God's 'No-Pecking-Order' Zone

What do I do when I really want to be part of Your Body, Your Bride, Your Church,

But I keep finding myself on the wrong side of the wall?

What do I do when I'm here again, the outcast, the outsider, the one who just doesn't fit in?

I thought, is it the color of my skin, my unpretty face, my accent?

Am I too muscular? Am I too skinny? Is my hair too short or kinky? Are my teeth too rabitty?

I figured it could be I'm not smart enough or too nerdy or too widely read.

Maybe I'm too introverted. Maybe I overstep my boundaries. Maybe I forget my place.

Maybe I'm too available. Maybe I don't do enough. I probably give too much of myself and get taken for granted. Maybe I'm too closed off.

Maybe I'm just not likable. Maybe I'm just unremarkable and easily forgotten.

Maybe I'm too much. Maybe I'm not enough.

I'm here again.

On the outside, looking in,

Wondering if I even care enough to want to be let in.

Maybe it all really doesn't matter. Maybe it does.

Maybe the reasons for being the runt of the litter don't matter. Maybe they do.

Maybe it's all on me, I mean, I'm the only constant in all these equations, am I not?

Maybe You're calling me out to something different.

But this road is oh so lonely, and it makes for breaking: hearts and spirits and wills.

I don't want to walk alone, but it seems I must.

Whatever it is You have for me, I know I can trust Your Heart and Your will.

I know now that not only do You not lose a battle, You also never waste one.

So, I know You'll make something beautiful out of this painful journey.

I know You'll delicately refine me in this fire of coldness and seclusion.

Thank You that You always take care of me, always will.

Thank You that with You, I'm always enough.

I'm never alone.

I'm loved.

I belong. 

Justice According To Vengeance: The Unravelling

The Toyota Corolla stood out like a sore thumb, or more like a shiny Schauss pink one. It was way past 2 a.m. and Apóngbòn Under Bridge isn’t the usual hanging out spot for blinging Toyotas, especially not at foolish-o’clock.

The driver brought the car to a stop just at the ascent to Èkó Bridge by a cluster of makeshift sheds that looked deserted. In the dark, two forms peeled themselves from the shadows and approached the car. The thugs wondered at the audacity of the person who had dared wander onto their territory without invitation.

One of the thugs went over to the driver’s side and grabbed the door handle, trying to force it open. When he couldn’t, he slammed the tire iron he had with him into the window in anger and it shattered. 

        “Ògbeni, cooperate, àbí you wan chop bullet!” the thug said to the driver, his voice hoarse like stones scraping over slate.

One by one, like moths drawn to a flame, more thugs slunk out of the shadows, surrounding the car and before long, there was more than a dozen of them.

The first thug thrust his gun in the driver’s face, ready to start spewing more threats. His gun stopped a hair’s breadth from the driver’s nose and they stared at each other for a few moments, one face registering a mixture of shock and fear, the other deadly calm and unflinching.

        “Kílónselè? What’s happening now?” one of the other thugs demanded, already impatient.

        “Ask him to bring out all his money.” another said.

        “Abeg give am bullet if he no wan cooperate jàre!” someone else said, slamming the metal rod he had in his hand on the side of the car and denting it.

        “Shey he get powder àbí booze?”

        “How much we fit get for the car? Na tear rubber!”

        “Commot am for the car before you shoot am oh, make him no dirty the seat.”

The gunman didn’t reply his cronies. He simply slid slowly to the ground with his free hand clutching his shirt over the bullet hole in his chest and his lifeless eyes forever frozen in their shocked mask.

It took a moment for the others to register what had just happened. Blame it on the rounds of weed they’d had earlier. Blame it on the excess Apeteshi they’d already consumed. Blame it on the fact that the script had never gone that way before. But that tiny bitty moment saw another three thugs hit the ground in quick succession. The others scattered then, scrambling for safety but not quite fast enough. Another one took a shot to the head and one in his kneecap. He dragged himself over a low barbed wire fence, screaming for his mates to help him. Of course, no one waited to offer any help.

The driver sat calmly in the car and watched them scamper away. With the same unhurried movements with which he’d shot at the thugs, he disconnected the silencer and put it and the Glock into the glove compartment. The whole thing had taken less than five minutes. He got out of the car and surveyed his handiwork. He took one disinterested look at the body lying about three feet in front of his car and blocking his path down the road.

As if nothing had happened at all, the night remained dark and quiet and not a soul stirred. Absently, he took out a pack of Mentos gum from his breast pocket and popped a couple into his mouth. He got back in the car and started up the engine, Jimi Hendrix’s Purple Haze starting to pour out of the speakers. He hummed under his breath as he cut the wheel all the way to the left. He drove on towards Ìgànmú, his front right tire narrowly missing the sprawled body in his path.

Now available on Amazon in Paperback and Kindle format, OkadaBooks, Book Depository, and other online stores.

Justice According To Vengeance

How much will a father give up, to be his little girl’s Hero?

How far will a woman go to protect the ones she loves?

Is all really fair in love and war?

I had it all. My life was perfect. Until one man took it all from me.
Now, it's time to make him pay.

Read Simon's harrowing story. Now available on Amazon in Paperback and Kindle format, OkadaBooks, and other online stores.

The Citizen

The story of the Prodigal Son is another story I’ve read, heard, been preached to, name it, a million times. Sunday probably made it the million and one(th???) time and it’s one of the stories I never ever get tired of. You know, usually the emphasis is always on the fare-thee-well see-you-later-alligator son and his father. Sometimes, we talk about his pissed clean-as-a-whistle brother and that’s it. Everything and everyone else in the story don’t really seem to matter. They’re all jus props, part of the setting. However, there might be just one character in this story who deserves a bit of a closer look. He gets just one mention (probably just about three words in most Bible versions) but he just might be one of the really important characters in this story.

In Luke 15:15, the prodigal son “went and joined himself to a citizen of that country, and he sent him into his field to feed swine.” We don’t know anything about this citizen guy other than that he gave the broke, out-on-his-luck son a job in his field. Hey, we might even say he was a great guy who at least gave him a bit of a break during a bad time. Then we just skip on with story, painting elaborate pictures of the reunion to follow. We don’t pay that nameless, faceless guy any attention and that in itself might be a huge mistake, it might be dangerous even. Let’s look at this guy beyond his being the good-Samaritan-citizen. Is he really one of the good guys in this story?

First off, this guy give a Jew a job feeding pigs. Pigs. This is probably one of the very worst things you can do to a Jew. In fact, it is a great insult and the prodigal son, had he not been as desperate as desperate gets, wouldn’t have taken the job. As one Jewish writer puts it, there is no animal more disgusting and repulsive to a Jew’s sensitivities as a pig. Taking the job must have meant that the prodigal son was in a bad place, as in he’d reached the very bottom of his barrel and then even that had fallen right from under him. I can’t imagine how demoralizing it must have been for him. He hadn’t just lost all his money, he’d lost all his values and the very fabric and foundation of who he was. He’d lost everything. Why on earth would the guy even offer him such a job in the first place? Why not “Go and plough my field” or “Go and do some back-breaking work cutting stones.” Or even “Go and feed my cows or chickens or whatever!” it had to be pigs! Now, this Jew became even more desperate to the point of wishing for the pig’s food. I mean, how much lower could he fall? With every moment that passed, it would have become harder and harder to even consider returning home. Not only had he insulted his father in the worst way possible (asking for his inheritance was as good as telling his father he was dead to him), he had become defiled and an outcast to his people. I’m sure he would have figured that staying with this Mr Citizen was his only choice because he’d reached the point of no-return, he’d passed it by a mile.

There have been times in my life when I’ve felt like the prodigal son must have felt, like I’d messed up too much to even think of talking to God. There are those times when I don’t feel like I could even show my face, those time I’ve thought how can I expect forgiveness for that? Even I wouldn’t forgive me. And even when I know deep down that I’ll be forgiven and accepted, shame, deep, self-loathing shame, keeps me away. I’ve learned that the longer I wallow in this place, the harder it gets to approach God and accept His forgiveness. And you know what Mr Citizen says in those times? Yeah, you’ve messed up real bad this time. You can’t possibly go back now.  Stay right where you are, I can help you. You can even snag the pig’s food once in a while if you want…

I don’t know what it was that got through the thick fog (more like thick skull) and prompted the son to go back to his father and take his chances, but I’m guessing it couldn’t have been an easy decision. Who knows how many versions of that famous speech he discarded before coming up with the final draft. Who knows how many times he changed his mind. Who knows how many times he got to the bus stop (or donkey stop) and turned back? But there was that turning point when he realized taking Mr Citizen’s help wasn’t well, helping. He upped and said to his angel-in-disguise-not, “Thanks, but I think I’m gonna be on my way.”

A lot of times, we really are blind to who the real adversary is and until we can see him clearly for what he is, it is impossible to get away and return to our Father. The devil will rather have us live in ignorance of the ways he manipulates and ensnares us. He’ll rather have us believe we’ve messed up too bad to return. Sometimes, he’ll even plant the fear of failing again and doing the same thing all over, in our heads (I think I’m class captain here!) because he knows that if and only if we can just come to our senses like the prodigal son did, then we can have life, “the best robe, a ring on his hand and sandals on his feet.. and…the fattened calf…”.

Bestie of Life

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no! This can’t possibly be happening!

I was having a heart attack, cross my heart and hope to die. Really. I refreshed the Internet Explorer window again and tried to open the word document. I got the same error message that the file I was trying to open was corrupt and could not be opened. I ejected the flash drive and tried it on another laptop. Same results.

Kai! T’emi bami!

That wretched stick of a thing had somehow gobbled up my project and I was due to show it to my Supervisor. Unfortunately for me, my supervisor is stationed at Idi-Araba, not Akoka, so I always have to make the dreaded weekly visits there to meet with him. And if you had a sadistic supervisor like mine, you would realize that you didn't even need a world-people flash drive for him to do you strong thing. In fact, my predicament would have him doing cartwheels in glee.

There was only one person that came to mind in that instant and I called her up immediately, knowing she would have a solution sha.

                “Bimpe.”

                “Hey what’s up!”

                “I need your help.”

                “What’s the matter?”

                “Please tell me you’re still at home.”

                “Why, what’s wrong?”

                “My stupid flash is corrupted! And I have to show Ajayi my Chapter six today!”

                “Wow! “

                “Everything is on my desktop at home. I just need someone to send it to me.”

                “Okay, let me see…”

                “You’ve left already abi?”

                “Yeah but don’t worry about it.”

                “Ah, how will you do it now?”

                “Shebi you can access your emails from Idi-Araba now?”

                “Yes but I don’t want to put you out like that oh, I’ll just rush back and pray that there’s no traffic.”

And Dr. Ajayi will gladly kick me out of his office for being late.

                “Don’t worry, I’ll email it to you.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Of course! Don’t worry about it.”

                “You’re simply the best!” I gushed, relief washing over me.

                “Haha, and I know it!”

                “Thanks a million, I owe you big time!”

                “Yup you do! Give me like twenty minutes.”

                “Okay, oshey ore mi!”

                “Laters.”

What ever would I do without that girl? Bimpe is simply the best friend and sister anyone could ask for. She is the Martha to my Mary in the practical sense of it. She is as organized as I’m scatter-brained and the thing with my project is just one of many instances where she’s come in and saved the day. Who went to face off my Landlord when he suddenly decided to disconnect me from power supply? Who plans our shopping and cooks for the week on weekends? Who helped me pick out the dress to wear to my class Dinner? Who helped me sort things out when my junk-heap of a car was burgled and my laptop and handbag stolen? Me, I just had a total meltdown. Who was there to kick my butt through second semester exams last year when I lost my mum? Now you’re starting to get the gist.

We had been roommates in Moremi in year three and we got along so well even though we were in different faculties. We decided to step up to the Big Girls level in our final year, so we got BQs in Ozolua and stayed just around the corner from each other. We were more than Besties, she was more like the sister I always wished I had. I had even introduced her to my clan of crazy cousins and nieces and nephews and all what not. We'd all been close growing up and had gotten in and out of trouble together. She had been a big hit with them and had been literally adopted into the mad-house. That was why I was doubly excited when Capt’n Zii, my usual partner in crime within the clan gave me gist of this road trip to Ghana. When I got back home that day, I was bursting to tell her the news.

                “The guys are organizing a road trip to - wait for it!!” I started dramatically and she laughed. I started to make dramatic drumming sounds.

                “Hope everything went well with your supervisor?” she asked and I ignored her. That one was past tense joor. I was talking legendary stuffz here and she’s bringing up Mr. Ogre.

                “Ghana!”

                “Wow nice!”

                “Yup, yup.”

                “Gee, can I come?”

                “Of course! Why do you think I’m telling you? Zii has warned me not to show my face if you’re not there too!”

                “Yay!”

                “I’ve thought the whole thing through.” I said and she gave me a dubious look. Everyone knows I’m soooooo not the planner. “We have to go by air because we only have the long Independence weekend, but we can save money if we share a room. We can also save on feeding by taking some edibles along. Then we can…”

                “Really? We’ll share a room?” she interrupted. “The both of us?”

                “Yeah. We could save more money if we got a bigger room and shared with two other people but I guess it’ll be better if it’s just two of us, I know my family, they can be cu-ray-zay!. The cost shouldn’t be too bad and I’m sure we’ll be fine. Worst case, I’ll pull the Baby-Sis-card with my Brother and get some money off him.”

                “You’re willing to let me come on a family trip?!” She asked getting all mushy. Bless her, she was such a sentimental wuss.

                “Of course! It’s going to be such an amazing trip, we’re going to have such fun!” I said literally bouncing off the walls in excitement. "It's gonna be just us, no adults or babies! Tunrayo and Derenle are coming, and the twins as well. Dare is bringing a friend as well and uncle Leke said Ireti can come, which should be interesting, what with all that drama between her and Dara! Oh God I can't wait!" I gave a silly little laugh and she laughed too, getting infected with my excitement. Then she threw her arms around me and kissed me smack on the lips.

                “I love you Boo, I’m so glad I found you.” She said earnestly.

Say what?!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I pulled back from her, totally lost for what to do or say!


*An abridged version of this story was originally published here on Breakpoint.
Breakpoint is the official Blog of Connected, a Christian Entertainment and Social Networking Platform. Read up on events and activities on Breakpoint and follow @connectedlagos.

Cougar Town

“Hey Babes, can you pass me a fiver?” Noah called out to me. We were at a KFC Drive-Through and he had his head stuck out his window to place our order.

I love KFC chicken and I think it is the Holy Grail of chicken and if anyone dares disagree with me on that, I’ll be bringing out the claws. So, this beautifully freezing Saturday morning, I made him drive through Clapham Common despite the traffic we were bound to face, all so I could get my chicken-fix.

            “I haven’t got a fiver.” I said as Beyonce’s Smash Into You came on the radio. The moment couldn’t have been anymore perfect. I had my favorite person in the world, Robb Howard seemed to be reading my mind and I was two minutes away from chicken-heaven, Ah-mean, what more could a girl ask for?

 “Will a twenty do?” I asked.

“Nah, can you check the cubbyhole?” he replied.

I reached into the cubbyhole and made a face at the junk inside of it. I was crazy about the guy and he ranked up there along with my beloved KFC chicken (which really is saying something) but mehn, his car was the stuff of nightmares.

I met Noah about two years ago at a friend’s party. It had been one of those Naija parties where there was no Jollof rice (someone once said that a party without Jollof is like a Funeral and I totally agree) and the chicken they served had been fried to a crisp (why oh why can’t everyone learn from KFC and save a girl unnecessary heart ache?!), so you can imagine how very miserable I was at the party. He’d been the only non-black person (for lack of a better expression) at the party and he automatically qualified as the listening ear to my elaborate moaning and gripping about the state of the food. Don’t judge me so quick, he also couldn’t identify with the food, seeing as he’d never had fried plantain before in his life and hadn’t even realized that the gizzard of a bird was edible.

We’d hit if off from there and became fast friends. It’s a wonder we hadn’t met before then because we seemed to have the same circle of friends. We became a couple a little over three months ago and his Iranian-German-Celtic ancestry hadn’t bothered me one bit. My mother always did say I was a rebel and that I would be the one to send her to an early grave with my wahala (so she’s been saying for the last few decades and I wonder if she realizes she’s no spring chicken anymore).

“You’ve got just pennies in here…oh found it!” I exclaimed, fishing out the five-pound note.

“Thanks Babes.” He said taking it from me.

“What’s your licence doing in all this junk?” I asked, bring it out of the cubbyhole as well.

“I leave it in there because I almost always forget my wallet at home.” He said driving, to the pick-up window.

“Like seriously!” That was so, so typical of him. If it was possible, he would forget himself at home sef.

“Yup.”

“You look like someone stole your bread!” I said, laughing at the picture on the licence.

“Haha!” he retorted dryly.  He was quite used to my Naija ways by now. The laughter died on my lips when I spied the D.O.B on the licence.

“Wait, is this for real?!” I asked, incredulous.

“What?”

I looked from the piece of plastic to his face in utter disbelief.

“Your date of birth!” I replied, breathless.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” he asked looking at me in that open, unassuming way of his. How could he be so calm when me I was mentally running down the street screaming and tearing out my hair!

“Did you know that I’m older?!”

Five years older! Oh Lord!!! He’d thrown me a surprise party for the big 3-0 last month, so of course he knew!

            “Why, yes I do.” He said simply, still giving me that look and I wanted to scream for real this time.

            “And???!!!”

            “And what?”

He collected our order and the smell of deep-fried chicken filled the insides of the car but I almost didn’t notice.

            “And that doesn’t bother you?!”

He looked at me like I was crazy.

            “Why would it?” He said. “I love you Babes and that’s all that matters. Who cares if you’re from Mars?”

What?!!!!! He didn’t just drop a bombshell and then slap me with the “L” word!!!

He pulled out of the drive-through, humming along with Bey like all was well with the world and the sky was blue.

This Post has previously been published on Breakpoint.

My Best Friend

My Best Friend, or London Bestie, like we like to call ourselves, is not the easiest person to befriend but I still love him all the same. I’m not the nicest dude around either, but he still sticks by me, no matter what.

Tell me, how do you keep up with someone who never picks up their phone (the damn thing has its ringer permanently turned off), What do you say to someone who never replies to their messages or never even seems to read them?! And me? I’m really rubbish at visiting or meeting up, I usually can't be bothered to make the effort. Dunno what you say to someone who never catches up with you or checks up on you even though you’re just fifteen minutes away.

Well, I guess we're both quite used to it now. That’s how we are, it’s how we roll and it works so damn well. We’re in each other’s pockets for a few weeks, months even, then we drift and go our separate ways for a bit, and then one day, one of us just wakes up and goes “hey, I’ve got a London Bestie somewhere” and we get to roll as thick as thieves again, until something happens and we end up in different cities or different priority-landscapes or just simply get caught up with doing our own things, living our separate lives. He can be the most infuriating creature alive and I know I drive him up the wall more than half the time, so I guess we’re a perfect fit for each other.

So here we are, paddies again, and I think this time, we’re closer than ever before, in the sense that I think we’ve both grown over the last few years and we both have a deeper understanding of our friendship. He seems to have a way of knowing me in ways I doubt anyone else does, my quirky bits and the downright weird stuff that get other people squirming.  And he gets it, gets me, always has. Plus I guess if your friendship can survive our kind of on and off connection for so long, the mismatch of personalities and the living in different continents 90% of the time, there’s got to be something special about it.

So, despite all the crazy in our relationship (or maybe as a result of the crazy!), our Bromance is still waxing stronger and stronger with the passing years and I’m grateful for having my Best friend. So, here’s a toast to us, BFFs forever!