Irapada

"Stop pushing my head up and down, just cut it well now..!"

He sat in a plastic chair scratching the "lapa lapa" that had spread as wide as the map of Africa all over his scalp. The scaly whites of the infection fell like snow flakes onto his green and brown ankara shirt.

"Which kind dance you dey doooo... Azonto!" Yelled on the boy who was the barber for that sunday. He whistled on the tune of the song as he stretched from his 4foot height to reach the head he was trimming. I wondered how he kept the hair he cut out of his mouth with all his singing.

"Saheed nor cut abolo for me oh... Or else Ma fun e ni ese" The next victim.. Err sorry 'customer' promised saheed as he punched the air showing saheed a sample of his abilities. The other boys whilst waiting on their turns argued about the technicalities of the soccer match showing on the television.

"Allah hu hakbar..!!"

I turned to the left, a couple of boys had begun their prayers. On mats of woven rubber coloured orange and blue they worshipped, and gave thanks to their creator.

There I sat on a bench in their hall. The orange from the rays of the sun shone in. They shone illuminating the room, seemingly giving life to the dust particles suspended in mid-air.
The figures of the boys cast shadows onto the yellow wall. The shadows on the wall gave off strength and strongwill, they were those of men not boys.

It seemed like something from somewhere I had never been.

The boys were courteous yet curious. Each one passing by managing to mutter a quick 'Good morning ma' as they went about thier business.

Short, tall, dark, fair, boys from different tribes. All Uncle Fash's children.

He caressed the blue and white beads in the palm of his hands. Saheed was saying the rosary. His eyes deep set. Eyes that had probably seen it all. They seemed to have their sight set on something. Something very far of, far away, somewhere I probably could never imagine.

He probably had his sights set on somewhere in the future. Or was it the past?

"Here amongst us there are doctors, there is even a president here.."

Did they believe that? Was she just giving them hope for hope sake? I wondered if they felt this lady was telling tales. I wondered if there was truly a president-to-be of our country at this chapel service.

For the first time ever, I had met a church group that had come to speak to the boys. The woman who spoke to the boys spoke about taking ones life into his hands and making the best of a hopeless situation. She spoke of breaking free from perceived limitations.

You see, I don't doubt that statement. But some part of my mind did. I must admit, I doubted if any success stories were going to come out of this room.
I wondered what Saheed thought about the womans speech. I hoped he believed he could break free and probably he could be that 'president in our midst'

Somewhere in the far corner of my mind I asked myself if I believed the words of the preacher. Did I truly believe that Saheed could break free and be a success? I mean here he is in a correctional institution for boys. How was any breakthrough going to happen?

I had no idea of how long boys like Saheed where to be in the facility. But I had only mere ideas regarding the conditions which had turned them into Uncle Fash's children.

Some of these young boys had committed heneous crimes ranging from armed robbery to rape. Others had simply been the grass when their parents, the elephants, clashed and realised they could no longer fend for their wards. There were also those that were simply lost and could not find their way back home.

As always, I placed myself in their shoes. And of course, I could not even properly envisage being without the comforts of a home, of a family. How would it feel to be lost? To literally not be able to find your home, your family? To have to make unfamiliar people family, to accept a new destiny. How would that feel...?

It's not just about feelings. The scheme of one's life would definately change.

But for the young boys who had tasted the bitter cider of criminality so early, it is a chance for a turn around, for 'irapada' (redemption).

At the chapel service, I looked at the faces of the boys. Each one different, each face with scars. I wondered what stories lay behind each scar.

"Okeke! Okeke! Come here... Your mama wan see you." Called a domitory leader.
This call caused a flash, a lightning bolt in form of a boy to speed past everyone. If there was any form of hope for any of the boys, it was definatley a visit that did the trick.

The next boy Isa, was not in such a hurry to see his visitor. Isa was no more than 5 feet, he dragged his feet along the corridor, he tarried. This boy seemed detached from all the other boys. I assumed he was new. I wondered what contempt he had for his visitor. I overheard wispers that he had committed a crime against his own family member. Was that the family member who had come to visit?

The realities of the boys home had began to dawn on me. Of course, I was moved to realise how priviledged I have been. Here I was at front row seat watching the other side of life. But at this facility I had no new realisation. None whatsoever, or so it seemed.

"I will beat you today ehnn... You think you can get away..."
They had pounced on each other and were going at it for a couple of seconds. The guardians came in an separated the two boys. The boys had scuffed their ankara sunday wear. Dare and Abel were kneeling down now, facing a wall. They had defaulted. The correctional facility had a 'no-fighting' rule. Fighting around these parts was the greatest sin. The boys guardian seemed worried. He stated that the two boys were new and needed time to adjust and that they needed more counselling hours. It seemed like he was apologising, I felt it was unecessary to do so.

"When boys under these conditions have a little scuffle, everyone is terrified and they run away. But when the aje-butter kids fight people say they need counselling" said a guardian at the home. I laughed and realised the truth in his words.
We easily write off people under such circumstances. Was it a human thing to do? A trait?

I had done just that in the deep recesses of my mind. I had reconsidered the preachers words when she said that a president of the nation was in the chapel. What if he truly was there? It seemed corny and cliched.
But what if a future president was there in that chapel standing next to me in ankara sunday wear? Would I treat him any different if I knew who he was? Would I 'famz'?

Was I wrong for writing off Saheed, Isa, Okeke, Dare, Abel in my heart? Or was I just being realistic that they might all amount to nothing just because of the nature of their formative years?
Did we donate to the boys home just because it was the cosmopolitan thing to do? Or maybe it was because it was the world-peace-united-nations thing to do?
Or were we donating to rid ourselves of the guilt of living so lavishly?

Uncle Fash had provided for the boys. It was their home. They went to school, played ball in the afternoons. They were fed properly, clothed and of course sheltered. Several of the boys had learnt all sorts of arts and crafts. Some started a cane furniture business and proudly displayed their craft. Others made tie-dye 'adire' fabric whilst others were masters at tailoring the fabric. It was mandatory for each boy to learn a craft, a means of income when they leave the facility.

"Come unto me all yea who are heavy laden and..." His voice echoed throughout the hall as he read a bible passage during the service. That was samson.
He said he loved to read and was hoping one day to be a writer. He had suffered horrible burns all over his body in a fire that had claimed the lives of his parents.
Another version of the story was that he was set on fire by a member of his family that night but he survived. No one had come looking for him, from the night of the fire, to the hospital and now here at the facility. No one.

Over time I have found strength in the most unlikely places and people. This was no different. These boys evoked strength. The had nothing, absolutely nothing.
Nothing but the clothes, food and shelter Uncle Fash had given them. They had their whole lives ahead of them with nothing. But in that nothingness lies the greatest strength of all.

This situation was a perfect example of the birds in the sky. No one goes out of their way to feed them or care for them. But they still grace the skies, they are still existent in all their radiant beauty.

This place has truly been a home. A home for the lost boys.

Say a prayer for them this festive season and at all times. And if by any chance you are in Nigeria, make it down to Lagos and head to Kudirat Abiola way, Oregun. Stop at the welfare bus stop, go in and share some goodwill with Uncle Fash's boys, Our boys.

I realised one thing though.

I realised that the outcomes of the lives of the children here was not in my hands or in that far corner of my mind. The outcomes were in their own hands. It was their choice to harness their strength to propel them to the lives they desired, right at the top.

Musiliu was leaving the home the following week. He had started a tailoring and embroidery business. He was about to be airborne. From being a petty thief to Uncle Fash's son and now owning his own business.

This was his big victory.

This was his 'Irapada'.

'DWN

Terror

It had been a tough journey but I'd made it home. Just like that coca cola advert, I had made it home.

Too tired to wake up for church, I slept late into the day. Groggy and hungry I got up and headed straight for the kitchen. With cereal and cold milk in my bowl, I turned on the tv. The news, my favourite.

Something was on, something sinister was happening. Duh, its the news.
Is that a woman crying with her hands on her head? I had to go closer to the screen, my glasses were out of sight, no pun intended (was that even a pun?)

There had been an explosion. In a church. On christmas day. Here, In Nigeria.

"Religious sect."

"Several dead."

"Responsibility claimed"

I had absolutely no Idea what to think. There was some noise in the house.
My family! They are back!

I heaved a sigh of relief. I did not even live anywhere near the state the explosion happened in. But I was relieved to see them all. Ten fingers, ten toes. Complete.

My cereal was soggy. I couldn't eat. I was unhappy. I wondered about those who had died.
Had some people cried for help? Did they know they were going to die?

I wondered about the people who like me could not make it to church that day, who could not be in that church that particular day.

It could have been anyone. The families, they could have been my neighbours, they could have been your relatives...

I thought about the children. The little children who lost their siblings, who lost their parents.

I thought of familys who all sat in one pew arguing about who got to seat where.
Fathers berating their wives for taking too long to tie their geles.
I thought of the mothers, the women in the christian women association who were trying to out do each other with their 'christmas lace' and gold jewellry. Where there single people in church that day? What happened to the reverend father? What about the choristers? The altar boys...?

I couldnt stop. I went on and on.

Did the bombers know the attackers? Did the terrorists watch the faces of the church members light up when they sang 'Oh come let us adore Him' just before they murdered them?

Did the congregation even get to sing that song? Did they live 'til that part of the service?

"We are close to the suffering of the Nigerian church and the entire Nigerian people so tried by terrorist violence, even in these days that should be of joy and peace," said the Vatican

"This was another manifestation of blind and absurd violence which has no respect for human life and seeks to enflame more hate and confusion".

Little did I know that it was just the begining. The begining of very confusing times.

For me, it was difficult to understand why anyone would want to cause others such pain. It was difficult to see why one would commit such murders as well as his own. Its hard for me to understand. What is more difficult for me to understand is our government's "bark no bite" attitude to the situation at hand.

Its 2012 and Uncle Jona hasnt made good on his promises. Hold on, what promises? The country is still beseiged with attacks from the same group.

His replies to questions concerning terrorisim are likened to one who has no inkling of the gravity of the matter at hand.

This is where politics comes into play. But I nor be politician. But should human lives be subject to political strategies?

What a tumultous year.

I'm here in an entirely different part of our country. It is easy for me to be unconcerned. Its easy.
But I am concerned not because its the 'liberal-world-peace-united-nations-thing' to do.

I am concerned because my safety is not guaranteed.
I have been shown that as an average citizen of this country, if I happen to die by such means, my death will be avenged by no one.
It would be just another death due to uncurtailed terrorism. Ces't fini.

Call it selfishness but it is our concern because you and I may be the next victims.

"Why I nor go hide for inside aeroplane? Haaa if i get chance me I don move commot." I heard this passing comment about the Nigerian stoleaway

As someone said on the radio the other day," "They don't care, the government just doesn't care"

As christmas day approaches, I wonder which house of God would be hit this year. What part of the country would it be in?

Hopefully none.

Hopefully, we are allowed to celebrate the birth of our saviour, this time with peace.

'DWN

#

2012

In 2011, I heard that the world was going to end in 2012.
"Alright, lets get there first" I said, cracking jokes whenever the issue came up and secretly hoping the '2012 thing' would just go away.

Its 2012.
And as the predicted date of 21st December approaches, a small fear grips my heart.
The fear of the unknown is potent in my heart.
The fear that the earth may be knocked out if its orbit and I would no longer have internet connection. Fear.
Or that the world will freeze over and I won't be able to exfoliate, maybe the world would be invaded by aliens and we would be forced to wear those hideous 'colour block' outfits.
Fear.

"Its a lie oh the world cannot end jare. Ive not finished my IT the world can not end oh" my brother said.

I swear, Im thinking almost the same thing. So much I havent achieved and the world wants to end?
Iro nla!

In my quest for knowledge, I read wide. I ended up in utter confusion.
The doomsday clock, the mayan calendar, the 12-12-12 theory, the nostradamus theory... Aaahhh! The list is endless.

Then the issue becomes "What theory do you believe..?"

Being human, we often find ourselves knee deep in conspiracies and propagandas. These conspiracies are created by mere men. Mere men who In my opinion are inspired by nothing but fear.

I wonder then, does man not see himself beyond the year 2012? Are we so overcome by the fear of the unknown that we seek refuge in shelters of paranoia? Why then have we allowed our fears and innermost thoughts to be preyed upon by mere conspiracy merchants?

"madam this is my space, I was here first!" she screeched. "No I bin dey here, I go collect deposit form" The bank was agog. There were so many women in the hall.
"If nor be dis 12-12-12 tin, you nor go see me for dis place!" Others on the queue nodded in agreement.

"Oga teller, what do you mean I cant clear my account? My frien' give me my money!"

A group of women huddled by the water dispenser. Sadly their voices were still pretty loud.

"See ehn whether the world wan end or not I go collect my co-operatif money oh"
"nor mind dem esusu people wan collect our money go afterlife, God nor go gree dem!"

Church conventions, all night prayer sessions, a desperation to do all you've never had the opportunity to do.

Act on impulse. Give to the poor, repent, forgive, maybe even set that long awaited p.
Aren't all these acts due to fear?
Fear that I may not have lived up to my full potential, that I may not have done the right things or that for the things I have failed to do, I will be punished by my creator..

And so as the world is purported to end on the 12th, 21st or whenever, Im here with a tonne of memories of earth, both good and bad.
I am coming to terms with how I have lived my life. I realise that I have had the opportunity to do so much but I havent taken these opportunities. So why feel cheated if the world ends today?

"If you dont stand for something, you'll fall for anything..."

Here I stand: "For God did not give us a Spirit of fear but of power and love and sound mind"

'DWN

I am Woman

Clunk! That was the sound my eyeball made as I rinsed it in a glass of water. The left, then the right. It had been a long night. Asa's 'be my man' softly slighthered through the speakers of my bedside stereo.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. She nodded from her cage.

I needed to have a bath. 'Thud!' As my head landed on the table. "Careful.." I muttered to myself as I unscrewed my head from my body. Thank God, no blood this time.

I took off my hair. Yes my hair, haba I bought it with my money now. Then peeled off my scalp, opened up my skull and checked if my brain was intact.

I had to do that. Becuse if my brain was intact, all this would never have happened.

You see, all that we are as women has been reduced to mere body parts.

Unlike Asa I dont want to be your woman everyday. Did I even want to be a woman?

"Ahaan sister, your driving is bad oh. Stop driving your oga's motor anyhow now. na woman you be, you nor suppose dey drive sef" Said the lastma official. Now I'm pissed. I drive off.

It seems we women even in the 21st century still grapple with so much discrimination. Was I being too emotional about the lastma official? Am I crazy because I felt offended that he assumed that my car belonged to a man somewhere? Or am I just too dramatic....?

So Im here, laying in my bed. A beheaded body because the only compliment I got today from a man was "You have a beautiful face...". So I place my head on a pedestal above every other part of my body. No wait. He also told me I have beautiful eyes, so cleaned them to keep them pristine.

*knock*knock*

Its about time. In comes my dignity and self respect, looking really tired after a long day of arguing with men in court.

"Are you hungry?" I asked. But little did she know that at that point, I didnt care.
I send her off to the cage at the far end of the room. She'll spend the night there along with the others. The others being my soul, dreams and hopes.

I dont feed them tonight because no man has appreciated their beauty. They remain in the cage because I have been told that to survive in 'a mans world' I need to murder them.

"But they are a part of me" I whisper. I whisper to no ones hearing but mine.
I hear it. I hear them. Struggling to break free. To show me that they deserve a beautiful body like mine.

Its morning. Just like Asa, I have beautiful imperfections. But today, screwing my head right on, I put my body together. I let my soul in. My self respect and dignity stand tall, my dreams and hopes go before me.

You may reduce me to mere body parts but I do not reduce myself. That, that is what is most important. I've discarded that cage along with the unwholesome need to betray myself.

You know what, its my world. A beautiful world. And I am a tonne of Woman!

'DWN.