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killing Karma (2017)

By
FK
-
0
Couple holding hands

Biyi wasn’t sure what to make of the look on Tife’s face; he had expected that she’d be thrilled at the sight of the tiny box he had opened before her. Elegantly seated in it was the $2830 diamond set white gold ring he had bought last week while in Italy. The box had double compartments and in the lower one were keys to the smashing 2017 Ford Edge he had parked outside the Chinese restaurant for Tife after this proposal.
As he said the words “Will you marry me?” Tife touched the box and picked out a pair of keys from it.
“You’re proposing with Keys?” She asked, twitching her brows.
He turned the little box towards himself, to ascertain what compartment he had opened. It was the upper one, but then it should have been the ring there, not the keys.
“Where is the car Biyi?” Tife asked smuggly. “I must say, I prefer this kind of proposal, where is it?” She asked rising with excitement.
“It’s outside. I had it brought in just as we settled in here.”
Tife hurried down the stairs and outside where she burst out screaming as she saw the sky-blue vehicle, half wrapped in red ribbons.
Still seated, Tife opened the lower compartment of the box he was holding and saw the ring, lying peacefully there. He was a bit confused, he was so sure he had placed the ring above and the keys beneath. The car was supposed to be the gift after the proposal.
“Adebiyi you’re amazing!” He heard Tife scream from outside again. He quickly stood up to go meet her outside. She had managed to draw attention and some people were clapping and cheering as he walked past.
She jumped on him and kissed him. “Thanks baby, I love you!”
“Yes, yes, will you marry me now? You’ve not answered that.”
Tife feigned annoyance. “Ahba! Now this feels like a bribe o, relax now. See I’m going to take this for a spin first, you drive home and I’ll come over at 6pm. I’ve got to show this to the girls.” She kissed him hurriedly again, dashed into her new Ford, honked her horn twice at him, blew him a kiss, and drove off.
Biyi stood there speechless. He didn’t know what to make of the turn of events. It felt rather comical. Well he was happy she loved the car, he just wished it had been in the order he planned. He quickly went back in to settle their bills. As he drove out of the restaurant he reassured himself that there was nothing to worry about, he was sure she’d be at his place by 6pm like she said, Tife was never late. He slot in an album by John Lennon and hummed along loudly as the first song ‘Instant karma’ filled his car.

*****
It was 7:30 pm and Tife had not shown up, she wasn’t picking up his calls either. He was getting more concerned by the minute. He hoped she was fine. It was so unlike Tife to be late for anything, plus she never ignored his calls. “Something wasn’t right,” He told himself.
He called her friend Rita; he didn’t like the girl, but then she was Tife’s best friend and he had to deal with that. Rita didn’t pick up his calls, and that didn’t surprise him.
“Who else could he call now?”
Her parents did not live in Lagos, they stayed at Ondo, and calling them would only raise unnecessary alarm. He honestly hoped there was no cause for alarm. Maybe she was just drunk somewhere with her so-called ‘girls’. He thought of Kike, her colleague at work, He had gotten Kike’s number back then when he was still trying to woo Tife. Kike had been very helpful. He was about to dial her number when he remembered she was out of town. He checked his watch; the time was 8 pm on the dot. He sighed, got up, picked up his keys, and headed out; he was going to her apartment.
It was 7:20 am on Sunday when his phone’s vibration against his chest woke him up. He had fallen asleep in his living room, after returning from Tife’s apartment through 3 hours of dense traffic.
He picked up his phone and sat up rather sharply as he noticed it was Tife calling.
“Tife where on earth are you?”
“Hello? Why are you shouting? I told you I was going to see my friend right?”
“Yes, but you also said …”
“Biyi see, it’s too early for a fight. I’m on my way to Ondo state, I want to check on my parents, I’ll be back in two days.” Tife said plainly.
“Tife you should have kept me in the loop. A quick call or text would have sufficed. Is either of them ill? Why the sudden trip? Do I need to call them?” Biyi asked trying hard to keep out the anger and irritation he felt.
“No, you don’t need to. My father called last night and said he needs to see me today. You know how these old folks can be.”
Biyi gave an impatient “Yeah”
Tife was silent. It would have been nice to hear her apologize. Biyi sighed. “Okay, Call me when you’re there” He said.
“Okay I will, bye,” Tife said and hung up.
It took all the restraint he could muster not to swing his phone against the wall. He was mad, but he couldn’t really tell what part of everything got at him the most, maybe it was the tiny box.

*****
Biyi waited for Tife along the road, right outside Lindsey’s, the consulting firm she worked with. He had missed her in these past three days and all he wanted to do was hug her and spend the night ‘gisting’ with her over dinner.
He had booked a reservation at their favorite eat-out. For the umpteenth time he tapped his jacket to feel the ring he had placed in his inner pocket. He loved Tife so much and after one full year dating her, he was sure he was ready to spend the rest of his life with her. She was his dream come true.
Tife got in the car and they both reached out for each other in a long warm embrace.
“I’ve missed you honey,” Biyi said huskily.
“Me too,” Tife said smiling. Biyi did not notice her crossed fingers.
Twenty minutes later they were settled in their usual spot, it was one of the most private sections of the eatery, well hidden from the prying eyes of other customers. They ate and discussed Tife’s visit to Ondo state.
Biyi dipped his hand inside his jacket and pulled out the tiny band. He took Tife’s hand in his and said “Marry me, Tife”.
Tife reached for the ring he was holding, collected it, and dropped it in her bag, and then she continued with her meal silently.
“Tife, what does that mean?” Biyi asked, still hoping to see the joke in what she did.
“Well, Biyi I need a few days to think about it. Is that answer good enough for you?”
“Tife I don’t understand you, isn’t this what you’ve always wanted too? I know how much you’ve been pining for this too, so quit playing games with me, I’m not finding it funny anymore.”
Tife blew up then, “What Biyi? I’ve only asked for a few days to think certain things through. Of course, you know I love you, but I need a little time. Stop acting like the spoiled rich kid you are. I’ll honestly love to eat my meal without your irrational temper ruining it.”
Biyi was shocked. Boluwatife had never spoken to him this way, not ever. It felt like a different person was sitting before him. “You need a little time? Time you didn’t need when you drove off in the Ford?” He blurted angrily.
“I just knew you’d say that.” Tife sneered at him.
“Yes girl, it was supposed to be yours after the proposal”
“Well boy, you presented the keys before the ring. Whose fault is that?”
Biyi was exasperated. This looked nothing like the romantic night he had envisioned with his sweetheart. He tugged at his tie, loosening it up a bit. There was something in Tife’s eyes he couldn’t place, but it was unsettling. It dawned on him that this was real; she wasn’t saving a joke for later.
“Where is my car?” He asked.
“The one we came here in? Baby, It’s parked outside.” Tife answered, feigning ignorance.
“Tife where is my car? The one I gave you on Saturday.”
“Biyi I’ve sold my car. It became mine the moment you gave me. It was sweet of you to have had it ready and registered. I found the papers in the compartment where you placed them. It sold fast.” She said with a smile.
“Why would you sell a gift?” He stared at her like she had grown horns.
Chewing the last bit of her meal, Tife dropped her cutlery, balanced her jaws on her hands, and asked “Biyi, what is my surname?”
Taken aback by the sudden question, he momentarily forgot. “Shoyemi. why?”
“Did that name never ring a bell to you in the past year? It never reminded you of anything, anyone?”
“No Tife, where is this going?”
Tife’s eyes water up. “So you mean Mabel was so insignificant to you? Mabel Shoyemi, You remember her, don’t you? You bastard!”
Biyi shivered. Of course, he remembered Mabel Shoyemi; his Theatre Arts freshman girlfriend back in Obafemi Awolowo University. She had been so beautiful and naïve; the right qualities for him, a final-year engineering student at the time.

*****
That year he had been staying alone at his uncle’s BQ in the staff quarters. The man was on sabbatical, his children were all schooling abroad and his wife lived in Lagos, where she worked as a senior official with the Nigerian Immigrations Service Agency. Apart from the BQ, he also had the house to himself, as it wasn’t locked up. He’d moved there in his third year at the university. Before that, he had resided at an apartment in town since his freshman year. It was a choice apartment, well furnished by his father. When his grades began to tip in his second year, his father insisted that he move in with his uncle, his father’s brother, a Physics professor, for better monitoring. Biyi had given a lot of reasons why moving to quarters wasn’t the best for him and ease of mobility was one of them. To resolve this his father sent down one of his cars to him, and the deal was sealed.
One night as he drove out of the ETF hostel where he had gone to visit one of his classmates, He decided to make a quick stop at Fajuyi hall cafeteria to buy a headphone. It was there that he sighted the fair-skinned beauty, Mabel, and instantly knew he would stop at nothing to date her. Not that he didn’t have a girlfriend already, he did. Her name was Temi, and she was a 400-level medical student staying outside of campus, but Temi had never been a hindrance. She didn’t seem to mind as long as he kept it well away from her.

In less than a week, he and Mabel were dating. Why wouldn’t a 17-year-old count herself lucky to be dating a handsome and rich final-year student like him? He was 5FT9 for that matter. A Mechanical Engineering final-year student with a nice ride and a smooth tongue he could have any girl, that’s what he believed. Besides Biyi sure knew how to spoil a woman. He had her eating out of his palms in no time.
He knew the gentle soul had fallen deeply in love with him, but all he loved her for was her body, and she gave it all too freely.
She was an orphan, living with her uncle and his family. Though they loved her and treated her well, she seemed to feel there was a void only Biyi could fill and he did all he could to keep her believing that. They spent almost every night together at his place; there wasn’t anyone around after all. Despite how close they grew together, Biyi managed to keep their relationship away from the public. The stupid girl didn’t seem to mind, she trusted him totally.

After four months together, she told him she was pregnant. Biyi responded with a slap across her face! How could she have gotten pregnant? He bought her a steady supply of contraceptive pills, assuring her he was guarding against anything disrupting her academics. She must have skipped it, and that was inexcusable. Mabel cried as he drove her to the nearest ATM and told her to wait in the car. He withdrew N50, 000, got back in his car, dropped it on her lap and told her to get out and remove the ‘trash’ in her stomach any way she knew. When she hesitated, he got out again and walked to her side of the car, he had opened the door and pulled her roughly to the ground. As he drove angrily back to the staff quarters that night, he did no imagine that was going to be the last time he saw Mabel.
By evening the following day, there was news all over campus of the 100 level girl who had died from an over dose of pills, in her hostel. He had turned blue when he realized it was Mabel, his gentle fair-skinned beauty. At first he was terrified, thinking perhaps someone would link him with the dead girl, but as days turned to weeks, and weeks to months, it became obvious he had scaled that one.
“Good riddance to bad rubbish” He had told himself as he continued his life with Temi.

*******

“You remember her right?” Tife asked, jolting him back to the present. She stared at him stiffly and was pressing her fork hard against the table.
Biyi was tongue tied; he knew he was in trouble.
“I was her cousin, the closest thing she had to a family. Her parents died when she was 12, and she’d moved in with us then. But even after 5 years of their death, she still missed them like it was the first day. She was withdrawn, but perhaps because we were age mates, she bonded well with me. I was her only friend, her sister. I was the only one she told about you, she had never felt that way about anyone, and as much as I had doubts about your intentions, I knew there was no point advising her against you, it would only make her hide things from me.”

“I was the first person she told when she found out she was pregnant, the only person who knew about it apart from you. After she died, we came to get her and her things, and I got her phone, she had this notepad on it where she’d write stuff. I went through your texts with her, your obscene pictures together, everything, and the notepad, she wrote in it before taking those pills; how you slapped her and pushed her, abandoned her, all of it.”

“You killed her Biyi, you killed Mabel and you just continued your life like she was a figment of your imagination, as though she never happened. She died like she never existed. I have hated you and your family for over nine years now and I prepared for you in that period.”

“For goodness sake Biyi, my parents weren’t poor, they could have cared for Mabel and her baby, but you were just a brute and you snuffed life out of her. Now you want to marry! Biyi as long as I, Boluwatife Shoyemi, lives, you will never be married, never. If all I do with my life is that, then for me it is a life well lived.”

Done talking, Tife picked her glass of wine, got up and up-turned it over Biyi’s head. He sat still, his white shirt slowly turning pink as it soaked in the liquid.

“Bastard son of an irresponsible father!” Tife hissed and walked away.

Biyi sat stunned, seconds felt like long minutes. He picked up his I-pad, typed in it for a while, and then sent the content to his father’s mail. His father had always been his refuge, and if anyone could help him now; it was Major General Majekodunmi, his brutal father.

*****
Three nights later, Tife was found dead in her room at an hotel in Maitama, Abuja, one clean shot to the head.

I am a good girl!

By
FK
-
8

A plate of partly eaten lunch and a water bottle were on her table. I was working just adjacent to her table. I didn’t see her crawl beneath it, but I heard the thump of her backpack against it as she tried to crawl out. If she’d hit the table slightly harder, she would have upturned the food and loosely covered bottles. Then, I would have spent another 5 to 10 minutes cleaning up and replacing her lunch.

I gave her the side eyes and warned, “o fe je gba.” If we focus on what it means rather than what it says, it is a Yoruba phrase that loosely translates to ‘be careful.’

Preempting my remark, she had a ready answer – “No. I’m a good girl; I do good fings”.

I replied – “Yes you are. But if you had toppled the table and poured your food everywhere, would that have been good?”

She answered – “No… Sorry, mummy”.

I replied – “Be more careful,” and we moved on.

Even if she had spilled her lunch, I would still have reinforced her statement – “I am a good girl; I do good things.” Because she is precisely that, perhaps I would have instructed her that ‘I am sorry’ should come first.

I am a good girl

Going by that ‘almost’ accident, it would seem correct to say that she is clumsy, careless, or too playful. But she said, concerning herself, “I am a good girl; I do good things.” I’ll blow it up a little – “What has happened, or what is happening, is not necessarily the truth about me; what I believe about myself is the truth. While I acknowledge what I have done and am sorry about it – as I must be, I do not accept it as my definition. No, I am a good girl; I do good things.”

Some people continue down the wrong path because they believe they are already too far gone. Let’s say you made a mistake—you fell into fornication and lost your virginity. You might think, “Well, I’ve already messed up; who can tell one time from ten? What’s the point in celibacy anymore?” This thinking only leads to more harm. A single mistake does not define who you are and should not dictate your future. You are still a person of value, capable of making good choices. Instead of letting guilt drag you down, acknowledge what happened, take responsibility, and seek accountability—from God first and those who can support you in your journey. Repent, learn from it, and move forward with renewed strength.

The best stories tell of the power of mercy, change, and growth springing forth from the direst circumstances. The best stories inspire hope.

You are capable of making good choices

I am not a football fan, though I have players I like, like one 40-year-old Portuguese champ. But if you asked any football fan, they’d tell you that even the best players, their supposed ‘goats,’ have bad days.

Bad days, with such bad plays, you’d wonder if they were under a haze. (Winks)

This reminds us that even the best of us have bad days. Perhaps football isn’t the best example, as accolades can be fleeting in that sport. But at least you know that one match does not make a player incompetent.

Even on your worst days, when you’re soaking in the consequences of your mistakes, se ara giri, gain courage, and remind yourself that though that has happened, you don’t have to become it. You are better than that, and you can make better choices. You can do good things.  

Go on, and do good things!

Peek-a-boo!

By
FK
-
12

Hi there! Long time no see. Three days! (lol).

You said? Oh, I missed you more. I promise it’s the truth.

No boring apologies, today. I am pretty sure you have been busy, thriving. Well, me too.

In the last year, I completed coursework for a master’s degree, held a job, wifed and mothered, served in church, and wrote a manuscript (big deal!). It’s been such a blast. Yet there were days, many days, when I longed to connect again, with you, here. Simply put, it either felt too much or too little to share. Do you know the feeling?

Heading to class, but I’ve got time for a shot

I also think the cold freezes my words (Holy Spirit, abeg, na joke o!). However, dear reader, you should know, that for me, here, writing, unhinged, sharing vulnerably, with no clue who gets to read, is such a happy place.

It is a new year (is it still?), and like every new year, it holds a lot of promise – so much time to do more, and be more. Some folks say “Oh please, it’s all just a continuum”. They are right. However, I prefer the other outlook; I believe it is ok to see a new year as a clean slate (if you need one). In the same way you’d long for a hectic (or draining) day to pass, so you can try for a more relaxing (or rewarding) one the next day. Everyone, please be. Feel excited and hope again how you want to.

If you haven’t figured it out yet, today is a rant, just a rant. There is no punch line (or paragraph) coming.

Read my top for a punch line

I will leave you with one thing though. It is this – you get to decide how you feel about the year when it ends. Did you spend yourself in every way possible to pursue the things that mattered to you? It is a simple question, almost too basic for consideration. But it is a critical question, that weaves different important aspects into focus.

First, you get to decide what matters to you (and perhaps why it does) this year. Next, you acknowledge what is yours to do and determine ‘the how‘. If you are a believer, this is particularly important, as it gives you clarity on how to pray – there is just so far you can take yourself, even though you must. A part of Deuteronomy 23:12 goes “…and bless all the works of your hands.” There are works for your hands.

Dearest, this is the year you ‘do’. Do it, and do it, and do it. Storms will rise and floods will come, keep doing. Some days will be easy and some terribly hard, Keep on your path. Do what is yours to do, and tell me how you feel when the year ends. I mean that. I would love to hear from you then, and perhaps tell you how I feel as well. Deal?

I know you love my photos, oya take a bonus one:

He leads me beside the still waters.

Let Him lead you. I love you!

To you, Long Distance Mum

By
FK
-
2
Woman with temperature staying home wrapped in scarf and drinking hot tea

Dear Mum – with kids miles away,

I cannot claim to know how you feel, still, I am writing this for you, to let you know that you are seen, wherever in the world you may be.

If you have been following my blog you would know that I have a soon-to-be two-year-old daughter, and if I had a good reason to leave her behind somewhere (even in the best of hands), I would probably weep every day; from not being there to hold her, feed her, play with her, and grow with her. I would wonder if she misses me or remembers me less. So no, I cannot relate to all the emotions you must feel, but at the very least I can imagine, and it makes my heart wrench.

…her son called her auntie…

Sometime last year, a friend mentioned how over a video call with her son, he called her Auntie. Goodness, it was barely six months since she traveled abroad to study. This was also after she managed to get his attention, as he seemed more interested in his physical environment than a face and voice over the phone.

Moments like this will fill you with doubt, worry, guilt, jealousy, resentment, or other ugly emotions. They can make you frequently lethargic and perpetually stressed, affect your productivity, and make you less interested in building connections within your physical environment. You are by yourself, pushing through each day, trying to make it work, and you probably can’t complain to hubby and family back home, especially if you are African – ‘Well you chose to go’.

I call you courageous, I call you strong, and I pray your choices bring you and your family great rewards. I also have a few tips that I think you may find helpful as you navigate your path:

  1. Continue to make those video calls. Stick with a schedule and do not get discouraged even when your kids are running around rather than just staring you in the face and smiling. Call in the morning and at night, join for devotion, and stay on the call as they get ready for the day or school, to the extent that you can.

    I know that time zone differences can be a challenge, but together with your spouse or whomever your kids are with, think about it and come up with an arrangement that works.

    we make/have time for who/what we prioritize

    Years back, I had a boss whose family lived in Canada. He was the General Manager of a food processing firm, and nobody else in the company was busier than him. Yet it was from him that I learned ‘we always make/have time for who/what we prioritize’. Jagaban (as we dearly called him) often had his iPad positioned on the right corner of his table, with a video call ongoing as we went through our 9-5. They were not always speaking, but he/they was/were there.

    This may not work for you, just think of how to be consistently present and stick with it, no matter what.

  2. You must believe your children love and need you. Many days it won’t feel like it, but they do.

    My daughter used to be all around me (gum-body) until a couple of weeks back when I resumed school and began to be less around in the afternoons. She grew so attached to her dad within days; he picked her up from school and cared for her till I returned. She insisted on doing most things with him, and one day when I went to pick her up from school, she kept saying – Daddy? Daddy? Daddy? Daddy? It was so annoying. It was annoying, but I sang her nursery rhymes till we got home. I fed her and changed her clothes. I played with her and did everything she needed her mum to do. Because, she loves me and needs me, whether or not she screams daddy all day.

    …you are carved deep within their hearts

    Do not take children’s preferences to heart, they mean no harm. You are their mum and you are carved deep within their heart. So keep showing up, even if it is via a video call.

  3. Pay attention to your relationship with your spouse, (or whomever your kids are with). You want to be sure your children are being reminded of your presence and love, even in your absence. You want to know that they are not being misinformed about you. This is important, as it can either ease your relationship with the kids or make it tough. Nourish this relationship as it is a very crucial one.

    …a career does not have to come at the expense of family

    One of the best things in the life of a woman (or man) is a spouse who supports her (his) growth and pursuits; because with a person like this, a career does not have to come at the expense of family. A benefit to one is seen as a benefit to all.

  4. Go home as soon and as often as you get the chance. Do not compare yourself with other people; a single person may choose to save money rather than travel to wherever their family is, but you are different. When money and time intersect, please go home; and if all you have is only a few days, spend it loving them intensely. Get to meet their new friends and teachers, and be intentional about creating memories that make them long for you again.

    Give the best there is to give, even virtually

The world is changing whether we like it or not; the impact of globalization is bigger than we know it. How you engage with that change is up to you; your values and priorities. We are having to make tough choices by the day, but don’t beat yourself up over it. Give the best there is to give, even virtually, and I pray God brings you together under one roof again, soon.

Stay blooming.

Practicing Kindness

By
FK
-
4
In a world where you can be anything, be kind - Zara Bejmyr

I used to be a mindless surfer of the internet and social media. I am less so now, and sometimes I go weeks without opening Instagram or my Quora notifications. That said, today, I am sharing something that came to mind while browsing through Instagram. I am sharing it because it touches on kindness, and since September, SA’s book Random Acts of Kindness has been a manual for me.

Kindness has become so uncommon, and yet as a candle suddenly lit in darkness, a simple word or act of kindness can make a huge difference.

On a popular blog on Instagram, I saw a post of a young girl in tears. While I know she is of course an adult, she looked like a scared teenager. She was crying profusely, and as she spoke her voice was broken up. She had recently relocated to Canada and was having a very depressing experience from the shock of loneliness and change. I felt deeply for her, even as I wondered in my head ‘How are some people so convinced that those who care the most are on social media?’

@iStock

You know how they say the comment section is where it is happening? I think so too, and I was curious to see just how many viewers cared for this sad lady. Nothing was surprising there, as comments like ‘Take your bags and go to the damn airport’, ‘How can you record yourself crying?’, ‘Take some weed and feel alright’, ‘This one is on her period’, ‘Get a man, everything will change’, ‘Abroad systems are not built for introverts’, and ‘Please let us switch places’ littered the place.

Then I saw this ‘Where in Canada are you?’ and then this ‘Can someone tag her here please?’, and tears welled up in my eyes.

We all have standpoints, lenses through which we view the world, and that is why the more educated I get the less likely it is that I will insist that someone is wrong in how they think. Those comments reflect the background and realities of the writers. Some of us are no better, we judge, but unlike the bolder people, we keep our disapproving thoughts to ourselves (I fall in this category sometimes, thankfully, not most times), driven by the saying ‘if I have nothing good to say, then I will say nothing’. It is a fine mantra, and some would even call this silence kindness in a sense.

@iStock

But, you see those who can regardless of what they think about a person or situation, take initiative or make the choice to try and do something to help or produce a change, they are the real Gs. Folakemi is more and more like this every day, by choosing and by the grace of God. I implore you to be too.

God forbid that this person here gets on the news tomorrow for having committed suicide. Alas! The comments will be different. It is only then that many will realize that mental resilience differs greatly from one person to another, and even though you may never be pushed to record yourself crying, someone else easily will.

Some people can never be pushed to vent about their marriages, work, friends, in-laws, or local church on social media; it does not mean there is something wrong with those who do. Sure, the cons are obvious and more for the latter, but do not judge people as though everyone was you.

Let people breathe, and you practice kindness.

I recently helped bring about change in a matter that I was unaffected by. I could have just kept quiet, and not drawn unnecessary attention, but I chose to speak up. Immediately after speaking ‘worry’ coursed through my veins as cold water washes down a dehydrated throat. Who sent me? Then I saw my phone beep, a text from one of those affected – ‘Thank you for saying it, love.’ She had not even been one of those on my mind when I chose to speak up. One week later, we got the news that the change would be effected. The word for how I felt, I have still not found.

Be kind with your words and actions. Be kind within your family and without. Be kind to those who share your faith and opinions, and to those who do not. Be kind to children and to the old. Be kind to strangers, and they are mostly not angels from God. The best acts of kindness are the ones where the receivers cannot pay you back.

For more reflection on kindness please click here to read and download the book by SA – Random Acts of Kindness, for free. If you would like to pay for it, we will consider it as donations which will be used to execute a kindness project. You can send an email to projects@seyifunmiadebote.com

You are also invited to join us at the book launch, to be held on World Kindness Day – Monday, November 13, both onsite in Uppsala-Sweden and virtually.  A Kindness Run by the Abuja Run Club on Saturday,  November 11. You can check them out on Instagram, do a run at your location the same day, and share your pictures.

@abujarunclub

How to move on, without closure

By
FK
-
2
man standing on the bright and the dark background in the doorway with shadow

Closure means different things to different people; acceptance, apology, explanation, restitution, reconciliation, a gift, or a simple recall of something that was said. Sometimes it is a combination of at least two of these. In a broad sense, closure is an action or interaction that suffices as settlement. While it may not remove a scar, it often kickstarts or catalyzes healing.

...you feel helpless against it

When a person has had a traumatic experience that they can’t seem to move on from or a hurt that won’t go away, it can be because they haven’t found closure. Sometimes it feels like an emptiness that won’t fill up. You feel strong and fresh emotions from an event that happened a long time back, and while you may not hate or despise anyone, you know that you are stuck in a place of pain and anger, regret, or even shame, and you feel helpless against it.

It may be as simple as getting fired from your job unfairly, parental abandonment, sexual assault without consequences to the perpetrator, being ghosted by a friend, or the sudden death of a loved one. Incidents like these would leave anyone with questions, and not getting answers can feel devastating. It feels like fetters keep you tied to that incident, and there is no moving forward or leaving it behind.

...closure does not translate to liberation

I have had a fair share of situations like this, where I felt I needed closure to get past it. There was a time when I went out of my way to show love, honor, and acceptance to certain people, and after a little while, I learned that they were saying very unkind things about me. It was hard to deal with because it wasn’t a setting where I could casually call everyone up and seek clarity. I had questions but no one to provide the answers; and soon the hurt became anger. I became like an active volcano, boiling and simmering, waiting for the perfect time to erupt. By God’s mercy, I never erupted, but a lava-full mountain was already a bad enough thing to become.

In my recent reflections on how I managed to move past most of these things, I realized that while closure is helpful in healing and emotional recovery, it is not responsible for liberation. Remorse or restitution from others has never been the reason I moved forward, rather I first acknowledged how I felt and then chose to move forward despite it. So while an apology may feel good to have, it wouldn’t matter if it never came. Closure places importance on what someone else can do for you; that is to say, only the person or system that hurt you can release you. It is a mindset that takes power from you and leaves it in the hands of other people. That can’t be right.

...fill up with faith, zeal & zest!

Not getting closure cannot be your excuse for staying down and swirling in the filth of anger, resentment, shame, or depression. For your own sake, you must face the pain (yes, whatever it is), and fill the emptiness with something more than the answers anyone can give you. Fill it up with faith, zeal, and zest.

Sometimes, it’s our ego that needs the apology, our curiosity that insists and waits on an explanation, or perhaps the fear of moving on. Whatever your experience may have been, I hope you remember that the most significant piece you need to move on is you.

 

Till your visit here, stay blooming.

Feature image from iStock by Getty images

As Thirty draws near

By
FK
-
2

I clock 30 in exactly two weeks, yeah, three whole decades. It’s dreamy in a sense, to think that I have been around for quite a while too, and now I am walking into what humans call ‘mid-life’. While I am particularly pleased with how the months preceding September have played out, it only makes sense to reflect further back. You’ll agree with me that landmark birthdays are a particularly perfect time for deep reflecting, alongside a number of other things.

Pictures from age 21 and 22

I have come a long way from the girl I was at twenty, and I am super proud of the woman that I am today. The woman I want to be, the one I was made to be, is a journey, and I am thankful that I am right where I should be now. Given that the last ten years have been a swirl of highs and lows, tears and laughter, heartbreaks and blissfulness, and loss and gains, there is nothing that I regret. I am beginning another lap of my race armed with lessons from 30 years.

On your mark, set, 30...

I tend to have retreats only when entering a new calendar year, but this is 30 (Yeske!). So, I penned a number of things, activities actually, to do weeks and days before D-day. Reflective Thanksgiving ranks topmost on my list because the summary of my 30-year life story is this – ‘Because the Lord my God is the builder and maker of this house that is me, my labor has not been in vain; and because he is my keeper, I and all that are mine have been sustained’ (Psalm 127:1). Reflecting rewards you with understanding and wisdom that only come from hindsight. To plan adequately for the future we must draw insight from the past. Hence, whatever my aspirations for the next decade, they are for the pleasure of God, my builder, maker, and keeper. All of it! Toripe emi ko ni se asedanu (life is too short to be laboring in vain).

Prayers, in Jesus name!

If in any way at all I have added color to your life or day (not black I hope), I humbly ask that you find some time to say some words of prayer for me and speak good things into my new decade. Below is a summary of the things that matter to me in this new decade, in case you’re wondering what to pray for/about.

  • I am running to stay fit, and eating more mindfully because I want to be able to serve God better and longer. Bodily exercise profits little…, I want to get every bit of that little profit.
  • My career roadmap is tailored towards nation-building and that requires competence and a state of heart that only God can impart (Psalm 78:72). There is nothing I dream of more than a time when those stirring the wheels of nations will be Seasoned Christians who are competent and love/service driven. There in that dream, is a place for me.
  • Family-wise, I simply want to be more, and more, of a true Christian to my dear ones, enjoy life with them, and make many more days delightfully memorable.
  • I want to pray and intercede so much more, I have seen God answer prayers so beautifully in these past years, nothing is beyond Him. I earnestly want to see and partake in the rejoicing and celebrating of friends and family around me as God shows Himself great in their lives and homes.
  • This is the first picture of them on my blog - strange!
  • I want to pay more attention to my mum and dad and devote more time to enjoying their company and sharing more in their moments. I want to contribute enormously to the quality of the rest of their lives (which is many many many more years, in Jesus name).
  • I want to travel a bit more; eat, drink, dance, and take loads of pictures.
  • …and on a lighter note – that my front hairline will be restored. The way it is going now,  it has become a prayer point. Baldness is not the portion of this beautiful daughter of God.

Not too ambitious? Well well well.

Yippie!

I hope you pray for me.

Thank you, Keep blooming!

A Bruised Reed

By
FK
-
2

Yaaay! It’s Saturday, again. For breakfast I am making local (jollof) rice; the one with palm oil, locust beans, dry fish and diced pepper. Not quite bougie, but I know you want it.

Anyways, I hope you had a rewarding week, and are enjoying some quality ‘alone’ or ‘family time’ this weekend.

I began writing a story a couple of months back, and although I haven’t been very committed to it, it’s about half way gone. The story casts the spotlight on the ripple effects of parental choices, dysfunctional homes, and the negligence for mental health care among Christians. Quick warning though, this is intended as a one-off post and not a series, but when the story is complete, you will see it first! I’ll really love to get your comments, opinions or questions. Enjoy!

********

Hannah smoothed out her skirt as she settled into a couch in the waiting lounge at the Teema Foundation for the Elderly. Nerve racked with anxiety, she tried to focus on the details of her surrounding. Only four weeks had passed since her last visit, yet the lounge had changed so much that she could easily be in a different building. The velvet settees arranged in a U shape had been replaced with chestnut-colored single leather couches that formed a circle. The revolving magazine rack which was usually at the center of the room was gone, in place of it were wall-mounted shelves which also held varieties of pot plants. The walls and drapes were still cloud white with just as many picture frames of nature hanging over them. For an organization like TFE, the decor had to be purposeful and so she wondered what this new look was supposed to say or do to visitors.

For her, velvet or brown mattered little, it was the cheerfulness and warmth of the staff that got to her; they made her imagine a room of her own within these walls. A place of solace, where she didn’t have to know or care about life outside. Parkinson’s or not, these oldies have it good.

“Mrs. Darlington”

Her reverie interrupted, Hannah looked up at the familiar face beaming with a smile, she had not seen her approach. “Hi, Olivia. Is she out now?”

“Yes she is, please come with me” The Hispanic-looking nurse replied.

Following fast behind she gave a little shiver. She knew she looked like a billion-dollar on stilettos, radiating confidence and composure with each heel click. On the inside though, she was scared, nervous, angry, tired, and caving. As she stepped out unto the orchard, on the west wing of the facility, her eyes darted towards the pavilion by the cupid-sculpted waterfall – Doreen’s favorite spot at midday.

“There she is!” said Olivia. “Would you like to get anything from the cafeteria? I can have it sent down to you.”

“No, thank you. I’ll be just fine.” Hannah said hastily and smiled to take the crisp of her response. As she neared Doreen she saw her sister’s familiar smile, sighing, she let a smile creep up her face to match it. It was always a relief to see Doreen. The voices in her head, the monsters that plagued her dreams at night and her thoughts at day time, always gave her a break when she was with Doreen. They were nine years apart but Doreen understood her and could read her just well. She wasn’t just her sister, she was her kindred spirit.

Doreen held up her arms inviting Hannah into a warm embrace. The sisters hugged and Hannah planted a kiss on her cheek. Settling into the wooden chair opposite Doreen, Hannah asked how she was doing. They made small talk about the beautiful weather and the new oldie on Doreen’s floor who had a sleepwalking habit. Doreen described the first night she had bumped into her on the way to the washroom in the wee hours of the night. The sisters laughed themselves to tears.

As the laughter subsided, Hannah clasped her hands on the table and stared past her sister to the waterfall behind her.

Doreen studied her little sisters face. Hannah had always been easily malleable and trusting, she bore no suspicion and could never read between the lines. For such a simple heart, she had grown into a deeply tormented woman. Nine years apart and she was looking just as old as Doreen, her make-up did little to hide it. Her lips were slightly parted and she had a slight crease between her eyes. Doreen clasped her hands around Hannahs.

“Love. What’s on your mind?”

Hannah moved her gaze towards her sister’s face and then their clasped hands. She pulled her hands away to reach for her bag. From it, she brought out a yellow A4-sized envelope and placed it on the table next to Doreen.

“I am leaving him” She muttered. Tears welled up in her eyes and she tilted her face upward to restrain them from draining out.

For a few seconds, there was a pause as the sisters looked at each other, pain etched in their expressions. Doreen stared long at the envelope before lifting her hands to her face with her elbows on the table.

Hannah wasn’t sure how she had expected her sister to take the news of her intended divorce, but it was certainly not this way, the silence was confusing. Then she saw the first streak of tear, and right after it another. Tears flowed down her sister’s face and hands as though they had been held captive for too long.

“No. No. No. I can’t do this” Doreen murmured amidst tears.

“Doreen?” “I thought you’d understand. You’re the only one who could understand. Please… say something to me. Tell me you understand, tell me it’s the right thing to do. Please.” Hannah reached out and drew her hands from her face. She saw raw pain.

Eyes shut tight, Doreen continued to mutter incoherent words, sniffing and weeping. Hannah got uncomfortable, if any of the nurses or staff saw Doreen this way they would ask Hannah to leave. Hannah drew her chair closer to Doreen, placed her head on her shoulder, and rubbed her back gently.  As Doreen quietened, she looked at Hannah and said “I’m sorry Hannah, I am so sorry.”

“No Doreen. It is no fault of yours. It is I who should be sorry. I come here all the time to whine and cry when it is you who needs all the attention.”

“You don’t understand Hannah. You don’t. All that you’ve known is a lie. It’s all been a lie, my sweet Hannah. We’ve made you live a lie; mother and I. But I can’t let it ruin you anymore, not you too.”

“What are you saying? I don’t understand, you’re not making sense. What lie? What did mum do?” Hannah asked looking pensive.

 

Feature  photo – iStock

Hello, August

By
FK
-
7

Dear friends, I am sorry I have been MIA here.

Life hasn’t been a tale of woes; on the contrary, it has been blissful and consistently progressive. Yet, holding on in faith and pulling through the highs and lows of each day required a pause.

Ernest Hemingway says “A writer must write…”, and at the moment he may not consider me a ‘writer’, but dunk it, I write. Sharing on the other hand has turned out to be more difficult than simple.

In the last year, I have been in a process, and one thing that isn’t easy to share is ‘process’.

The closest to ‘taking a pause’ look I could find

Nonetheless, I was up in the wee hours of yesterday typing away because, within a space of a week, three amazing subscribers here asked why I haven’t written in a while, a long while. Though my responses were dodgy, I deeply appreciate them. Coincidentally bloomwithme.org was birthed in August, and it seemed just right to make a post.

FK is very expressive (I can’t handle storing up feelings, good or bad, so I either talk about them or write about them – I wish I could draw too). It is how I appreciate things, events, and people, or let out steam. So I have been writing, just not sharing, and here’s partly why.

It has been a roller coaster kind of a year for me (I mean August ’22 to August ’23). While I am trying to figure out what just happened, something else is happening, and then all of a sudden nothing at all is happening, only for another nothing to happen again, and then two somethings come crashing right in. Do you see how that sounds? So while there is so much I am grateful for, it’s tangled up with so much I am stressed about.

Once and rather unfortunately, in a bid to encourage conversation with someone I shared my feelings about relocating, and this person ran off lecturing me about how lucky I should count myself. They are abroad now and I truly hope it’s a bed of red, purple, and white roses for them. But really, that’s the trending perspective.

You can’t share so much about the stress you feel as a young mother because motherhood is a gift after all, and you should be grateful. Some would even imply that you are weak or just not doing something right.

You can’t share the stress and disruption you feel from moving from your home country to another country (for whatever reason). “What?!! The opportunity so many are praying and striving for! Maybe it’s just not working out that well for you because every other person is having fun at this thing”.

Oh, how I miss my job (I loved what I did). “Ah! How much is 1N to a dollar? What’s there to miss?”

… and so on. …and so forth. But this is me in a nutshell.

It’s not just that I miss my siblings and parents so much, but that I have no idea when next I’d see them in person.

It’s not about if and how much more I am earning now, but that I miss doing work that I love and enjoy.

Star girl

Oh trust me, my daughter is a gift like nothing else, I see her say or do something so brilliant and kind, and I want to cry – how come God loves me this much! Still, my friend, raising a child will test the very fiber of your being (better make sure it’s anchored in Christ).

Lucky us, we found a good church with supportive people, yet I miss the ones back home where I was already planted, groomed, and bloomed.

I am so glad I can now ride a bicycle, but I loved it better when my dear husband was my willing chauffeur.

There are days when I crave goat meat and palm wine. I may find Holland-imported goat meat, but from where will the palm wine come?

Oha Soup (elemi meje) in Sweden

Anyways, I am truly gaining momentum again and even feeling more inclined to share. So fingers crossed, let’s see what I come up with.

Ah yes! One other thing, between losing my Nigerian line and switching phones, I lost most of my saved contacts, and it has been painful. Here is my new number +46739659055, please save it and drop a ‘hi’ anytime.

I hope I write again soon.

Till then; Keep Blooming!  

Is Consistency Overrated?

By
FK
-
1

When folks use this word, they usually are attempting to speak about steady continuity. The quality of persistence; keeping at it even after the initial excitement, ease, encouragement, or approval wanes. As such, consistency is indeed an admirable quality in any positive context.

Why then are we surrounded by people, institutions, and organizations that have stayed true to their mission and vision, strategy and outputs, or patterns, and yet become redundant, visibly invisible, archaic, and least desirable over the years?

While I am eager to share examples with you, I will not, but I will make it easy for you. Consider TV stations, FMCGs, and restaurants that may have been your top choice decades back and are still alive today but no longer make your preference list. Not because you are not their target market, but because you have outgrown that taste or service level.

It is the same logic for individuals with gifts and talents that used to be but now are not, even though they are still present. These abound in the creative space and Christendom. Yes, Christendom – I said what I said. While many like to make God the excuse for stagnancy or redundancy, a lack of wisdom and drive can indeed debar one from manifesting to full potential and God will not force it.

Consistency is not doing the same thing the same way regardless of everything else. Consistency is;

Failing Forward: Quite simple; do not quit after you fail. Instead, become better equipped from the lessons learned and try again.

Evolving & innovating: Innovation lies at the heart of timelessness. People and organizations grow faster when they devote ample time to proactive thinking and brainstorming. Whatever the scale of your work, make out time to think – take the step – rethink – take steps. Reach out to people (network), read books (articles, podcasts, etc.), research, and take calculated risks.

Rebranding: This can be proactive or reactive; whichever it is can have great benefits or risks. Rebranding helps you to create a new image for yourself, your business, or your work in the eye of those you serve. It can be the route to engaging an entirely new market, audience, or class or changing your output and priorities.

Reinventing: This is not just changing the image of what you do in people’s eyes; it is becoming something entirely new or different. Most times, after doing something for so long we feel ashamed to move on to something else, even when we know that there is nothing for us on this spot anymore. At other times, unreasonable obstinacy keeps one rooted in the same spot, doing the same thing, the same way, and getting no results or fulfillment. Get out of your way, and become again. You can return to school at 30, change your career path at 40, or start a business at 50!

Revising your goals: Goals can change! Dreams can metamorphose! If your perspective at 31 can be different from what it was at 21, then it is safe to say that goals and aspirations too can change. They can be tweaked and modified, and this is just fine! Do not stay painfully devoted to an endgame that is no longer of import, nor serves the intended purpose or humanity anymore.

People say that consistency is keeping at it even when no one applauds you, and this is right. But then again, think about it – do food companies continue to produce even when they are not selling?

You must pay attention to those you aim to reach (is there a better way to reach them), and not mindlessly carry on – that is the broad way to redundancy.

Also, determine your success metric(s) – what does success mean to you? Not to everyone else, but to you.

 

Till your next visit here, stay blooming!

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