Archive for the ‘ Cannot be confined by a definition ’ Category

Dear Ganiyu

Not so dear Ganiu Jelili,

Forgiveness is more than saying sorry.

No regrets for me, I won’t waste my time regretting; what it will only do is hurt me and make a bitter sweet tinge about the end of our four year love affair. There were few highs and so many lows; basically all lows, but I won’t take it away from you that at first sight I thought maybe I would never find a better lover than you.

We started as friends, you were close to my late boyfriend and when he died, you offered me a shoulder to cry on. I fell for the warmth of your embrace and I decided not to face my fears. One of my fears was the manner with which you always lurk in the shadows; that worried me. My head said it was timidity, my heart said humility. I wanted to go with my head but my friends and families prevailed and we started living together. The honeymoon period was as short as the few seconds after you said “I do.”

You had a special talent of making questionable friends. Your bald friend that came to visit us sometimes ago had blood stains on his shirt and lips, you said it was nothing. There were always questionable magnitude of money in your friend Dessy’s bags and I questioned you, you gave a dozen excuses and said you’re not one of them. In fact, your area bros that robbed his avenue empty was arrested and you went to bail him out. All these things didn’t add up! Robbers came to raid our home and took away our food and cough syrup, yet you brought out your money to give them t-fare.

You never bought me flowers; you never gave me the honour of holding your hands. Sometimes you treat me like a child that didn’t matter and so many times I thought I will never be able to live after you. I thought you were a good man: I wanted to believe you’re a good man, but it baffles me that a good man can be comfortable in the company of rouges, derelicts and ex-convicts. Now I doubt you were ever a good man, you found it easy to ignore my pain; you would always pass the blame to someone else.

In agony and strife I suffered this abusive relationship for four years. Remember when my cousins got killed in the garage incident and you went dancing at your friend’s birthday turn-up; worst of all you were gumming body to this woman I can’t really single out. It hurt me more than you know, and I doubt you ever loved me at all. My nephew got shot and my niece got kidnapped by those gangsters up the street and all you did was blame our neighbour. You never comforted me, your inactions brought more clouds above me. You were more concerned about how people in the neighbourhood saw you, and not who you are in the house.

Your niece that lives in the next town, who is married to Raji, comes here often and she’s looking all fresh and nice. He never beats her; in fact he takes so much care of her that at one point I was tempted to replace you with him. But now that is history, I have someone else much more matured than Raji I have hooked up with. And I really do not care whether you cry or not, glad you accepted my leaving in good faith. I owe you no favours.

I’m glad the four years of abuse, misuse and devastation has ended. Really glad to know Mo’ud would take care of me; honestly I’d rather take my chances than wait for you to get home drunk and beat me all over again. In the twilight of our living together, you deliberately removed the cut-out from our electricity fuse and you drained the fuel in the generator just to punish me. Ugh, you thought it would make me meltdown and crawl back on all four for you, but you’re wrong. Maybe you should know, my new boo is a fighter, he’s not a wanton weakling like you and be sure when he sees the marks and bruises of your torture on my body, he will come for you and I cannot vouch for you not being sent to prison for it; my experience with you reduced me to less than human. Forget the people I’ve been with before I met you, I gave you my heart and you threw it to the gutter; I’m left with a bitter after-taste, you took my submission for granted.

Forgiveness is more than saying sorry. Don’t bother to apologise for any mistakes, it’s too late: It won’t clear the cloud over the dark days, it won’t bring back all the money I made from my palm oil selling business that your mistresses stole without you budging, and it won’t bring back my cousins and my nephews. It definitely will not bring back any emotions I ever had for you or the admiration my family members had, when they thought you were a breath of fresh air.

Now my crying has stopped, I will wear a smile and walk in the bright sunshine. They may forgive you for the right reasons, but I will never forget you; for the wrong reasons.

 

Nohimat.

 

(Nohimat is every Nigerian that is saying goodbye and Goodluck to the outgone Ganiyu)

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Box of Cuteness

black-baby

I love babies. It will take blindness, negligence or denial to not have noticed my fascination and gusto for new lives. Seeing their cute little smiles and their glowing large eyes, hearing their giggles and watching them pull your finger near their mouth; graceful moments, right up there as the most amazing moments in life. Pure joy. As for me, the soft cry of a baby gives me goose pimples and the sight and sound of them carries all the beauty in the world in a single package of allure and delicacy.

Sometimes, to be objective, one has to look beyond the obvious cuteness; there is more it. To be clear, having a child or being a parent shouldn’t exclusively be limited to that borne out of sexuality or biological means, someone you raise or adopt is also your child and you have as much obligations to them too. Saw something about ‘Maternity photo shoot’ and I did not know what to make of that. Whatever parenting is, or is not, should not be explored entirely via charmingly delightful pictures and “I love my baby” posts or tweets. Those things are beautiful; but more particularly, how committed are you to raising that new born into a proper godly adult that would bring you pride, joy and more importantly peace?

Heard this from an apologist not long ago about babies and the classic case of belligerence: “Every baby starts life as a little savage, he’s completely selfish and self-centred, he wants what he wants when he wants it; his bottle, his mother’s attention, his playmate’s toys, his uncle’s phone. Deny him this once and he seethes with rage and aggressiveness, which could be murderous were he not so helpless. He’s dirty, has no morals, no knowledge, no developed skills. This means that all children are born delinquent and if permitted to continue in their self-impulsive act to satisfy EVERY want, every child would grow up a criminal, a killer and a rapist.” Very harsh, yet very true.

A staggering thought, as much as you may seek holes in it, the truth in it is simple and undeniable. There is huge criminal potentiality in a young mind that is untaught and untamed. The almost-innocent delinquencies in the new born, if unmatched could make him turn out into a non-innocent derelict.

I feel as parent, it is primarily our duty to dust off those traits and tendencies one after the other in firmness and in love till our baby grow into adults that exhibits culture and character. That is the problem I see with the western world, they mostly let their children have their way all the time and later complain about lack of morals and discipline in the same children.

I quietly await the day I become a father, but I will keep preparing myself for the challenge; though no preparation is ever adequate. Be careful with the child in your hands, because in your hands are the children that will influence generations. Prayerfully guide these babies on the right path, for in your bosom lies those who would rule the nations, make the nations or break the nations.

Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he’s grown IT SHALL NOT DEPART FROM HIM.

 

Anyone can cook

IDN recipe (name unknown till I'll be told)

IDN recipe (name unknown till I’ll be told)

In many ways, the nutritional life of a bachelor is far from easy. Our food ranging from noodles to bread and bean balls, which in modesty is decent enough. Life is hard when you have to cook, but it gets harder when you do not know how to cook. When simple tasks like boiling rice and turning Eba seem like the culinary version of servicing a V6 car engine, then it gets worse. They risk very little, yet are often the most critical of those that present them food, as if it is up for judgement.

Fortunately for me, I know a thing or two about mixing this and that to become an element edible enough for me to consume. Whatever feeding is or is not about, I believe, it’s not to be explored in the plastic seats of KFC exclusively, not on the wings of Mama Monday, but is to be discovered by oneself from washing to preparation to consumption; a total experience. But that is my opinion.

Yesterday night I sought to delve into a new unknown cuisine; potentially an awe-inspiring dish, whole possessing the capability of being a irreparable disaster. I prepared a meal from a recipe given by my dear niece; awesome young lady well trained by us and now doing us proud by raising our grandchild. She gave me the recipe on BBM and it wasn’t the hardest thing in the world. Sometimes, the most complex looking outcomes are birthed from the simplest of tasks.

They say cooking is unsexy for a guy, that the best a man should do is cast shadows on the kitchen and leave it solely to the ladies. I really would have loved to nod in agreement, but I see that as a pile of cat piss and pig poop. I do not have a problem with those that cannot cook to save the dying, as we all cannot poses every skill, but I think it’s a tad prejudicial to say a man shouldn’t cook and label those that are kitchenophillic.

I really do not know/care what name Idunnusubulayo would call this happy meal. With the ingredients being ginger, garlic, chicken meat, green pepper, spring onions, carrot, round pepper, salt, seasoning and Irish Potatoes, nomenclature is the last thing on this man’s mind

I’m not challenging anyone to change their prior knowledge and disposition about cooking, but merely putting my new found recipe out there with gusto. To say I enjoyed the meal would be a gross understatement; it rocked me and my jolly worms. I’ll continue, to look, learn and cook. It gives me pleasure and it is one of the few fine arts left that have not been ruined by contemporariness.

Not anyone can cook, but a good cook can come from anywhere

 

Plantain somn somn

Plantain somn somn 

Eba and Egusi

Eba and Egusi 

Marinated chicken and rice

Marinated chicken and rice 

There’s a photograph

In my father’s house, there’s a photograph.

The greatest days, the fondest moments, away from the loud glamour of metropolitan living to the serenity of bright milk gold sunshine, some place where you will but bend your knees and whisper a sincere line to your maker “Thank you for silence.” Happiness they say is a journey and this place embodies the biggest journey of my life; one I’ve revelled and enjoyed every step of the way. A journey where my many appendages became apparent, for everyone here had held my hands as I walk through life. It is a place where the night falls quietly, so as not to upset the twilight nor disturb the constant state of peace. It’s the place I call home.

A few words may suffice to describe the transcendental, impartial, selfless, positive home I grew up in. Everybody gave me their time, showered me with their love all of every day. Lights shine though their hearts into my spaces. I was given the best, I was taught to fly and was raised up high, and then I flew like a butterfly. I’ve heard of titans and giants, I have them in my household. In my home, there is happiness, roars of unrepentant laughter tearing up the atmosphere relentlessly refusing to set with the sun, the joy isn’t time bound, and every moment is savoured.

As my life unfolds, I grew up knowing they would protect me and I would protect them. Now I realise why grandchildren are often spoilt, because when the parents were growing, the parents were working. Now they aren’t working anymore, the grandchildren get the pampering. I’m not jealous, not entirely. I was given life by them. I appreciate my family and I will have an awesome family too. I grew up knowing people I can stand to side by side in war.

The sunshine here is brighter, the leaves are greener, the food is tastier, the air is fresher, the water is purer, NEPA is sane, the environment is quiet, and the memories are sharper, everything about this place tells me about the peace and quiet we can only dream of in the big city; that is if we dream at all. Why are we in Lagos?

In my father’s house, there’s a photograph; of a family to which I’m proud to belong.

Time to Leave your Bobby behind

You’re alive, you’re in love he depletes you.

Woke up this morning and Twitter greeted me with rather depressing news that one of the last reminders that voice has magic is gone. She sings like it flows from her toes all the way through her body and ends up in her lungs. Depressing it is, to know that Michael, Luther and now Whitney is gone while there are musicians scared to step up to the plate and sing some real music. Music in terms of values has been on the decline and I don’t think pakurumo is match for the worst song snore Whitney ever made in her sleep. Not hating on his creativity (or obvious lack of it), but that dude just can’t light up a candle stick with his voice. But, to what I think exactly after hearing the news, Bad Company.

As one of my friends said on twitter, she could have lived longer and she could have died earlier. Imagine what would have happened if she didn’t go into drugs.

Some relationships do not complete you, they deplete you. When rolling with someone doesn’t add positive values to you but takes your remaining virtues and replaces them with vices, you know it’s time to go home. When you have a boyfriend who constantly beats you and tells you he loves you, think again, bashing you doesn’t say the story. She had you at ‘hello’, but that time so dangerously marked the start of your decline, or stagnancy, then you know it’s about time.

Relationships do not necessarily have to be romantic to be termed as toxic; it could be family, work or any form of it. Once it is making you go through hell, then get a taxi. Regardless of how sweet sour it is, if it’s hurting, it’s hurting; end it. Someone brought Whitney into drugs, someone introduced dope and weed to Majek Fashek, relationships that brought about retrogression rather than progress. If someone brings you down consistently, the relationship is toxic; and should know the right time to leave…early. Bear in mind, M.J didn’t know his dear Morphine would do him in.

Stand up and leave your Bobby behind, step out of denial; if it’s making you cry, it’s not worth it. Surround yourself with more positive people, drop a note to yourself, speak to yourself, you can be better than you think. Heal the shame and reaffirm that you are not gonna be drawn down by your relationships. Learn the words “Goodbye, I love you”, love them but leave them. Know the right time to hit the road, you may be in more danger by lurking around negative influences.

It’s valentine week (with no public holidays), rethink your relationships and evaluate which is worth holding on to and which should be gone. If he/she is giving you drugs and screwing your brains out and you claim you love him/her, goodluck to you (goodluck, not good luck). Not blaming B.B entirely for the drugs. Not entirely.

On a final note, R.I.P to all the non-famous people who died today, who lived amazing, hard working lives of their own, who toiled and loved till the very end. We may not know your name, but yes, you are worth the mention. Rest in Peace Whitney Houston.

When It All Began

So where did it all come from?

I’m not talking about how boiled egg was discovered because that is one of the wonders of the world; whoever was watching a chicken lay something oval, boiled it and ate it must have a very good reason not to walk his continent naked. Though a chicken is involved in the story on the long run, it’s not solely about it. There are different world views about how the world came to being and how the whole complexity of human existence was birthed. Simplistic as it may sound, it could make for good humour or deep thought; both of which are worthless on the long run. I just had so much fallow period in my hand that I looked into it. Let’s go back to the beginning.

I’m from the world view that believes in Genesis 1:1. Simple at. Other religions hold their beliefs and the humorous part was the one that came to my head in a very inappropriate time this morning; NO, not in the toilet, a very inappropriate place for thinking about things like that. The most indefinitive and infinitely flawed explanation is the ones used by the free thinkers; the big bang theory. Who and what was banging what and who? It’s strange but every human in this world have a right to hold on to their idiocy/belief. Big bang, it even sounds like the title of some Japanese interracial gay porn.

I was talking about the humorous one when the big theory almost banged (beat) my head. It’s the one my teacher (bless his soul; not sure if he’s alive though) explained: My Yoruba teacher. The story of how Oduduwa (that’s his name. Awesome) was sent to the world hanging down from a chain from heaven like Sylvester Stallone in his Rambo days holding the most valuable things he could bring from heaven. It wasn’t his blackberry and carton of beer, it was a chicken (yeah, the egg laying creature), a measure of sand (handful of sand in snail shell according to legends) and a palm kernel seed (yeah, I know).

Oduduwa came down the chain with the theme song of an action film (gen gen), holding the polybag/Ghana-must-go of the three most valuable items ever that he was holding; how else do they wanna explain someone coming down on a chain holding three items, it won’t be in one hand obviously. So the man saw that there was water all across the face of the earth, big deal, he already had genetically improved sand (yes) in his hand and as he neared the end of the chain, he poured the handful down on the waters and the thing stood (remember they were genetically improved). Next action was set for the avian. It used its feet to spread the sand across the face of the water. Seriously, it’s like the most awesome piece of myth ever! Then the big guy Oduduwa still hung on the chain. Bad guy. The chicken spread what he could and probably died after forming the continents; hence why we have oceans. Perfecto!

The next item on the mandate given to the man was palm kernel. He dropped down and told the person holding chain up there to fuck off. That one angrily took away the chain; else Nigerian government would have deregulated that upstream/downstream sector. Then he planted palm kernel in strategic locations, the reason he skipped Malaysia is still an issue the jury is out on. So palm is technically the first plant to grow on the earth. Now that was the end of season 1 and I got to JSS2 and didn’t get to know the sequel. So I just assume the dude was lonely and a chic was dropped for him and they had kids. Then the chicken was found, resuscitated it laid an egg. Then things morph and weather conditions made cows and snakes out of chicken eggs. Now we know Oduduwa was the first guy to see egg from a chicken arse and thought it would be tasty when cooked.

Hilarious in totality and leaves so much space for liver damaging laughter. How on earth do you come down via chain, or get genetically engineered sand before planting palm seeds that now morphed to create all other plant form. Don’t ask more because I have no idea. It was just hilarious to me as a kid and remembering it in church today just made me laugh out loud on the inside (with a straight face on the outside). I apologise to you people that believe the whole Oduduwa mythology; not for my slander, but for your ‘intelligence’. Dude on chain with chicken, sand and palm kernel; Epic.

So to my final question, who is finer, Halle Berry or Rita Dominic?

Occupying State of Mind

For those days they called us a mistake, those times we were said to walk in vain, we know we have a goal and we have to keep marching in. Two historical weeks in the lives of Nigerians followed by a hollow day that the NLC and its gay partner TUC decided to complete the cycle of mistrust that characterises the national body.

It’s hugely depressing and totally disappointing that the call for good governance would seem to have been submerged by the bodies we thought would fight for our right. Transparency, rule of law and its cousins had left the country long ago and their wicked step mom(whom you know by firstname) had stepped up to the plate. Occupy Nigeria was birthed to fight corruption and will always do so. It may have looked like the movement has lost the battle, but the occupy movement is a state of mind, we don’t die we multiply and we will win the war. I wasn’t part of those that started it, but we all know our country needs a sweep through to chase the crazy bald heads out of town. The struggle can’t be said to be exactly fruitful, lots of lives were lost and petrol price increased by N32 with absolutely no rational. Didn’t NLC get the N65 or nothing’ memo?

But how long will we let this burn, how long will we let sentiments and ethnicity cloud our judgement of things? In the thick of the protest, some people still found reasons from their infinite depth of foolishness to hate the movement. It’s really sad. To move forward as a country, we need to cleanse the system. It begins with you and I. Occupy your mind and free it from corruption; it will grow into an aura and affect those around you. Yes, good can be contagious. Not only cough has that capacity.

We’ve been pushed down to our knees; we’ve been bruised right to the point of breaking that we couldn’t take it. But we will get back to our feet. We have bled and we have the scars to prove it, we have grown balls as a people and I pray we have the heart no to lose it. We have been proverbially gang raped as a people and have been violated of our rights, but we will rise through the ashes of betrayal and fight for our own rights. They have all the right friends in all the right places; we have all the right moves in all the right spaces, and we know who is going down.

The fight against corruption continues, the fight for good governance continues, the fight for a better future for our children continues. Do not keep quiet! Rant till you are heard from even the rat holes. We have come of age and the snitches don’t have anything on us. We are more than we are, we are citizens of this great country and we have a voice. We have been let down again by the same generation that have refused to stand up for themselves and we have found ourselves in the soup bowl again.

I will always treasure the days I joined the protest in Ojota; the crowd, the atmosphere, the yearnings of the people for good living. It will be a memory in my heart and the picture will be shown to my kids as the time we defied all odds and opined about the down trodden truth. Untouchable memories.

We do what we do, we march on. It’s a state of mind; we don’t die, we occupy!