I cant see,
I have been blinded,
I cant see,
I have been robbed of my sight,
I cant see,
I have been served with darkness.
I can hear though,
I can hear the last cries of the children before they die from the very metal that should protect them
I can hear the anger from the man who was just robbed of his last coins from the very man that should protect him
I can hear the fear in the voices of the young graduates posted to lands known for haram instead of halal
I can hear the anguish from the man that lost his wife and unborn child to the very place supposedly known for healing
I can feel too
I can feel the agony and pain of those whose families take a trip(by air/road) and end up in heaven
I can feel the depression of the aged who have to fight for their retirement funds
I can feel the annoyance of the labourforce as their taxes has reduced their standard of living
I cant see,
The veil of bloodshed blinds me,
I cant see,
PHCN has robbed me of my sight,
I cant see,
All other means of replacing PHCN has kept me in darkness.
I cant speak
I have lost my voice from screaming
Is it the constant noise from the generators that stop you from hearing me?
I cant speak,
My saliva has gone dry
I cant speak
The fear of loosing my tongue
Though i am handicaped,
I feel the need to make a change
Me and 1000s more,
But what do we do,
Short of wiping out a certain generation of greed,
Short of singing the anthem of exile in one voice,
If this be the solution, then comes the question,
Might there be a seed planted in the generation of the new, that carries likness from the greedy?
What is the average Nigeria dream?
For without the dream, what are we moving towards.
Sent from my iPhone
Saturday, 7 December 2013
stopping by a bazaar where i when to assist a friend in selling some goods.. there i came across varieties of art works which am going to share with u... i hope u tell me the ones you may like?
|hand made laundry baskets|
|hand made craft work|
|metalic artwork..(this represent a king and a queen in benin city of ' edo state'|
|old nigeria currency in coins...|
|cowries were the first currency spent in nigeria|
|this art work represent cultural dancers in the yorubaland|
|was amazes to see natural stones n different colors... they are mostly found in the norther part of nigeria.|
|my shadow also featured has an art work..|
|thats a wooden snake.. beautiful piece|
|colorful broom sticks|
Thursday, 5 December 2013
My Diary for Meenah on my trip to Italy.
So, as soon as I got the memo on my proposed trip to Italy I got excited about taking Menahz part on the blog. Am not as good a photographer as she is, but I hope to make it up with my story telling.
I don't want to bore you with the details of lousy Nigeria airport deeds in Lagos so let's go straight to me landing in Milano. The 1st slap of the cold was huge even though the statistics say it's not so cold yet, you will see how I cacked up o, and I still got slapped. The airport was beautiful. Everything we'll organized. We took a taxi to the hotel that morning and got in fine.
The fun starts now, 1st you should know that it's a business trip with my boss so here goes. We check into our rooms, freshen up and set off. I carry a sling bag, wwbig enough to take my camera, wallet and key. Italians speak their language. That's all I can say about communication. Seriously, we think the Yorubas are proud, these people can't speak a language half the world speaks, like duuuuh. Anyway, we get a map from reception and we go to the trade fair ground at Rho Fierramilano.
Here I was amazed sooo many times my eyes left my face. The coffee machines, the orange squeezers, the pizza makes, the ovens, the chefs. Meenah, there was everything kitchen, servery, bakery, thing anything, gas ranges, refrigerators, pasta cookers, dishwashers, the Guinness world record winners in hospitality were there. Meenah,literally we were on the teal carpet. We couldn't go round it all, it was toooooooooooooooo very much big(like my Italian friends will say). All the who is who in the in the hospitality industry was there. Just like a fashion show or like the mtv awards. Foods and sample gifts were given out. The best was to deal is at the fare cos they are ready to bring in as many people on their side as possible. All kinds of people, all sorts of colors, all gathered to find cooking and hospitality equipment at the best buy. It was truly an expose. I have grande pictures of the trade centre and some of the machines that wowed me, soooorry, was too stunned to take some. Then the fare closed at 6pm that evening.
Then my favorite part started, yeeeees, shopping. We went to the Milan centre and there they were, all of them, calling my name, laaaaanre, laaaaanre, come to me, am serious, the stores practically stretch out to you to walk into them, once you here the 1st call you cannot resist, you have to just fall in. In between my shopping am in the need for the ladies and guess what, when I go to the lady, to walk in, they ask for money and it's not 50cents, it's 1euro. Hello, when I go to shop rite to buy nothing I pay nothing (in Ikeja, Lagos), am here spraying my hard earned savings, and you are making me paaaay???? We'll that rake was for me and my head cos I paid man. On the upside, maybe that's how they get to keep their things in good condition.
Ok, so we go to an African restaurant, and I ate pounded yam and ogbono right there in the centre of Milan. It was nice, filling and homey. It's called king & queen. When you go, you should go there too. Will send you pictures of me, in there. O there I went to use the ladies again, (wondering me and toilets ba, just free this girl abeg) and it was the pit type. I haven't seen that in such a loong time. Seeing it there in Milan was nostalgic and no, I did not use, this toilet.
Oyya o, time to go back to the hotel, my dear, all train stations were closed, apparently there was a strike, and we had wondered too far from Sergate where our hotel was. By this time Amina, am sniffing, cold don enter my body. We had to take a taxi home o. It was sooo silly cos, we dint figure it out on time, we kept looking for an open gate into the train station cos we thought they were closed for security reasons and then finally someone said strike. Triple sad.
We got home fine, all we wanted was sleep.
On day 2, we had agreed on people we wanted to follow up with at the fare so,
after a huge breakfast with some of the best chocolate filled croissants ever,we took our map and headed for the bus. This day, we were ready for a lot of business. We did a lot of office work, boring, interesting and amazing stuff. Amina you won't believe how wild peoples minds have gone. If you see the industrial mixer, you can hide in it. Am serious. Anyway that's how work ended. Then we went back to shopping. O Meenah this time we went to Duomo. When I got off the train and stepped out, I just had to wow the moment. The church just stood there, birds, people, blue sky. Old, beautiful, strong, the architecture is A++. Ehen, then I wanted to shop, my dear, the shops there don't know my name o, they are the shops for the Adenuga, dangotes and co. So, I had no problem, looking away. But there was everything on there, you know, the whole, romance in Italy from the books and movies it's all real, flowers everywhere, people singing on the train and on the street. As we go along we find interesting things, overly short dresses and beautiful colored hairs and piercings. But my favorite random one minute chance meeting is this person on the train. Like am thinking nice hair and jeans. A girl walks in with her dog on the train that is, and leans on the side of the persons seat, then the persons phone rang, when the person answered, you won't believe it, I almost fell off my chair, he had a guys voice. The girl leaning, had to bend over to check, we were really confused, great cheek bones, perfect eye brows, nice boots, I say, I was killing for the jeans, and it was a guy. Really, he had no boobs, but you know how guys keep long hair and wear skinny jeans, and cos it's cold they wrap scarves around and wear jackets, ? Well, that's how we took him for a girl. My boss had a good laugh.
And the next day we leave for pordenone. Ciao.
Sunday, 13 October 2013
He carries me in his arms, in public, in my home, on a corridor, from a car. I giggle like a dump blonde that I am the exact opposite of. I hold on to him tight, not cos I think he will drop me, no it's cos he is soooo dear and I can't get enough of his smell. His delicious mix of man, dust, and Gucci.
I am Zara, 33 and single. I am Hausa, a medical doctor with a paying job. An amazing family that is close and neat. I was born with a spoon, it might not be made from any of the world's precious stones but I was born with a spoon. It fed me educated me all the while changing from copper to diamond no, not rubies. My siblings and I were given the right to express ourselves, to live with our decisions, to explore our wants and dreams. Our home was made a safety net. Somehow, we had turned mum and dad to our 911 call. And like all 911 calls they only got that call when there is trouble.
Right now, am in one of those 911 moments but I am not sure if I should make the call. Because like 911 once that call is made, there is no going back. The protocols and investigations go on, the decisions no longer become mine. In an effort to protect me, they will whisk me away from it all whether am guilty or not.
When he proposed I thought, okay, why is he rushing, and said to him let's see. Soon I saw. I saw Islam far more than I thought I understood it. I saw a man with a good heart, a man that would care for my family like he would his. But I also saw a well educated man with high chances of success. You know, he is a girl's check list. So, by the 7th time he asked me to marry him in the 6months I had known him, I said yes. Even though he dint have a stable income, I knew we could sort that out easily.
My wedding was a fairy tale. My family went all out. As the only girl of my parents, they were ready to do it all. My dress was not a Vera wang but it was beautiful, the hall was beautiful, everyone and everything was beautiful. Rich purple a notch less deeper than violet, and champagne gold, danced around me, all over the place I saw pictures of Zara and Ismail, our smiles, love dancing in our eyes, our names in print. We were hugged, smothered, kissed, touched, carried. Our friends surprised us, coming from soooo far away, America were Ismail schooled, London my masters and some work. If ever cheeks could tear apart on their own mine would have and if truly, hearts could burst, mine would have. I was filled with joy, excitement and love.
I am 27 now, we have been married 3years now, and the things I saw translated to this: my husband and I are happy 2days out of 7days. We now have that stable income that I predicted we will get easily but as it turns out, there is sooooo much more that I was missing. At first glance it looks like my husband and I have the same level of exposure, but when you take a second look you see the difference between silver and white gold.
Did my husband hang around women, no. Did my husband beat me, no. Did my husband fail to give me shelter or food, no. Did my husband disrespect me, no. So why are we not happy? It's simple we are too different. But how did a simple thing slip away from me. Marriage is too important to me.
Sent from my iPad
Thursday, 29 August 2013
Lanre Is Venting…..
Today I just want to give an opinion. If you are in Lagos and find yourself in traffic a lot, you might know DOTUN & TEMI on cool fm.
Well, am one of those people that get to listen to them thanks to the traffic. One of temis topics today was about a girl whose boyfriend is ready to marry her on one condition, get pregnant.
At this point I say pekelepekele- spororo.
This is sooooo wrong. How can you sit there and listen to that and not slap him(no violence please). But seriously how can someone say they love you and give you a condition to be with you forever. That is sooooo BS!!!
Let someone say that to their sister and you will hear all sort of things.
I am practically Yoruba, obviously from my name right. But am sorry to say its my Yoruba brothers and their mothers that started this. Dear brothers’ mother will you let your daughter get pregnant for a man before he marries her?
Can I say in capital letters please: IT IS GOD THAT GIVES CHILDREN!!!!!
If your wife is not getting pregnant, God has not given her. Your query is with God, Get on your mat and repent or go to church and pray, fast, check if there is a medical problem, if there is solve it.
Doing a fertility test before marriage doesn’t guaranty anything man. When God is ready to Bless you with this gift of child he will give you. Stop playing god abeg.
And girls, women, ladies, whatever you call yourselves, have some dignity, don’t wait around for these men and women to say these to you.
No religion allows for pre-marital sex. So how is the baby going to get in there?
Also, my big question, say you get pregnant get married give birth and baby dies, then what???
So far as I am concerned it is quite insultive to ask me to get pregnant before marriage whether it’s the man or his mother asking.
Can I ask you to give me the money you will use to take care of me and my unborn kids before I can marry you?
Yes dear it is as impossible. Cos you see wife is to baby making machine as husband is to money making machine.
If you want to marry, marry. If you want a baby go to an orphanage. Don’t marry me and my sisters with condition.
You see how we will deal with it if you have no job or if your business has a slow period or when we wait for that cheque that is getting late? That is how dear husband we will deal with our baby wants. When it comes we will deal with it if there is a problem.
Lets stand up for our dignity, our pride, lil ones and daughters. Do not insult us with forbidden offers. We are wealth itself. They have to acquire us, we just have to wait and accept the highest bidder considering our wants.
When did men start to give conditions for marriage ehn? Men beg women to be theirs, they used to be ready to roll on the floor, jump, fly, wash, sing, just for 5mins of your time, and now they demand a child. A whole human being fa.
Hmmmmn. These guys better take their time!!!
All those lies they told me.
All that time I held on to the words of my teachers, my mentors, my aunties and parents.
Read they said and it will be all easy.
Read they said and it will be all sorted.
I read, everyday
I still read today.
Darling, I cannot begin to list the advantages of education and reading.
But they lied.
Its not easy.
Reading is not all I needed to do.
Here I am today, with all the right degrees, in the right profession and guess what,
Am grown up and still reading
And still watching out for that promise.
I see it nowhere.
In my frustration for the need to succeed,
In my frustration to get there am search and tossing around every skill I have ever acquired, directly or indirectly.
These things they promised read and you will sign cheques.
Am signing cheques but I need more zeroes before the decimal point.
Its time to look beyond the books.
Its time to make my own promises.
Its time to work towards keeping that promise.
Tuesday, 27 August 2013
LET THE CROSSED LEGS BE
As I walk down the street looking the best my mirror, makeup products and skills can do. Yes walking, with all the confidence. All of a sudden there are hands all over. Hands that I cant count. Free my own hands. No, no don’t go there. No, no, no don’t touch that. Fighting, wiggling, struggling, I need my hands, I need my feet. Hands get off my eyes, I need to see. Hands let my mouth be, I need to say things.
This can’t be happening. Then reality starts. The husky voice drums sense in my ears. “shut up and stay still”. The voice poured on me like a bucket of ice. All things tied, hands, feet, mouth, eyes but not fear, my fear is exploding into my chest which is about to burst out my heart.
The jewelries start to go off, then relief start to wash over me,“its just a robbery, you are fine”, a voice says. Then another voice, “let’s go, the Alhaji will pay handsomely for this”. I became numb. I couldn’t hear or feel anything. Then it occurred to me to beg. But the gag was in the way. The drive to the destination was the longest and shortest of my life.
Scream girl, let someone know, but all my efforts to scream bites back at me through the gag. So, I start to pray in all the languages I know and the ones I don’t know.
We are back to the hands. Stop, stop please stop. Your hands shouldn’t be there, don’t do that. No, my dress, voices, hands, o no not there. I am screaming in silence, am raging in peace, amfighting without a struggle. My legs are stuck together in a crossed manner. No matter what they won’t get in, I will keep them crossed. They can do whatever they want, but my legs will be crossed. Try as they did, I dint uncross it. A slap that juggled my brain and the next thing I know it’s over. And I cannot scream, I cannot talk. I am ashamed.
Dropped off by a river with no idea what direction home is but the relief that some of the random words I picked up were over. The hands were nowhere near me. I see blood on my shoes. I just lost my husband’s gift. I just lost my pride to a bunch of strangers.
At home, the mirror is my enemy, my room is my safe. Every stranger that comes close is the culprit. Shadows, make mejump. My silence remains through it all.
Day by day, life gains its normalcy. The nightmares fade, but when they come they come just like yesterday.
I know my gown was long and I was well covered. But I can’thelp but think I may have attracted them in some way.
Like a chicken I made no reports, I let them loose. I let them be. I let them go and do it to someonelse. But where do I start to tell my story from.
I have lost my voice for so many years now. But I don’t know how late I have been.
I know, somehow, one way or the other you may have gone through this, let’s get it to stop.
Let the hands be held. Let the hands stay away. Let the legs be left crossed. A thief of an asset gifted by God. He should be stopped. They should be stopped. Fight for your friends, fight for your sisters, fight for your daughters, fight to keep the hands away, fight to keep the legs crossed.