On Friday Morning, as I was just about stepping out of the our for my daily business, I got a call from my brother that my maternal grandmother had just passed. Honestly, I was shocked, and this caused me to scream and then start crying loudly. She was my last surviving relative, and she raised me for the first two years of my existence on earth.
I was quite close to her, but I recently started withdrawing from her, because I just couldn't handle her deteriorating state well. At the age of 81 going on 82, we had to forcefully move her from her house to my house (the one I lived with my original nuclear family) so she could be well looked after.
She died at 84 going on 85, with her mind very intact, but her body getting weaker by the day. I didn't go to the house this year to see her. The last time I went to the house was December 30th, for our annual party. I went to her room, greeted her, hugged her, and left after about 5 minutes. I promised to see her again before leaving, but I didn't. This is not a note of regret, but a statement of the facts. Before this, I have never dealt with gradual loss. Every other close loss I've suffered were sudden. If you have been following this blog for a while, you will know my dad was shot and killed by armed robbers at 47, and my cousin was hit by a driver who was texting while driving, while cousin was changing his tire.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Merit list into the school of death
Monday, November 7, 2016
I lost a friend two months ago. Well, a former friend and colleague… we used to be close, but not at the time of his death. We lived close to each other, and he took me to work and back home everyday before I got my own car. Eventually, I resigned, and one way or the other, we were no more close the way we used to be.
When I got the news of his death, the first thing I asked was what everyone always asked. “How did he die?”
My friend slumped while jogging.
Well, life sucks, and some things are not unusual
It is not unusual for young people to die
It is not unusual for a friend to die
It is not even ususual for people to slump while jogging.
What hit me the most was “Why kelechi?”
I mean he was one of the most jovial, fun-loving, life-living people I ever met. The only time you see him with a straight face was when he was very sucked into his laptop, working. He was tall, light, always bouncing, smiling, and laughing. When it came to radiance, this guy could compete with sunshine itself.
So I thought to myself, it is not fair.
Why didn’t death take someone else, someone that didn’t love or appreciate life, couldn’t live life to the maximum, maybe someone who is always gloomy… who couldn’t appreciate that health he had, perhaps someone that even wanted to commit suicide?
This should be the merit list death should use if it want to admit people into its school
All I am saying is that if death is roaming around, trying to rip people’s lives off, there are some people it has no business touching, and Kelechi Umelo is one of them.
Life sucks many times
But death sucks so much more.
When I got the news of his death, the first thing I asked was what everyone always asked. “How did he die?”
My friend slumped while jogging.
Well, life sucks, and some things are not unusual
It is not unusual for young people to die
It is not unusual for a friend to die
It is not even ususual for people to slump while jogging.
What hit me the most was “Why kelechi?”
I mean he was one of the most jovial, fun-loving, life-living people I ever met. The only time you see him with a straight face was when he was very sucked into his laptop, working. He was tall, light, always bouncing, smiling, and laughing. When it came to radiance, this guy could compete with sunshine itself.
So I thought to myself, it is not fair.
Why didn’t death take someone else, someone that didn’t love or appreciate life, couldn’t live life to the maximum, maybe someone who is always gloomy… who couldn’t appreciate that health he had, perhaps someone that even wanted to commit suicide?
This should be the merit list death should use if it want to admit people into its school
All I am saying is that if death is roaming around, trying to rip people’s lives off, there are some people it has no business touching, and Kelechi Umelo is one of them.
Life sucks many times
But death sucks so much more.
Close Shaves Series – part 6. The ruff rider story
Monday, June 2, 2014
Before reading this post, if you haven't voted for me, please, take about 20 seconds to vote for African Naturalistas hair products for the youth entrepreneurship competition. It requires just one click. Pleeeaaaaasssee. Thank you in advance. Click here to vote now, and come back to continue reading the post after.
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On February 25, 2010, I left client site, with the intent of going for my Business Unit meeting at the office. I had been loaned to another Business Unit for some time, and literally had to insist that they allow me go for my meeting, if they didn’t want to go for theirs. Both the client site, and my office were on the island, and I was not driving then, so I had to take a bus, since my other team members were not interested in going to the office.
In front of silverbird galleria, I saw hands hailing from a car. It was three of my colleagues, and they were going to the office for the BU meeting, from their own client site, so they parked, and waited for me, so I could join them in the car. I was about to cross to go and meet them when…
From their point of view, they waved at me, and beckoned on me to come, and then, I disappeared from the face of the earth. They were wondering what kind of magic just happened, since I wasn’t Enoch that walked with God, when they noticed a commotion.
From my point of view, I was crossing to go and meet them, and few seconds later, something was climbing my body.
Yes, a bike was riding on top of me, like actually riding. Now, to the story of how I did not die. Everyone in my office carries a laptop bag everywhere they go, and we normally prefer to carry the back pack, rather that the shoulder sling one. So I had my back pack on me, and as the bike was riding on me, the laptop bag on my back kept protecting me, and causing the bike to move backwards, as he tried to climb back on me. So it was like a back and forth ride on me, with the back pack pushing it back all the time. To cut the long story short, the back pack protected my real back, and the prevented the bike from climbing fully over my head. I shudder to think of the state of my skull, were it not for the back pack.
The next thing I knew, my body was sprawled all over the ground, my shoes gone, my phone scattered. I just thank God that my colleagues were actually around. They got me safely into the car, picked all my items, took me to a pharmacy to sort me out, put me in a taxi, that then took me straight to the hospital. They couldn’t take me to the hospital themselves because the hospital I chose using my HMO was not an island one, and my skull wasn’t shattered anyway. Till today, I don’t know what the bike or the bike guy that ran me over (and ran over me) looks like. My colleagues did not even stay on the scene for a second, after they moved me into the car.
I had bruises on my face, my knees (the fall was so bad, my trousers couldn’t protect my knees), my upper arm, my wrist, etc. I had bruises all over my body, but the worst was my right ankle. In fact, if you apply pressure there today, I will still scream. I still have all the scars from the accident, except the on my face.
So I went to the hospital, and got dressed up. My brother came to pick me from the hospital, and my mum kept calling from the US to be sure I was very much alive. See pictures of some of the bruises below. These are by no means the only injures sustained, but the ones I have in picture
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If the bike accident, the dressing of the bruises, and the daily visits to the hospital were all, it would have been great, and I would just give testimony.
But…
About a day or 2 later, my body started swelling. In fact, if you saw me, you would have thought I had miraculously grown fat. It started with my legs, and after a while I couldn’t really walk again. Even though I was not supposed to go to work, I was bored at home, and I went to work. By the time I sit for some hours, my whole body will swell. The only solution was to raise my leg, so I used a carton to support it. My team lead did not like the way the whole thing looked, so he told me to stop coming to work. He said it would look to clients like they were making me suffer, by making me work under such conditions, and would not know I was the one who wanted to work. As for me, I think my whole sight just irritated him. See pictures of swollen leg below.
Anyway, that is how I left that team. I did not stay at home for long before my own BU called me back from the BU they loaned me to, and sent me to another client site, where I was free to wear slippers for as long as I pleased. See picture of when the would started to heal. You can see that tissues were affected. I think that is why I still feel pain till today.
In summary, the reason I am alive today is because of a the grace of laptop bag
And this is the end of the Close Shaves series, part 1-6. I hope you guys enjoyed the stories that caused me pain, and many times, brought tears to my eyes. But remember, the goal here is to celebrate the many occasions God has delivered me from the claws of death. If you missed any of the editions in this series, you can click here to catch up on them.
P.S: The worst physical pain I have ever experienced was not featured in this series. It was something I went through as a result of complication after a dental/jawbone surgery, in 2006. I would not wish the experience on my enemy. Even though it was the worst experience so far, it wasn’t a close shave with death.
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On February 25, 2010, I left client site, with the intent of going for my Business Unit meeting at the office. I had been loaned to another Business Unit for some time, and literally had to insist that they allow me go for my meeting, if they didn’t want to go for theirs. Both the client site, and my office were on the island, and I was not driving then, so I had to take a bus, since my other team members were not interested in going to the office.
In front of silverbird galleria, I saw hands hailing from a car. It was three of my colleagues, and they were going to the office for the BU meeting, from their own client site, so they parked, and waited for me, so I could join them in the car. I was about to cross to go and meet them when…
From their point of view, they waved at me, and beckoned on me to come, and then, I disappeared from the face of the earth. They were wondering what kind of magic just happened, since I wasn’t Enoch that walked with God, when they noticed a commotion.
From my point of view, I was crossing to go and meet them, and few seconds later, something was climbing my body.
Yes, a bike was riding on top of me, like actually riding. Now, to the story of how I did not die. Everyone in my office carries a laptop bag everywhere they go, and we normally prefer to carry the back pack, rather that the shoulder sling one. So I had my back pack on me, and as the bike was riding on me, the laptop bag on my back kept protecting me, and causing the bike to move backwards, as he tried to climb back on me. So it was like a back and forth ride on me, with the back pack pushing it back all the time. To cut the long story short, the back pack protected my real back, and the prevented the bike from climbing fully over my head. I shudder to think of the state of my skull, were it not for the back pack.
The next thing I knew, my body was sprawled all over the ground, my shoes gone, my phone scattered. I just thank God that my colleagues were actually around. They got me safely into the car, picked all my items, took me to a pharmacy to sort me out, put me in a taxi, that then took me straight to the hospital. They couldn’t take me to the hospital themselves because the hospital I chose using my HMO was not an island one, and my skull wasn’t shattered anyway. Till today, I don’t know what the bike or the bike guy that ran me over (and ran over me) looks like. My colleagues did not even stay on the scene for a second, after they moved me into the car.
I had bruises on my face, my knees (the fall was so bad, my trousers couldn’t protect my knees), my upper arm, my wrist, etc. I had bruises all over my body, but the worst was my right ankle. In fact, if you apply pressure there today, I will still scream. I still have all the scars from the accident, except the on my face.
So I went to the hospital, and got dressed up. My brother came to pick me from the hospital, and my mum kept calling from the US to be sure I was very much alive. See pictures of some of the bruises below. These are by no means the only injures sustained, but the ones I have in picture
.jpg) |
| See the knife scar on my cheek. That wasn't a close shave though. Another story |
If the bike accident, the dressing of the bruises, and the daily visits to the hospital were all, it would have been great, and I would just give testimony.
But…
About a day or 2 later, my body started swelling. In fact, if you saw me, you would have thought I had miraculously grown fat. It started with my legs, and after a while I couldn’t really walk again. Even though I was not supposed to go to work, I was bored at home, and I went to work. By the time I sit for some hours, my whole body will swell. The only solution was to raise my leg, so I used a carton to support it. My team lead did not like the way the whole thing looked, so he told me to stop coming to work. He said it would look to clients like they were making me suffer, by making me work under such conditions, and would not know I was the one who wanted to work. As for me, I think my whole sight just irritated him. See pictures of swollen leg below.
 |
| Even though my whole body was swollen, the right foot, in particular, was the biggest, since it was the most affected part |
Anyway, that is how I left that team. I did not stay at home for long before my own BU called me back from the BU they loaned me to, and sent me to another client site, where I was free to wear slippers for as long as I pleased. See picture of when the would started to heal. You can see that tissues were affected. I think that is why I still feel pain till today.
In summary, the reason I am alive today is because of a the grace of laptop bag
And this is the end of the Close Shaves series, part 1-6. I hope you guys enjoyed the stories that caused me pain, and many times, brought tears to my eyes. But remember, the goal here is to celebrate the many occasions God has delivered me from the claws of death. If you missed any of the editions in this series, you can click here to catch up on them.
P.S: The worst physical pain I have ever experienced was not featured in this series. It was something I went through as a result of complication after a dental/jawbone surgery, in 2006. I would not wish the experience on my enemy. Even though it was the worst experience so far, it wasn’t a close shave with death.
Introducing the Close Shaves series + part 1 and 2
Monday, May 5, 2014
So I have been thinking of doing this series since, but due to one or two reasons, and mainly procrastination, I am just getting to it.
Sometime ago, it dawned on me that it’s been a long time that I should have died, or best case, become an invalid. But one way or the other, God keeps saving me. You would not believe the weirdest things I have survived, which is what convinces me that I am destined for something great in this world. I believe that there’s a problem I am created to solve, and I have not even begun to smell the great things in stock for me. This is also one reason I am not willing to leave Nigeria. I am here to make a difference, and not just be another statistic.
So back to the topic, I have had close shaves with death, but by the grace of God, I have survived them all, and I will be featuring the ones I can remember in the next couple of weeks. It won’t be as long as the Guess the Blogger series, as it is just about 5 weeks, if you include today.
I have featured two of them on this blog before, but feel free to read again if you are interested.
Part 1. This is when I was driving a car on fire, and I was not even aware. Any moment, the car could have exploded, with me still driving, but God saved me. My mum told me that at the time the stuff happened, she saw s vision (or dream, I can’t remember) of someone on fire, but she never knew it was me. Read the full story here.
Part 2 . This is when I was caught in a metal box (aka a dead car) on third mainland bridge, in the middle of the night, at the area where bad things happen to people who have the misfortune of being stuck. But somehow, God preserved my life (and the metal box), till morning, when I was “rescued”. Well, my mum did not see vision about this one. Till today, she doesn’t even know about it. Here’s hoping she doesn’t read this post. Read the full story here.
Next week, I will be starting from part 3.
I’m sure by the time I am done, you will thank God for my life.
P.S: I have an issue with my blog posts. After I put it up, it doesn't appear on people's dashboards and blogrolls till the next day. It started out as a 5-hour delay, and has now increased to 24-hour delay. Has anyone had this issue? Who knows how I can solve it?
Sometime ago, it dawned on me that it’s been a long time that I should have died, or best case, become an invalid. But one way or the other, God keeps saving me. You would not believe the weirdest things I have survived, which is what convinces me that I am destined for something great in this world. I believe that there’s a problem I am created to solve, and I have not even begun to smell the great things in stock for me. This is also one reason I am not willing to leave Nigeria. I am here to make a difference, and not just be another statistic.
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| Source |
I have featured two of them on this blog before, but feel free to read again if you are interested.
Part 1. This is when I was driving a car on fire, and I was not even aware. Any moment, the car could have exploded, with me still driving, but God saved me. My mum told me that at the time the stuff happened, she saw s vision (or dream, I can’t remember) of someone on fire, but she never knew it was me. Read the full story here.
Part 2 . This is when I was caught in a metal box (aka a dead car) on third mainland bridge, in the middle of the night, at the area where bad things happen to people who have the misfortune of being stuck. But somehow, God preserved my life (and the metal box), till morning, when I was “rescued”. Well, my mum did not see vision about this one. Till today, she doesn’t even know about it. Here’s hoping she doesn’t read this post. Read the full story here.
Next week, I will be starting from part 3.
I’m sure by the time I am done, you will thank God for my life.
P.S: I have an issue with my blog posts. After I put it up, it doesn't appear on people's dashboards and blogrolls till the next day. It started out as a 5-hour delay, and has now increased to 24-hour delay. Has anyone had this issue? Who knows how I can solve it?
I would no longer shed a tear for you
Monday, August 26, 2013
22 August 2013
I heard a loud bang on the gate, accompanied by the
screaming voice our family friend and neighbourhood panel beater, Uncle Bayo.
He was screaming for my sister and cousin to come down and open the gate. Being
used to the feigned deafness of the house rascals, I ignored the commotion,
knowing they would still go down to open the gate.
The baritone voice of my brother rang in my ears as he shouted
at my sister to get down and open the gate immediately. A few minutes later, I
heard a sound like when a slap is being dished out on someone’s smooth cheek,
and what sounded like my mother’s voice. “What would my mother be doing at home
by 3.40pm when she would ordinarily be at work?” I thought to myself, puzzled.
Whatever is happening in the living room would definitely sort itself out.
Five minutes later, my brother suddenly barged into my room.
The abruptness with which he opened the door got me scared and got me to leap.
I took a look at his 6-ft giant frame, and my eyes were immediately drawn to
his face. Strange! They were swollen, and tears were streaming down his dark
cheeks. What is it that would throw someone with such a stature into a sorrowful
state? Just imagine a NFL quarter back wailing. Strange sight indeed. And then
the first thing that registered in my mind was the slapping sound I had heard
coming from the living room. Right there and then, a barrage of thought ran
through my head, all at the same time, like pictures in a kaleidoscope.
“Armed robbers are in the living room of my house, and they
slapped my brother, and that’s why his face is swollen.”
“No if armed robbers were in the living room, they won’t
allow him to leave their site.”
I remembered I had heard what had sounded like my mum’s
voice, so I quickly changed my thoughts to “My mum came home, and she slapped
my brother.” Immediately realising how senseless this imagination was, I
discarded it.
It was then I realized I had been screaming “What happened,
what happened?” And he was responding with “Ha Tayo, it is Tayo.”
I said “Tayo.” I still couldn’t get the thought of the slap
out of my head, and I thought “Maybe Tayo is the one that slapped him.”
“Wait, Tayo. We only know one Tayo. What can be the
connection between Tayo and my brother’s tears?” The only logical answer is
“Tayo must be dead.”
I did not want to accept it, so I allowed myself to hope for
a few nanoseconds. “What happened to Tayo?”
He kept on saying “Tayo, Tayo.”
I asked “What happened, is he dead?”
He went on “Its Tayo.”
“Please, tell me what happened. He’s dead?” More of a
statement than a question. I was already falling to my knees at this point.
“Yes.”
I landed on the ground, letting out a wail that was louder
than the combination of the slapping sound, my mum’s voice, Uncle Bayo’s
screams, and my brothers yell, as I ran to the living room. I just couldn’t
believe it. It was only four days ago we were together in my house.
A neighbour heard my cry, and ran to my house. Uncle Bayo
immediately cautioned me to stop wailing, and drawing attention. He said my
tears would further deepen my mum’s sadness, and make her cry more. Like a stop
clock, my wail ceased immediately. I knew right there and then, I would no
longer shed a tear for you.
I was instantly reminded when my father died, when I was
crying immediately I heard about his death. My next-door neighbour told me not
to shed tears since we do not yet know if my dad’s death was ordinary. And if
it was not, the people that had a hand in his death might be lurking around,
planning to wipe my tears with a material, and go and use it for diabolical
reasons. I stopped crying then, and now eight years later, I have still not
shed a tear. Thanks to African witches, I was not even allowed to shed tears
for my dad for a period of five minutes.
I looked at my mum, asking her what happened, as I stilled
myself not to cry, while she ignored my questions. I walked to my room, calmed
myself for five minutes, and came out.
I asked again, and I got the story.
“You were changing your flat tyre, when a car came out of
nowhere and ran you over. You couldn’t be revived. Just like that, it was all
over.”
I sat and looked for five minutes, with a straight face. I
finally got pissed and walked to my room, noting the finality of it all.
Two Sundays ago, I remember begging you to accept a pack of
Toblerone, and sacrifice the t-shirt I intended to give you for another person,
as I left you, just like that, to attend to other business.
Just this Sunday, I remember us arriving from church at the
same time, and I harassed you to move your car from the front of the gate, so I
could park in the compound. When you protested my harassment, I turned them to
pleas. We gisted for about three minutes, and I went to my room to rest. If
only I knew. Would I have taken those last moments with you for granted, and
spent it on my bed?
You haven't even spent up to a year in Nigeria. You were
happy to be back home, always talking about how you wanted to do business in
Nigeria, how Nigeria is the place to make money, become an agent for change in
Nigeria, and so on.
My grieving process has just begun, and sadly, I would no
longer shed a single tear for you.
24 August 2013
"I would no longer shed a tear for you." Today, I
realised this statement is as false as the snow being black. I cried as I stood
by the rectangular hole in which you were being buried, and the finality and
hopelessness of the situation dawned on me. Then I knew that as long as I
didn't think about you, I won't shed tears, but when I'm forced to, like when
your graveside imposed your thoughts on me, the tears won't stop coming.
"I would no longer shed a tear for you." A lie
that even surpasses that of the devil.
RIP Temitayo Obasa
When People are about
to die, does death have its handwriting inscribed on their faces, because four
days ago, I saw no sign of it on yours.
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| Your last birthday on earth, Two months before you relocated to Nigeria |
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| You and I |
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| You, I, and my sisters, when we were younger |
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| Still finding it hard to believe... |
The Sins of our Past: Bad Generation
Monday, May 21, 2012
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| Source |
This is not fiction.
My family moved to a 3-bedroom flat on
the street I currently stay, two weeks before my second birthday. Almost all
the houses in the estate were storey buildings of several 3-bedroom flats.
However, there was this building that looked out of place in the estate. It was
the only unpainted building, and the only face to face building.
At about five years old, I was already
conscious of the difference in our status in life. My friends and I referred to
the kids living in that house as 'children of the uncompleted building’. It
wasn’t that the building wasn’t completed, but for us, the building just looked
to out of place for us to see it as ‘complete’.
We went to private schools, there barely
made it through public schools, we went to universities, they learnt trades or
became miscreants. We had cars, they did not. We gossiped about them, they
gossiped about us. We said they were unruly, they said we were proud. That was
the normal life we lived.
It was Blessing I first heard the word
'Bad Generation' from. I don’t know how the name came about, but I think her
family must have started referring to ‘children of the uncompleted building’ as
the Bad Generation kids, because of the little mischief the caused here and
there. They played on the streets, their clothes were dirty, they rolled
bicycle tyres with sticks, they could not speak English, they talked without
respect, etc. So I guess no one argued when they heard them being referred to
as the Bad Generation kids.
Before long, this name caught flame in
the mouth of every single person in the estate. They were no longer the ‘children
of the uncompleted building’. They were Bad Generation, everyone’s father
called them Bad Generation, everyone’s mother called them Bad Generation, every
single person called them Bad Generation. It was their label, it was normal. Whether
the bad generation kids were aware that we called them by this name, I am not
sure. Even if they knew, I am not sure they would have understood the meaning
of the name.
My estate was quite peaceful and free of
violence and the likes. This is because, when I was young, there was a period
when armed robbers tried tormenting my estate, so our parents formed a
vigilante. Our fathers had guns, and they took rounds to protect the estate. If
a thief was caught, he was shot in the leg and then handed over to the police.
No arguments! After a while, robbers never came to the area. They were scared
of my estate.
By the time we were teenagers, some of
the Bad Generation kids dropped out of secondary school. Blessing and her
family moved to their house in Ikorodu. Ada, my second friend, moved out of
area with her family and later moved to their own house. A lot of my childhood
friends left the area. But not my family... my father built a fourteen bedroom
mansion directly opposite the three bedroom flat we lived, and so unlike my
friends and their families, I was stuck on my street, at least, until a man
decided to change my surname and move me out of my father’s house.
But....
Many fathers moved out of the area, the
former landlords we met there grew very old. There were only two middle aged
landlords. My father and a man we called Mr Glory. Because of this inevitable occurrence,
the vigilante started losing its protective hold over the estate.
At this time... the Bad Generation kids had
grown. For most of them, they had turned out to be bad, just like we had spoken
negatively into their lives. Their numbers had increased, because they had
brought friends of theirs to live with them. Some of them became vocational
workers, some of them became miscreants, one of them was a confirmed armed
robber, none of them was educated. But at least, my estate was still peaceful. Then...
My father died... mid age...
My house is like this very big dead
house. Loads and loads of rooms, with no one to sleep in them. I live in the
house with my mother, brother and sister. My mother gets home earliest, which
is 7.00pm. The rest of us start getting home around 10.00pm. We live in a
monumental waste. The Bad Generation kids cramp themselves in their face to
face rooms, rooms smaller than the smallest room in my house, approximately
about seven people in each. The gap between my family and theirs has grown wider
over the years but no one blinks at this. It was normal. We all kept minding
our businesses.
After my dad’s death, this left Mr Glory
to protect the area. Somehow, the new set of young fathers who had moved to the
estate were not as active as our fathers had been. Maybe it is because thought they
had nothing to fear.
Mr Glory had seven children, but one of
them refused education and home training, and turned out to be a thorn in his
flesh. He became just like the Bad Generation kids, caused problem for his
family, smoked weed, destroyed his father’s properties, beat people up and did
every kind of bad thing one can think of. No one said anything, it was not our
problem, it was Mr Glory’s problem and he would do well to sort it out. Then
again...
Mr Glory died... mid age...
The Bad Generation have multiplied...
they torment the estate. They organised robbers to steal the cars of estate
residents. After the incident, guns and hard drugs were found in the building
beside Mr Glory’s, something that could never have happened if Mr Glory were
alive. We now live in fear, the cause of our insecurities resides with us, but
there is nothing we can do about it for now.
In the past, when we were young, we
laughed at them, we called them names, they were the Bad Generation kids, we
were the good ones. Now we have grown, we are educated, we have good jobs, we
have cars. They torment us, rob us and steal our cars. It seems the sins of our
past have caught up with us... poke their fingers in our eyes... laugh at us...
right in our faces.
* The name of Mr Glory has been changed
to protect the identity of the person
My Daddy is Samson... not!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Remember the post where I related my talkative stories and how I embarrased my mum all the time? Check this link if you missed it. Well, one thing I deliberately left out is that I argued a lot because I wanted to do this sequel. Sorry for keeping you out of the loop, lol. I could argue with anything or anyone, so far I was convinced that I was right. I still argue now, but the difference then was that I always argued blindly, even with my parents.
What made it worse was that my dad was an expert at fabricating stories and always painting them to me as real. And you know, to a first daughter, her father could do no wrong. On a particular day, this is what went on in my house when I was about five years old. I really don't know how the conversation started but it was something about a lion dying.
@iola: No one has ever killed a lion, only Samson in the bible has killed a lion.
I naively thought Samson was the only man that had killed a lion, I did not put it rightly that Samson was the only man that had killed a lion with his bare hands, since the bible says David killed a lion when he was protecting his father’s sheep.
Dad: what her you talking about, how can you say only Samson has killed a lion?
@ilola: Well, that is what the bible says that only Samson is strong enough to ever kill a lion.
And so we kept arguing back and forth. Remember, I am five years old and my dad is 33 years old in this scenario.
Dad: See you this small girl, I have killed a lion before
@ilola: (wide eyed) It is a lie!
Dad: It is true, I am the second man that has killed a lion.
@ilola: It is a big lie!
Dad: See this small girl (he loved saying this a lot), instead of you to ask how I killed it, you are arguing
@ilola: Oya tell me.
Dad: One day, I was walking in the bush and a lion came out of nowhere and started walking towards me. It was roaring at me, so we faced each other and I brought out my spear and threw it straight into the open mouth of the lion and it died instantly.
@ilola: Wooooowwww!!!
I must tell you, by this time, I had ‘chopped’ my dad's ‘fabu’ hook, line and sinker.
Later that day, I was talking to my mum, she is 32 yrs old in this scenario
@ilola: Mummy, do you know that dad has killed a lion before?
Mum: (casting an annoying glance at me) Who told you that? You are not serious, how can your dad kill a lion?
@ilola: It is true, he killed a lion, he threw a spear straight into its mouth and it died.
Mum: it is a lie, he has not killed a lion before
@ilola: He has killed a lion, you just don’t’ know but I know
And so the argument ensued between my mum and I. I argued and argued and argued
Mum: Get out of here, you like to argue blindly!
Are you guys still reading? Well, it was not my fault, I truly believed my dad had killed a lion…
Below is a picture of my dad and I some months after he told be the lion story. He told me he was celebrating my 6th birthday because it was some weeks after my birthday. Little did I know that the get-together was for his Masters graduation. He later consoled me, saying that the celebration was for both of us. *smh
P.S: I am dedicating this post to my dad. Today is his 6th year remembrance. He was brutally murdered in cold blood on 16 July 2005, story for another day. However, I wouldn't want you to pity me because God has really been good to me and my family these past six years. So I would really appreciate it if your comments revolve round his murdering the lion and you thanking God for keeping me this far.
What made it worse was that my dad was an expert at fabricating stories and always painting them to me as real. And you know, to a first daughter, her father could do no wrong. On a particular day, this is what went on in my house when I was about five years old. I really don't know how the conversation started but it was something about a lion dying.
@iola: No one has ever killed a lion, only Samson in the bible has killed a lion.
I naively thought Samson was the only man that had killed a lion, I did not put it rightly that Samson was the only man that had killed a lion with his bare hands, since the bible says David killed a lion when he was protecting his father’s sheep.
Dad: what her you talking about, how can you say only Samson has killed a lion?
@ilola: Well, that is what the bible says that only Samson is strong enough to ever kill a lion.
And so we kept arguing back and forth. Remember, I am five years old and my dad is 33 years old in this scenario.
Dad: See you this small girl, I have killed a lion before
@ilola: (wide eyed) It is a lie!
Dad: It is true, I am the second man that has killed a lion.
@ilola: It is a big lie!
Dad: See this small girl (he loved saying this a lot), instead of you to ask how I killed it, you are arguing
@ilola: Oya tell me.
Dad: One day, I was walking in the bush and a lion came out of nowhere and started walking towards me. It was roaring at me, so we faced each other and I brought out my spear and threw it straight into the open mouth of the lion and it died instantly.
@ilola: Wooooowwww!!!
I must tell you, by this time, I had ‘chopped’ my dad's ‘fabu’ hook, line and sinker.
Later that day, I was talking to my mum, she is 32 yrs old in this scenario
@ilola: Mummy, do you know that dad has killed a lion before?
Mum: (casting an annoying glance at me) Who told you that? You are not serious, how can your dad kill a lion?
@ilola: It is true, he killed a lion, he threw a spear straight into its mouth and it died.
Mum: it is a lie, he has not killed a lion before
@ilola: He has killed a lion, you just don’t’ know but I know
And so the argument ensued between my mum and I. I argued and argued and argued
Mum: Get out of here, you like to argue blindly!
Are you guys still reading? Well, it was not my fault, I truly believed my dad had killed a lion…
Below is a picture of my dad and I some months after he told be the lion story. He told me he was celebrating my 6th birthday because it was some weeks after my birthday. Little did I know that the get-together was for his Masters graduation. He later consoled me, saying that the celebration was for both of us. *smh
P.S: I am dedicating this post to my dad. Today is his 6th year remembrance. He was brutally murdered in cold blood on 16 July 2005, story for another day. However, I wouldn't want you to pity me because God has really been good to me and my family these past six years. So I would really appreciate it if your comments revolve round his murdering the lion and you thanking God for keeping me this far.
Afterwhile
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
How can I forget
The times you held my hand
And wiped the tears from my eyes
How can I forget
That when I needed someone
You were right by my side
I know you had to be an angel in disguise
Sent from God to bring joy to my life
And now you are gone back home
And I want you to know
I still hear your voice
I still feel your touch
And when I close my eyes
I can see your smile
Though you are gone away
To a better place
I can’t wait to be with you
Afterwhile… Afterwhile
Sometimes, I break down
But I accept God’s will
In spite of the way I feel
Sometimes, I wish that
I can take your place
You should not have gone that way
But I know that you were an angel in disguise
Sent from God to bring joy to my life
And now you are gone back home
And I want you to know
I still hear your voice
I still feel your touch
And when I close my eyes
I can see your smile
Though you are gone away
To a better place
I can’t wait to be with you
Afterwhile… Afterwhile
- Deitrick Haddon
The times you held my hand
And wiped the tears from my eyes
How can I forget
That when I needed someone
You were right by my side
I know you had to be an angel in disguise
Sent from God to bring joy to my life
And now you are gone back home
And I want you to know
I still hear your voice
I still feel your touch
And when I close my eyes
I can see your smile
Though you are gone away
To a better place
I can’t wait to be with you
Afterwhile… Afterwhile
Sometimes, I break down
But I accept God’s will
In spite of the way I feel
Sometimes, I wish that
I can take your place
You should not have gone that way
But I know that you were an angel in disguise
Sent from God to bring joy to my life
And now you are gone back home
And I want you to know
I still hear your voice
I still feel your touch
And when I close my eyes
I can see your smile
Though you are gone away
To a better place
I can’t wait to be with you
Afterwhile… Afterwhile
- Deitrick Haddon
More to Life
Friday, March 27, 2009
What do you do between the period when you surrender your life to Christ and when you actually drop this earthly body to go and meet Him? For some people, this period is long while for some others, it is very short. This then points to the fact that the primary aim of salvation is not to make it to heaven but to reconcile us back to Christ while we are here on earth because if it was to make heaven, people should start killing themselves after getting saved or better still, people should not get saved till they are about to die.
Back to the issue, for some people who had divine wisdom to get saved early enough, what do you do during this waiting period? We have no choice but to live out our salvation here on earth but this is where people miss it on two different extremes.
CASE1: Some people think its think to live like they are not on earth again. Yes, we are spiritual beings but we still need the body to help us exist here on earth but they don’t realize that they get so spiritual that they forget the physical and by the time reality deals with them, it might be too late.
CASE2: On the other hand, some people just don’t think they can keep up with the ‘difficult standard’ that salvation required and they then decide to derail a bit and take the grace of God for granted hoping to get back in line later in life because they just can’t afford to ‘waste’ their prime years living out their salvation.
There’s got to be more to life and salvation than living for ourselves only or trying to be ‘so spiritual’. In our daily interaction with family, friends, colleagues, we have to try to make our salvation have impact on everything around us so it won’t be that we came, lived and died and at the end, we realize that we were just a statistic in the human race.
Let us discover the purpose for which we were created and live out our salvation through that purpose. After all said and done, I leave you with one of my favorite quotes: when its time to die, make sure that’s all you have to do.
Back to the issue, for some people who had divine wisdom to get saved early enough, what do you do during this waiting period? We have no choice but to live out our salvation here on earth but this is where people miss it on two different extremes.
CASE1: Some people think its think to live like they are not on earth again. Yes, we are spiritual beings but we still need the body to help us exist here on earth but they don’t realize that they get so spiritual that they forget the physical and by the time reality deals with them, it might be too late.
CASE2: On the other hand, some people just don’t think they can keep up with the ‘difficult standard’ that salvation required and they then decide to derail a bit and take the grace of God for granted hoping to get back in line later in life because they just can’t afford to ‘waste’ their prime years living out their salvation.
There’s got to be more to life and salvation than living for ourselves only or trying to be ‘so spiritual’. In our daily interaction with family, friends, colleagues, we have to try to make our salvation have impact on everything around us so it won’t be that we came, lived and died and at the end, we realize that we were just a statistic in the human race.
Let us discover the purpose for which we were created and live out our salvation through that purpose. After all said and done, I leave you with one of my favorite quotes: when its time to die, make sure that’s all you have to do.
Obituary
Friday, March 20, 2009
‘With great sorrow, we deeply regret to announce the passing away of our beloved father, grandfather , great-grandfather and uncle, Mr. John Doe, who passed away peacefully in his sleep on December 12, 2008 at the ripe age of 98.
He is survived by children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nephews and nieces. The burial arrangement goes thus…….’
This is a format of an obituary that caught my attention on my way to work last year December. I stopped to read well and started laughing. I began to asked myself, why are these people announcing this with sorrow and regret, they were supposed to be happy that this man had finally died because
1. If people as old as this don’t die, there wont be space for new born babies
2. It is better for a 98 yr old man to die than for a 40 or 50 yr old man to die
In fact, I strongly believe that once a man clocks 90 years, his children should make sure he is prepared for eternity in heaven then start praying him to die peacefully and very soon (ouch! I must sound cold).
But above all, I think the people that put up the obituary were either hypocrites or they just didn’t understand the meaning of what they put up (which wouldn’t surprise me at all because they are remote villagers).
He is survived by children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, nephews and nieces. The burial arrangement goes thus…….’
This is a format of an obituary that caught my attention on my way to work last year December. I stopped to read well and started laughing. I began to asked myself, why are these people announcing this with sorrow and regret, they were supposed to be happy that this man had finally died because
1. If people as old as this don’t die, there wont be space for new born babies
2. It is better for a 98 yr old man to die than for a 40 or 50 yr old man to die
In fact, I strongly believe that once a man clocks 90 years, his children should make sure he is prepared for eternity in heaven then start praying him to die peacefully and very soon (ouch! I must sound cold).
But above all, I think the people that put up the obituary were either hypocrites or they just didn’t understand the meaning of what they put up (which wouldn’t surprise me at all because they are remote villagers).
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