Smoothies and Mendings

It was a really short walk.

Not long enough for a fight. But just about right for him to say something off and for her 

to let go of his hand and remember the reason she had left him in the first place. More than enough time for the cold of the streets to find its way back into their hearts.

By some tacit agreement, they kept on walking to their destination even though their 

appetites had disappeared. They had made it far enough that it made no sense to walk back home without the food they set out for in the first place.

"What will your order be today, sir?"

"Two servings of Fish and chips to go please," He answered the man taking their orders. 

The server's nose was red from all the cold and he was ready for his shift to be over so he could go home and cuddle with his wife. He envied the young couple standing in front of him. He wished he could spend more time with his wife. She was always complaining about his late hours. Yesterday they had fought and this morning he had left the house without kissing her goodbye. He would give anything to trade places with this young couple and see his wife smile that smile that she reserved only for him.

"I don't want chips," the girl suddenly interjected.

Dele looked at her for the first time since she let go of his hand. There was a sadness in her eyes that only he could have put there and his heart broke all over again. It was a mistake, he wanted to say, one that he was determined to spend the rest of his life making up for, if only she would have him. 

Instead he asked "Why don't you want chips, Ada?" 

"I just don't," she said, her stubborn chin sticking out in defiance, daring him to question her.

"Alrighty then. Two fish and one chips coming up," the server said, suddenly in a hurry to get away from this lover's quarrel. It reminded him too much of his own problems. He had not taken two steps when he heard the man 

call out.

"And one strawberry smoothie!" 

There was no way they could hold hands on their walk back to their apartment; their hands were occupied with bags of food. 

"You don't like strawberries" she said as they neared home.

"But you do." He replied.

"I didn't ask for it."

"No, you didn't but its yours for as long as you want it."

"What if I don't want it, Dele? What if I am not ready for it?"

"Then it will wait till you are. So long as you don't give up on it totally."

She held onto the bags while he fetched the keys.

When daylight returned, it would find the bags intact, fish and chips going sour, a smoothie that had gone flat, clothes strewn everywhere and love returned to its rightful place.

Song of the day: Cece Winans - Mercy Said No

Cobwebs

It has been ages...

Well hello, Ms. Obvious...Lol

I haven't written any story I wanted to share in a long time so I kinda just sat back and read all you guys' stuff. It is so refreshing and daunting to see all the amazing talent in Nigeria. And no, we shall not go into what Chimamanda said or meant in her interview. I am a huge fan of the woman. Nigerians need to learn respect for others' opinions. Chikena...

Things are changing so fast. I am moving to a new city and excited but also scared. New apartment, new clothes (as soon as I can afford them after shelling out all these money for rent and the move), new friends...and yet I miss the old stuff...

I miss my family.
I miss Mr Kiah.
I miss school.
I miss my friends.
I miss my old job.

But I am in a happy place and if you ask me why, I will smile and tell you "If no be God o..." 

So many answered prayers, so many more answers on the way...

Its another birthday in a few weeks. If I had one wish, I would ask that the people I love be fulfilled. I am getting to the place where I pray more for others than I do myself. It is a wonderful thing when you love people enough to put your desires aside and lift theirs up before God. You can't get better than that in love. Then you become what God intended for you to be in the first place...just like Him.

I am still waiting on that next story...praying to God for inspiration because I am nothing without Him. I have no doubt it will be written just the way He wants it and at the right time.

Till then, keep the stories coming people. 

Song of the day: William McDowell- I Won't Go Back

By the Rivers

There is something different about her. She tries to hide it but I can tell. It is in the little things.

The way she uses more makeup than she needs.

The way she walks more carefully, as if every step is a risk to be carefully considered.

The way she smiles. She used to smile without thinking. Now every smile is forced and an afterthought

The way the joy has left her eyes.

The way she stares at nothing and then pretends that there is really something fantastic about the wall décor.

The way she lies lifeless in my arms when I hold her.

Everything is different about Sewa. Everything, especially her heart.

“Do you think I will ever find love?” My sister asks me when I remind her to eat the cold food that has lain in front of her for a while now. She had ordered well-done quail.

“If anyone deserves love, it is you.” I tell her, my heart breaking for her.

“I asked if you think I will find it. Not if I deserve it.” She snaps.

Tears fill my eyes and I want to whip the latest man that has led her to this.

“I am sorry, Emma.” She apologizes and reaches for my hand.

“It’s nothing.”

“You are becoming soft in your old age.” She teases.

“I am not that old!”

“Well you are definitely older than me so that makes you an ancient of days in my book.”

We laugh together and I catch a glimpse of the girl I love.

“We should get going. You have an early morning meeting tomorrow.” I tell my sister.

“What? Are you tired of catching up with me already? It’s been only a few hours.” She says, rolling eyes that look exactly like mine.

“You can so lament eh.”

“Yeah, yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” She retorts as she takes my arm and we walk down the road to her apartment.

Norwalk is beautiful in summer. All around us are couples luxuriating in the warmth of summer and the joy of their love. I feel Sewa tighten her grip on my arm as if to defend herself against whatever disease they might be spreading.

We have to walk past the river to get home. I wait till we are as close to her apartment as possible. I want her to remember this moment every time she walks past this river. I stop her from walking any further and we face the water together.

“Do you doubt that the sea will be here tomorrow?”

“Shuo, which kind of rhetorical question is this one?” My sister laughs. It is an empty sound, deprived of all gladness.

I say nothing and wait. She takes her time, staring at the water, considering answers, right and wrong.

“No, Emma; no, I do not doubt that it will be here tomorrow.”

“Then why do you doubt our Father’s plan for you? If He planned for the beauty and continuity of mere water, why would taking care of all that concerns you be a problem for Him? You, His child; you, His joy; you, the very Image of Him.”  

The tears come. They dislodge the mask and makeup she has so bravely put on. We find a bench and she tells me all about the last one. He was perfect and then suddenly he wasn’t. I listen and then I walk her home and tuck her in.

In the morning, she will remember none of this. She will wake up with a tear-soaked and mascara-stained pillow. She will wake up with a peace that only the Son can give. She will walk past that river on her way to work and be reminded that her Father still has her. In the world I created, they call this kind of occurrences, dreams.

This is my reality. 

Song of the day: The Script- Six Degrees of Separation

Contentment

The pain was everything they had warned her about. And then some.

But she didn't scream. Not once. She took it like a good soldier. She didn't cry either. It was not the time nor the place. 

It took 11 hours and then, she was finally free. She heaved a sigh of relief and declined the nurse's offer to hold the child. The woman nodded her head in understanding and Nma wondered how many of these situations she had had to deal with in her career. She sent Bill and Jen, her parents,  home; with the excuse that she needed to rest. The truth was she didn't want them staying around, giving her subtle hints about how she would make a great mother. 

Sleep found her soon after and she closed her eyes to the world, to the pain, to his cries, to the aching of her breasts, to the yearning of her heart.

When she opened her eyes, Bill was back. He was reading Silas Marner out loud to her. She laughed tiredly.

"Are you hoping the story of Silas finding redemption in Eppie will change my mind?" She asked the gray haired man who had shared his home and his love for books with her.

He smiled sadly at her.

"I know better than to hope anything will change your mind. I was reading it for me. You changed our lives when we adopted you. I have no doubt your child will change the lives of his parents. Just like Eppie changed Silas."

She reached out for the old man's hand and kissed it. 
 
They came to take him away on the third day. She had signed him away months ago, long before he was born, as soon as she knew she would not be able to give him the kind of love he needed.

"I am pregnant, Cameron."

The silence that had ensued was far more pregnant than she was.

"We need to get rid of it." Her lover had said, in a way that made her see him for the first time for what he truly was; a boy and not a man, a coward and not the hero he made himself out to be...

"No." She had answered as she picked her purse and walked away from him forever.

She found an adoption agency and they had in turn found a couple in need of a child. She had no feelings for the couple. They were mixed race and tried too hard to please. They were people that thought they needed someone and something else for their lives to be complete. It was hard for her to understand people like that. She had always been content with life and whatever it brought her way. 

"Nma, there is a sale going on at Sears. We will go and get you an extra pair of shoes for school"

"I already have one pair, why do I need a second?" She had responded to Jen's offer.

"Nma, you need a boyfriend. It is what cool teenagers do. They have boyfriends. If you don't have a boyfriend, everyone at school will think you are weird and you won't make friends." Her best and only friend in high school had told her as they shopped for their first makeup.

Nma had watched the girl as she tried on different shades of lipstick.
"I don't need any more friends. You are enough." She had replied.

Maybe it had something to do with never having enough in the first place. Before she was adopted by Bill and Jen, her junkie of a mother had spent more money on her stash than on Nma's food or clothes. As a child, she had learned to make do. To make do with the sparse bouts of affection Ngozi, her mother showed her. To make do with the moldy bread and sour milk for breakfast, lunch and if she was lucky, dinner. To make do with clothes from Goodwill that never really fit...

Nma! Nma! A voice called, bringing her back to the present. It was her child's adoptive mother.

"I am sorry. I was just thinking."

"It is okay we know this isn't easy for you." The woman said to Nma.

A social worker and the couple's lawyer were also present. Nma could tell they all just wanted to get it over with.

"Can I see the child?" Nma asked.

They brought him to her. He had her chin, her dimples, her eyes... He looked nothing like Cameron and for the first time since the birth pains began, Nma smiled. She had been expressing breast milk with the nurses' help for his feeding. She wondered now what he would do without her sustenance.

As if in response, he started to cry.

"Does anyone have some kind of cloth?" She asked.

"What?" The lawyer and the social worker asked in unison.

"You know, like something I could use to tie him to my back? Like a bed-sheet or huge scarf?"

No one moved for a while. They looked at each other wondering if she had gone mad. And then the woman whom she was going to entrust her child to  left the room. When she came back, she was holding a cloth. She was resourceful, a trait every mother should have. That was good, Nma thougt. Together they put the child on her back and she began to sing.

The words of the song were in Igbo. It was a song Ngozi had sang to her on days the drugs didn't impede her ability to be a mother. By the time Nma was done singing, the child had fallen asleep. She eased him off her back and handed him over to his mother.

"You tell him, when he can understand, you tell my son, he is the best thing I ever did."

As she walked out of the room and into the cab that was waiting, she realized how much had changed.  She knew then that for the rest of her life, she would be searching every face she came across for her son. She would never again be content with just enough. There would always be something out there that was hers, that she had let get away. Contentment had a face now. It looked very much like hers.

"Where to Ma'am?"

She gave the taxi driver the address for the mental home where Ngozi now spent her days, singing Ibo songs. 

Only then did she start to cry.

Song of the day: Chris Tomlin - How Great is our God (Y'all should listen to the world edition. I had goose pimples)

Nadia

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Beautiful day?"

"Yes, yes it is."

He holds on tight to his coffee cup. It had gone cold while he was waiting for her. He is afraid to look at her; afraid she will even be more beautiful than the last time he saw her and then he would fall to pieces.

They are sitting on their bench in the park. He wonders what is going through her head. He wonders how she is doing, how she is managing.

"How is the new place?"

"It is okay. You know Brooklyn and its apartments. It took forever for it to be set up for me."

They let silence reign for a few minutes. He is not sure why she called him. He is even less sure why he came. It has been three months since she found out the truth about him and walked out the door. Three months since he looked into those beautiful eyes. 96 days since he last held her, kissed her, heard her laugh, made her breakfast. 96 sleepless nights. 

He should have know better than to come here. 

"I am sorry." She  finally says.

He hears the words but their meaning fails to register.

"I am sorry." He repeats, tasting the words and chewing on their substance.

She sighs and he finally looks at her. She is indeed more beautiful and he falls to pieces just like he knew he would.

"You should have told me about the plane crash. You lied to me instead. You took advantage of the fact that there was little or no way I could have found out."

"Chinelo..."

"Wait, wait let me finish. I was mad that you didn't trust me with your wounds and your scars. I was mad, really mad. I trusted you with everything. I still trust you with everything but you didn't trust me enough with the most determining event in your life. Those nights you broke out in a sweat and I held you. Those nights you couldn't sleep and I stayed up with you. Those nights we chose to stay awake and dream up our future instead of falling asleep to the nightmares of the past. You could have told me then." 

"I am no more mad. If anyone should understand, it should be me. People like us, people who are scarred and different, we tend to be anxious about our stories and the world's reception of our circumstances. I am sorry I got mad at you. I am sorry I left and didn't ever return your calls. I am sorry for everything." 

He wants to say it is all right and that there is nothing to be sorry about but his heart is too full.

"Tell me, tell me about today." She says after a while.

The dog licks his hand and he pats her head. He has missed her so very much. Her name Is Nadia and he thinks of the helpful, friendly puppy they had chosen together only two years back. She was why he had found it easier to stay away when Chinelo had shut him out. He knew Chinelo would come to no harm for as long as she had Nadia.

"Today; today is beautiful. Beautiful in a way that you know a storm is coming. You can smell it in the air, taste it on your tongue, feel it in your heart but there are no clouds or darkness to be seen yet. It is beautiful with expectation. Like a woman whose time has come and she anticipates the pain of childbirth with fear and joy because she knows something beautiful will come out of the agony."

He stops and reaches for her hand. Nadia licks both their hands and they laugh. 

"Will you marry me?" She asks.

He isn't shocked or surprised by her question. He had been planning on asking it anyway. 

"Yes." He answers without missing a bit. 

Yes, I will marry you. 
Yes, I will be your eyes. 
Yes, you can be my beautiful.

"Let's go home before it starts to rain." He says, folding her walking stick. She wouldn't be needing it while he was here. She takes Nadia's leash with one hand, reaches for his hand with the other and they head on home.

On their way, they walk past people who have come to the park for different things.

"That is an awfully beautiful woman. What is she doing with that ugly scarred man? He looks like half of his face was burned in a fire." One person remarks to her friend as they watch the couple and their dog.

"Love is blind, my dear." Her companion replies before returning to the New York Times feature she had been reading. It was a beautiful story, written by a man who had survived a plane crash in his home country of Nigeria and had come to New York to start a new life. There was no author's photo accompanying the feature.

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

-William Shakespeare

I am a huge fan of Shakespeare. I have been inspired by his work more times than I can count. No one will be perfect. Life will probably have scarred them before they get to you. Choose to shut your eyes, chose your heart over your five senses. God does the same already for you.

Song of the day: Ed Sheeran- Cold Coffee

Today

Have you told the people around you how much they mean to you? Don't let another second go by.  I keep thinking of the soldier murdered in Woolwich. I keep imagining that he was thinking of his little boy on that last walk home. This world is filled with all kinds of uncertainty. You never know if you might not get another chance to tell the people you love how much they mean to you. Tell them NOW. God bless.

There were days when he thought it was impossible to feel any more pain and then his body showed him new meanings for the word ‘possible’.

He had stopped fighting a long time ago. Of what use was all the drugs in the world, all the prayers, all of the weapons in his armory…when the enemy was unseen. He also knew better than to hope. He chose to live each day as it came instead. The good days, he embraced and used to strengthen himself against the bad. The bad days, he succumbed knowing that to fight meant to lose.

He had not had a good day in months and he knew the end was near.

Today though, today was going to be different. He could feel it in his weary bones that it was going to be a good day. He woke up to birds singing and the pain in his body was no longer a living angry being. It was present but still, like the dying embers of a fire. Or maybe it was his body that had embraced the pain and was dying. He didn't know and he didn't care. All that mattered was the pain was not as bad as yesterday.

He left his bed unmade and got into one of the many cars that dotted his compound without waking anyone. He knew better than to wake anyone. They would worry and fawn over him. They would fall over themselves to drive him to wherever he wanted. 

Today, he was having none of it. Today was a good day.

The automatic gates opened and he let himself out. The drive was shorter than he remembered and he wondered if his mind was playing him tricks. The last time he had driven here, it had taken him at least 30 minutes. Today, 10 minutes was all it took to get to paradise. Today was a good day.

The hawkers already had their goods on display. The fishermen too, with their early morning catch. No one stared at him. No one watched his every move. No one rushed to help him, not even when he tripped over a little child that was playing in the sand.

The worst part of his bad days was the people; his family, his friends, his pastors, his doctors and nurses. The people who loved him and whom he loved. The people who refused to let him breathe. The people who suffocated him with all their help. The people who were afraid to let him out of their sight for fear that death might snatch him away when they were not looking.  The people who were always there to catch him so that he had forgotten what it meant to fall and pick himself back up. 

Today though, no one gave him a second look, so he fell and found treasure on the ground. She was smiling and her milk teeth were perfect. He picked himself and the child up and let her smile wash over him. She giggled and put her sandy hands on his face and he laughed before releasing her to her mother who scolded her for playing in the sand and thanked him for picking her up. He was always the one thanking others for picking him up. Today was a good day.

The stretch of sand that bordered the water was empty except for horses and their minders hoping to snag an early customer. He waved them off and sat down to watch the waves. They reminded him of the pain; how it washed away a little part of him every day, how it sometimes left him gasping for breath, how it sometimes drowned him. Today, all he had was the memory of the pain. Today was a good day.

He dug his feet in the sand and waited. The water was cold and tickled him. He could barely recognize his own chuckle. It sounded like the grunt of a dying man. He picked some sea shells for his daughter. Together they could work on making her a shell necklace. Just like they used to when she was a little girl and he was a much younger man. That would make her smile, he thought. It had been a while since he saw her smile. She was so good to him but sometimes he wished she would just go away and find someone else to mother. Like her teenage sons who were running untamed around Lagos. She was his first child, his introduction to fatherhood and his heart swelled with love for the amazing woman she had become. Today was a day to be a father to his daughter and help her be the mother he knew she could be. Today was a good day.

He thought about his sons and the fear in their eyes every time they looked at him. He knew that when they looked at him, instead of seeing their hero, they saw death. He wanted to hold them and tell them it was going to be okay. Just like he used to when they were children and came running to his room because the thunder had scared them. He wanted to hold them and tell them that death, just like thunder was nothing to be scared of. Maybe today was the day he would. Today was a good day.

His wife would be very worried if she knew he was out here alone. He hoped she was still asleep. The sand felt so good on his feet and he remembered their honeymoon in Barbados when they had laid on the sand and counted the stars. It had been a while since he told her she was beautiful. He was always too tired and too drugged to tell her the things he really wanted to say. He would stop by the flower shop on the way home and get her some roses. Today was a good day.

The sun was warming up and he could tell it was going to be one of those kinds of days that only Lagos could get away with. The pain was his friend now and like a good friend, it nudged him, giving him fair warning. It was time to find shade.  Today was a good day but even good days could be made better by being with the people one loved. He would put the roses by his wife’s bedside so she could wake up to them. He would call his sons and ask them to come over for breakfast. He would make pancakes for his children and grandchildren. They would laugh and eat and maybe for a little while, they would forget about dying.Today he would be a hero, a father and a husband. Life would be perfect again. Today was a good day.

He sighed and said goodbye to the ocean for the last time. He wondered if there was an ocean in heaven. He looked for the little girl he had tripped over on his way back but she was nowhere to be found. Maybe she was an angel, he thought to himself.

It didn't take him too long to find out. His wife found him the next morning. The roses were still as fresh as when he brought them home.

Song of the day: Tamela Mann- Take me to the King

Team Kiah

I graduated.

Lol, sorry to disappoint all you hair people who saw the picture and were all excited; this post isn't about hair! And yes that is all my hair; and no I don't follow any regimen or do anything special with it, I was just in the right place when God was giving out nice hair. :P

I graduated. It has been a while I felt so accomplished. 

And yet I know it is time to start out again on new goals, new races, new paths. I am so excited, so thankful, so bursting with energy and love :D

A few weeks ago, I did some 'spring cleaning'. You know how you have some people in your life that you can never really count on. Those ones that claim they care about you but somehow it never rings true. Those ones whose posts on Facebook are all about their other friends and you, you are for inbox messages; somehow like they aren't proud to be associated with you. Those ones, that you are so tired of trying with, so tired of complaining to because their ears are filled with wax... 

Yup...Spring Cleaning is a very necessary ingredient in our lives. 

My classmate said to me a few days ago, "there is something about you, you can't see something wrong and let it go. It is an amazing gift in this world where the lines between wrong and right are very blurred."

I sometimes wish I didn't have this 'gift' or whatever. I would be so much better without it. I would let slights pass, I wouldn't have an headache all the time from thinking about how to save the world and solve all its problems, I would keep my mouth shut and let people get away with whatever. 

Some battles though, even this warrior can't and won't fight. I think the key is a balance; knowing which people and which battles are worth fighting for; or which ones just drag you down. 

I can confidently say I am the most blessed woman in the world. . I have this really really amazing family - not perfect but I am where I am because they are who they are. My boyfriend...and I just started smiling...my boyfriend, everything I hoped for and more. My friends; strong, real, beautiful, unafraid. God...faithful, perfect, God all by Himself.

With this team, how can I even start to go wrong?

Blessings.

Song of the day: Asa - Iba

Daytime Heroes

I wrote this a while back; well at least I started it then and only just finished today. It was inspired by a woman I am yet to meet but love and admire already. She is responsible for bringing into the world and nurturing three amazing young men, one of whom is the man who owns my heart. She, my dad and every other single parent, are the stuff heroes are made of. :)

It doesn't show up in her smile. Neither does it make an appearance in her eyes. You can look as hard as you want but you will find no giveaways or chinks in the armor of this woman.

My father called her ‘Superwoman’. I sometimes wonder what he would call her if he were here to witness this new strength she has taken on.  His brothers and sisters whisper among themselves about her supernatural abilities. They have resorted to labels- witch, murderer, husband killer…She bids us pay them no mind but it is hard. Sooner or later, cousins and playmates repeat the words of their parents.

Most mornings, she coaxes us from slumber with kisses and songs. She caresses our sleep suffused bodies and bids us awaken to a bright new day.  The songs she sings are songs of hope and love. You can listen to her melodies for the longest time and still not be able to tell of what lies beneath the pillar that is my mother.

Some other days, she rouses us from sleep with the palm of her hand. Smack! Smack!; goes her palms on our pajama clad bottoms.

‘Wake up!’ she bellows in annoyance. We are smart enough to know that these are not the days to test her patience. We hurry to the bathroom to make ready before a cane replaces her palm. Even on days such as these, it is impossible to tell of the anguish that contorts her soul. You can only assume that she has had a bad night and nothing more.

She makes breakfast while putting on her work clothes. She multitasks all day long. Praying while driving, packing lunches while listening to the ridiculous notions of children, talking on the phone to demanding bosses while dressing up a 4-year old who doesn't know what it means to sit still. To see her from afar is to admire her and her abilities. You would never be able to tell what ails her.

I have no clue what it is she does at work. I only know that when she gets home she is tired and asks for a massage. She lies on the floor and we climb on her back, our little feet ministering comfort to our mother's solid back and shoulders.

She moans and we giggle. She laughs in response to our giggles and soon we are all falling over ourselves with laughter and love.

'Tomi pushed me off the swing at school today.' The little one tells her.

He is four years old and everything that aches his tiny heart shows up every time we watch our school mates get picked up by their fathers when school is out. All we have is Mr. Sammy, the school-bus driver whom our mother has entrusted our home trips to.

'Hmmm.' Our mother responds.

'I won’t let her play with my toys when next they come here.' He assures her with the confidence a child can only have with his mother.

'Hmmm...Jesus won't like that.'

'Jesus won't like her either because He said we should be nice and she isn't.’

She laughs and the heave of her shoulders remind me of the volcanoes I learned about in science class.

The four year old is done talking and it is my turn.

'Mummy!' I say as I play with her braids, straightening them out from the knots they had gotten into during the day.

'Ma!' She answers playfully as the four year old snuggles even closer to our mother's bosom.

'My teacher said I should ask you if you think you have enough money for the school trip to Ghana now. He says he can’t hold a space for me if you don’t pay this week.’

The sun is setting and the day is done. Darkness has already begun to take away from the world all that was bright and beautiful. She sighs at my question and the shoulders that were earlier buoyed by love for her children slumps. She reaches out and pulls my skinny 7 year old frame to her bosom. Our shoulders heave in harmony even though our grief is not the same. She lost a husband and I lost a father. I am my mother’s child-proud, strong, but only until dusk.

Grief only shows up at sunset, when the world is shrouded by darkness and it is easier to fall to pieces.  It holds off until the birds have gone to roost and people - uncles, aunties, neighbors are siting to dinner and finally minding their own business. It waits until the shadows fall across my father’s rocking chair before reminding his wife of how he will never again rock his children to sleep.  It stays its hand until we are under the protection of dusk.

When grief finally makes an appearance, there is no one there to view the chink in her armor or the tears in her eyes or the pain in her heart. Except for me and the four year old. But we know, better than the rest of the world, we know, that the pain never left in the first place. She is Superwoman but even heroes have the right to bleed. The only difference between them and mere humans is that heroes wait till it is dark, when no one else can see, to tend to their wounds.

Song of the day: Five For Fighting- Superman

My dreams are made of...

Today I danced to 'white people' music (as my Italian-American friend from New York called it) and  loved every bit of it.

Many things have changed about me since I packed my bags and left Lagos.

I can dance to white people's music and not feel awkward
I can see through people's bullshit a lot easier
I can be Nigerian and love it
I can talk gibberish to cute dogs and not feel weird and so alone about it
I can be comfortable in my own skin and accept my stretch marks, my baby fat, my D cups, my thick grass of hair....

Many things have stayed the same since Muritala Mohammed bade goodbye to my Burberry gym bag...

My eyes still shine 
I can still write up a storm
I am still stubborn as they come
I am always, and always will be in the corner of the underdog
I am a lover...still

The list goes on...

The weeks before graduation are some of the most hectic and emotionally draining. I have asked myself  so many times if these two years have been worth it. So many of my friends got married within these two years. So many have babies or are preggers (never mind that almost all my friends are older than I am-long story, will tell another day) So many got job promotions. So many dreams accomplished...

I tell myself this is what I wanted, that this was my dream; the chance to live and work somewhere else, the opportunity to learn Chinese and Thai and Spanish ('hello' and 'how are you' are my limits so don't start a conversation biko!) , the experience of meeting and falling in love with some of the most wonderful people ever...
I tell myself all the time that so many people would give anything to be in my shoes.
I tell myself so many things these days; all these talking to myself, it keeps me from going crazy, it does...

It however doesn't stop me from dreaming about little Kiahs who can say hello in Chinese, Thai and Spanish. Or little boys with their father's smile and his way with poetry...

Life is beautiful.

Song of the day: The Lumineers- Hey Ho

Every Time It Snows

So I am supposed to get a tax refund. Eh, the way things work in 'Amelika' still baffle me. Anyway, I hope I don't see no more snow for a while. I am ready for Spring. In fact let's just fast forward to the summer. :)


It snowed yesterday and I smiled.

Two things that never used to go together and still don't feel right.

It felt strange to smile while watching the heavens fall. It felt strange to smile knowing that snow meant you were happy somewhere without me.

It felt like trying on new shoes that don't exactly fit. It felt like your empty side of the bed, wrong but yet slowly becoming familiar. It felt like salt in my coffee instead of cane sugar.

Tade shows up every time it snows, and then some. 
She shows up, bags of food in tow, like she has a crowd of 5000 to feed and doesn't believe in miracles. But there is no crowd; it is just me. She tells me I am all skin and bones and in dire need of all the flesh I can get.

I want to tell her that food is not the answer not to heartbreak. I want to tell her Egusi will not keep me warm at night.

She will probably just ignore me. She does that a lot these days; puttering around the house and cleaning up even though I tell her not to bother, handling the laundry even when she knows I can't stand it when someone else goes through my things, showing up at the house even when I just told her over the phone that I am not receiving visitors...

She is as smart as a whip too. She took care of my taxes this year, just in case you are wondering how come you got your share of refunds so early.

Sometimes she brings the twins. They are as smart as their mother and growing up so fast. The first week after you left, the girl asked me 'Did your wife leave you because you smell bad?' I never thought I would laugh like that again or have a bath for that matter. I was ready to die a smelly old man till that question.

I still remember when they were born and we had gone to visit them in the hospital. You had taken one look at the wrinkled babies and sworn you would never let your precious body be invaded by aliens. Tade had laughed and thrown me a worried look at the same time; the girl I had grown up with on the streets of Festac knew I wanted to be a father some day.


The days when the twins are here, those are my best days. Those are the days I forget to miss you.

Have I told you how much I miss you?

The way we would tear off each others' clothes when we had run out of words that could hurt? The way I would take you on the floor, up against the wall. The way your nails would rake across my back and my teeth would bite your lips, each one of us trying to draw first blood...

Do you remember our last fight? The one that finally brought this house of cards tumbling down? It snowed while we hurled words at each other; pieces of the sky fell while we fought over things I cannot now remember.

We didn't know it until much later when you tried to walk out the door, running from us as you always were. I still remember the look on your face as you opened the door and the words that tumbled out of your mouth as you shut it behind you to face me.

'If I stay here, I will miss out on life. I will miss out the things that make me happy. I will miss out on snow...' You said as you crumbled to the floor.

So we waited till the snow was melted and we couldn't tell the watery ice from our tears, before saying goodbye.

Divorce is so much harder than I thought it would be. Tade says it gets better. I want to ask her how she knows this seeing as there is still a sadness in her eyes even though she left Joe 3 years back.

I have started to notice little things about her. The swing of her 'African hips' as you jealously referred to them. The hollow of her back and how my palm would fit perfectly in it if we danced. The way she smells; like a mother, like a wife, like a friend, like everything you were not.

I miss you but when it snowed yesterday, I smiled. Snow means Tade will be here today.

Song of the day: Bruno Mars- When I was your Man