We Are One

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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

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

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.

Let's talk about breast

It‘s eleven years today since I lost my Mum and best friend; She was more of a best friend than a mother, not a day goes by that I don’t miss her. It was our routine in the evenings for me to fill her in on how I had spent my day… boys, and all, I terribly miss that.

Some years before she died, we noticed that her breast produced some sort of discharge she had told us, it was because we(my sis and I) refused breast milk, now I know it was a symptom of cancer that was waiting to take her life.

Mum was so stubborn, she refused to go to the hospital to find out what was wrong with her; When she eventually did, she said: "I would rather die if God will not heal me". This put a wedge in our relationship that was hitherto perfect, I told her since she had made up her mind to die, it was better for me to put some distance between us so when she dies I won’t be distraught. I regret that statement and that I actually put some distance between us. Being the angel that she was she would hold on for me before she breathed her last, for that, I am eternally grateful. In moments when I feel as though I have failed woefully at being a loyal daughter, I think of that act, and I know Mum forgave me, I’m still trying to forgive myself though.

In this eleventh year of her death, I’ve decided to talk about that part of her body that she neglected, and I can only hope that you’d pay attention.

Fait attention

You could call them tits; boobs, jugs, oranges, melons, headlamps, knockers, tatas etc. or we could just call them breast. Some men are so fascinated by that supple mass of flesh on the chest of a woman such that, it is arguably the first thing they notice.

Soft, beautiful, bouncy, sensitive, sexy, curvy breasts are something everyone pays attention to men can’t seem to think beyond the pleasure it would give them and most women are far too concerned about the fitting it would give in a dress or how much attention it would attract.

Breast is the cause of many a woman's insecurities; some women are so concerned about the size of their breast that they would go to any length to see it perfect, from temporary approaches of using Wonder bra’s to give an illusion of a fuller breast or a more impressive decolletage  to creams that are supposed to reduce or increase the size of the breast and more permanent measures like breast augmentation, breast implant and breast reduction. Let's just say breasts are getting a lot of attention, but are they getting the requisite attention?

Women need to learn about loving their breast It’s yours' don't be afraid to explore;  know the exact size shape colour, touch it to know how it feels normally stand in front of a mirror, strike up different poses and take a real close look at it, that way even the slightest changes won't escape your notice, if there is something wrong with your breast, you should be the first to know.

There is a couple of problems that affect the breast regular (once a month) Breast Self Examination (BSE) would help you nip any potential problem in the bud.

Breast Self Examination is easy, stand in front of a mirror, raise your right hand above your head with your left fingertips close together, gently massage the sides of your right breast, start outside; inside the armpit, and gently work your way to the nipple, or start from the top (a few inches below your collarbone) and finish off where your breast stops. Lift your left hand above your head and repeat the process for the left breast.

“A breast self-examination is done to detect breast problems, such as a lump or change in appearance, that may indicate breast cancer or other breast conditions that may require medical attention” WebMD

Most changes and lumps in the breast are harmless abnormal growths.

‘Benign breast tumours such as fibroadenomas or intraductal papillomas are abnormal growths, but they are not cancerous and do not spread outside the breast to other organs. They are not life-threatening.

Still, some benign breast conditions are crucial because women with these conditions have a higher risk of developing breast cancer’ (American Cancer Society)

Breast changes may also occur because of pregnancy, menstrual cycle, or birth control pills in younger women, and in older women; ageing and menopause. The point is whenever you notice a change see a Physician because "every woman is at risk of breast cancer and the key to survival is early detection".

News of my death

It was a sunny day in September, nothing about the day had struck me as exceptional, and nothing could have prepared me for the events of that day. Now when I think back to it, it occurs to me that I am among the lucky few who have been alive to hear the announcement of their own death and fortunate enough to witness what a notable loss and bereavement their demise would be to their family.

The decision…

I had just graduated from the university, with no hope of going to Youth Service anytime soon. I had an extra year on hand before Service, not from any fault of mine; it is no great secret to anyone who knows the "premier University of Science and Technology" that they had a tendency to be slow in the compilation and submission of names to the National Youth Service Corps Commission.

Things were the way they were. The restless energy of youth combined with a lack of finance arising from the fact that I was no longer a student and as such no longer drew sympathies from relatives in that they felt the need to give me money, I set my mind to look for a job and earn a little money for myself.

I had heard that I could get a job in Bonny which needed neither a particular skill, exceptional intelligence, nor qualification, it was a matter of "come as you are" and this appealed to me greatly. My cousin and I made arrangements to depart for Bonny immediately.

Bonny …

As treasure hunting tales go, this was no different. The high hopes with which we got to Bonny quickly dwindled into sour disappointment. We had a couple of aunts and uncles in Bonny but in the quest to be truly independent, and because we wanted to enjoy the town without  any interference we decided not to stay with any of them, and chose instead to stay with a distant cousin whose existence we had no knowledge of until a day before the trip.

Tonye stayed in a log cabin (Bacha) on the outskirts of the town in a place called 'one-man village'. When we first beheld our new abode, it was only natural that our bravado should falter,  nothing could have prepared us for what we met, our newly found cousin took us around his humble abode (no pun intended). It had a kitchenette and a bathroom, the toilet was in an out-house shared with several other people, the living room which was also the bedroom was utterly devoid of any furniture, on one side of the room was his luggage and a sleeping mat. We had gone on the trip with a terribly large luggage containing both our clothes and we were also hoping to make enough money to get some more. Our present environment was perhaps the first indication that things might not be quite as rosy as we had gone expecting, but we had set out to conquer the world and couldn't let a small thing like sleeping arrangements stop us.

As it is with human nature, we adjusted to the environment, albeit not perfectly, but enough for it to be the least of our worries.

The hunt...

With the stories we had heard, we thought finding a job couldn't take more than a week, we were in for a surprise.

Day after day we went to the Bonny Employment Bureau, and day after day we went home dejected. Not even the fact that we had gone armed with a recommendation letter was doing any magic, we were getting disappointed and discouraged, our purse also felt the impact of our two weeks stay with no additional income.

After about three weeks of mostly the same routine; go to the Employment Bureau, meet other people who we had become familiar with over the weeks, "gist" a little, go out for lunch (at this point we had forfeited the luxury of breakfast), and then return home wondering why people took pleasure in lying (keeping in mind the person who had given us the ludicrous story of an easy job).

The death...

On the Sunday of the fourth week, we decided there was no need to go to church, by then we were totally broke but still too proud to go back to Port-Harcourt without the oil money we had gone seeking.

It was in that broke, dejected and almost hopeless state that we were napping when all of a sudden I heard the insistent ringing of my phone, but because I had slept without food and was quite angry with the world at that moment, I was not in a great hurry to take the call. After it had rung five times I finally picked up the call, it was my uncle, my mother's brother, who before that day had never called me.

‘Hello',  I said.
‘Toku’? he responded with a question in his voice. My mind became instantly alert, I knew there was something wrong although I could not tell the nature of it. He asked if I were alright, I answered in the affirmative. Before we could continue further in the conversation my battery went flat...

Ngeri and I played out possible scenarios that could have led to the call, we were still on it when her phone rang.

It was her mother, my aunt, she sounded strange as though she had been crying and could barely speak.

She asked Ngeri how my death had occurred, Ngeri put the phone on loudspeaker and responded 'Mummy, what are you talking about? Toku dey here'

I quickly piped in that I was there, though I was totally at a loss as to why anyone should think I was dead.

Well, after we had reassured her that there was nothing wrong with me except perhaps hunger, she told us how an "anonymous someone" had called 'Sisi' my eldest aunt while the poor woman was attending a Church service to tell her, "Toku is dead."
when she queried "which Toku?" the person had responded, "how many Tokus do you know?" Your niece Tokulanye Ibaningo is dead".  And went ahead to end the call brutally, every attempt to put a call through to her was futile.

My aunts and uncle immediately called an emergency meeting and were discussing how to get the corpse back to Port-Harcourt, it eventually occurred to them to call our phones, the network conspired with the bearer of the false tale to make it all seem true, and they were told both our numbers were "not available", they kept at it until my number finally went through, I reluctantly picked up the call and heard the news of my death.