Tag Archives: just thinking

Birthday Thanksgiving

It is a few days to my birthday and I have been thinking of the blessings received in the last one year. Haven’t we been told to count our blessings one by one?

I am grateful for life. Have you tried putting an alarm clock beside a dead body?

I am grateful for family. We are all complete.

I am grateful for a sane mind; those insane did not wish for their situation.

I am grateful for my career. I may not be where I want to be but I am definitely not where I used to be.

I am grateful for my fashion business and my blog. He gave the gifts and talents; I am only a channel.

I am grateful because I asked of the Lord and He heard my prayers.

All my prayers have not been answered but I would be ungrateful not to say thank you for those that have been answered.

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As I step into another year of my life in a few days, I see a brighter future ahead.

I see my status changing.

I see better days ahead.

I see a glory greater than the former.

I am indebted to this great God.

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Photo Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

Where is our rest?

I almost forgot today is Monday and I have to write. Today is one of those days that I am just too tired to think of something to blog about. I don’t have any story to tell and I am not in the mood to share any true life experiences.

What I really want to do is sleep. I’m on vacation….yayy….so I have all the time. Unfortunately no! I wish I really did.

Even when you are on vacation in your 8 – 5 (I don’t resume at 9, so it can’t be 9 – 5), if you manage a side hustle, the vacation period is when you put in your all into the side business. For some, it is the time to fulfill their dreams of acquiring a skill. For others, it is when they travel out and shop for the whole world.

So do we actually go on vacation to rest?

Right now, so many things are fighting for my attention – family commitments, side business, exams around the corner, finishing a story I have been writing since the beginning of the year, spending time to achieve one of my dreams, struggling to keep up with reading my novels and finding time to sleep in all of these.

I really need to find my rest.

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Photo Credit: http://www.healthtastesgood.co

Security JD

The Pastor stopped the choir and said; “Why are you doing Jerusalem Jericho dance?” He asked as he shuffled his feet from left to right. “If you are glad that the resurrection of your Lord and Saviour has given you victory, then give him a shout and dance like David danced.” The congregation lifted up their voices to heaven and the pastor raised a song for the choir. Everyone in church began to shake their bodies as they danced. Some lifted up their hands as they praised God while some threw their hands and legs in different directions.

While this was happening, I noticed the security team members standing still. They were watching us as we all danced; and I began to wonder. I definitely cannot be a member of the security team in church, because once I hear music especially high praises, I go forget say my job description na to look.

Secondly, I wonder how they are all able to keep straight faces even when the pastor says something funny. It’s almost as if they have been coached not to laugh. Me, I go don laugh forget say I be security.

Thirdly, I wonder if a criteria for joining the team is that your face must always dey strong. For some reasons yet unknown, their faces all seem to be hard. Or shey na me never see the one wey get soft face?

To all the security team in all churches doing a fantastic job out there, I doff my hat and say thank you and well done. The job sure seems thankless.

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Photo Credit: http://www.shutterstock.com

DisAbility

“Please can you assist me in getting a bus to Okoko.” A male voice spoke from the back.

The two friends were seated in a danfo bus and had been discussing with each other. They looked back to acknowledge the person with the voice. He was quite young; probably in his late 20s and he was wearing sunshades which were not so dark. The friends shared a look. He was visually impaired.

“Okay.” They responded as the bus inched slowly towards the final bus-stop. Every other passenger had disembarked and the three of them were left in the bus; besides the driver and the conductor.

“Conductor, you have not given me my change.” The guy said to the conductor. The conductor handed him a fifty naira note and the two friends watched him as he felt the naira note.

“How much did you give me?” He asked the conductor.

“Fifty naira.” The conductor responded.

He put the money in his pocket as he said a thank you to the conductor.

The bus arrived the final destination and the three of them disembarked. The friends held his hands; one on the right and the other on the left as they led him to where he was going to get a bus to Okoko.

“So how do you know the amount you are giving to the conductor?” One of the friends asked him.

“I arrange my money accordingly before leaving home.” The guy replied.

“But what if the conductor does not give you the correct change?” She asked again.

“Well.” He replied as he shrugged. “I only hope they will.”

“And how would you find your way home?” She asked him; still confused.

“I know my way around.” The visually impaired guy concluded.

The friends ensured that he was seated in a bus going towards his destination before they proceeded on their own mission.

They however wondered about how he coped daily with no guide to take him around.

 

 

A few weeks later, one of the friends was standing at a bus-stop when she saw a woman get off a tricycle. She seemed to be partial visually impaired. She had neither a guide nor a white cane. She looked disoriented for a few seconds after getting off the tricycle as she blinked many times; maybe in an effort to get her eyes accustomed to the environment.

Only one question was in the mind of the lady as she watched the visually impaired woman. How do the visually impaired survive in a country like Nigeria? A country where adequate provisions are not made for people living with disabilities.

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Photo Credit: http://www.disabilitypride.org

THE AGE DRAMA

As the driver moved the bus forward, the conductor shouted his destination. Passengers at the bus stop flagged down the bus as they walked briskly towards it. The conductor tapped the bus asking the driver to pull to a stop to pick them up. Among the passengers about to embark was an elderly lady. As she was about to get into the bus, the conductor shouted; “Dúró, arúgbó ni o.” (Wait, she is an old woman).

The woman got into the bus, faced the conductor and asked; “Arúgbó báwò o? Mi ò kí n se arúgbó o. Mi ò tí ì pé 70.” (Old? I am not old. I am not yet 70).

I looked back to catch a glimpse of the old/young woman and she was an elderly woman even if she wanted to refuse the “old” tag.

This however, got me thinking.

When a child is born till the age of about three, the child’s age is calculated in months. You hear parents especially mothers say “Oh, she is 13 months or 18 months or 28 months. You hardly hear he is a year old or 2 years old. The child’s age is graded in months.

The child becomes a toddler and till the age of about 12, conversations on a child’s age graduates to; “He is 9 plus or 6 plus.” Plus becomes an additional appendage to the age at this time of the child’s life.

From about age 13 when the child becomes a teenager, the plus is dropped and the age becomes fast forwarded. So a 15 year old will probably tell you, he is sixteen even if he hasn’t had his 16th birthday. This happens till about the age of 40/45 when we want to feel older.

Fast forward to the age of 50 upwards, we don’t want to be seen as growing old. We want to be seen as still young and if possible compete with the younger generation. Our age becomes our actual age. No additions, no pluses.

I have always wondered why there is a bit of drama with our ages and the scenario in that danfo bus highlighted my thoughts again.

You think you have an idea or an explanation, drop them in the comments section and let us hear from you.

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Photo Credit: http://www.playbuzz.com

Mothering 101

Scenario 1

I was driving at 20km on the untarred and bumpy street. Rows of shops lined the street all the way down to my children’s school. I maneuvered the car carefully taking note of the fact that it was a street plied mostly by children walking to school. Rows of shops lined the right and the left of the street; most of them selling biscuits and sweets making them readily available for children on their way to school.

Suddenly, a little boy, probably aged three, ran out of one of the shops on my right. I slammed on the brakes and came to an abrupt stop. The little boy unaware that he had run right into the front of my car and narrowly escaped an accident, continued to play and run around as if nothing was amiss. A guy walking past, looked towards the row of shops and shouted. “Who get this pikin?”

His mother who was probably too busy to notice what had happened heard the question and ran out of her shop. She carried the boy and spanked his bum. The boy burst into tears immediately as she pushed him into her shop.

The guy who had witnessed the whole scenario said as he walked past my car; “Na so Yoruba people dey do. Dem no go take care of their pikin.”

I looked at him immediately and corrected the notion. “I am Yoruba and I take care of my children.” I faced the woman and said to her. “Kíni ë wá n na ömö yën fún (Why are you spanking the child?). Tó bá jé pé ë mó jú to ni, ë ò ní jé kí n wón ma sòrò sí wa (If only you had watched over your child, we would not have been insulted).

Did she care about what I said? I have no idea and did not wait to get a response from her as I drove off immediately.

 

Scenario 2

I was walking on a relatively busy street early in the morning. Even though, cars were not speeding by, the road was curved and most cars had to honk to notify other cars coming in the opposite direction. There were cars parked on the left and on the right of the street and this further hampered the line of vision of both the driver and the pedestrian.  A car was coming down my way on the right while some men sat under a shed on my left.

“Ë dúró sí bè. Ë má ì tíì lö.” (Wait there. Don’t go yet). I heard them call out to my right.

I looked to my right and saw two little children walking very close to the gutter. The girl could not have been more than four or five and she held her little brother’s hand who looked too young to be in school. They both wore uniforms, had knapsacks on their backs and held lunch boxes.

The car drove past and the men called out to them. “Óya, ë lè ma lö. Ibè yën ni ke ti rìn o. Ë má rìn ní títì.” (You can go now. Walk on that path. Don’t walk on the street).

As I walked past the men, I overheard them discussing about how a mother would leave such little children to walk to school alone. I shook my head as I walked away.

Was the guy in scenario 1 right to have said it was a Yoruba thing? Or are women now so confident to believe children at that age can take care of themselves? Or is education playing a factor in parental care?

My fellow Yoruba mothers, have your say. To the Igbo and Hausa mothers; have you also experienced this? I would like to hear from all.

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Photo Credit: http://www.pinterest.com