Awakening

Feelings in the heart of men often leave a sweet or sour taste; either way, one chooses which is more desirable to hold on to. I know a feeling which leaves the heart pounding and the mind gasping for breath, for dear life....in all of this, the state of a man's heart is never fully comprehended.

It's almost like being in two worlds. In one, you know for sure that you belong there: this is your reality and your life’s journey happens here. Then there's the other world of escape, which to all intents and purposes is a fantasy; where you create utopia, a haven for those times when the equilibrium of your real word seems too hard and falling apart.  You think this is it, I belong here. And then, you foolishly hold on to this false or temporary reality, because life in the real world seems like it is suddenly moving too fast, towards what you think is the wrong direction. 

Some of us do come back to down to earth and continue with the drudgery of our existence. Others find resolve, dig in with hope and focus on living one day at a time. Then, there are many who, unfortunately, are consumed with the misery of their present reality, would rather choose to hold on to illusions; these remain and never leave their utopia until the bubble bursts. When this finally does happen, it’s usually too late. So much irreparable damage would have been done.

So how does one hold on to a reality that seems bleak and gloomy? Why not hold on to a fantasy?  How does one separate these two states of consciousness? The answers to these lie in our perception of life and our convictions. And then there is the heart… if there is harmony between our perceptions, conviction and our heart, then we are on a roll; but if the heart is in conflict with our perceptions and convictions…

As life unfolds, I realize more each day how everything is interwoven. People though different in makeup, basically all seek for the same things in life. How we each proceed towards achieving these things are determined by our moral fiber and convictions; compasses which we hold on to dearly and by which we all find our bearings as we define them and they in turn define us.

For so long I have been very sad about my relationship with so many people. I felt betrayed by their actions and attitude towards what I thought was a mutually cherished affiliation. For some, it’s all about what they can get out of you or a situation, forgetting that sometimes you have to go the extra mile just to help raise a fallen spirit.

This has always been my belief and I thought surely, it's the most logical disposition we all ought to have in any situation. Gradual change in events and everyday life has awakened me to my naive mind set: we all can’t be the same. 

I have now come to understand that every behaviour, thought, action or inaction exhibited by everyone, has an original instigator. To the end that there is always a lesson to be learnt from any and every situation, regardless of what we think the outcome is or seems like. Somewhere down the line, those meant to gain, know or understand something from the occurrence will do just that at the appropriate time.

Knowing what I now know, I aspire and struggle each day to evolve to a level when I can make the physical effort, to try and succeed in repairing the rift I have suffered with so many people in my life for some time now.

In other words, I had to experience life in a certain manner. Every soul I have ever met or will ever meet, and how we have or will each influence each other is meant to be exactly the way or manner things have played out or will play out. Even if it means or meant all the betrayals, cheatings and abuse, just so that I could go just a little further in my journey, understanding and personal knowledge of life, and what it is that will define and shapen my reality.

This does not make things hurt any less; however I believe that as I progress, my new found understanding will help me journey through life a lot easier.

This is why the joy we find in companionship and friendships should be so much treasured and cherished. No man is an island. No one can exist in a vacuum. No one can learn or journey through life without the help of others. We learn and grow through interaction, hence the world is the mirror that reflects and defines that which we are to ourselves and others.

Inasmuch that we cannot grow or learn in isolation from others, part of life’s growing process is isolation. Just as we need company, we equally need isolation; some of us more than others. Through the process of spending some alone time with ourselves, we further define and enhance ourselves. It’s the only way to engage in reflection and introspection. It’s the way nature intended for us to reenergize our ’batteries’ like the Energizer bunny so that we keep going on and on.

Although many of us thrive in the company of others, some like me thrive in our own company. It doesn’t mean that we don’t like company; we just enjoy our personal time than most others. People like me fulfill the desired or sometimes obligatory role of wives, husbands, friends or lovers as an accepted part of our lives. And if you are lucky enough to find kindred spirits in a spouse or someone who will understand your makeup and respect it, you would have hit jackpot.

I cherish my life with my family and I treasure my relationship with my husband because our world together is so unique that it is only of late that I have come to the realization that he has actually helped me evolve to my present state of awareness. He sees me for who I am and has over the years taught me not make apologies for my difference. Even in weakness, he sees my strength and does not stop reaffirming it until I begin to acknowledge it myself. “We learn strength from weakness my love.” he would whisper each time another friend boycotts me on the account that I seem weird.

The greatest challenges I face are those which concerns him and our children, and with every defeatist attitude or agenda I carve up; he brings an unwelcome reasonable solution to. Most times my head is neither ready to hear nor absorb these solutions, and we don't get a resolution for that moment. But in my time of calm, my heart sees it and I am forced to acknowledge my fears and weaknesses, through which I become strengthened, which eventual takes me to another level of acceptance and so forth.

I must confess that this does not come easily. I fight it with all of my being because I always feel that a piece of me is being torn away. Why must I be the one to change and accommodate everyone else? Why hold on to a negative piece of anything right? Well this is the foolishness of man, we tend to hold on to whatever we feel or think gives us strength...no matter the effect.

Somehow as we went along in our real world, I suddenly have found my faith! Or rather I would say that faith found me. I no longer go to or need my so called utopia or fool’s paradise. I now know that my world is only as real as I accept it to be, holding on to the people and things that define me and which enhance my growth.

I now know that strength can only be gained out of weakness...Life is not so bad now in the real world!

Courage

Mama used to sit at the kitchen table, spoon in her hands and she would drum to the beat of her favourite song “saving the best for last”…she loved that song; I suppose that in some ways, the song actually summed up her life story: A life that has been quite hard but still rewarding and pleasant to some degree.

True…I guess there had to be more to this life than the one she has lived for so long. As tears filled her eyes and ran down her cheeks, you could still see the joy in her eyes. The glittering and the faraway look always made me believe that mama had another life somewhere; somewhere far faraway from our small semi-detached house in North London.

She used to say that one day she would be there; that place when we were all grown up and big…big in our lives and our own individual world. When that day would come she would sit back and remember her dream of this special place and time when the best had been saved for last, just for her. I used to ask mama “Are you okay?” she would smile and say yes baby, am just fine; just dreaming.

I guess it’s the hope she had in our future that kept that small fire burning inside her. If you had to look at life through her eyes, you would be forced to have hope in a better tomorrow. Mama had a dislocated back disk from the severe beatings she received from dad.

Dad had to be possessed to be who he was. He usually came back home from work like a wounded tiger! We were like his enemy; at least that’s how he made us feel. All mama had to do was ask for something, anything we needed for school and he would bark and bellow and the entire house thundered with his voice.

We were scared of him! Besides greeting him after his return from work, it would take a miracle to utter a single word to him. You never know what you would say that could trigger a beating. We never understood why he was always angry or why he had to be our dad. All we knew were the physical, emotional and mental abuse received from him. We all had the scars to constantly remind us.

I reckon it was pure luck that we came to live in London. If we had remained back home in Nigeria, we would be motherless by now. I’m grateful that this is all behind us now. Looking back to those times, I wonder how we ever managed to survive such a period of our life.

Uncertainty was all my sisters and I could count on. That we even completed our secondary education is all thanks to the dedication of mama. She is a true mother. She taught us with her life and sacrifice for us that hope is a special thing to have and keep.

Today all grown up, I smile when I look at mama, every line, and contour of her face and the deep look in her eyes told their own story of courage, strength and determination in the face of adversity. She came through! She was an over-comer. We were her dream and she made us come true.

Letter From The Past

When we lose someone in our lives we feel pain and sorrow. This loss can either come in form of death, quarrels or disagreements. The cause really doesn’t matter; the hurt is still the same. I lost a dear friend over a decade ago and I remember crying so much. I was particularly sad because I did not feel those whom he loved would mourn properly for him…but what do I know?

So much time has gone by and every once in a while I still think of him and now I smile, no more tears. It was a strange relationship we had because he was almost 20 years my senior and somehow we still managed a beautiful friendship not weighed down by age and air of superiority or wisdom.

This man at one point wanted to marry me and though there was really nothing romantic in our relationship *other than the fact that we loved each other to bits that is* I laughed so hard the day he told me. Why? “You are as old as my dad” I replied still laughing.

He laughed and called me a fool. “You wait and see” he said, “When you are through messing with all these little boys you will appreciate me more”.

Anyway, ours was just a comfort thing…he was a good man.

I came across a letter he wrote to me a few days ago, and it helped me understand him better. Who would have thought that in his death, I would learn of things I was so blind to have noticed when he was right there in my face. I will share a little piece of him with you, because I think that when it comes down to it; we all need to give a little more…as my friend would say, “It’s respectable and honoring to do so.”

Here goes…

“…My dear, I got yours a few days ago and thanks again for all the wisdom therein. It is my hope that you and all the members of your family are well.

We are doing just fine here. It would have been better if you were here in person, then this talk of ours would be far more interesting.

I can see from your letter, it seems you have grown up some…pretty darn good if you ask me. Yes I have failed to achieve so many of my goals because each time I always find myself at a minus. I have accepted my life and if possible and pleasing to him, God will continue to save me from my friends.
I could write a book but I have neither the focus or will power to. So all about me will be privy to just you sweet girl; and a few more as you. Love is strange and confusing, something I find difficult to confess. Perhaps it is because I could not with a straight face tell a woman what she wants to hear, rather than what I think she should hear.

Just like you said to me, why not marry my children’s mother?

Look at yourself now girl…you will never be a size 6 again, and neither will she…oh what women suffer! I have never been aggressive in my relationships; rather I have maintained mutual understanding and admiration…perhaps that is why you escaped from me. Love comes into the equation when you eventually decide it’s time to focus…look at you, forgive the ranting of an old man when I said you were making a mistake when you married.

Look at what being pragmatic and studious has gotten me uh? Perhaps if the kids mom had a bit of your love, who knows? There should be a degree of innocence in any relationship as you once wisely told me, remember what you said? If you know everything in a relationship; it’s a sure prescription for failure.
So in answer to your question, I have decided to continue to give a little…as in all the space, chance, opportunity and room to grow. I think that is respectful and honoring.

Now let me fill you in on the damn Republicans in this country. The nucleus of Clinton haters will be returning to the Senate soon as well as the House of Representatives; Notably Sen. Aidemato of N.Y. Gingrich has resigned as the speaker of the house and will leave congress come January.

This is great news for us Clintonites, the Republicans seem to be in disarray after the elections. One congressman remains in the hardcore group of Bill haters Bob Barr…I personally wish him all the hail he can catch. Kenneth Starr has a special masters appointed by a federal judge to investigate him after being told to show cause why he should not be held in contempt of court over his investigation of Bill Clinton. All is good on the horizon for our Bill the comeback kid indeed!

I think I have done my bit here for now…see? I’m really okay girl. You remain happy and beautiful.
P.S…I won my case and both appeals, there is too much money now but you are not here to spend it with me. My regards to your husband and take care of yourselves.”

Fills me with smiles reading these lines…he died 4 months after this letter. Speaking of Politics, see any change in the Republicans any one? Lol.

BETWEEN THE SHEETS

Sex with a dull man is so tiring, uninspiring. I would rather go shopping than let him inside me. Sex with a dull woman! How uninviting! Quite frightening!

Sex is a subject so sensitive and personal; difficult to talk about; many shy away from it. A couple just finished having sex and can’t talk about it. How nasty! I think crafty! Can’t talk about an act they just took part in. Never really understood why? But that’s another subject.

Now let’s talk about SEX!

Sex is a quick game…It’s nice, quick, fast but never lasts. It’s anytime and anywhere with no one to stare; as long as you are with the one you care. If you go with a stranger you are courting danger. If you are one of the few lucky ones that the feeling and chemistry is mutual, you have found heaven! Most times you don’t bother with clothes or disrobing… you know what to take off or push aside don’t you?

Quick and fast, in and out, screams and groans curses and words too foul to revisit. But ohhhhhhhh god! Paradise in all of four minutes or so and the rest as they say is history.

Some like a bit of roughness here and there, and many a times body parts are bruised but sometimes disjointed. On odd occasions you get the occasional black eye and mild concussion, and that’s okay too

Unlike sex, making loving is an entirely different matter.

Lovemaking…aaah, sweet

The sentimental thing begins to come into play. You have to be nice, act nice and talk nice; sometimes you either love or like this person. People…we are talking really scary stuff here, the LOVE THING, it bites!

For us girls, now really it’s a big deal! When you find that big dope like yourself who takes the time to know you and show that they care. They take the time to set the mood, physically, mentally and emotionally…and you can tell, because they are firm but gentle.

They want to know what’s good for you, where do they touch you, how should they touch you to drive you wild. For them it’s like a challenge and they go far beyond the call of duty to get you to that place of bliss; and since you have a romance going on here, paradise, that place of pleasure takes even longer to get to… extra care is taken to get the oils that smell right, and music that is smooth that it just soothes and melts your heart.

Now, for the boys…it’s not all wham, bam thank you ma’am! Yes it might seem like all they are really interested in is the physical, as in appearance and in the act but those are usually the dull ones…
A man does not want a log of wood beside him. First of all sex for him begins in the mind where and when he conjures images and imagery of how rewarding sex or making loving with you will be. This leads to the anticipation of what lies beneath all your layers of clothing in and around your pleasure zones…he’s already halfway to paradise.

Next comes your physical beauty…if he sees what he likes; he knows he has found paradise. Getting down to the nitty-gritty; now girls when the live action begins…if you really do care, this is the time to share, show and pray do tell. Show him how he makes you feel by the way you look at him, touch and caress him. Tell him exactly how being with him makes you feel. The way and manner your body responds to his touch has its own language and will definitely send him to paradise.

Lovemaking is a long but very rewarding chore…umm! That’s if you don’t mind all the wahala involved but it has to be worth it.

I say this because all men are not created equal…

Size does matter to the extent that you know what to do with it! If the size is right but you ain’t doing it right, 9ja we have a problem! Surprise! Surprise! This goes both ways!

If a man is too big for the woman, wahala!

If the woman is too big for the man…more wahala!

If the man is big but the container is too small, na wetin we go do! It means part of him has to remain outside in the rain and cold!

If the woman is big and the man small…how will she feel a thing! It will be like an itch on your back that you can’t scratch! Wetin naw!

All things being equal, whether having sex or making love, if you are with that special someone, you can have the best of both worlds.

YOU BROKE MY HEART.

Betina and Peter in their marriage have witnessed many trials. This is their dialogue in the aftermath of an occurrence which threatened to destroy everything they both held dear…

Betina knows a place and a feeling of helplessness and fear. A state of mind which when it grips her, never seems to let go; she has to fight and crawl her way out of it. She is weary and alone in this place and all she wants is to get out. What she doesn’t know, is how to navigate her emotions away from this desert of misery. As each day comes and goes, she feels as though her will weakens even more.

She knows that she has to try harder to help herself, fight for her life and happiness; yet this reservation to even try consumes her, why? She knows her resolve will determine to some degree the outcome of this saga which has become her life, but something much stronger seems to be holding her down.

She looks around her and sees her children. She hears their voices, their laughter and their cries. Their voices travel and echo around the house as she lays in bed and she suddenly wishes that she was a child herself. She wished for the innocence and freedom that came with youth. Somehow the thought of this is soothing to her, and for the moment all seems calm in her body and mind…but reality has a cruel sense of humour… in a little while it hits home again. This thing has been, since her marriage to Peter. She knows full well that holding on to the past especially to its negativity, would never allow her move on to some normality of life, especially since there were so many unresolved issues.

Her issues were many and overpowering. They were mainly with Peter’s family, especially his mother. He would always get caught in the middle of it all and as any rational human being would, he took no sides, just tried to deal with things as diplomatically as possible. The stand he often took meant that he treated her without sentiment and dealt with the issues almost as a court room judge would. Often he came across as preachy and uncaring. Betina believed herself to be a rational person, but this thing he did, she could not fathom; exactly what was he trying to accomplish and for whom? Where exactly does he draw the line and be her husband?

As a result, she’s unhappy and angry all the time because she thinks he has no spine to even correct them and their errors, whereas he thinks he’s doing his best. She’s filled with so much rage and anger, and constantly struggles to keep both in check in order to maintain some peace and order in their lives.

Looking back, she realizes that she is still filled with so much resentment towards all of them especially his mother. Betina believes she’s on a sole mission and its purpose was to destroy their relationship. Somehow Betina feels that this mission has been accomplished, because where they were at that moment was far away from happily ever after.

***

“Why don’t you hear me? Why don’t you see the pain and damage you are causing with this thing you do? Am I to be punished perpetually for one single mistake? Come on…you have to know that this is not right.” Betina vividly recalls her words to him.

She believed that he had fallen victim to something…what? She had no clue. “They or something have you believing that I will leave our life, so you buy into the fear. Those thoughts do cross my mind, I fantasize about it frequently but I also know that it would be just that…fantasy.”

The truth of the matter was that running away from their life or him, would not solve anything. She had to consider the bigger picture. It was not just the two of them anymore; there were other lives to consider. How exactly does she look her 3 year old in the eye and say mommy is leaving because she’s scared of what life may be five years down the road? How does she deny these children their right to a secure home with both mom and dad present at all times? The security of family life where both parents have a contribution to make, raising them in a manner they had come to know all their lives. 

Their children like most people, had also come to form an opinion based on their reality of what a home should be for them. She knew this included both her and their father; how does she take this away from them?

Then there was also this little matter of love…what does she do with her love for him? How is it possible to love him so much and still feel so much disappointment and anger towards him? Why do these negatives consume her so? As they evolved in the life they share, she is finally developed the courage to decipher between guilt and truth. The things that he had gotten away with, all because of the guilt she had carried in her heart all those years.

She feels responsible for him, his happiness and safety. In retrospect she sees the arrogance in her thinking. She began to see life from a different angle, an angle which neither judged nor condemned either of them. Rather this angle made her see herself as a woman prone to err and him as well. She no longer had the desire to smile and make happy as long as it brought peace, whilst inside she was screaming in agony with a burning desire to smack the jealousy, inadequacies and manipulations out of him.

“We are indeed kindred spirit in the sense that we do know each other quite well. Just like you, I anticipate every move even before you think of it, and I can read your face and expressions like a book. That’s why the lies don’t work anymore: the shrugging of shoulders and forced smiles as proof that all is good.” She remembers telling him. All these ceased to have any impact on her.

All these memories and more were painful and haunting to her. The times he allowed them speak to her as if she was nobody; she remembers being called a gold digger by his mother. The times she had to apologize and make happy when all the while she was the one who deserved to be apologized too. The times when she cooked and cleaned after them all like a maid, and still had to care for three new babies barely four weeks old, and yet he still did nothing. He just watched as she bore the insults and humiliation. All he said

All that she could think of was where was the promise of being there and shielding her from harm? Where did love go then? How will this hurting stop? Who can she tell her pains to, her best friend? Her best friend was the one who brought all the hurt in the first place; her best friend broke her heart.

Looking back now, she realizes that he could not have done any better; this was because of his general make up. He had adopted this superiority in character and belief, placing them above others; his exact words were “We know better and are stronger in spirit. Why let the weaker spirits suffer a test you know they can never pass.” Although remaining silent, she was screaming inside! Who died and made him mediator between her and her maker? At other times when he came up with the same line, she screamed and protested her disapproval and complained of her pain; all he did was call her selfish.

Moments like this, all that made sense to her was how stupid she was to have fed his warped view of their world. She Fed his perversion of what was right and wrong, enabling him by understanding each time and when he finally, apologized, only to return to the same pattern a few days later. She felt like an asshole for having tried to rationalize and justify him, always saying to herself…”perhaps he will see sense this time around and this will all stop.” It never did, and her suffering continued.

***

Finally arriving at a place where her soul was lost, asleep and confused, yet somehow it was this same Peter who reached out to her, stood, fought and help her breath again. The stress was horrible, the ordeal was devastating, but he was strong and like a raging bull fought his way through; razing any and every obstacle that stood in their way.

But what purpose was it all for, if he raised her up only to trample all over her again? Yes, that’s exactly what she believes he did. She knew that her knowledge of life was limited, but also knew one thing for sure; love does not treat anyone this way. He constantly compared and measured her level and quality of love for him, always claiming his as more worthy and superior.

He always said how he never measured up in her eyes and she lacked respect for him…this always confused her. She wondered how it was that after 22 years of marriage and 5 children, he could come up with something like this. Surely there must have been love somewhere in all of this. Why is it that as long as she disagreed or had a separate opinion about anything, it automatically meant that she is not one with him.

Here she was thinking that the uniqueness in unions is the diversity in thought and understanding, which when it comes together, has the capability of unleashing an incredible solidarity that no negative force could penetrate. Then again, what does she know? She had cried so many tears and faked so many joys that finally; she knew she was no longer willing to live this way.

Why does he want to own her? How could she be in this relationship where the very thing destabilizing is the same which is supposed to be her strength?

Every action or gesture connected to her or carried out by her in some way had an ulterior motive; he allowed his mind to conjure weird thoughts and belief’s and then turns around and judges her based on them. So many years of reasoning and rationalizing, always trying to make him see that these things were not real, but what he assumes them to be; in the end she would be in tears and resign herself to sorrow again. This had to stop…if there is no trust, where is the love? One cannot work without the other.

She finally decided to fight back; she will not have him define her anymore, no more ugliness and the assumptions that his opinions and fantasies are truths. He had broken her heart so many times; she now feared it would never mend again, at least not by him.

***

“I broke your heart? Ha! How do you break something that died a long time ago? Yes! You died a long time ago darling, all I have been doing for years is try to shock you back to life. Where is the girl I married? The girl filled with so much life and exuberance that I could hardly keep up. It’s as though you just gave up on life, our life. Tell me…what was so bad about it that death seemed a better alternative? Your body was certainly here, but your spirit had gone. Did I not treat you right? We had dreams and hope, planned how to map out our own little world and make it right as we saw fit. Somewhere between baby two and the triplets you morphed into a zombie.

You just made happy and went along for the ride, for so long I tried… oh I did try, to make you see me and accept our present as it was then. That did not mean our future would be same, but you coached your spirit not to budge, your version of reality was permanent, there was no way to reach you. I died to you. The children were luckier than me; at least they got the occasional smile, laughter and hugs.

They could still find their mom in that shell that you had become; somehow, they knew you were still in there. Every promise I made to you was from the depth of my soul, I know and still believe that you are my love and my life…this is not my making, it just is.

When you describe this man that you believe I have come to be, and these crimes I am supposed to have committed against you; I’m at a loss for words because I do not know this person, neither can I identify with him. I know that my desperation to keep us together made me cross certain lines and did things far from my character; all I did, I did so that we would not lose us. I had lost my best friend and I desperately wanted her back. You changed, you no longer thought like you or reasoned like you; you became sad and cynical.

I know that in your eyes, things have gone beyond mending, but that is for those who have no faith in love. You may say that you lack the energy or desire to try, but think about this my love, can you let go of any of your children?

Is there anyone of them that could possibly drive you to such an act? Yet you are quick to want to discard me, turn away and close your mind to me as though I never even was…this is what I saw and felt and how you make me feel.

My heart is not broken, no…far from that! My heart is aching; the ache lingers because it knows not where these accusations come from, and is exhausted from defending itself. I have been accused, convicted and condemned all at the same time…why? Where is this love you speak of so eloquently of? You my love have me imprisoned by the only thing which gives me hope…your love.

I have tried and cannot visualize my world without you…so tell me, where do we go from here? Everything I believe and know to be truth, is what I use as measure when dealing with you…every opinion, gesture, question, disagreement or acknowledgement, have all been based on what I consider my truth, our truth. If these have hurt or undermined you in anyway, then accept my most sincere apology; what do I gain from hurting or destroying intentionally, the very thing I desire most.

I know in my heart that my feelings do not deceive me, how then am I to accept that you are here with me, when I feel you and know that your soul is gone far away from me?

***

“This is the pattern of our life, we weave a web so tight that it’s become impossible to unravel, and perhaps if given a chance at weaving again; perhaps better a second time… if you will not stop to hear me, how do you begin to understand what is wrong or even have an inkling as to how to make it better? I fear I will be lost without you, but being here with you is not healthy for me. It’s almost as if there is a force that is making sure of this, because one minute you swear to do right, make it better this time, but next thing I know, I’m being interrogated and bullied all over again. The attention that you pay to details in your accusations, naming days and quoting times of my errors, insubordination and betrayal are truly staggering.

Anyone tenacious like that surely is out to prove something, what exactly would you achieve by catching me red handed as you put it; red handed at what? Not loving you enough? I have begged you to let me go…why would you want to be with someone whose love you are not so sure of? You claim you cannot make such a decision and have no desire to do so, now I’m stuck and thorn between choosing which is more important; your happiness or mine? Between doing what serves us best as a family, or what makes us happy individually. For each time I don’t smile and hug after you have abused my emotions and my soul, you get angry because I don’t make happy and play house with you.

Am I not entitled to my own soreness? Surely I should be able to have the privilege to sulk and be angry for as long as I want… our making up should not also be mandated by you should it?

You have broken my heart and it cannot be mend this time, at least not by you. I despair at it all coming to nothing, the struggles that we have faced and triumphed over in the past, and all we managed to achieve together; and I ask myself many times, to what purpose then was all this for? What glory is this to God? Someone please throw me a line…for I am drowning in this deep sea of sorrow and confusion.”

***

“Throw you a line? I will throw you a line, how about you come clean with me? Tell me exactly why you did not hear my voice when I shouted my fears and worries.

You were so unhappy with me you found comfort away from me. It can’t be because our love died, No! I would know if that was the case. I saw you look at me when everything was calm, and the night was still. I saw your look. It was always the look of love. You wince and grimace as though you struggled to remain so. Later I realized it was the battle between your head and your heart.

A new heart, a new place; where the stress of our world was far away. That’s what you found yourself. Now you want me to let go because you found a false release. I feel ashamed and dishonoured, but then I knew this would happen. You were an accident waiting to happen.

I have cried and cursed all at once, asking why? Why did God let it go this far? Don’t you get it? You are my prize, my treasure, my essence: You were not given to be shared or soiled, but that was what you chose; to share and soil your body and soul with another.

Forgive one mistake you say? I’m exhausted from rage and anger. Perhaps I’m guilty as charged. Funny thing though, is that I’m angrier with myself than I am with you. I kept pushing and pushing you to face what was happening. I wonder if I had not pushed so hard, perhaps you would have not gone so far.

We are now both in hell and I see your pain and mine every day. Why do you punish yourself so? Why? I know my sorrow and have made peace with these ghosts of pain. You my love need to take the first step towards healing. You need to forgive yourself. Your prison is self-made Betti, for long ago my love, I forgave you.

Angry yes, rage even more, but stopped loving you…never! Not for one day!

I have seen life through so many colours and many times I choose the colour Rose; because it shows beauty in even the ugliest of pictures. I am made this way, I have grown this way and this way I have found love in you.

There are no words to describe such beauty as my world as I see it in you. So accept my line and pull yourself up. As for me…I’ll wait here, and will wait still, until I feel your tug and I will pull you up.”

A Calmer and More Gentle Me

I recently had a personal crisis which put me in a really awkward position.

I suddenly realized that in all that I have come to regard as my character and make up, when it really comes to the crunch of a temptation or dilemma, my resolve seems to fly out the window. I came face to face with death, literally and somehow in my delusions it did not look dangerous at all.

I can honestly tell you that I was very comfortable taking those steps, and as each step brought me closer to my end, my journey seemed even sweeter and more worth the risks.

What is it that they say again? The road to perdition is paved with good intentions. In all that I experienced, I have come out with one very crucial and emphatic fact; at least in my personal reality… I’m not as clever as I thought I was!

I came to see that the personal standards and values I put out so visibly for all to see under the pretense or assumption that this is me and what I should be judged by; was my way of carving out a cocoon to protect my pride and ego.

In a way I believe that we all do this as human beings…we arrogantly want to dictate the standards we want to be judged by, but not the real and true picture of ourselves.

Life however does find a way of bringing it all crashing down! This is exactly what happened in my case. Looking back now, I am humbled by my experience and I thank God that I did not find myself too far gone to return. Basically, I will never arrogate superiority in character to myself, however, I will hope that at any given time, I will rise above the barriers presented and hope that something bigger in me will triumph over the bad.

I have also learnt that to love and show love is completely different from kindness, charity and all else. I discovered that love is in a whole new zip code solely occupied by its self.

Love is not driving 5 hours impromptu to get a friend or relative from the airport, and having faced the horrible traffic and weather; only to get there and hear your loved one whine about how long they had to wait, or what the hell took you so long?...Well people, love and the ability to love begins right there!...your response and genuine state of mind and disposition at that moment defines if you do possess love or not.

It’s amazing how the simple things are really the one that are most difficult to master, like ignoring that silly man down the road who finds real pleasure in parking right at an angle that it's difficult but not impossible to get out of your drive...or the one who thinks his kids are the best, but you and the entire block know for a fact that they are little devils intent on destroying the neighborhood.

The list goes on...but the fact remains that your ranting and raving will not get you anywhere.  But if you are able to block them out of your mind or just behave like they don’t exist, voila! Their interest is miraculously diverted to something else.

It’s amazing how the less attention you pay to things that ordinarily would annoy you, the quicker and easier they seem to go away! I previously never quite looked at it this way; I was always not ready to suffer fools gladly. The road down perdition boulevard certainly did a thing or two to my whole thought pattern...if you ask me, I think it's for good. I definitely feel so much calmer.

My So Called Life

I could come up with a million reasons why this life is not the sweet smelling flower I long it to be.
I could tell you right now that my sorrow has consumed what little hope I reserved,
Yet this sadness lingers and finally swallows me up.

All I see is the darkness and the depth of my soul
Gone so far in ruins that I wonder,
What reason is there left to seek.
Seek what you say?

A flicker of light perhaps, a sound or a ruffle;
Anything that can shake me to life.
Perhaps then, these reasons will dim and their numbers fall
So life can look brighter than I think it be.
Could it be that self-pity and pride have led to my myopia?
Could I really be this sad as to not see how life thrives around me?
Give me reasons to hope...just a little oh mind of mine,
For these walls of misery are wearing me thin.

Look all around oh petty feelings, peer into the horizon and see,
For what you think is lacking, really is there for the taking.

Sweet smelling flower?
What makes you think of life as such?
Even sweet can smell too much and the nose suddenly tires of the fragrance.
Sweet is not the only flavour to life,
Sour and tangy also make life good.
The mixture of all is what creates the perfection we embrace and each term reality.

Now stop! Stop oh soul...are we running away from the fact?
Focus on the subject...you are doomed!
Doomed you say? No! I refuse doom,
Suddenly I have the strength to fight.
Let me fight.

Let me fight for a chance to a life,
Perhaps not quite like the sweet smelling flowers I hoped,
But alas I will still be able to sniff, smell…
Even taste some aspect of life to make me want to stay
Come to think of it, why have I forgotten all that is reason to life?
I have it all around me; I hear them, feel them, smell them
Yet I forget. How indeed did my soul stray so far, that I stopped to think only of me...

The Many Faces of Love... Part Two

Continuation from part 1
The happiness of our good fortune came at a very good time for the family. We were able to treat the children and still had a huge lump sum to start over again. The main agenda however, was to get to Nigeria and finalize this thing we started, and perhaps lay a few ghosts to rest.



The thing about having a big family is that it's easy for friends and relatives to dump their kids on you, but you can't do the same. Seriously though, how do you pawn off seven kids on anyone? Funny…huh? You've got to see the humour in this. So we had to look for someone, friend or relative willing to move in for a month or so to help keep an eye on our precious ones. We did not have to look for too long; rescue came in the form of Uncle Femi, Tobe's business partner and brother from another mother.



Our preparations soon began and I got my trousseau according to Victorian standards. Even though I was not quite privileged to their bank balance, I do a mean thrift and vintage that would rival any real fashionista, if you get my drift. All I really needed was a simple but gorgeous gown for the reception and a good Gina...they do great shoes you know. Now there was also the matter of nipping off to Austria for some very fine voil lace for both me and the hubby. As we do it folks, you all know there has to be aso ebis right? That's where my many capable sisters eight in total come in. This was going to be one bad ass wedding and they were hell bent on making it so.


Tobe was still hustling, seriously determined to get this new company of his off the ground and thanks to our newly found mini fortune, he had something to bank on. He left all the organizing to me, said we had to live on something after the big giving. I laughed it off, never quite understanding what he meant, but I did much later when we got home in Naija.


I found the most amazing gown: vintage Dior, but was not so lucky with the Gina. One out of two ain't bad eh. You would never believe the stunner I finally found in Next Bridal. As for the lace, I scoured Liverpool Street. Somehow the hills of Austria did not make much money sense after all, wind fall or not.


As lady luck always followed me, I must brag that I did A-okay with my finds as well. The children were buzzed about the whole wedding thing, though the older ones were a little curious as to why we had to do it all over again. Whatever happened to the Registry over at the Council office, mom, Timothy asked?


His aunt, his dad's older sister had to explain about the traditions, whilst Uncle Femi got the job of promising the others they would all come to Naija next time. "It's not fair mom" the twins moaned in their silly whinny voices..."How come David goes everywhere?" "That's because he's the baby" uncle replies. Duh! Timothy teased.


The house was bustling with the usual crowd of kids dashing in and out, and my in laws who were now frequenting more than usual considering the coming event. Things were been taken care of this but we had to have help on the ground there in Naija and that was resolved by my lovely brother in law David, we named our baby after him. His wife is my little sis Ibuchim but we all called her Buchi. Now these two were typical Lagosians who had their ear to the ground on all the deals both legit and not so.


Between them they handled a lot of the organizing and putting things in place. But even though they steered clear of the not so legit, they knew someone who knew someone if the need ever arose. This time it did, and so they called on the someone who knew someone to handle certain matters.


The family in naija had their own aso ebi and the States side of the family also had theirs. There was still the matter of the in-laws from the Yoruba land...my people or so I thought. Our colour for my birth family was peach and green, my people, the Yoruba's, chose blue and silver and my sisters in naija decided on gold head ties for the Umunna's (relations at large) and Ndi Ibe ( my age group) I will explain later about these .



My mom had to get to naija from the states the same week as me to present a gift to our Umuada (daughters of my linage) to inform them of the upcoming visit for my hand and also plead for their help with cooking for certain members of my clan who would not on occasions such as this, eat food prepared by unworthy hands, no pun intended.



The further along we went with these preparations, the more I came to find out about how this most simple and beautiful tradition we were so keen to fulfil had been adulterated. The whole thing left a somewhat bitter taste in my mouth; but everyone else was amused and in good spirits...could be because they had done battle with these people and not only lost, but took great gladness in what they gained in return, their beautiful wives and once lost dignity.


Everything took its toll, between liaising with naija and the states and desperately striving to double up and fill the two deep freezers in our store located in the back garden with 3 different kinds of soups, stews, bean porridge, Jellof rice, Moi-moi, fried fish, meats and chicken. These all had to be individually packaged to serve the kids and uncle for the next 3 to 4 weeks until our return. Other things like the oyinbo food would come from Mac D's or Bugger King and our local chippie. I was definitely swamped, but am not called supermom for nothing; this gal pulled it all off! Nice and neatly delivered and in target time as well...up me!


The last time I attended a wine carrying was back in 05; my oldest sister's. All I had to do was make myself beautiful and show up for the whole shindig; this time around was a different kettle of fish. There was so much to organize; money had to be sent down to David to pre book for the band, pay the caterers deposit and also accommodate the Photographers and video folks. Thanks to internet banking the transfer of funds was easy and as far as other things such as decorations and theme, my capable sisters took care of that.


Here in London, as we put the finishing touches to everything, the days seemed to fly. The children became clingy and the yearning for Naija soon increased in all of them. Having visited back in 04 for my brother in-laws wedding, my darlings were had so much fun and were spoilt rotten by all the relatives; hence their fascination for everything Naija had set in since then.



They remembered the beaches and Mega Plaza, all the Suya and fresh roasted corn; practically living in Ikoyi club, swimming all day. I did not like the idea of leaving them behind, but when you have to cut your coat according to your material, the story becomes different.



The last days before our departure was spent reassuring them that it would not be for long and that we would soon be back. Timothy and the bigger ones however were not too troubled, a little more freedom for them they thought, I'm sure; but surprises lay ahead for them courtesy of good old uncle Femi. Thankfully they were in school the day we left, so all the goodbyes were said earlier in the morning just before they left.

The bad thing about international traveling since 911 is the ridiculous hours wasted on the ground before take off. In this instance, ours was a good 5 hours, this was so not cool especially with a 2 year old. The nightmare of customs and immigration was nothing compared to the horrible transit bus to the plane itself.



I have flown BA all my adult life, but this particular experience left me so frustrated that I made a mental note...never again!

When you are on board an airplane going to Naija, there's a certain atmosphere in it, even before take off that gives off the feeling of being home. Perhaps it's the sudden familiar babbling in our various languages and that crude manner we tend to treat each other, regardless of class or status, courtesy and good manners immediately eludes us...aah...how so sweet.



After the gruesome experience, we are finally settled down and as we taxied for take off, I glance at my Tobe and his expression could not hide his apparent self pity of being in coach...got to love this!.



Take off was good and as the turbulence settled, dinner was served and the cabin crew did their usual magic of clearing up and passengers soon settled for the long haul to Lagos. David soon fell asleep after a bottle and gratefully I placed him in the bassinet. As for me, I was elated to finally stretch out my legs and put my arms around my body in a self hug....okay coach was awful, but it was not the end of the world.



I felt truly humbled sitting between Tobe and an overweight sweaty German who already showed signs of being one of those people who will talk you to death. The good thing though was that he smelled lovely...Armani pour homme; I know that fragrance any day. He was definitely Gay I thought almost happy; if he was a talker as suspected, we would have some real gal talk, lol.



The great thing about night flights was the sleep effect....before long, half our section in the cabin was in snooze-land and the global map on my screen gave our estimated arrival time to be 4hours more.Tobe also finally fallen asleep but my eyes were wide awake. I began to think about home and curious as to how this whole affair would play out.



We had seen a copy of the LIST....this was a list of items and services primarily expected by the groom to deliver to the bride's family. "you are not going to like this David had warned when he emailed it to us, they had asked for everything...from the most ridiculous to the down right stupid. They all but asked for a pound of flesh. He was right, I was livid. I carefully went through the 65 item list and narrowed it to 40. At that number, the total cost was still staggering. Remembering all this, I promptly got it out of my handbag and stared at it once more.



My mother in law screamed "ye kpa " and broke into a banter of Yoruba proverbs about how these Igbo people have turned something sacred to a treasure hunt. I happened to be on the phone with her when she received it. "Mommy! isn't this a plague consuming everywhere in our beloved country?" I said to her amused.



The more I stared at the list the more I began to miss my late father; had be been alive, half the nonsense on this list would not be on it. Tobe's response was just grin and bear it,"after all, we've already begun this journey". David began to stir a little and I gently rocked him back to sleep in his crib. Now would not be a good time to whip out my double D's to pacify him, my little man was still sucking.



Somewhere between self pity and indignation, I too fell asleep. Though I slept for a good two hours, it felt like 30 minutes. I was awakened by the flood of light that illuminated the entire cabin. The cabin suddenly came to life again and the airline staff scurried along with their duty of serving the last refreshments before arrival. Tobe's vegetarian platter looked better than the Ploughman's sandwiches the rest of us in coach got, my opinion of course.



He looked up at me as I reached to grab David and I winked at him. He seemed a lot less tense now and David began to reach for him...our German friend, who simply smiled and stretched his arms towards me. "I'll hand him over" he said between a mouthful.



Our little man happily reached for his outstretched hands and let out the loudest coo....aahh! German guy says smiling as he gave Tobe his son. I got our things together, prepared some formula for David and went to freshen up while others ate in order to avoid the rush afterwards. In the toilet, I splashed some water on my face and dabbed with paper towels. The face staring back at me looked tired, but still hanging in there. Not bad for a 37 year old huh? I thought to myself. I could still recognize that face.

I hastily applied some moisturizer to my face and arms and hurried back to my seat. The crew were already collecting papers and finished snacks...hence the trolley in the aisle. After several minutes of ducking between seats, I finally made it to mine. Tobe had just about finished with changing our little man and our German friend had left for the toilet. For the first time in the entire trip, my love and I were finally alone....at least for the next 3 minutes or so.



Matter of minutes now babes, I said touching his chin; not too late to change your mind. He smiled in that way only he could; eyes twinkling and face lite up "not for a million baby, it's a done deal already" he replied passing David to me.



The entire cabin was now fully awake once more as passengers prepared before the final call to be seated for landing. I mentally took stock of our belongings and where there where stowed. The smooth sound of the Captains voice soon urged staff to be seated for landing and we gradually descended until the thump familiar sound of the wheels hitting the runway could be heard and gradually the speed decreased until we came to a final stop.



The only way to go through disembarking from the plane was with calm and patience,and we did just that. There was no need to get my panties all twisted up so early in the next 2-3 hours of a hellish morning that was just about to be unleashed upon us....welcome to Naija!


The common rituals of immigrations and customs were observed and after many faked smiles, forced parting so to speak with a few Naira; we finally came through the other side. The family had done well in arranging transportation for us and as we wheeled the luggage and stroller down to the parking lot, my cousin Charles and the driver chatted animatedly with us.

After 30 minutes or so, we finally got everything into both cars and Tobe rode with the driver whilst David and I rode with my cousin. It was good to be in Lagos.


Traffic was not so bad and the familiar sights of flyers, billboards and street hawkers was welcome to my eyes.

Everyone is so excited about your Igabankwu, Charles said to me...in fact all the Oborogu people in Lagos are said to be coming to the village also. "really?" I asked.


This was really nice to hear, but I knew it also meant more expenses. The union of my people voting to come home for my traditional wedding was really a big honor. These days folks were not too keen on spending their money, but to paying their own fares to get to the east? This really was a big deal.



We must make sure there's plenty to eat and drink that day sister, Charles continued taking the words right out of my mouth. Yes indeed, we had to make it worth everyone's time.


The journey to my family home in Ajao estate did not take long. The estate was just minutes from the international airport anyway. The old house was still standing...looking old and tired but still standing. As we pulled into the drive, the gates were quickly closed behind us and soon the few relations who lived in the boys quarters all came out to greet us.


Familiar faces; some now wrinkled with age, yellowing teeth and wide eyed grins. It was wonderful to see them all. There was an uncle deported from the soviet union and one who fought in the Cameroon war; I will tell you more about them as we go along. There was sisi Beke (English teacher) she spoke way too much grammar. She was a middle aged family friend, educated in Cambridge, but taught English in a local secondary school...another strange story for later. Then there was uncle BOY...yes boy; that's just what we call him; his wife and 3 daughters made up the rest of the house hold.

Their hugs were genuine and smelly, but it felt good being in their embrace. They all greeted Tobe in a manner typical Igbo in-laws would, the men that is. "Ogor nno o! welcome". Tobe knew them all, and soon the little girls swarmed around David wanting to carry him and of course he did not protest at all.

When all the luggage had been brought in and put away in the rooms, we sat in the lounge downstairs to contemplate on where we would sleep for the night, when we got our official welcome from NEPA...

TBC

Questioning The Bonds of Friendship

It is true that as parents we are the architects of our children’s take on life. While many try very hard to do their best, there are still some who don’t quite make the mark.

Unfortunately the right to procreate has been given to all; as HE does not discriminate. Success in parenting the right way is determined by things way beyond commonsense. There are kids who have everything as appropriately required from the beginning, yet still get messed up.

Cruelty and betrayal are taught to us every day of our lives by both kin and strangers. I believe it’s the world we now live in. Take a look around. It’s in your face every day: reality shows, peer pressure, sports, etc. Heck, we even have motivational speakers teaching cruelty and hatred; all in the name of getting one over.

This is the new culture for young people and they learnt this from society as a whole, not just parents. The real task is how do we stop this? Or at least make our children remember that they always have a choice to be the weirdo or odd ball, if the need ever arises or to make that choice to either stand out or join the status quo.

Two separate incidents come to mind. The first incident took place some years ago…

One evening, a friend of mine called from London. The kids had just finished dinner.  I was surprised she called, seeing that it was around 2am over there. From the sound of her voice I knew something was bothering her.

Chelle! I exclaimed happily.

“How the heck are you gal?”

“Just hanging by my lonesome” she replied in that throaty voice of hers.

“What gives Chelle? Why are you up at 2am, by your lonesome at that?” I replied mimicking her voice to make her laugh.

And laugh she did and it was throaty and contagious. I love her laughter, deep from the belly as my grandma used to say.

“It’s snowing freakishly over here.  Central heating is on the blink and I’m too cold to fall asleep”.

“Hmm… great time for nookie. Why aren’t you wrapped around that handsome man of yours?

There was silence for a moment, then she says “handsome has been gone for two months now, and I….

“What do you mean gone? I cut in.

“Gone as in the hell out of my life” she replies calmly.

***

Chelle and I have been friends from High school. She was just one of those people you could always depend on; kind to a fault and always there when you need someone. Unfortunately she just was not lucky in love.

I think it’s the bleeding heart syndrome she has, and men have taken advantage of this for so long. Until Money (that’s her boyfriend’s nick name by the way,) came into her life.

Money was devilishly handsome and brash, but in a really sexy sort of way. Chelle’s first response when he started talking to her was standoffish, which surprised us all because she is the sweetest thing ever; regardless of the makeup of the other person.

This made the chase even sweeter for Money and he persisted. Flowers, texts, calls etcetera. He did all the right things to get her attention. Chelle still ran. Money eventually grabbed her one day in front of her mom and planted one smack on the lips. The room seemed to freeze that day, everyone starred, surprised while Chelle’s mom had a wicked grin on her face.

Chelle tried to pull away, but he was stronger. I guess she liked his lips, and whatever Money’s tongue was doing in her mouth seemed to be working because she relaxed and kissed him back. Everyone cheered and clapped, Money laughed and took a bow, walking over to Chelle’s mom and gave her a hug.

Poor Chelle, you should have seen her face. It turned out Money had been talking with her mom and she had encouraged him to go for it. You see, Chelle is her only child. A mother gets weary watching love come and go season after season. She wanted desperately for Chelle to be happy.

That’s how Chelle and Money came to be a couple. He has been a hustler all his life. He was that boy who sold sweets in elementary school at three times the price to desperate classmates because recess was over and they had no choice. He peddled purses, shoes, clothes…you name it, he did almost anything for a quick buck; this was in high school. University saw him dealing phones, dvd’s …anything to keep cash flow going. And so everyone called him Money, because he loved the dealings and was darn good at it.

Now all grown up, Money had not done badly at all… he was obscenely loaded! This was one relationship I believed was meant to be, they were good for one another. To hear Chelle say he had gone was rather unsettling and sounded out right crazy!

***

“Hey! Hey! Slow down Chelle. WTF…what do you mean he’s gone?”

Her voice broke as she began to speak…It started about three months ago when she had the flu.

Another gal pal of ours, Sonia came over to play nurse. All went well as she made soup for Chelle and kept her company because Money was out of town. He called several times in those two days, but mainly spoke with Sonia. Chelle was asleep most times and when Sonia woke her up to speak with him, Chelle would say she should talk with him…heck, they all were friends. There was no reason for her to feel strange or otherwise. Sonia took care of her from that Friday until Sunday after midnight when Money finally made it home. He took Sonia back to her flat, and by the time he got home, Chelle had fallen asleep again.

Everything seemed fine until she began to notice that Sonia was not showing up for any of their gatherings any more. She avoided her calls and several times when they planned for lunch or something, Sonia would cancel at the last minute. She mentioned it to Money but his response was “women!”

Chelle’s mum managed to calm her down. She knew Sonia was one of her daughter’s few close friends still present there in London, so once more she decided to play God in her child’s life.
She decided to pay Sonia a visit; maybe she was going through something difficult herself and did not know how to handle it. One day after work, she drove down to Sonia’s street and soon found a suitable parking space. As she walked down to the building, she suddenly stopped in her tracks. At the corner by the end of the road, was parked Money’s jeep. That’s strange! She thought to herself. Alarm bells immediately went off in her head.

Unlike her daughter, Chelle’s mom was one tough broad. You really don’t want to mess with her.
Luckily she caught the door as another tenant entered, so she did not have to buzz Sonia. Her heart suddenly began to beat faster…she was scared all of a sudden. Somehow she already knew what she was about to find out, and though she knew the truth was important, she hated to be the one to tell her baby about it. Money!  That bastard! He was just like the rest of them. How could Sonia do this? How could she?

The elevator took her to the tenth floor and with slow tentative steps she approached the Sonia’s door. Voices came through faintly from inside. She stood there for a minute and then rang the bell.

“Who is there?” Sonia’s musical voice asked?

“Management” Chelle’s mom answered disguising her voice.

As the door flew open, she pushed past a stunned Sonia into the flat. There, sprawled on the rug was none other than the bastard himself Money; half naked in his boxers nursing a glass of brandy.

“You” Chelle’s mom gasped launching for him

“Mariam! Noooo!” Money yelled jumping to his feet to grab his pants. It was already too late.

Chelle’s mom grabbed a lamp and flung it at him, he dodged and it crashed to the floor. Sonia was hysterical by now, hands cupped together as if in prayer “Oh my God, oh my God” she kept chanting.
Money had one foot in his pants and was still hopping around like a court jester, as Chelle’s mom snaps away on her phone.

“Shameless, classless bastard! God! To think I got Chelle into this!” She yelled at him.

Money now in his pants moves away from her, hands on his head with the kind of look that says “I’m seriously fucked” begins to speak.

“Shut up!” chelle’s mom roared.

“You only reverted to type, as for you…” she turns to Sonia, “I hope he is truly worth betraying your best friend over”.

Chelle’s mom walks out of the flat, Sonia’s sniffling fading away as she approached the elevator. It was then that she felt the tears rolling down her cheeks.

***

 “Seriously!” I gasped horrified.

“WTF! WFT…!” was all I kept repeating. It didn’t sound real to me as Chelle narrated her horror to me.

Not exonerating Money in anyway, but I was more shocked over Sonia’s part in all of this. She and Chelle were the only two out of six of us living in London. The rest of us lived in different parts of the US.  Sonia and Chelle grew even closer over the years. Sonia had gone through a traumatic divorce five years ago after ten years of marriage. We all know she pulled through only because of Chelle.
We meet up once a year for two weeks, no kids, men or emotional baggage; just us gals. We had been doing this for four years now. Sonia’s face came to my mind, sweet beautiful Sonia. Her husband, Anthony, had cheated on her for years until she found out. He took everything in the divorce; the one thing she treasured and got was Jr. their 9 year old son.

Anthony stuck him in some silly private school in Switzerland, just because he could afford to, and also to make Sonia miserable. How could she now turn around and do the same thing to another woman? It wasn’t for material gains; Sonia was rich, as in old money kind of rich. Her dad was in real estate and owned premium buildings in London, N.Y, and South of France. Everyone had frowned when Sonia came home one day with this Benin boy. He was rough around the edges, working class background with a genius IQ, and a hunger to succeed.

Sonia was a wild child and she liked to wind her father up, so she stuck with him. Years later, Anthony’s hunger paid off, and he started making money. They marry against her father’s wishes, and when it ended, he was the first to say “told you so”.

How is it that Sonia has now developed amnesia all of a sudden? How could she now turn around and betray Chelle, over any man, much less with Money, whom she has known less than three years?

***

Chelle’s voice comes on again and she tells me that her mom did not tell her what she had found out immediately.  That day when Money came home, he was cold and withdrawn. Chelle had asked what was wrong, he said he was unwell. Poor baby she said reaching to give him a hug, thinking perhaps she had given him her flu. He stiffened when she held him, and still did not suspect anything. Instead she called her mom to have a chat; all worried about Money and his wellbeing. Her mom had had just about enough of him that she screamed that Money was a bloody grown man and why the hell was she fussing so much about his flu.

Chelle freaked out and began to cry. She wondered why was her mom being such a bitch and then she hung up. She felt all alone; Money was not feeling well and was withdrawn…and her mom had gone all psycho. She said she cried herself to sleep, but not before trying to call Sonia to talk with her, but as usual, no answer.

The next day her mom came over just before going to work. She simply handed Chelle the phone and said “here”. At first she did not make sense of it, Money looked rather silly hoping around with one leg in his pants.  Wait a minute she thought, how the hell did her mom come by such a picture? It was then her mom sat down and told her everything.

Chelle said she could say nothing. After what seemed like hours but really only twenty minutes, she cuddled up to her mom and began to cry. Chelle said Money never came home after this day. He came by later that month to pick up his things; always making sure she was out of the flat. Chelle never bothered to ask why or what happened, and Money never explained either. As for Sonia, Chelle said she later called her, several times but did not speak with her. The last she heard from friends, Sonia was in rehab.

They said she left her flat in her panties with no bra. The building security called her dad; he was the landlord. He came for his daughter, and put her in a facility. She feels sad for Sonya; her father finally has control over her.

***

I have kept more in touch with Chelle. She’s doing so much better now, but it took some time. I contacted our four friends and told them Chelle’s story. Like me ,they were shocked that Chelle had kept all this to herself. We arranged our meet later that year in Denver. This time Chelle came alone; she told us Sonia was on the mend and that they had started speaking again but still had not seen each other since the incident.

The rest of us were happy to be there. We talked, laughed, cried and talked some more.

Chelle met someone in Denver, He’s half Nigerian.  His father is Italian and his mother Igbo. Chelle now seems happy.  A lot more talkative and witty… There was a radiant glow in her face that we all noticed, and liked very much. We told her to be naughty and spontaneous. Adaku the loudest mouth amongst us yelled “live a little” as she pulled Chelle down into the snow. Adaku works for the U.S. Marines and knows twenty easy ways to kill a man and she tells men so. She’s been married now for thirteen years and Okey knows he is marked for life. She tells Chelle to let her know the next time any man wants to mess with her.

Okay, I have to go back to my introduction before this story; relationships are built in diverse ways. We all want the most worthy basis to be TRUST. Looking back to my friends and I; I begin to wonder about something that also happened more recently.

This really creeps me out. Just last week, we took the kids bowling and ran into a friend from their school. The girl’s mother says “hello” and they pick a lane next to ours. We soon began to talk whilst the children bowled. She tells me she was glad they ran into friends of her daughter Kayla….”she’s been miserable since Friday” her mother says.

Why I ask? Then she goes on to tell me about a group of girls whom Kayla had been friends with since kindergarten, how they had removed her as their friend on Facebook. “That’s not nice” I say really surprised.

I know, Kayla’s mom replies…would you believe they told her they did it because two boys from their school had asked them to do so. They say my little girl thinks she’s so cool but they will teach her a lesson. If the girls did not do it, they would not talk to them anymore and they would also be deleted from their Facebook.

You can imagine my horror…people these are 4th graders! I begin to wonder what kind of a world we live in, when little children terrorize each other and Facebook has become a weapon to oppress.
As I watched the kids bowl and play together, I smile broadly. Kayla was so cool. She was a gorgeous little brunette who would definitely become a stunner in the near future. My question Is, how could her childhood friends give her up so quickly over some boys?

Then there were these little boys who have already began to exhibit traits of dominance so early in life. What exactly had them spooked so young that their desire to control consumed them so? I discussed with Kayla’s mom at length, curious to find out what her child’s initial reaction had been.
She told me Kayla had asked all of the girls what was more important to them, their friendship or doing what some boys they did not even know wanted, just because they thought they were cute. She told them it was up to them to choose.

Wow! What a remarkable child I said, looking her way as she threw her bowling ball and cheered on until it struck the pins. “Her little heart was crushed when all those little freaks one after the other deleted her as a friend” her mother replied, clearly hurting for her child. Hard to believe how young it starts huh? She said softly.

I immediately look across to my girls, they were on Facebook too. In fact I signed them up myself in order to monitor everything they do. How would they react to such a thing happening to them? Had I made a mistake by letting them join? Are their little hearts able to take such rejection?

My girls are twins and are very close. In fact they are best friends and tend to have this shield around themselves from everyone. I tell Kayla’s mom to make sure she sends a friend request to my girls, “they will never do what a boy tells them to do “I say with a wink, it’s a twin thing…but am I really sure, I begin to wonder?