DIARY OF A NAIJA WIFE (The butterfly) Part 23
I didn’t hear from my father, and I couldn’t care less. He didn’t care about me after all, so there was no love lost here.
Edosa was good to me, and wise beyond his years. He was a handsome man too. Tall, dark, with impressive muscular strength. He loved the gym. He was also a hopeless romantic like me, something that was scarce in those days among Nigerian men.
Edosa of all my love interests was the best to me. I still have goose bumps whenever I remember him.
_________________________ “Mum, mum, you really need to talk to Jenny. She came into the room while we are still cleaning. She got on the bed and she won’t allow us to make it.” Jane brought me back to reality. “Look here girls, I only have three hours before I get back to work. I need to rest. Jenny, stop being silly and help your sisters.” By now, the whole clan had marched into my bedroom except Boluwatife who was at work. She recently graduated from the Michigan state University where she studied psychology. She had just secured a job as a social work assistant. “But mum, I want to read. You all know I have tests coming up soon.” Jenny said. “Yeah, right. It is always about your books; meanwhile, it is called a bedroom for a reason.” Julia retorted.
Jenny scowled at her younger sister. “Look here, Jenny, I don’t care if you have a million tests to write, all I need now is some peace and quiet. You must help your sisters with the room cleaning, after which you can read. All three of you should go back to that room now, clean it, then proceed to the second room and do the same.”
We must let ourselves grieve the life and relationships we never had, but wanted so deeply. Although these things were never meant to be, a part of you holds on to them so tightly. Once you have allowed yourself to let go, you can fully accept and receive the life and relationships you were meant to have all along.
In the last few years I have become acutely aware and understanding of living life in and near the persistent grasp of anxiety. I wish I could tell you that I had found the magical remedy that so many sufferers seek. I could say that therapy is the answer, that breathing helps and that looking within for strength is the road to healing, I could say all this with much conviction and belief, but still, know they are not complete or totally mitigating solutions.
Whilst for me these days rarely present, the ugly truth is that anxiety is always simmering below the surface, it is the urge to create escape plans, it is the desire to control situations, the need to over analyse and the negative voices that visit at the most inappropriate times.
Anxiety is the pre-composed internal lies lined up to tackle any situation that may cause a feeling of being trapped or uncertain. It is the misunderstanding of straightforward communication and the conclusions that are jumped to long before being digested in a healthy manner.
The ugly truth, in my opinion, is that those touched by these, often overwhelming, conflicts will always sit with them.
This is a realisation I have come to. I now understand anxiety is something that is managed and not beaten, it is something we must learn to accept as being part of us and move forward anyway. Move forward with confidence and optimism knowing we can possess the tools to handle the bad days and celebrate the good.
Anxiety is not all of you. It is a tiny part of you. It is not an excuse and it is not a place to call home.
I deal with anxiety by keeping a close and trusted circle of influence. I give time to those who have given time to me. I talk to those who understand life can be looked at through many windows. I face the ugly truth by welcoming it, by putting myself in uncomfortable situations and by celebrating the small things that no one else notices. I do this mostly on my own as I have found the only avenue to feeling content is the initial one, walked alone.
Believe in yourself and spend every day walking towards the feelings of uncertainty. It is in this direction that you will find comfort and acceptance.
the sunbeams at dawn, yes it's the pink sky with the sun curving out the sea and stretching it's all fresh rays after the night's sleep, all yellow and positive, all bright and lovely, all warm and vibrant.
I didn't say it...the ancestors did ya'll! Let that light shine!
Real talk though, this is from last May before I left DC. As I watch it, I am reminded that we don't come from nothing--stars don't come from nothing. We are all energy. I give thanks for all the sources of energy that I have joined with on my journey of freedom and truth. This is me. This is poetry.
The memory of me waking up next to you every morning,
Meeting up for lunch every afternoon,
Cosying up by night,
This routine replays again and again and I never get tired of it,
Because once again I am alive.
A force of nature vital to the fabric of my existence.
She taught me the
dark arts of curling
someone in your arms
and letting them go free.
Her no sugar, no shit
poetry breathing fire
into everything I see,
She time travels to
places she never speaks
about and when she
returns, she returns with
a brand new armour.
She is the daughter of a
who preaches God doesn't
exist so don't waste
your time asking him for
answers that you will
find inside yourself.
The woman who taught
me how to love other
women in a world that
cashes on how
deep your wounds
The language flows
through her blood like
misery flows in mine and
if I could I'd submit the
world in her tender palms but she says her palms
aren't tender, they're struggle
and she will not accept
a world where we
The reason of love,
the reason for love.
As long as she writes, I'll breathe. -KAI (Zahra, Arabic)
// Bhopal and my mother are my two hardest goodbyes// No matter who you are , where you are and what you do the one thing that always saves you is your home. I remember I was a kid when I had a huge fight with my mom over some toy. And I remember I said I'm going with my uncle to Delhi. We went to the station together. My mother came to drop off this stubborn kid with a grumpy face refusing to even look her In the eye. The train came and I boarded with my uncle, a 7 year old who inside her heart, knowing that this train could leave Bhopal any moment now and if I want to run back this is my only chance. At this point, i was more scared than stubborn and all I could think about was how I can never leave home. My mother was standing out there at looking at me and all I could think about was how I will love her more than anything and her arms are all the home I need. I could hear the signal go off and i rushed down as fast as I could right into her arms crying my eyes out and screaming in the middle of a confused crowd that mom i am sorry , you're my home, this city is my home and no matter how much we fight or disagree I will always fall back in your arms. I am sorry I don't give you the appreciation you deserve and I am sorry that even though for a moment , I thought I could just leave it all behind. Leave this gem of a place behind. But you both do know that I can never love and adore anything More right ?
I grew up with mom and my city. And today as I leave Bhopal again, I can only think about how much this city has loved me, about how beautiful it is and how my mother and I drove around the streets loving and fighting like two siblings. I still cry like a baby at the mere thought of leaving Bhopal, imagine the horror when I board trains. If you've met me you must have seen the fire in my eyes when I talk about my mother or Bhopal. Honestly, they are both the same because their love is selfless when it comes to me and their existence is my very happiness.
So when my mom was seeing me off today she said something that I will carry with me forever. ( Continued below)