Our Eyes Are Looking Up

 

Our eyes were looking up

We cried out with one voice

Wondering from whence our help cometh 

Men and women

Boys and girls 

We carried our placards

And we hit the streets 

Don't beat us we said

Don't kill us we cried

Don't hide our bodies we begged

From Awkuzu to Abattoir

The voices from the ground cried along 

Why did you kill us?

What was our crime?

As we made these calls

Both we that were here

And they that were in rivers 

And they in shallow graves

And they in unknown bushes and morgues

We began to feel a new hope

That our oppressors were benevolent

That we were fostering a new nationhood

One that is just and accountable 

That we could matter to them 

Then one cool evening 

Standing on this hope 

We made our to the tollgate again

We sat on the floor 

We waved our flags 

We sang in loud voices

That the labours of our heroes past 

Shall never be in vain 

Then the soldiers came

And the bodies hit ground

One, two, three, seven

they've killed us

And then they killed us

Now here we are again 

Our eyes are looking up

Our cries no more loud

But muffled and hidden

Wondering from whence our help cometh

Wild Passion

Kiss me, hug me 

Tell me things 

I'd like to hear 

Wild wild passion 

Trace my anatomy

Stop at the jugs

Move to the navel

Wild wild passion

Work your tongue 

Down the path 

Of the perfect Vee

Wild wild passion 

What is reason?

What is fear?

my woman throbs, aches, and yearns 

Wild wild passion 

Make me moan 

Make me scream 

Make me say that all is fair 

Wild wild passion 

Awake I lay 

The fire quelled 

A foetal mass 

You are a foe and not a friend 

My wild wild passion 

We Are One

• 
  

Did I tell you that we are one?
Not Black, not White, just human
We see the beauty of nature
We feel the flicker of hope
The joys of family
The passion of love

Again I tell you that we are one
Not rich, not poor, just people 
We feel the dread of disease
The piercing of pain
The frustration of helplessness
The clutch of desperation 

Do you agree that we are one?
Not Christians, not Muslims, just believers
Whether we believe in Jesus,
or we believe in Mohammad,
or we believe in evolution,
or we believe in our gods

You need to know that we are one
Not man, not woman, just  survivors
Striving to succeed
Seeking utopia
Wanting to be seen, to be heard
Counting the days, months, and years

Let me show you that we are one
Not sinners, not saints, just mortals
Wanting to be right
Wanting to do right
Pushing our agendas
And wondering if we are right

So let's focus on our oneness
Setting aside these artificial divides
When it's all said and done
It's always a story of birth and death

THE BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING COLOURFUL by ONYEKA NWELUE

Most people are very comfortable sharing embarrassing secrets and painful memories with strangers. Most times, this is because they know they will likely never see these people again, and a stranger is less likely to pass judgement. That is the case of the two protagonist narrators in ‘The Beginning of Everything Colourful’.

The first narrator is a Mexican musician who hates the Spanish, and the other is a Japanese businessman who hates the Chinese. They meet at the waiting lounge in Doha International Airport, both waiting for a connecting flight to Tokyo. The two men decide to share intimate details of their lives. 

The Japanese own a flourishing restaurant in Lagos, but he is weighted down with family problems. He thinks his wife is considering infidelity, his son’s sexuality, obsession with 50 Cents, and his running around the streets of Lagos with a dangerous crowd is a problem. His daughter, Aiko, likes black men too much, and he is sure his family prefers his absence.

The Mexican musician, on the other hand, has lived many lives. He had a dysfunctional childhood, where his father cheated on his mother with a family friend. His parents divorced, and this resulted in a lack of parental care. He ran away with a Catholic nun, and also married his mother’s friend who became an alcoholic. She conspired with his sister, also an alcoholic, to commit him to a mental hospital. In Tel Aviv, he had to swim across a river butt naked to avoid deportation. These different experiences have left him with a mental health disorder and a restless search for inner peace.

Nwelue spins a good tale, taking the reader through different stories and cities; Paris, New York, New Delhi, Lagos, Tel Aviv and down to Tokyo. Nwelue gives a good description of his characters and translates their emotions appropriately through the use of multiple narrators. The reader may not feel a deep emotional connection to the characters because of the cerebral writing style. Both the Mexican and the Japanese take turns as first-person narrators, and an omniscient narrator pops up from time to time to shed more light on particular events. The lack of sequence in which the first narrator tells his stories may pose a problem to the reader.

The plot consists of two strangers spilling their guts in a monologue-style conversation. The theme involves everything from; race, religion, culture, politics, parenting, sibling rivalry, etc. The author writes the book in accented English (Spanglish and ‘Japalish’), the use of these accents in the telling of the story, although quite creative, had a few inconsistencies which may also pose a problem of comprehension to readers.

The author makes a cameo appearance at the Doha International Airport, and onboard the flight to Tokyo, where he introduces one of his other books ‘The Abyssinian Boy’ to his seatmate. This scene was an unnecessary part of the story, and the author should probably have left it out.

This book may not be a favourite among readers. It is different and intriguing, but if you can get past the initial confusion with the accents, you may find it quite enjoyable.

Rated 6/10

Easy Motion Tourist by Leye Adenle: A Review

Leye Adenle’s novel titled after a ‘70s highlife hit song by ‘The Harbours Band’ unravels a plot of armed robbery, police shenanigans, ritual killings, and a thriving trade in human body parts while giving the reader a guided tour of Lagos. 

This spellbinding crime thriller narrates the story of a greenhorn British journalist, Guy Richards, who was sent to Nigeria to cover elections, and a ‘Street Samaritan’, Amaka. Guy finds the mutilated body of a young lady in a gutter on his first night in Lagos. The young lady was murdered and dumped beside ‘Ronnie’s’, a bar in the highbrow area of Victoria Island. He was arrested along with other onlookers at the crime scene and taken in for questioning.

Amaka is a young lady who has dedicated her life to ensuring that young women in the night business are safe as they go about their business. She shows up at the police station and rescues Guy from the clutches of ‘cell B’, Sergeant Hot-Temper, and Inspector Ibrahim. Together, Guy and Amaka form an alliance that helps to unravel the mysterious disappearances of some of the women Amaka had sworn to protect.

The author tells the story from multiple perspectives, giving the reader a clear insight into the various characters in the book, and the short chapters keep it fast-paced. Sufficient details on the secondary characters ensure the reader is engrossed. The use of funny aliases - Knockout, Catch-Fire, and Go Slow - douses the tension of the serious nature of the crimes in the book. The language is simple, and the prose flows with an ease that makes the book a much more enjoyable experience.

Easy Motion Tourist is a great book. It is easily the best Nigerian book I have read this year, and I look forward to reading the sequel and more of Adenle’s writings.

Rated 4/5

'Love Does Not Win Elections' by Ayisha Osori

A REVIEW
"Do not assess your chances based on how much people claim your opponents are disliked or [reviled]: love is not a currency at the ballot." (pg.239)

LOVE DOES NOT WIN ELECTIONS is a personal account of an aspirant on how to win elections in Nigeria. It is easy to read, humorous, and honest. The language is simple, with the use of beautiful metaphors that creates relatable imageries that engages the reader. 

In this book, the author places a floodlight in the murky waters of Nigerian politics. It gives an insight into some ingredients that may likely increase the chances of winning a primary election in Nigeria. Things like money, godfatherism, nepotism, and extreme begging are some of the oils that lubricate the Nigerian political engine.

After years of being a keen observer of the Nigerian political scene from her vantage point as the chief executive officer of the Nigerian Women's Trust Fund, a non-profit organisation focused on the increased representation of women in politics and decision making. Ayisha Osori decided to run for office as a member representing the AMAC/Bwari constituency of the Federal Capital Territory in the House of Representatives in 2015, on the platform of the People's Democratic Party (PDP).

The book details the foray of the writer into the Nigerian political arena. As she puts it, choosing a platform to run was difficult because "There is not much to distinguish between Nigeria's two main political parties.". She also faced with the unusual task of kneeling to beg delegates to vote and exchanging brown envelopes for favours.

In the end, Ms. Osori lost the primaries by a wide margin to the incumbent. Possibly because she could not get the endorsement of some party bigwigs, or mainly because there was an agreement amongst party leadership to return all incumbents. Either way, it benefits the political class that things should remain the way they are, there is less room for surprises.

On the other hand, the delegates and constituents, that should be more concerned about voting out non-performing representatives are more concerned with handouts given to them by politicians during electioneering periods. These actions leave one wondering about what the actual problem is. 

The problem is not a lack of information. Most people know what they expect from their elected officials as evidenced in the book when the writer met with the constituents. So, why do they continually listen to this money language spoken by politicians? 

The book is a must-read for anyone that wants to go into politics in Nigeria. It is also necessary for everyone that wants our democracy to thrive. Not only does it dish out tips for prospective aspirants and candidates, but it also forces the voting public to answer some difficult questions.

'Never Look an American in the Eye' by Okey Ndibe

I  thoroughly enjoyed this book. It was funny, instructive, and brutally honest even to the point of self-deprecation. The author told the stories with an ease reminiscent of after-dinner storytime rituals, which is a feature in most Nigerian homes. The humour and relaxed style of writing draws in the reader and makes it easy to forgive the use of highfaluting words where their 'lowly' synonyms could have easily sufficed.

It tells a story of the contrast between the Nigerian and American cultures. The stereotypes, misconceptions and culture shock that is wont to beset a 'Johnny just come' to either location. He gives the experience of his first winter in America, his first experience of paying for an outing he didn't initiate, and how the police mistook him for a bank robber. 

 He recounts the bittersweet experience of editing a magazine (African Commentary Magazine) that was widely acclaimed for its content but perpetually dallied on the brink of collapse.

One way to look at this book is as a travelogue that takes the writer on a voyage from being Nigerian, being a Nigerian in America, to being Nigerian American.

Taduno's Song by Odafe Atogun

'Taduno's Song' is one of those books that will evoke strong emotions; it will either be well-liked or thoroughly disliked.

It is one of those rare books stuck in the delicate passage between 'Pure Genius' and incoherent rambling. It makes one feel like one needs a higher level of consciousness to understand the words of the author. The simplicity of the language instead of aiding understanding, adds a layer of difficulty to the comprehension process. The storytelling reminds one of 'tales by moonlight', where they repeat the lines to emphasize the moral lesson. In this case, it is to show that the protagonist is a 'good man', fighting for a just cause.

The best description of the book is a short story which stretched out its arms in search of that elusive element that would make it a great novel but never quite found it.

I will rate it 4 /10 just because the effort of the author was all so visible.

LOVE OR SOMETHING LIKE IT

 A friend of once asked me a question, Why is love so hard?

Today you see people who are head over heels in love, and two years down the line its all gone down the drain.

Here is my answer

It depends on what people refer to as love. For instance, I have loved my best friend for eighteen years, and in all these years, we have never had a fight where we did not speak to each.

I believe that when you say you love a person, that person becomes an extension of yourself. Who would willingly or knowingly do something to hurt themselves?

Let me give an example of what I mean. When someone has a favourite clothing item or a pet, it becomes apparent to the whole world that the person cherishes that particular item, because of the attention or preferential treatment that it gets when placed against others of its kind.

Now, someone would be quick to point out that a shirt or a pet is not capable of provoking one to anger the way an individual is capable of doing. To that I will say, no one expects you not to get angry and express yourself, but in expressing your anger, you do have to realize that this is someone you profess to love; armed with that knowledge, you can do no wrong.

Genuine love, in my opinion, is not abusive in any way (physical, verbal, or emotional). On the contrary, it seeks to affirm, encourage, and correct.

It is that simple! Most times we find ourselves saying love is not black and white, the truth is, it is! We are the ones who add the grey lines or encourage the grey lines. It is easy to differentiate between genuine love and imitation. We are just quick to accept imitations because we think the kind of love we know in our hearts that we deserve is too good to be true “an unattainable fantasy”.

It is necessary to understand what love is. If you do not know what something is, there is no way you can use or apply it correctly.

Love is a gift. It means that like any other gift, it should be given freely, not necessarily expecting in return, but as long as it is appreciated that should be enough. The truth is, only a few people are in relationships where love is reciprocal. It is a rarity to find two people who are in love with each other at the same time.

When you love someone without expectations, that kind of love can elicit loyalty and commitment on the part of the recipient or person who is loved, this in truth is what is attainable everywhere, and is often mistaken for the real deal.

And to the belief that a lot of people have that unrequited love can be very frustrating, I say it is not unrequited love that is the problem, but unmet expectations.

These are my thoughts on love, but then what do I know?

TWISTED

The meeting

I sat on the floor, in a corner of the room, naked in a pool of blood shivering, and sobbing those heart wrenching sobs that although inaudible almost threaten to take the sheer essence of your life. The only man I have ever loved, the only one that had ever truly loved me lay dead a few feet away from me a kitchen knife pierced to his side.

Anita still couldn't believe what had happened. Her Tunde was lying dead on the floor, it wasn't up to an hour ago that he told her he loved her, and that was the first time he had said it over their two year relationship. Her mind was still trying to process the information that this magnificent male specimen all 6 ft 5" of him was in love with her, and had just popped the question she had wished to hear from the first day she met him.

The day I met him, it was at the airport on my way from Port Harcourt to Abuja. I was sitting at the waiting lounge, my flight had been delayed for four hours, I was sitting down there angry and hungry with a book in my hand, but I could barely get past the first page. I closed my eyes and opened them at intervals impatiently awaiting the announcement of my flight. During one of the many intervals when I opened my eyes, I was looking directly at this Adonis. He was trying to get through security at the entrance of the waiting lounge. I stared at him from that moment till he got through the door, took a seat opposite me and concentrated on a newspaper. I stared at him until my flight was announced thirty minutes later. I was so sorry to leave.

 Anita couldn't stop thinking about him all through the fifty minutes flight. He wore a brown blazer casually thrown over a white shirt, tucked into blue jeans and held together with a brown belt; he finished off the look with a pair of lovely brown loafers. She loved a man who knew how to dress his body, and there was no doubt this one sure knew how. She could picture them together, no, scratch that! She’d pictured them together in every single position from the moment she saw him at the door, she saw them at the cinema, having lunch, and sharing bodily fluid. It was love at first sight. Love, that word again.

I was in love with the handsome stranger, and that gave me the creeps, the last time I was in love with someone we both ended up at the hospital, he in intensive care and me for psychoanalysis.

****

Anita had been seeing Peter for a while; he was kind, supportive and understanding. He was the kind of man every woman wished for, reliable. He was always there whenever she needed him, he told her he loved her, and she believed him. Everything he did was proof of his love.

He understood me from the first moment we met; he knew I had deep trust issues. I would snoop through his phone, e-mail, Facebook inbox messages; I would even stalk him on twitter. Everything usually checks out, there was never anything out of place. The first time he caught me going through his text messages, he was so angry that I had invaded his privacy; however, from then on, I had free rein on his ‘privacy’. I would ask questions that could only be as a result of snooping, and he would laugh, and say, 

“Snooping again, are we?”

It used to make her laugh when Peter called her “Sherlock Holmes”, he would tease her about wasting her detective skills on him, and she usually responded by saying, ‘Fortunately for me, you are as clean as a whistle’. So, it came to Anita as an utter shock one beautiful Saturday morning when Peter walked in looking as though someone had just died. He sat on her couch, she immediately rushed to his side, wondering what could be wrong.

‘You know I love you, right?’

‘Of course baby, I know you love me’

What was wrong, where was he going with this. When he finally spoke up, I was shocked, to say the least. He told me he was getting married in two weeks, I believe he said some other things after that, which might have been an explanation or maybe not, the truth was all I heard was his getting married in two weeks.

Anita could still feel the goosebumps on her skin from Peter’s betrayal, how do you tell someone you love them and that you were getting married to someone else all in one breath? The events of the weeks that followed were still a blur in her mind. 

 They told me that I ran him over with my car the week before his wedding. I was taken into police custody for a few weeks when the police couldn't get any word out of me, I was taken to a specialist hospital for psychiatric evaluation.

****

Fifty minutes later, her flight had arrived Abuja and she was waiting for her luggage at the baggage claim area. The arrival of another plane was announced; she decided to pay attention to the entrance just in case “Idris Elba” was on that flight. 

He strode through the entrance as though he owned the entire airport, there was something about him, an aura of entitlement, it wasn't quite arrogance, but it was a confidence that almost seemed as if it was overstepping its boundaries. I realized that I could actually stare at him all day without getting tired.

Her luggage arrived but instead of leaving she decided she couldn't wait for fate to bring them together, she had to do something. She took a few short steps into the arrival lounge, took a seat and waited patiently.

For the third time that day, I watched him walking into a room, I took a quick glance at myself. I had on a dark blue tiny outfit that was a cross between a blouse and a dress; usually, because it was too long to be called a top and too short to be a proper dress. My tiny braids were held in a bun on top of my head. I was wearing very little jewellery; tiny studded earrings, a dress chain with a round pendant, it had a butterfly on one side, and the words “Quantum Science, hope for the children” on the other side. , the only make-up I had on my face was lip-gloss, my beautiful full legs were on display for all to see my feet were covered in sequined silver-coloured ballet flats. I am beautiful there was no doubt about it, I have been told severally that my smile could light up a room, I thought to myself that it wouldn't be a bad idea to test just how true that statement was.   

‘Excuse me, do you have a car waiting for you?’ he turned at the sound of my voice,

‘Erm, not really… you?’ that was said as an afterthought, he probably didn't want to seem rude by ending the conversation abruptly.

Anita responded that she also didn't have a car waiting for her; they decided to share a ride into town, as it happened they were both staying at Wuse II. They sat quietly throughout the drive, just as he was about to alight in front of a two-storey building on Aminu Kano crescent, he stretched out his hands for a handshake,

‘The name is Tunde Ayoola, sorry I wasn't such a good company, I have a lot on my mind. May I have your mobile no?’

‘Anita Esaro, and you weren't a bad company, I loved the silence.’ They exchanged numbers; by the time the cab got to her street, there was a satisfied smirk on her face.

DAWO (DREAM)

“Those heart hammering nightmares that start to lose coherence even as you are waking up from them, but that still manage to leave their mouldering fingerprints all across your day” Mike Carey

                                                                                 ***

Shekira stop!   Shekira stop!!  Shekira stop!!!

Was that her name or a chant, she couldn't tell. She was running, running like her life depended on it, and at that moment it did.

Things got serious so fast she couldn't tell the exact moment it happened, one minute she had her little nephew Dagogo on her laps listening to his ridiculous tales from school, the next minute she was crying over a broken bottle of perfume, and the very next minute she was in the race of her life.

Shekira!  His voice again. Was that actually her name? She kept running, three blocks ahead she saw a lady seated on a bench between two houses, and somehow although she wasn't close enough she saw that the numbers were 87 and 89. How she spotted the numbers was nothing short of a miracle because the street was unusually dark, and everything seemed surreal at that moment.

She ran to the woman who sat between 87 and 89, sat on the bench with her and tried to catch her breath, in a flash the young man who was after her in hot pursuit; the same one who had been screaming the name, he also stopped. He gave her the briefest of glances, and immediately walked past her into 89, when he came out he was accompanied by a fierce looking cutlass, from the looks of it, it had recently been sharpened.

A shrill sound so evil pierced the air, it was like nothing she had ever heard; it was a laugh, his laughter. The look on his face was so grotesque, it could only be described as “pure evil”, and as she looked closely into his face she could also dictate a smirk of satisfaction.  She took in the rest of his diminutive frame, and half-naked body made decent with briefs that had undoubtedly seen better days.

She sat transfixed as he inched closer, an involuntary move forward brought her leg in contact with an object beneath the bench, and she quickly picked it up and discovered it was a knife.

All the while the fat lady on the bench had a knowing smile on her face.

‘Shekira come to us’ he said with the  cutlass aimed at her heart, she moved suddenly, and he narrowly missed, she tried to fight back with the knife and managed to give him a cut on his hand before she knew what was happening she was ceased in a death grip by the fat lady. Her aggressor repeated the sound he made earlier, even as she struggled against the lady some part of her noted that that was the ugliest laughter she had ever had the misfortune to hear.

Her aggressor, Mr Diminutive frame and ugly laughter, started digging the floor, right in front of 89, she pleaded subtly with the fat lady, ensuring to keep all the fear out of her voice.

“Please Ma let me go, please I beg you in the name of God”

The fat lady gave a laugh that was devoid of any mirth and somehow filled her with more dread than either of the earlier ones had done.

The fat lady said, “My dear girl, this is what I do, I hold the girls while he digs up their graves”

She felt like a cornered animal at that moment, her heart was in her mouth all of a sudden, she struggled with all her might, wriggling from side to side. Like a miracle she found herself free from that vice-like grip of the fat woman, she made a mad dash for the road ahead, after a few blocks she discovered that no one was after her, but she didn't break her run.

Freedom, at last, that was what came to her mind when she saw some other people only a few blocks ahead in the street. It wasn't to be. She realized there was a clay pot in the middle of the street with fire coming out of it and human figures in white and red dancing around it, she could also hear they were singing, but she had never heard any song like it.

She was stuck in that place; between the devil and the deep blue sea. She couldn’t go forward for what seemed like a cultist celebration and behind were people after her life for some unknown reason.

Fortunately, as was the way of humans when stuck in a nightmare they are determined not to endure further, she forced her eyes open.

She was on her bed, and the clock, by her bedside, said she had only been asleep for 3hours.

                                                                       ***

“My sleep wasn’t peaceful, though. I had the sense of emerging from a world of dark, haunted places where I travelled alone” Suzanne Collins

Royal Battle: Can The Real “K” Please Stand Up!

In case you have been living under a rock or in outer space, allow me to fill you in on the lives of a couple of royals. One is television royalty, and the other is one half of the most famous royal couple in the world. Meet the queen of reality television and the princess of England

In April 2010, the world stood still as an estimated 2 billion people tuned in to watch Catherine, Kate, Middleton get married to Prince William, Duke of Cambridge. It was the topic of discussion for several months to come. It was indeed a beautiful affair.

In August 2011, Kim Kardashian got married to NBA star Kris Humphries, which became available in October 2011 on television for entertainment lovers and fans of the Kardashian’s around the world. The wedding highlight aired on E! Entertainment in a two-part Special ‘Kim’s Fairytale Wedding: A Kardashian Affair’.  Unfortunately, this particular fairytale lasted only seventy-two days.

Kate’s family got a unique coat of arms created for them before her marriage to William. On their part, Kim and Kris had a crest/monogram designed to sit at the top of their wedding invitation. The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge had official fragrances created for their wedding; one for men, and one for women. Kim also launched a Limited Edition wedding fragrance.

Both women are in their early thirties, and are both fashion headliners and trendsetters; they each have their styles, but the paparazzi have also captured them wearing the same dress!

On December 4, 2012, the news broke that the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge were expecting a baby. Surprise! Surprise!! On December 31, 2012, Kanye West announced Kim’s pregnancy in his Atlantic City concert.

On Monday, January 14, 2013, Kate Middleton revealed that she was due to give birth in July while the peoples of the world were still digesting that information, on Tuesday, January 15, Kim Kardashian also revealed she was due in July!

Somewhere inside my head, I hear a British voice saying to an American “b**ch please, there can only be one me!”

*use the comment box, tell us what you think of these ‘coincidences’*

Stepping out of fear

Some weeks ago I made a decision that will change the course of my life as I have known it for the last forty-two months. There are two types of emotions attached to this decision, the first set of emotions are pride, self-esteem, freedom (in a funny sort of way) and hope. Amid the warm glow of self-esteem and hope, there is a second lone emotion, a raging fear; fear of the unknown.

According to H. P. Lovecraft ‘The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown’.

The fear of the unknown is a situation where we find ourselves at our wit's end while thinking of embarking upon something we are not acquainted with if allowed to continue the fear can ultimately lead to an extremely limited lifestyle, devoid of the various essences in life.

I knew that the decision had been long in coming, and that was as good a time as any other, but the knowledge didn't stop the fear, so I hit the web looking to see how to deal with fear, I found two materials that have helped me, one is from a random site (http://www.pickthebrain.com), and the other is from the blog of a friend (http://beatsofadifferentheart.wordpress.com).

How to Beat the Fear of the Unknown

By M. A. Tohami

When my coaching clients find their purpose in life, they become so enthusiastic about their new discovery.

But the fear of the unknown leaves them in a frozen status.

They are afraid of entering and exploring the new ground, because they think they might get in trouble. They are afraid of losing what they already have by jumping into the unknown.

So, they remain paralyzed.

They know what they should be doing, but they can’t take action because they think there is a risk involved with this big life transition.

The Internal Conflict between What You Want and What You Already Have

Yes, you will be leaving your well known life and begin to embrace a totally new lifestyle.

But, here’s something that’s worth thinking about:

Aren’t you already in trouble?!

What urged you to search for your true passion?

Weren’t you hungry for a meaning in your life?

Aren’t you already feeling the pain of being lost and wandering aimlessly through life lacking a real purpose?

Are you happy with doing work that has no meaning and wasting your precious time doing something that doesn’t really matter to you?

This Shallow Life Leaves You Already In Trouble!

So, what do you have to lose?

As Steve Jobs says, “You’re already naked, so there is no reason why you don’t follow your heart”

Life is short. So, get out of your fears, do something and make a difference.

In fact, once you start taking action, you’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t, and you will soon gain clarity about what you should be doing to live and connect your passion to a profitable path.

The only way to beat the fear of the unknown is to take the first step. If you’re afraid of getting in trouble, remember that you’re already in a bigger trouble by not following your heart. If you listen to the voice of your fears, you’ll live an empty life. But, if you listen to the voice of your heart, you’ll live a remarkable life.

Take the first step and beat the fear of the unknown. There is nothing to lose and everything to gain.

The Parts That Count 

 by F.C. Adimefe

When the pains of staying at your present location exceeds the fears and uncertainties of venturing into your future destination… Life will demand that you move; you don’t always have to know where you are moving to, but just be sure on what you are running away from. The rest is faith!
When the pains of your silence have exceeded the grips of your trying to please man….Life will demand that you speak against something that you don’t agree with; you don’t always need to know how best to put across what you stand for, but be sure you are clear on what you stand against. The rest is justice!

When you experience that magical feeling…. Life will demand that you love- when love matters- you don’t always have to love for a reason or know those who loves you, just be sure you know those you love and you let them know how much they are loved. The best of love is seeing in giving and not always in receiving.

When the mountain before you is covering your view…Life demand that you move a piece of stone one at a time-you don’t need to know how much difference the little effort is paying- Just persist, and keep at it until the mountain becomes a plain. For mountains are collections of tiny stones.

I don’t know how long you've let your fear cripple you or hold you back in a spot, but think about it, wouldn't you rather know that you dared to do what you wanted and was unsuccessful at it than to be stuck in a box feeling suffocated when the only thing holding you back is your fear?

*Use the comment box, tell us about your fears and how you conquered them*

Think About It

Recently I was going through my stuff and came across a What are your New Years resolutions?

When I was much younger, every Christmas my mum and her siblings would put their children into a boat and send us off to the village to spend our Christmas and New Year; they went with us most times, but sometimes they did not. Either way, it was always fun. Those are some of the fondest childhood memories I have.

On those Christmases, one thing was held sacred: You must go to church on New Year's Eve; there was no debate or excuses, and you must of necessity have a New Years Resolution. I honestly do not know how many of those resolutions I followed through on; the truth was I needed to have a New Years resolution because everyone else had one.

As an adult, New Year's resolution presents the appeal of starting over, alas it is not that simple! Some of us have truckloads of unhealthy habits, and poor decisions we have made that are not just going to disappear because there is a change of date on the calendar. What we can do though is to take out a few days and reflect on the year that is about to end, honestly admit our strengths and weaknesses draw up realistic plans on how to use opportunities that present themselves and handle possible threats.

Recently, I was going through my things and came across a diary I had used for my retreat a couple of years ago, in all honesty, that was the only year I had a retreat. I started by listing out the things I would have liked to achieve that year, how many of those I did, and then, I went on to compile a list of things I would like to do in the coming year, and how I intended to achieve them. I also listed out all my positive and negative attributes with a side note on how I would improve the good ones and eliminate/reduce the bad ones. I know for a fact that that was one the best years for me because I was generally more focused and I knew where I was going. I did not just stumble into the year unprepared armed only with a New Years resolution.

As we know, a well thought out resolution is not a bad thing. My point is, most times we overlook the well thought out aspect and arrive in the new year with decisions that are neither here nor there, and by February most of us would have probably forgotten what it was we said we would do or not do.

What I intend to do, I hope to lock myself indoors for at least two days, switch off my cell phones if possible, arm myself with a notepad, a pen, a bible and motivational book (Reposition Yourself by T.D. Jakes). Hopefully, by January 1, I will have a well thought out New years resolution.

* What's Your Take? How do you decide on your resolutions? Use the comment box share with us.*

This Time of Year

 By Kufre Ibionoh

                                                                           

  Merry Christmas to you and yours

The resounding bangs of the fire crackers from last night came alive again, I wondered how I slept through that noise, but then again with the busy schedule I have had in the past 24 hours I felt I could still cling to my bed through any sound for a few hours more.

I was awake fully about 7.00 am. I thought of the long day ahead of me, and I wished it would come to an end with just a twinkle of an eye.

Shirt perfectly tucked in trousers, and a blazer to complete the outfit, it did look as though it was going to be a good long day. As I walked down the aisle of my apartment, I could overhear the plea of a 5 year old to her dad "When will you buy my new clothes", I imagined the smile on her face and her broken milk teeth as she mouthed those ritual words; the usual conversation between parents and their wards about this time.

Getting into my car, revving up the engine and making a great ahoy, no thanks to my V6 BMW, I could see lots of people going for their daily activities; there seemed to be more people, everyone looked to have some business or the other, or perhaps they are just keen on getting to the markets after all it's about that time, I thought.

7.30am in the morning. I started out in the heavy traffic; not like I was not used to it. I looked around me and saw the array of cars in their numbers all racing after something I could not see, and we moved in that procession, bumper to fender with the accompanying aroma of freshly baked pastries from the bakery along the road which was a reminder I hadn't had breakfast.

I tried to take my mind off food as my eyes were captivated by other interest; I was starring at the traffic jam that was created by the roundabout in front. I looked on intently, this time not to insult the traffic warden for her incompetence but with admiration, awesome! That was all my mouth could form.

A bit further, in front of a store, I looked at the beautiful boxes covered with gold wrapping papers under a lovely Pine tree decorated with lights, and some sort of white flakes, at the apex of the tree, was a star though it was daylight you could not take your eyes off the glow it possessed, ‘it's beautiful’ I said, as though I was hoping for a reply from someone in the car I sat in alone. I smiled at everything. It was a moment I wish I could save forever; I was lost in the beauty of it all.

Owing to our geographical location, we do not have any need to wear furs around our body, or need to help stabilize our body temperature with the use of heaters; flakes of snow do not drop endlessly around us, we can look high above and behold the golden sun smile at us all day. Beneath this golden sun about this time is filled with love.

It wasn't lovely as the cars behind me tooted their horns ceaselessly; I was creating another 'hold up', the blaring of horns reminded me that I was hungry, and I still had a long day ahead of me, I said to myself, It's about that time of the year when everyone goes a little crazy.


      

Gold-Digger: A Role Reversal

The word gold-digger used to have a female picture beside it, in my mind’s eye, but the types of men I have met in recent times are determined to change that mistaken impression. I can’t say there is a new trend in town because I am sure it has been there all along without my notice but now, I’m particularly concerned because it seems I have been marked.

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Before now it was taken for granted that, in a relationship between a man and a woman, the man bears the financial responsibility, this is no longer the case. In the 21st century, women have come a long way from where they used to be, they are no longer the shy little creatures whose only purpose is to marry a good man, cook his meals and raise his kids. Nowadays, added to the natural female desire of raising a family, more women are earning their own money, making a name for themselves in their chosen career paths and actually proving that “what a man can do a woman can also do”.

Given the century and the effort being put into gender equality, it is not surprising to see more women being the ‘breadwinner’ of the family or financial source of a relationship. There is nothing wrong with this arrangement as long as they are both in agreement with it. The problem instead arises, when all a man wants from a relationship is financial gain.

This kind of man will actively seek out unsuspecting young ladies who are sympathetic, vulnerable, or are in one form of emotional need or the other; he would provide temporary support by showering fake love in the hope of getting to his original goal which is to relieve her of as much money as he can.

If you have the misfortune of meeting this type of man, consider yourself a Micro-Finance Bank or a mobile ATM. Depending on how much of a cad he is, you go from buying ‘recharge card’, fueling the car, paying rent, to giving monthly allowance.

I have this friend who actually went the whole nine yards, the ‘fiance’ (it’s all part of the grand scheme, any good woman would like to stand by her man no matter what, especially when a gold ring is involved.) moved into her apartment with his sister, she was feeding them, fueling his car and giving him an allowance.

My cousin met this man who wanted a division of labour, he would pay the rent, and she would furnish the apartment.

I have met a couple of these mercenary bachelors; there was one, who wanted me to pay half the rent of his apartment; after all, that was going to be our matrimonial home. Psst!

There is a lot of material to draw from; personal and other people’s experiences, I could go on forever if I wanted, but I am just going to stop here.

Most of these men are good when it comes to physical intimacy, they might seem particularly attentive, and hopelessly in love to the untrained eye, don’t be deceived that is just a hustle. He will be there for you as long as you have money when the money is gone, he will be gone so fast you won't know what hit you.

In truth, the economy is so hard that people are trying whatever schemes they can in order to survive. A number of young men think that the economy is not quite as hard on women as it is on men, I guess that’s how they came up with the grand scheme of professing love in exchange for money.

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If you want to go into a particular line of business, you need to learn the ropes to be successful at it. Anyone who looks at me and marks me for his victim clearly hasn't learnt his art properly, aside from the terribly obvious fact that I have no gold; I am not that naive or vulnerable.

*Use the comment box, tell me what you think is responsible for the rise of male gold diggers.*