911 collections 1

My cousin, Ini used to live in Nigeria at some point (she was older than me). Two things I remember about her were that she was prime and proper. While we sat at the table eating and getting excited, she faced her food, ate daintily and didn’t speak till she was done. And when she did, it was because she was spoken to.

We called her mum ‘Aunty Ibadan’ (because they lived in Ibadan at the time) and Ini could speak Yoruba fluently.  Ini left Nigeria and vowed never to return because she had taken some entrance exams, passed very well but rather than give her admission into University, the person in charge wanted to have his way with her before assisting. she never got over that shock.  I’m not sure she came visiting anymore. As I didn’t see her again but I knew she didn’t get married either…got consumed with work and God.

When she passed on, my mum was really sad and she blamed our educational system (that evil man) for sending Ini (and indeed other bright minds) away with their lecherous behavior. Since September 11th I have written series of poems about it. Though I didn’t maintain that habit every year, I never forgot.

SEPTEMBER 11th

Dawn broke out with promise
…A promise that the sun will shine through
Or perhaps it will rain after the dew
…Promise of dates not to miss
And links we need to keep
Dawn awoke and time kept its’ tick.

September 11th
The day nations stood still
…And hearts ceased to beat
Buildings came tumbling and crashed upon the dreams
Hopes were dashed as glasses flew
Potentials buried as the heat grew.

May be some knew
And never said
But as blood flowed
United we prayed
Hoping against the unseen
That someone we love survived the scene.

Wishing they had gone minutes later
Thereby missing the burning towers
Wishing we had loved them better
And hugged a little longer
Wishing we knew
…And halted the true.

It was someone’s birthday
Or perhaps 2 became 1 that day
Someone else remember with hurt
A loved one that never returned
However you choose to view
It’ll always be true
That September 11th
Will never be forgotten.

---

In memory of my cousin
and others that didn’t say good-bye

© 2001 Frances Kelvin Otung

A YEAR AFTER

It’s true
Families were torn apart
With deep pains in every heart.
It’s true
Every tongue and tribe
Had a reason to cry
It’s true
The wounds of yesterday
Had refused to die.

But…
There was a bond after the bomb
…A peace beyond all storms
A unity that brought divinity
Dispatching balms and healing hearts.
A unity that brought us longing
Reaching out to the rest more loving.

A year is gone now
…We made it through somehow.
Thought it will always hurt
Let each new day tear down the walls
So we can see beyond the fall
The flowers that have sprout.

Believing that this newness of life
Will wither all strife
And keep us on our feet
Giving the devil sweet defeat.
‘Cos painful it’s true
Yet God still rules and our aches to remove!

© 2002 Frances Kelvin Otung

Remembering 911

13 years today… something caught the world’s attention.

It wasn’t football, or a celebrity birth. It wasn’t something trivial but GRIEF… a grief that spread around the globe, dressed in every colour of the world. Every skin tone, flag, country, tribe and tongue had its’ representative …hmm.

You and others have gone for 13 years now, though I promised to update you every year, I didn’t… because life happened and I got busy. It in no way belittles your memory or those of other lives that went with you. So today I’m keeping that promise.

Did the world get better…I don’t think so, perhaps technologically. Has the sun stopped shinning? No way! Sometimes it is scorching. It rains too much these days, we pray we don’t get carried away by floods (which is happening in other areas though).

Today I remember, the reason I made a promise to always hug a lot more, listen to God’s spirit within me, make peace and not war… as all we truly have sometimes is the ‘Present’ (and this is a gift). In remembering 911, I celebrate the gift called ‘Life’, the lives of the HEROES 911 represents and their families who have carried on living.

…continue to RIP.

Thankful Thursday

Tuesday Thoughts

Make Impact

 

Lyrical Mondays

IN 2 DEEP

How far do I run from One
To Whom my whole being responds to…
And that naturally too
Without prior consent from me!

At the softest of whispers
My nerve-ending respires
Sweet chill replaces body heat
Yearning for that touch that brings relief.

The sway of the leaves
Delivers warm messages to me
The music in the wind
Lifts me to my King.

The thoughts on my mind He reads
In my dreams He believes
How far can I go?
From One who knows me so.
Obviously I’m stuck
Deeply in love with Love
It’s not skin deep
‘Cos I’m in too deep to leave.

© 2001 Frances Kelvin Otung. All rights reserved.

King Earl is 3

“Earl Ethan Emmanuel!”
“Yeees, Aunty!” (Hesitates, sees the shock on my face, replies again soberly this time), “Yes, Mooommy” …with this sweet innocence that says “why should being called ‘mummy’ or ‘aunty’ matter to you, after all you know I love you.”

And truly, “why should I be bothered?” You see, I’m not. Just that I know him long enough to know when he’s pulling my legs and when he means it and this was one of the ‘pulling-my-legs-moments-just-to-see-mommy’s-reaction.’

Earl turned three on the 25th of August 2014, 5 days earlier than his father. He is one of those children you don’t need to ask “who is your dad?,” as he has a striking resemblance with his father and I’m constantly asked if his father ran away because it is believed traditionally that when you give birth to a child and he/she looks like someone, it’s because the person was not always there. Truly, his dad was really busy during his pregnancy.

I usually call you the three names above when I want to get your attention. But when you were born, I gave everyone present the opportunity to give you a name they thought reflects you and your names are: King Earl, Ethan, Kokoette, Emmanuel, Roosevelt (The President, your sister adds), Owoidohoabasi, Alvah, Great, Essien-Imoh, Temiladeoluwa. Trust you to add your special glow to it, today, you call yourself, “Daddy’s boy,” tomorrow it is “Guy” or “Dude.” Recently, when you met with your cousins, you declared that you are “Chairman”. LOL

You are truly one of a kind, actually, the only one in your category. Apart from taking your time to come out from the womb, you are full of wits, famous one-liners, words aptly spoken with right facial expressions and mannerisms. If I had to make a choice, I’d choose you all over again, knowing what I know now. You are really cute and you know it, that’s one of the reasons you would look at a very beautiful baby whom your sister called ‘cute’ and comment, “she’s not cute, she’s just FINE.”

I look forward to experiencing the vastness of wisdom in you and your not-asked-for hugs are a welcome any time of the day…you have this uncanny ability to know when I need to be hugged and always plant a kiss on my forehead. Come to think of it, I’m the one that should be planting kisses on your forehead, but you always like to take charge my lil’ man of the house.

Your dad travelled and every night during that period, you always showed up in my room to sleep beside me and once when I queried you, you replied “I’m lying in my daddy’s space” and when I complained further, I heard “I am your husband.”

You talk a lot for your age. Last week I bought you trainers, while Esther (his nanny) was struggling to put it on your feet, you exclaimed, “This cannot be happening to me, oh my goodness! This cannot be happening to me.” You repeated with your hands raised in mock exasperation. We had a field day laughing…amidst our shock.
I have tried documenting some in a book which you will get to read when you grow. Till next year when I write you another letter, know I love you to bits and you are my chairman anytime.

King Earl is 3; he got a very lovely yummy chocolate cake from my brother in-law Avi & family. Before his birthday, he had requested for a cake with a blue horse and for someone that got scared of horses after watching ‘Rise of the Guardians’…no thanks to the Boogey man; that was a bold move. Guess what, he got a Blue Horse cake from Auntie Otibhor. And when Imani sang the happy birthday song and said “Happy Birthday to Earl” (which was what was written on the cake), he replied, “I’m not Earl, I am King Earl.” 🙂

Ayus 4 sure

…and the song goes “who do you love?” we replied “Ayus 4 sure” and we all giggled.

Dear Ebony,

Funny how we met and became close over 22 years now…how times flies. Ours was not one of those planned meetings, maybe Divinity designed it that way before the foundations of the Earth, but somehow we struck a cord that has been difficult to break…who wants to break or spoil a good thing anyway?

Life and love has done its bit to put distance between us, so have other friends and ‘fiends’; but somehow we know the truth. You are one of those people I don’t have to dress up for (with you, I’m just me). Back then you were not the chatty type, but those who knew us thought I knew the fabric your dreams were made up of. Over the years, we have grown and have spoken…the things you didn’t tell me in school, my ‘concerns’ about your silence, have found answers. In one day you told me everything I needed to know from across 7 seas…and encouraged me to ask you about anything, which I did. Now I lay claims to knowing things others don’t 🙂 In that one conversation, you asked your own questions, stated your ‘fears’ and got your answers.

Strange how I started out being friends with your sister Ebikela whom I call ‘PC’ aka ‘Partners-in-Crime/Partners-in-Christ’, and ended up with you. Now my family and yours acknowledge me as your friend rather than hers. Other friends have come into my life like Darlene (Uche), Bola, Otibhor, etc. and for every one of them, I’m thankful for the part each play in my life…in your present absence.

Why do I love you?

For always knowing when I needed a good word, a rebuke, a hug…you can be such a Mummy, though I’m a year older…and you have a HEART!

For the poems, that said “I care and my shoulder is strong enough to carry that burden you bear,” I still have most of those poems you know…

You even wrote me a song …just for my birthday. Do you still remember the tune?

For the prayers, when my pains were beyond words and tears were all you got (especially in love matters…more like broken-heart issues),

For watching my back and wanting me to embrace peace at all cost.

For always remembering my birthday and I yours…you said to me some years ago when I made all attempts and couldn’t reach you on your birth date “that the jinx was broken”. God knows I tried, but hey…life happens. LOL

You taught me how to rhyme my poetry lines, now writing without rhymes is so difficult…sometimes I miss that! Also showing action via words in my poems, allowing my mind to run wild and free. It’s been a wonder-filled ride in that genre, all because you pointed the way *wink*

I know you know I love you but how much is what you are yet to grasp, and while you are still thinking about that, I ask again “who do you love?”

Always your Ivory.

* Challenge for My Dear Watson

A time to be

The Bible states in Ecclesiastes 3:1 “To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:” this is one of the really powerful lines that sets me thinking about time and how when it is gone, it is gone forever. Knowing this, how do I maximize my time profitably? Well, this is one of those moments I let random thoughts flow in my head as I try to ease off.

Recently, West Africa has been plagued on many fronts by different forms of challenges – wars, rumours of wars, insurgency, kidnappings, health-care challenges etc. and now EVD aka EBOLA. One wonders, what time it is. In spite of these many struggles, suffice to say we have had great moments in our different countries, homes and families. In Nigeria, amidst every ‘trouble’, we always find a way to see the fun in all things.

With the advent of Ebola, people are becoming more well-behaved as they no longer shove you when trying to get into the bus, all those unnecessary hanging of hands behind you when you are settling in into your seat, has reduced or stopped. No one knows who is carrying what, despite all the information about how one gets infected. Nobody wants to die young. As a matter of fact, the fear of Ebola is the beginning of cleanliness. But did we have to get to this point to become hygienic in our dealings? Just a rhetorical question, you don’t need to answer.

Beyond the ‘false’ sanity in Lagos right now (those who know Lagos, know that the “rush” is what makes them thrive…it’s the adrenaline that keeps them pumping and brings action), there is the issue of nonchalance creeping in gently. As everyone seems to be watching their back and their neighbour’s touch or cough. Hmmm. I’m all out for following the proper procedure to avoid further spread of Ebola, yet it seem we are losing the last thread of humanity we had in us. It’s somewhat a vicious cycle I know, but I’ll only ask that while we keep clean, maintain our distance, don’t drain your heart of love, life or laughter. Enjoy every moment with family and loved ones, educate them on how to keep safe and maintain hygiene (even after Ebola has been sent packing), cause together we will overcome this scourge.

This is a time to be …(fill in the blanks), what do you think?

© 2014 Frances Kelvin Otung. All rights reserved.

 

Mafian Darty

It’s been 30 something years now when last I was 5+, try as hard as I may, I’m not sure I remember much details about what happened then. Maybe if someone had made a journal out of my life, I would have stories to tell.

However, I recall a time we went to the village and went to visit Aunty Eno (whom we called ‘Mafian Darty’). No, don’t ask me, I don’t know why she was called ‘Mafian Darty’ but Darty is her surname and Aunty Eno was one woman who doesn’t swallow any nonsense. Maybe her no-nonsense attitude earned her that name. With a small frame, and not blessed in the height department, she commanded presence and was an authority to be reckoned with. Her famous saying “As you make your bed, so you lie on it” came in handy all the time especially when we were deviant.

As I was saying before digressing to introduce Mafian Darty to you, we went to the stream to fetch water and being the smallest in the team, I was given the onerous task of carrying the kettle. Now this kettle is not the Electric one with malleable material around it, but those metal ones with an inverted wide ‘∪’ as its handle and a pretty mouth like that of a tea-cup.                                                                                                                                                        Not like the kettle was heavy though, but picture a child coming from the city, going up and down the jagged, hard and muddy (in some places) road with a kettle on her head and sometimes in her hand – changing it from the left to the right hand; not an easy task I tell you.

Who sent you? You ask. No one!

I didn’t want to be left out of grown-up fun with my siblings by being detained at home to sit and listen to the elders tell stories of long ago before I was born or tales about people I hardly knew. Whilst trying to ‘force’ me to recollect when that person came to visit us in Port-Harcourt in the year 1978 or earlier (who does that?!)

On our way back from the stream with my kettle in my hand (left or right, choose one) or on my head, we stumbled across some Afang leaves (vegetable used with other combination in making a very delicious native soup) and being one who loves Afang soup a lot; though the smallest, I managed to convince the team to pluck the leaves. We had the problem of how to convey them home. This was promptly resolved when I offered my kettle to be used. The water I had fetched was poured away and our loot deposited in my kettle and we went home excited at the possibility of a steaming delicious pot of soup and praise from Mafian to go with.

It’s been over 30 years now but I never forgot her reaction.

“Where’s the water you fetched, why did you throw it away? She queried

“Aunty”, I answered excitedly “I brought Afang leaves home for soup” beaming with a smile.

“What quantity of soup can this make? She asked visibly exasperated looking down at the Afang leaves, which were only a handful.

“We have the roots in the backyard and could have easily plucked some to make soup. The water was more important” She replied upset.

At the point, my face dropped and the smile turned downward in sober reflection. I resolved from that day to always stick to the goal at hand. Yes, it might look important to me but if it doesn’t matter that much to the collective efforts, then no way!

Now, what has being 5+ again gotten to do with a young woman in her late 30s?

Is it the desire to be young once more, capture lost times or enter into the mind of a 5 year old plus and explore?

If like me you have a very active 5 years old, you will be 5 daily as a matter of fact per second. One second, I’m helping her decide her dress, the next minute she’s changed her mind and wants to wear mine. Sadly these daily decisions have affected the total outcome as when she finally decides to wear that dress, she’s out grown them.

Imani Naomi is my very vocal, I-know-what-to-do, read-everything-she-sees, beautiful daughter. Daily I am upgraded to her level to learn something new (I know I should say ‘brought DOWN’ as I am taller than her, but I’m not discussing height here) as times are changing and their era is different from ours. She teaches me how to pronounce words using the right diction – with her lips pursed forward like an English woman about to sip hot tea. LOL. Every Wednesday evening I am a ballerina as I have to rehearse the steps she learnt in school that day; by Thursday I become a sport woman. Friday evening, we are planning what hairstyles to conjure for the stylist come Saturday!

She isn’t a handful but more than a handful! And a joy to be with any day any time and for such joys, I don’t mind being 5+ all over again.

Guilty or Not?

It’s funny how when you are in the strangest of places some truths hit you. And guess where I was… in the ladies’ fixing my very Afro kinky hair, trying to subdue nations with hair-pins and corsages. And it hit me!

What if I’m the guilty one? Guilty about what you are asked. What if all the while I put the blame wrongly on someone else and let others encourage me to do same, that is – shift the blame squarely on another just so I get the ‘it-wasn’t-about-you-feeling’, I was the guilty one?

Most times, we are told by many inspirational speakers and pastors that “he walked out of the relationship because it wasn’t meant to be”, “You were too good for him”, “and the problem was with him and not you!”

Do a re-think.

What if YOU were the problem?

What if YOU were not good enough for him?

What if HE tried and it didn’t work and there was no way out except out?

And all the other ‘what-ifs’?

I know this is hard to swallow, but my line of thought today is, before you send that hate mail to and throw invectives on your EX and throw a pity-party for yourself about how you wasted your time, money, love and honey on some ‘worthless’ being.

Think it through.

Was there anything you could have done better?

A better response than the usual one you always gave him?

A more tender approach than your forceful must-be-my-way method?

Your need for love or lack of it may have made you too clingy or too hardened. And all that was required was either a woman who knew her own or one who knew when to be a woman…all soft and feminine allowing her Romeo be the King that he is (when necessary) and taking charge when it called for that. The beauty about being unique this woman, is knowing when to create that balance…that is to be feminine or firm. I’m not advocating for push-overs…no way.

She needs your strength…to be able to point at you with pride and say that’s my man…that’s someone who will defend me in the face of any trouble. And yet you are tender towards her, not using her to vent your frustrations from the office or lack of work.

He needs you to be a strong woman, at the same time very supple and feminine, even when you are a Voice to be reckoned with at the Marketplace.

When all has been said and done, you have weighed yourself and found him/her wanting, honey, just keep moving they weren’t meant for you in the first place. And if anyone wants to be wise on both ends (the leaving and the left-behind), please learn the lessons, get better and move on.

…And so I ask, are you guilty or not guilty?

© 2014 Frances Kelvin Otung. All rights reserved.