A grim pot bellied man stopped by our house one cold evening, the harmattan settled into our night these days, it was really cold. He called me out, and handed me my mother’s phone. Grinning he said “fùn màmá e, pé moní àrólé”
I loved errands, so I ran towards Mama, she collected her phone snappily, but as soon as she heard me replay the message: “Papa sent me”, she begun laughing.
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Essentially, I feel like creativity has drowned itself from me, I understand the misuse of language and appropriate contiguities. I have walked in an environment that doesn’t appreciate the gold of literature, an environment evoking bi-polarism and toxicity. I must say, it was scorching, like the harmattan sun.
I’ve also been roped in unforeseen circumstances, walked in an handful of dejavu’s, karma’s and near accidents. Colors, prints and veils became sophisticating for me, it created a form of distraction, even though I lived with a lot of distractions. My mind’s balance twerked very often, sometimes I lost focus. A daring phase I must say.
A lot of academic knowledge, I often ignored because school was not really a priority. Most things I wrote in my exams, I often rote a night to the exam.
I goshed about books, nail polish and royal etiquettes like an hippo convulsing. I shunned away many comforts, discomforts and false people, like a snake shedding.
In actual truth, I’ve been lazy enough to conceive these words about my inconveniences and peculiarities just to wish you a beautiful end of season.
I would walk to your houses with golden lights, green shawls and heavy roses but for the daring Lagos traffic, it scares me, I love you but I wouldn’t risk a life threatening experience.
I’ve been warned several times about my thoughts, words and “claimed complexities”. My tenacity towards female empowerment, justice and never ending hatred for misogyny has also been judged by many.
I’ve been told I give off an aura of trained menace and intelligent calmness, and that most of what I don’t do or say, I bleed on paper. Apparently, in my words, I hide what I feel.
Now these “advisors and instructors” are not few, although many are strangers to my personality and feelings. They communicate their differences with so much indifference, a numb tolerance and this bothers me. It bothers me because I don’t know if they communicate every other person’s incapacities to them this same way. I’m angered because I don’t know if this people would understand and not take this instructions the wrong way.
So I’m going to say, as much as you have your incapacities and mistakes, I want you to take into the new year a very short poem that brings me back to my dedication.
“You are like the water
You flow freely
Why change the direction of your becoming?”
– Jo Nketiah
Don’t hold your breath in this new year, flow so freely, never become someone else to make the world comfortable, be yourself.
Scream, live, pray! Be loud about your goals, purpose and direction. And like I always say, give yourself the chance to grow.
With jingling bells!