Bottoms up!

"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways..." ~ Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806 – 1861)

This poem written about a hundred years ago is one of my favorites.
It is believed to have been written by a lady poet for her darling *hubby*.

How romantic!

Love is a beautiful thing. Even more so when after being born alone, you go about life’s processes in solitude wandering each day, searching for that special one to fill an imaginary vacuum and if he will ever be found.
He is special because he completes, enhances and makes you more than you ever imagined you could be. He is the wind beneath your wings, your partner in crime, champion and best friend.

He is the love of my life.

Unfortunately, some people loose patience and go for just about anybody.
That doesn’t always quite turn out nicely… These unlucky souls endure all sorts of abuse, develop a foreign character and end up cold, jaded and prejudiced.

Fortunately, today its not ‘man and woman’ matter I’m on about. It is a different kind of love.

Today I felt a beckoning warm glow, an attraction towards a darkness that felt so right its hard to admit it was wrong - devilish even.
I actually saw myself embrace ‘peace’ induced by death and a soothing voice cheering me on “just do it Oseyi” it urged “one sip and all your troubles are gone” it promised.
Backed by the feeling that I had nothing to loose this 'voice' appeared to be the voice of reason.

You see although we celebrate love; Valentine’s Day, weddings and anniversaries, there is a type of love we feel at some point (hopefully forever) but tend to take for granted.

A mother’s love.

It’s a security pass, a ‘get out of jail free’ card, a confidence booster, a soft cushion… a blanket.
A feeling that protects and shields us against whatever life throws at us.
We fall we get up.
We know were we came from and where we are headed so “no shaking”.

“Monkey no fine yet im mama still like am” a saying repeated often in jest but still manages to hold truth.
Show me a child who doesn’t love her mother and I’d show you a human with real shitty issues.
With that in mind, what happens when said beloved mother takes her love from you is a feeling best left to the imagination.
Impossible to happen in reality, I know but the thought that it could happen is worse than anything I can put to words.

On this day 21st February 2014 I say a prayer with you not for riches or fame but as a future parent. On my knees and praying to God, I pray that I may never be a source of despair or heartache to my children. To bring them up to be independent, responsible, just and smart and should they fall along the way, my shoulders be strong enough to pull their weight until walk again, they can.

To all mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers.
I celebrate you!
For your unfailing strength, patience and prayers. I appreciate you. If not for anything else but for the pure unadulterated love you give without condition.

Thank you.

What's Myne (Part 3)

Baba Igho refused to rise he stretched his battered body on the ground and pulled his tattered clothes about him.
“Go away Akpos." He urged. "You have served me well and long. At this day and age, it is hard to believe I came across a man of your caliber. Whatever debt you feel you owe, I release you of them. If I had riches, I would have showered you with gold, coins and ornaments but I have nothing to offer. I have lost it all to pride and bad judgement. Akpos my friend, I will not let you loose your life for my sake. Leave while you have the advantage of youth. Learn from my mistakes, that of my daughters and their spouses. Be a better leader, landlord, father; a better person.”
Akpos squatted beside him, stretched the sleeve of his shirt and used it to mop Baba Igho’s weary forehead.
“Sir, I have learned a lot in the many days we have spent on the road. I am better for it. For the lessons, I am grateful. However, if I were to leave you lying on the road to die like a brigand, I will not be better than your daughters who have abandoned you in your time of need." He dropped his hand and leaned on his haunches. "Let me take you to your home and see that you are as comfortable as I can manage. Afterwards, I will leave you to your fate and go make a life for myself.”
Baba Igho considered his proposal for a while then agreed to his terms.
He let Akpos assist him to stand.

They continued the journey.

By day, they walked in the heat of the sun feeding on fruits and seeds.
At night, they rested. Setting up camp in the shade of trees with makeshift tents.
Days flowed into nights and nights to day.
Through the bone chilling rains, blistering cold and scorching heat, they continued to forge ahead.

Finally, they reached his estate.

When they drew near to the shack that had become his home, an elegantly dressed lady seated in front and watching the road let out a happy squeal and came running towards them.
She stopped in front of Baba Igho, threw her arms around his neck and folded him in a warm embrace.
In a little while, streaks of tears started to line her face.
Perplexed, Akpos tried pulling her away but she resisted. “Madam, this man is sick and he is quite dirty as well, come away from him, or your lovely clothes would be ruined."
As an after thought, he added. "He could also make you sick.”
She resisted his pull, held fast to Baba Igho and continued to shake with tears.
Akpos inched away certain the lady had lost her mind.

He began searching for a rope or bond of sorts with which to bind her for a little while (at least until her minder came in search of her).
He drifted to the side of the shack and stopped short at sight before him.
There was a mansion about a stones throw from the shack.

It was not there when they set out in search of the daughters.

The house glistered in the sun, flowers were budding in the little garden in front and he could hear laughter emanating from within.

The land looked like it was slowly awakening from a bad dream.

The curtains in one of the windows of the house moved and caught his attention.
There was a little girl behind the glass.
When she spotted him, she yelled with glee.
She disappeared from the window and reappeared at the door after a little while.
Running out of the house on little feet that appeared too big for the rest of her body, she bounded towards him and threw herself on his leg. She wrapped her chubby hands around him and gave him a hug.

Half dragging, half pulling him, she led him to Baba Igho and the lady. Bouncing up and down in excitement, she chanted. “You found him! You found him!” confused, he asked. “Found who?”

Baba Igho peeled the lady from his body and held her at arms length.
With a questioning look and a dare to hope, he queried.
“Mine?”
she looked into his eyes, smiled and nodded.
“Yes Father it is I, your daughter."
He let out a gasp.
"Not one day passed that I have not thought of you.”
She stroked the side of his face and blinked back tears that threatened to fall out.
“My husband, the sickly child of the bent lady got very ill, I could not leave his side. He was a good man, intelligent and kind. You would have liked him. The seeds you gave to mother, we planted, harvested and sold for huge profits. With the money we planned a future, invested and built a home. We have all we could want for but my husband is no more. His body was too weak to bear the strain of living. After making me promise to always be happy, he passed away. We have been looking for you ever since. Myself, your grandchildren and” she giggled. “ The bent old woman!”

Baba Igho shook his head in disbelief and stammered.
“But - but you do not love me.”
“Father." She urged. "I remember telling you I loved you as much as my duties required. I never said I did not love you.”
As understanding dawned on him, she continued. “ Father dearest, my duty is to love you until I take my last breath. To honor you, obey you and make a worthwhile life for myself. To do the right thing always, bring up honest children and teach them how to love. Most importantly, my duty is to be your daughter.”
She let out a winsome smile, took his hands and covered his shriveled palms with hers.
“ Father you carried me when I was a helpless baby and taught me to walk, laugh and sing. Please, let me be your daughter and your joy in old age.”
Myne led her father into the house she had prepared in his absence, washed him and nursed him till his health returned.

Akpos followed them.

Struck by Myne’s grace and beauty, he did not leave as promised. In time, he built the nerve to ask her to be his wife (she said yes!).

One by one, her sisters returned home (Myne saw to it).

Working together, they restored the land to its former glory. It prospered and was fruitful. In time, the tenants returned.

With each of the daughters finding happiness in honesty, respect for the land and love of their neighbor, they became better women.


Kiki got married again! To a politician whose word was his bond. Together, they built a formidable empire backed by the unwavering loyalty of the people.

Zizi ‘s footballer husband lost a leg, he came crawling back and demanded to be reconciled with her.
She turned him down and had a career. juggling being a teacher with being a makeup artist, she starred in another story.

Mimi and her husband went for anger management therapy and rehab. They learned the importance of communication and both agreed to seek counseling if ever their marriage seemed to be hitting the rocks (they were blessed with two children).

Once upon a time, there lived a great man. He was wealthy and powerful and his estate fertile and vast. His lands begun from the banks of a river and continued up stream to form a huge city.
His was a fair businessman and was good to his tenants.
His greatest assets were his children.

Successful, relevant and kind, his four beautiful daughters were the fairest in the land.
They loved their father to the moon, back and beyond and took care of him in his old age.

There was Justice, Peace and Prosperity in the land.
They worked for it, just like we all should.

…. And they lived happily ever after, the end!

The dreams, life, destiny.

Therein lies our hope.

Today, I would share a story, about a woman who bore a tribe.
The tribe was rich, magnificent and grand. It flourished for a long while and then it begun to deteriorate. Slowly at first then drastically. Eventually, due to events that occurred, the mother of the tribe was forced to trade the freedom of the people for sustenance to a beast that fed on malice.

Some remembered a time before, a time where they had freedom, choice and will. A time before they were pompous and vain so confident in their glory that they began to forget.
The tribe forgot what it was that made them special; their essence, their pride, their roots.
Over time they became lost.
It was easy for the demons of plague, drought and misery to overpower and conquer them.

From the bondage of the beast, the tribe looked to their mother for salvation.
In response, she taught them a dance.
Outraged, they protested; had she lost her senses?

Why on earth should they be made to sing and dance when their futures remained uncertain?
How could she call herself their mother whilst her offspring perished at infancy?

The beast you see, was also her child.
They knew she had the power to stop it.
For they had decided: should she choose to free them, she could. She could end their tribulations; she only had to care.

In their history it was noted "We cried to her for help but for us, she did nothing".

In rebellion, they turned away from her.
To them she was heartless, to them she was a farce; they would have nothing to do with her.

In the midst of the tortured, there were a few who learned the dance in trust.
Through trials, starvation and death, they persisted, sang and danced.
Never ceasing, never failing.
This dance was taught to the little one’s, the children that survived.
One generation to the next.
When the time was right, the dance made sense.

Hidden in the lyrics, rhythm and beat was a means to kill the beast.


In my present location, when my conscience would allow, I count the number of beggars that line the streets.
If I were to give each of them 10 Naira going and coming, I would spend nothing less than about 2,040 Naira a day.
Amongst these caste the nursing mothers and gaily-dressed get to me.
Who is responsible for putting them in the family way? Is there a community of beggars or a union? Are they born to be beggars or is it something they grow up to be?
With one hand they hold their baby to their breast, with the other hand they reach for you.
Begging for some change, playing on your conscience, vying for your pity.
Once in another state, I decided to walk home and gave my supposed transport fare to a man who told me he had not eaten in days figuring a morsel would be better than nothing.
The man threw the money back at me, cursed me in his dialect asking if he begged to be insulted.
I did not walk home.

We pray for those we love, those we care about and for ourselves.
Some of us get involved in freak accidents, loose limbs, defy the odds and come out victorious, while some walk away unscratched but are convinced our lives would never be the same.

They say death is the summit of life, did they also say to appoint yourselves judge and executioner over the life of another man?

Each day is a battle, one of choice and will.

Today I would share a prayer for strength, to those who have lost beloved partners, relations and friends.

The dead are now free, from the bondage of hope.

May they rest in peace.