Grey Matters

One of my favourite poems is Dr Seuss's "Oh! The Places You'll Go". It is a children's poem, and somewhat comical, but it reads like a life warning from a parent to a child about the vagaries of life, and more importantly,  the need to press on, believe in and pursue your fulfillment. My favourite part of that poem is The Waiting Place . It is not  a particularly pleasant part of the poem, but it challenges several things, both positively and negatively. On the one hand it challenges us to avoid procrastination and seize our destinies and/or our futures. On the other hand, for me personally, it challenges the validity of hope. But you be the judge: The Waiting Place... ...for people just waiting. Waiting for a train to go or a bus to come, or a plane to go or the mail to come, or the rain to go or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow or waiting around for a Yes or a No or waiting for their hair to grow. Everyone is just waiting. Waiting...

Waiting For the phone to ring The email to come For the truth to be denied. Seen through all the well-spun lies But still I miss you.

I have been a fan of Chimamanda Adichie since I read ' Purple Hibiscus' several years ago. I would buy every book she wrote after that, which were two actually; 'Half of A Yellow Sun' and  'The Thing Around Your Neck'. She almost lost my attention with the latter because I felt that it was a rushed compilation of half developed plots and characters. I hated it. So when I heard Americanah had been released, I anxiously looked forward to it, as her opportunity to redeem herself (in my eyes). Unlike a lot of people, I was very excited at the size of the book; it meant there was more to enjoy.  I began initially to read it voraciously, but soon slowed my pace as I went further, when I realised there was a very desperate message forcibly and brusquely pushing its way out. The character of Ifemelu in the early stages was one I could relate to, not only as a regular Nigerian girl growing up in the early nineties to the noughties, but also because she was the basi...

It has been a long, rugged, journey, one that I have not even been exactly proud of. For the past week or so I was terribly angry with myself, totally unforgiving of myself, for what I would call a lapse in judgement in relation to an individual. Then last night I got news that a friend had just slumped and died- most likely of a heart attack- and that helped me put things in perspective. I am grateful for life, for the love of my family, my daughter,  for my experiences, both good and bad, and for my dear friends. I am excited about what could be, and what I have the opportunity to achieve now that I am free. I might make mistakes and make the wrong choices but  guess what : I am human. And everyday I live, and every year I add, provides the opportunity to wipe the slate clean and start over. So here's to me for adding one more candle to the birthday cake; may all my dreams come true and more importantly may I feel 100% worthy of them. Happy Birthday, Chili. PS: ...

I just read something on twitter that dropped a nickel- maybe a dime-in my soul. It might not resonate with men but I am certain a few women will feel the weight of this question, which is why I shall just do a short post here and run over to my feminist blog to do it justice. The question came from the twitter feed of Oprah's Soul Sunday; and it was : what would you do if you felt 100% worthy? I cannot begin to explain how I feel about this question but I can express it the way Alice Walker's character, Celie, in the Colour Purple used to express profundity : Oh Earth,  Oh Sky,  Oh Trees, everything! If I felt 100% worthy I would: 1. stop being grateful for the attention of people who were not(worthy of me); male and female, but mostly male 2. demand more from life, from earth, from my health, from my body 3. forgive myself more easily 4. cry less Gosh! I feel a post coming on! I am soooo inspired. Gotta go.

So I felt I need to weigh into this ongoing hullabaloo about natural (political) hair. I mean it is the least I can do considering I am on both sides of the divide- I have natural hair but I texturise it to make it soft. I have seen ladies insult themselves on social media because of this issue, the purists claiming natural hair is the only sign of genuineness , and that false, chemically relaxed and treated hair is fake. I even heard Chimamanda Adichie said that hair is political- I have still not watched that clip though . One of my favourite bloggers has now shut down her blog over the acrimonious disagreement with another blogger over natural hair. My question is 'Babes, when did it become that serious'? Like religion, like sexuality, like every other thing that should be personal to us we have taken this hair matter waaaay too far. Suddenly you are growing your hair using only natural products and even if it is frustratingly difficult to comb out and tame in the mornin...

"Every illness, each moment of suffering is an opportunity to say yes to life" - Jeremy Weate I had a dream on Fathers' day that my dad was standing. I could only see the legs but I knew it was him. It made me wonder if he was about to die. You see my father has not stood by himself since 2004. I have a morbid fascination with the human condition and what I see as the futility of the philosophical issues related to that. You want to believe there is a point to it all and at other times you wish that point would just go fuck itself! At how little actions add up to a climatic finale later in life, and how some people still fight on, hoping there is a sequel to this tragedy. Caveat: this is going to be a post full of random thoughts. My dad used to be an impressive- looking man. Even as a child growing up I could tell that that 6 foot tall, dark,  army officer that I called Daddy was a fine man. Apparently he knew it too. You see, in work and intellect my father could...

This is not a fictional tale. This is a true story. I began writing it over a year ago but underestimated the gravity of the emotions opening that erstwhile barricaded door would have on me. I have decided to continue and complete it because I need to. I really need to release the emotions that sometimes seize me prisoner. (It's no co-incidence that I achieved clarity on the last day of 2011. Like the song says 'suddenly I see'.) I was 14 or thereabouts. We had only been in Benin for a year. I dont remember how we as a family were introduced to him but whatever the case he got so close to the family that hé could ask that we, the kids, come and spend holidays with him. And of course the request was very well received; he was an elderly person, my grandmother's brother and a catholic priest. There was little hesitation on his part. According to the sleeping arrangements we would all be on the same bed, he inbetween, flanked on one side by me and by my two ...

So I resigned. It happened one foggy morning, May 10th to be precise. As I tell my friends I had reached my BS (bullshit) limit. I was just emotionally and psychologically exhausted. My boss tried to blame me for not knowing about a conversation he had with another member of staff. (Yes, you read that correctly. Apparently my job description included being psychic.) I was so irritated with his underhand behaviour that I just quit in the email he sent. Even at that he would not let it be and sent a retort telling me what he didn't like about me and how he felt I did not do my job. That was more than I could bear and I sent him a stinker detailing what a useless boss he had been and how it had been a nightmare working with both of them. The letters went back and forth with a lot of mud-slinging and many revelations. I discovered that one of the bosses had a hand in my not being employed in a company I had applied to earlier. I also found out that they had infact been looking for...