A Solem Word Today For A Departed Friend

About a week ago, I had a short conversation with an old friend but sadly the point of the discussion was of the departure of a mutual friend.

The news shook me like I never expected anything to. I wasn't surprised by why the news almost broke my spirit, he was a dear and true friend but the problem is we havent spoken in probably more than five years.

This certainly isnt because of any animosity but just an occurence of life drifting us apart. I wasnt sure whether or not my sadness was because I was going to miss him or because of the permanence of the news; he is dead and that is that no possibility of the big 'reunion' I had always considered at the times when his thoughts crossed my mind.

No possible chance at seeing in the future if he had fufilled the dreams he had for life. No goodbyes, just an end, an end i am still unable to comprehend.

I just dont understand. i just dont. am i to feel guilt for not having spoken to him for five years? what am i to mourn, a friend? a brother? Perhaps i do not even hold the right to mourn and grief.

Death, Death in the family
Depart from us
Do not knock on our doors
We have had enough from you
You knock when we least expect
Why don't you give us a headstart
Let us prepare for your visit
Old men and women taken
When they want youth again
Teenagers children taken
When they want to be leaders of tomorrow
Death, Death in the family

My tears will not bring you back, they will not replenish our lost years, they will not replace what could have been nor what will be but, they show my love, my pain, my distress. They are a symbol of the good times, the protection, the care, the laughter. Those times that I shall never, never forget.

I pay my respect to you my friend, my very own 'FATHER'.

Yours

Arike Ade

Phone things can be so damn complicated

So I can take a photo and blog it but to add text and edit I have to use a computer?? what is the ridiculous point?? Funny thing is there's probably a way to do both at the same time and in the same interface but for a gadget illiterate like me, it will take forever to figure out and probably too difficult to manipulate, I should go to bed but my alarm is set for 0645 and its 0643

eeek!

Phone things can be so damn complicated

Technology has gotten the best of me, i am awake at 0540 am trying to figure out things on my phone and it appears that i have discovered blogging via this square looking device but will it work?
i am tempted not to type anything too long such that when it doesnt work, i won't be too disappointed with how much time I have wasted typing but then if it works, I'll have missed the opportunity to blog gosh life is a vicious cycle.
The only problem thus far is that i cannot seem to attach pictures to a post and it doesnt have spell check arrggh :S

A Random Funny- Racine carrée d’un négatif

Here's good LOL for us all that love imaginary numbers.

Racine carrée d’un négatif = the square root of negative one. If we all believe in re incarnation, for the worst Karma I'm thinking coming back as an imaginary number might be it :D

I hope that put a smile on someone's face, cos today has not been a good one for me but ah well there's sleep and there's tomorrow...

The 'God is Watching You' Concept

A couple of years ago I watched a movie called The Truman Show and it is possibly the best performance by Jim Carrey I have ever seen and only comparable to Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

The Truman Show's plot is basically about a young man who has lived his entire life from birth as a reality tv act without his consent, he has no idea that the entire world is watching his daily activities, his sleep patterns, his bad habits and even the most intricate character flaws.

The film triggered the worst case of paranoia I have ever experienced, ok maybe I only considered the idea of being watched on tv for only a minute but what I did consider for longer dug deeper than The Truman Show. I started wondering to myself, why does the simple notion of being the subject of a strange experiment like what happened in that movie scare me so much and yet it doesnt matter when I think to myself "whatever you do God is watching".

Perhaps because it does not include when you fart in silence, the Angels will laugh at you, I do not consider it inappropriate to do so and blame it on the baby that has left a present in its diper (not that I have ever done that). Maybe because we find it easy not to feel the importance of God as an entity of continuous prescence that we can take whats not ours and justify it by saying "Everybody does it, why can't I?"

Talking about morality often makes people sound self righteuous and condescending but the truth that lies beneath everything is that we all know the right thing regardless of our socio-economic backgrounds, our religious beliefs, upbringing or personalities but we make a concious effort to make our own descisions based on either obligations to society or self.

It is often ineveitable that our obligations to self will be seen by the society as either selfish or greedy especially those that immediately surround us; the descision to work extra hours rather than watch your son/brother/friend/cousin play football only diminishes your relationship with that individual because you loyalty lies with that person only and these decisions do not often involve over 120 million people.

Majority of the individuals that 'run' the affairs of Nigeria are merely looters for lack of a better word. They might as well be carrying AK47s and chanting their motto "Riches for us, Poverty for all". Nothing seems to stop thier unending raid and robbery of the Nigerian people.

Thus a greedy tyrant will seize his peoples' property, as Solomon says: "A just king nourishes the land, while an avaricious one destroys it" (Proverbs 29:4) or as another version puts it "The king establishes the land by justice, but he who receives bribes overthrows it". There should be no room for stealing a little and and helping a little because the value system in Nigeria has reached as stage where even those of us who are not 'Politicians' have come to accept these greed as the norm.

When family members of one who has the opportunity of serving in a gorvermental post expect the individual to prove his job by living flamboyantly. If not done, the person is ridiculed as a fool who is not aware of the 'blessing' that has now come his way. An official post, one which should be that of servitude becomes that of oppression.

To change this notion we are to change our present belief of praying for Nigeria and watching to that of praying for Nigeria and working earnestly towards re-educating ourselves and those around us, to create awareness that moving from a stage where Nigerians only think of survival tactics to actually living can be achieved if we all considered for a moment: Bidden or Not Bidden God is Here.

Perhaps we can all not only know the right things but also do the right things.

Yearning For Home

Adesijibomi's (Siji) single yearing for home and Adebantu's Ile (Home) are two songs sharing the same deep Message of reaching out for home albeit feeling settled and secure somewhere else. I believe this is probably a feeling that is mutual amongst Africans in the diaspora, but perhaps I should speak for myself.

Both artistes chose their words carefully or maybe home was just inspiration and rythms that are just as meticulous. Siji makes use of a wide range of musical instrument from a piano to the sekere and the video is filled with subtle and warm images such as a record of Fela playing, old photos and even a telephone card, while on the other hand Ade makes use of himself looking on to the scenary surrounding him and pondering how far away home is and even amidst this there is a young woman who is made up to look like she could be one of Fela's dancers right in the middle of it all

Although there is at least three years between both songs the message is the same for our yearnings for home will always be mutual

How beautiful is a Star

Filled nightsky

One I can't see

Tonight

My heart beats

As I look through my window

Hoping to see

A single Star

To take me Home

To look through the Star

As a portal to the West

Of my continent

Home to Motherland

videos discussed above

Adebantu

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6ql9jqAk5Ls

Adesiji

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LZYOVvflO20

Today I remember my grandmother

Heres a poem by Bassey Ikpi, I have copied and pasted it and also included a link of her performing it on def poetry jam.

I am filled with nostalgia as I listen to the poem over and over again but even more deeper than how i feel about the depth and truthfullness of this poem, i fill a deep sense of longing for my grandmother, a woman whose education was considered unecessary because she is female but whom in her adulthood paved her way into emlightenment, she didnt just learn from her children, she learnt from her granchildren.

She stands for me an example of achieving our goals even when the greatest odds are against us. So today I remember my grandmother....

Homeward
01/13/2004

Today, I remember my grandmother
As she attempts to connect with her second children
she finds the only english words she knows
from somewhere hidden in the belly of her 4 foot 9 inch body
and instead of awonke she greets us with "bye bye"
beckoning us into her thin clay colored arms
She has my mother's face etched with time
peers at me me from eyes wide and dark
like mine
I walk into these arms, the ones that mothered my mother,
taught her how to mother me
inhale the history from her skin
She reminds me of the little girl
bow legged and round faced, holding roasted corn in one hand
and a fistful of chin chin in the other
still begging for Orange Fanta to wash it all down
I remember her voice firm yet loving
"eh eh... mma bassey agi.. awai..."
you must eat, then drink
sometimes I forget but she remembers the small scared girl
carried away on an iron bird to America
Seems like that same bird has returned only to replace, her,
that perfect girl with me
this strange tongue tied woman,
the one that can barely say hello
without the clicks and moans the dips and tones of the white man's language
She listens now as I struggle with atum adem

It breaks my heart to realize that
I can only love her clearly in english

But tears do not replace the words
love will not make it easier
make it less heavy
desire will not help me remember
what the words taste like flowing like the Cross River from my tongue

But this is not my only tongue
Insolent and heavy with the awkward movements of amber waves
east or west this is not my village
and my heart still longs for my grandmother's voice
steady and strong crossing rivers and oceans
rounding buildings of mud, thatched roof
of steel and glass
concrete and confusion
still I am afraid that it will not find me here
in this land miles
from the one that welcomed me into this world
lifetimes before I existed in this cosmopolitan space

"nbong non yin ben yami?"
"nbong non yin ben yami?"
what will I teach my children?
what will I tell them of where I've been
the earth that shaped me
the hands that held me
the land that made me
what will they call home
and will they here it if and when it calls them
my heart still holds the salt and clay of Ugep
the strength of our women isn't lost in me
but sometimes I forget and find it difficult to walk in bare feet
afraid to remember what history feels like dust covered and
peeking from brown toes

oklahoma
DC
brooklyn
will not help me remember
ikom
ugep
calabar
they will also not let me forget fingers sticky with fuu fuu
swallowed whole
or tongues stinging numb from plantain fried in palm oil
But I have lost the grit and the grain of my grandmother's gari
I can't taste past this nostalgic lump in my throat
can't stomach the reality of this my divided culture
African
American
I am everything
And I am nothing
Nigeria quietly begs me to remember
While America slowly urges me to forget
but it's for my past
It's for my future
it is for my children
and it is for you, grandmother
that I must
always
always
remember

-Bassey Ikpi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bTcOWR3uc0E

I dey vex o!

A little rant about these Nigerian entertainers. From comedy to music artists to the film people. As in all of them will come to England and perform their shows in London and Manchester and wherever else they choose apart from my own city when I am the biggest fan of anything Nigerian.

Am serious o it’s not even about talent with me, the moment I hear Nigeria in the sentence I am interested then i can jugde talent later.

The most annoying part is that even if i were to travel to go and see them publicity is rubbish that I only know about the show when it is either too late ( like on the day) or it has finished and they have palemo the stage, what nonsense o ti su mi o.

Now that it is summer- it is starting again they have just opened a Nigerian club in London and it was apparently a success... let’s be frank I probably wouldn’t have gone but I would like the choice of knowing first then making my mind up!

For the things we see might not be truly there...

Once, my mother called me and said to me “Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder” and it stuck to my mind since then. Even though it struck me as important, I never quite grasped what she meant and why she ever told me at all. Patience is a virtue they say and I was soon to find out the pit my mother was drawing me away from.

Not long after this mother-daughter chat, it was time for me to return to boarding school to resume life as I knew it. One filled with me being the butt of every joke, the tiny little girl no one quite understood, but who could blame them; for half the time I am engrossed in my own world. Ironically, this world that i occupied myself with was the shield that made boarding school bearable. Their jokes were pointless and unmoving for my universe was better and there was no reason to bother myself with empty headed earthlings.

But alas, there appeared a face I coveted. After much contemplation, I thought if he has half the brain his face seems to suggest, he must be drawn to my world. He would see the beauty of my carefully constructed creation; the perfection that was my own. He did. The face he bore shone like a mirror shaken in the beaming sun and his skin glowed like gems. He has to be from my world, a figment of my imagination, no earthling amasses such grace and splendour and not be dense, but he wasn't. Intelligent he was, perfect he was.

I let him into the intricately crafted world of my mind and without fear shared my deepest secret of stars with arms and faces, of moons with heads and babies. The eerie world of children with eyes on the side and mothers who had their bosoms on their back; of course only I could see them but he understood them, he spoke to them as I did and made friends as I did. He chose favourites those of whom I already had and wonders did I wonder how I had misplaced him all this while in the midst of the atrocious humans.

One night, last prayers were said at our Catholic assembly and as I walked to my dormitory grinning cheerfully at the marvels of the dream to come golden boy ran to my side breathing heavily as though they were his last: “I’ve got something to show you” My imagination ran wild, what could it be? Knowing myself for my mind, my guesses were as crazy as each other.

I thought to myself, he has finally come to the universe of bright mornings; he will share with me his imaginations, his unreal dreams of flying cats and swimming birds, of fire breathing fishes and baby rearing cattle. I was ecstatic, my heart was racing. On getting to his said destination, i was thrown aback by the shock of it all. He had brought to life the hidden details of my world. Modelled with mud my singing insects and talking butterflies; he was telling moonlight tales of ghost and spirits to the whole boarding school. It was a mockery of MY imagination.

The traitor, the empty headed earthling! I stormed off.

The Stranger

It was late November, cold as it could be goose bumps rose atop my skin. I shivered. Stepping into the local shop I was embraced by the warmth of the heat inside. I decided it was wise for me to spend some time before leaving the store; in a few seconds of wandering about, I looked up and there he was. A spruce and dapper young man, he was tall and lean his length seemed to be equal to the shelf he was standing beside. I felt tiny.

I took one step aside to hide myself; I didn’t want him to become conscious of being watched. I stood staring, wondering what was so fascinating about this man and I was desperate to find out and for more moments to come, this reason eluded me. I fixated on scrutinizing him from his head.

His hair was pitch black like every source of light had been sucked out of it. It could have been darker than ebony and was perfectly coiffed. It looked like it was placed deliberately on his head for a competition. His face, I protruded my head to see closer. It was spotless serene and calm he seemed at peace as he read the label on a can. His dark hazel nut eyes could not be real they were bright and alluring as they drew me into a maze. I was hypnotized. A few seconds later he smiled. It shone like a fire fly alight.

His shirt was well pressed, so flat it attached itself to his body; it revealed hands elongated and trim. They seemed to have been strangely moulded exceptionally for his odd physique. I looked on and his legs we lean and seemed as weak as wings on a cockroach. I imagined him taking a step and crumbling right before my eyes but he didn’t; each step elegant in its stride like a peacock. He walked away.

At this local shop, Mother Nature’s work of art, the soaring, brown-eyed stranger, looking so innocent seemed a master piece...