Check That Bulb Girl! (As posted on Femmelounge)

Hi People, 

Please click the link below to read my piece on Femmelounge today. It's all about Inspiration!

  Check That Bulb Girl!

Unreserved, Unconditional, Unqualified ....

I cannot get over the many times that He overlooks my faults when I come to Him. The seventy-times-seven times that He forgives and washes and cleanses and hugs and holds and assures and blesses and forgives again, washing and cleansing and hugging and holding and....  Thank you Jesus...

♥♥♥♥♥

Kolade, the whole gang and I had been caught. And I hated that it was Mrs. Orosi, the long necked mathematics teacher cum house mistress, who crept up on us. How had she known? She probably heard the dorm door open. The thing always squeaked no matter how gentle you were.

We knelt in the staff room the next day, our hands stretched up to the sky. What I hated most about the punishment was the way my armpits were exposed when I raised my arms. Those annoying male teachers will ogle me like I am some slab of meat at Balogun market.

Their punishment meant nothing to me. They could say whatever they wanted. Last night had been fun. It was my third time of going out of the school compound with the gang and I felt so proud to have had a partner this time. It was like being married, but not entirely. Kolade acted like a gentleman. I wonder who taught him to be so suave; his older brothers probably. He told me he had three of them! Shade and Kenneth were the star couple, but I didn’t envy them.

My mouth curved in a smile as I thought of the events of the night before, oblivious to the teachers’ remarks about silly children who were too eager to eat the forbidden fruit. One said ‘Their parents are to blame!’ Another said, ‘Ha! It is peer pressure o!’ I chuckled at their confusion. Whatever.

Then I heard that familiar sound of a shoe sole scraping the floor and I looked toward the door. My eyes widened when I saw her. My heart did a triple jump and slammed against my ribcage. Who had called her? How had she come so soon, all the way from Badagry? I looked away hurriedly and buried my face in my chest, willing her to disappear. I didn’t want to see the look on her face. The one that said she was disappointed in me. The one that accused me, yet pleaded with me at the same time. I hated to hurt her. And when she spoke I knew I couldn't wish her away. She was really here.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Akpan,” she greeted the head teacher.

Her voice had that slight tremor in it. The one that turned to a full blown quiver anytime she was sad or upset. The same one that sent daggers tearing through my adolescent heart. Oh, God I hated to hurt her.

She stood in front of me and bent down to peer into my face. My lips quivered at the look in her eyes.

“Queen, Ki lo tun se?” she asked in halting Yoruba. I lowered my arms, clutched the cape of my uniform to my chest and sighed deeply, my face contorting in what was a prelude to tears. Her voice rang loud and clear in my head, like the ominous school bell announcing the beginning of Maths class. It sent dread into my soul.

“Why do you keep doing this kind of thing? After all I told you last time?” She bent closer to me and I could feel her breath on my face; her warm breath that both comforted and frightened me. I covered my face with both hands and wept, the tears flowed fast and free, running down my arms. 

After what seemed like hours I heard the sound of her feet walking away as she said, “Mr. Akpan, if I beat her now, she will probably faint.” She knew the power she wielded over me. Yet I knew she loved me. I looked up at her just as she turned back at the door. “Please handle that for me, just be gentle,” she shook her head at me as if wondering how she came to be burdened with a daughter like me, “she’s all I've got.” She scraped the soles of her shoes on the floor again as she made her way out, probably to the car where Sule, the very docile driver would be waiting.

Two days later, on the first day of our mid-term break, I stepped into the house, unsure. I had agonized about seeing her again. I wondered what she would do. Would she punish me again? Would she beat me herself now? She would most certainly not have remembered my birthday the day before. She didn’t call the house mistress to ask to speak to me as usual. I had waited all day. Would she talk to me now? Ignore me? The questions chased themselves around in my mind till I was weary with the anxiety.

Naturally, I expected everything but the table set with delicacies and drinks and a huge birthday cake. Anything but the colourful card with my name emblazoned on it; everything but her wide smile as she gathered me into her arms, tenderly, like I was the best thing in the world. Tears pooled at the corner of my eyes and I didn’t even fight to keep them back from rolling down my cheeks and to my lips. I tasted the harsh saltiness of my misdeeds in those tears.

Later that night I turned to her as we sat watching TV, and asked the question that had been burning in my heart since she came to the school.

“You’re not sending me back?” I waited. She smiled; a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. I lowered my head and fiddled with the hem of my skirt. I wouldn’t blame her if she did. Maybe I was way past redemption now. I half expected her to say, ‘after your birthday.’

But she only shook her head and said, “No dear, you belong with me now. Surely you know that.”

A feeling of warmth flooded my heart. And I couldn’t help myself as my shoulders shook mildly, tears threatening to flow unbidden. Her words comforted me, frightened me, assured me and exposed my foolishness. The warmth in her voice reached beyond my mind, way past my soul. It touched the very core of my being. And I couldn’t help but remember what I had felt on that Sunday evening a few years ago when she stood at the orphanage smiling at me. 

She had looked at me, a scrawny eighteen year old, left to scavenge her way through life; condemned to have no education or loving guidance because I was already set in my ways. I had felt her warmth reach out across the room, wrapping me in such love ad protection as I have never known. Her next words had sealed the deal and I was ready to follow her to the ends of the earth.

 “Yes, she is the one. I will adopt her.”

Still I kept on fiddling with the hem of my skirt, vowing in my heart never to hurt her again. But even as I mulled the words over in my mind, I knew I needed more than my own will to follow through. I leaned into her and sighed, drinking in the freshness of her presence; the assurance of her thoughtfulness. I would keep her aura with me, I would think about her every time and hopefully, when my demons rise, I will fight them, and I will win.

♥♥♥♥♥

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..but you received the Spirit of Adoption (sonship) and by him we cry “Abba, Father!”  Romans 8:15

Roy.

'Iffectively' speaking!

So, I haven't always known what I could or wanted to do with my life. For a long time I was confused and bemused over my inability to discover something new about myself, something I could call my own. I would sit and wait and hope something happened, to drag me into my path (then I'll probably take it from there, I thought), but it wasn't that simple.

It was in this state of mind that I wrote a note 'I sigh' about my One year National Youth Service Corp in Jos, Plateau State, Nigeria (That was the most difficult time of my life). When I posted this note on Facebook, I got help, divine help, from someone unexpected.

Ife Olatunji is a well of wisdom. He represents, to me, a sign bearer. He has not only found himself, he's willing to be a Barnabas (Son of encouragement). He sent me a note in reply to 'I Sigh'. Please read both notes below.

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


I sigh:

I sit there, doodling on the edges of my diary, my mind far away. The days seem to fly past, leaving no traces of satisfaction or fulfillment in the activities that trickle in.

Time has no measure, seconds sigh with emptiness.

I live in a fast paced hurry-up-can’t-slow-down world, yet all I do is watch the ticking of the clock (not literary though, that would be the height of uselessness). I need something, really. I wonder what exactly it is. A sense of purpose? Determination? A drive? Drive at what?

I sigh.

These faces that surround me, all fresh and smiley, do they have moments of sobriety, when they stop to ponder, to recount their steps and discover true meaning?

I lick my lips. They’re dry and chapped now. Thanks to this dry Jos weather. I love the cold though but not the dust and dryness.

Another Saturday will soon be over and all I’ve succeeded in doing is sit and ponder, scribble and doodle. Ha! My life.

I dream though, dreams of the future. Desire, achievement, success and the road to the top. I can dream. Ain’t paying nobody to do that.

I sigh.

I’ll get there. It won’t be long. I guess. I hope. I believe. Whatever, sha. But I know I need help. Need to get a grip, but how do I………

“Corper, how na?”

A voice jolts me out of my reverie, forcing me back to the reality of my surroundings.
I look up to see a remarkably white set of teeth set in an extremely dark skinned face smiling back at me. Ahmad. The security guy.

“Haba corper, you no chop today? You well so? This one wey your eye red like this?”

I look around the little eatery, hoping no one heard him. Then I smile my customized smile, sheepish but absolutely bogus.

Ahmad now knows me well. Thanks to his boisterous nature, He never fails to let everyone know that I’m a corper, serving my Father land. I happen to view this as a nebulous period of my life where I’m locked out of my past but not yet in my future.

I sigh.

Anyway, I smile at Ahmad, again.

“Thanks, Ahmad. I’ll be on my way now.”

He smiles his usual toothy smile. I pack my stuff and prepare to leave.

I guess I’ll take my thoughts back to my dingy room. I’ll lie in the darkness and keep pondering, wondering……

I sigh.

********

Ife's Reply:

First, His analysis of my musings,

A satirical representation of a "loner's" musings and contemplations against the backdrop of the corpers' universe.
Her problem is not sloth or inertia but the burden of a heightened consciousness.
She is a seeker. Something in her reaches out for life, not life as it is but life as it ought to be.
For her, its not so much how fast a ladder is climbed but whether the ladder is leanin' against the 'right' wall.
Until she finds meaning n purpose, she sits and she waits... and sighs.

Hmm.


His full reply


Hello Remi,

Let me start by saying that Mind reading is not yet my forte. (I told him he was a mind reader)I wish it is. [Could use this gift on ‘Who wants to be a millionaire’]. *grins* But am not that evolved. My analysis, as it were, was a function of empathy. Yes, I am a loner of some sort myself.

I used to ask myself …

“Why has life burdened me so?”

“Why do my eyes see so far; if I was destined to remain obscure?”

“What am I to do with this acute sensitivity to the sights, sounds and sensations of the world around me; to the behavior of people, their follies and fetishes, suffering and nobility, their wisdom and intelligence?”

Aaaarrgh!

“Why am I so obsessed with the thoughts humans ask about themselves and their world; cause-effects relationships of various elements and their implications for human existence?”

“Why am I so ‘uncool’; having a preference for nerd-nesting with my rowdy bunch of geeks and poets, copywriters and songwriters, artists and wordites[Christians]?”

“Why cant I just be like my cool and trendy friends, watching and arguing over a bunch of adults running after a leather ball [soccer]?”

“Why do I have more books than clothes” [you don’t want to know d size of my library]

The questions are endless.

Sometimes I wonder if I was born this way, Or if circumstances made me this way.
I used to sit and stare and wait and sigh.
Hmmm….

You asked me “if waiting and sighing makes sense”. ‘Why not attempt something’, you said?”
The answer is not so straightforward.

You see, human progression is not always linear. Would Joseph have thought that the plan and pathway from his father’s tent to the throne was meant to engage a pit and a prison?

Life is a potpourri of signals and stimuli. Some are green lights. Others are red flags. Interpretation and wisdom is the key to ‘making it’. Your consciousness is deep but your spirit has to be keen, sharp and on its toes; ready to make something out of what you have and where you are. Selah!

Another thing is that ‘rulership is a function of element’. The Eagle has the gene of a monarch… which only comes alive as long as it remains in its element: Air! If it tries manipulating other elements [water, fire, earth], … the monarch shall become a nonentity.

What has brought you the greatest fulfillment, compliments and peer regard? That’s a pointer to your element.

Your throne, Remi Sage, lies in your element. The written and spoken Word? Creative writing? Hmm? Something screams out of your writings and only you can hear it.

You might be working’ somewhere grand by societal standards. Or not so grand; the beautiful thing is that as long as you keep that inner bliss[your voice], your platform would be drawn to where you are. Do what you can wit what you have, where you are.

“Asiko n lo”, you might think. Your friends are in Mobil, MTN and Zenith Bank. I agree. Asiko n lo. BUT… the best house on your street today was not the first one to be built there. Was it? We have to FOLLOW THE COMPASS AND NOT THE CLOCK. Start small. Grow fast. Live the dream. Don’t bother on missing out on life. You won’t. Silent years would speak loudly.

You gotta learn how to create value from your proclivities. Its time to find your voice and be fully baptized into it. That’s the tool and vehicle that would deliver your prosperity – on a sustainable basis, that is.
FOCUS makes all d difference. Great is the future of THAT woman, who KNOWS ‘where she is going’ and has made ‘how to get there’, her ENTIRE course of study.

I discovered my element in 2002: the Word in its multi-dimensionality.
First it was the Logos of Christ: the complete works of Deity as it refers to human existence.
Then the words of men: written, spoken, sung, painted and performed.
Then my own words. Hmm… that’s for another day.

Am still evolving. No longer in hibernation.
Am not yet in the headlines. But am no longer on the sidelines.
The journey has begun.

Lets stop here 4 now... lest you pass out due to boredom.

Cheers.




What can I say? That note was timely.

Roy

I quit!(?)

I sit huddled up on the love seat, tears flowing. Staring at the bare wall on the far end of the room, I ignored the shadows cast on the wall by movements out side my window. My mind was in turmoil. I looked around the house, five years and I hoped I’d still be counting but I’m not sure now.

I caress my wedding band, turning it round and round on my finger. I remove it and hook it to my necklace, like a pendant, close to my heart.

What will it take to make it work?

I remember when it all started; I just knew this was what I wanted. Barely out of the university, was I so eager to marry Steve. I believed he was every thing I wanted. Mum thought it was too soon. We had only been dating for 6 months.

“Hold on for one year and you’ll be blessed many times over” she said.

Should I have waited? Will it have helped? Will things be different now if we had wedded after Christmas like we originally planned?

The questions swim in my head.

I switch on the television. Too much thinking is making me sick. I flip through the channels, nothing good on a Wednesday evening.

Maybe it’s because I haven’t had a child. Steve loves children; I see it when we have Derin’s kids over. But that’s not my fault. The doctors say we’re both okay.

The tears keep flowing fast; I blow my nose hard, feeling a slight headache in my temples. I rise from the seat to turn off the lights in the room. My eyes catch something as I sit back down. I see a flicker of light from the table where I have my keepsakes. I move towards the object bending down to pick it up.

Its a little velvet bag with a shiny logo. I open the bag and let out a soft sigh. Relief washing over me, no longer able to stand, I dropped on the floor, crossing my legs.
Inside the bag are little red beads, hundreds of them.
My mother gave it to Steve and me on our wedding day, with a little illustration. She had us remove a bead and return it.

“Shake it together and remove the same bead from the lot” she said.

We looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“That’s impossible, Mum” I said, laughing.

“Good. Now that you know, when you feel like giving this all up remember It can only be over when that lone bead turns up” and she shuffled away.

I remember it like it was yesterday. My sweet wise Mum. I close my eyes and lean on the bed thinking how impossible it is for me to give up now.

Steve should still be at work.
I shuffle over to the computer and begin typing an email. I pour my heart out in a few words.


Dear Steve,

I’ll be waiting today so we can have a heart to heart. This is really hard but I’m willing to make it work. I’ve decided giving up on us is not an option, at least not for me.

I love you,

Lara.


I sigh, hoping he at least catches it on his blackberry

Back on the bed, I fall asleep almost immediately.

A few hours later, I wake to see him at the foot of the bed, head in hands weeping. I move to his side, rubbing his back slowly. I know he likes that. He looks at me tears in his eyes, his nose running. We stare at each other and I see in his eyes what I’ve always known. Love lives here.

We sit in the dark for hours, in each others arms, grateful. Today could have been the end but we’ll start over.

I fall asleep again, right where I should be unaware of the ten paged document from the divorce courts, completely filled, lying on the bedroom floor………in shreds.



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


Ok, that wasn’t me o(obviously), Just a snippet of a young woman’s struggle.


But really, have you ever given up on something that made sense to you? Something you would have loved to hold onto, just because you lacked the inner strength to persevere and keep trying?

Quitting is easy, the consequences may be dire but you don’t know that at the time. Or maybe you do but you rationalize that it’ll take too much from you to keep trying. So you take the easy route.

It’s not just in relationships that we make such blunders. We give up on school because we fail at it sometimes. We stop trying for that job because we keep getting rejected.

The journey ahead is long and arduous, so we decide to sit and lick our wounds.
But there was never a victory without a battle and the cross always comes before the crown.

Heard all these before? I’m sure. But think deeply about it the next time you find yourself at the threshold of a destiny decision.

The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart, how much more the reward?

Roy.

Fear Factor

So here I am. Taking my time and loving life. Sometimes I think I’m the only one who has had to go through ‘phases’ in life. From ‘scaredy cat’, to 'learning to trust God and be strong'. But we all have to go through what we have to, to get to where we have to be. The trick is to love the journey we’re on (I wish I’d always known this, would’ve saved me a lot of stress along the way).

So, have you ever had a morbid fear? Of something, anything? The darkness? people? talking to a crowd? exams? sickness? performing? the thought of death?
How did you feel when you finally stopped torturing yourself? 'Cos carrying around such needless fears is self induced torture. Believe me, you don’t need it.
Picture 2 Timothy 1:7, it about sums it up.

So I know this ‘lil girl who had to struggle through her peculiar fear. Now grown and wiser, she reminisces.



I stood in front of the class, my hands tightly clutching my book; I stared at my toes as tears trickled down my face. The class was still vibrating with the laughter that followed my biology presentation. I had totally flopped. My hands shook uncontrollably and my voice trembled. I had barely made out the words I had so carefully studied well.

“This is just the reason why I ask you to read thoroughly and properly. You messed up!” Mrs. Toke, the biology teacher said, looking at me with disdain, “How can you not explain the simple process of photosynthesis? I mean, I can’t understand it” she shook her head in her stylish characteristic manner.

I shyly took my seat after she was done lambasting me. Thoroughly embarrassed I placed my head on the desk and sobbed quietly.

Grace was next for her presentation. She sprang up from her seat impatient to begin. She spoke on Excretion and the formation of urine. Her voice rang out clearly and confidently. I felt more ashamed than ever. Why couldn’t I be more confident like that? I knew these things, I could write them down, I even explained them to Nike the night before, but in the heat of concentration, when all eyes are fixed on me, I lose composure, my knees wobble and my tongue goes dry. It feels terrible.

After the day was over, I rushed into my four man room in the large Girls hostel, almost knocking down Senior Tutu the house prefect who was also occupying the same room.

“Whoa, you. What’s the matter?” Tutu asked gripping my shoulders.

“Nothing” I said sobbing, trying to avoid her gaze, my head bobbing up and down. Senior Tutu was having none of it.

“You’re crying, baby girl this is too much to be nothing. Come, talk to me. What’s up? Did something happen at school today?”

She pulled me to the bed and wiped my face.


I took a deep breath and looked up; my eyes red, my face tearstained and my nose running.

“Remember the biology class I told you I had today?”

Tutu nodded, “The presentation”

“I did badly. I couldn’t talk. I was so scared. Everyone kept staring at me. I started to stammer and, and ……”I burst into a fresh round of tears, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Calm down Abiye, don’t beat yourself up, I can see you’re very upset about this, hmm. I want to tell you a secret. But I’ll only tell you when you’re calm. Ok? Do you want to hear it?”

I nodded.

“Good. Go take a shower. Come back, and then we’ll talk”

*********

Tutu’s secret sounded daring.

“Before you do anything, believe that you can. I had the same problem in my junior classes; I used to be the class rat, scared of her own shadow. Things changed when I challenged myself. I made a few more mistakes but I learned from them.
Prepare, yes, but believe that you can do it. Don’t care about anybody sitting out there. They really don’t matter, what matters is that your work is done and you leave a good, lasting impression. Don’t be afraid to make mistakes. Laugh at yourself, if you must but ask for another chance to do it right, you won't be denied. Challenge yourself. Don’t wait till there’s a task, push yourself out. Get in your teacher’s face if you must but don’t be rude, she will admire your courage and take you seriously. Be prepared to make mistakes but get up every time you fall. Don’t be…….”

*********

“AB! What are you doing there burning daylight? It’s your turn girl, boardroom, now!” Tomi’s voice could hush an army.

I scrambled up and looked around.

‘Hmm,I must have traveled back in time’ I thought, smiling and shaking my head.

I looked at Tomi who seemed like she’d just had an ordeal.

“What happened? Was it tough?”

“My dear, ‘o gbo mi’ (it was hard), but trust me now, I did my thing!”

“Yes o!" we shared a high five.

"I gat to go in now. See ya later”

I packed my materials and headed for the board room.

"Break a leg." Tomi called after me.

I reflected on where I was coming from and my heart warmed.

I made a mental note to buy a gift for Tutu’s new baby, as I entered the board room for my third presentation in two days, in defense of my new role as Communications Manager.


So, we all have those little, subtle fears we try hard to hide.
But really, shouldn't we be free?