Hello people. I know its been long, tooo long but this lack of a computer is really affecting me but I know I will prevail. So here is the part two of my true hair story that I wrote for O'Naturals. I hope you enjoy it and I wish you a very happy week. God bless
Hairdos-Lice
Saturdays came fast! My hair was loosened and washed every other Saturday. I really liked this hair time because the water cooled my head and I loved the smell of the shampoo. My happiness was always short lived because it also heralded the painful process of having my hair weaved. Grandma had given me a sample of her hair making skills two weeks ago and I knew I was in serious trouble!
At 4:45PM, Grandma called out my name. She had the adiagbon, the ilari and iyari (coconut oil, one toothed comb and hair comb) by her side. I put my stool down and reluctantly sat on it. And just like the first time, she clamped my head between her legs and started weaving my hair. As if this wasn’t painful enough, intermittently, she would release a foul blast of wind straight into my face and no matter how hard I wiggled, she would hold my head down and keep weaving.
I cried and cried till I was weak. My mother came out several times to ask her to be gentler but Grandma ignored her. The third time my mother came out, Grandma admonished her: "Look Mama Tope, if you come out one more time, I will leave her head alone and if you like carry her to those who charge you! I know you will look for any excuse to spend my son’s money but no one can say I didn’t try to curb your reckless spending!". At this my poor mother rubbed my back and went back into her room.
And so by the time Grandma finished my hair, my face was swollen and I looked defeated. I staggered to my parents’ room where my mother, on seeing me, grabbed me to herself. I begged my mother to cut my hair, but she said she couldn’t as it would only give Grandma another excuse to complain about how she disrespected her. And so the torture continued. At 4:30PM every other Saturday, just before Grandma weaved my hair, my mother would leave to attend the officers’ wives meetings she never used to have time for. The pain never got better and there wasn’t a time that Grandma didn’t pass wind. I thought it would never end.
Salvation came in the most unlikely way. I had moved into a new class for a new term when a little mixed race girl, Lucinda Ramos-Whyte, joined our class. I was the smallest in my class but when Lucinda arrived, I became the second smallest. Mrs Okondore, our class teacher, put us to sit together at the very front of the class so we could see the blackboard. For a couple of days, Lucinda didn’t speak to anyone and Mrs Okondore would sit with her at break time and go through the lessons with her. One day, Mrs Okondore asked us to share a book and read from it together. So we had no choice but to put our heads together and look at the book.We smiled at each other, I offered her sweets and by long break, we had become firm friends. I taught her all the games I knew like ‘ten-ten’ and ‘my mother told me’ and she taught me hop scotch and single Dutch skipping.
One week to my appointment with Grandma, Lucinda’s dad came to our class to speak with Mrs Okondore. He was very tall and skinny and he spoke very slowly. After he left, Mrs Okondore went around the class inspecting us and telling us what she had discussed with Lucinda's dad. Lucinda looked at me sadly as she asked me if I still wanted to be her friend. I threw my arms around her laughing: of course I would still be her friend!
As soon as I got home, I ran up the stairs into the kitchen where I knew my mother would be and announced proudly "Mommy, I have lice!" I didn’t care about shaving my head to gorimapa and hearing the gorimapa song being sung for me because Grandma would never have to weave my hair again. I could almost sense the relief in my mother’s eyes. That evening my hair was loosened and a scarf tied around my head. Mom bought some head lice medicine and took me to Oga Barber whose shop was down the street.
I felt no sadness when he cut my hair to a short comb through. He applied the medicine and combed the lice out. I sat waiting for him to give me gorimapa but he just smiled and asked me to stand up and go with my Mom. I looked up at her, puzzled as she led me back to the car. "This should be easier for you to manage now, abi?" I nodded happily. "Thank God!" She exclaimed. "Why don’t we go to Apapa Amusement Park next Saturday?" We both laughed happily as we returned home: lice free, hair free and definitely pain free.
Thank you Omozo for the opportunity to do this for your blog. I'm grateful and thanks for the editing. I hope you're doing sometjing with it, you have the gift babe. God bless xx
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label happiness. Show all posts
Monday, 20 February 2012
Wednesday, 30 November 2011
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
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
Friday, 23 September 2011
Facing Truth
I had written previously about coming back with a story or two. Little did I know that my life was to take a novel punch or two. For the past two and a half years, I have been fighting an aggravated condition. I know I have had it all my life but it had never gotten as serious as it then became. It has plagued me for a long time, I had been called lazy because of it, back at secondary school, I had been called a malingerer when I had genuinely felt unwell but in all my years, I had not felt it as bad as I do now.
For two and a half years, I wondered what was wrong with me, some people said it was in my head, some said it was an attack from a demonic person of my acquaintance, some people said I should confess my deep hidden sin and I would find forgiveness and relief. I went for tests (cancer gene, HIV, sexual diseases, blood genotype etc) nothing! The only slightly helpful thing was that I had the alpha thalessimia trait which explained some of my body pain and fatigue, however, it was not enough to explain the sometimes bone wrenching, excruciating pain, extreme fatigue and agonising tremours I suffered constantly.
Then late last year rolling into early this year, the term fibromaylgia was bandied about then confirmed with severe spinal pain was diagnosed and for about ten minutes, I wept like a baby in my consultant's room. I was made aware of the fact that it had no cure and I most likely would carry it for life but this did not dampen my relief that finally, I knew what was ailing me.
Shortly after that I had the threat of cancer and potential surgery but with faith in God, much prayers with friends and some trepidation. I got the all clear on my biopsy and no surgery is needed.
In all that time, I have met incredible people who have gone the extra mile to make my life more comfortable. I have almost loved and lost men who couldn't cope with the fact that I might not be the active, agile woman they want. I have had my faith and trust in God tested and hopefully, I have succeeded. Best of all, I have come to know the real me, who I am, my strenght and my weaknesses. I have found a new love and respect for myself and the whole experience has made me more sympathetic, less impatient and more understanding of the world around me and for that knowledge, I wouldn't give nothing back.
Don't misunderstand me, these conditions aren't things I would wish on an enemy and I wouldn't do them again given the chance. I like being healthy,though I mostly can't remember what that was like, however, the lessons I have gained are invaluable. Family is good and important. Love that doesn't run at the sight of pain is real and best of all, I do not believe the report of the doctors, but rather the report of the Lord which says I can and will be healed.
So as I bask in the mercy of my Saviour and Redeemer, and enjoy the love and closeness of my family and open my heart to the possibilities of love ( I never believed that I would enjoy the intimacy of a romance and the stabily of love) I don't have a partner yet but I now know that it is possible. I wish to let you dear reader know, there is truly sunshine after the rain, no matter how long it falls and there is hope, no matter how dark life gets. I know because itt is my truth. God bless.
For two and a half years, I wondered what was wrong with me, some people said it was in my head, some said it was an attack from a demonic person of my acquaintance, some people said I should confess my deep hidden sin and I would find forgiveness and relief. I went for tests (cancer gene, HIV, sexual diseases, blood genotype etc) nothing! The only slightly helpful thing was that I had the alpha thalessimia trait which explained some of my body pain and fatigue, however, it was not enough to explain the sometimes bone wrenching, excruciating pain, extreme fatigue and agonising tremours I suffered constantly.
Then late last year rolling into early this year, the term fibromaylgia was bandied about then confirmed with severe spinal pain was diagnosed and for about ten minutes, I wept like a baby in my consultant's room. I was made aware of the fact that it had no cure and I most likely would carry it for life but this did not dampen my relief that finally, I knew what was ailing me.
Shortly after that I had the threat of cancer and potential surgery but with faith in God, much prayers with friends and some trepidation. I got the all clear on my biopsy and no surgery is needed.
In all that time, I have met incredible people who have gone the extra mile to make my life more comfortable. I have almost loved and lost men who couldn't cope with the fact that I might not be the active, agile woman they want. I have had my faith and trust in God tested and hopefully, I have succeeded. Best of all, I have come to know the real me, who I am, my strenght and my weaknesses. I have found a new love and respect for myself and the whole experience has made me more sympathetic, less impatient and more understanding of the world around me and for that knowledge, I wouldn't give nothing back.
Don't misunderstand me, these conditions aren't things I would wish on an enemy and I wouldn't do them again given the chance. I like being healthy,though I mostly can't remember what that was like, however, the lessons I have gained are invaluable. Family is good and important. Love that doesn't run at the sight of pain is real and best of all, I do not believe the report of the doctors, but rather the report of the Lord which says I can and will be healed.
So as I bask in the mercy of my Saviour and Redeemer, and enjoy the love and closeness of my family and open my heart to the possibilities of love ( I never believed that I would enjoy the intimacy of a romance and the stabily of love) I don't have a partner yet but I now know that it is possible. I wish to let you dear reader know, there is truly sunshine after the rain, no matter how long it falls and there is hope, no matter how dark life gets. I know because itt is my truth. God bless.
Thursday, 18 August 2011
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
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
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
Life, Leisure and Questions about Love
First published on the 24th May 2009
What is it about life that makes us keep going on for another day, a hope for a brighter day, a better day? What is it that makes a man and a woman fall so deeply in love? What makes thenm fall out of it? Why is love always equated to an imbalance (falling in love) a mental health condition (madly in love, love sick, crazy in love) or a state of incoherence (I love you, I am in love with you, I love you) (need I say more?)
How do you keep love and sex apart? Is love between two people possible without an expression in sex (or for the delicate at heart- love making)? can two people who really love each other and want to be together really stay in a room without touching or ending up in bed, the side of the wall, on a chair, clothes off or on (take your pick) when it all goes tits up, where do all those emotions go? What do they leave behind?
What makes us? Breaks us? Defines us? Redesigns us? What makes us aware of whom we are, what our values are, what our core beliefs are? What makes others aware of us?
What is this life if full of care? (Thanks Hillarae Belloc' Leisure'-I hope I got the name right) do we have time to stand and stare?
Hmmm, there goes a butterfly.....
In between my breasts
is a fire stoking quietly.
Awaiting cool fingers, wander near
Stroke as a match, set all ablaze.
In between my breasts
is a river, flowing wild.
Inviting a plunge into depths
rediscovering in approaching climax.
In between my breasts
is a mystery, holding truth.
Of all that men, being beasts; beasts, human;
Human in the illusion of gods.
What is it about life that makes us keep going on for another day, a hope for a brighter day, a better day? What is it that makes a man and a woman fall so deeply in love? What makes thenm fall out of it? Why is love always equated to an imbalance (falling in love) a mental health condition (madly in love, love sick, crazy in love) or a state of incoherence (I love you, I am in love with you, I love you) (need I say more?)
How do you keep love and sex apart? Is love between two people possible without an expression in sex (or for the delicate at heart- love making)? can two people who really love each other and want to be together really stay in a room without touching or ending up in bed, the side of the wall, on a chair, clothes off or on (take your pick) when it all goes tits up, where do all those emotions go? What do they leave behind?
What makes us? Breaks us? Defines us? Redesigns us? What makes us aware of whom we are, what our values are, what our core beliefs are? What makes others aware of us?
What is this life if full of care? (Thanks Hillarae Belloc' Leisure'-I hope I got the name right) do we have time to stand and stare?
Hmmm, there goes a butterfly.....
In between my breasts
is a fire stoking quietly.
Awaiting cool fingers, wander near
Stroke as a match, set all ablaze.
In between my breasts
is a river, flowing wild.
Inviting a plunge into depths
rediscovering in approaching climax.
In between my breasts
is a mystery, holding truth.
Of all that men, being beasts; beasts, human;
Human in the illusion of gods.
Monday, 14 February 2011
Old time Nwantintin
Recently a friend of mine http://www.facebook.com/nuggetzman on Facebook wrote this statement [
I will meet you at the path
with the best of nkpokiti dances
Ululating your ancestral names, so your father’s line
can hear and be proud
I’m aiming for the back-hairs at your neck,
hoping they encourage your head to swell
Then I’ll lead you up the cement steps,
into the house, strip off your dust weary clothes,
chanting the songs you suckled to, remind you of your mother’s smell
Lead you in to the bathroom where
a pail of warm water awaits, and as you pour,
I’ll wash your back with black soap and tickles
Then clean and fresh, you sit before pounded yam
with fresh fish soup and as you eat, I’ll recall songs
that will transport you to the fields of nostalgia
When you finish, I’ll await your burp of satisfaction,
show you the raffia chair prepared for your resting
And as you lie content, I’ll lay my head on
your lap and rub your stomach
The trees and winds joining the gentle chant
of my heart-mine, mine, mine.
I will meet you at the path
with the best of nkpokiti dances
Ululating your ancestral names, so your father’s line
can hear and be proud
I’m aiming for the back-hairs at your neck,
hoping they encourage your head to swell
Then I’ll lead you up the cement steps,
into the house, strip off your dust weary clothes,
chanting the songs you suckled to, remind you of your mother’s smell
Lead you in to the bathroom where
a pail of warm water awaits, and as you pour,
I’ll wash your back with black soap and tickles
Then clean and fresh, you sit before pounded yam
with fresh fish soup and as you eat, I’ll recall songs
that will transport you to the fields of nostalgia
When you finish, I’ll await your burp of satisfaction,
show you the raffia chair prepared for your resting
And as you lie content, I’ll lay my head on
your lap and rub your stomach
The trees and winds joining the gentle chant
of my heart-mine, mine, mine.
Sunday, 13 February 2011
Whispers
Does the lady protest too much? I don't know, I'm no lady! Just a question though. How does one really know?
First published on Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Misread things and February
Again, the month where we fall, get out, think and hate love is here and already I'm sick of it! Why one month has to have so many emotions tied to it is beyond me but since I'm slowly converting to the whole idea of this love thing. (I have good examples around me...its rubbing off) here's something for people enjoying the magical experience of that crazy thing called love. Note though, that I put my personal abilistic spin on it.
Sunset.
In your shadow
Comfort looms
I am wrapped tight like
Kola nut in shell.
Fingers trace outline of
Lips, eyes, lashes, dimple
I stick a tip in, tickle;
Bubble of laugh from
my stomach
Tumbles up into
my chest
Out of my throat. I. Am. So. Happy.
Sunrise.
In the cast
Shelter stays
I am cocooned like
Fish in deep water, there is safety
Freedom at once.
Lips graze then
Part and tongue flicks
Picks up salt, grit
Familiarity
Pucker, press, imbibe essence of
Deliciousness, which is you.
In here
I am whole, found,
alive, true, sane, complete
filled, loved.
Yours.
I absolutely love this song and I think it fits with the poem-feel free to enjoy!
First published on Wednesday, 11 February 2009
Misread things and February
Again, the month where we fall, get out, think and hate love is here and already I'm sick of it! Why one month has to have so many emotions tied to it is beyond me but since I'm slowly converting to the whole idea of this love thing. (I have good examples around me...its rubbing off) here's something for people enjoying the magical experience of that crazy thing called love. Note though, that I put my personal abilistic spin on it.
Sunset.
In your shadow
Comfort looms
I am wrapped tight like
Kola nut in shell.
Fingers trace outline of
Lips, eyes, lashes, dimple
I stick a tip in, tickle;
Bubble of laugh from
my stomach
Tumbles up into
my chest
Out of my throat. I. Am. So. Happy.
Sunrise.
In the cast
Shelter stays
I am cocooned like
Fish in deep water, there is safety
Freedom at once.
Lips graze then
Part and tongue flicks
Picks up salt, grit
Familiarity
Pucker, press, imbibe essence of
Deliciousness, which is you.
In here
I am whole, found,
alive, true, sane, complete
filled, loved.
Yours.
I absolutely love this song and I think it fits with the poem-feel free to enjoy!
When Love Comes
I'm using the term 'Love' here very loosly since I'm not a person who does PDA (Public Displays of Affection) well. I always want to slap people who just do all that kissy kissy stuff in public! Call me a prude, but I believe that love-(I think my last post settled what we call love, or rather what I call love) should be a private, beautiful thing, it should be graceful, gentle and tender, something people consider a priviledge to see. However, what do I know? Maybe I'll be one of those irritating women who coil around their men at every given opportunity, trying to stamp their lip imprint on him so that everyone would know, he belongs to her! I shudder at the thought.
First published on Thursday, 27 November 2008
If- More Sham Lyrics
I'm still going on the theory of what love might feel like, so here's another poem.
PS I'm working on the hate theory too, just must get the emotion right. Cheers!
Breathe
I am tucking my nose
into that indent your head
made on my pillow,
catching every scent of your skin.
Its wood, grass, wind, rain
mud. Fresh, clean, spicy.
How I adore your smell!
I inhale deep, wrap myself in
the towel you left, lie
half asleep, wondering if you
have your face tucked in
something of mine,
remembering.
First published on Thursday, 27 November 2008
If- More Sham Lyrics
I'm still going on the theory of what love might feel like, so here's another poem.
PS I'm working on the hate theory too, just must get the emotion right. Cheers!
Breathe
I am tucking my nose
into that indent your head
made on my pillow,
catching every scent of your skin.
Its wood, grass, wind, rain
mud. Fresh, clean, spicy.
How I adore your smell!
I inhale deep, wrap myself in
the towel you left, lie
half asleep, wondering if you
have your face tucked in
something of mine,
remembering.
Sunday, 6 February 2011
Divorced Intentions
Do you sometimes wish you could hear God's voice directly? I know I do. I'm not afraid for I don't think He'll use the big boom voice of the Ten Commandments, but rather the still small voice of calming Elijah's personal storm. In matters of the heart, there's no greater time, I need to hear His voice than then.
For we humans are SO complicated and our lives are so tangled up and when one is trying to live in a straight way, somehow a curveball is thrown and splat it all goes. Its in this craziness and stupidness that I really wish I could hear God speak directly to me, in my ear straight down into my soul and I sit straight and sure for I know.
But God being God wouldn't do that, would He? Besides His Word speaks His heart loud and clear and if we all knew the bumps and lumps ahead on our journey through life, what would be the joy of living? There would be no angst, pain, anguish, joy, relief, happiness, contentment-all these emotions that tingle us into awareness and then what would be the fun in that?
First published 13th April 2010.
Well I've been thinking how we as humans say one thing, yet act in the total opposite way. Take me for example. I say I love all music, but I really am a snob, I can't stand rap and R & B. A friend says she's lonely and would take any guy's offer , as long as he's tall, light skinned and works in a bank. A man tells you he wants you desperately in his life but has absolutely no interest in you or your life.
The mouth says one
The heart another
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky.
Words pull,
Actions push
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky
Time passes
Failed hearts sigh
If only the night would speak truth
I bloody well would be so lucky!
For we humans are SO complicated and our lives are so tangled up and when one is trying to live in a straight way, somehow a curveball is thrown and splat it all goes. Its in this craziness and stupidness that I really wish I could hear God speak directly to me, in my ear straight down into my soul and I sit straight and sure for I know.
But God being God wouldn't do that, would He? Besides His Word speaks His heart loud and clear and if we all knew the bumps and lumps ahead on our journey through life, what would be the joy of living? There would be no angst, pain, anguish, joy, relief, happiness, contentment-all these emotions that tingle us into awareness and then what would be the fun in that?
First published 13th April 2010.
Well I've been thinking how we as humans say one thing, yet act in the total opposite way. Take me for example. I say I love all music, but I really am a snob, I can't stand rap and R & B. A friend says she's lonely and would take any guy's offer , as long as he's tall, light skinned and works in a bank. A man tells you he wants you desperately in his life but has absolutely no interest in you or your life.
The mouth says one
The heart another
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky.
Words pull,
Actions push
If only the night would speak truth
I should be so lucky
Time passes
Failed hearts sigh
If only the night would speak truth
I bloody well would be so lucky!
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.
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.
Wednesday, 2 February 2011
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.
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.
Monday, 31 January 2011
Jewel-Melody for Elizabeth
First published on the 25th of June 2010
I don't know why but I didn't start off liking you much. We weren't friends and I prefered Jokesman to you. But your love stayed strong, unyeilding,constant and I grew to know you, understand you and like you very much.
Many unfortunately don't have someone like you in their lives and it makes me wish I could share you so they could know just how wonderful it can feel.
You taught me that there's nothing too high for me to reach, too hard for me to fail (even maths!) and I thank you and even though I say it everytime to you when we talk, I just want to say again. I love you mum, thank you for everything.
Wura
The very bones of you
Yielded and moved to birth me.
The flesh of you tore and
Pumped blood, pus, water
On my clumsy eyes.
The tears of you, mingled with
My sweaty dark head and
You saw a miracle.
Wura
The bones of you
The flesh ripped from you
The very meat and blood of you
I love.
I don't know why but I didn't start off liking you much. We weren't friends and I prefered Jokesman to you. But your love stayed strong, unyeilding,constant and I grew to know you, understand you and like you very much.
Many unfortunately don't have someone like you in their lives and it makes me wish I could share you so they could know just how wonderful it can feel.
You taught me that there's nothing too high for me to reach, too hard for me to fail (even maths!) and I thank you and even though I say it everytime to you when we talk, I just want to say again. I love you mum, thank you for everything.
Wura
The very bones of you
Yielded and moved to birth me.
The flesh of you tore and
Pumped blood, pus, water
On my clumsy eyes.
The tears of you, mingled with
My sweaty dark head and
You saw a miracle.
Wura
The bones of you
The flesh ripped from you
The very meat and blood of you
I love.
My Mothers Eyes are Volumes 2
First published on the 2nd of March 2008, this is a follow up part to The Melody to Elizabeth-My Mother
Mrs Idowu (as I call my mum, she was once my teacher so it stuck) wasn't always my friend, I was very much a daddy's girl and I remember so many clashes between my parents over my discipline, I would commit a crime, dad would let me off with a speech and a hug and mum would scream at my dad 'Wale! If she's spoilt rotten and grows up irresponsible, its all YOUR fault!'
I thought the woman didn't like me. She came down hard on anything I did wrong, was swift to punish and slow to praise. it never occured to me that after waiting almost 8 years to have me and me being a split image of her, she saw herself in me and wanted to (rightly or wrongly) right the wrongs in her own life, give me better access to opportunities.
It took my father's death to enable us build the bridge. At first, I thought we were friends out of necessity but I later realised that it was genuine and deep. We had shared so much together, good and bad and for the first time, we saw each other as women, not mother and child, but women, sisters, walking the same road of life, her with all the experience, I with the hunger to know. Leaning on each other, we could be symbaotic, weaning each other , yet dependent.
Most of my writings are based on my mother, she is the prototype of my heart. Sometimes, when I write things that bring some deep seated memories to the fore, tears seep from my eyes, for I wish I could experience my childhood again with the new eyes with which I see her.
My mother is beautiful, she is joy and pain wrapped up in patience. She is my teacher, sister and friend. She is the harbringer of my birth and rebirth, the one who invited the muses to take dwelling within my soul and school me. She is love, she is discipline, she is heart that hurts itself to make me a better person.
My mum was meant to be here with me today, but circumstances stated otherwise, yet she is not bitter. She is hopeful and filled with love soaked prayers. I don't feel bereft, I feel protected and that is good.
Mrs Idowu (as I call my mum, she was once my teacher so it stuck) wasn't always my friend, I was very much a daddy's girl and I remember so many clashes between my parents over my discipline, I would commit a crime, dad would let me off with a speech and a hug and mum would scream at my dad 'Wale! If she's spoilt rotten and grows up irresponsible, its all YOUR fault!'
I thought the woman didn't like me. She came down hard on anything I did wrong, was swift to punish and slow to praise. it never occured to me that after waiting almost 8 years to have me and me being a split image of her, she saw herself in me and wanted to (rightly or wrongly) right the wrongs in her own life, give me better access to opportunities.
It took my father's death to enable us build the bridge. At first, I thought we were friends out of necessity but I later realised that it was genuine and deep. We had shared so much together, good and bad and for the first time, we saw each other as women, not mother and child, but women, sisters, walking the same road of life, her with all the experience, I with the hunger to know. Leaning on each other, we could be symbaotic, weaning each other , yet dependent.
Most of my writings are based on my mother, she is the prototype of my heart. Sometimes, when I write things that bring some deep seated memories to the fore, tears seep from my eyes, for I wish I could experience my childhood again with the new eyes with which I see her.
My mother is beautiful, she is joy and pain wrapped up in patience. She is my teacher, sister and friend. She is the harbringer of my birth and rebirth, the one who invited the muses to take dwelling within my soul and school me. She is love, she is discipline, she is heart that hurts itself to make me a better person.
My mum was meant to be here with me today, but circumstances stated otherwise, yet she is not bitter. She is hopeful and filled with love soaked prayers. I don't feel bereft, I feel protected and that is good.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
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?
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?
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!
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!
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