the area where the other lives and stuff like that, we are not close but we're not far either.

So I give you these tales, tales of what I would write if love struck, I call them Sham Lyrics.



This thing is deep, rich

It makes like butter, warm places

Happy feelings joy and fear

At the same time, unequal measures

Smiling, fearing, it is all

Heady and I love it.



This thing is dark, light

It makes like red wine, chocolate

Those nice things that make you smile

And your pockets bleed

It is beautiful, radiant

Disturbing, cheesy

Not me, all of me.



It is a misty place

I am beckoned to its quiet edge.

There are no promises, no theatrics

Just a simple ‘come’

This invitation is potent

Enticing. I am of two minds yet

I find my toes tingling in eager

Response, gently levitating to follow.

Wanting Needs

Valentine's Day is very nearly upon us and is there much love in the air? Restained emotions abound this year I think, every flamboyant thought being thrown into uproars of people seeking political freedom. I think this is good, I know this is good, no one should be oppressed for whatever reason, no people should be used as political pawns to suit a nation's or leader's greed.

However, enough of that slight steam and back to the issue of l'amour (God help us!). I have no investments in this except my words, words which protest attimes and which cave in some other time. So in the spirit of February, Here goes for broke...

first published on Thursday, 15 October 2009


Besetting



A) Skin.

Smooth builds into

Rough, melds into dips

Depths, curves.

Lovely. Musk, sweat

Primal coma, secret

Places invoke, invite.



B) Hair.

Flutter, flick

Lightly sting, caress

Heavy glides over.

Sheen. Digging in,

Drag lightly, let

Pain collide by pleasure.



C) Caves.

Moist promise warmth

Strength plunge deep

Dark, pan-ic, still

Stroke, stride, slide

Call plump, plunde

Sink. Lift. off.

Waiting for Him?

As we're in this 'lovely' month, I've been going over my previous writings and guess whay I found out? My poor taste hasn't changed! Maybe I shouldn't use the term poor taste, maybe I should use 'illusion'. My illusions still stay the same. Still the same desires, wants etc. Some might call it determination, others a lack of growth.
Call it what you will, I'm a bit downhearted by it cos I'm now thinking, if after 4 years, it hasn't come to pass maybe I need to 'reshuffle the cabinet'? Oh what do I know? Nothing apparently, but one thing I know is that there wil be a right time, place and person. There has to be or so many of us are doomed! Oh dear!
Don't listen  to the ramblings of a very tired old goat! Hold on to your dreams, they will happen.

First published 14th April 2007, here was my take on men, love and the whole shebang

I have found recently that I write about really elusive men, I mean men that don't exist for me, fine, handsome, intelligent, humorous men. Ok I lie, I have met some of these men but only in passing, either they are moving swiftly to other women or they are too absorbed in just how wonderful they are!


Yet I find myself making mental homage to these men that are only mine in a dream state where I reign supreme as 'The Desired' I have actually thought that if I were ever allowed to choose a name for myself it would be Desiree, the extra 'e' showing the extent of longing, but it would also show what strong narcissistic whims I enjoy.

Moving swiftly on, I look at many of my writings as a homage that that man that will never be and I don't feel bad about it anymore, I used to really feel angry when I was much younger (yeah!) That I couldn't find any man to fit that mould I had carved but now I'm not resigned, just accepting, that truth is really further from fiction, but...fiction is good, that is why so many millions of copies of 'Mills and Boon', 'Vogue' etc have sold, fiction is appealing and we would still get our noses stuck in it, just so that we can, for those 84 minutes (the longest it's taken me to finish one) just to indulge in that elevated reality.

I have taken to writing my own fiction, its familiar yet strange, shallow as a cup of water but deep enough to quench my thirst, it's mine so I can make it to be whatever I want and I do.
I'm rambling, so I'll just put in my latest offering to that man in the pages of my reverie and float away again.


HE


He is a dream

He is an easy dream

A delightful dream on a lazy day

Beautiful eyes let me lounge

I'll gladly lie eternal in this sleep

If you'll let me.


He is a tree

He is a graceful tree

A grand tree in a buoyant field

Wonderful hair let me roll

I'll gladly skirmish in your lush fragrant mane

If you'll let me.


He is an eagle

He is a majestic eagle

A strong eagle gliding in a blue sky

Graceful beast, let me fly

I'll gladly soar the winds with you

If you'll let me.


He is a river

He is a raging river

A strong river rushing out to face the sea

Splendid man, let me swim

I'll gladly be submerged under your will

If you'll let me.


He is a man

He is my man

A man worth writing slushy poetry for

Beautiful, wonderful, graceful, splendid man, let me be

I'll gladly move to whatever rhythm you beat

Just let me.

Rattle my Window-Part 2

I have been threatened with broken limbs if I don't put up the rest of the story (so LM, I hope I can come into London without fear now?) only to find that its not the first time, I had been in this particular situation, So here it is, first published in December 21st 2007, it is 'Rattle My Window'


As Joko got in, she saw two of her husband’s colleagues and his immediate boss. Another neighbour was there. Bewildered, she frowned. ‘What’s going on here?’
‘Madam,’ it was Rele’s boss who spoke. ‘I’m so sorry…your husband was sent to Benin to do some things for the office…but…he had an accident.’
Immediately, her neighbours moved closer to her and stood near. She looked at Rele’s boss. ‘Accident? How? Where’s my husband? How is he?’ Joko couldn’t understand.
Her neighbour was already crying and Rele’s colleagues were looking at the floor. When his boss couldn’t hold her gaze, she understood. ‘No!’ Joko screamed and all went black.

Seven days later, Joko woke up. She was thankful for the blessedness of oblivion, but she had to wake up to life. She woke up on her wedding anniversary and cried bitterly through the day, she refused to see anyone and when she remembered Rele’s promise to come back, she clung to it and urged him to do so. When she became hysterical about it, the doctor had to come in to sedate her to sleep.

A month later, Rele was buried and Joko went home. She made it a ritual every night to call on him to rattle the window, but nothing happened and she would cry in frustration. Her belief in his ability got stronger when Iya Agba came to visit. Wizened with age and sorrow, she pronounced that she could feel her son was still in his house. Instead of Joko being frightened, she became strengthened and she continued to stay in the house. At first her friends came to stay with her but she craved for solitude and mercifully she was soon left alone. At times, in her quiet moments, she would call for Rele and times when she needed the arms of her man; she almost became crazed with vexation at his absence. She hated him and loved him, she begged him to return and cursed him for leaving her.

Then as the months flew by, she lost faith in him. She started to smile again and she stopped calling for him in her dreams. She stopped laying the table for two and she stopped talking aloud to him. Later, she stopped wearing black clothes and started wearing bright colours. At first she was afraid and yet hopeful that he would take offence and rattle the window, but when nothing happened for a whole day, she threw her widow’s weeds away. She started to use make-up and she started to find her banker attractive especially after the way he helped her manage her money after Rele’s death. She went out with him several times and enjoyed the experience. He was very different from Rele but he was a nice person and the dating excited her.

Four and a half years later after Rele died, Dipo the banker, proposed to her, Joko went into her room and called for Denrele again to give him, his final chance to register his presence. She waited for a full minute and then turned around and left. ‘Well, it was stupid of me to have believed he would come back, who knows what goes on after a person dies.’ She thought to herself as she walked out of the house and went to Dipo’s house to tell him she had accepted his proposal. She had already put the house up for sale and moved her things out, ready for a new life.

As she drove away from the house, Rele became visible. He looked out of the window and rattled it in frustration. How was he to know that it took a ghost so long to perfect the art of appearing and tangible action? He had been there through Joko’s tears and pains and he had stood by her as she had voiced her frustrations. He had flinched when she abused him and he had wanted to explain to her that he would never have left her if he had the power.

He had been delighted to see her smile again and wear bright colours. He had loved her anew as she applied make-up and sang little songs. He had felt a little jealous as she came back looking alive after having dinner with that banker guy, but he had been truly happy for her that she was living life again. He only wished he could tell her how much he had loved her and wished her the best. How he had tried to comfort her with his presence. ‘Well Rele, she’s happy now, its time to go.’ a figure appeared beside him and smiled. With a nod and a little sigh, Rele held the figure’s outstretched hand and they disappeared. At last both he and Joko were finally free.

Gimme some lust

First published in 2007

There has been this big debate about love and lust and it has been very interesting. I tell you, the number of romantics still roaming the streets! They should be shot! Do you know how many people still believe in the 'love at first sight, music when he/she appears, everything looks brighter when he/she is around' nonsense!

I say ' down to all dem people with dem mind in rainbows and flowers and give me people who know that what you see is what you get, there ain’t no sunshine, no flowers no nothing when she/he gone because there ain’t in the first place!

So I'm representing, for lust, pure sweet lust (please just make sure my pastor never hears) and I give you this poem in defence. Enjoy!

True Love

I could tell you things
Tell you I love you
When all I want is to know
If your skin really is as soft
As it looks
If the promises your smile gives
Are as true as it beckons

I could compare you to a bright sunny day
Say you come out brighter
Tell you; I'd die without you
I'd give my life to you
When all I'm wondering is if your lip gloss
Tastes as good as it looks
And would you quiver, if
I touched you there?

I could tell you some things sweet, untrue
Draw you into my arms, not touching you
When all I ache for is to drag you, down
As I grasp your hair, ravish you with my lips
My hands, my teeth, me

I could tell you many things
Convince you, I love you
Why not
Let me show you instead?

Love Attack!

First published on the 14th of April 2007

I have been attacked! Friends who have visited this site, have attacked me asking how I could shamelessly pander to such hedonistic, libertine ideas! But I asked a question to my defence and no one so far has been able to answer me staright in the eye, so I plead here.


I plead poetic liberty to say what would normally not be said,
so that the tongue might be free.
I plead poetic truth, the lie can only travel so far 
till the truth catches up with it.
I plead poetic diahoerra, that which I see,
I must speak,
I cannot hide away from this foible of mine,
it is ingrained, niggling till I give in, shuddering at its feet.
I plead poetic egoism,
I believe I can see beyond the man, read his mind,
form his thoughts before he finished thinking them,
his eyes vast windows to his dirty soul, and
I look within and dredge,
Stirring up the muck and yet cleansing.
So I plead,
I plead, I am a writer, it is what I know,
what I do best , what makes me really be

Starting Over (Rattle My Window 1)

Another year, another resolution eh? Well, I hope (fingers crossed) to keep this one going. I have been inspired by people like Kola Tubosun, Jumoke Verissimo, Tolu Ogunlesi, Lookman Sanusi, Lola Soneyin etc to wake up and start again, even if it seems like its impossible. (And it does!)
However, I'm doing it again. First, I'm uploading some old posts just to keep things going, then I'll start putting up new ones, so here goes; one of my favourite stories.

This story called 'Rattle My Window' was the very first story I got published in a newspaper in Nigeria and it is so dear to my heart. So I share a few paragraghs of it with you, if una like am very much, send me a few quid so I can get published!!!!

Joko stood in the room, standing close to the window and quietly whispered 'Denrele, rattle my window' She listened quietly for a minute, then she whispered it again, 'Rattle my window, you promised'. After minutes of silence, she said it aloud, and then shouted it, as she got more and more frustrated.

It had been said that the longer, time went by, the easier things would become but Joko knew it was all a big lie and as the realization hit anew, she fell down on the floor and started weeping. Denrele and Joko were returning from Iya Agba, Denrele's mother's place where they had gone to bury Baba Agba, Denrele's father. It had been a splendid occasion and according to the Yoruba custom, Denrele's father had been buried well. Yet on their way home after the festivities, it was obvious that Joko was visibly disturbed with Iya Agba's ranting about Baba not dying but being with her in the house.

She had gone on and on about it in front of everyone and Joko had had to take her to her bedroom, away from sight. 'Rele, I really think we should get someone to stay with Mama in the house, staying alone will only encourage morbid thoughts, she's insisting that Baba is still in the house and I know that she's just wishing things. People were starting to look worriedly around the house, you know.'
'But she speaks with such conviction you know, I actually found myself looking out to catch a glimpse of him.' 'You see, you're already getting affected just like everyone else, I actually heard aunt Titi say she thought she saw Baba walk past in the dinning room, but of course, she saw nothing' 'When people live together for as long as they have and there has been companionship and love, they get tight like this.' Rele gestured, clasping his hands together tightly 'I guess so tight they don't ever want to let go.'

Joko shivered involuntarily and stared straight ahead. Rele turned to her suddenly with a bright gleam in his eyes 'You know, if I die, and that is after I'm old, crooked and gray, I'd like to come back and haunt you.' He raised his arms like that of a spooky ghost and lunged for her. Joko squealed in mock horror and smacked his hands 'be careful! I'm driving and don't be silly, you're not dying on me.' 'I said when I'm old, crooked and gray.' 'Well I still want you around, I'd like it if we died together, you know something like in our sleep…I couldn't bear to be left alone.' Her eyes moistened. 'Now, now, don't go all weepy on me but if we didn't' and Rele smiled, 'I'd come back and rattle your window every night to tell you, I'm still around a-n-d chase whoever would want to have lustful designs on you.' He couldn't stop himself stop this point and he bursted out laughing. 'Jealous, jealous. But enough of this dying nonsense. You're not dying on me and that's final.' Her shoulders were set in determination. 'Yes mam!' Rele laughed as Joko stopped the car in front of their house and got out and ran inside.

Theirs was a life of bliss, having just gotten married almost a year before. They had dated for a year before tying the knot. Rele was a dedicated man who loved life and lived it. They were the perfect couple and people loved to watch them as they teased and laughed with each other. Joko on the other hand took life more seriously and she was more level headed, but Rele brought out the joker in her and she willingly threw herself into some of his new fangled, hare brained projects. He did these things with passion and Joko loved him for it. They were so much in love and life had gone surprisingly well for them. They had minimal tiffs and lived in good-natured companionship.

A week to their wedding anniversary, a wedding which had been unconventional as they couldn't wait to get married . They had quietly gone to the registry with a few friends on a week day and done the deed. Naturally, their parents were upset that they hadn't been party to the beautiful couple's day, so they had planned to have an elaborate party for their anniversary to make up for it. Joko had just returned from the market where she had gone to do some shopping for the party. She had put the chicken in the freezer and was about packing the pepper into containers when her neighbour came into her house, looking tattered, her head tie was askew and she wore different slippers on her feet and she asked Joko to come home with her. 'Maybe she has fought with her husband again, this woman! When will she learn to live in peace?' Joko grumbled within herself as she reluctantly left the kitchen and followed her neighbour out.

Her neighbour had been known to have such fights with her husband before, where on several occasions Joko and Rele had had to intervene. Their relationship could be termed crazy because they fought like cats but they refused to leave each other It seemed another fight had ensued. They got to the house and Joko noticed several shoes outside the door 'hum, there's even a crowd here already, then I'm not needed.' She was about to voice her thoughts out when the woman's husband opened the door. His eyes were red-rimmed and he ushered them into the house.

For the rest of this story, you'll have to wait for my book of short stories- The Melon Mile which comes out later this year-sorry!

Soetry

I've just started this new thing, (well really I've not just started) but its taking a hold of me now. You see there is a before and after to my life, Before, I was waiting, always waiting for something or someone to happen, for a bold person that many imagine that I am I was too timid and afraid of what life would turn into if I grabbed it the horns and rode it. So I waited, for the time when something would make me come alive and live. then, I had my After, I had major surgery and I realised that for over 5 hours I laid on an operating table oblivious to what surrounded me, but those hours shaped my life, in fact they reshaped and redefined me, so I'm taking those horns and I'm riding!
Soetry is one of the ways, this is where I mix up poetry and music together to get my own vibe. I had been doing this on the sly but I got the studio brought to my house (the pain still restricts you see) spoke to a friend and he's helping me out now and also putting together my work, spoke to another friend about that and things are on track. I'm half way through and this year, my book's coming out!
I'm dropping it like its hot! I'm living, loving, kissing (yeah you heard me!) kissing HARD!!!
So I share the first lines of my awakening

Sanity

I wish you could read my mind
Find disturbances, grievances, fears
My smile is larger than my joy
My joy is small, if any at all
My mind is a book, lost dusty, rude

I wish you could live my dream
Discover horror, pain, grief
My laughter is louder than my pleasure
My pleasure is small, if any at all
My dream is a nightmare, lonely, scary, unknown

I wish you for a little while
My mind, my dream
Understand this, you are not my enemy
I just need you to know and
Be aware of me.

PS: I have been watching a lot of Tyler Perry this weekend and I tell you that man is a blessing! Watching his plays and films especially any that has Madea in it is an amazing but uplifting experience. God bless and stay in a peaceful storm