Posts in Life Diary

To all 'uncles'

I was enroute Ilorin from Ibadan. I got a seat at the back of the sienna vehicle.
When I got to the park, only two passengers were needed to fill up the vehicle, I was one of the two. The last person to come was a student, clothed in his uniform. He seemed like a person of Fulani descent. He also appeared to be going to the boarding house with the number of bags that trailed him. His mother and uncle pleaded that the driver accept 300 naira for his extra luggage in the boot. His mother came to the window and bent close, waving at him, she didn’t forget to give him an instruction. Does any mother forget?
At this stage, the third person sitted at the back seat became an ‘uncle’. I was at the extreme left, the student in between and the unclen at the right.
What school do you go to?” he asked.
The student responded. He was probably in senior class; he seemed tall enough and he wore a pair of trousers as opposed to shorts.
We were five minutes into the journey and the young chap was watching a movie on his phone.
I requested to, and prayed aloud, as the bus took off. As expected, not everyone said an ‘amen’. Uncle said amen, however. Loud amens. Thank you.
Let’s get a bit of background about uncle. Uncle got to the vehicle before I did. Whe I got there, he was angry. As he complained loudly in Yoruba language about the poor state of all the vehicles these days, he complained also about the time-wasting driver and his colleagues. He complained loudly that he hadn’t been given his change yet. 
You’d get a better picture when you imagine those people who complain aloud although they have no audience, those who have perfected the art of it. I thus, had no clue he was a Christian.
Thank you all the same for saying amen to the prayers. It was a smooth car ride.
So, the supposed Fulani student watching the movie laughed. I imagine the movie must have been hilarious. Uncle spoke up.
Do you know you can download your textbooks on your phone and read?” Uncle’s eyes darted about unsure as he said that.
The student nodded, probably thinking ‘thanks for your kind thoughts’. But kind thoughts were no where being over. It made uncle sure that textbooks could be downloaded. Cue the longest speech ever recited.
Instead of these movies you’re seeing, reading your books will do you good… You will be a first-class student. You’ll compete against not only students in Nigeria but world students…you’ll not concern with the state of Nigeria…there are jobs, oh there are jobs…that way you’ll live well… do your parents proud…do you know…in fact, there was… how many people…?” he went on. Believe me, he went on.
At the commencement of the speech, I had thought, ‘oh great, he must be a teacher, who is glad to find another erring student he can put on the right track’. Later, I doubted it. This was simply a desire to speak.
A fair-skinned lady who sat in front, who had said no amen to my prayers, turned back to stare at uncle reciting his impromtu speech, then she faced front. Later, she would bring out her small bible and read. So we’re fellow Christians? You said no amen.
Others also had to turn and stare at some point.
Uncle had a bible placed on his laps which he didn’t read. At some point during his speech, he left talk of the academics, and went into spirituality, talking about God. His voice loud and intrusive. I wondered if this was an approach to preaching.
At a point, all we could think ( I can boldly lay claim to reading everyone’s mind) was that, ‘uncle you’ve tried’, ‘Uncle remember “half a word is enough for the wise” ‘, ‘Uncle please, uncle please’.
His speech finally ended.
The boy told him “Thank You” and clicked the play button on his phone. This time, I imagine he held any laughter prompted by hilarious scenes to himself. But he saw the movie as he desired.
Variants of uncle show up at different locations, and at different times, under different citcumstamces.
 To all uncles, please learn that your first sermon is your appearance. Uncle’s burning anger was a longer speech than the one he tried to give the young boy verbally. I know someone who describes herself as a ‘complainer’. Don’t. It may seem a honest enough description of your person. I advise you shouldn’t be content with being a complainer. Have you ever heard:




 “if you have nothing good to say, say nothing”


 I work by that principle. If you’re presenting a constructive comment to the wrong party, that’s fair enough. I do that. If your aim, as clearly evidenced, is to make your audience aim and achieve better than the party which did wrong, that’s fair enough. I do that. But stop being the complainer. The person who says “i just have no chill”.
Uncle, respect younger people too. My younger sister has been giving me gist of what goes down at her secondary school. One thing I also often recollect about my time in secondary school, is how a number of teachers did not understand that students are humans. Students have feelings. You are not permitted to treat students how you wouldn’t treat other adults. They’re intelligent beings.
 One of Ifemelu’s opinion in the book Americanah by Chimamnda Ngozi Adichie, was that aunty Uju was the only adult who treated her like her opinion mattered. And she loved aunty Uju.
Be that person who draws respect from students, not only because you’re older but because you deserve it. Don’t tie down a young student’s time in your own interest.
Respect other people’s time and wishes. There is this tweet I saw on twitter:




I wish for you, sincerely, to take your time but that doesn’t mean waste mine”


Uncle did not listen to the student. He probably meant well, which I credit but then he thought he could give his long winding opinion on education and Nigeria for as long as he pleased. Make your point known, keep silent. Respect people’s personal space, existence and wishes. 
Don’t be that other guy who entered the same taxi I did just the day before I travelled. He claimed he wanted to be my friend. He saw I was busy with my phone. I greeted him and politely told him I was busy. He wouldn’t let me be. He said “don’t you want me to be your friend?” Really? “Tell me your name naw” it was irritating. More irritating, because it reminded me of those who bugged me tirelessly in taxis while I was in secondary school. They saw a young girl and felt they could talk as they please. No you can’t. She is a human being, she may be young and beautiful but don’t badger her! Don’t be that person. I asked this guy, this time not politely, what kind of friend he would turn out, if he couldn’t respect my wishes now. I’m busy! And I did that for all the times I was troubled as a teenager.
Uncle, you mean well. Whatever your own case may be, but please learn courtesy. 
The bible says in Romans 14:16




Do not allow what you consider good, to be spoken of as evil



What do you think? ever done the same? Any experience with someone who would not respect other people’s feelings? Or other people’s time? Regardless of their age. I want to hear your thoughts.

Life and books!

​There is a place that gives me hope. That makes me certain that’s where I belong. Isn’t it time to reconsider some things? To write?” 

This was my thought which I penned down after re-reading purple hibiscus. I felt I was in the inner caucus of literally conscious people. Those who read, recognize and respect brilliant statements and plots. There are times I read genius pieces of work or simply a profound sentence and all I can wonder on is, if other people would understand what I just read to be exclusively brilliant. 
For some people, a story is a story. Shame. For some people, an overly dramatic dialogue is a story( all those episodes of ‘stories’ that run on whatsapp as broadcast messages). Ignorance ( I’m not disputing that those write-ups have their place in the world but a good story, fiction is a whole lot more than that). For some people, story is a waste of time. In response to that, I’ll hold my peace. Or perhaps answer you by saying, Jesus told stories.
Welfare.
I’ve been well. Pushing through the days with more knowledge. A few moments of precious and incomparable exclusiveness with God. Times of combing through books too. 
I recently completed Frank Peretti’s the visitation ( quite lengthy) and I’m reading 26A by Diana Evans, for fiction. 
In terms of Christian literature, I’m in between a million books. What I often do is read necessary chapters from them. My holiday has been cut short and that has destabilized my reading plans. These are the ones I’ve focused on however: I’ve read from E.M Bounds on Prayer (this is the combination of all seven books he has written on the subject matter of prayer). I’ve read from Phillip Yancey’s The Jesus I never knew ( I got propelled to return to this book after completing the visitation ). I’ve also been reading Watchman Nee’s secret to spiritual power .
I’m constantly reading articles from around the web.
I’m enjoying Afoma’s book’d series.
I recently got intrigued by Uche Okonkwo‘s simplicity in writing. 
By the way, I feel I should  pursue knowledge on the art of being an editor.
☺okay, this is a simple way of letting you know I’ve resumed blogging again. Exams got nothing on me. Before I say bye, I enjoyed this two quotes this week and I think you would too:

If Jesus had never lived we would not have been able to invent him                                 -Walter Wink
When i saw you, I fell in love and you smiled because you knew                                                                                                     -Aerigo Boito

Okay, have a wonderful week. Come back to read some more posts!
As always, love, 
Debby.

Life update

I’m happy. Happy for no little reason. Perhaps I should say joyful then. It’s that joy that propels this post.
It’s been a terrible hiatus from this blog, I agree. I’ve had to deal with lots of things. (check this post on life and blogging.)I also find it hard to write unless I’m in some certain frame of mind. I’m working on that.
I spoke with a friend today and I felt refreshed. I know it’s God’s doing, really. We prayed together. Previously, I had felt strange in my own skin. Feelings are never meant to dominate our lives.
One of the things that conveniently kept me off this blog was my knowledge of the fact that I’ll have to write a personal update when i do write.
Reluctance to write about myself and how I’m faring shows I’ve chosen to not be vulnerable. Shows I’ve chosen to hide my flaws and victories.
Lol, now where do I start from? I dare not try to remember every detail since I last blogged or gave a personal update. Let me work with this past week.
Side-note: I feel like my writing voice is really fast and giddy today.
On Sunday, I was wondering when I’ll have a photo shoot. It’s not funny really. I’m a young adult, things like this characterise youth. What pictures am I going to show my children and grand children other than phone camera selfies😦? It’s my friend’s fault. He dashed my hopes of having a friendly photo shoot. I’d say no more on this subject. Partly because no one can stop me from having my pictures taken if I really want to. 😐
On Monday, I had quite a busy day. I had two tests and well, great faith that they would turn out well.
After classes, I had to buy the honorarium for the minister honouring our invite to discipleship meeting in fellowship. I then joined in the prayers, then I participated in the discipleship meeting, after which I waited for bible study preview. I got back to my hostel right at 11pm. I ate and slept.
Tuesday came along and I was hungry but I had to fast on two counts, none of which was personal. If you haven’t, read up my post on fasting here. I was delighted I did in the end. Tuesday evening; my unit went on visitation to two halls of residence. I met with fellowship members and encouraged them and I witnessed to a Moslem. I had never met a Moslem that ready to listen before. He didn’t accept Christ but gave me his phone number for further contact so he can make an informed decision when he does make it.
Wednesday was good. I caught up on a certain magazine I had been reading. I also had a refreshing time at the weekday fellowship.
On Thursday I felt sour. I woke up late and missed a meeting I had planned to be present at. Ugh, downward spiral. I had a battle with feelings, I prayed and wasn’t better. I met up with a friend and we spoke together then prayed. I felt a whole lot better after that.
P.s: I’m writing this post on Thursday with the conclusion and all. I’ll simply insert the Friday and Saturday summary later.
On friday. I went for my distant cousin’s engagement ceremony. My mum was in town. I saw my grandma too, it was her birthday. I got back to my hostel with more money ( thank the lord)and fatigue. Like I told my mum, it had simply never occured to me how I’ve never been to an engagement ceremony in my adulthood ( you get what I mean by adulthood). It was intriguing and tiring. I slept then woke up much later to study.
Saturday. The very day I’m putting up this post. The very day I’m glad I didn’t write this whole post because my mood is absolutely not cheery cheery nor my voice giddy and fast. I’ve had a long day which started with getting out of my hostel past 6 am. I’ve not participated in a single form of exercise in forever yet my bones are aching. My eyes are heavy and to think I’ve taken lots of fish and milk of late! I really want to start the weekend over, I can’t believe it’s flying past me. Sighs.
Needing: discipline. I’ve been getting late to my classes of late. I need new discipline.
Loving: I’ve been loving the very fresh air that comes in through my window when I wake up, as long as the curtain is drawn back. The air is fresh I say. The flowers outside sway gently. It’s a call to worship. I’ve been singing a lot of hymns too, something about waking up like that makes me want to sing hymns.
Longing: For home. I’ve been longing to go home, just to be in my own house where I can leave my hair in an untamed state, where I can run up the stairs, use my family members belongings, grin terribly at the dinning table, gist in the kitchen, take turns at leading praise and prayer during family devotions, get to my ‘green’ church, See familiar faces and hug friends, get to TKP office, take drinks without restraint, eat goodies without monetary caution. Home is home.
Thankful: for friends. Friends are friends and they’re God’s gift.
Certain: I have the holyspirit. And he is leading me to great heights!
In all, the week had been good inspite of the valley experiences.
Advice to self: study for exams and live one day at a time.
Advice to all: sing hymns. Walk tall even when you feel really small on the inside. Don’t let feelings rule you, get back to the one who made you a deeply feeling being. Last of all, Be.
Be.

Being, joy, home,

Shopping list v world order


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

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.

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

 
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.
 
 
 

The boy must Know Book!

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 morawhen 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!

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.

Consistency game in 2017

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Hiiiiiii this new year! Glad to be here again. I’ve been everywhere except here and I thought I was fine with that until about a week ago, I started feeling really stuffy. Like the air outside of this blog wasn’t enough. The only way the world would be right again, was with this blog. As I began typing this, the first emotion I registered was relief. I’m back.
I’m back. Whew. I’m back. So it’s a new year. For the first time, I can emphatically (emphatically I stress) say I heard God tell me somethings about the year. It wasn’t even like I waited and waited. It was his mercy that made it come easy.
I know it’s just a few days but I’ve been getting so much from this year already. It feels foreign; the amount of courage and vision I have. Even for this blog. I reject laziness. I reject comfortable complacency. So I’m here.
I’m here and I’m sorry for my ups and downs. For leaving you whom I enjoyed being with, for leaving you hanging.
I remember reading once on Cassie Daves‘s blog that

“If content is king, then consistency is queen”

It stuck with me.
In the period I was actively away from this blog, I began to believe it was the reverse. Consistency works wonders. My absence has told it’s tale on the blog but it’s a new year and I’m ready to work with everyone. Express myself better and make this an open platform for expression.
The beauty in us is too much to be closed up. Good news: I really am relieved and joyful and I’m typing fast.
Happy new year guys. 2017 is a year of triumph. I love you. I await your comments.
Content and consistency,
Debby

Hey Beggar.

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“Kneeling there in deep contrition”,
That’s what a line from an hymn we sing in church says
Today, I see you folded by the streets
It’s a Sunday morning
I’m not feeling up for church
You’re kneeling by the road too
Regardless of whether you’re up for it or not
We’re both ready to get what we need
Poor as we are
You, poor materially,
I,  poor in spirit
In desperate need of what only Jesus can give
Whether I feel up to it that day or not