Fan Mail

Dear Mr Club Manager,

You might find it hard to believe, but I’m your biggest and most loyal fan, the best you’ll ever get, despite the fact that I hate football with a passion. Did you ask why? Well, you can be damn sure I’ll tell you why.

My house is a shrine in honour of the deity that is your club. The TV, laptop and smartphones have become your altars of worship. I’m sure I have more paraphernalia in my house than you have on your grounds. I have at least 16 jerseys that go through my weekly wash and I would probably earn more than your club’s dry-cleaners if I’m ever lucky enough to get paid for my services. I should start up a merchandise shop from my backyard. I have signed footballs, jerseys, pictures and even a foul-smelling boot. I have banners, beanies, wrist-bands, towels, mugs and everything imaginable emblazoned with your club’s insignia. Very soon, Chief-Oga, the Little-Ogas and Little-madam will decide to paint it all over the walls.

I’m a walking encyclopaedia of club history and stats and I can recite in my sleep all your match fixtures for the rest of the season. I can give a history lesson on all your home and away colours for at least the last five seasons and I calculate point-aggregates and goal-differences the way other women calculate how to save money on their shopping. I know every single one of your players, and unlike most of your female fans, it’s not just the good-looking ones. I know how much each is worth and the rival clubs that secretly and openly covet them. Oh, and by the way, Little-Oga number-three thinks loaning out number 27 was a dumb move. If it’s any consolation, the others practically bit his head off for that.

I’ve been a diligent and faithful follower of your gospel all my life without as much as a peep of complaint. First, I learned at the feet of my father who also served as a priest at your altar. Growing up, I missed all the soaps on TV because he always had to watch the footy. Now, I’ve up-graded to raising my very own mini-football team.  I’ve been “blessed” with five boys, one tom-boy and their father who is no more than a 185-pound sack of hormones and adrenaline when it comes to football. Oh yes, I’m a very patient woman. Each time your club has slapped me on one cheek, I’ve turned the other one and received a blow in the face. This time however, you’ve gone one bloody step too far! Today is my birthday and my football-crazed family forgot about it and it’s your entire fault.

Usually, they get my not-so-subtle hints just in time to buy a single card and scrawl all seven of their names on it. But this year, what do I get? Nada! They all woke up this morning pumped up with excitement, not because it was mommie’s special day, no sir! Today’s date has been marked on the calendar for weeks and I stupidly thought it was because of my birthday. Instead, it was in anticipation of your big match today. And to add insult to injury, Chief-Oga didn’t even bother to get me a ticket. Who else is more entitled to a ticket than me ehn? After breakfast, I got them all dressed in the typical pre-match chaos, straightening jerseys, finding matching socks, pulling beanies over cold ears, wrapping necks in the infuriating red and yellow mufflers, fishing miss-matched shoelaces out of the crevices between the sofa-seats, the twins fighting over who to wear the number 10 jersey and Little-Madam demanding that oldest-Little-Oga let her ride in the front seat. In all of that madness, not a single word to yours-truly, not to talk of the Birthday song.

I fumed all day as I cleaned up the mess they left behind. Then when their devilish-behinds got flogged on the pitch, they came home sulking. Was I even allowed the satisfaction of saying “God catch una”? Iró o! Soon as they got in, Chief-Oga snagged the laptop to re-watch the game online. Little-Ogas tuned the TV to Sky Sports for match highlights. Did anyone ask me if I was done consoling myself with Africa Magic Yoruba before changing channels? Kò joó mehn!

Then the analysis started.

            “…he should have been in the box…”

            “…the defence had holes in it…”

            “…why did he wait so long to substitute…”

            “But you guys scored now!” I said exasperated, watching the replay on the TV. Seven pairs of eyes turned to look at me like I’d said the dumbest thing in the entire universe.

            “Mum, it was off-side.” My seven year old son said slowly, like he was an adult trying to explain something to a very stupid child. Egbàmí!

Little-madam sighed and rolled her eyes. “Seriously mum, how many times do we have to explain the off-side rule to you?”  

Ìyen èmi náà! In their minds now, I’m just an ignorant woman àbí?

Was I allowed to lick my wounds in peace on facebook and twitter? Even that was too much to ask for. Instead of Birthday messages, my news feed was clogged with posts from the fan-war that had started out on facebook. Twitter was no better. BBM nko? Láí-láí! Seriously, if I have to endure anymore of these cyber-space fights or if I hear another word about the Messiless player who Arsenalized Chelshit or about the club that is the “PDP” of the Premier League, I’m buying a shot-gun. The only thing I’m not sure of just yet is who I’ll be shooting: you, the crazy fans or myself! After a life-time of devotion, the least this woman could ask for is one football-free minute on her birthday.

So Mr Manager, you’ve been warned. Watch out because one day, Madam here might just jump at you out of nowhere and scratch out your eyes Ìsàlè-Èkó-style. You’ve really had it coming. And God help the Little-Ogas if at-least one of them doesn’t become a footballer and buy this faithful fan her very own ‘Beckingham’ Palace. Hian!

Yours’ Truly-Tipsy,

  

Your biggest Fan.

The Fairest In The Land

We have gazed upon your face

We have beheld your beauty

Your love and devotion be our duty

We covet, and we want, and we crave

A single kiss from your lips

Will put to flight a million woes

And a touch from your hand

Will put to shame our foes

Our children will sing and dance

While upon wheels of steel we ride

Our danshikis we will spread out in pride

And the damsels will be entranced

For you, many a-lie have been spun

With no shame or remorse have we cheated

And fuelled by your passion, our fists have swung

 Alas, dreams and hopes and lives have ended

O fairest of all dames

Whose beauty is widely famed

From lands far and near Knights have trailed

All in hopes to have you tamed!

Riding upon the wings of the storms

Came the Strong, Self-assured One

With his fists of iron and will of steel

He sought to bring you to your knees

“I have subdued many-a wench!” He roars

“With my skill, my schemes and my force

Your charging Bear will I slay!

And then over you, my Bull will reign!”

His dark stallion you have made but a pup

And his robes lay in tatters amidst his sobs

Oh, how pride has gone before a great fall,

And cunning become but the low mimic of wisdom!

Pale as the dusk, the Holder came,

Seeking your favour not just for a season

Eyelids you batted, he wanted your kisses

You offered a smile, he wanted a missus!

His obsession his own ruin has wrought

The tighter he gripped, the faster you slipped

Acid in his belly, fire in his arteries

You burst his bubble and he with depression filled

Through catastrophic loss, to him is revealed

That you, fair maiden are like the wind

To no- one you answer, to no-man you belong

Temporary custodians we are, as you choose, so you love

Upon a horse blazing like the sun,

The Dazzling One arrived all a-bling!

Brandishing you upon his arm, his trophy to be

That far and near, all will see and shout ka-ching!

But you fairest of all, are no man’s show-case

You sing no man’s praises, all except yours’

Your pretty robes of green and pink and copper and gold

Are yours to flaunt, you won’t deign to share

The Tranquil One no sonnets or war-cries sing

He seeks not to subdue and neither to cling

From a distance he beholds your beauty

And accords respect as he sees due

He duffs his hat and walks on by

Content to have you in his sights and not his heart

For he wisely knows you’re a charming friend to meet

But without warning, a treacherous mistress to follow

And to the one who grabs not

You have freely given all

Because you desire to be attracted

Rather than pursued

Oh what a lesson for us all!

Worldly goods and treasures should not enthral

And wisely choose to what we give our lives’ worth

Because truly all things that glitter, gold are not!

*

Who is rich? He that is content. Who is that? Nobody!

- Benjamin Franklin

Money is like love; it kills slowly and painfully the one who withholds it, and enlivens the other who turns it on his fellow man.

- Kahlil Gibran

Màámi

I love my mother! That thought keeps going through my head over and over, like a mantra. It won’t stop. I won’t let it. It’s all I’ve got now, all I can hold on to, so I clutch at it just the way my mother is grasping onto her life…

̴

The first vivid memories I have of my mother are of the year I was five. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to dredge up any earlier ones. I have memories of my Dad as far back as maybe age three. I remember sitting in his lap, with my chubby arms wrapped around him, thinking I would protect him from the world! I remember my brothers as well and what my relationship with both of them was like at several stages in my life. But my mother, nada! Even now, I’m trying to dig up the memories, piece them together, but nothing comes. Did she sing me to sleep? Did she like to dress me up? Did she pamper me, being her only female child? Hard as I try, nothing comes. All I can bring up is her being short with me, how swiftly her hands could move, her constant reprimands and how deep down I figured I wasn’t good enough.

My mother was never one to be generous with words. I can’t recall having chats with her of any kind. My mother instructed, reprimanded, ordered, cursed sometimes, but she never chatted. Sometimes, I made up conversations in my head, wondering what a typical mother-daughter conversation would be like.

 I think the guy from Mrs Duncan’s class likes me…

Jude asked me to go to the movies with him on Saturday! How do I tell him no without sounding bad?!

Mum, I think I’m having my first period…

Sitting here in this hospital room, my mother’s silent form as my only companion, I can’t help but reminisce on the seasons that have marked our very rocky journey together.

 There was the time that it used to hurt so bad watching the other girls with their mums. I used to get this pang for something, I’m not sure what. It wasn’t really a sense of loss because I never had it to begin with. I can’t say I was missing something either because I’d never known what it felt like, so how would I know what I was missing?!  It always left me wanting so bad and it used to break me up in pieces. I knew deep down that my mother loved me, fiercely even. She was just not good at showing her emotions. There were so many times that I wanted to throw something and scream that love wasn’t always enough! I wanted a friend, an ally, a sister. I wanted a relationship with her in the sense of knowing someone, trusting them with your dreams, your fears, your secrets. It just never happened for us and I’m here, already a woman in my own rights, a mother to my own daughters, and yet, still struggling to get a grasp of my relationship with my mother, or a lack of one.

At some point, I stopped caring and couldn’t be bothered. I stopped trying so hard to make it work. I guess something within me died. Maybe my heart had simply taken all the battering it could and had curled up somewhere and had stopped being. I went my own merry way and left my mother in her sterile, sunless world. Mother never knew about my first boyfriend and how disastrously that ended. She has no clue that I still carry some of the scars. We never got to have those girly talks that should have been my rite of passage. I doubt she ever wondered about what was going on with me as a teenager, the things I might have done, the ones I actually did. She has no clue whatsoever about me, she has no idea what makes me tick or what goes on in my head. She doesn’t know how many times my heart has been broken, the mistakes I’ve made or how complicated my life is at the moment. I can’t talk to her about any of these things, not because I don’t want to or because I want to shut her out, but because I never knew how to. Because I wouldn’t even know how or where to begin. Because a part of me is still afraid she’ll judge me. Because she’s never been an emotional part of my life and it’s a little too late to start trying to build anything now when there was never a foundation to start with.

Sadly, the twilight has crept in upon us. The day has been spent and it is now too dark to do anything, too late to make amends. I came back home for the first time in almost eighteen years when Dad called and told me about the tumour. The journey halfway across the world is still fuzzy in my mind, wispy, like a dream. All I remember is the numbing fear and the panic that threatened to swallow me whole. Like the memories of my mother, my recollections are choppy and disjointed. I vaguely recall walking through the hospital corridors like the lost soul I was, choking on the tears I had been unable to shed since the day I’d left home. And before I was ready for it, I was confronted by the frail wraith that once had been my mother. I fell upon her, pouring out my heart to her and willing her to please, please hear me. I wept for us, for all the seasons we wasted, for the words that should have been said, for what could have been, for what will never be.

̴

And as the beeping machine finally flat-lines, all I can think is maybe love really is all that matters…

When I’m Crying. Not.

I wrote this as part of a competition and it was meant to be based on a popular African song. Enjoy! ;)

It is quiet in my head.

And I am afraid. Not.

You only fear for what you dread will happen.

You’re only afraid of nightmares.

I am living mine. All of them.

So the time for fear is past. My afraid is upon me.

You said “Girl, never be afraid,

Of ever, ever loving me…”

I am afraid. Not.

It is quiet in my head.

The calm before the storm.

The mockery of the demons before they wreck their havoc.

I sit still, looking with unseeing eyes into me.

I see you. I see us. Not.

I paint memories with tears. And sweat. And blood.

Of that first day and how immensely I disliked you. Or so I thought.

Your dazzling smile.

My snobbery.

Your outrageous flirting.

My treacherous heart. That wanted you as much as it loathed you.

It maddened me so! And oh, how I longed to smack that smug smile off your beautiful face!

Claw at those dreamy eyes!

Crush that mighty ego beneath my clacking heels!

It is quiet in my head.

Even though I can still hear my walls crumbling.

You pecked away at them with whispered words,

Sweet feathery strings, soothing like birdsong in the dawn.

You’re my Everything, your song sang.

You wove your spell into an intricate tapestry,

Until I danced with the faeries in the sunset.

I became Queen,

Your Queen.

It is quiet in my head.

I feel like a hurricane in slow-mo.

Suspended animation.

Frozen in time.

Nothing makes sense.

Where did it all go wrong?!

Where did us end?! How?!!!

When did your kisses become like pebbles skipping on the surface of the waters?!

Shallow. Hollow. Ghost-like. Without substance. Empty.

I want deep,

But you’re far away…

It is quiet in my head.

I feel a buzz building,

But I clamp down on it. For now.

It is a matter of time before they come undone.

Before I’m undone.

But for now, I’m calm. Not.

My heart is breaking up in pieces,

And the pain’s eating me up,

Even though I’m still alive. Just.

Alive enough to live the pain,

To be the nightmares.

I feel it.

I see it.

As you leave.

Screaming, I come awake. Not.

The nightmare continues.

Hot, white and furious anger,

Flashing bright and blinding. Like a supernova.

Dying away in one glorious burst of rage!

Then it is gone.

It leaves me drained and spent,

Panting for breath,

Wishing for death. Yours.

It is the hurt that lingers.

It gnaws deep down.

Feeds on what is left.

The vulture amongst emotions.

It brings its offspring with it,

And their offspring too,

Because it never dines alone.

It is quiet in my head.

I search for reasons. Make them up. Make them true.

You told no lies. I told them all. To me.

I say you couldn’t have!

Wouldn’t. Didn’t. That’s just crazy!

Then reality hits and I realise you already have!

You picked your things and left your key!

Snuck off into the night.

Reasons. Imagined. Made up. Believed.

Excuses.

I say I know why you had to.

I understand. Not.

It is quiet in my head.

And every door is slamming in my face.

And my ears are ringing from their report.

And I can almost not hear my heart breaking underneath all that noise!

My demons mock me still.

And my tears too.

Frozen within me.

They defy me. They won’t come. Can’t.

Bibánké,  k’ó kún bàsíà!^* Not.

It is quiet in my head.

I watch patiently. And wait.

The steady rhythm of your breathing calms me.

 Hypnotic.  Soothing. Lulling.

I pour out my treasure store of love and it surrounds you like a shield,

Protecting you from the evil that lurks,

From the ills without.

Keeps you safe and snug. For that which now runs within your veins.

And mine.

I keep my vigil over your sleeping form,

Loving you still.

It is all that keeps me going,

It is all that keeps the mad away.

I see another’s head,

In the crook of your arm, that niche that was carved out for mine.

I wonder if you love her as fiercely as you loved me.

Or was it make-believe?

Do you still sing those words I hung on to?

Is she half the fool I was?!

I paint memories with tears. And sweat. And blood.

Your tears. Your sweat. Your blood.

Mo ti f’òrò mi f’Ólúwa, kó shó o.^** Not.

It is quiet in my head. Still.

Ìwǫ, Ìwǫ nìkan şo şo^***

You’re all I think of.

You’re all I dream of.

You’re all I am.

This is my reality,

Our reality.

This is us.

Forever and for always, we were meant to be!

To walk through now and eternity,

Hand-in-hand, hearts entwined,

Princess and Knight...

 …it won’t be long now.

It is quiet in my head. Not.

They come out screaming,

Like bats unleashed straight out of hell!

There's no holding them back any longer.

It is time now.

That is why I have returned.

From those who are not.

I should never have gone in the first place,

And I will not leave you again. Ever!                 

My love surrounds you still,

Shows you the way,

Guides you home.

I take you, as I have taken me.

As I am, so you will be.

We become One again, with the rise and final fall of the plateau of your chest.

I welcome you with open arms, to The Other Side.

When I’m crying, when I’m dying…with you.

And finally, it is quiet in my head.

̴

^* When I’m crying and my tears fill a large basin

^** I rest my case in God’s Hands

^*** You, and you alone