humanEty

of racism and our red milk of human kindness.

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“How is your knee today?” The elderly man [whom I will name baba] asked him “Better, it’s less painful.” Young replied cheerily “Oh, you remembered. Thank you for asking” I said to baba as the minus-1-degree icy cold shook my body mercilessly. “Yes, he was limping the other day and could barely walk” baba responded … Read more

emotional intelligence is overrated: knock down the restraints

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It was my then best friend Ojochide who first pointed out my self sabotage. Unfortunately, my save-the-world glasses were still on then. Teenage friends who met in Jos then transitioned to Lagos. We were at the Tejuosho market, Yaba, that day when I began berating her. Again she had lost her cool with one of … Read more

cancer missed this birthday

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“Amara are you crying?”

“No, you are not”

I shifted under the Comforter in bed. Sniffling.

“What is it?”

“Why are you crying now when you are almost drifting off to sleep?

I sat upright as the strains of a song filtered into my room from the hallway.

‘God You’re So Good’ A Duet by Passion, Kristian Stanfil & Melodie Malone.

That song always gets me. However this night was different. I have been a mesh of emotions for the last week. And it culminated today when I was writing that letter to him.

You see, tomorrow is my son’s birthday. The threshold of his teen years. A new phase of life entirely. This morning before he went to school, I did what mothers across generations have always done. Laid hands on him and prayed out the old year. Reminding God of how grateful I am. And thanking him for the helpers, teachers and guides he has positioned on this boy’s path for this new season of his life.

Then in the afternoon, I wrote him a letter. It is not even that I will give him the letter. I left it inside a journal he barely uses. And left a caveat that I do not know when he would find or read it.

Writing that letter though, unlocked a surge of positive emotions. As I regaled him with stories from way back, a fresh realisation of how blessed we have been floated all around me.

This night again, I paid him a visit where we played and laughed on his bed.

Then laying in bed, I hear the words of this song weave through the air. And I can relate to every lyric.

His Goodness is why I am here, alive for another birthday. If God had dropped the ball, who knows whose house my son would be in this night? Maybe I would have been like that woman of whom my mother always recounted her story. The one people find her ghost wandering around. Yet each time it was that one question she asked anyone – “did you see my children? have they eaten?”

Both of us have lived the experience of God’s faithfulness in all shades. From the day I found out I was pregnant, I have not lacked for anything. God has set up a community around us so much so that even in a strange land, dealing with cancer, he remains our portion in this land of the Living.

punish me now

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“I am sorry, I did not mean to” He stood by the door of my room pleading again

“Go away please. Leave my room” I responded calmly

“I was trying to pick it up and….”

“Young man, just go. Have you finished the mopping?

“Yes. It was an accident”

“Go. it is not a big deal. Just go”

Watching him leave apprehensively, an image popped up in my head. Watching Iyawo-Urhobo hurl a can of Saturday Night powder at her daughter Edirin as she chased her round the compound angrily. Then just as quickly, another vision superimposed itself over that one. Mama Oche walking away from her son who had mistakenly dropped her flask on the floor.

Then this popular Nigerian saying came to my head. About not flogging a child on the day he spills palm oil.

A saying which simply means deferred punishment.

“Why do you even need to flog him at all?” I countered

Right at that instant as my son walked away almost dejectedly I called him back. For the first time in my life I was only realising how faulty the premise of that saying was. It was a passive-aggressive thing to do to a child. To any body. Ignore the elephant in the room yet expect the person to run around freely.

As he sat down on my bed, we got talking.

“I said it is okay so do you keep apologising?”

“Because I broke your glass and you are not saying anything”

“is this not your house too?”

“Yes. But you bought it with your money” he answered, shoulders still hunched while looking away

“I am the parent. Who else is going to buy it? you?”

He was silent.

“Hey, sit up and look at me” I chided him

“Have you ever broken something?”

He searched his memory bank. Then came up with one incident of a cracked plate at my friend’s house when we visited.

“Listen, I used to break stuff most times growing up in my auntie’s house. Quality crockery she returned home with from England. It was so bad that I felt sad for her. It was like my hands were accident-prone. Yet she never gave me grief.

“I am your mother. I do not recall you ever breaking anything. Even as a toddler, you did not break any of my devices nor throw any into water. So why should I make a fuss because you broke a cup for the first time in your life?”

We hugged and he left. Leaving me relieved. I have always worried that I was living with an old soul because which child does not break something?

playing god in a human world

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A simulation of Mordecai selling the idea to his niece

Intrigues, lies, deception, sexual sins, greed, jealousy, unequal yoke, gambling, treachery, hatred, subtle manoeuvring, disobedience to God’s laws, imbalance of power, hatred, harlotry, wickedness,

These are some of the plots which makes the bible The bestseller.

Lying on my bed during my teen years, the adventurer in me would be lost traveling with the Isrealites through their journeys. I envied them their adventures. For me, they were living the life.

I love the Author’s authenticity. No filters. We get a front row seat to see the foibles of humanity.

Even after God regretted making man he still did not reconfigure the original formula.

The story of Esther is one which today would not be retold in the Church. It would have been tagged ‘unequally yoked’ and hidden under the pews. Imagine the narration; a teenage born again sister from a believing home entering into a secular beauty pageant. She was taking a gap year to go study how to spend one night with the king. A night of orgy not vigil. Then after the fornication, if he does not like her well enough; makes her spend the rest of her life in seclusion and competition with other women. Instead of releasing her to go and marry someone else. Did I mention that the king was a divorcee too?

Yet, it was worth the gamble.

Meanwhile, I have no idea how Mordecai pulled off that move. Although we do grasp the fact that females have always been vassals.

At that point, the Torah which is the National Law Library for the Jews was conveniently ignored by him. How that family must have become a reference point. Negatively. A marker for mothers with their daughters. Reminding them not to be as that girl who has lost her way. Shaking their heads in derision because if only the poor girl’s parents were alive, her uncle would not have forced her into defiling herself. The Pharisees probably ex-communicating Mordecai for that.

Yet, out of that, God makes something great.

When he uses her to rescue them all from imminent death, I do not see any of them preferring to die than be saved by ‘that girl’.

Like a thread, redemption is a constant theme through the bible. Be you Cain, Lot, Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, Esther, Gomer or even Mary.

What do you think? share your views below.