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Showing posts from January, 2020

A MIRROR OF HOPE

You forcefully open the double doors to your room to see your reflection in the large spotless mirror staring at you, as you try to avoid the Master. Your image kills the mustard seed of hope you have been trying to nurture – your eyes exhausted from too many tears. Your lips are chapped, and the glory of your skin is in the past - your beautiful skin as your mother would remark. You wonder if it’s because of its fairness or the hairless sight of it, or the chubby feeling when touched. And then you reckon the eyes of your mother are not yours. Your beauty lies in your freedom, you think to yourself. You affirm that you don’t belong here, not in this castle with grey walls, lofty ceilings, and heavy brown curtains. Not viewing ancient paintings of wars. Not on a bed for a crowd and certainly not wearing these expensive clothes too pure to smear. You recall the first day of your arrival at your new home. You were greeted by a servant who avoided your eyes as he bowed his head and sai...
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MARIERE

MARIERE It was said that she had this ravishing beauty that made suitors hover around her father’s compound. They would come prepared with gifts and entourages only to be frequently turned down by her. Few gave up the trial while many continued, unsuccessfully. The villagers waited to see the day and the lad who would win their untitled princess at last.  This one, he came out of the blue. He came like a king who could not be refused. He came prepared from a faraway land that even you cannot guess. He came for the taking and nothing less. Many had lost but he was called to win. Voila! The unpleasable damsel eventually was defeated by the affluence, charisma, debonair and gaiety of this lad. They gracefully were married without further ado. It was a quick wedding as the groom could not wait to consummate the union. A bit uneasy, mother and brother to the bride decide to accompany the couple to their home in Lagos to be familiar with where their blood would be inhabiting h...
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A MOTHER'S PERSPECTIVE

I am a married woman and I have just had my first baby 👶. I got pregnant during my service year and gave birth just after I had passed out. My husband is a teacher and owns a coaching center for primary school children. I intend getting a job after my daughter clocks one but I have this voice in my head that keeps telling me to face reality. The reality here is that my chances of getting a job are slim as a married woman and a mother and a low-class citizen. Once a year or two passes and I am still unemployed, it would take the grace of God to get a suitable job without being tossed around like a tennis ball by employers. I am scared that my reality will be ending up as a housewife which is not a bad thing if only that’s what I want for myself. On the contrary, I want to be an educationist. I want to work with a school not because it is the best job for a married woman with a child but because I am one of the ones who love teaching and want it as a career path 😏. Recen...
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WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS

In those days, when it rained we would stay by the window and watch how the trees danced to the beats of the wind, the singing of raindrops and thunder. The lighter the music, the closer our legs would get to the door post, quietly watching the eyes of our mother; and waiting for an approval. When she wiggled her legs, it was a negative signal. But when she praised the beautiful works of God in the rainy moment, it was a positive sign. Note, there was no going outside when it rained in the night. That was why Joseph composed the song: Rain visit us when the sun is not old Rain sing for us when the moon is not young So that mother will open the door for us to play with you So that papa will come home dry and happy. Rain visit us as we sing to you. Rain oh rain oh rain. That particular day, the rain was deaf to our singing, or calling and yelling. We became frustrated because the sun was kissing the lines of the sea, workers were returning home while livestock owners were gathering their...
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MAKEOVER

  When she realized her hair was gone, the barber had increased the volume of his radio and India Arie’s ‘I am not my hair’ filled the room. ‘If I can manage the situation like a professional, my construction contract with her father will hold tomorrow,’ I thought. I breathe in and out, a logic that never works for me, but I do it anyway. I rehearse my words, changing each sound to a softer version of the previous one - aligning my looks to the words so that my eyes become half closed and there is a faint smile on my face. I wait for the explosion. All the while, the barber is busy touching what is left on her head with his clipper. He says it is the final addition and calls it the moon look. He fumbles with the chair, turning Stella from left to right like a child’s play. The large mirror in front of us escalates the mishap and the fumes on my girlfriend’s face seem to be burning the white walls. It was meant to be a makeover since her 25 th birthday was the next day. Now it...
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IF HAIRS COULD TALK

  “You know, I get nervous by the sight of unkempt hair” “And why’s that?” “Well, it makes me imagine the worst of the man or woman in question.” “But you can’t always have clean cut or well-made hair. It’s hard work and who has time for such beauty strife. Or why do you think Beyonce sang that beauty hurts?” “I’m not talking about beauty. Rather I mean responsibility. Bad hair must surely birth a bad day. Look, I hate seeing my wife without her hair done or at least covered. I blame it on Medusa. Should have never seen that movie, T he Clash of the Titans .” “Hahaha, that’s just cracking! Now you blame your sick theory on a movie? Buddy, your wife must be tolerating a whole lot of shit from you. Cut her some slack and leave her hair alone. If you continue shaving yours all the time, you’d be bald before you’re even 40, man.” I’ve been thinking. A thousand tongues there would be if our hairs could talk. Imagine, a million heads would have a zillion tongues and more! The...
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