Solitude

Solitude

For the last 24 hours I have neither eaten nor drank anything. I did not speak to a single soul. I set eyes on no one on account of being locked up intentionally in my room.
I read my SMS but responded to none. I had turned off my mobile data and done the same to the Internet service provider modems of which I had two. I had shutdown my laptop as well. I had unplugged the TV and DSTV.

I had set the status on my Whatsapp profile to “SMS only”. I have to remember to change it. So I have more or less been cut off from all social media.

On the table is a plate with 3 slices of bread which I kept just in case. There’s a bag full of 20 pieces of 50-CL water sachets just in case as well. I didn’t touch either the bread or water. There’s half a bucket of water which I finally dipped a small face towel into and used to wipe my face and torso sometime in the afternoon. Not that I was really uncomfortable or sweaty but it was something to do. 24 hours is a long time.

I had a fan running all day courtesy of the inverter. No AC since there’s no electricity supply from the mains since morning. I was loath to open the windows during the day even when the temperature went up. It came close to being unbearable at some point.

As at 9PM I had 49 missed calls. Probably from under 20 people. Most are probably work related. Most of the SMS are from automated systems at the various banks at which I held accounts. It’s surprising that even on our birthdays especially those of us who are naturally reticent the few number of calls we get. I suspect when I enable mobile data on my phone and put on my laptop, there will be plenty of impersonal one-liners from friends and acquaintances. We get what we sow. Someone who wants friends must show himself friendly or something like that so I cannot complain. On the other hand, the Yorubas say it’s impossible for the same 20 kids to remain close friends for 20 years.

I am grateful for the calls (apologies for not accepting them) and those one-liners. The fact that people even take the pains to write them means they spared you a thought even during their busy schedules. Thank you.

I have read a ton of Sherlock Holmes and come away with the believe that “The Yellow face” is one of the best of his engagements. I am sure it’s based on sentiments: especially the ending. I read most of the book “The Rhineland Mystics: an anthology”.

I remember for some reason that the word “interregnum” is one of my most favourite words.

I did a few other “things” while alone in my room of course. I tried to exorcise myself of some of my personal demons. I am not sure if how successful I have been but hopefully I am better now in all aspects than I was 24 hours ago.

At 9:44PM someone put on the generator and it was blissful to feel the first waves of cool air wafting from the AC.

A little “Sunshine” would have made a world of difference but she shines a long way away across the oceans.

I cannot say if I have achieved anything permanently positive by my actions of the past 24 hours though I hope so.

Final tally was 54 missed calls, several SMS and 119 new Whatsapp messages. I suspect most of them are from my secondary school class Whatsapp group.

Now that the “break” is over, I intend to take a proper bath and then go and indulge in something light. After all, it’s my birthday.

NB: apologies again to all those who tried to reach me. I will get around to returning the calls and SMS shortly.

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I prayed …

I prayed …

It was chilly
It was cold
It was bloody freezing
I prayed she would change: her mind
But “He” just laughed.

It was raining
It was wet
It was bloody soaking
I fasted: till I lost some pounds
But “He” wasn’t moved.

It was sunny
It was bright
It was bloody cooking
I thought I laboured: in his vineyard
But “He” saw my unbelieve

It was fresh
It was breezy
It was bloody leaves-dropping
I have never wished for anything: more
But “He” wouldn’t be “manipulated”

It was chilly
It was cold
It was bloody freezing
I prayed she would change: her mind
But “He” just laughed.

 

* First and last stanza are the same to illustrate life’s unending cycle – or maybe my mental laziness.

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Till we meet again

Till we meet again

“Afternoon. Are you going to Lagos?” asked the lady waiting her turn after me at the airline’s counter.
I responded with a tentative yes.
“Can you look after my daughter? Her father will come and pick her up at the airport.”
I found out later that she’s 10 year old. Almost 5 feet tall.
I laughed and asked why she was OK asking me to look after her daughter. “Do I look that trustworthy?”
“Don’t worry. It’s Nigeria” she said laughing in return.
Numbers were exchanged and the father called immediately to speak with me.
They said their goodbyes (the mum asking for a hug and then complaining playfully when she got an awkward hug from the girl).
We went through the scanner and sat next to each other in the waiting area. She’s very quiet which was perfectly fine by me.
But since we were going to be there for another 90 minutes or so, and she had nothing visible that might distract her, I thought I better try at least.
First few questions were answered with nods, and side glances. Then I put up a movie on my laptop and asked if she liked 3D movies. She told me she couldn’t quite see what’s on the screen. She’s had glasses for two years. But the glasses were in her checked-in luggage.
Our subsequent discussion covered lots of things. She used several “big” words and some of her ideas were beyond her years. Maybe it’s that 6 months of schooling she had in England when she was much younger …
She doesn’t watch 3D films because they are not realistic.
And no animated kiddie films either. She only watches mature films. She’s seen World War Z, all the Fast and Furious films, several movies that are definitely rated well beyond her age. She says she watches them with her dad.
She hates Sponge Bob with a passion (“how can a sponge ….”) and her school mates think she’s weird. I told her we all have our preferences. No 3D animated talking animals either because animals don’t talk in real life.
She doesn’t like corn flakes. But she likes cereal and oats. She likes golden morn because it’s made of maize. She doesn’t like wheat (meal) either.
She hates eggs, peanut butter, red meat (there are bacteria that can not be killed by heat. I suggested if it’s cooked long enough on high heat, all the bacteria would die. But she responded that the meat would become too soft and she doesn’t like soft meat), pounded yam, yam, broccoli (suggested by me). But she likes Egusi soup. I agree. I like Egusi soup too.

“Everything in this life is boring.
Especially all those Yoruba films! Eeew! All those Yoruba women. That come out in their wrappers. Just because they want to say bye bye to someone.”
She doesn’t like boring people.
Her grandma is boring. Always telling stories of World War I and this or that General.
I suggest those are the best stories. She insisted she has “current affairs” class in school for that.
She doesn’t like several tribes in Nigeria. One tribe is always fighting. Can’t remember the reason she gave for the others.
“Edo people are …” She started.
“Nice?” I attempted to complete the sentence for her.
“Noooo. My granddad is always “if you touch that thing I will flog you alive!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We are now on board the plane.
“This plain better not crash.” She says.
“Before I die I will kill the plane.”
“How?” I asked.
“I don’t know” she said. Then added: “I will blow up the engine.”
A child will always be a child (strange logic: blow up the plane before it crashes.)
There were other kids and several were somewhat loud. “That’s how they will be making noise” (she had mentioned much earlier that she didn’t like noise).
“Let me talk like the soldier in my school” (she mimicked the soldier):
“I hate noise. If you make noise, I will show you wetin you be!” (She’s a year one student in an air-force secondary school).
She’s cold. I said I don’t think I have anything that might keep her warm in my bag. Her pair of socks and her better sweater were in her checked in bag. She says she’s different (referring to the fact that she’s cold).
She wondered why I had a bag on-board.
“I didn’t check in any bag” I said.
“Why?”
“Because it’s small enough to put in the overhead compartment.”
“So a smart person can put a bomb in his bag and bring it on-board?”
“They still scan it. Remember when we went through the scanner?”
“Can the scanner see what’s in your body?”
“Yes. It looks like x-ray”
“So what’s private is no longer private” she declared.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We made it safely to Lagos. We got her luggage off the carousel. I offered to get the bag but she insisted that she can handle her own bag and that she carried even bigger loads). I had to smile at that. Her dad (a friendly Pastor) was waiting at “arrivals” with a lady. I tag along with them to the outskirts of the airport. I drop off because their destination is in the opposite direction to mine. I said goodbye to the dad and the lady that came with him, and as I closed the door, I said a final “Bye Bye, Jessica.”
Maybe we will meet again, maybe not. I had suggested it earlier and she said she didn’t think so. I think the reason she gave was something along the line of not being that regularly in airports or on planes.

I meant to take a cab. But the middle-aged gentleman I asked for directions at the bus-stop turned out to be a military officer (in mufti) whose first retort was “Why waste so much money?! See that pedestrian bridge over there? Walk across it sharply like a strong man. Take a bus going to Oshodi-under-bridge. It’s only 50 Naira. Climb to the top of the Oshodi bridge. You will get another bus going to CMS or Obalende.” I told him I could find my way from any of those two places. Thus my “Ijebu” kicked in and I had another uneventful trip switching buses 4 times before getting to my final stop. The whole trip cost 450 Naira instead of possibly 5,000 Naira or more (if I had taken a cab from the airport). I made a picture I took of both of us while seated in the plane my Whatsapp profile picture. A friend asked if she was my girlfriend. Another suggested she’s my daughter. I kept it up for the night and switched it out the following day.

I wonder if we will ever meet again. Maybe I should call the dad sometime and ask about those vicious German Sherpards (GSD) puppies she said they had. They are about 4 months old. I think I wouldn’t mind one if I got it for free.

I hope she grows up to be successful, and well-adjusted.

I don’t see why not.

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Dragonfly

Dragonfly

I owe God a question
And I know he will answer
I love it when it rains
I love the feel on my face
I love the thunder
I love the lightning
I love the crashing of the waves

I owe God a question
But first I will be refreshed by the heavens
I want to go running through the night
Free to shoot up like an arrow to the sky
Then fall like dead-weight back to earth
Turning and twisting at the last
Like a dragonfly skimming lightly over the waters

What is Liberty?
What is hope?
What is freedom
What is life itself?

I owe God a question
But I am distracted by the rain
I am back in my boyhood days
In my dorm lying on my bunk
Looking through the window
The heavens weeping for joy
While I ponder the sadness
That comes with the longing for home

I owe God a question
But I am busy listening to the rain
I like the music of the drops on the roof
I like the smell of the water in the field
I like the mud sucking at my feet
Like fairy fetters made of soil

I owe God a question
But that is for later when I see His face
Right now I want a pair of wings
To go skimming through the rain
Tattooed by the drops
Buffeted by the winds
Like a dragonfly on the wings!

4:04am 08-March-2016

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Reprieve

Reprieve

It was hot
It was dry
It was so humid
I could cry

It was Lagos
It was night
It was Jos
It was bright

He was sweating on the bed
She had rashes on her neck
He scratched till it bled
She opted for a trek

It was hot
It was dry
It was so humid
I could cry

It was you
Like Sunshine
It is me
Seeking solace in moonshine

It was thundering
I hoped it would rain
My mind is wandering
No reprieve from the pain

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Grey Matter

Grey Matter
Five hundred kilometers to Oshogbo and back in 24 hours. On my way back somewhere before Gbangan I wasn’t sure which turning to take at a fork in the road. The section of road was very quiet but fortunately, a couple of people stood by the roadside just before the fork. I pulled up, greeted them politely and asked about the turning. 
After answering my question, her younger male companion asked if the older woman could join me. Turns out she was going to Ikire which is after Gbongan on the way to Ibadan. I am not much of a talker so after some fairly mundane exchange, we settled into a comfortable silence with some news program on the radio providing the background sound. 

She had a relatively small basket with some bundles of what appeared to be spinach in it. I assumed it was for sale and it struck me I could buy a couple. I already bought some African snails and a well made vegetable soup with peppered snails suddenly sounded very appealing. 

“Mama. Is the vegetable for sale?” I asked, glancing briefly at her. 

“Yes my son. They are special though.”

“Oh. In what way?” Playing along thinking it’s a psychological move to increase the amount she’s going to ask for each bunch. 

“Ah! They are not for everybody” she says.

I smiled. 

“So who are they for then?”

“Special people.”

“Special people?” I asked. 

“Very special people.” she said.

“Am I special enough?” I asked joking. 

“It depends.”

“Really? On?”

“Yes o!” She said. 

I had to smile at her colloquial answer.

“I should think I am special enough.” I said smiling.

“Oh. Big man like you. You are definitely special. But not for this kind of vegetable. At least I hope not!”

“Ok ma. But I am a little confused. Isn’t it just spinach?”

“Yes and no.” she said with a smile. 

Her cryptic answers were starting to get a little old. I was considering dropping the whole thing when she went on.

“There’s evil in the world my son.” Something in her tone made me glance sideways at her. She was looking straight through the windscreen. The expression on her face a cross between sadness, loneliness and something I couldn’t quite fathom. I didn’t say anything.

After a minute or so, she went on. 

“Are you a good man my son?” This time she was looking at me in earnest. 

“I like to think so ma. But like everyone I have my issues.”

She nodded. That seems to pacify her a little as the expression on her face softened somewhat.

“Are you married?” She asked. 

“No I am not.”

“Why not?”

“Long story. Personal issues. Then there’s a girl. She’s far away yet I can’t or won’t consider anyone else”. I trailed off. 

“Is she that special?”

“Yes. Everyone else pales into insignificance before her.”

“Very beautiful?”

“Very very beautiful.” I smiled a little uncomfortably. The conversation was getting into painful territory. 

“And I bet light skinned as well.”

I glanced sideways at her. Was she perhaps a mind reader?

“Oh. No need for that look. Isn’t it what all you men are looking for?” She laughed. She went on before I could say anything. Not that I had a good response other than to agree. 

“Is she as light as I am?”

“Lighter.”

“Lighter ke? Is she albino or something? Very few people are naturally lighter than me o.”

“No. She’s not albino. But she’s still lighter than you.” I had to smile at her evaluation of herself. 

“Of course I am much darker now. It’s the sun. In my days ….”

She seemed to be lost in thought. The strange expression was back on her face and she was looking through the screen again at nothing specific. She just appeared to be gazing into the distance.

I kept quiet. 

“When you get married never raise your hand against your wife.”

I nodded my head.

I could sense she was going to go on. And I like a good story.  

“My husband was an evil man. He destroyed my life and the lives of his children. You won’t think it to look at me. I am not well read. I only finished primary school. I started trading after that. But like my mum I was industrious. I was quite comfortable by the time I got married to my husband. He was very charming when he was wooing me. But he became an animal after we got married. The beatings started. I even had a car and a driver at one point for my business as I was traveling a lot. He was stealing my profit and spending it on his girlfriends. Of course it took me some time to find out about the women. It affected me seriously. I couldn’t cope. And I think it was the day I confronted him that the beatings started. I tried reporting him to his family. But they took sides with him. My own family only cautioned patience. That I should keep my home together. I should overlook his womanizing. I should rest content in the fact that I am the woman at home. All the ones “outside” are transients. 

I was too independent and strong willed for that. It got so bad he would beat me not only with his fists and feet, but with anything he could lay his hands on. Slowly between his emotional and physical torture, stealing my money and my own inability to concentrate on the business, I started losing customers and made some irrational decisions as well. The long and short of it was that the business went down. It was gradual but before I knew it I had sold everything including the car just to survive.”

Silence. 

“The beatings only stopped briefly when I was pregnant. But started again not too long after I gave birth.

Even the baby in my hands couldn’t save me from his anger. Once or twice he hit the baby as well. I think that was when my feelings for him turned from indifference to hate.

* * * * * * 

The first time I met the old woman, it was completely by chance as I had lost my way while looking for a particular vegetable that was difficult to get when it was not in season. For some reason I had this unholy craving for it. The woman later told me nothing happens by chance. I don’t completely believe that. Nevertheless the sequence of events that followed shook my believe in ones ability to completely control ones destiny.

“Morning my daughter.” Her greeting shook me out of my reverie.

“Good morning, ma.”

“How are you doing today.”

“Ah mama. Life is good. All thanks to God.” But I wasn’t feeling good. We had been at it half the night and as usual I had borne the brunt of it. I was aching all over and it was all I could do to maintain a polite facade. 

“I understand my daughter. There’s I am alright and then there’s I am alright.” she looked at me with a cross of pity and concern in her eyes. I ended up spending the whole day with her. In between attending to her customers, I told her my whole story. She listened without a comment. It felt good to be able to talk to someone. 

She sent me away with some medicine for my pains and to let me sleep. Another round of beating was waiting for me at home of course, but I didn’t really care. Afterwards I took the drugs and woke up feeling better than I had in months.  

If anything my new found happiness just made the quarrels and beatings worse. But I took solace in my trips to the marketplace. Or to be correct, my trips to see “mama” in her stall. I became her unofficial student and assistant rolled into one. 

Before long, she started to leave me there on my own sometimes. I was to tell anyone who’s issue I couldn’t handle to return later. And those situations started to happen less and less frequently. 

There wasn’t a lot of money to be made in the trade. I guess she could have charged more, but she saw it as a sort of service to the community. Appreciative customers will from time to time go above and beyond of course. 

Things didn’t improve much at home. But I had become more patient and over time the beatings became less frequent. But didn’t stop entirely. By that time he had added drunkenness to his list of vices. 

I landed in the hospital the last time he laid hands on me. I was in a coma for a week. When I got out, I had a limp that became permanent. 

I went to the market when I was strong enough to make the journey. 

Mama was of course very happy to see me. She noticed everything and was quick to see the limp and healing scars. 

After fusing over me and listening to the whole story. She went silent then suddenly said “it is time.”

“Time for what mama?”

“Time for the sinner to get his just recompense and for the captive to be set free.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
“Now listen to me my daughter. You are not the first nor will you be the last woman to have violence perpetuated against her by the one person that should protect her from all harm. And once a man has raised his hands against you, it is the beginning of the end. Once, or even twice may be excused even though there’s no reason strong enough to justify violence against ones spouse. But usually in order not to hastily dissolve the union or in consideration of the children if there are any, the woman may be counseled to hold on. But more than twice is the end. It never stops. It may develop into cycles but it never stops. It usually ends with the woman either dead or irreversibly maimed in some way.”

“It is a man’s world out there. A woman has to look out for herself, and when she can’t do it alone, other women should help. I believe that’s why God made women develop emotionally faster than men. While young boys are still running around trying to break their necks (and sometimes succeeding) with dangerous pranks, young girls have already started behaving like young matured adults.”

She told me the plan in such a way that it sounded hypothetical. She allowed it to grow on me for several weeks before coming out to say it’s mine to carry out. It didn’t help or it helped depending on how you look at it, that my husband continued to beat me black and blue during this period. 

By the time she finally laid it on me in full, I was all for it with little to no hesitation. 

In order to allay suspicion, I was to go through a period of at least two months when I must move heaven and earth to ensure we don’t fight and put it out there that all is now right with the world. That is easier said than done of course. Because I rarely go two weeks without a beating. 

There were a few close calls but I did make it. He didn’t change. I just did the impossible and I tell you, it was stressful. You see the two months is to divert suspicion from myself. Humans have notoriously short memories when it comes to certain things. Like disagreements between couples. Once it stops, the talk is then about how devoted the couples are to each other. They quickly forget that a few months ago they were at each other’s throats. 

Then one sunny afternoon, she sat me down and told me what I had to do. The vegetable is potent when eaten within the first couple of hours. By the following day, the poison would have broken down completely. So even if you are forced to eat the same stew, nothing happens to you. 

I bought all the condiments, assorted fishes and meat and went home and prepared it just as instructed. I then feigned being tired. By the time he returned home, all I did was serve his dinner and return to bed. 

I should say I still had a little reservation about what I was doing even as I laid on the bed listening to him smack his lips and crack the chicken bones. He was even humming a tune under his breath. I guess it was the assurance mama gave that it was a painless death that made me see it through. 

By the time he came to lie down I was fast asleep. Which was strange but I guess I was too tired. I had thought I wouldn’t sleep a wink that night. 

I suddenly came awake in the morning at the first crow of some neighboring cockerel. It took me a while to remember what I was about but then I turned and looked at him. He looked as if he was in a deep peaceful sleep. But he was cold to the touch. 

I double checked to be sure but there was no sign of life. 

I laid back down and for some reason slept off again. 

The second time I came awake to the chatter of people passing by on the street. It was full daylight.

That was when I raised the alarm the typical way. Screaming and yelling for help. The house was full of people in a few minutes. After the initial commotion we managed to get him into a danfo bus and drove to the nearest hospital. He was declared dead on arrival. I joined the family in asking for an autopsy. The result of the autopsy was given as natural causes enervated by chronic alcoholism. 
I wondered around the house for days and observed my period of mourning after the burial which came up in less than a month after he died. I was too emotionally drained to feel anything.

There wasn’t too much trouble from his family as there was really no property or other valuables. We were as broke as they were. 
I started trading a little again but my heart wasn’t in it. It’s strange how my newly found freedom at the time left me feeling aimless and morose. I guess I wasn’t used to being alone. 
I think she knew from the beginning what would happen. That I would end up moving in with her. I learnt the trade. Including cures for many other ailments. 

When it was getting close to her time, she sat me down and in her usual direct and no nonsense way, she told me so. Then she divulged the formulas of even more special potions, and told me many secrets and even more cures. 

She said the work was important. 

I asked her what I should do when my own time comes.  

“Don’t worry my daughter. Your replacement will come well before that time. It is the natural order of things. Evil matches on without pause so the gods make provisions for good without ceasing.”

“I had many customers over the years before and after you. But they were just customers. But the moment I laid eyes on you some thirty three years after I first setup shop with the skills handed down to me just as I am handing it down to you today, I knew you were the one that would stay. When it’s time you will know in turn.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“My son. It’s a bad thing to take a life. Even today, I still get pangs of regret regularly when I think back to what I did. He gave me no choice. Because he had told me that if I ever leave, he would hunt me down and kill me. And I knew he meant it.

The act may be easy, but living with it is difficult. I have made my peace with God. Whatever is left, I will answer for it when the time comes. In the meantime, the work continues.”
I asked her how long she has been in the same trade. 

“Too long. My bones are starting to complain. I have a feeling that soon I will come face to face with my replacement. I intend to hand down the skills as they were handed down to me. I have modernized some of the cures. Made improvements to many formulas and potions by research and investigations. There are potions for almost anything that ails human beings. For even illnesses the Oyinbos think have no cures. There are potions that promote accord for example. What do the oyinbos have that does that without harm? Alcohol? Hard Drugs, sedatives? They appear to treat the symptoms but worsen the condition. All those things are all killers in the long run.”
“Is there a love potion ma?” I tried to sound nonchalant but the question came out of an encounter in my past when someone thought I might have tainted some “edibles” with it. I had laughed it off at the time because I didn’t believe there was anything of the sort.

“My son. Don’t let anyone deceive you. There’s nothing like a love potion. What you are doing is controlling the person’s mind via powerful forces. It is not love. The problem is that the mind is the person. It’s the seat of our soul. It’s central to a person’s personality. It’s not meant to be controlled by force. It’s meant to be controlled by persuasion. You see, when you hold a person’s essence bound by force in this way, even though they may appear docile or even happy, deep down a battle is raging. The subject is unwittingly permanently damaged. The end is always unpleasant. Some day the subject will break free. Depending on how emotionally stable the person is, you may get a person with intense hatred, or for people of weaker constitution, a mentally disturbed person emerges at the end.”

“You sound like it was your fault.” She said. 

I nodded.

“Life’s never how we want it. Yet we rise each new dawn – hopefully with renewed hope in our hearts.” She said. 

I nodded.

“Time truly does not heal all wounds. But it can reduce the pain to a dull ache that’s bearable.”

She laid a hand on my shoulder. I took a quick glance at her face. 

“The damage is done. But you should continue to do the right  thing.” She said. 

But what is the right thing? Silence? Distance? Distant silence?

The milk has been spilled and the jar has been shattered. The milk can no longer be gathered up nor the glass jar pieced together again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
We were at Ikire. 

“Goodbye son. I don’t think we will meet again in this lifetime. But sometimes once is enough.”

“Goodbye mama” I said. As an afterthought I asked her for her number. She didn’t have a phone, but she said, “If you really really require my services, you know my name and where to find me.”

Even though I couldn’t see my own face, I was sure the smile that was on hers was reflected on mine. 

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Blank

Blank

I am blank
Like a blackboard
Freshly blacked
Streaks of nothingness

I am blank
Like an expanse of the ocean
The leviathan rules the depths
So false is the surface calm

I am blank
Like a field freshly burnt
Black is the basis of new life
But black is also the sorrow that rode the flames

I am blank
Give in to the black hole
It should suck my past away
But would my consciousness survive

I am blank
I should enjoy each new experience
I have tried hard and harder
But without you I am lost

and blank

21/02/2016 (1:35am)

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On “time and chance”

On “time and chance”

Here’s a thought.

You meet someone you really like and want desperately to be “the one” (notice I said “want” and not “need” – until the other party agrees the general consensus is – whether people actually say so or not – is that it’s “want” and not “need” – but once both parties agree to be a couple it magically turns to need – this is an over simplification on my part, but it’s an idea that should be explored further with respect to infatuation/obsession which are undesirable “traits” of course).

I digress. So you want this person to be “the one” (or well, you might also feel/know this person is the one), but he/she says no.

You feel you are heartbroken (or something akin to it – or maybe it’s just unfulfilled/frustrated desires and nothing else), but people (both sexes, all religions) say it’s OK, move on, there are many fishes in the sea.

All fine and dandy.

But if that’s the case, why do (the same) people then expect (or hold the view/idea) that the ceremonies of one single day (wedding) with its attendant exchange of vows (during which time you could have got the couple to say almost anything with their emotions running wild and them being on euphoric “highs”) would automatically or magically change that view/belief?

In short one could argue that this view is predicated on the idea that while a person is single it’s OK to believe that people weren’t meant to be faithful to one partner for life but once we eat the jollof rice, that believe must magically change to the opposite? (I know I am exaggerating/over simplifying things – again :-). Human beings aren’t that simple and believes don’t change that easily – just because you recite some words – even religion has had a hard time of it, otherwise we should all be saints but as I was once told (correctly), “there are no saints anywhere”.

The point I am making is that people are “confused” if they (and that’s largely the case) support the above position. You can’t say you believe there’s “the one” for everybody out there and then believe as well that there are many fishes in the ocean (I tend to go with the latter position from a point of view of “time and chance” may ultimately determine who you end up with).

So “we” must choose one. Either:

1. We are not meant to be with one partner for life; there’s nothing like “the one”; and there are many fishes in the ocean,

2. Or, there’s indeed “the one”; and you can be lucky enough to find him/her; and you are expected to be with the person for life.

Thinking about the above a little more, I guess we can add a third possibility or a subgroup of possibility “2” above, which is:

3. If you don’t meet “the one”, then you might not remain (or are under no obligation to remain) with one partner for life.

The issue with 3 of course is that it’s likely to be abused – people are going to use it as justification for everything from emotional laziness (not willing to put in the work when things get rough or the initial spark cools) to just plain sampling something new based on purely animalistic urges (men more than women). Thus, this third possibility will open a Pandora’s box (which we have already been toying with for quite a while going by the rate of divorce and unfaithfulness in the society).

(Personally, my religious self prefers option 2 while thinking 1 and 3 are akin to blasphemy just the same way that the good book says that “God rules in the affairs of men” while mentioning somewhere else that “time and chance” happens to all men and women.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

4:30AM “rant”. Will (realistically probably not) return to it some day  to explore the subject in more details.

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F-1-4-A

F-1-4-A (“February 14 Anonymous”)

I am the knock on your window
I am the fierce desert storm
I am the rustle in the leaves
I am the kindling in the brush

I am the ache in your chest
I am the scrabbling at the door
I am the dying of the light
I am the Phoenix – some day

– from “Days of dreams” by Kayode Oluyinka

I was standing at the cards stand in the Stop Centre supermarket and gift shop in Victoria Island. I had my hand on one of the cards. I was wondering what I was doing. I knew what I had in mind. But still where would it end?

“That’s a nice card.”

There was an older woman standing next to me. Her diction and the elegant air she had about her spoke of sophistication.

I forced a smile. “Thank you ma.”

“Forgive my inquisitiveness. I should really learn to mind my own business. But are you planning to send that to some lucky young lady?”

To lie or not to lie.

“Well. Actually no. I did send one last year. But I won’t be sending any this time.”

“Oh. So why are you buying it?”

“It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here at all.” I said.

“It was nice meeting you ma.” I made to leave.

“I am sorry if I said something wrong.” she said.

“No ma. You didn’t.”

“Alright then. Can you help me pick out one?”

“OK ma.”

“What do you think of this one?” she says holding one up.

I examined the card. Read the inscription inside. My mind wasn’t really taking anything in. But I went ahead and said it was a lovely card.

“Thank you.” she replied.

“You are welcome ma.”

“I should be leaving .” I said.

“Why don’t you see me to the till.” She leaned towards me conspiratorially and whispered, “Won’t it be hilarious if they thought we are together?” she said laughing.

I smiled and she led the way. No harm in humoring her for another minute or two.

She paid for the card, stuck it in her bag and hooked her arm through mine and made for the door. The thought crossed my mind that anyone that sees us would probably assume she was my aunt.

She led the way towards her car. A monster of a thing with a driver behind the wheel.

“You are such a nice young man.” I held the door open as she got in the back.

“So if you are not buying nor sending a card, should I assume you are spending this evening alone?”

Ok. Now. This was bordering on the ridiculous. Was she hitting on me?

She burst out laughing. “Young man. I am not hitting on you. If that’s what you are thinking.”

I was embarrassed and laughed as well to cover it up. “Probably” I said.

“In that case, I would like to invite you to a meeting.”

I was about to throw up some excuse, but before I could come up with a suitable one, she continued.

“I can’t promise you would enjoy it. But I can tell you it’s an experience you would not want to miss.”

“And I promise there’s no hanky panky involved. Come formally dressed.” She had a sense of humour.

“What’s the meeting about?” I asked.

“What’s today about?” she responded.

“Does this meeting have any name or subject?”

“Ef-One-Four-Ey”

“Excuse me?”

“February 14 Anonymous. You will be my guest.”

I really should find that excuse. “What’s that? People addicted to February 14?” I said half joking.

“You could say that.” She said. She didn’t look like she was joking. In fact for a quick second, there was a flitting expression on her face that I couldn’t quite place. Still I hesitated.

“Be a sport. You can leave any time. And Lekki is not that far away is it.”

I weighed my options again. I had planned to go see a movie at the Genesis Deluxe Cinema by myself. Then indulge in some Bunny Ice Cream L”sin” afterwards and hit the Shawn Tee’s insanity exercise video with a vengeance tomorrow morning as a penance for my planned self-indulgence.

“OK.” I said. “Thanks for the invite. Let me have the address please.”

She scribbled it on the back of a complimentary card. “Here it is. And that’s my card.” I glanced at the text in front. The name was vaguely familiar. “Do you have one of yours on you?” she asked.

I took out my wallet and fished out one.

“Gotcha!” She said laughing. “if I don’t see you by 15 minutes to 8, I am going to start calling.”

“I will be there.” I said smiling. “That was neatly done.” I was referring to the way she got my phone number.

I closed the door and waved. “See you later ma.”

I stood there watching until the car pulled out into the street, then made my way to my own car.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I knocked on the gate of the house at the address she had given me earlier. I had waited in my car for about 20 minutes. I was expecting some traffic but the road had been free and I had arrived early. I was casually dressed but added a jacket in case it was more formal than I expected. I had a bottle of some wine in my hands. I don’t know why I decided to bring it. I was watching too many western movies I guess.

A gentleman opened the door for me and bowed a little.

“I am here for the meeting.” I said.

It was enough. Because he ushered me in straight away into what was probably the biggest seating room I have seen in a private house. There were less than 20 people in the room. I noticed immediately I was probably the youngest and also one of only 4 men in the room. There was a long narrow table set to one side laden with food. My stomach grumbled a little at the sight of all that food. It reminded me that I hadn’t eaten anything that day. My host called out my name and waved vigorously at me. I made for the empty seat beside her.

”I am so glad you came. I wasn’t so sure you would turn up.” She said beaming me at me.

“Have a seat” she said patting the seat beside hers.

She leaned over after I sat down. “Just so you know, you have to introduce yourself. You start by stating your name. Then saying that you are an addict. That’s just to make it fun. Then if possible, a few sentences about why you are here today, and not out with some young lady.”

That started my heart fluttering a little. I didn’t quite care for public speaking and the supposed subject made it even worse.

“Relax. Just think of it like taking an injection. It will be over before you know it.” she smiled and patted my hand.

What have I got myself into?

“Do you want something to drink? We are about to start.”

“No. Thank you.” my stomach was in a knot.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

An elegant lady seated across the room got up and tapped a spoon lightly against a glass cup in her other hand.

“Thank you all for showing up. If you look round, you might notice that there’s been some attrition right? We are fewer than we were this time last year. But I can see at least one new face.”

“This is of course the annual meeting of the February 14 Anonymous. But as you know, we communicate throughout the year and even meet from time to time in town, at various functions and so on.”

“Mrs Douglas sends her regrets. She had to fly out to England on short notice.”

“As is usual practice, we shall introduce ourselves. Starting from Yemi as she has told me the gentleman seated to her left is her guest.”

“Good evening all” said Yemi (I hadn’t seen a ring so wasn’t sure if she was Ms or Mrs).

“It’s so nice to see all of you again. My name is Yemi and I am an addict. As I always do, I have a card in my hands here.”

The lady continued. “Yemi has graciously agreed. Finally! To tell us her story today. So we will go round with the introductions first.”

Yemi (I keep thinking it is wrong to think of her as Yemi when she’s much older than me) squeezed my hand at that, I took a look at her face and noticed her smile was a little forced.

The room was silent. I looked round. They all had this expectant look on their faces and a kindly smile.

“Good evening all. My name is Tola. I am addict.”

“Welcome Tola” Echoed everyone in the room.

I must have been overwhelmed at some level because I surprised myself when I continued.

“I have spent all my valentine days alone except for the past two. I would give an arm and a leg to repeat the very last one.  But here I am. I am happy to be in this company though. And thanks Yemi for inviting me.”

Another round of “Welcome Tola”

“Welcome Tola”. Said the lady who I assume was in charge and I suspect was our host.

“We don’t call today Valentine’s day for reasons that will become clear later. We just refer to it as February 14. Just one of our little quirks” she said smiling.

The introductions continued around the circle of seats. It was obvious they all knew one another and I was the only new face in the room.

“As Tola is new, I will just give a brief introduction to who we are and what we are about. To start with, just so we are clear, we are not a cult” there was general laughter in the room.

“We are just a group of people whose life changed dramatically on February 14. We seek release in sharing. We do not force people to tell their stories until they are well and truly ready to do so. We understand some things are so personal, it may never even be shared. But we also understand the release that comes from sharing such stories in a non-judgemental setting such as this.” She said looking around the room.

“And not all stories are negative. We had a couple who met on February 14 and have been happily married for decades for example. We had a gentleman who was born on the same day and who just preferred to be here than anywhere else once he knew about us. Yes. It does seem majority of the stories are negative. I guess that’s life. But we encourage “members” (if I may use the word) to move on. To move past whatever it is. That in part accounts for the small size of the group. We are about one of the few groups that actively tries to get rid of our members if that makes sense” she said laughing.

“But life is about living while we are still alive. Not hiding. Of course, we do not chase away people who choose to stay either.”

“Frankly. We have been waiting several years for Yemi to tell us her story. I am not sure why the change in heart but I suspect that may have something to do with you. But no matter we are ready for it.”

There was a low murmur of accent in the room. And bobbing of heads as well.

“Members are free to speak at any time. They just need to indicate by raising up their hands.”

“Oh. And contrary to what most first-time visitors assume, I am not the boss, head or anything of the sort. We are all equals. I just coordinate the meetings.”

“Yemi. Thank you very much. You have the floor.”

She started off a little hesitantly. I guess now that it was time, it wasn’t easy for her.

“Hi. My name is Yemi. I am an addict.”

“Welcome Yemi” the room chorused.

She delved into it without any preambles.

“I have been attending this yearly meetings from almost the beginning.”

“I got married relatively early even by the standards of the time. But things quickly went awry. It wasn’t one thing. It was a combination of several things. Some avoidable, others not so much. I quickly found myself single with a 2-year old boy in tow when I finally called it quits with the marriage.

Life wasn’t fun any longer. It was a lot of responsibility. Hindsight is 20-20. I am not sure anything we did could have saved the marriage, but we could definitely have tried harder.”

That’s when I moved back to the country. I felt I was a disappointment to my parents. They had been together forever and had this easy-going marriage. You rarely heard a raised voice in my house growing up. They were like best friends. I learnt of course later that they had just learnt to do their quarrelling behind closed doors when no one was around.

I moved back into my parents’ house while trying to get back on my feet in crazy Lagos. I could say with certainty that I hadn’t missed the fast and furious Lagos life when it comes to business or work. Or the crazy traffic! I tried as best as I could. I was close to tears several times, but it did get easier with time. Or maybe I just got used to it.

I put in the time and worked hard. I think I worked so hard to ensure I had no time to dwell on the other things going on in my life. My parents helped with Tade (that’s my son’s name) at the time. I guess I was lonelier after I sent Tola back to his dad so he could attend the school we had already planned for him before we split up.

And friends kept pestering me to go out. Meet people. Have fun.

I just couldn’t find the drive or the inclination to do so.

This went on for a few years. My parents’ only comment from time to time was that I should take all the time I need, but that there’s life out there outside the office.

Then out of the blues one sunny Harmattan morning, Kayode came bursting into my life.

Funny, I still remember everything that happened on that day. I was standing by the window looking out at the slowly moving vehicles on the street below, when there was a knock on the door.

My assistant opened the door with a gentleman hot on her tail. He introduced himself and said he required my services urgently and wasn’t about to deal with the “help”.
I told him I didn’t appreciate his attitude and he retorted that with the amount of business he was about to bring my way, I should be least concerned about his attitude. I could use the distraction so I offered him a seat.

He just seemed to rub me the wrong way from the get go. I just sat there watching him. At some point I admitted to myself that not only was he quite good looking, he also had a nice voice. He was definitely confident bordering on being annoying in his choice of words sometimes.
By the time he was done, I had a good idea of what he wanted done. I saw him to the door.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We worked closely together with teams from both his office and mine over the next couple of months. He was still annoying from time to time. But on the whole he was quite pleasant. He would call at odd hours of the day and night whenever anything crosses his mind. Despite working a hefty penalty for changes into the contract, he kept making changes to the campaign. Most were positive but I disagreed with a few. Sometimes we went at it for hours and didn’t always come to a compromise. Sometimes he would force his position through and sometimes I stood my ground and refused to budge.
There were working lunches and dinners. Some of these ended up being just the two of us.
Little by little we talked more and more about non-business related matters. I told him over time about my marriage and my little boy and he told me about growing up as an only child and following his dad all over the world as he took up appointments in various postings. He’s never been married.
The first time he asked me out I found an excuse not to go.
But I relented the second time. It wasn’t long before we started going out regularly. He was easy to be with. I didn’t know there were so many clubs and places to hang out in Lagos. He seemed to know where it was “happening” at any given time.
I had been to his place and he to mine several times. Of course we had made out on those times. He hadn’t attempted to do anything more or maybe he sensed I wasn’t ready.
We had made trips to all the beaches at one time or another. We were spending more and more time together.  I started looking forward to both his work visits and the unofficial ones as well. I think we sort of slid into dating without actually having to sit down and discuss it.
Still, I was a little apprehensive for some reason as February came around with all the commercial adverts you are bombarded with everywhere you go and look. I find I wanted so badly for him to be my valentine.”
She laughed.
“I had to keep chiding myself not to behave like a little love-struck girl. After all, I am a grown woman with a little boy in tow.”
He finally asked me out a couple of days before and of course I said yes.
I paid a little more attention to my dressing and make up than usual that morning. I was restless all morning at work. I didn’t get any work done because my mind was everywhere but.
I still remember the exact time it happened. He called me at 11:57am and asked me to look out the window. I got up and went to open the window. There he was on the other side of the street. Grinning up at me with a huge bouquet of flowers in his hand. He definitely knew how to make an entrance.
Then it all went to hell and took me along with it.
It all happened as if in slow motion. Excuse the cliché. But I have thought of it a million times since then and it seemed I could have stopped it.
You see. A car came speeding down the bend in the road. He didn’t even see it. But looking down from above, it came into the periphery of my field of vision just at the last moment. Even as I screamed I watched him get tossed into the air. He was still looking up at me. I can’t forget the expression on his face in that last moment. It went from the grin to what looked like a cross between shock and surprise.
I dashed out the office, down the stairs and into the street. He was there. And there was blood everywhere. I held him and screamed for help. People were just milling around and shouting. They had dragged the other driver out of the car but he appeared too shocked to do anything but sit on the hot Tarmac.
My driver brought the car around and with his help I got him into the back-seat. He was already limp and I guess somewhere deep inside me I knew he was already dead. But we  still went through the motion and got him to the GoldenCross hospital just a couple of streets away. He was put on a stretcher and rushed into the theater but the doctor pronounced him dead almost straight away.
How long I sat there I couldn’t say. Someone had called his father I guess because he was suddenly there beside me talking to the doctor. I had only met him once before. Our eyes met but there was no recognition in his. He left shortly after. I was too out of it to even get up to go after him. I found out later he held me responsible for his son’s death. Not so much in words as in action.  I was hurt but I could understand his feelings much much later.
The next couple of months went by in a blur. I was home most of the time. I just stayed in the house with all the curtains drawn and the lights off. My assistant was a blessing in that dark hour. She came regularly like clockwork. Got me to take my bath. Brought a hairdresser a couple of times. Literally forced me to eat once a day. I can’t even remember what it was I ate. My parents tried to get me to move back in with them but I refused.

I tried reaching out to his dad but all my attempts were rebuffed. I did manage to go for his burial. His casket was closed. But I had managed to see him once at the mortuary. I thought I had done my crying and breakdown before that day but still it took all my strength and the support of my assistant not to fall to pieces again.
Some uncle of his had contacted me once before the burial. He said the family won’t stop me from attending his burial but they would appreciate it if I kept it low key as they don’t want any distractions. So I arrived early but did not sit with his immediate family. I was in a black suit skirt. Most attendees where in dark clothing as well.

It was a quiet and brief affair.

I have never had any contact with his dad since then. I have gone to visit his grave every year on February 14. I miss him even now. It’s strange. This is someone I knew for less than a year.  It’s better now. Even his face has faded a little in my memory despite having his framed portrait by my bedside. I don’t believe in destiny but I have come to believe that once in a lifetime it’s possible to meet someone that’s “it” for you. If you are lucky, you get to spend a lifetime together. And sometimes in a case such as mine, that lifetime is a year.
I have dated a few times since then of course, but none lasted any length of time. I am sure I didn’t give it any of them any real attention though.
So after Bola over there invited me 5 years ago to this meeting. Well. I have been here every year with you lovely people.”
“Thank you for allowing me to share my story”
“Thank you Yemi. Can we all go give her a hug now”. Said Yinka.
I waited until they were all done. Then with a smile on my face, I stood up and gave her a bear hug that lasted for a full minute.
“We should probably have a break now. Please don’t be shy. There’s food on the side table over there. Let’s mingle and chat while we partake of the delicacies provided by our lovely host for today, Wura. Thanks again Wura.”
“Thanks Wura.” We all chorused as we got up.
The rest of the evening was spent hanging around in continuously shifting small groups getting to know one another or in the case of the older members, catching up.
* * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She invited me to dinner and we ended up at 355 (the club). It was mostly drinks though as we had eaten after the meeting.

“Tola, you know it would help if you talk about your story. You are too young to get stuck in the past.”

“Besides I like a good story. OK. I agree. I am just inquisitive!” She laughed.

It might have been all the drinks. Like it was that night a year ago. I was tipsy. I had said too much. Which didn’t help either. Or it might have been the lyrics of the song playing at that moment in the background: “… Ain’t no Sunshine when she’s gone; Only darkness everyday; Ain’t no Sunshine when she’s gone; … ; I know, I know, I know, …“. Or maybe I just needed to talk:

“My name is Tola. I am an addict.”

“Welcome Tola” she said with all seriousness.

“Do you want to share your story with me tonight?” she said.

I nodded.

“Please start whenever you are ready.” She said.

“There was this girl I met a couple of years ago. If the world were mine, I would have laid it at her feet. …”

“Wait! Wait!” She said, holding up her hand. “I know I am not supposed to interrupt but could you leave out the writer’s bullsh*t?”

“OK. What I meant was that if I had all the money in the word, I would …”

“Which obviously you don’t. Did you meet this girl on February 14?” She asked.

“No. But …”

“Did she die on February 14?”

“No. She’s still alive.”

“Did you lose your you-know-what on February 14?”

“No. As I was …”

“So why is this story relevant today?”

“Ma’am, are you going to let me tell the story?!” I said in as respectful a tone I could muster given that I was feeling exasperated.

“Sorry. I sometimes get that way. Please go on.” She said.

“Where was I? Yes, I remember. There was this girl …”

We were still there well past the witching hour.
* * * *  * * * ** * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

NB: *Tola* claims the F.1.4.A. is real: though one needs an invite by an existing “member”.

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Sergio

I wrote the following some time after I learnt of Sergio’s passing. It’s on my Facebook timeline. It contains a lot of references to events during the short time I knew him so it should be read “as-is”.
It’s roughly a year since his passing.

All we have now are memories

How did we part?
Vaguely remember
Was it at the car park 
Or was it at the house?

Punta Cana
Dominicana
Wish I woulda
Still hope you coulda

I see your face!
Your smile
Your voice
Your ease

Your Bunny!
Your folks
Your kids
Your friends

Not even a year ago
That I got to know you
Did we start with hello
Or a hug in June

Those who miss you
The tears they shed
Those who knew you
Their eyes are red

The flames of life
The struggle, the strife
All lie down one by one
Strange as it is, you are truly gone

All we have now are memories.

Sergio.

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