What is Your Excuse? (2)

The first time I read of the Locked-in syndrome, I thought surely, that would be the end of the world for anyone so afflicted. A person like you and I who is fully mentally aware, perfectly fine in the mind but paralyzed from head to toe. How awful to be unable to express joy, love, frustration, desire, anger, everything that you feel within. I have seen a stammerer's frustration when unable to express a thought quickly enough so I know it must be the height of frustration indeed.

Reading about Jean-Dominique got me thinking though. In 1995, Jean-Do had a massive stroke that put him in a coma for 20 days and when he woke up, fully conscious and mentally aware, he was paralyzed  from head to toe. He only had some movement in his head and eyes. Eventually, even his right eye had to be sewn shut so, he was left basically with the ability to blink his left eye.

Could you stop for a moment and move your fingers, wiggle your nose and your toes and move your cheeks into a smile. If you can do that, guess what, you can achieve a lot indeed. Why, you ask?

Well, this man who could only blink his left eye went on to write, edit and publish a book just by blinking his left eye. This book, 'The Diving bell and the Butterfly' is the story of his life with  the Locked in syndrome. How did he do this? A transcriber had to basically recite the French alphabet till Jean-Do blinked to choose the desired letter and that was how the whole book was painstakingly written over a period of ten months. He died two days after the book was published.

In my day to day life, I meet someone every now and then who simply chooses to rise above their circumstances and dream beyond the resources life seems to have given them. Should I mention friends I have had who had no support structures whatsoever or sponsors during school and had to resort to very basic means like washing clothes for people or making hats for people to pay for a higher education? Or people who have basically created a life for themselves out of nothing just by having a dream of a better life and going for it.

Well, no matter the excuse today, I make a choice to dream even beyond what my ordinary self can obviously achieve, and then grow into the reality of that dream. Does that make sense to you? I just think we will never grow if we only do the mundane things we feel sure that we are able to do. 

In the same year, 1995, when Jean-Do had his heart attack, a lady simply began to knock on her neighbors' doors to start what she called 'Columbus neighbors'. She thought, how can people get to decide which local business to patronize and choose those who have served other people around them well? By the year 2006, a mere eleven years later, Angie's List had reached one million members online and over three hundred employees. 

Not everybody's dream is meant to reach the whole world but, within your local environment, is there a life you can positively influence? A lady with a passion for young ladies chose to speak to the teenage girls in her daughter's high school about sexual purity. In that meeting, she met a girl who had been sexually abused before the age of ten and thus was birthed a foundation to fight child sexual abuse. Today, Christianah Fate Foundation has trained over ten thousand parents, children and volunteers in the Lagos metropolis  and beyond on how to prevent the occurrence of sexual abuse in our children. 

So once again I ask you, what is your excuse?

What Is Your Excuse? (1)

Seriously, what is your excuse?

Helen was born a normal little girl. Indeed, everything was fine until she was 19months old when she fell ill. That in itself should not have been much of a problem if she had been born in 1980. But a mere hundred years earlier, in the year 1880, a condition that might have been meningitis was described by her doctors as 'an acute congestion of the stomach and brain' and left little Helen both blind and deaf.

So, how do you communicate with a blind person? You speak, and he hears. To a deaf person, sign language solves the problem. But what do you do when a person is both blind and deaf? 

Helen learned how to communicate through the sense of touch. She learned how to speak, how to read Braille and even how to read people's lips and sign language using her hands. In fact, in 1904, Helen Keller became the first blind and deaf person to earn a Bachelor of Arts degree. 

But she did not stop there. You see many of us make our education or career an end in itself. It is not. It is only a tool in your hand with which you can make your own unique footprint in the sands of time. Helen went on to become a world-famous writer and speaker who gave speeches in over thirty countries of the world and supported many worthy causes such as birth control amongst others.

So I ask you again, what is your excuse today? You see, whatever the odds stacked against you, there is somebody out there either with exactly those same odds or worse who is choosing to excel IN SPITE of those odds. Great achievements were never made in the absence of opposition and problematic circumstances but In spite of them.

Unfortunately, one of the factors I have found that hinder a lot of people from doing great things is inferiority complex resulting from unhealthy competition. So you won't write that book because Mr A surely writes better than you or you won't start that charity or sing that song or make that business proposal or approach that lady of your dreams because surely, Mr B is better qualified than you or simply because no one else has done it before!

Well, it is understandable when right from the first day in a classroom all our achievements are made into a competition between us and our peers. So, instead of being focussed on how much math I learnt this semester and why I got a B in math, all I am concerned with is, I came 2nd in class and Eddy came first, I have to beat him next time.

And we take this mentality into the outside world, but we let it stop us from even trying at the things we are passionate about! Don't get me wrong, healthy competition is very good indeed. It pushes you to try harder and achieve more, but I find that in reality, the flip side of the coin is more often the case. A lot of us look with secret envy at a few people doing great things we once upon a time passionately planned to do, then simply return to our mundane lives.

Well, today, throw away your excuses for not trying! Don't just be a doctor, find time to participate in that community health enlightenment program on radio you've always been interested in. Don't just be a government worker, write that book about good work ethics you have dreamed about writing. Don't stop at a first degree, go for that masters in the particular area you have desired to further explore. You want to visit the Alaska? Start saving up today and go apply for that visa. The penguins are waiting!

Yes, in life there is always the chance that you will fail, but failure is only one of the many ingredients found in the pot of greatness. Take a realistic look at your excuses and tell them, 'You are not stopping me any longer.' Remember, you have a unique set of footprints that no one else can imprint on the sands of our time. So, quit worrying about what the next guy is doing better than you and just give us your own unique 'You'. We ask for nothing else!

When the Evening and the Morning Meet

Yesterday, I saw my Grandfather.

He was older than I recalled

His frail body shrunken with the years

He sat, limp and bowed

Tired after the fierce battles 

And the rigors of the adventures

Of that Great Field of Combat;

Life

But in his brown eyes I saw

That old sparkle

That as a child I always glimpsed therein

The spark of hope and of life

Shining on through the years

Fueled by the breath of Life

Panting through his parted lips, 

And I wondered, What happens

When the evening and the morning meet?

I had my hopes; He, his experiences

The joyful, the regretful

And those known to no other human soul.

I had my dreams; He, his visions

Be they mares of the night, pictures of the past

Or glimpses of the wonders of another waiting world.

I had my worries; 

Of the hazy outlines of my tomorrows,

He, his memories

From the unchangeable shapes 

Engraved on his yesterdays and yesteryears.

I had before me

The rising sun of the dawn of life,

And wafting over him were the cool breezes 

Of a colorful sunset

Which ever so softly woos mortal man

At the eventime 

To the long sleep of death.

And when finally comes the darkness of night,

The day coming to a close 

In this threadlike Life of Time -so easily cut-

When the moment comes 

To step into the yawning expanse 

Of eternity -A timeless Time-

Then will begin a bright new Day

For then indeed, will the evening and the morning truly meet.

Yesterday, I saw my Grandfather.

He was older than I recalled 

And he called me by my mother's name.

All too soon it felt,

We had to say our reluctant goodbyes

And as I turned back at the door 

For one last glimpse of a sinking sun

A dying Son,

I caught the flash of wetness 

In his longing eye

The slightest of quivers 

To his once full lips

Then indeed knew I what happens

When the evening and the morning meet.

Life of a Proud Naija Graduate; Moz Hall (Part 1)

It was finally time and after a full two years of begging WAEC to, 'Let my destiny go', I was finally headed to University! The Legendary Great Ife was awaiting me and boy, was I excited and ready to conquer the town.

To clarify, I had finished my high school two years before and passed all my subjects in flying colors, but then, the 'naija factor' set in. To our collective horror, without any explanations, WAEC decided to withhold the chemistry result of my school so, all of us planning to read medicine, pharmacy and courses that required Chemistry for University admissions were suddenly left high and dry...for a whole year! 

I spent a loooong year awaiting the release of my precious chemistry result (in which I had an A when it was released by the way!), only to have 'Aluta' (student riots) in Ife prevent us from resuming the following year again! Suffice it to say, when I was finally going to resume at last, in the Great school of my many dreams, of which my dad had regaled me tales from his days as a student there back in the seventies, I spent the sweltering 12hour drive from middle belt Nigeria to Ife in the southwest gleefully daydreaming!

I imagined the massive cafeterias where Daddy told me they were served choice dishes accompanied with a quarter of a whole chicken and tasty soups daily. The huge lecture theaters with the bright lights beaming down at night when you went to study. Oh! But above all, did I dream of the hostels! I imagined spacious, quiet rooms, where I could set up my 'corner' with my amateur interior decoration skills and where I would have a neat simple desk beside my bed to study late at night if I chose and carry out deeply intellectual discussions with my smart, geeky and bespectacled roommate. Or so I thought!!!

Mm, well, I won't gist you of the 'cafes' that had not functioned as food service stations in over twenty years, nor will I speak of the over crowded lecture theaters where we spent many a night 'jacking' (studying) via candlelight or rechargeable lamps. Oh, those I promise you, are 'delightful' stories for another day. 

Naa, today is all about debunking those dreams of a cosy, warm and quiet hostel room. Let me introduce you to the Mozambique hall I was taken to straight from the registration point of the Faculty of Pharmacy. We drove past some majestic looking hostels (or halls as we called them), nice enough, albeit all needing a good coat of paint, they still looked like shadows of those great hostels my dad had described from the seventies and I was excited and exhausted enough to ignore the peeling paint on Sports Hall's walls, the broken glass of Awo Hall Cafe, the blocked drainage by Faj Hall, etc. 

That was until we drove up to a cluster of blocks of bungalow buildings that to me looked EXACTLY like an abandoned village secondary school! The barbed wire fence was falling apart! The paint job on the walls could have been done before I was born for all I could tell and worst of all, the porter's station in front of the Hall's gate looked like Abule Egba Police station, I kid you not! 

It did not yet penetrate my exhausted mind that this was to be my home for the next two years till I heard the agbero (bus conductor) in the dilapidated bus behind my parents car yell, 'Moz Hall, Moz Hall! Oya come down o! Last bus stop! Oya ebole!(Come down here!)'. I gasped in horror...!

(To be continued)

Life of a Proud Naija Graduate; Moz Hall (Part 2)

So, we parked the car in the parking lot... well, under the trees opposite Mozambique hall actually and stiffly emerged from the car. I can use words like trepidation, nervousness, terror and outright horror to describe that moment, but they wouldn't do it justice. See, I am an only child who grew up in the basically quiet and serene environments of the Benue plateau. Nothing prepared me for the constant hubbub of voices here, the gorgeously dressed dads and mums with their jean clad daughters dragging their cute luggage items through the dust, all eagerly dashing across the road to...to Moz.

In this nearly dreamlike state, I followed my parents to the porters' lodge and being the gentle Benue  dwellers we are, we stood quietly waiting for our turn to speak to the porters. It didn't take us five minutes to realize that this was not going to work. After a couple of sharp lagosians had brushed by us and yelled at the porters ahead of us, my mum smartly grabbed my arm and shoved me in front of one of the porters and we added our voices to the growing cacophony too.

Well, after some mild gymnastics, I was done with the registration and handed over to a dark, slightly plump, short girl with merry eyes who introduced herself as Sheri, one of the Moz hall student exco who she explained were usually made up of new part 2 students who had lived in Moz the previous year. Two years? Here? I shuddered. Sheri led my mum and I through the gates of this 'famous hall' that I had never heard about. I mean, dad only mentioned exciting names like Moremi, Fajuyi and Awolowo halls. It was obvious that Moz Hall was not yet built when my dad schooled in Ife. You only had to see the difference in the structure to realize this did not have the stamp of well... halls like Moremi, Faj and Awo which all had the look of the time period of Nigeria that produced great structures like the Eko bridge, TBS, and... you get the gist.

Sheri led us to the last room of the next block, Room O10. To my skeptical eyes, it was just about okay for four girls, since I noticed there were four lockers in the corners of the spacious, empty room. The chatty Sheri was still talking nineteen to the dozen about room mates and keeping my box locked at all times and claiming a toilet for the room at the end of the building and locking it up before the few good toilets were taken (??) so we wouldn't have to be begging other rooms to give us their toilet key (?!) and the nearby well when water was scarce (??!) and double bunks (???!).

Double bunks???!!! I sighed as the room shrank by fifty percent before my gloomy eyes. So that would  mean eight and not four girls to the room, I mentally calculated. Two girls to a locker I supposed. Still manageable. I had squatted with a friend in my former university back in Benue so it wasn't anything new. Hey, but Sheri was still chattering. By now, she was standing outside the room directing a couple of scrawny looking boys who were helping her drag in some double bunk beds. 

Mum and I were examining the four corners of the room so I could choose a corner that didn't have broken windows (which they all did by the way) when I noticed the little boys were bringing in a fifth bunk. 

'The room is full already.' I said waving them back.

'Aunty Sheri say make we bring am o.' they replied, still eagerly dragging and pulling in the fifth bunk. Mum and I rolled our eyes at each other and shrugged. They would be forced to carry out the extra bunk when 'Aunty Sheri' returned. 

Just as they finished dragging in the fifth bunk, 'Aunty Sheri' returned.

'Sheri,' I said, 'these boys didn't realize the bunks were already complete and they brought in a fifth bunk!'

'Oh, that's ok.' she said, then turned to the boys,'The sixth bunk dey outside, oya go bring am too!'

And just like that, the room shrank to nothing before my eyes. Six bunks? Meaning twelve girls in a room meant for four?! Oh, and that was when Sheri cheerfully explained that in most rooms, not less than six of the girls took on their friends as squatters. So basically, you ended up with about eighteen to twenty girls in that room meant for ...four girls. Oh, and did I mention, jambitos (part one students) like us were not even entitled to a corner with the actual room lockers. No, we were only entitled to a flying space (the upper level bunk) or any of the floating extra bunks in the center of the room all of which necessitated buying a little wooden locker where you kept your stuff!!!

This day, my first in one of the greatest institutions of higher learning in my country gave me a tiny glimpse into the depth of the decay of our infrastructural heritage. I went on to have a great five years in school and yes I did spend two surprisingly happy years in Moz of those five. I fetched water from that very well and I lived at one point with fourteen roommates in one of those rooms meant for four girls. 

 But all in all, I can still proudly declare, I am a proud Naija graduate. I squatted with my friend when I didn't get accommodation, and my friend squatted with me when she didn't get one either. I fetched water from the well and I studied with rechargeable lamp and candles in Awo cafe and Moremi buttery. However, there were some early mornings on my way to class before the sun was fully peeking over the hill behind my school when I would be walking by Amphi theater or Moremi or Fajuyi hall when I would for a few moments glimpse that majesty of days gone by of which my father spoke. Indeed, amidst the shadows of those great hallways you could nearly hear the echoes of the great ones who strode through the land in years gone by and who went on to write the history of the greatest nation in Africa. 

The woman I was made to be

http://youtu.be/iJyXNakzrGU

Virgin Snow

My life is as Virgin snow

Yet lacking the footprints of passing men

And still I retain that glow

Of faith, hope and wonder

My heart is as Virgin snow

With the flame of a blazing lantern

Glow red as a live coal

Within my breast a raging thunder

My soul is as Virgin snow

In a tumult wondering when

The footprints of life will sow

Love, Pain, a throne; within me and under

My life is as Virgin snow

Yet lacking the footprints of passing men

A stoic leaping glow

Of hope beyond the next bend yonder

About me

I am a writer of prose, poetry and songs, a pharmacist and singer. Born in the ancient West African city of Ibadan but raised on the banks of the Benue River and the only child of my family, I began writing stories and songs as early as the age of eight inspired by my many childhood favorites from Enid Blyton to Ola Rotimi and the book of Psalms. I am excited about self actualization, I love being a lady through and through and of course I love music, spoken word, movies, traveling and my own unique brand of poetry. 
So watch out! 'Cos am going to be writing about a great deal of topics, from love and heartbreak, Naija and Yankee, immigration and 419 to sugar daddies and campus babes *wink! Basically pulling from the many chapters that life has either written in my life's storybook or that I have had the honor or horror of witnessing along life's meandering pathways.
Above all, I stand amazed at the beauty and majesty of the Universe the Timeless One made available for us to discover. And if He set all this in place, wow, indeed how awesome is He?