Let’s Move Forward

I try to decipher the difference between the past and the future but this exercise is turning me into what I cannot explain. I ask my self many questions but I could not get any answer. Does the past decide the future? How can you forgive and forget people and yourself? History is a land where future lessons her learnt. My friends tell me that forget the past and move on but I ask: do we easily forget the past? To live in the present doesn’t mean that memory can be deleted.

How do people who loose loved ones move forward? How do people who have committed nefarious crimes move forward? How do you forget that HOLY man who slept with your wife? That guy who killed your only son? Will these kinds of events shape or mar one’s future. In other to move forward I believe one must suffer a little kind of pain. “No pain No gain”, or “no past no future”.

Let’s move forward. How? One of my best friends on face book said you have to be able to control your ego to move forward and hope for a better tomorrow. To an extent that’s true but how? You stand and confront your past but if you allow your past take a walk with you into the future then you’ll be doomed. I was once innocent, turned bad, and now I’m craving for those innocent pasts which I believe will move me forward. So? This world is a complex circle. Why do we need historians if the past is not important? What do we filter and keep?

When does one really draw the line? I really need some education I believe.

…EARTH………. 12PM…?!!!!!

Today was bore by yesterday
I shot the seed into the earth yesterday
And Today I am told to uproot
“Uproot!” They advised.
“Why did you plant?”, they asked.

12pm, I have decided to uproot
I cry when I think of uprooting
Uprooting the same seed I planted
As I uproot I shed tears and blood.
“Dig dig and dig”, they commanded.
I dug and they laughed.

But I have seen people harvest
Why can’t I?
“SHUT UP!”
I follow suit with shaky voice…
I would have loved the harvest.
I SWEAR! Am sorry!

Good bye unknown fruit, good bye seed
Will I see you again?

These is my sorry-heavy heart
Am sorry!
I will plant again!

SOB! SOB! It’s 12 P.M.

BYE

Listen: What Dust Told Human

Dear Human,

I write to you with inner most frustration on how you exist. Recently, the rate at which you live your life makes me wonder if you realize that you would still come back to me. Do you know you were beautifully constructed by an Artist who used me as an instrument? Yet you humans think you are more than that patient Artist and think you will never go underground.

I write to tell you that your new behaviours are appalling! I write to tell you that it's quite shameful when you forget where come from. In my movement around the earth I have seen things that have made me numb. Brothers killing brothers, sisters killing sisters, men of God killing in God's name, prostitution, diseases, avoidable tears, avoidable sicknesses, jealousy, pride, lust, fast money schemes, leaders who take pleasure in seeing their own followers wallow in pains, e.t.c. While all these take place, I begin to wonder if you know that you are made of dust. You are nothing! Everything you own is nothing! When you come back you will be nothing! So why do you think you are something on earth. Before you were, the earth was and after you, the earth will continue to exist. Remember friend, "Dust to Dust", never forget that, being!

One evening, as I was moving across the bustling streets of Lagos, a guy in a rickety looking Honda bashed a Navigator from behind mistakenly. The man from the Honda came out pleading with the "big guy” from the navigator but he refused. The following conversation ensued between them:
Honda Man: Please sir! It was a mistake, I am very sorry.
Big Man: Sorry, I can’t accept that! We have to sell your car to spray my own car, let me call my mechanic.....
Honda Man: Haba Oga, he never reach that one, it’s just a mere scratch.
Big Man: Will you shut up?! Don’t start! Do you know who i am?
Ends
I laughed at the big man and answered his question: he’s mere DUST. Do you know who you are human? Check yourself!

Yours Ordinarily,
Dust

THE REDUNDANT CALL TO EXIT

In the city of Hui, the shrill air moved swiftly around the town; the air spoke to the birds which made them flap their wings with gusto, closed their eyes to savour the airy embrace and made them chirp “gloriously”. The air whispered to the trees, they danced, giggled compulsorily, and bowed to the tremendous odour of the city’s air. The news of the air had nothing new. The air exists, existed, and exists today. It made the rivers hit the shores with unusual energy. It made the rivers flow in a movement so slow; a movement that is so mundane; a movement so sick; a movement cloaked in ugly apparels. The air and the river never co-existed well because the river, as it is, is used to washing away the air’s belongings—poverty and sorrow. The river has washed away the pains, agonies, and tears of the people. It has washed away unwanted memories of the people but it has not succeeded in washing away the expected deficiency of the city’s citizens.

Existence, in Hui, is a game of dice. The probability of living another day in this city is sinewy. There is no news like bad news here even when the worse happens. The absence of daily human needs would not allow you scream when such sad event happens; there is a means of traveling away from such existence—hallucination! Mr. Frigbi, a bricklayer, is a member of this society. He has a wife, Giti, who fries and sells akara (bean cake) down the unattractive road near a repulsive gutter. Her sale of akara is the backbone of the family’s existence because the bricklaying business of the so called bread-winner comes only seasonally. They brought into existence two skeleton carved children named: kig and Soye. These children have never been to the ‘two’ walls of a school. Neither do they know how it feels to be shrouded in beautiful clothings. They have grown to understand that happiness is a far fetched mirage. Indeed, they are very brilliant but the parents cannot afford to boost their brilliance so they are left to probe the dangerous streets with their bare legs. However, they get educated and that is from wandering. When they retreat to their rooflessly-roofed house, to that house with a colour they cannot describe, a house filled with an air so poisonous, they are always pregnant with many questions.
Soye is usually very quiet. She has been overwhelmed by the living conditions she has found herself in. She moves with a noisy silence which makes some people think she was born incomplete. On her head, a little garden of ringworm gained space in the front of her face while a fly managed to perch comfortably on her eyelashes. She asks the most confronting questions which her father always fail to answer. Today, she asks the same questions she normally asks: “daddy, why we live so poor?”, “daddy, why can’t you be rich?”, “daddy, why can’t we live in those beautiful houses you always build?”, “daddy, why can’t you work in those tall buildings you always build?” “Daddy……”, then she burst into her daily routine of tears; the fly on her eyelashes tasted the salty bitter tears then it decided to take a flying leave. She hummed profusely while kig watched on in the corner of the house eating a-four day old eba. Frigbi is a man! He must never be caught weeping. He walks carefully to Soye to console her. He picks her from the ground and says, “I will try my best so that we can escape this ugly environment so that you will not cry again”. He continued, “God will wipe away our tears”, Frigbi said. She cried till she slept off, as he turns to look at kig, he saw that she had slept off. The only solution to pain is sleep and probably a very long sleep. A sleep filled with good dreams. The musical notes of the night insects can never distract them. Why? They are used to the rhythm of life’s painful whip. Frigbi has decided to end his family’s pain with a long sleep! He still wonders how he can end the pain. Giti comes in, looking tired, famished and exhausted. She walks in with a swagger that befits an already dead man.
‘Welcome’, he says.
‘Thank you’, she replied.
‘How market’, he further questioned.
‘I don’t know! I am tired. I can’t say’, with a stammering voice.
She cried and hummed just like Soye. Again, Frigbi goes to console her. He says, “I will try my best so that we can escape this ugly environment so that you will not cry again”. She nodded in acceptance and snored off.
In this environment there is the search for temporary escape from the harsh realities the society has to offer. They have found it in the mist of sleep. He stares at them and watches how the mosquitoes perform their gymnastic abilities on his family. Tears rose to meet his eyes but he must remain a man. He is not allowed to cry. “My family will never cry again”, he says. As he steps outside the house he noticed that the only star that gave light to his compound went very dark. He finally cried. The superfluous solution to his families suffering came to mind.
In the morning, he woke up with a lopsided smile. “My family will cry no more”, he thought. Akara, however is the only breakfast they know, other types of food is an unaffordable luxury. Frigbi warms last night’s akara and adds his problem solver—poison!
“Giti”, he called out, “I have warmed the akara this morning for breakfast, come and eat!”
Giti was surprised at this gesture so she asked: “are you serious?” she asked.
“Of course”, he replied.
He also called the girls and they ran to meet daddy with a hug. He hugged them intensely. He left the kids to hug his wife too.
“This is unusual”, Giti retorted.
“Cant a man show love to his family in the morning?”, Frigbi asked.
“Yes of course. Ok. Children lets eat”.
As mother and children sat to eat, father watches with eyes pregnant with tears. The solution he found is a coward’s way out, he thought.
“Come join us daddy”, Kig invited.

“Enjoy”, he said. He knew they would enjoy with this exit. He also knew that they would be transported to a land where hunger and pain never exists. They will enjoy this exist, he thought again. After eating the bean cake they died instantly without saying a word but Giti would not go with out leaving a word, she asks, “Frigbi, do you murder someone you love?”, and she died.
“We must answer this call”, he replied.

He looks at his dead family and smiles with tears. He gets his Dane gun, moves slowly to his compound, places it on his head and blows his brain out. His thought was spluttered all around the compound. The brain matter scattered in disorderly arrangement into the air. The air consumed the story and continued its journey.

Story of an “Almost” Born

(This is faction (facts and fiction), the onus is on the reader to filter the message for consumption and throw away the unwanted versions into the mind’s bin.)

My name is unknown because I was unable to cross from the heavens to earth. Sometimes I wonder what I would have been called. A name probably befitting my royal exit from heaven but I never made it to earth. I almost did! I inhaled a little mishmash air of earth but as I was about to savour earth’s air, I was cut short by death’s unfriendly call. The members of heaven wept profusely for my immediate entry and exit. My earthly friends were happy about my coming but little did they know that their smiles will be short lived.

My mother, now in heaven, told me not to tell the earth about my experience; she said the earth is wicked and that I will only earn my self more abuses. I refused! “I must report to mother earth what her children have done to me”, I told my mother. She begged me, amidst her heavy and lonely tears still I refused. She cries daily. Everyday, she shed tears. She died with pains. She tells me that even the memory of the incident makes the pain increase. She asks me: “how can you feel pain in heaven?” Such questions are too hard to answer. As such, I decided to tell earth about their wickedness. They may probably have an answer to such pains. I wish earth receives this information for their candid judgment. If only you (earth) can see my mother’s swollen eyes? If only you can see how tears have numbed my mother? She cries and laughs in pain. My effort to come into earth brought her death. It pains me. I wept. I weep. I am still weeping! I caused it! How?

About many moons ago, my mother was nine months pregnant (I can’t calculate in earthly times).Patiently and “labourly” waiting for my entrance. In the middle of the night, she was feeling very heavy and was ready to drop me onto earth. The other mothers in the house ran to call the village matron who has helped to deliver many children in my village. The elderly woman ran in slow meticulous steps into our house where my mother was laying on the ground in pains. A wall gecko in the cracked corner of our house nodded seven times and seven times did my mother screamed. The village matron came in with her bush lamp; it came with odours of different rooms in my village. She came with other women to assist her. The women surrounded my mother, one by the hand, one by the head and the village matron was in front of the vulva to help bring me to earth. Moths disturbed their ears and I laughed. It was funny how they attempted to kill the moths; the way their hands flew in the air, in an attempt to kill these disturbing insects, had an element of humour. The village matron, in her local dialect, told my mother to push. She screamed, screamed and screamed, “Yeahmmmmnnnn!!!” then, suddenly, all the women would hear was, “plop”, I came out with my leg first. The women all screamed in unison, “abomination!” This is impossible! This is a curse! They ran out to tell my dad about my misstep. The only way I could be saved was for me to be taken to an orthodox hospital. To be brought out by a professional. My father hissed and said “I no go anywhere, so that one man go dey look my wife yansh? Lai lai!” he further said, “my God and religion forbids that kind of rubbish, make una leave them there to pay for their sins”, he said.

My mother was in pains, she cried for help but none came. All I could do was to swing my leg back and forth, it was fun. Little did I know that mother and child were on there way to extinction! Ha! My mother was in pains! She could not close her legs because my leg was in between her legs. She wailed, “help!”. Nobody came. Everybody around were busy muttering bitter nothings. She was left there and the evening flies tickled my legs. I moved the leg again. Again, she screamed, “yeeee!” The wall gecko tried to help by killing the flies, so it crawled on my mother’s vagina to eat up all the flies that were swarming my bloody legs. It waited there and made sure that no insect came around. It heard my mother’s cry and it nodded again. We were left helpless because of religion and beliefs! I was left there till my leg got swollen, thus, causing my mother’s vagina to swell. She could not scream again, she had lost so much blood; therefore, the strength waned drastically. She stayed painfully quiet. She fought and lost the battle with death. She fought! And she died……….. I could have been on earth too but I died too……….. almost got there…….

Now in heaven, she is still in extreme pains. What can I do?

THE WEIGHT OF DEPARTURE

I

hate goodbyes either good or bad. It breathes an air of loneliness and proportions of grotesque nostalgia. It unnerves staccato wailing sounds; it sends lachrymal signals to the brain, thus, giving birth to lonely tears. Really, the weight of departure, separation or even disconnection is immeasurable. Ironically, though, life is filled with separations, divisions, partings, disconnections, splits, break-ups, detachments, call it whatever you like, it exists in our daily milieu.

Realistically speaking, I would like to calculate the mathematics of departure but this humble writer hates figures with a passion, fortunately enough, that task has been unregrettably avoided, as a matter of fact, it has been jettisoned! Have you ever asked yourself why people hate to let go of memory—happy or sad? These questions keep creeping in my head. Departure cuts across all classes, races, social status, to state it emphatically; it exists without rule and does not pay obeisance to authorities.

The weight of departure, however, comes in various scenarios. It might be a love scene—a scene where two lovers have to say goodbye! Where both parties agree that the bond has lost its grip and any further movement might cause a drastic fall. The parties simply crack the hard nut of oneness. They realise that the only gift of parting is sweet-bitter memories which is always cherished during the initial ceremony of departure. There is an effort to discard the packs of musing moments which turns out to be a very difficult task, especially when the memory is dotted with playing sports like: chase-me-I – chase you; saying same words at the same time and playing the almighty “bed-minton”, hmmmmn! Where will one get another? Change is a very big risk so at that juncture there is this unwanted pulsating fear. The fear of: ‘to be or not to be’. One can cultivate the Obama courage but this is departure!!! Nothing is impossible or impossible is nothing! After a shattered relationship, what is next? Try to move on because the future is pregnant with memories that are unfathomable. As a human being, I have walked through that blind, dark and puzzled path of lost love. Quickly, I learnt that for every departure, there is an arrival.

Another scene can be drawn from the pool of tears that flood our airports whether local or international. It can also be carved from the contours of the assorted bus parks around town. Have you ever accompanied your brother, sister, relatives or close friend to the airport? Have you ever seen the willingness to stay and compulsion to go? I saw it today. My brother and friend, who had to leave the country to expand his knowledge base in another country, fell into the above question. He shed tears like a brand new baby. He gave two answers with his tears, YES and NO. Yes representing, I love you guys, No representing I have to go (if not, money go waste). There was a fusion of feelings in his big heart. Freely, he let the tears roll down his cheeks, the drop of tears smelt like the rose that would blossom in the nearest future. By my side I saw a mother breathe in the perfumes of her daughter’s body in exchange for her temporary disappearance. We all love to hate the departure unit, don’t we? She shed tears until they bore the weight of departure.

Do i need to mention the last scene....... Olorun Maje O! But everyone must get a piece of that action whether maliciously or naturally. It is best served when you have served mother earth well

Obama Wahala

As a big fan of history, I quickly dropped the work i was doing in my office, to watch history take place. I ran to the reception to join other staff watching our "own" Obama make history! My oga, the workaholic, comes out ranting, "is this what you get paid for?" Ok. We went back to work grudgingly. The guy(oga) goes to take a leak and we rushed out again to continue our Obamania wonder!? Oga comes back to meet us again............... the guy smiles and says "Ha! this guy can inspire people o!" The guy  takes an automatic sitting position then joined the scorned. The focusless scorner. Promise, the errand boy in my office, utters in low tones, "this oga na old fool, so him ma wan watch Barack become president of US. He senior Baarack by far but the man get money and popular pass am, see him bald head, na to dey send message he sabi......." 

My oga starts clapping as Obama delivered his speech. After the speech, the man just closed for the day. Quite unusual! He leaves after everybody. Wetin Happen?

Promise: the guy wan go think about him life.