I don't know my house anymore...

Don't get me wrong,
I still remember where I live,
I still know what my addy is and I'm sure I can find my way there from most parts of lagos
and some others of Ogun..
and maybe even Ghana!
if my house were a person,
I wld say we have drifted apart,
and in this struggle for survival,
our relationship has broken down,
we have become bedmates who are strangers
and the fine details of everyday living
have robbed us of the love we once shared.
Like they say,
out of site is out of mind
and like a reflection in a rippling river,
my house is begining to fade from my mind's eye,
and one day I'll wake up and not even remember
there was something to remember in the first place!
and maybe I'll even be too tired to care
cos my feelings are being eroded a little at a time
and the gully will soon be too wwide and deep to cross.
I wake up every morning before day break
and grope about in the dark,
hurrying to get ready for another mundane day at work,
can't really remember when last I had power supply,
so my dear house has been blind for so long,
I don't evn get to see her before I leave in the morning,
not even a glimpse,
blame me for being in too much of a hurry,
blame my job for wanting too much,
blame nepa that I never have light,
not even a tiny bitty glimpse
and I'm usually too tired to care cos I'd had a restless night in the sweltering heat
and my mind's on the awful traffic I'm about to face
I drag my tired mind and aching body around all day,
without a hope of starting my return journey before dark,
too much to do,
too little time,
too few hands on deck
so,Ii get back to my house
my house who's been waiting eagerly for my return
like a lover looking out to sea on the pier
hoping,
longing,
expectant,
excited,
but me drags my aching body and tired mind to my door,
and gropes again through the gloomy dark,
kick off my shoes and dump my clothes in a heap,
I slump on my bed too tired evn to eat,
too depressed to care,
praying for sleep to drown out the reality of the next day being just like this one
and the next, and the next,
and my house goes unnoticed yet again,
the details lovingly created forgotten in the fog that has become survival
so I toss and turn all night in the heat
with the mosquitoes as my companions
my house looking down at me sadly
cos I didn't notice yet again
I didn't even see a thing,
my luvly pink walls
or are they yellow?!
I don't even notice if my feet still sink into the plush carpets
or did I strip them up and put in tiles?!
when last did I enjoy the view from the windows?
or the way the sun streams in through them when the sun peaks?
they are all just wisps of smoke in my mind now,
my tired mind drifting off into a troubled sleep
and in a few hours,
my blasted alarm will rouse me
and I will grope in the dark trough my house again,
and start the viscious cycle all over
cos I'm caught in this rat race that's meant to be survival
and my house will go unnoticed, unseen yet again
hmmmnnn, I guess my car is a tad luckier
at least, I get to sleep walk to her every morning
and so far, I've managed
to get us both to and fro in one piece,
while going about the drudgery
of life in Lagos
and every evening, I 'zombie-walk' from her
into the house I've stopped seeing....
I hope it's not too much
to want my life back,
I hope it isn't asking for too much,
going above my 'station',
cos it's not just my house that's begining to be forgotten,
but me as well,
maybe I don't even know me anymore,
maybe I don't even see me anymore,
maybe the reflection of me
is beginning to fade as well,
all in the name of survival,
and I have gotten to that place
where the the business of being has robbed me of my own being,
and has the process of living
drained all the life out of me?
I really don't know anymore
I just wonder now,
if I had been unfortunate
to live with anyone during this period
if I would have been writing this about that person
and not just my house
well, just anoda sad fact of life,
so, my poor house,
like the poor neglected wife,
is still there waiting...

Omo Dudu ati Omo Pupa!!!!!!

My cousin and I,
as different as night and day,
She, all 5' 9'' of grace,
beautiful ebony black skin,
complexion as rich as pure honey,
lovely, long black hair,
beautiful deep brown eyes,
chubby dimpled cheeks,
with rows and rows of lovely, even white teeth,
nestled between full, luscious lips,
as tall as she was nicely filled out in the right places,
Marilyn that was,
my graceful cousin Marylin
Then there was Sara,
"Kedu?!" they often called out to her in Oyingbo market
"Nngozi! my angel!"
"...Otutu oma!"
"Oyinbo, wa ra ata!"
"...Oginni...."
"...chai! Ahurumghi n'aya!"
But the petite, brown-haired girl always walked on by,
in seeming snobbery,
the greetings would turn sour and abusive,
little did they all know,
that all 42 Kg of the almost-midget,
understood not a single word
of their greetings,
and luckily,
their abuses too,
Golden brown skin,
almost red hair,
a breath away from being albino,
tiny feel and hands,
slight frame,
all of that and little else,
was Sara.
Sara and Marilyn,
light and shadow,
day and night,
midget and giant,
inseparable they were,
together we are,
thick as thieves,
Dudu ati Pupa,
Orobo ati Lepa!
both with our Britico accents,
strolling through Oyingbo market,
haggling over the prices of shombo and stock fish,
"I have too many of them on me!" Marilyn says to me in exasperation,
"I don't even know which one to choose!"
"E ra tolotolo!"
"Shoko re e o!"
"pomo nko?!"
"I wish they would all give me some space!"
"Lucky you!" I lament,
"no one even pays me any attention!"
"...Nngozi...." so I still had him on my case!
"Lucky?! You call me lucky? at least, you have a clear head and your sanity intact!"
"But what is the use of sanity when there isn't even a choice?! where's the future in that?!"
Alas, Dudu ati Pupa,
were one and the same,
in their dilemmas.
As different as we were,
Sisters we were in this Brotherhood
that we had been forced into by our circumstances,
we'd both received the same lectures from our mothers,
alike as we were different,
two peas from the same pod,
as identical as only twins can be,
and as if to mock us,
they found the center of us both,
neither dark nor light,
won o dud tabi pupa,
On the fence they sit,
like they couldn't make up their minds,
about what to pass on to their daughters,
who simply refused to look any bit like either one of them,
Sisters from the same mother,
Sisters in their own Brotherhood
the Brotherhood obsessed with
marrying off their single,
and gradually aging daughters.
So, here we stood,
in the middle of the market,
with the crowd bustling around us,
Nneka!
Adamma!!
Ebere!!!
They call out to Pupa,
Shade!
Omo to dun!!
Omo to shon!!!
They call out to Dudu
But with our British tongues, we lament on,
Issues so similar,
yet different,
But still the same fate starring us both in the face,
Decisions to be made,
out of choices too many and too few,
neither one easy,
neither one better than the other,
the sojourns in Oyigbo,
or those in Trafalgar Square,
too many suitors,
too few suitors,
no wedding bells!
no aso ebi and gele,
no idana and momi, nmo e!
no elaborate ceremonies to plan,
so even the peas in the pod
share the agonies of Dudu and Pupa,
so different,
yet so alike.....

He kissed me!!!

Oh that he would kiss me,with the kisses of his mouth!For your love is more delightfulthan wine... ...Songs of Solomon 1:2



For the very first time,
he kissed me!
I was in his apartment for the first time,
his shot-gun apartment,
with the hallway straight through every room,
from the front door, to the back,
``pow-wow!`` I yelled,
laughing at him from one end,
and he laughed at me from the other end.
``Ahem`` said Monsieur Peter,
We were all three, like actors on stage,
acting out our lines,
in perfect sync,
there wasn`t a definite moment,
when the commercial came in,
no pause!
no warning!
no dry announcement like you have on channel 7!
each part flowed into the other so smoothly,
my petite frame perched
on the funny stool he`d brought with him from Africa,
my feet swinging over the edge,
like a naughty girl.
He said something,
and I laughed up at him,
eyes dancing mischievously
and then I knew everything had changed,
the way he looked at me then,
ahhh, the child wasn`t in the commercial at all!
just this woman,
all three and twenty of me,
and he the full grown man,
with a quarter of one more.
so, on my first trip to the Queen`s city,
all the way from the the Primate city
in his shot-gun apartment
overlooking the Thames,
Thames just like my Seine
he kissed me!
and it tasted like lemon drops
first the tentative touching of lips,
and then the silent affirmation,
of young, new-found love,
Ahhhh! two novices,
feeling their way through,
oh, but that was the sweetest of kisses!
lemoney-dropey!
Beautiful!
And I knew then without doubt,
like I hadn't known before,
that he loved me,
and wow! I realized that I loved him too!
All three and twenty of me,
And thank goodness,
the little child had been sitting on the oak stool,
from far away Africa,
because the woman,
all three and twenty of her,
had her insides turned to mush,
and would have lost her feet too!
He kissed me!
fore heads against each other,
I stared into his lovely brown eyes,
and I can imagine him
drowning in my green ones,
smiling like two looney bins,
I kissed the lovely dimple on his chin,
he bit my straight, pointed nose,
and....
...monsieur Peter cleared his throat,
Peter, his house mate in the Queen's city,
my dratted cousin,
who always lorded it over me,
because he was older, much older!
"I need your help with the heater" he says
and my dear Dimps finally tears his eyes from mine,
and drops his hands from around my waist.
Hmmmnnnn, when did they get there?!
Last I remember, he was standing four feet away,
laughing with me.....
...then I realize I had to drop my hands from around his neck...
"...has it gone off again?" he asks,
and the script continues without any break,
the commercial was over.
I put my fingers against my lips,
with that special smile on them,
butterflies in my tummy,
He kissed me!
Peter's going to be on the phone with ma mere soon,
but I couldn't care right then!
I made dinner,
and we three ate,
and Peter talked,
and we smiled at each other across the table,
while Peter's eyes shot daggers,
He kissed me!!!
and later he washed the dishes,
while I was supposed to dry,
but the little girl was back,
and she was sitting on the counter,
chattering,
and laughing,
and telling tall and short tales,
not wondering why monsieur Peter wasn't there, frowning his dis-approval,
the oak stool could as well not have existed right then,
this was the script
and the commercial was from another world,
along with that woman,
and then I took the next dish
from his soapy hands,
the kiss tasted like cappuccino this time,
two sugars and cream,
hmmmnnn, delicious!
He kissed me!
wet, soapy plate between us,
the smell of the Thames seeping in,
through the seals of the tiny window over the sink,
the blasted heater gave a shuddering heave,
from somewhere faraway, far, faraway,
and thank goodness I was sitting again,
cos I would have lost all my dinner,
my insides were mush again...
...and Peter cleared his throat again,
"...Aunt Mae's on the phone..."


hmmmmnnn, couldn't really make up my mind on what this was supposed to be, a short story or a poem, it just came to me one hot, sleepless night and I thought, well, why not?!!!

Haggard, Haunted, Hollow Hallways...

My breath comes out in ragged gasps, through parted lips,
lips cracked dry,
tongue lolling,
eyes huge and empty,
like black rocks in a gaunt face,
I claw at my hair,
hanging limp and dead against my forehead,
I feel like a mad woman,
In this big, empty house with dank, damp walls,
This big empty, haunted house
that is my mind.
I seem to float from room to room within myself,
from the hall of depression,
to the hallway of unhealed heartache.
I feast on the table of frustration,
pulling at my hair,
seeing shattered dreams through glazed eyes.
I drag my wounded ego to bed each night,
and cover up with affliction,
I wake up every morning to greet affliction again.
I bathe myself in bitter memories,
memories that I still make myself believe are locked up in the basement,
I sit at my dainty vanity table
and put on my make-up-mask,
I paint away,
covering the fear,
the anger,
the bitter remorse,
and I step out with a pretty face,
the pretty mad woman! hehehehe!!!
Dear Sweet Jesus come quick!
I can't live in this house anymore!
Tear down all my wailing walls,
I'm done wailing, and weeping, and sobbing, and crying,
I've done enough of those to last me a million life times,
Break the chains of resentment and rejection,
and help me forgive all those who banished me
to this haunted house,
help me realize that by letting them go,
I set myself free,
Send The Holy Ghost in power!
Spirit of Liberty!
Spirit of Life!
I cry for You!
Spirit of Freedom!
Spirit of Victory!
Fight for me!
I'm free in Jesus' Name!
I declare the Lord's release to every part of me,
Suffering spirit,
Beat-down body,
Messed-up mind
Dear Sweet Holy Spirit,
Come and live in this house
Let the sweet song of Deliverance fill every room
let the sun come streaming in,
let it dance off every single surface,
till they all dazzle and shine!
Let Your mighty rushing wind blow in!
let it cast away the cobwebs,
the filth,
the stench,
the debris,
all the unwanted luggage,
come in and revamp my smelly basement,
I release the keys to You,
throw out all those awful, bitter memories that I've held onto,
all of them, livetrophiesupon mymantelpiece
I never want to have to put on the masks again,
I want to be beautiful from the inside out,
really beautiful,
like only You can make me,
Please make this house beautiful and pleasant,
fill it with joy and laughter and sunshine and happiness
No longer will it be called haunted,
or hollow,
or haggard,
because You will dwell here with me,
it will be not only Your home,
but Your Royal Throne as well....


Lines in italics were taken from Bishop T.D. Jakes' Woman Thou art Loosed Bible, which actually inspired the writing of this particular entry.....