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.