Hold on

There are no words to thank my wonderful friends for an amazing time on Friday.

Two days time and i am a year older. Amen.

Dear God, can i ever thank You enough?

Its another year again. Hold my hand. No matter how stubborn or angry i get, hold on please. No matter how many times i let go, hold on. That's all i ask, that you hold onto me and never let me go.

Thank you.

Errr Blogville, its been a whirlwind. I read through some of my old posts and cringe inwardly. Other posts make me blush :) Some others i can barely recognise myself in it.

I wouldn't change anything that has happened this past year, least of all discovering this world. Hold on to me, you guys. Don't let go, not just yet.

Be happy people

Song of the day: Maxwell-Pretty Wings

Treasures of darkness

In faith I do not love thee with mine eyes,

For they in thee a thousand errors note;

But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,

Shakespeare

Dawn comes swiftly and you wonder if somewhere in this world there is anyone who dreads this day as much as you. Probably not. Who wouldn't be glad to see another day? To see another day...

You shut your eyes a little tighter against Dawn. The smell of a new day assails your nose. It would be impossible to shut your nostrils as well so you stop fighting and let the day begin.

You hear the knock on your door and you answer in affirmative to let them in. They scurry like rats trying to prepare you for what they have named the most important day of your life. They are wrong about it being the most important day. That description is reserved for the day you met him. Today, all you can feel is emptiness and nonchalance.

"Would you prefer pink or lilac eyeshadow color" the grossly overpaid make up artist your mother insisted upon asks. You can smell the stale mixture of perfume and sweat coming off her. You shrug and she turns to your mother for help. Together they decide what color will bring life to your eyes.

You shrug your way through it all. The wearing of the gown they say brings out figure; the pinning down of your hair or whatever the hairdresser thinks he is doing; the prayers; the giggling of your friends; the busybodyness of your mother...

You sit in the limo your father hired. Its just you and him in the back seat. You think about how he has always been there for you. You wonder how he can bear to give you up to another man. You wonder if your father will miss you. You wonder if he can feel your doubt and fear. He has held onto your hand since you got into the car. He stops talking now and then to squeeze your hand reassuringly.

Your mind touches on everything and everyone apart from the man you are about to marry during the drive. Every time you try to steer your mind in his direction, all you see is darkness. Thick impenetrable darkness. Darkness so strong that you fear that if you explore it, it will consume you and you will never be able to find dawn in your heart again. You pray for illumination, lighting, brightening, anything to pierce through this darkness. Just so you might have a glimpse of why you are going along with any of this. Just so you might understand what has possessed you to want to tie your soul with this man.

The limo comes to a halt. Your father takes his hand in yours and asks if you are ready. You hear the expectation in his voice, and you nod in affirmative.

Every step that takes you closer to the church makes you want to run like a vampire confronted with a cross. Every step closer to the darkness that is your groom makes you hold on faster to the dawn you tried to run away from just a few hours ago.

The sky grumbles. You feel the worry of your bridal train as they whisper and sigh, pleading to the heavens to keep the rain clouds at bay. You can almost taste their anxiety as they hurry you into the cathedral

The organist begins to play. The long walk down the aisle begins as the sky thunders. Your father takes your hand and leads you as he has done so many a time. You smile as he hums the words to the music. Suddenly the music stops. There are hisses and shouts of recriminations against "NEPA". There are instructions to "Hurry and put on the generator". You recognize the Reverend's voice. He baptized you as a child. You hear your mother grumbling about the church maintenance people and how they are never prepared. She kisses you on the cheek and says "Its alright. the lights will be back on soon" You feel the swish of her wrapper as she walks hurriedly past. Your father's hands tremble a little in yours. Parkinson's or anxiety, you wonder. Its your turn to squeeze his hand. He squeezes back.

That's when you hear your groom whisper and ask if you are alright. The darkness that has overwhelmed every image you have of him finally gives way. The lights of your soul come on and through the eyes of your heart you finally see him as he has always been, as he will always be, come rain, come sunshine, come dawn, come twilight, come sight, come blindness...

The other lights come back on as he obeys the Reverend and kisses the bride. You can tell from the 'up NEPA's and 'praise God's that accompany the oohing and aahing at your kiss. You can tell from the smell of the hastily blown out candles that provided illumination when the generator failed to provide electricity. The lights that do matter have come on long before now. The lights of your soul have guided you down the aisle and into his life. Its alright to shut your sightless eyes now. 

 

Yes, you will never know what he looks like. Yes, you will bear children with him and never be able to tell whether they have your eyes or his. But what about the joy of never getting to see the ugly scars life will inflict on him or the serenity of never having to judge him by the world's twisted standards of beauty?

Darkness does have its joys.

They are called the treasures of darkness, the hidden riches of secrets places...

Song of the day: The Fray - Look after you

The Love Heresy

Chei!!! i am old!!! My youngest brother wrote this and when i read it, i almost fell out of my chair. I still remember vividly eating his Frisocream and being smacked by my father because Frisocream was meant for babies alone (mschewww what do adults know?). 

Apparently creativity runs in my family...if this Pikin can write this at 18, i wonder what he will come up with at my age...I am so very ashamed of myself right now...

Sigh, i will just shut up already and let you read...

Oh don’t we love to cuddle, to hold and squeeze, and perhaps to call our own? Oh don’t we want to be loved, so we can feel special and admired? Oh don’t we just love to be idiots, to hold such emotions in esteem and insult the name of love? 

For love art not what we conceived, ours being mixed with weakness is like water mixed with fuel, adulterated. Do you, in your right senses, perceive love to be the exchange of spit? Do you degrade love to the standard of bare affection, are u that ignorant are u so naive, huh? We redefine the essence of love! there’s only one genuine love, love irrespective of condition, status, ties, deeds or perhaps looks. What some may call agape, but i would not be found spiteful to classify. That sort of love is not weak, its all conquering, has no boundaries, it sees faults and bears it, it holds no criteria for its disposal. This love holds so much worth that’s its being equated to God(God is love). But when such pure love, makes compromises, borrows the sense organs, make judgments and do things BECAUSE; it becomes love as we know it, adulterated. Yet this is the sort of love humans all crave for, the intimate love, weak love.

Titanic, Beauty & the Beast, Romeo & Juliet, Sleeping beauty, Twilight and the likes, have all been successes because this infidel love appeals to us, and we are charmed by its display. What is it about this so-called love that you can't do without? What is it that attracts us as metals to magnet?

I find myself taking time to read the “life partner” column every time I get hold of a Sunday punch newspaper, not because I am searching (please of all places). No, its because i like to mock those sleazy desperadoes with their throat choking criteria for a spouse. i wonder why its those without options that are most demanding - must be tall, handsome,well dressed, descent, Calabar, not hairy, fair, good in bed, sane, wealthy, muscular... The list is never ending. The thing is these people are so troubled by the absence of affection that they seek for the angel they don’t know. 

Insecurities. Don’t you ever ponder? Why the average teen has a girlfriend and the other teens without one occupy much of their minds about this vacancy? My opinion-INSECURITIES. They could make up a thousand and one reasons why they need this love, but none abide with logic. The married are the most unfortunate, spineless mammals who can't act independently. An association built on reliance. Pitiful. They are weak and use love to make up for insecurities. 

Why do most unmarried women, above 27 prioritize marriage as their ultimate goal. Why do weaklings fret on this sort of love, like its their purpose of existence. To what end do we fall in love? To what end do we kiss? To what end do we dress to match?To what end do we share ice cream? To what end do we love in this sort of way? Insecurities if not stupidity!
 

Am i a love hater? certainly! And my detest for this love compounds for one reason. That unconditional love has being ignored. Man has evolved to be so greedy, that he would rather please his own than care for the many. We have grown to dwell so much on this love that we are unperturbed by the pain in our environment. Man has become so homophobic that he’d love his bride and scorn his brothers. He has become so senile as to classify love, so intelligent as to defend his greed. 

We, in classy restaurants playing love n feeding each other, whilst another in Sudan contemplates eating his fellow. We walk majestically with gorgeous matching clothes and jewelry whilst another adorns a clothing without spare. How could we kiss and cuddle, when we bear knowledge of brothers who lay without the warmth of shelter? How could we even think of a vacation with our significant others when children being afflicted by diseases wonder if they will see tomorrow? How can you profess your love to her when inside lies a sinister mind of wickedness towards other men.

 

Man should cease to build tents of his own love that shields him from these realities. I am no pastor, humanitarian or activist, but deem me credible to say, love your spouses in the best of ways but never fail to show love to the world in the least of ways. Selah!

I think the young man has been listening too much Damian Marley and the like hence this rant against love...sigh...i will ask him how he feels again about love in five years...


if you can't tell already, i am so very proud...of both my boys...

The Sounds of Night

I remember the first time I became aware of you.

It was one of those nights where I was startled from sleep by the realization that the cold seeping into the lower part of my body had nothing to do with the direction of the fan. I was once again lying in a pool of my urine. I had failed the growing up test again.

I started to cry. I wept not because of the recriminations that would follow from our mother in the morning. I was not crying because of the humiliation that awaited me in the morning in the hands of Anwuli as she stripped and left me naked in the bathroom till she was ready to bathe me either. I was used to all that. Looking back now, i think I had developed a thick skin to most of it. I was an old man in a four year old's body. Been there, done that. Anwuli, mom, dad and their reactions to my bedwetting... I had memories of all of them before that night. But you, you were just a shadow before then.

 

I cried hard that night. Thick skin or not, I still wanted mom to be able to lean in and hug me without holding her breath for fear that a whiff of my urine might assail her pampered nose. I wanted to be rid of Anwuli and the scare her Nixoderm painted face gave me on the nights she woke me up to pee. I wanted to be able to drink apple juice or milk any hour of the day I chose. I wanted to be free of the mocking songs of 'Atole' that Anwuli composed to haunt my every waking hour.

I remember how cold it got that night as my urine and tears seeped into my bedclothes and reinforced the chill of the night. I sat up in bed wondering how to make it right. Then you walked into my room. I have no previous memory of you before you walked into my room that night but when you did, I knew it was going to be alright.

"Why are you crying?" You asked.
"I peed on the bed again." I replied in a small voice full of shame.
"Ok." You answered.

You made me get out of the soiled bed and helped me remove my damp clothes. You took me into the bathroom and rinsed my body ever so gently. You found me new bedclothes and dressed me. You then took me by the hand and into your room. You tucked me in your bed and gave me your teddy. Mine was soaked in pee.

"What if I pee on your bed?" I asked after you had gotten into bed with me.
"Then Anwuli will wash plenty clothes tomorrow and leave us to play our football" you replied. I chuckled at the thought. I didn't pee again that night. I don't remember ever peeing on the bed again.

Mom says you cured me but I think it was Anwuli's threat the next morning to tie a snake round my waist if I continued with my ways that did it.

Its 3am and I can hear your son sniffling. Your snores, your wife's soft breathing, his sniffling and the drone of the air conditioner are the sounds that accompany the night. I can recognize the sounds your son is making anywhere. It is shame mixed with fear, topped with loneliness and wrapped up in the chill of the night. Been there, done that.

I walk into your son's room and repay the favor of many years ago. Your house-girl's name is Beatrice. I will have a word with her about stories of snakes on little boys' waists in the morning. It worked for me and Anwuli.

For now, I listen to the sounds of a child breathing,his security and dignity restored, and I know what it feels like to be a hero. You, my brother, were my first hero.

P.S I wish i could always write like this...sigh...Sadly my muse is as strong willed as i am... 

This one is for all my heroes. You make me better...

Song of the day: Mariah Carey - Hero

The Walls did this to Us - People

Its been a minute...been so busy that i forgot to post the last part to Walls. I had a fabulous weekend. My head is still reeling from the amazing people i met. I even met a  blogger who i found as controversial as his blog. It was an amazing time amongst friends.

Walls will always spring up if we let them. Our lives are fertile ground for walls. The foundations are in the little things we do or failed to do. The Bible says "A little yeast works through the whole batch of dough." 

This story is as much for me as for anyone who can identify and learn from it. Here is looking at the future and breaking down them walls...

While we are blaming everything else but ourselves for the walls, let's not forget the 'people'. The 'people' deserve a fair share of blame as well. Maybe even more than inanimate walls and phones. The 'People' make it all come alive.

It was people that told us Surulere was no longer a fitting abode for an up and coming businessman and his wife. It was people who assured us more walls meant progress. They failed to tell us about walls within walls.

People call phones.

They call in the morning to remind us of what we are missing by staying a little longer in bed, holding each other.

They call in the afternoon and cut short our lunch hour.

They call at night while we are in bed navigating the now unfamiliar waters of our love.

They call during vacations, sessions with the marriage counselor, fertility treatments...

So while we are at it blaming everything but ourselves, let's blame people.

Her mother who shows up at our doorstep ever so often reminding us of how her back yearns for grandchildren to carry.

My friends who persuade me night after night that hanging out with the boys is far better than having dinner at home.

Her friends who bring her evidence of my affairs and implore her to do something about it.

The psychologist who gets paid for failing at putting our marriage back together.

Yes, let's blame people. And while we are at it, let's not forget the people with whom the blame lies with the most.

Me and her.

For answering those damned phone calls. For letting the world into the four walls of our lives and bowing to their demands for more walls.

Walls, phones, people, her, me...blame runs deep.

I hear her drive into the compound. The thud of her feet on the ground as she runs into the house rhymes with my heartbeat. I stand in between two walls. Walls that I built to shelter her and our life together. I place my hands against them. I feel like Samson. I would pull down every wall for her. I would destroy every phone if it would make things alright. I would fight all the people in the world to keep her safe.

She is wearing sneakers as i imagined she would. Errant strands of her hair have pulled loose from the knot she pulled it back in.

She comes close enough for me to tell she has been chewing mint gum.

Her hands are trembling. I steady her hands and kiss them.

I do not tell her it will be alright.

I go on my knees.

I do not ask her to give us a second try.

I hold my breath. Saying the wrong thing might build another foundation for walls to fester upon. She kneels with me.

"Just say ok" I whisper in her hair.

"Ok" she says and I can breathe again.

Light streams in through the windows. Even sound proof imported brick walls cannot keep it out.

The sun is risen.

 

©2011 | Kiahscripts

Song of the day: India Arie -  The Heart of the Matter

The Walls did this to Us – PHONES!

My friend asked me yesterday if i was happy.. He knows me better than most people. He has known me since i was 12. I thought about that question for a moment and answered "i think happiness is ongoing...a journey...not a destination...i am on the right path. i love you for asking..." 

Most people assume that i am happy because lately its been uphill all the way...i have nothing to complain about. In fact i have  every thing to be grateful for...But 'happiness'??? 

I am on the right path...

The walls did this to us.

Even as I left it all behind today, I could not bring myself to look beyond the walls and knock on his door to say goodbye. I had to rely on a phone! I let mere walls get in between something as simple as a goodbye.

“Phones”

Those goddamn little things that get in the way of everything. It is easy to blame it all on something as solid as a wall. Walls can take it but we both know that the walls were just one part to a three-pronged tale . The phones were as guilty as the walls.

“Phones!”

It's phones that harbor text messages from the other women in his life. It's phones that ring endlessly and cut short whatever little time we try to spend with each other. It's those same phones from which he can't keep his eyes off, forever hoping that some call would come through and save him from having to meet my eyes from across the dinner table. It's phones that interrupt the comfortable silence of our lives and turn it into a circus where we make pretend that everything is alright.

There was a time we didn't care about phones and walls. It used to be just him, me and a room with four walls that kept the rest of the world away.

It used to be just us with two phones that almost never rang.

We were happy until the four walls in Surulere became a dozen in Lekki. Everything was fine before the Nokia 3310s became i Phones, Blackberries and HTCs.

I have no idea where I am going but I keep driving east.

I just need to get away from the walls.I can't get away from the phones. Right now, I will take whatever small victories I can get! 

I stare at the phone that takes up the seat beside me. He should be sitting there.

I stop the car and get out. I start walking till I am close enough to the water to see it ripple. It’s a lonely bridge this morning. I left before sunrise.

I clutch the phone in my hand and look to the east waiting for the sun to make its debut. The phone rings before I can the find the will to throw it into the abyss below me.

I answer.

"I can break down these walls if you say Ok", He says.

I hold the phone so tightly that my palm begins to hurt. I catch a glimpse of horizon as the sun begins its ascent.

"Ok" I say.

'Ok' he replies.

'Ok' I answer.

He hangs up and I walk back to my car – still clutching the phone.

The phones did this to us too…If he succeeds in breaking down the walls,it will just be one hurdle crossed. Who, what, will make the phones go away?

The sun is rising behind me.

©2011 | Kiahsscripts

Song of the day: Michelle Branch - Are you happy now?

Out of Goodbyes (Happy Anniversary)

So i was listening to the Maroon 5 and Lady Antebellum song with the above title this morning. I am a very proud Maroon 5 fan. I can sing all the songs off their first album - Songs about Jane. I follow Adam Levine on Twitter. I am in true love. Sadly...

Music inspires me. It always has and i think because i listen to a lot of sad (but really great) music, i write sad. Do not be deceived. I am a very happy girl...Well most of the time...

I am not a fan of  Lady Antebellum but i think this is one of the finest duets i have heard in a  long time. Both bands rock... 

Forgive me as i choose to digress from Walls today... It is for a worthy cause...

BTW July is a great month...i suddenly have something to blog about everyday. The muses have been appeased. Then again, maybe it because this month makes it a year since i started blogging...we might as well have a good anniversary :))

Tell me actions speak louder but there was something about her words that hurt..

You say “I hate you” more often than you say “I love you”. But the next minute after you have thrown your fist of words, you run into my arms crying. You say words that you can't take back because you know I will always take you back. I would give anything to always hold you in my arms...without the words echoing in my ears. 

Never asked you to change but sadly you don't feel the same about me

“You should read more books instead of spending time with friends that add nothing to your life.” 

“All you ever do is think about making money. Get a life.”

“You bore me.”

And so I go to every boring poetry reading with you. I hang out with hippies that are crazy enough to give Freud a start just to keep you in my line of sight. I stop eating meat and fish because you cry over man's inhumanity to other animals. I learn to eat tofu because you say vegetarian is our new religion. I make love to you even when you stink to high heavens because you and your fellow hippies decide the best way to change the world is to boycott deodorant.

I wonder does your man still shudder when you hold his hand...like this man...

I am getting pizza when I see you. You are wearing the green bridesmaid dress we chose together for Aramide's wedding. I still have the green necktie I wore as best man. You dazzle and your eyes shine as you talk with him. Did they shine like that when you looked at me? You throw your head back and laugh. You hold his hand to your lips and I die all over again.

Now that I have done my time, I need to move on...i am out of goodbyes

Aramide had a baby yesterday. I went to see her in the hospital. She is making me the baby's god father. I think of the child we never had. The one I begged you to keep. The one that you insisted was going to be a reason for world over- population.

The baby starts crying as I hold him. Aramide stretches out her hands for him but I hold on and sing the lullaby I made up for you. I could have sworn he smiled at me. I could have sworn he understood what it meant to be out of goodbyes and ready for hellos.

Song of the day....i will let you figure that out today! 

The Walls did this to us - Walls

I woke up before the sun today. I laid in bed and waited for it to rise. It felt great laying in my bed, knowing that I beat the sun to it. It will be my only victory today as dawn brings with it the knowledge that even waking up before the sun will not stop her from leaving.

I hear her moving around in the other room. I can tell she is gathering her things together. I can feel her frustration as she packs. She hates to pack. I see her biting her nails as she looks around the room to make sure she has forgotten nothing. I close my eyes and hope she realizes the most important thing will never fit into her luggage.

I want to hold her. I want to steady her hands and kiss them and tell her we will be alright. I want to go on my knees and ask her to give us a second try. Instead, I lay in my bed and listen from behind the walls.

My phone rings. No caller Id. I answer.

"Its me" she says. I think to myself how it got so bad that even with mere walls between us, we have to resort to technology to reach out to each other. "Ok" I say. She hesitates. And then she says "Ok". "Ok" I say again in reply.

She breathes in loudly and I can hear her pacing back and forth in the next room. I can picture it in my mind's eye. She will be wearing sneakers for comfort as she always does. Her hair will be pulled back from her face so she won't have to keep putting it back in place. She will be wearing no make up. Probably no jewelry either. Her face will be scrunched up as she thinks of what else there is left to say.

"Ok" she says again and hangs up. I am still lying in my bed. She opens the door to her room. I can hear every footstep. I can feel the weight of her luggage as she struggles with them. I want to run to her. I want to snatch the bags out of her hands. I want to whisper "Ok" into her ears without the help of some damned phone. I want to beg her to take me along.

I stay where I am till I hear the car engine start. I am still on the bed as she drives away. By the time I make it out of bed, there is no physical trace left of her. She might as well have been a ghost.

Sadly, ghosts do not break hearts. They are uninhibited by walls. The walls did this to us. We are very much human.

The sun is yet to rise.

P.s this is a series, a work in progress...there are walls within walls...

Song of the day: Phil Collins- Separate Lives

Kiah

A lot of people have asked me in the past year or so why i chose the name/pseudonym 'Kiah'.

Its hard to explain. Then again it is the simplest thing in the world.

I first read about the name Kiah in Stephen King's Bag of Bones. Yes, yes, i found my name in a horror book, bite me!!! I have been in love with the name ever since. Aside the fact that it is a beautiful African name and i am proud to be African, its meaning inspired me. I was going through a tough phase in my life. It was so bad that i couldn't remember when things were any better. And that's saying something. I read that Stephen King book and found Kiah and decided to give life and love another go. So far, so good...

Where i come from, names are more than just names. They are pronouncements, they are prayers, they are hopes, they are emotions...Recently my father told me he couldn't have chosen a better name for me than my birth name. He said all he hoped for at my birth, i have become. That is the best thing my father has ever said to me. 

By taking up the name Kiah, i decided to start again and start well. Kiah is Swahili for 'Dawn, Season's beginning'. It is also Greek and Australian for 'Beautiful'. It is pronounced 'Kaya'. 

That last bit will be for most people who think i am named after a car!!!

May your latter end be better than your former. May your endings be even more beautiful than the 'Kiah'.

Song of the day: U2- Beautiful Day

The Sands of Lagos

When i am sad, i go to the beach...Alone.

I sit, walk, stare and I am soon reminded of who my Father is.  It always works and by the time i am ready to say goodbye to the palm trees, my smile is back in its place.

For most people, if they take a girlfriend/boyfriend home to meet their parents, it is the real deal. If i take you to the beach, know i am as crazy about you as i will ever be. (Please note my parents do not live in, on or anywhere near water- I no be mammywater biko!)

Me and water, we have a  love-hate thing going on. My street is still flooded from last Sunday's downpour. Still. Water e no get enemy...

This will be what i will miss the most about my city.

"There are things I can never change.

Like you.

I always left the assumptions at the just.

But the justs have brought justice now."

Seye 

Song of  the day: Jazzman Olofin - Eko Ile

Change

The thing that stayed with me the most after seeing The Grinch was the little girl, Cindy Lou. Her confusion at growing up and at change were what held my attention till the end of the movie and even after. Yes, Jim Carey outdid himself and yes, all the other characters were beautiful but it was that little girl and her struggle to understand the change going on around her and in her that has stayed with me even up until now. I must have been 13 then. I remember thinking to myself  "I know what she is going through".

I love change. I embrace it, engineer it even. But when it does come, i find that most times i am not as prepared as i thought i was and i start longing for the way things used to be. The good news is that it soon passes. But for those days where i am still stuck in the past, its a roller coaster ride of emotions and sometimes i lose a little of myself to the past that i am clinging to.

Change is here again. This change however isn't like all the others. Then again it isn't very different. I do not know what lies at the end. I am not even sure of its beginning. I have placed my hands in His. I will let Him take the lead in this one.

And yes, the roller coaster ride has begun. Bear with me.

Have a great week people.

Song of the day: Matchbox 20 - 3 a.m

Language challenge

There is something powerful about prayers said in your mother tongue. I am a Yoruba girl. i cannot enthuse enough about my language. i don't care how far away from home i go, i will never forget my language.

Back when i lived in Zaria, my aunt would wake us up at 7am for prayers. she always prayed in Yoruba. Back then, i could barely string two Yoruba words together without everyone falling down laughing. I am a fast learner though. Today, people still laugh at my Yoruba but not as hard as they used to. 

When my aunt prayed, it was like music to my ears. I rather praise God in Yoruba. I do not believe that an imported language can express all the emotions i feel towards the One i have never seen but who sees me.

Bee says to join the language challenge. Lol...if only she knew. 

Today on my way to work, i started to pray in Yoruba. It felt good. It felt right. 

So Bee , i do accept the language challenge. I will just keep it between me and the Unseen One...I hope i make Him laugh. I hope He enjoys every bit of it. I hope He hears the yearnings of my heart through all mispronunciations. I hope He knows that i love Him and i have no intention of stopping.

Alagbada Ina, Alewilese, Oba ti kinku, Olori aiye, Oba toju oba lo, Erin Nla ka tabu...Ololufe okan mi...

This one is for You.