I haven’t done rhymes in a while
But thoughts of you strikes a chord
I can’t suppress it though I try
Memories, they rush on like a flood
Not again! My heart says to my eyes
I’ll sing you a song from my heart
A chorister I know I never was
My inspiration, my song, you are
You gave me what I’ll never lose
An identity; the faith to go on
One, two, three years; I count up to eighteen
That little boy is now a man
You’d be so proud to see this thing
Though far away, you linger near
This day, long ago you were born
To my best friend, Happy Birthday
No doubt, you find your sleep restful
We hurry not; we shall see you once again
My love for you, it’s so deep
Happy Birthday dad…
To you, my ode
Thursday 25 December 2008
A Birthday poem for Daddy...
Sunday 21 December 2008
The Colours of Christmas
It’s six days before Christmas today. As a little boy, I used to think that grown-ups don’t get excited about Christmas, especially parents because that (I believed in my childish mind) was the time of the year when they parted with most money from their accounts buying presents for people and stocking the house. Our neighbour, papa Gladys (Not real name) further confirmed my theory because I believed Christmas was his worst time of the year. He beat his children more and quarrelled more with his wife and neighbours during Christmas.
Although everyday was like Christmas in our home, as a child, I remember my sisters and I still looked forward to that special day because Christmas day just felt “different”. This later changed, as Christmas became more of an event in our home unlike before, when it was more of our family lifestyle. It became a one-day “special” event in the year. Ironically, that sort of made it more special because we looked forward to it in more anticipation. Our parents obviously felt the change but we just carried on with life even as we had more gaps to be filled as days passed by. Christmas then became the time of the year when we got our new shoes and clothes for the year. It became the only time when you didn’t have to share meat with your siblings; It became about the only day when we ate in different plates and you could ask for more, more than once.
Looking back, Christmas has evolved quite dramatically in my eyes. I’ve been through a phase when it didn’t really mean much to me anymore. Some of these times, I slept for the whole day without much interest in what becomes of me the next hour. It was just too much to take that it didn’t matter anymore. Afterall, life is not fair. I remember seven years ago, in my final year at the University when I was doing my project. I woke up on Christmas day; it was a cold harmattan Tuesday morning. The previous night had not been any better and all I had to my name was a miserable One naira coin covered in dust on my windowsill. After a traumatic night, with all my roommates gone on holiday, the only thing that came to my mind was the nightmare I had and my father – my father, because it was his birthday and I was still thinking about the poem I was going to write for him in my head.
Hot tears stung and gently flowed through the corners of my eyes – freely. There was no reason to hold back – I was the only one in the room. I felt all alone not because I was the only one in the room and I guess the entire hall of residence - there were probably a handful of others whom I can’t recall ever meeting on the walkway throughout my Christmas “retreat” that year but it was more of a deeper loneliness. No one seemed to know where I was or what was happening to me and I doubt if it bothered any of my kins. Much more, I would have loved to be with them or at least have an idea of how they were spending the day. I ransacked my cupboard and there was not even a grain of garri to start the day. I was lucky in my first year; my first Christmas at the university to have garri and K-K to start my Christmas morning and that took me for the rest of the day. Subsequent years were a lot “better” until this one.
Thank goodness, I still had soap and body lotion and the university water supply was running. I took a bath amidst pungent ammonia fumes – the bathroom cleaners were on holiday; I dressed up, picked my project file and made for my project lab. I had a stock of sugar and zobo leaves (my research materials). I made a hot pot of zobo. The hunger was biting so much I couldn’t wait for the drink to cool before drinking. I sipped the drink, fanning through my tongue and teeth and before I knew it, I had downed a pot of zobo. If you’re wondering how a drink (zobo of all drinks) could quench hunger, then I’d tell you that my life depended on it at that moment. My brain, needed sugar desperately. Somehow, I saw that my fate lay in what I made out of that phase that I was going through. The zobo could only sustain me for a few hours before I became weak again. My body needed nourishment. I needed FOOD. I was starving on Christmas day. The only company I had was the sounds of birds and other strange creatures in the forest that housed my university campus. Fat rats and heavy lizards merried around. You could tell they were in great mood for the season and I could only wish that I’d hear a voice that would say to me “Son of man, take and eat” – like it happened to one of bible heroes.
Later in the evening, an angel visited me - all the way from a town call Fate (pronounced far-tey) in Ilorin. She brought me a flask of very rich Christmas rice with chicken. Although I acted up as if it was “normal”, I knew in my heart that this angel had indeed strengthened a feeble knee. Where the next meal would come from was not enough a thought. I needed to take care of the now and think about the later, later.
That was seven years ago.
December 2004 (three years later), I gave a family 50kg of rice, a gallon of vegetable oil and a live chicken as Christmas gift – they are not even my relatives. Yesterday I began a nearly 1000 miles drive across five different cities to spend time with friends over the Christmas. I can look back and say truly something has happened, I have moved on and the past is nothing but the past. It’s gone and gone forever.
Three days ago, like I do every year, I gave colleagues in my office Christmas cards and in each person’s card, I wrote a few words as inspired. They all appreciated the gesture as most of them told me that it was actually the first Christmas card they’d received in the year. Everyone displayed their cards on their desks. A visitor from another department walked in and picked one of the cards on the desk she was visiting. She saw my name at the bottom and looked at me in surprise. What is the matter? “Femi, your handwriting is too neat – for a man!”
I’ve never considered my handwriting to be one of the neatest – though my cousin once teased me a few years ago when I was writing job applications that if applicants’ handwriting was a criterion for being considered for a job, I would get a job before anyone else in the “labour market”. Without being a sexist, Jane did not expect men to have neat handwritings. That was her opinion about men.
I’ve found that in life, our opinions are shaped, among other reasons, by our experience. This in turn drives the way we see and relate with people and sometimes ourselves. In fact, the way we see others is a reflection of the way we see ourselves. I’ve also found that more often than not, as humans we have the tendency to allow people’s opinions shape our lives and our belief. Our beliefs shape our morals; our morals shape our attitudes; our attitude shapes our actions and our actions shapes our destiny.
I remember the story of a young man who had 78 percentile in his SAT exam. He was one of the brightest in his college. But after his first semester at the university, his performance went rock bottom. He had an awful mixture of Ds and Es. The second semester was not any better as his performance got worse. His puzzled tutor then arranged a review session with him in order to find out what the problem was. Going by his SAT result, Tom ought to be among the top 5 in his class as a freshman but he was in the bottom 5 instead. Trying to justify his failure, Tom explained to his tutor that he couldn’t perform better because he only had 78% IQ (Intelligence quotient) while the course he was doing required him to have 85% IQ. Someone had wrongly informed him. He had been told that his SAT result was a measure of his IQ. His confounded tutor then explained to him that his SAT result meant that he had performed better than 78% of the pupils who took the test at the same time as him. The results after this counselling session? Your guess is good as mine. Our friend rose from the bottom to the top where he rightfully belonged.
The moral of this story is that he allowed what he heard to determine his fate – in either situation. Sometimes, it is not just what we hear; the things that we see and pay attention to also influence our destiny. This is why the media is a very powerful tool. Business executives utilise the power of the media to create a social culture and drive the market in the direction they want. Sometimes, the information being presented could not be farther from the real truth behind a product or service. They influence our perception and therefore, our reaction to help them achieve their business goals.
Christmas, I believe is a period to recap the year and more importantly, to celebrate. But can you imagine if we lived everyday as if it was Christmas. Enjoy life, have fun to the max but live today as if it is your last. Make maximum impact and never miss the lessons of yesterday’s mistakes. Above all, remember, you are the master of your own fate, the captain of your own life. If at any point in life, you’re fortunate to be corrected for a mistake you made, take it positively, make the necessary corrections and move on. If you’re being congratulated, take it as a challenge to improve. And if you feel like nothing is happening the way you’d have loved it to happen, look into the big picture and take a gaze into the future. Imagine what would happen if you quit and also what would happen if you carried on. I would rather die trying than die a quitter.
I wish you a Merry Christmas my friends. May the year ahead bring us all good tidings.
Cherio!
Although everyday was like Christmas in our home, as a child, I remember my sisters and I still looked forward to that special day because Christmas day just felt “different”. This later changed, as Christmas became more of an event in our home unlike before, when it was more of our family lifestyle. It became a one-day “special” event in the year. Ironically, that sort of made it more special because we looked forward to it in more anticipation. Our parents obviously felt the change but we just carried on with life even as we had more gaps to be filled as days passed by. Christmas then became the time of the year when we got our new shoes and clothes for the year. It became the only time when you didn’t have to share meat with your siblings; It became about the only day when we ate in different plates and you could ask for more, more than once.
Looking back, Christmas has evolved quite dramatically in my eyes. I’ve been through a phase when it didn’t really mean much to me anymore. Some of these times, I slept for the whole day without much interest in what becomes of me the next hour. It was just too much to take that it didn’t matter anymore. Afterall, life is not fair. I remember seven years ago, in my final year at the University when I was doing my project. I woke up on Christmas day; it was a cold harmattan Tuesday morning. The previous night had not been any better and all I had to my name was a miserable One naira coin covered in dust on my windowsill. After a traumatic night, with all my roommates gone on holiday, the only thing that came to my mind was the nightmare I had and my father – my father, because it was his birthday and I was still thinking about the poem I was going to write for him in my head.
Hot tears stung and gently flowed through the corners of my eyes – freely. There was no reason to hold back – I was the only one in the room. I felt all alone not because I was the only one in the room and I guess the entire hall of residence - there were probably a handful of others whom I can’t recall ever meeting on the walkway throughout my Christmas “retreat” that year but it was more of a deeper loneliness. No one seemed to know where I was or what was happening to me and I doubt if it bothered any of my kins. Much more, I would have loved to be with them or at least have an idea of how they were spending the day. I ransacked my cupboard and there was not even a grain of garri to start the day. I was lucky in my first year; my first Christmas at the university to have garri and K-K to start my Christmas morning and that took me for the rest of the day. Subsequent years were a lot “better” until this one.
Thank goodness, I still had soap and body lotion and the university water supply was running. I took a bath amidst pungent ammonia fumes – the bathroom cleaners were on holiday; I dressed up, picked my project file and made for my project lab. I had a stock of sugar and zobo leaves (my research materials). I made a hot pot of zobo. The hunger was biting so much I couldn’t wait for the drink to cool before drinking. I sipped the drink, fanning through my tongue and teeth and before I knew it, I had downed a pot of zobo. If you’re wondering how a drink (zobo of all drinks) could quench hunger, then I’d tell you that my life depended on it at that moment. My brain, needed sugar desperately. Somehow, I saw that my fate lay in what I made out of that phase that I was going through. The zobo could only sustain me for a few hours before I became weak again. My body needed nourishment. I needed FOOD. I was starving on Christmas day. The only company I had was the sounds of birds and other strange creatures in the forest that housed my university campus. Fat rats and heavy lizards merried around. You could tell they were in great mood for the season and I could only wish that I’d hear a voice that would say to me “Son of man, take and eat” – like it happened to one of bible heroes.
Later in the evening, an angel visited me - all the way from a town call Fate (pronounced far-tey) in Ilorin. She brought me a flask of very rich Christmas rice with chicken. Although I acted up as if it was “normal”, I knew in my heart that this angel had indeed strengthened a feeble knee. Where the next meal would come from was not enough a thought. I needed to take care of the now and think about the later, later.
That was seven years ago.
December 2004 (three years later), I gave a family 50kg of rice, a gallon of vegetable oil and a live chicken as Christmas gift – they are not even my relatives. Yesterday I began a nearly 1000 miles drive across five different cities to spend time with friends over the Christmas. I can look back and say truly something has happened, I have moved on and the past is nothing but the past. It’s gone and gone forever.
Three days ago, like I do every year, I gave colleagues in my office Christmas cards and in each person’s card, I wrote a few words as inspired. They all appreciated the gesture as most of them told me that it was actually the first Christmas card they’d received in the year. Everyone displayed their cards on their desks. A visitor from another department walked in and picked one of the cards on the desk she was visiting. She saw my name at the bottom and looked at me in surprise. What is the matter? “Femi, your handwriting is too neat – for a man!”
I’ve never considered my handwriting to be one of the neatest – though my cousin once teased me a few years ago when I was writing job applications that if applicants’ handwriting was a criterion for being considered for a job, I would get a job before anyone else in the “labour market”. Without being a sexist, Jane did not expect men to have neat handwritings. That was her opinion about men.
I’ve found that in life, our opinions are shaped, among other reasons, by our experience. This in turn drives the way we see and relate with people and sometimes ourselves. In fact, the way we see others is a reflection of the way we see ourselves. I’ve also found that more often than not, as humans we have the tendency to allow people’s opinions shape our lives and our belief. Our beliefs shape our morals; our morals shape our attitudes; our attitude shapes our actions and our actions shapes our destiny.
I remember the story of a young man who had 78 percentile in his SAT exam. He was one of the brightest in his college. But after his first semester at the university, his performance went rock bottom. He had an awful mixture of Ds and Es. The second semester was not any better as his performance got worse. His puzzled tutor then arranged a review session with him in order to find out what the problem was. Going by his SAT result, Tom ought to be among the top 5 in his class as a freshman but he was in the bottom 5 instead. Trying to justify his failure, Tom explained to his tutor that he couldn’t perform better because he only had 78% IQ (Intelligence quotient) while the course he was doing required him to have 85% IQ. Someone had wrongly informed him. He had been told that his SAT result was a measure of his IQ. His confounded tutor then explained to him that his SAT result meant that he had performed better than 78% of the pupils who took the test at the same time as him. The results after this counselling session? Your guess is good as mine. Our friend rose from the bottom to the top where he rightfully belonged.
The moral of this story is that he allowed what he heard to determine his fate – in either situation. Sometimes, it is not just what we hear; the things that we see and pay attention to also influence our destiny. This is why the media is a very powerful tool. Business executives utilise the power of the media to create a social culture and drive the market in the direction they want. Sometimes, the information being presented could not be farther from the real truth behind a product or service. They influence our perception and therefore, our reaction to help them achieve their business goals.
Christmas, I believe is a period to recap the year and more importantly, to celebrate. But can you imagine if we lived everyday as if it was Christmas. Enjoy life, have fun to the max but live today as if it is your last. Make maximum impact and never miss the lessons of yesterday’s mistakes. Above all, remember, you are the master of your own fate, the captain of your own life. If at any point in life, you’re fortunate to be corrected for a mistake you made, take it positively, make the necessary corrections and move on. If you’re being congratulated, take it as a challenge to improve. And if you feel like nothing is happening the way you’d have loved it to happen, look into the big picture and take a gaze into the future. Imagine what would happen if you quit and also what would happen if you carried on. I would rather die trying than die a quitter.
I wish you a Merry Christmas my friends. May the year ahead bring us all good tidings.
Cherio!
Wednesday 3 December 2008
HIV?.....Nah!.......Gimme HI's with no V's!
6:10 p.m...
It's a Wednesday and I just returned from work. As usual, I turned on my computer and opened my electronic mail box, eagerly looking out for a particular mail. Then I saw this Facebook notification of a message from a very good friend - D'Gbnoj. D'Gbonj and I have been good friends since our 100L days. I still remember the first time we spoke - it was in the famous LT3 at the University dubbed "better by far" - She was wearing a fanciful wristwatch, I called it wrist-clock. I guess she was surprised, she asked where I'm from.
I've always known D'Gbonj as a doctor and a showbiz enthusiast; you can tell by her nickname (She's on the intern by the way...). Apart from her love for psychiatric medicine and showbiz, I didn't realise her writing prowess until yesterday. When she hit the face of Facebook with yet another inspiring write-up today, I couldn't help asking for her permission to publish her notes in my blog. I would like to share this piece with you all and hopefully the one she wrote on people with disability in the next few days.
"Unlike everyone else that had stepped into the ER that day,he looked really different.Calm,calculated,unaided,distant,yet interested.Accompanied by his mom,probably the only one that still cared.He was only 17,but old enough to communicate with me.I asked for his name and documented it.I asked for his religion and he told me he was both (christian and moslem!)A double dose,i can only just imagine.This was of course a glimpse of what was yet in store.His problem?he was beginning to show symptoms and signs of an ADC(AIDS dementia complex).Just 17,not just HIV, but AIDS.I couldn't help but wonder.It all started when he was 12,had taken ill and was taken to a hospital where he was unfortunately transfused with HIV-infected blood.PLS! don't put the blame on me.And since then,that had been his cross.He had been stable on ARV's(antiretrovirals)then stopped just because he felt like it.But then i encouraged him to use his meds,because i needed that bright young man alive and well too!We have been friends since then.He could have contacted it via any other means;Unprotected sexual intercourse,sharing of infected needles,.........But this was how.We probably have all been exposed in one or more ways.Its December 1st, another world AIDS day.This year's theme is :Leadership.......Stop AIDS,keep the promise!The best you can do is to know your status today.Let's abstain,Lets play safe,Let's show love and support to people living with HIV and AIDS (PLWHA),Let's educate,Let's reduce the stigma associated with the condition.Let's dedicate our profile picture to the red ribbon(pls copy from my page.i did same from Wobo!)As for me,i'm getting HI'S with no V'S!and m urging you to give and take same.I am repping the day all the way!I am doing all i can to reduce the incidence and the scourge associated with the condition.I will even dress up in red(nah) more like wear my red hand band...wait a minute,where is it?............Hey black boi.......hand back my hand band!"
Credit: Dr. Gbonjubola Babalola (a.k.a D'Gbonj)
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