AM CONVINCED 2

I could not wait for Thursday....we still had two whole days; how on earth could he do such a thing? We still had 40 minutes for the lesson, he was barely there for 20! What teacher leaves his class unattended and not appoint a monitor for the rest of the period?... All of these thoughts ran through my head all at once, and I was already thinking of my new assignment. Having read Oliver Twist the previous year was purely  for the pleasure of it.

All that I got out of it was that poverty knew no borders or boundaries, and that wickedness and corruption equally found its way right up to the white peoples countryside as well. I remember all of the children and their unfortunate existence and it reminded me so much of mine in some ways.....seeing that I lived at the mercy of which ever stepmom was in command at that time. Their plight was all too familiar with my environment, all you had to do was step outside; and you would see it every where.

Child labour, abject poverty and destitution beyond your imagination, and the unfortunate victims were the most defenseless, most vulnerable...children. The sad irony was that oftentimes, their own mothers and fathers put them into these; because their own parents knew no other way than that.......and the cycle just continues.

To now write about the moral and  psychological opinions and implications I had about this same subject proved to be a big challenge for me....how exactly do I begin to do this? What could I possibly write that would make an impression on the man who had  managed in the brief twenty or so minutes of encounter to put me in awe of him. The rest of the class period went by quickly and then we had biology labs, and agricultural science, that meant lots of stink and chicken poo.....another topic I might add. When the bell went for the day at 2:55, I was ready to go home: home being my dorm room of course.

Thursday came and as the day progressed, am very sure that I was not the only person waiting anxiously, but also eagerly for  12:55, last period double literature. Time finally came and precisely on the clock, he walks into class. We all rise as is customary when a teacher enters for class, we remain standing until instructed to sit. When he did, he started to speak immediately. He went on about the age and time and period Dickens wrote his book, and pointed out the style of the grammar and then went on to tell us that the book was obviously satirical and that was the basis of his challenge to us.

Everyone handed in their paper and the first ten minutes or so he glanced through some of the papers ,putting about three or four to the left, and the rest he left in a pile. We read two more chapters of Oliver twist, he would call a name from the register and after 4 or five minutes of reading, he would call on another. when  we concluded  the two chapters, he got up and asked us to introduce ourselves. We were 32 in my class, and 32 young men and women introduced themselves, feeling quite grown up I might add. After the introductions, he said to indicate by show of hands those of us who wanted to be writers or teachers. Around half the class raised their hands, and he said "very good"; now can the rest of you tell me what profession if any at this time you would be interested to pursue in your future?

One by one each remaining student said their piece, with him asking a question here or there to a few people. When they had finished, he cleared his voice and spoke again"..now that we all know each other properly, class can begin". He divided us into three groups which he called Alpha. Beta, and Kappa. Mr Andy then told us that he really did not like to teach...he preferred  to say that we were all trying to discover . He said  that everyone had an interpretation to an object or observation, irrespective of it's original or initial intent, the receptor being the human, had the sole right to discern what he wanted to from it.

So based on that, he wanted us all to be thinkers......"convince me, he said", make me see what you see...I may not agree with you, but I will understand you...and after that, we can do it the curriculum way, so you get your passing grades, and also attain the purpose of being here in the first place, an education.

The groups were to work together to form the three classes in Dickens times....the royals, the court and the lower class. We were to present our perspectives of that time and our rational and reasons for why we lived and behaved a certain way . This was 1980's Nigeria. What we had to eventually present to Mr Andy had to be our best understanding of Dickens tales and somehow try to equate it to our modern reality.

I know.....this sounds far to advanced for 11,12 and some 13 year olds; it sounded more like what a second year university student would be expected to do....but we were buzzed with excitement. If there was one thing Mr Andy was good at, it was making you eager to try anything without fear or reservations; his enthusiasm and optimism was intoxicating.

So began my love for literature and groups Alpha, Beta and Kappa went on to produce very outstanding  contributions in our joint quest to discoveries, and very different but compelling arguments about our classes and what ills or good we gave society. This was a dialogue no particular group could possibly win, but it achieved something that taboos and societal dictates forbade; human beings, irrespective of class or creed, talking and interacting as should be. Those were some 32 years ago and a far cry of what my world is today; but the lessons I learnt from that single teacher in the 8 months of that academic year, are the same ones which made me what I am today. My Dickens class thought me love, respect, discretion, integrity and dignified human life. I learnt loyalty and confidentiality, I learnt not to be afraid to show my emotions, be it anger, fear, dislike or love......"Convince Me", those were Mr Andy's words..... I learnt how to convince people and make them see me.

AM CONVINCED

They say that no truer love exists than a man lays his life down for his brother; in other words a love without conditions. As we go through these phases we call life, we all encounter different people with whom we develop relationships and affiliations on various grounds and levels.

In one way or the other these people influence our lives in ways that affect us either positively or negatively, but in all, our general make up would not be totally complete without them. It begins as early as when we are babies, our parentage and families are first; as we grow older we begin to mix up more with other people.

Some of our earlier encounters would be with baby sitters or daycares, and as we progress into kindergarten and grade school, we begin to form bonds with teachers or classmates or even general workers or staff in the schools or institutions. They say these are the things that help us develop socially, and from these we are able to form perceptions and opinion.

Personally my earliest memory of my favourite persons and least liked ones goes back to about the age of five; my siblings find it incredible that I remember things about that early in life, but my mother has confirmed many of my memories. I remember a particular house help we had who was very loving and kind, Angela was her name and like her name she looked like an angel. As an adult now, I often think about her and what circumstances in her family life that must have led her to becoming a maid at such an early age. Now I know that the economic situation of the world often leaves many of us in places we just never imagined we would be. On the same note, I remember another maid we had, Cecelia who was the devils’ hand maid. She was employed by my stepmother, and somehow got it into her young mind that we were second class citizens in our own home..... I was about 8 at this time.

There was a steward who used to come at night by our semi open bedroom window to peep at us; I was about 11 at the time. One day when we fell asleep in the family room watching television late into the night, I kept dreaming that someone was pulling at my shorts and trying to touch my private part. I would move subconsciously and it would stop, but after a while it would continue... I felt like peeing, so as I got up to use the toilet, I saw a figure dash into the corridor....it was the steward.

He was a pervert and the following day, I told my stepmom about it. He was summoned to the living room for questioning, and as expected he denied everything. So an 11 year old girl was branded a liar, and all I did was cry and made sure I never fell asleep in the family room ever again. Karma is a very determined master and not too long after my accusations, the same steward was caught by the night watchman trying to break into our bedroom through the window. He was dismissed the next day; the amazing thing was that he still kept denying it.

I later went on to boarding school and life was just wonderful; boarding school was not the best, but it was not too bad either. It was here that I actually encountered my first love: literature. I was one of those people who conventional education was a little too much for me to grasp, but knowing that I had no choice but go to school else my father would murder me: I just about managed to cope. Everything was a drag for me; the only things I enjoyed about the academic aspects of school were subjects like English literature, Economics, English Language, History and Geography. All other subjects not only did not make much sense to me, but I was totally clueless at especially mathematics. I had a very unpleasant relationship with my maths teacher. In fact with all my science orientated subject teachers.

The non academic aspects of school and boarding school was the best; especially sports, drama society and the school paper. Unfortunately the academic and non academic worked hand in hand; if your fail, you just don't play period. So you can see my predicament....I had to work really hard and many times I resorted to begging class mates into helping me until I somehow grasped what the whole thing was about. In my areas of interests, I was just brilliant; go figure.

So like a good trooper I went along with school and days when I had my subjects, I had a smile on all day, in fact I could hardly wait to get to class. I started my love affair with literature really back in elementary school, I began with all the Secret Seven, Famous five, Adventurous Four series, and gradually graduated to C.S Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, Dickens Oliver Twist, and books like Great expectations and Mayor of Casterbridge, Little Women, Shaw's Tom Sawyer and adventures of Huckleberry Finn and many more. I loved African literature as well.....writers like Soyinka, Ola Rotimi, Chinua Achebe, Flora Nwapa to name a few. I relished every piece and by age11 I started to develop an interest in poetry and the rest as they say is truly history.

I can honestly tell you that I never fully appreciated the pleasure of this awesome art until the first day I met my literature teacher Mr Andy Chukwujukwu, but he was fondly called Mr Andy. That day was like any other, the bell went for a change of lesson, and the class waited for our regular teacher Mrs... I don't even remember her name now, that's how boring and numbing she had turned my beloved literature. Instead of her, in walks this little man. He was about 5'4 and was stoutly built. He had very broad shoulders like someone who lifted weights, and he was strangely very good looking. Something semi teenage girls noticed immediately and the crushing I must say started instantly.

Mr Andy walked straight to the blackboard, picked up the chalk and wrote on it "ANDY CHUKWUJEKWU".......The class was quiet and he placed the chalk back on the table, faced the class and began to speak. His voice was loud! It sounded like thunder, and that startled the entire class. It was incredible to believe that such vocals belonged to a man his stature, broad shoulders or not. That voice was what got us all; he began to read from the book in his hands, a book all too familiar to me, Dickens' Oliver twist.

"Among other public buildings in a certain town, which for many reasons it will be prudent to refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to most towns, great or small: to wit, a workhouse; and in this workhouse was born; on a day and date which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch as it can be of no possible consequence to the reader, in this stage of the business at all events; the item of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of this chapter.

For a long time after it was ushered into this world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon, it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether the child would survive to bear any name at all; in which case it is somewhat more than probable that these memoirs would never have appeared; or, if they had, that being comprised within a couple of pages, they would have possessed the inestimable merit of being the most concise and faithful specimen of biography, extant in the literature of any age or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that the being born in a workhouse, is in itself the most fortunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this particular instance, it was the best thing for Oliver Twist that could by possibility have occurred. The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of respiration,--a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence; and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock mattress, rather unequally poised between this world and the next: the balance being decidedly in favour of the latter.
Now, if, during this brief period, Oliver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers, anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and indubitably have been killed in no time. There being nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman, who was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allowance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such matters by contract; Oliver and Nature fought out the point between them. The result was, that, after a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and proceeded to advertise to the inmates of the workhouse the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could reasonably have been expected from a male infant who had not been possessed of that very useful appendage, a voice, for a much longer space of time than three minutes and a quarter.

As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and proper action of his lungs, the patchwork coverlet which was carelessly flung over the iron bedstead, rustled; the pale face of a young woman was raised feebly from the pillow; and a faint voice imperfectly articulated the words, 'Let me see the child, and die.'
The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned towards the fire: giving the palms of his hands a warm and a rub alternately. As the young woman spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said, with more kindness than might have been expected of him:

'Oh, you must not talk about dying yet.'
'Lor bless her dear heart, no!' interposed the nurse, hastily depositing in her pocket a green glass bottle, the contents of which she had been tasting in a corner with evident satisfaction.
'Lor bless her dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir, and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em dead except two, and them in the wurkus with me, she'll know better than to take on in that way, bless her dear heart! Think what it is to be a mother, there's a dear young lamb do.'

Apparently this consolatory perspective of a mother's prospects failed in producing its due effect. The patient shook her head, and stretched out her hand towards the child.

The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She imprinted her cold white lips passionately on its forehead; passed her hands over her face; gazed wildly round; shuddered; fell back--and died. They chafed her breast, hands, and temples; but the blood had stopped forever. They talked of hope and comfort. They had been strangers too long.

'It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy!' said the surgeon at last.
'Ah, poor dear, so it is!' said the nurse, picking up the cork of the green bottle, which had fallen out on the pillow, as she stooped to take up the child. 'Poor dear!"

The class was dead quiet! A few of us we were familiar with those verses; to others, they were hearing them for the first time there and then. The thing was his voice....it started off loud and thunderous and as he progressed into the description of the birth of this poor character, his voice softened at times in certain areas, and would suddenly grow louder in others. It was an amazing crescendo. Almost like listening to an orchestra but telling a story with song. His face twisted with emotion and feelings, and his body moved and he gestured and moved with every word.

"I want you to read the first four chapters and write me a summary of your understanding .......our next meeting is on Thursday, double period boys and girls......ha ha ha! He chuckled,...this ought to be fun!”
He picked up his case and just as swiftly as he had walked into class, this mysterious but incredibly intriguing stranger, left our lives. Wow! I shouted and the whole class went into a frenzy of discussions; who is that man? He is the new teacher they have been talking about who transferred from F.G.C. Kano (Federal Government College). Rumour had it that he was very controversial because his teaching methods were somewhat unconventional. I was in class 2 and as far as I was concerned, this man was goddddd! He blew me away.

ORDINARY PEOPLE

Like most ordinary people, I know that we are all different and are meant to achieve goals and have diverse gifts and talents. Not everyone is meant to be rich or famous, glamorous or beautiful; the list goes on.
It's a blessing to have a mixture in life in this manner. Perfection is not so common in the human race;except of course those who have come near it, either in career or personal life.


Can you imagine what our world would be today without ordinary people? I mean those people who you think really have no meaning in your life....say the newspaper man, or that dirty little girl who lives down the lane always picking her nose. It could be the bagger in the grocery store, or the pharmacist in your local pharmacy. These people are the most important people in your life because they help make you feel superior and special, but to you, they are insignificant.


Your perfect world would come crashing down if they did not exist, you would cease to be so almighty because there would be no one to look do upon, and wow....you would be just as they are: ordinary.
These unimportant people are the ones who make your farce of an existence worthwhile, they give your ego the enormous boost it needs to sustain it...suddenly you realize that your giant existence, is in a very small world indeed.

Take me for instance, an average person in many ways; not too short, nor to be considered tall. Not too ordinary looking as far as attractiveness goes, and when it comes to accomplishments or status, I would be right there in the below the margin line. This may seem dismal to many and some may wonder why I choose to describe myself as such.......you know what they say, to each his own. In all of this somehow I still find peace and satisfaction in my world.


The very balance of life would break if we were all equal and the same. As ordinary as I have described my reality, there are still some who would consider my world wonderful and near perfect; and then there are still some who would consider those who find my world wonderful, to be in a wonderful world themselves and this goes on . My take is that somehow, this is how its all supposed to be. Some may say that this is an unfair balance, but i say it is predictable.

At some point in life we all get a shot at something big, now this will of course be determined by the standard and level at which you are placed in this chain of balance. I also believe in the after life, so if you have not had yours in this life,perhaps in previous manifests you did. So before man can begin to feel all smug and special, let us weigh the balances and consider this; that man who presently cleans your toilet may have been the one whose excrement, say a few hundred years back, you tasted because he was considered some freaking god or king (like in the case of the Chinese), or something. Can you really imagine this? They actually had poo poo tasters back then!

If you really think about it, stranger things have happened in human history, consider the possibilities eh...mind boggling.

As for me and this belief I have, I've decided to be kinder and gentler with strangers. This way I can limit the possibility of my total destruction and humiliation, that is assuming it has not already happened.
Some of you would be thinking right about now....what do you call this life you have now?.....Yeah.... I get it, but still hear me out. Be kinder! Take that extra minute or two to show appreciation, say thank you to the doorman or the checkout lady at the grocery store.

These basic courtesies have never harmed any human, so lets face it, if my belief holds true, imagine this scenario. You wake up suddenly one day, and find yourself in the employment of someone you had not been too kind to. Don't forget this, now you are dead! people are still mourning you on earth, but you have moved on. Now you are in another plane of manifest and yes!.....it's poo poo platter people! enough said.....lets just be good to each other, it costs us nothing to be kind.

A PICTURE OF YESTERDAY.................

She remembers it like it was yesterday, that day in the scorching heat of the Lagos sun as she walked down the street just by the stall of that Hausa man; the one who sold sweets and cigarettes, they called him papa Sule.

Do you remember him now? You saw her from a distance and ran across the street to meet her, and in that ever happy and excited tone you asked where she was heading. She used to think you were annoying and bothersome, but she still liked you and she reluctantly replied that she had to run an errand for her mom.

You offered to go with her but she said no, even though she secretly hoped that you would insist because she did not like going by the next street alone. Some local boys usually hung around there, and their wolf whistles would scare the hell out of her. Just as she hoped, you insisted and together you both walked along the edge of the road side gutters, stepping left or right in alternation in order to avoid a pothole or an open street gutter.

She remembers it like it was yesterday, her thinking as they walked along, "what does this boy want from me?
Why does he linger like a festering sore? Why? Especially since all she does is pick at the scabs.Why does he smile all the time, and laugh at the silliest of things she does or says? He must be retarded, mad or both. She believed that one day soon, he would pick another thing to obsess about and go away.

She remembers it like yesterday, the day he told her that she was the love in his life and of his life. She laughed nervously and asked if all was okay with him. Surely he was delirious or confused, what would a boy his age know about love?

Love of his life indeed, it's the same old story; teenage boy after a quick make out or sex perhaps? She had heard from her friends about such declarations and how the particular offender was often laughed to scorn. This they did after teasing and leading him on and even sharing a kiss or two; but here she was, never been kissed or shared any form of passion, either physically or in imagination and yet she's being pursued and told by some moronic boy that she was the love of his life.

That was some twenty odd years ago, and yet she remembers it like it was yesterday. As she looked back, a smile creeps up on her lips and lights up her face.She looks up and stares at a picture of her yesterdays thoughts; and just as all those years ago, he looks back at her.Eyes still glittering and smiling as if the years had stood still; and in that moment her eyes are filled with tears. She realizes that her yesterdays love and face still stares boldly at her, and as he had told her all those years ago, she also realizes that she looks into the eyes and face of the love in her life, and of her life....her husband, who knew even before time wore out it's space; that his love would stand the test and it would win.

Constants In Life?

There are many constants in life. We know for sure that night falls and day breaks. Now this is in the general concept of night being the end of day, and dawn the beginning. This of course does not mean that night time has to be indicated by darkness, and day time by light; because as we know in this part of the cosmos we call earth, there are places where night time is not shrouded by darkness, neither is light an indication of day time.

Then there is the constant of life and death, being born, growing, getting older and then there is also dieing. There is the constant of time being the master of all; there is none able to go faster than time, or dictate to time, but rather we all work with time and are ruled by time.

The list goes on......these constants are what we have as yard sticks to keep us in check, and they measure our life, our beliefs and how we choose to live. According to the famous words of Maya Angelou - No man can know where he is going unless he knows exactly where he has been and exactly how he arrived at his present place.. Those who seek enlightenment or want to make sense of this cycle called living, begin to seek for answers to help steady their paths and beliefs. But most essentially is the fact that our beliefs and the things we hold dear, are what shapen and guide our footprints.

In our quest for answers, some seek for and find answers in religious faith such as Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, New age religions or even in atheism. The atheist believes in a scientific explanation and logic to everything, while other faiths hold on to a pathway that leads to enlightenment or fulfillment. The fact of the matter is that these constants are what shapes our existence as human beings


Once born, nature dictates that we evolve: hence we grow physically, mentally, emotionally and otherwise. As life is not equal, there are those with afflictions either mentally or physically which somehow prevent or affect such growth; but nevertheless, these individuals still under go growth changes in some form or the other. So the constant of birth and growth is still fulfilled, but perhaps not according to what is considered norm.

So we get old ......and then we die; death is achieved in diverse ways, either naturally through old age or untimely, by illness or accident. It does not matter how, death still comes.

If we are to set aside our diverse and various beliefs, does it not matter what legacy we leave behind?

Does it not matter how we live, if we are truly concerned about the world we live in?

If there is any shred of decency in us, should it not matter how we live our lives in regard to others?

The belief in God alone is not sufficient to make us better human beings, it's all about the way we choose to live our lives.

WHEN YOU DRINK OF THE CUP

Those privileged to drink of the cup of love and goodwill, surely never have the heart to go in the opposite direction of their convictions.

These are people who find it difficult to relax and carry on with life as normal, when they know that their fellow man is suffering in one form or the other.

The road a person with conscience takes, often times leads to untold suffering and lack, in one form or another; nevertheless it never stops them from taking that road. This is the only road they know and which they use to get to their destination. Having a conscience and listening to your conscience are two different things. As with all things in life, despite it being inborn or innate, still requires harnessing and nurturing; without which, a conscience dies a natural death.

Who or what is a man of conscience? He/she is one blessed with a certain quality and spirit that naturally gravitates towards good. Although no way near perfect in their ways, they somehow by divine grace and intervention strive and struggle to reflect the divine in human form. These are not limited to a particular sect, religion or belief. They are just children of the divine.

In our quest to resemble the divine, we have often times stepped out of the light into darkness and still claim or think we are reflections not only of the Divine, but vessels of light. This grave error is as a result of not listening to, harnessing or nurturing our conscience or spirit of the divine within us, which should and is meant to be our moral compass and guide.

Without a conscience or moral compass, how can we ever resemble the divine? How can we find our way home, when we do not recognize what home should be? Once we deviate from the labour and sacrifice which love is and requires, we instantly become "empty vessels". Why, because we lack love, hence we lack conscience or moral compass. This leads us to the point where arrogance, selfish pride, haughtiness and everything un-divine takes center stage.

Once center stage, pride, arrogance and brute-force wants us to hold on to something to affirm our faith or belief, no matter how absurd, ridiculous, ungodly or inhuman. As far back as history has documented, beliefs come in different forms and mans obsessions to impose a belief system on his fellow man strives from the lack or absence of love or conscience, and has been an insatiable drive. History has shown over centuries, the many atrocious acts man has committed against his fellow man, all in the same breathe of making straight the path of a mans heart.

We want to shove, ram and force our beliefs down another mans throat and still belief we work with and for the divine. Many schools of spiritual learning have existed and many names and titles have been given to these; each in its own right has either laid claims to superiority or the true place to be. All have at one time or the other arrogated sole knowledge of the true self to its organization and to date, we still witness the battle between them all, but in more of a civilized manner (if there is anything as such).

Today the world is filled with so many choices and in many places, we are still blessed with the dignity of choice on how to express these beliefs we all clearly have, even the atheist amongst us. So where is all this leading mankind to, and how are we really to shape the generations to come, if we are still knee deep in this confusion of faith and belief. I can only approach situations from the known and gradually descend into the unknown. My known fact is that I acknowledge myself as a person who believes in the birth, death and rebirth of Jesus Christ; so in our known world that makes me a christian.

Having said that, I don't have too much theological knowledge of the Bible or Christianity for that matter, but what I do know of, I have come about by pure spiritual intervention and grace. I know that commonsense is not so common as we all think, else we would basically not have the many contradictions and silliness that exists in the world today.

It does not take a genius to know that in order to receive respect, kindness, love etc...one simply has to make sure that such is their disposition at all times. Now, because man is fallible, this is where the spirit of love should come into play, if we allow it. Love being a sacrifice demands forbearance (which is patience, tolerance and forgiveness) and  justification (which is the spirit of kindness, empathy and consideration). These again, are basic senses, which are part and parcel of ones conscience that man possess from birth, but which again, requires nurturing.

Having these attributes and being able to practice them surely have no bearing on whether you are a believer of Christ, Mohamed, Buddha or whatever it is we claim to believe in. This is a divine gift to whoever the spirit of the divine chooses to bless with it. So as a believer in the doctrines of Jesus Christ, the christian Bible holds a significant place in my heart, and it is on these words in it that I try to draw strength and guidance from. I also have a personal opinion that what we know as the Bible is somewhat not complete and has lost some authenticity through the ages. The general foundation of it's contents is what most Christian's base their belief system on.

Regardless of what pathway we choose to approach the divine, certain qualities that are reflective of the divine are what helps us to be better human beings. So going from the known to the not so known, I can comfortably say that in a world where there are so many so called believers in God, the Muslims and the dedicated Buddhists; it is so clear the appalling indifference man displays when it comes to forbearance for each other.

The mind of a man who has drank of the cup of compassion and righteousness has a totally different make up. It does not just see the self: it knows and acknowledges the connection of all, the brotherhood of life. The vital awareness of mans responsibility not only to his fellow man, but to all creation. Drinking of the cup is for all mankind and requires dedication and discipline.

It is not limited to those who believe in Christ, Allah or the Buddhist. Christ came not to establish a religion but a way of life. The ability to live the way of life promoted by Christ is what I believe unifies all religion and spiritual paths, that tries to teach a pathway to the divine. Many have a system which enables them see life in two colours, black or white. What then happens to the in-between? That shaded area which constitutes the magnitude of what we need to know but don't. It represents the full knowledge and understanding of the divine, and entrance into that area is by invitation only.

The invitation is love.

The cup is love.

The drink itself is love and the pathway is love.

AM HAPPIEST WHEN AM AT.........

Mommy is there somewhere that you feel really happy when you are there? This was a question my 10 year old son Obi asked me one evening, and I paused for a moment, Obi never asked normal questions like a 10 year old would. He always comes up with questions that will make you think before you can even begin to answer.

As I lay in bed with him and my youngest child Elizabeth, I wondered at his question, and he eagerly sat up beside me anticipating a reply.

Where indeed am I the happiest?....umm.. and then a smile lit up my face. Two reasons mind you brought about this. His question, and the fact that I had been feeling really miserable about my right knee and the arthritic pain that tormented me at will, and the fact that his dad was miles away in London instead of being right by my side. Also the fact that my mind immediately went to my happiest place......my home town.

I love my home town,, in fact it's about the only place that I can think about about and it would melt away any anxiety or sorrow that I may have been feeling, so I cleared my throat, and quietly replied him" I love my home town Obi...I was born there, lived the first 6 years of my life there, and spent every moment I had growing up as a teenager there."

He looked really excited and he smiled and replied that he thought my home town was a village. He wondered what made it so special to me. I then told him a little about this amazing place I had grown to love so much. Obi was just like his dad....his eyes could tell you just how he felt. In excitement it widened and glittered, and it smiled so broadly when his lips smiled.

He quickly came under the duvet pushing Elizabeth further up to me, and waited for me to begin. I told him about the forest and the rivers in my home town, about the hot harmattan afternoons, and cold evenings when we sat by the dying embers of the coal fire in the backyard and listened to the old people tell stories from the past.

I told him about the festivals of the new moon and new yam celebrations, and how the new yam brought also the season of the masquerades, and how at certain ages young boys and girls were initiated into puberty and adulthood by rites and cultural dances.

I told him of the dances by the moon light and the dew that dampened cassava leaves which when you walk by in the mornings, a little flicker from them and your uniform for school would become wet. I told him of sneaking off from school and going to the big lakes to swim and pick cashew and dates to eat. He sat in awe as I spoke, his eyes widening ever so often and suppressing a smile or laughter here and there.

When I stopped talking, he spoke for the first time and said "wow mom your home town sounds like so much fun....I wish we live there now!" I liked seeing him like that, most times he plays outside, so much that he forgets the time and I have to send his sister to get him.

Lying there in bed with me was nice, I saw my little boy again, not this 10 year old grown man....that's how it feels talking with Obi most times, he's an old soul.....I call him Nna madu, which means "someones father".

Elizabeth began to fidget.....the phone rang and Obi sat up quickly and asked again "Do you have a second place that makes you happy to be in"? I looked up at him and smiled ....yes baby....I love being here at home with you kids and dad. His face lit up again as if in acknowledgment....."That's what I told Mrs Mcarthy he said, I love anywhere my mom and dad and family are, that's the place am happiest in."

TELL ME, HOW SWEET IS IT?

“Tell me how sweet it is...”

These were the first words I remember her say to me and I remember looking up at her thinking, is she speaking to me? This was back in 1980, some 30 odd years ago when I met my friend Amina, our second year in secondary school. Friendships are legendary, in fact there are some that have stood the test of time and some quite famously known; Amina's and mine, was just one more in the long line of friendships. Back in those days, everyone I knew was in a boarding school and our school was in the southern part of Nigeria. In those days the federal government had special colleges, and these were the creme de la creme of schools back then, and yours truly happened to be lucky enough to secure a place in one.

Amina was a strange girl. She did not talk much and when she did, she had a pitch in her voice that sounded almost comical... you couldn't help laughing at the sound of her voice; maybe that was why she did not talk much. The day she said "tell me, how sweet is it?", she held a bowl to my face and pointed at its contents which happened to be some garri. Garri can be prepared and eaten in several ways but students in boarding schools liked to drink it like a cereal soaked in water in a variety of ways: with sugar and some with salt; in a mixture of condensed or evaporated milk with sugar to taste, while others drank it mixed in with roasted groundnuts and sugar. Whatever manner chosen, it was a popular snack in many a boarding school. It was cheaper and much more accessible to get than Cornflakes or Weetabix.

I remember thinking that this girl must be mistaking me for someone else, but as it turned out, she was not. She just wanted another's opinion as proof to her room mate that she was right, the garri was not sweet enough. Reluctantly I spooned a little into my mouth, and was appalled by the taste that immediately took over my senses... sugar! It was as though there was nothing else in there but sugar. I could not stomach it, I spat out the garri and gasped saying "surely that is a bit too much! Nobody can eat this much sugar.”

There was a collective chatter of replies all echoing the same words..."You see!...Only you Amina! Your sweet tooth go kill you one day". These were girls in her room all reprimanding her for her insane desire for sweet things. She just chuckled and quietly sat down beside me and said "I'm not putting it in their mouths am I?” There was this calm in her voice that made me turn and look at her. At that same time she looks at me, and we both smiled and just sat there by the common room hallway and watched our dormitory girls go crazy all afternoon, until it was time for evening sports.

This was my introduction to Amina... the following day we met in the showers. She had some hot water which was a rare commodity especially when the taps were off or the power supply was off, which was a very frequent occurrence in our case. This was our Nigeria and it's going to take another chapter bringing you up to date with the domestic side of things in our country because corruption and greed had over ridden good governance. Basic services and utilities you would expect as standard in most civilized societies was a luxury, only a privileged few were guaranteed to enjoy in those days (sadly, this is still the norm in our country).

The hot water was good...courtesy of her illegal boiling ring, a contraband like many more you will become acquainted with as you learn more about my friend Amina. The shower was always a quick in and out thing because then as a junior, if you wasted time in there, some hot shot senior would use you as their morning maid that day...this was not a good way to start the day, so we never lingered. I left the showers, got dressed quick enough to make it to the refectory. Being served that morning was bread and fish sauce; one of my favourites. Amina left her table and came to mine, so we sat and had our meal together. She must have taken permission from her table captain, you just don't leave your table, that will result in punishment...but with permission you are alright!

I suppose that really was the beginning of our friendship. And as friendships go, it was a very peculiar one. People tend to believe that in order for two people to have a successful friendship, they had to have certain things in common, share like passions etc. In our case, the complete opposite was the situation. I can honestly tell you that we had nothing in common. She was quiet and shy, spoke more of her language Yoruba than English which was the main language used in school and the country as a whole. She liked a different genre of music and definitely had better taste and class than I did back then in clothes, jewelry and boys. These were the main things that mattered to 13 and 14 year old's after all.

Amina felt like a second me but in a different way. It was as though we had been forever, and I really did not need to speak much in order to communicate my feelings to her and vice versa. She could somehow tell just by looking at me, when I felt joy or sorrow...when I was enraged or up to mischief. I remember now that so many times, I would stand by her classroom door and wait till I had eye contact with her and would somehow let her know that something was wrong. She would immediately put up her hand for permission to leave, and as soon as she got out of class, she would ask "What happened to you?" I would tell her one story or the other but it always involved me getting into trouble, and her coming to bail me out.

Amina was shy, but she was not a coward or stupid. She always found a way to make you hear her. Even if it meant shocking you into paying attention, she would do it, but in such a way only she knew how to. I was the scatter brained carefree one, who spoke too much grammar and knew all the lyrics to the latest songs. The very unimportant things, I was really master of, but things which had meaning, I was ignorant of. Like remembering to water my plot on the school farm for our agricultural science projects, or making sure I went by the biology lab after school to pay the lab assistant for my practical mock exam fee. Responsible behaviour somehow eluded me, but Amina made sure all these were done; by reminding me over and over until it got done.

We shared moments that nobody could really quite understand, they expected to hear the chatter of our voices and laughter ringing out occasionally but in many cases there was none of that. What did happen was silence...and an occasional giggle from either one of us, or a quiet question from her perhaps about what she's reading, or from me for one reason or the other.

Our time together was calm and peaceful...and if it was a day that it involved a physical activity, we would shout, laugh and scream all depending on where it took us.

Amina had a younger brother. He was really cool and had lots of senior friends. I hardly spoke to him. Heck! He and Amina hardly spoke. We would sometimes run into him at the refectory and he would just nod and smile... that was it. The only other contact with him would be on visiting days when either of our relations have come with goodies and we have to go to give him some or when their relations have come and he has to come to Amina. It was weird, but it worked and for all the years we were in school, we never once saw each other outside school term.

Holidays came and went but the significant holiday was the long vacation between July and late September. This was the longest holiday, and it was only at this time you would see any emotion from either of us. When it was time to go, we would hug so tightly as if we would never see each other again and then the tears would flow.

It was usually a really traumatic thing for me back then. It felt like I was leaving a part of me behind. Amina never said much... between tears and gasps, she would keep repeating “Perhaps we will come to Lagos and I will visit you" and I would reply “It never happens that way, so why do you say that every time.” My dad's driver would of course shout at me "Miss Tessa make we go oh!, ooga go sack me if i no reach Lagos before 6pm oh" my name is Theresa by the way....everyone used called me Tessa... only Amina calls me Theresa.

“Bye Theresa...” her voice would say squeakily. And I would laugh through my tears.
"Bye Minna, see you September okay...” Once in the car, I would turn around and watch as we drove off, until her figure became a blur.

Those days seem so far away now. I'm 42 now...Amina was 1 year older than me. Often I wonder what ever became of her, and her ultra cool younger brother. Perhaps some day somehow, our paths will cross again... I'm sure she's still the same quiet person, but now in a woman's body, ready to take on anything but never losing herself in the process.

I like talking about Amina... it takes me to a very hidden and almost forgotten place in my life. A place where everything seemed possible. A place where I find so much comfort and safety in; perhaps because of the innocence of that period and age. Like so many things in life, our friendship had it's ups and downs, but the beauty of it was the way our differences were resolved; the willingness to forgive and to move on. It did not really matter what the reason was, there was the desire to make the hurt go away, so it was always okay.

This was not my reasoning back then mind you, my present state of mind is a result of years of stock taking and reaching a sounding resolve that really, nothing was that a big deal after all back then. We had insane adventures, both within and outside the walls of our secondary school; many near misses in either suspensions or expulsions. So I will continue with this story at some point. Personally, I'm finding some serious pleasure in reliving those days of raw freedom and carefreeness.

Issues with My 7th Grader!

Am having issues with my 7th grader, and it's driving me crazy!

Firstly, she talks too fast. I struggle to even keep up with the normal issues to do with family and home, then she has to add the school bits and it all goes haywire from there. She has this thing she does that she begins a sentence, and she rambles on as if you are supposed to be familiar with what she's saying already; and then she switches to and fro from one madness to the other. I then scream for her to stop.

Then I ask her to start all over again and slowly explain to me what it is she's trying to ram down my brain. At this point you can tell she's clearly uncomfortable, because she has to actually slow down and talk like a normal person.....this is alien to my daughter, it's as if she's gasping for air.....she suddenly develops a stammer, just for having to talk at a pace most normal people consider the human way to talk.

Teenagers are evil......where do they come from? Especially teenage girls. They can be the sweetest and yet the most annoying, misunderstood set of creatures, mine is driving me nuts..but I love her to bits!