Posts tagged blogpost


Currently: sitting by the window facing the front porch of my house. Watching a flower dance in its pot. I’m occasionally gazing at the tree in my neighbour’s house. I choose to blog
As we grow older, our capacity ought to expand. I refuse to be a 12 year old girl in a 3year old body. At 3 years, the toddler could and would drink water. At 12, she can and would drink but with much more capacity than she did at 3. capacity.
Normally, I’m all shades of good. So I hated it as in turns my good natured attributes got ruffled. The calm superfluity I had, began to dissolve and I saw anger, I saw unforgiveness and I just wouldn’t believe it.
The truth is, it was the new me. I had grown.
When a flower grows, it loses it’s form, grows in every direction, still the same bright leaves, it blooms and glows. It’s still gracious but it has thorns sticking out, it is formless unless the gardener takes the shears and prunes.
John15:2: “…and he prunes every branch that does bear fruit, so that it will be clean and bear more fruit”
A few months ago, I saw unforgiveness was very very ugly, I tell you. Every time I pictured the devil as a young girl, he was ugly but the unforgiveness I saw, was uglier than I had ever imagined. It baffled me. It was sticking out of me. I was able to forgive eventually as God helped me.
2cor3:5 “not that we think we are of ourselves sufficient to do anything but our sufficiency is of God”
The case this time around wasn’t forgiving someone else. It was forgiving myself. I did something I regretted, to put it simply. I didn’t want to pray, I felt I had failed God. Then I remembered some Christian literature I had read saying after you’ve sinned, God is most ready to hear you pray. Ask for forgiveness. It is cheating to think you’re ‘protecting God’ and hence refuse to speak to him with your defiled self. He wants you to come so he can wash you and restore you.
So it’s two themes in my head: Forgiveness and Writing. I have obtained forgiveness from God but how about that other theme? See, I got encouragement to ask for forgiveness without wasting time because I had read.
I know people who still read. This blog inclusive. Thus, I’m writing.
I don’t believe one who was “despised, and rejected, who endured suffering and pain. No one would even look at him, we ignored him as if he were nothing “Isaiah53:3 yet was enduring the suffering that was meant to be ours, would now choose not to forgive us when we return to him. No.
It turns out that my last blog post had a major theme of forgiveness. I gave some excerpts, some of which I’ll quote again. We need to forgive people. We need to forgive ourselves and accept God’s forgiveness. As we grow, we need our spirit man to grow so we can forgive better than we did yesterday because today’s offence is stronger than that of yesterday. we need to love more fiercely. We need more.
The quotes:

“I did it to myself . I did it to myself. mea culpa, mea culpa”

Is not the strategy to take, nope, and that’s because

“God doesn’t condemn he forgives”


“She looked at him bleakly: ‘your kind of love can’t feel good’
‘Does your kind feel any better?’ she looked away.
He unlooped the reins. ‘right now love doesn’t have an awful lot to do with feelings‘ he said grimly
‘don’t misunderstand I’m as human as the next man. I feel alright. I feel plenty right now, a lot I wished I didn’t’ “

he says love doesn’t have a awful lot to do with feelings. God loves us inspite. Just come

” he[Jesus] was a man of sorrows, acquainted with bitterest grief. We turned our backs on him and looked the other way when he went by. He was despised and we did not care. Yet it was our weaknesses he carried; it was our sorrows that weighed him down. And we thought his troubles were a punishment from God, a punishment for his own sins!” Isaiah 53;3,4

Still in doubt?
Currently: sitting by the window, my back to the flower still dancing in it’s pot. My body given to typing and eating something yellow again( I did not plan it, seriously!) loool.
What has been your experience on giving and accepting forgiveness?
Love, forgiveness and yellow meals

Trigger Words

My friend,Tomiwa, asked me about my blog yesterday. At that moment, I was answering questions and feeling slightly relieved. relieved he cared. Right now, I’m feeling a mix of grateful and ready. ‘sometimes I just need someone to remember me when I’ve forgotten me.’
I’m really hoping I’d learn to share more because to love is to share. I’ve not been sharing this blog space with people I’m close to because I’m afraid I’ll feel vulnerable. Does it exactly work that way? I don’t have an answer yet. I however want to blog to the extent that if and
when I do feel vulnerable, just as I feel other things, the same blog space will be one of my joys, my push to write, my comfort.
ask now
I was reading this post focus on I found something interesting

“People have so many things to say. Some, you have to coax out of them, some they do not even know what they want to say until they hear the trigger words…”

So here i am, knowing certainly that the story has not been dried up on the inside of me. Here I am, knowing I need the ‘trigger words’ I am yet to recognize. So many aspects of life I’m ready to share about, so much perspective, I just need the trigger words.
ask me
So you reading this, do I know you? Next time you see me, ask me questions, my principle on certain things(disclaimer: I may be speechless). Ask about my blog. See how my friend Tomiwa triggered this post I would never have written.
You reading, maybe I do not know you, kindly tag me in a challenge, kindly interview me. Say something. Ask something. Comment. e-mail me. Give me my trigger words, I’m ready to blog.

“ so many things are left unsaid because we do not ask. so I will ask, I will seek and I will knock. This way I know I will receive, I will find and more doors will be open unto me”(culled from focus on


It’s been a full week really. I’m still excited. Last week Sunday was my sister’s birthday. I spent two nights in her hostel. It was a blessed and fun time. I ate a lot. I had to read too as I had exam the following day. A big exam as it were. On Monday my exam was a success. I began to prep for my exam the following day again. My prep was short-lived as I slept. Hmm, the exam was fine naw. Anyway happiness, freedom. Exam period is such a drag. It’s fun when you get the hang or gist of the topic but when you consider how much you have to do, ugh. Plus if you sleep at the rate I do, mehn…
that Tuesday I had also helped my friend, Olola, our fellowship colporteur sort through the books and attach price tags, arranging them neatly in big ghana must go bags. I settled to eat indomie at night.
Wednesday I woke up a free man. Had my devotion, flexed in my room till time for carol which I probably over-killed in my imagination and anticipation. At a point I wanted to just check my phone browse through apps but Christ wouldn’t let me. The devotion I put to IVCU service must be equal to that when children sing in a church, no matter how boring, otherwise it isn’t Christ I reverence in IVCU services. Hmm, don’t I just love when God says something like that. I missed home o. my home church! We had IVCU service afterward.
Thursday I was up at it early, from TKP office to all over school. Night time we had finalist commissioning in my hostel. It was amazing, I thank God. Then a vigil, I was sooo fagged out. Ah! I was glad I went anyway, fatigue musn’t come in the way. Friday I was all over school again and down to TKP office( THE KINGDOM PROJECT), touching lives at Christmas is only so close. I had to buy food out two times. I never really do that. Time to get to the market. I had a vigil again. It’s actually a continuation of the Thursday night retreat. I had EXCOS meeting for a while. In my hostel I did a number of things before God caused a deep sleep to fall upon me, mehn…
End of that gist. Permit me to tell you, Saturday was basically absent in my calendar. I woke up and kept checking the window to be sure I could see well. My phone was dead.
Today is Sunday. I envision so much already. Issoorait. All in God’s hands eh.
Do have a blessed week

Nawa for this capacity

If the woods could speak
They’d tell us stories
If walls could speak
They’d be dumb right back
But God you know all
You see all, you hear all
You’re never overwhelmed
You never go out of capacity

do the nails

Nail polish quotes
Nail polishes are such eye-watering temptations. They are the very thing you continue to get a promotion in. when in secondary school and failing economics, you searched the web for good cortex. When you spent one year at home because your parents wouldn’t lobby anyone for admission you made a nail planner and you ran through every possible neon colour.
To paint your nails, you sit indian style, balance your elbows on your thighs, it helps if you think of it as a tripod. You need them to be as balanced as possible -sudden dislodges are fatal. Never get angry when your mum calls you from the kitchen. You can get angry after applying the coats. It disrupts the process.
Do it yourself. No matter the colour of your skin, you can always have fabulous looking nails. Look for mantras. There is a future to nails. Maybe economics was a bad course to study anyway. When in university, never fix arbitrarily. Only go to a stable salon where your manicurist has studied the art to your fingers. To maintain it during the week, do moisturize the cuticle area so peeling doesn’t hurt the matrix, change nail file often to prevent bacteria, go medical; never use nail polish that contains formaldehyde or toluene. Go to your manicurist when you are emotionally imbalanced. The colour lush will relieve your hiccups. Will widen the tightening space in your throat.
It is what you do every time your husband fights with you over money. It is what you do when your memory betrays you and brings up flashes of that day you had gone to get your nails done, thinking your exam was by 4pm, it was for 3pm. You were late. It was statistics exam. Your result was bad. Your nails attracted your husband. You didn’t need economics after all. Do the nails.


Denrele swapped away the many flies. She was irritated. She longed for a better life, more so after the new teacher who came to her class today. Denrele’s mother always told her she was one for comfort. Her siblings never understood. They always turned up their nose whenever she acted better than them.
They lived in Offa but schooled in Ilorin. They were constantly at their grandparents house in Offa with the smell of goat faeces, dried elubo, amidst dull houses with uneven cement.
Denrele was closer to her father. He wrote a few poems at his spare time when he came for the weekends at Offa. Their house in Ilorin was a small two bedroom apartment in a crowded area, it was only convenient for their father to stay there so as to get to work early. The six children styed with their mum and grandparents at Offa and schooled at the outskirts of Ilorin.
Denrele wanted more to life than helping the aging baba and mama. Sometimes her mother will call her an impatient and ungrateful girl.
Whenever her father came for the weekends, Denrele would read the one or two poems he had written. He complained more often at that time of how busy he is. Actually he only wrote in the bus on the way to Offa. Her father wrote about the peace and serenity of Offa, he wrote about the ruggedness, determination, community life and rebellion of the Offa people, he wrote about the importance of family and of siblings cordiality, he wrote about the bird who longed for freedom. Perhaps he could tell already what the future held.
Much later, when Denrele would write, she would write about the busyness, and sharpness of Lagos. She would write about confusion, individualism and the personal struggle of man, about the smell of sweat. She would write about separation, about the illiterate student. But for now she remained the illiterate student. She would go to school, listen to her teacher teach an unintelligent lesson and desire rather to be in Miss Oge’s class .
Miss Oge had stood in for her computer teacher on that day last week when he was ill. The youth corper had spoken with delicate intelligence. Denrele was happy to answer questions in her class. She longed for her praise, the gentle smile that creped systematically but beautifully along her chubby face. The corper spoke about her own different secondary school life in Lagos. Denrele’s back was straight, she listened, she wanted to hear this. She wanted to be told the truth. She wanted to hear without restriction the struggles of life, not just the serenity of it. She wanted to hear about the importance of choices and not destiny. Not fate. She wanted to hear that she could and would go to Lagos.
She used a technique after class. She told the teacher she had a problem and wanted advice. She spoke about a boy who liked her and asked her to be his girlfriend and how the whole thing confused her in an endless pool. In sincerity, nobody had asked her to be his girlfriend. She only wanted to talk some more. They would in future laugh about her antics. The corper advised her that day. The corper would then always greet her when they walked along the same route. The corper would ask about her family in passing but Denrele would delve into a full launch of her ancestral lineage and their well being. The corper grew fond of the girl and knew about her longing for Lagos.
The corper called her one sunny afternoon and gave her a slip, a common entrance application form to one of the best secondary schools in Lagos. In that moment, Denrele doubted her parents would let her, a short twelve year old girl go to Lagos. She leaned back on the wooden chair letting it squeak. She felt ridiculous to have dreamt and thought all this while that she could ever have her life the way she wanted and not the way she was destined to, from birth.
” Denrele” the corper looked her squarely  in the face. ” you would never know until you try. Study extra hard, grumble less at home, fill out this form. Show your parents, let them sign it. If it helps, show your father first, convince him. Don’t let your opportunity slip by you.” she glanced at her wrist watch.”if all works out well and you pass, then you would apply for the scholarship test, get invited for the test and ace it, by the time i’m leaving here at the end of my service, you would be coming with me. You always believed in choices. Here you are faced with them. You would look back and remember this day whatever your choice would be”.
Denrele went home. She couldn’t sleep that night. She was pumped about it, the time she had been waiting for. What also preoccupied her mind were things like how she would start jss1 afresh in Lagos at age 13. she thought about how everyone back at Offa would be advanced in class, how young Tayo would be her mate in class.
Denrele’s parents agreed to it all. It was a night of hushed conversation in their bedroom. Denrele crept to their door and tried to figure out what they were saying. Mama came out of her own room to use the toilet when she saw Denrele. Denrele sped back to her room her heart in her mouth wondering if mama would tell her parens she was eavesdropping.
Denrele studied, her siblings and their friends would sit away and whisper about her, they wondered what was wrong with her.
Her father took her to Lagos to write the exam. Her pencil kept slipping off her sweaty palms as she shaded carefully within the box, never out of it, never too thick. Everything the instruction indicated, she obeyed.
She prayed in Yoruba and in English language while in the exam hall. She promised God she would never spite her grandmother again no matter how unfair she treated her. She promised God she would say a testimony on new year’s eve even if legs and voice fail her infront of everybody.
It was after the exam she could marvel at the school premises. Her mind, earlier on, was preoccupied with success. She loved the beautiful school. Aunty Oge had spoken proudly about even the trees in the school.
” it is not like those new schools springing up everywhere and trying so hard to fit everything they need on a small piece of land. This one has so many trees and flowers”
On her way to the gate, she saw the school chapel and contemplated going in. She had heard of stories of people who did like Hannah, who told God their request solitarily in the chapel and how it came to pass. Ire’s mummy had testified in the church of how she did that and she got a promotion that had been long due for six years. Denrele dreamt of the day she would grauate in this secondary school, clothed in a robe and how she would make mention of her prayer in the chapel. However her feet kept moving towards the gate not the chapel.
The next three weeks were the longest of her life. Denrele would leave her food cold and study. There was a scholarship exam to study for. There were normal classes too. She claimed she couldn’t afford to be an average student when she resumes. She kept the newest cloth she had, in readiness for the new year eve service when she would say her testimony infront of everyone.
Today, just as she had done for the past three weeks, Denrele dropped her school bag at the entrance of the computer lab.
”I’m checking already” the corper said in a sing song voice, smiling.
She sat on a chair ” aunty Oge?”
”uhm?” the corper replied, typing away.
”aren’t you going to teach me how to use the computer before i go to Lagos?”
” my dear, they don’t expect you to know everything yet. They’ll teach you there. But i could always teach you the basics before then”
The corper’s heartbeat took on a marathon as she saw the result was now on the site. Freshly posted four hours ago.  for a second, she was afraid Denrele’s name would be missing.
” ah” she sighed ” Its not yet bee released. I wonder what’s taking so long”.
”No problem. I have to get home early. But i’m anticipating the result o”
”I believe it would be out by tomorrow”
After Denrele waved goodbye and left, the corper wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans, stood up and increased the switch of the ceiling fan. She prayed, then scrolled down the admission list checking for Otunola.
She saw Otepola, Otomi, then there it was, sitting averagely like all others: OTUNOLA DENRELE.

Sleep on

Everytime she woke up late, she felt the need to lay awake in bed a little longer, sometimes ten minutes, sometimes more. Not turning , doing nothing. It was a shabby excuse, a way to say I am not the late comer today.
Joining the world too late in its activities was pretty embarrassing. Today she mentally groaned, the words barely passing her lips as a grunt when she discovered she was late again. The world conference had begun while she was yet to employ her full reasoning faculties.
Waking up late never put you in the lead. She sneaked a peak at her phone which read 15% battery, under her pillow and buried her head back in the pillow. Boldly written across the screen 8:37 TUESDAY 26TH JANUARY.
She got out of bed grateful that only one roommate was in. They had been over the “you did not wake me up” thing so much she was past caring. But what of phone alarm? Body alarm? She drew the cold bucket of water from under her bed and rushed to the bathroom.
P.s: Yesterday marked a year since I made my first WordPress post. Not that I joined but that I published a post. I was scared of posting ehn!