Just Don’t Say Good Morning!

There’s always something good about the morning. Circumstances might look so bad but each morning offers something to look forward to. Something to hope for.

I spent the past week struggling with malaria’s headaches and fever while meeting up deadlines in a faraway town. I was lonely and away from the care of those who mattered most. Somehow in the midst of all the chaos, I had contracted an infection that made my throat sore. The amoxicillin tablets didn’t seem to help so much at first but I felt better on Sunday.

I knew I had also added some weight. I was constantly on medication and had lost taste for water. I had to cut back on my new found water therapy. All my visits to the gym in spite of my sickness was just a waste. Now I would have to pay for adding weight (I am on a fun weight loss programme at work where you have to pay if you added any pounds during the weigh in periods) H tried to console me and helped me to look forward to a brand new week.

I couldn’t wait to start a new, healthy week.

You can then understand my frustrations when I woke up with that nagging sore throat again on Monday. Damn all people that produce fake medicine.  I tried to look forward to resuming my healthy living programme. Something bright at least. I prepped for work and H dropped me at the bus stop. He had engagements on the mainland and as usual, I would rather take the bus than drive. So I boarded a bus to Obalende.

I slept through most of the journey until the rain started to pour. I had to reset my memory form sleep. Isn’t it January? It had drizzled a bit in the early hours of the morning but I wasn’t expecting anything serious, after all, it was January. Enough of the self-argument, I had more pressing issues. I was seated by the door. I don’t need to explain to my fellow Nigerians but in case a foreigner is reading this, the summary of it is that a quarter of me got wet because the door wouldn’t close properly.

The bus had no wipers too and we moved on the Third Mainland bridge at the pace of a snail - meaning, automatically, I was late.

There just had to be something bright about this morning. So I rejoiced in the fact that the rain was subsiding and only about a quarter of me was wet. I gladly paid my fare and alighted at Obalende to get a tricycle headed for Adeola Odeku. I didn’t have to wait a second and off to work I was. I didn’t check the time on purpose. I didn’t want to know. I just wanted to get to work, weigh in, let everybody laugh at me and then grab a great week.

And the rain started to pour again.

And it flooded the streets.

And I couldn’t alight at my bus stop because it was flooded.

So I rode with Keke man to the next comfortable stop heading for the shades.

It didn’t take that rain 30 seconds and I was drenched. Totally drenched. Birthday hair gone (that’s on Friday) New Year suede work shoes gone. Fine Monday dress gone, jacket drenched too! There was absolutely no need for shade. I crossed in the rain to the other side of the road but then realized I couldn’t even go to work that drenched. I saw a keke man parked by the street probably waiting for the floods to subside so I entered his keke in solemn solidarity and hoping to re-strategize.

Should I call in sick? – I am anyways

Call in wet and just go back home? – I left my keys at home and H had gone out already.

Look for a friend’s place to change? – On a Monday morning?

Finally, I swallowed whatever pride was left in me and waded the floods into our gigantic towers. Just at the base of the lift, I met one sweet loving colleague who was shocked at the sight of wet me.

‘Ehw!’ He said and on catching himself he tried to mutter a good morning.

‘Please say anything else, just don’t say good morning’ I said to him trying to put on the best smile I could put together.

Well, it’s just a few minutes past noon and I am dry, happy that I eventually chose work, I didn’t gain as much as I thought I had ( I am still paying) and there’s still so much to look forward to this beautiful week.

So why the story?

There’s always something good about the morning. Circumstances might look so bad but the morning offers something to look forward to. Something to hope for.

Joy truly comes with every morning!

Good morning!Just Don't Say Good Morning

The 'Osomaalo' in Me

I was doing some kitchen chores when I heard some noise from the street. This was quite unusual but I chose to ignore the urge to peep from  the balcony - a convenient spot to do my 'tatafo' without being noticed. As the voices got louder, I listened carefully to make some meaning out of the words I could filter. Easier than expected, I could hear my neighbour trying to drown her creditor's voice in hers as both of them screamed on top of their voices

'Mama N, abeg leave tori and pay me my money right NOW' the creditor demanded. It was easy to make out her Igbo accent.

I could hear Mama N's voice too but couldn't make out her part of the argument.

I started to laugh.

You know that wicked grin/chuckle type of laughter ( I am still laughing as I type right now). I stepped out to the balcony, not to see what was happening but to laugh to the fullest. It was thesame kind of laughter hubby laughed when I told him that I had lent Mama N some money and she promised to pay me back the next day.

Mama N is a petty trader and her shop is located very close to one of the gates of our compound. I often buy goods from her, so when she came rushing to me one Sunday evening that she urgently needed some money to balance her suppliers, I innocently borrowed her (even though I was almost broke at the time)

Hubby told to me to forget my money. He narrated how when he moved in a few years back, he met an 'aboki' causing a scene while trying to get some money that Mama N owed him. He described the scene as very dramatic such that when a few days later, he met thesame aboki still on thesame matter, he had concluded that the woman must be a tough nut to crack. Once again, he told me not to ask her for the money to avoid unnecesary embarrassment.

I struggled very hard to let go but I wanted to follow peace and also honour hubby. On the other hand, I didn't want  to give the impression that we had money growing in trees or have any bias towards her. I decided to be God's girl and the good wife and let go....

..Until Mama N started avoiding me. This was the same person I always greeted each time I returned from work. Someone I kept buying things from out of solidarity even when I knew her goods are almost always overpriced. The days when she unavoidably ran into me, it was always a story of how she almost got killed by malaria or she just returned from a burial in the village or how the children didn't go to school. Yet she opened her shop everyday and restocked regularly.

I never asked her for the money and I didn't stop buying things from her but she kept avoiding me to the point that she always disappeared whenever I got back from work or stopped by to buy things from her.

So I got angry!

As if it was not enough losing my money, losing a relationship because I am trying to be good? No no!

Now, I sincerely dont believe in stereotypes. I always advocate that we should look beyond tribes, religion and other dividing factors and relate with people based on personal interactions with others.

This time though, the character that came out of me was that of a proper Ijesha man - Osomaalo* ( see PS).

I gave it time, made her very comfortable by never asking for my money, asking after the children's welfare and buying from her regularly and we all forgot about the money or so she thought until that beautiful day. I walked to her shop and picked out items almost up to the tune of what she owed me, checked my intentionally emptied wallet and told her 'later'. The rest is history..

No hitches, no noise, no embarrassment. Now we are good friends, she doesn't avoid me and I got my money back! Though I now know that next time she asks for a loan, (if she ever does) I am giving to charity.

Back to present day, to think that a whole aboki and her fellow Ibo woman couldnt get their money back even with all the noise and drama, yet this pincholo got hers without any noise made me laugh so hard.

So I am 'Osomaalo' indeed.

PS: Ancient Ijesha people were known to be hardworking business  men and women who never joked with their debtors. People of other tribes sarcastically named them 'Osomaalo' because of the funny way they would say to their debtors in Ijesha dialect "Oso maa lo ti ma e gbowo mi lowo re" ( I will squat here until I get my money from you) Well that's the version of the Osomaalo that was told to me.

wetin dey, NAIJA?

The service was so boring and I soon became restless. The guy on my left dozing peacefully while the girl on my right was busy taking notes, or so I thought until I looked closely. She had created a magnificent art piece of petals using her pen and jotter. She could have passed for a professional artist.

I leaned over to her and whispered into her ear

“Do you plan to become an artist?”

The puzzled look on her face soon told me that she didn’t know what it meant to be an artist. They didn’t even offer fine art as a course in her school. Is this another talent going to waste, another potential that will never blossom?

“What would you like to become?”

“Doctor” she replied smiling sheepishly

“Lawyer nko?” I asked sarcastically and to my surprise she replied affirmatively. “Doctor or lawyer”

So you are good at maths and literature?” I asked again.

She gave me a ridiculous frown and said a resounding no.

  I laughed to myself, how long are we going to sit and watch our future go to ruins due to the lackadaisical attitude of the government, parents and students to education?

We can no longer sit and wait for some set of people to bring the change we so much need. If anything is ever going to be done, it is soonest we realize that it is going to be done by “US” We have to bring the change we so much desire. It starts from every little step you take. It could be as little as taking up a kid in lessons, sharing your own personal experiences with children around, motivate, just be that change. There is a glimmer of hope in the eyes of every little kid I see and it beckons to you. Reach out!

  Barrack Obama said “It is the duty of this present generation to plan for the next” don’t you just sit there and assume that by taking care of your kids alone, the future is bright for them. Yes, they’ll succeed but those children that are not being cared for will be in the future too. They’ll make the unemployed, the robbers and touts that will continually attack your successful kids!

PLEASURE AND PAIN

Growing up in the suburbs was really fun for me - running up and down the streets, rolling waste car tyres, shouting, screaming and a whole lot more. One thing that really appealed to me then was the holidays. During the holidays, all the children on a particular street would gather to play hide and seek, police and thief, cat and mouse and what have you. To me, that was the height of fun.

One particular morning, the kids on my street decided that we should build a cart large enough to carry a person. We started out as early as 11:00 am when we were sure that all our parents were out at work. I was as usual, the ring leader- Head of Operations.

We went to the local carpenter’s workshop, gathered all the scraps we could find and started work- fitting pieces of wood together, hammering, sawing, smoothening, running around to get this item or that. We worked under the sun with all sweaty backs and foreheads.

I kept yelling orders “Go and get hammer!” “No! The other way round”. Since I was the oldest in the group and also the leader, majority of the hard work fell on me. I was so tired and exhausted that I had completely forgotten about my home chores, holiday homework and the assignment given to me by my father. I also forgot to give my four year old sister her lunch early enough, so she had accepted food from our neighbors and that, in my house was a taboo. Well, all that did not matter when compared to the satisfaction I would derive from riding in the cart.

After so much trial and error, dismantling and rebuilding and fasting for the afternoon, our cart was finally ready! We pushed it up the highest cliff and we all stared at our brainchild in admiration.

“We did it!” I shouted and everyone went wild with excitement. Bobo, the smallest in our group started jumping. Momood clapped while Chinedu drummed the unused pieces of wood he was still holding. The others started dancing. Even Tomiwa, the one with the protruding belly button, who never wore anything except his blue pants, was wild with frenzy.

“Stop” I ordered again. “Let’s test it”. The moment we had all been waiting for was finally here, right in our noses.

“Who go fest?” Tomiwa asked

“Dede of course” everyone chorused. That was me. I was almost bursting with pride. To be reasonable, I thought Bobo who was the smallest should be allowed the first ride.

“Let Bobo go first” I replied and everyone agreed. We helped Bobo into the cart and gave him a push. The cart slid smoothly down the cliff. Once again it was celebration as we moved the cart back to the top of the cliff. It was my turn to enjoy the ride. I put my left leg into the cart and was in the process of putting my right foot when I felt a warm sensation on my right ear. I didn’t need to look up to know what it was as I could see my father’s shadow. That warm sensation soon turned into burning of my ear from my father’s squeeze. He dragged me home by my ear and I struggled to keep in pace to reduce the pain.

When we finally got home, my father looked at me sternly and pointed to my stack of undone homework.

“If you are going to be successful in life, you must choose to be responsible. Your work must come before play. In fact, when others are playing, you must be here studying and when others sleep, you’ll be up burning the midnight candle. I am disappointed in you.” And with that, he left. Without any smacks or slaps, he had passed his message.

I started with my household chores and when I finished, I packed my books and read. Tear drops splashed over my hands and books as I thought about my father’s words. I cried till my eyes were sore and I didn’t realize when I peacefully dozed off on the books. That day marked my baptism into the reading culture. I was jolted back to life by the biting cold and taps of raindrops on the roof. I went to close my window and there it was! Just down the street, our cart was lying down in pieces in the mud. Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks. I cried until my sight was blurred I could no longer differentiate between my tears and the raindrops.

Today, about twenty years after that day, I am standing on that same spot, a fulfilled writer. I can still remember where each piece of the cart had lain. Way back then, I thought my father was wicked and insensitive to my need to play. I thought he took pleasure in seeing me bored and unhappy but I look back and thank him for that day, and for teaching me the importance of sacrificing some pleasure for pain. That is what molded me into what I am today.

Sometimes, the people around us require us to do away with some things or habits we love for more pressing issues. We should have it at the back of our minds that it is all for our own good. The finest gold has passed through several bouts of fire and purest silver through the refiner’s pot.