Posts by Deborah Osinowo

Me before you–BOOK REVIEW

Book Reviews 9 Comments


The title of the book is “Me Before  You”  and the author is Jojo Moyes.
The publisher is the Penguin group. This is the first edition and it has 481 pages. It was published in 2012.
I didn’t ponder on what the title could suggest before reading the book. In hindsight, I believe it implies what extent you’ll go to, in putting the happiness of the person you love before your happiness.
The genre is conntemporary adult fiction.
The book is written in the first person point of view, which is okay. Towards the end of the book, we however get two other points of view for a bit.
I can logically follow the main thread of the book but maybe not emotionally.
This book stirs up mixed feelings for me. It’s disturbing, not in the way ” the girl on the train” was disturbing. It’s disturbing in an okay-easy-to-read-but-i-can’t-accept-this-worldview kind of way.
Will Traynor is disabled, not just a paraplegic but he is a quadriplegic (and the worst case, a c5/6 as we’re informed). He can’t make use of his body from his chest downwards. There is faint movement in his palm but he can’t grasp anything. So he must be fed food, he must be given a drink. He has go to toilet in a catheter attached to his wheel chair, and have it emptied by a carer. He cannot make many decisions on his own. He is liable to having his mother(or anyone which is really my point) walk out on him during a conversation, as she did when he first brought up a topic she considered an outright taboo. This same taboo founds the main conflict in the book.
He is a 35years old man and has to depend on people. This is vastly dissimilar to his old way of life which included bungee jumping, swimming with whales, climbing mountains etc. He was a physical person and that life was ripped right out of reach.
Lou, on the other hand, is content , too content with her life, and it has made her not so smart. At 26years old, she talks and reasons quite slowly. She is the sort of person who counts the footsteps between her house and the bus stop. The kind of person who works at a bakery (butter-bun: her former work place), by just strolling in to the place on the basis of a dare from her younger sister that she couldn’t get employed in a day, and asks if she could work there. She is the kind of person who works there for 6years without a formal employment and without a demand on her part for a raise. All this, not because she is disabled in any way. She is the kind of person who stays in an unstimulating relationship for 7 years with a man who loves keeping his body fit more than he loves her. She has weird fashion sense which causes everyone she meets to raise their eyebrows.
Lou has a strange family too. Strange. Especially her grandpa. Ooh and her father. And her mother. And her sister. And her nephew-Tomotomo. ?
She gets employed as Will Traynor’s carer and inspite of the initial animosity, they ride on smoothly for close to six months.
The changes she is willing to effect in her life are still disturbing because they are as a function of her love for him not because she has seen the folly in her former decisions.
The novels begs the question, “is love sufficient?”
I do not have a favourite character in this book and I wish I could change the beginning and middle of the book to be better paced and gripping.
The style of the book is informal. The language is clear and convincing. It exposes the reader to the life of a disabled person and evokes empathy.
I don’t intend to insert spoilers so I won’t  go on.
I didn’t particularly like the ‘force’ of the book which was low. It wasn’t much of a page-turning, gripping book. It didn’t evoke a plethora of emotions from me, only one emotion. Notwithstanding, there was good humour in a number of scenes.
A novel is always beyond the story it tells, it’s the sum total of the author’s  voice, techniques etc.
I rate it a 3.5 out of 5 stars and recommend it to anyone interested. You should actually get it.
On living with disability:

“and all I can say to you is that, I wouldn’t be in his shoes for all the money in the world”

On love and choices:

“how is it you have the right to destroy my life ” I wanted to demand of him, “and I am not allowed a say in yours?”

on the gift of quietness and bliss:

“sometimes I stood at the window and watched him, his head tilted back, just enjoying the sun on his face. When I remarked on his ability to be still and just enjoy the moment-something I never mastered- he pointed out that if you can’t move your arms and legs, you haven’t got much of a choice”

On living life:

“there is a hunger in you Clark. A fearlessness. You just buried it, like most people do”
“just live well. Just live”
“I will never ever regret the things that I’ve done because most days, all you have left are places in your memory that you can go to”
“there’s not a lot separating me from anyone you might pass in the street. You probably wouldn’t look at me twice. An ordinary girl leading an ordinary life. Actually it suited me fine”
“”you cut yourself off from all sorts of experiences because you tell yourself you are not that sort of person”. ”
” but I’m not”


I got this book as a gift from someone I do not know personally although I read her blog. It was on instagram, she put up a picture of the book and for the first time in my life I commented with “I want someone to give me this book” and she did! It landed at my doorstep in UI. This is another thank-you note. to Eclectictope.com. :)?

Books, living and choices,
Debby

Shopping list v world order

Life Diary 3 Comments


Hiii.
Before I tender a formal apology for my absence, I’ll let you know that I think you’re more dignified than to recieve a quick apology. Not the commonly seen “I’m sorry I’ve been away, thanks for being faithful… Life happens…” sort of apology before the post begins in earnest. I believe you deserve a whole post dedicated to apologizing for my unfaithfulness.
?
Life really did happen. Remember my post trigger words? I spoke of some trigger blogs which help me gain my writing mojo. I’m not the only one who does this neither am I the only one who watches Chimamanda on YouTube once in a while before writing a story (Tope Owolabi of eclectictope.com confessed same in this interview. Oh the joy). Yeah, the signs that I had to put up a new post were glaring.
One of my oldies who had stopped blogging for some months came back, rebranded. I’ve been following Afoma’s blog since back in the days. The old posts of life and living etc have resonated with me even to the modern day photography posts etc. She’s back. Check her out here.
I also read Kacheetee’s blog and she had some posts about blogging. Certain posts on blogging myths etc.  What really helped the most was this post on quotes.
Turns out the first quote is the deal. In an earlier post, she mentioned how blogging is a whole lot more than writing, which is super true. How blogging is demanding, whereas most people think it’s not. They think it’s randomly done, casually done but if you have a blog with a vision, it’s definitely not casual.
Two of the quotes there also speak to me because I understand a great blog is a combination of well written posts not one great post.

“Doing well with blogging is not about writing one key post. It is about performing day after day and helping a few people at a time”
” 99.9 percent of bloggers are not awesome on Day 1. Their awesomeness is the accumulation of the value they create over time – Darren Roswe”

Now, to the first quote I called the real deal, here it goes:

“a blog is merely a tool that let’s you do anything, from changing the world to sharing your shopping list “

Non bloggers may miss out the relief in that quote but it is a relief. It’s a break from the mini-anxiety that sometimes grips your chest.
It’s an affirmation that there are days I could write my shopping list as a blog post, and it would be cool. A blog is a tool. Tool. Tool. I can change the world with it (oh the revolution!) and I can relax my mind with it. It’s a tool that let’s me do anything.
Well there.
A tool. I use it.
So, in as much as this post in its entirety is an apology, it’s also the practicality of what I just learnt: that my blog is a tool(to be used) for my expression. 
Last of all, this post is an encouragement to all bloggers. Keep at it, even when you find it hard to keep at it, because you have a million responsibilities following you upandan* or because you lost a blog post which you worked on tirelessly and efficiently (as are examples for my three weeks silence). I want you to understand then, that there are other bloggers like you going through the same thing.
Remember your blog is a tool. *Use* it. Change the world with a post today. Write out a weird food recipe tommorow, rant about your day the next time, change the world with the next post.
 I give you the license:)

Don’t focus on having a great blog, focus on producing a blog that is great for your readers – Brian Clark

And I remain Debby,
Love, peace, shopping lists and world revolution
*upandan: slang to mean being everywhere. Literally “up and down”
Oh ye bloggers, get in here and share your experiences. What do you think? Non-bloggers, air your view.

Peacemakers

Life Diary Non-Fiction

Have you ever spoken up when you saw something going on that was wrong? Were you scared? What ended up happening?”

When I saw this prompt, everything went silent in my head. Silent. Of course I knew  I had spoken up after seeing some wrongs being perpetuated a number of times but… the kind of example I wanted to tell wasn’t  coming to mind.
As I saw that prompt, what I interpreted it to be was: “have you ever spoken up for someone when …”  Not just “spoken up when you saw something wrong … “.
I have. It was a little activist work but I hope it matters. It was random but I pray she remembers it. It wasn’t the “lasting effect” type I suppose some people would think,  because there wasn’t some quote from the scriptures to accompany it. But as I wondered if it could actually be of lasting effect,  I remembered :

“blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called children of God” matt5:9

I’m a peacemaker. Amidst other things, I’m an advocate for you, as a person,  making peace with yourself.
It was December 12 , 2016. The chapel Carol was slated for that day.  Chapel of the resurrection, UI has three youth fellowships: IVCU. SCM. TYF. The Carol was designed for the three fellowships and the Chapel children.
An hour before the Carol, I’m walking in the Chapel basement and I stop. I’m speaking with the sisters coordinator of my fellowship who doubles as my friend.
Someone else comes along. She walks briskly in a white dress that has full gathers at the waist. She has her hair let down; it’s a straight, black and shiny weave. I’m thinking it’s similar to the classic weavon I once fixed while in 100level.
She speaks quickly in the straight-to-the-fact manner of someone who has a program to oversee. Compere, I guess. She speaks kindly. She speaks with what I term butterfly flutters( I won’t explain this).
She asks my sisters coordinator cum friend , if she will be available to help with the distribution of the snacks as they had planned.
My friend twirls around  and points at me. “she’ll  help you”, she says.
Fast forward to three hours later, I join the preparation for distribution of snacks outside as the carol comes to a close.
The strategy is settled now and we’re waiting outside the auditorium for the proper time to begin sharing them.
Children are running everywhere. Screaming too. I’m lost in the melody of my mind.
Then I hear an indistinct conversation.
He is young and has an uplifted chin that forever gives him the appearance of a person wearing a smile. He is somewhat dark and short. He speaks with the air of someone who is familiar with people. He is older than she is.
My first observation – She is normal. His words, however, jolt me to notice the first observation of some other people. She is fat.
“… So” he drawls “you’ve been eating abi” he says.
She laughs in a manner and shakes her head.
“No? I can see it on you o or how have you gained weight again, ehn? What happened to exercising? You just stuff everything in your mouth. So do you like it this way now? You just keep eating, eating” he says. There is no hint of condensation in his voice. He is just speaking.
She keeps laughing as he speaks and somewhere in between manages things like “Nooo”
I sigh.
She is young. Maybe 15 or 16 years of age. She appears naive and worse still, used to ill treatment. Of course she doesn’t recognize this as an ill treatment.
I sigh again.
I speak before my ears take in too much of his words and before it is time to share the snacks. The children are still screaming and running. It’s a normal setting outside the chapel auditorium, just as the dusk falls .
“can I say something?” I ask him” I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation”
He looks at me. He is still shorter than I am. He has that appearance and I can’t tell if he smiles at me or its the cheek bone doing its trick again.
“yes” he says. I suspect it’s the former option. He smiles. He assumes I want to endorse his words or something.
“she shouldn’t stop eating just because she is fat. Who can really tell if she eats too much? If a slim person eats double the size she does, will it be okay in that case? ”
” oh no no. We understand each other. She knows I’m not insulting her” he says.
Did I expect a different response?
Blessed are the peace makers for they shall be called the children of God.
I hope my words stuck with her that night. I hope she remembers it in years to come. I hope she doesn’t allow people tell her that sort of thing. I hope in the midst of some of those self depreciating laughs, if she still does, my words ring in her ears, uninvited, without prior notice.
I hope she makes peace with herself.
This  is my way of lending my voice to say stop shaming. Please stop it. As long as you’re aware you have no real point, please stop it. There are implications to this thing which you may not see everyday but it surely occurs. Some people develop Bulimia, others Anorexia. Or low self esteem.
The people you call fat,  don’t have to run the miles that slim people never have to consider in a decade, just to be in the shape that you endorse. If it’s for healthy living, no problem. If you’re in an unhealthy place, then make a commitment to better living, good. That’s different.
The people you call fat don’t have to eat one scoop of Mandarin ice cream flavor(maybe once in two years) and ten scoops of guilt alongside. Only guilt? No, alongside pain and self doubt. Low self esteem.
Always let people thrive. People have enough reasons to cause them doubt in their lifetime than for you to add to the list quite deliberately or carelessly.
Blessed are the peace makers for they shall be called children of God.
I hope you find peace with yourself.

Debby.

Bodija – Moniya

Fiction 13 Comments


He looks into her purse as she opens it to bring out her transport fare. He sees about four thousand naira,all neatly lined up by the side of the purse.
She holds the thirty naira she has just pulled out, in her hand, and draws her shopping basket nearer to herself. The shopping basket is made of the same straw material used for mats. Inside the basket, he sees eggs, plantain, grinded pepper on the surface.
“excuse me please. Will he pass in front of UI to get to Moniya?”
It’s the last micro second before it becomes obvious he was distracted, when he catches what she said.
” yes” he croakes. He had not expected her to talk to him. This happens to him all the time; responding in unplanned situations, but responding in a voice not much distinct from that of a frog. He is self-conscious.
She still sits uncomfortably in the bus, very upright. In her defence she is apparently the only one of her social class in there.
It is a small and crowded bus plying the route of bodija market to Moniya in Ibadan.
Theirs is the last row in the bus. He sits at the extreme left, she follows and then there is a Fulani man by her right, followed by an Alhaja.
Others in the bus are significantly older and poorer.
The small phone in Ire’s pocket vibrates and makes him jerk his leg suddenly. He pulls out the phone to see it is a beep from his younger brother
“flasher of life” he mumbles under his breath and remembers he has to hurry up his activities to be in church later in the afternoon. He hisses.
“Mo ki gbo gbo yin ninu oko yii kaaro l’oruko Oluwa ”
He is stunned. It’s the UI student speaking.
” o se pataki ki onikaluku wa ye igbe aye wa wo nitori  pe. .. “
Her Yoruba is faulty, that should be excuse number 1. They’re also fast approaching UI gate, excuse number 2. By reason of logic there is no reason for her to preach but then she is preaching.
She is.
When the bus gets to park in front of UI, she rushes to complete a faulty statement, then wedges her way out of the bus after paying her fare.
The Alhaja with the yellow scarf at the extreme right hisses after she leaves but Ire knows the Alhaja couldn’t have hissed while the girl was in the bus. There was something compelling about her unjustified courage that made her message worth listening to.
When Ire gets home later that morning with the items he bought at bodija market, he knows he has a motivation to go to church.
He needs what the girl with the shopping basket and purse lined with one thousand naira notes has: the shameless courage fueled by her God.

There was a garden in that place

The Christian Faith


“Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth,… sits on a hillside 1,300 feet above sea level.
The view from a Ridge allows a sweeping panorama all the way from Mt. Carmel by the ocean to the snow peak of Mt. Hermon to the north
With fertile lands, beautiful Vistas, and moderate climate, Galilee has its attractions, and clearly Jesus enjoyed growing there. The wildflowers and weeds growing among the crops, the laborious method of separating wheat and chaff, the fig trees and grape vines dotted the hillsides… ”

Culled from ” The Jesus I never knew” by Yancey Phillip
“my friend enjoys painting, but this sensitive soul often feels guilty when she is working in her studio. She wonders whether she should be doing something more “christ-like” with her time. How can I be taking up my cross if I’m doing something I enjoy? Have I become too focused on the stuff of this world?
She shouldn’t feel guilty for doing something she enjoys, for that wholesome pleasure was God’s idea first (Genesis 1:27-31). He came up with beauty, laughter, strawberries and sunny days. And while God warns us against idolatry – the sin of putting our hopes and trust in any earthly pleasure itself. Even Jesus went out of his way to recharge his batteries with worldly beauty.
The week that Jesus died, he escaped the urban chaos of Jerusalem by crossing the kidron Valley and retreating in a quiet stand of olive trees. He had made this journey so often that Judas knew right where to find him.
Judas “knew this place, because Jesus had often gone there with his disciples” John 18:2.
…Jesus defeated evil by his death and resurrection. Then he ascended to heaven and sent his holy spirit to continue his campaign through us. It can be exhausting to stand for love and righteousness in this evil age so let’s follow Jesus’ lead and make time for refreshment in the pleasures of earth.
What beautiful spots inspire you? What activity energizes you? Where is your garden?”

Culled from our daily journey Annual edition, volume 7



My Comments
Is Guilt evil? I often repeated to some people I had the opportunity to teach a while back that the devil is out to get you away from God. He employs any means at his disposal. If envy won’t work this time, he goes for guilt. Guilt that you were envious yesterday or whatnot.
That’s where he traps many. We don’t often list that guilt is a strategy of the devil but it is.
It disconnects us from the father. It makes it tougher to pick up and reconcile with God after we sin.
How much more when we don’t know what we feel guilty about isn’t even a sin.
The devil traps with guilt. He makes it impossible (for the Christian who let’s him) to do anything worthwhile. It’s best to know the Devil’s devices and keep ahead.
A short while ago I listened to Joyce Meyer ministering and I quote her:
” The Israelites had a million and one feasts set by God. He loves celebration, the devil wants to steal it. Be happy. Wherever you are, whatever is happening, God wants you to be happy and enjoy everyday life. “

The balance
There is a need to know what wholesome pleasures God wants you to enjoy and what idols he wants you to destroy.
In as much as Jesus grew up by the Sea side, he understood when it was time to go about his father’s business and he did just that.
Rest, it is said, is sweeter after labour.
I attest to that. You get that feeling after completing a million and one house chores, when you shower, eat something delightful and plop down on a good sofa in the living room with good lightening and TV.
I strongly advocate that we should learn to appreciate the pleasure God intends for us. All the while, knowing when it is the proper time to go to work and when it is time to retreat to the olive groove again as Jesus did.

I’m somewhat still stuck on how Nazareth is 1,300 feet above sea level. The view of that! Jesus often went there. The smell of the sea too. Imagine the wind.

John 18:2[ GNT]
After he said this prayer, he left with his disciples and went across Kidron brook. There was a garden in that place and Jesus and his disciples went in.

More of Nazareth, work, and rest
Debby.

No letters to the past, no letters to the future! 

Life Diary

 
So, it’s a Tuesday evening,  and I’m ready to publish a blog post. I don’t want to do it in my room. I make up my mind and leave with a mat for heritage Park inside University of Ibadan. There, I chat on my phone and relax. There isn’t so much breeze, the sun is still out and I can’t lie down so it’s not the best of effects but it still works.


I see a girl  of about ten years or so walk by, followed by who I assume is her younger brother, some few paces behind. They’re both with school-bags, which I presume heavy, and in hand is a food basket.
What strikes me is that the boy moves briskly, only concerned with catching up with his sister. He doesn’t glance to his side or care for any other thing. They’re both tired as I see it.
I think of the burning sun. I think of the route they have to pass through each day probably on their way to a parent’s office or home.
In as much as childhood is a time of bliss and innocence and no burdens, as I long to think of it,
It’s also a time when older siblings can choose to be resolute in refusing to wait for the younger one to catch up. Also a time when sand gets stuck in your socks. When there is the worry as regards the yam taken in the food basket to school which is being returned to a sure-to-be displeased mum. It’s a time when there isn’t much mental anxiety, neither is there much mental calmness because things just happen. A time the child can’t decide like I can, to leave a familiar place and go to another. A time a child can’t spend more than he is given from home, and can’t make big decisions on impulse.

My point is simple. There used to be a quote in my dad’s office when I was younger. I often read it, without getting the catch, until I read it and then got the depth of it.

“The best time to plant a tree was twenty years ago, the second best time is now”

We’re often convinced that another state, setting and stage in life, is better than the one we’re currently in.
If things were slightly different, maybe if I was married to a wonderful man with adorable kids, or if I was still a child, or if I had my dream job, things would be better.
I no longer believe so. I know I don’t have to patronize that way of thought anymore and neither should you.
If in reality, the best thing is something other than what you have, or where you are right now, no problem . How about the second best then? It’s right now, right here, and it’s with you. You can have a whole different life by that eureka discovery.
It’s often times your perspective that determines your happiness in life. Stop bemoaning. Stop lamenting.
To the people walking past me, yes, I’m here on a personal picnic and you’re not. You’re however still favored. Lol.
We’re all favored.
We’re living in a good time, we just have to make use of it. It may not be the best of times but its still good enough to be utilized. someone somewhere is admiring your current status.
No regrets.
 
As Always,
Debby.
 
 
 

Book Review – – KISS by Ted Dekker

Book Reviews 4 Comments

This post has been lying in my draft since June 6 2016. It had earlier on taken me a long time after reading the book to review it. I didn’t plan to review initially as I don’t review every book I read, but then, mercy prevailed for this one.
I’m putting up this review to encourage you to read it. The book does bring good lessons out. Enough preamble and ramble. I’ll get to it.
Aaaand, Happy new month❤
image
Hiiii. I’ve been putting off this review for so long. I read the book itself almost reluctantly . I just plainly believed there would be nothing unique about it. I read it because I can’t really go on for a long time without being on a book.
Someone once said there are two kind of great books: the kind you can’t just put own and you stay awake reading till 4am in the morning, and the kind you read slowly savouring every moment. This was the former. I only had a ‘tea break’ in between.
The thing with Ted Decker, you see, is that he manages in some incomprehensible way to bring lessons right to your nose. Right to it. By the time you’re at the end of the book , you  find out the truth had been starring you in the face all along. This book was written not only by Ted Dekker but also by Erin Healy(on whom I could find nothing helpful through google search). I still prefer the other book authored by Ted Dekker which I’ve read. That link above is my review of it. In fact, that was my motivation for reading this one.
Book review is fast becoming one of my best things. It’s just with the somewhat busy life I lead, reading isn’t always easy when I’m not on holiday. The girl returns to school this week for instance. *long dramatic sigh*.
I’ll  have you know I read the soft copy. You can e-mail me (Get in Touch)  if you want it. I didn’t know what to expect based on the title. The  book had no introduction nor preface. It went straight to the prologue. It’s written in the first person P.O.V. The author’s style is semi-formal. The language is clear and the ideas are developed though not largely.
It was published in Tennessee by Thomas Nelson inc. This  book dwells largely on the past, in light of pain and perspective. It centers on the blight of old memories and the people held responsible for them. It embraces many themes dwells a little on the theme of love. It also focuses largely on the themes of family bond and politics .
The main characters are Shauna,Wayne, Miguel, Landon. I can’t say if the characters are credible, seeing as they led quite messed up lives. But then that sometimes happens, right?
My favourite chracter is an Asian woman Luang Khai; a simple house keeper whose life made Shauna understand God better. It’s true what my friend Sharon said: we are able to love God better when we’re loved by people who have been hit by that same kind of love. Khai having been hit by that love, was able to live a love life.
I liked the book fairly well until I got towards the end and then I liked it very much. I would’t really change anything about the book, it all came together for a good reason.
I’ll recommend this book to anyone wanting a new perspective on how to deal with the past and to understand forgiveness. Also to every other lover of thriller.

your history is no less important to your survival than your ability to breathe
pain was not God’s plan for this life. it’s a reality but it’s not part of the plan
i’m twenty-eight now and i have long since discovered that the wounds of rejection do not heal with time. they reopen at the slightest touch,as deep as the first time they were inflicted.

family

he has kept me tethered to my sanity in ways that should earn him sainthood

now and then i consider the irony of this: how it came to be that my mother’s God, who once seemed so real and comforting to me, managed to die when she did

Do you care about truth or only about the past?
 
Have a lovely weekend,
Debby

The boy must Know Book!

Life Diary Non-Fiction

So, my mum steps out of the car at the market to buy some items.
I’m in the car, I stare at her back.
Every time she gets down from the car without a second thought in order to buy foodstuff regardless of the fact that we’re (my sisters and I) in the car and she could as well send us to buy whatever it is, I’m awed. And she does that sooo often.
I even feel guilty. Grown as I am, I sit in the car. Sighs.
image
She walks to where the mallam had set up his stand for the fried rice ingredients.
Another woman at the same spot looks away seemingly uninterested while my mom prices the items. From here, I can tell my mum bargains in Hausa language.
When my mum shifts slightly such that her back is turned to the other woman, the seemingly uninterested woman resumes admiring her.
I smirk.
That’s not my focus Today. I only want to capture details.
image
From this vantage point where I sit in the car,
I see a market woman perched on a bench, her legs on either side of it, as a man would sit.
I take notice of her when my mom, on whom my gaze is fixed, asks “who is crying?” while she gazes lovingly at a young toddler wailing badly. Wailing badly!
It is then I notice the market woman, and I see another boy of about four years of age with her. She leans over a flimsy note book that is spread open on the bench.
Then I begin to hear her when I pay attention “oya, write four, write four!”
The boy, I assume her son, looks at her, no defiance on his face. No expression. He just looks at her.
She hits him.
“write four! ” she says as she raises and keeps her right hand hanging in a position set to hit him. She does hit him again.
” oloshi alabukun omo-ale”
And I gasp.
I know, I know, children are insulted everyday but really what has this boy done?
The boy is now crying. The toddler is also crying. But it’s a market, noise is allowed.
She threatens the four year old that if his tears drop, she would beat him even more.
He keeps crying.
What I see next as I picture an intervention in tones of sepia, is my mum walking up and explaining to the mother why she should cuddle him a bit and tell him to write the number she desires. Maybe teach him again.
We know after rain, comes sunshine right? Surely there must be another way to tackle this crying child.
Yorubas in Nigeria say “ta ba if owo osi na omode, a fi owo otun fa mora” when we use the right hand to discipline a child, we use the left hand to pull him close
As I imagine my mum explaining to the boy’s mother, I imagine the woman flaring up, fed up.
This is Nigeria. To this market woman, her son must “know book” he must become literate. He must drive cars and care for her. He must become more influential than anyone she knows.
This is the way of hope.
So I can imagine the good intentions with which this market woman now orders her son to kneel down.
Without the imagined scenes and tones of sepia, the boy doesn’t kneel down and she doesn’t beat him any longer either. I’m not in the market for much longer to see her(a market woman howbeit a mother)  train her son in the way she thinks best.
This one thing I know, the boy must “know book”.
This brings to mind the words “motherhood”, “education”, and the phrases “financial privilege”, “developing countries”, “a means to an end”.
The boy must know book!
Share your thoughts…

Write Debby, write!

Life Diary Non-Fiction

Everybody says “write Debby, write”
If they could, they would write but I find myself in a cage. I know ideas still flood my head, I know I can express them. I know I should make more practice with writing, seek more knowledge on the art of it. But I don’t. I don’t do all that.
Today, someone told me
“don’t be so defensive”. I should discuss with more people. That was in the midst of a conversation which has prompted this post.
I’m having my chamber attachment with a law firm while on holiday. I couldn’t go to the court of Appeal with the group that went today. The cause list in the chamber listed my name under a case in the High court. I was back to the chamber in no time , because in legal parlance, “court did not sit”. It means for some reasons, the judge didn’t come so the case was adjourned.
I sat on an old couch in my old friend’s  office. Old friend, meaning my bunk mate who was in ss3 when I was in jss2. I listened to music, watched some videos and eventually, they came back from court. With the turn of events, I began talking to another church member who came visiting. Same secondary school too, in this case he was in ss3 when I was in Jss1.
I felt at home as the conversation wielded itself. A part of me was surfacing. That part that can jump from topic to topic in discussions without restraint. From law as a profession, to old friends in secondary school, to the marriage of said people, to professional ethics such as networking in Nigeria, to mentors and ambition, to friendship, to the definition of beauty, to how God speaks to man, to books.
The conversation was seamless. Just flowing. I spoke my mind, baring my honest views. I had to answer questions so I searched the archives of my mind.
I revived a part of me. While discussing, I told them my elder sister is my best friend. True that. I’m sooo close to my parents too, we discuss a lot. Casual conversation, serious conversation. Everything. But sometimes… (please picture this last sentence I wrote in a very very small voice that fades away).
Sometimes, other parts of me want to connect literally. Which is why I watch videos on YouTube of conversations between writers. They speak the truth and some of it resonates hard with me. Strikes some chords. I don’t have very many friends who connect with my intellectual writing side.
YouTube videos of conversations between people doesn’t flush out the need for you to speak yourself. So I did so today. And on matters which I rarely discuss with other friends.
At the time of posting this, I’m less excited. But I want to post it because steps to losing yourself has on its to-do list, “keep silent in times like this”.
P. S:  This is about four days after writing the above post but again steps to losing yourself… Right? And innit, it’s news to you even if it isn’t to me;)
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Speaking out, having friends, and writing,
Debby.

Imagination Express

Fiction

So, it turns out some of the time, I write a few lines of fiction and I just can’t do a follow up, because a follow up appears to ruin it. I’ve decided to do what I please this 2017. It pleases me to tease you the way stories in my mind tease me every once in a while. Flash flash flash fiction!
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Lara ran the emry board over her nails again and allowed her fear to further grip her. She opened herself to every thought that wanted to possess her soul. Better to know the possibilities facing you than be caught unaware.
As the sun set filtered through the curtain into her apartment and her neighbour’s child’s shrill voice cut the air again with a followed “keep quiet now or I’ll beat you again”, Lara allowed the moment to catch up with her.