The Other Side of Fear

Let me let you in on a secret – I’m scared of water. It doesn’t matter if I’m knee deep or ankle deep. I just don’t like it.

So when my friend, N, suggested that we add jet skiing to our day trip plans, my immediate answer was a solid “hell to the no”. And I settled for rock climbing instead whilst she went into the water (gotta get these abs popping one way or another yh? LOL).

Don’t ask how I found myself on the passenger seat. I’m not really sure. She really knows how to get me because I went from ‘I would never’ to ‘fine, I’ll come to watch’ to screaming and laughing in the water.

And girl, it was so exciting. The wind, the water, the speed; I had never experienced such wonderfulness. I wasn’t even scared when the waves got really rough. All I saw was the beauty in it. It looked like someone had put a high-speed fan under a light blanket. Absolutely stunning.

We didn’t make it back to land before the heavy rain. Half of my makeup was gone (deffo looked like a clown), and my wig was a mess. That didn’t dampen the mood though. I wiped the rest of the makeup off my face, combed out my natural hair and was ready for the next adventure.

I have tasted and seen (that the Lord is good) the life on the other side of fear and it’s ridiculously exhilarating! There’s no stopping me now. Next stop is jumping out of the plane!

I’m kidding. That’s a hell to the no.

Unteachable

Unteachable.

That’s what he called me before he banged the door and left for work.

We haven’t spoken in three days. Well, I haven’t spoken to him. He’s done a lot of speaking. The voice notes, the texts, the DMs, the emails, and when none of those worked – the flowers. He could always get me back with flowers. You know those green and white ones with purple streaks. I forget what they’re called. I wasn’t a flower person until I met him. Anyway, it’s not going to work this time. I have to let him know what being unteachable really means because I’m not that. Far from it.

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One with you.

I became one with you
the moment I proclaimed You Lord over me 

I became your heart
the minute you ran towards me 

Somewhere along,
I lost my way; ashamed to find your face

But your love found me
your peace, wrapped around me tightly  

Never in my broken girl's wildest dreams
did I see such a beautiful redemption happening to me.

I am one with you;
because I proclaimed You Lord over me

Does it hurt to die?

Does it hurt to die?

When the soul leaves the body
does it slowly drag 
in a gruesome manner;
allowing the body to experience
an unbearable pain
For the last time
Just for the fun of it?

Or does it leave
quickly - 
in one swoop;
so fast that the body 
doesn't even notice 
that it's been left alone
With no life to continue?

Home.

I was able to put this together after months of being under a creative dry spell. I hope you enjoy it. If you have any tips for me to get over this block don’t hesitate to drop them in the comments, please.

            *                       *

A lone tear rolled down my left cheek as my mother ignored my nagging and struggled to pull the comb through my thick, afro hair. I shuddered, imagining little blobs of blood forming on my scalp.

Maami, it hurts!’

We were outside in the hut-like building where the bicycles and hula hoops slept at night. It was the place maami made us stay because she knew that if baami saw my tears, he would rescue me from her smooth, long, shaven legs that were tightly wrapped around my torso.

I wondered if I would ever grow up to be like her. She was beauty in itself. Speaking with purpose and eloquence. When she walked, her hips swayed from side to side with force. It was her big bum-bum that caused it to move that way. “Shine-shine baby!” The Igbo man selling shirts on the corner of the house always hailed her with his two hands raised to the sides of his face in salutation.

As she weaved my hair into a neat Shuku Ologede, her hands pressed my head closer between her thighs and her index finger lightly tapped my head in rhythm. I didn’t mind it. She didn’t smell like Iya Yewande, who oozed an unpleasant rotten fishy smell when she pushed my head between her fat thighs, almost in a bid to push me in and give me a rebirth.

Continue reading “Home.”

Dealing with loss

I’d be the first to let you know that I haven’t really dealt with the death of my mother. I have buried it deep down and haven’t come to terms with it. 

I honestly haven’t cried that I lost her.

I’ve cried that she didn’t get to see my husband and tease him, cried that my children wouldn’t be able to receive her kisses and unending love, cried for the people that depended on her, cried that I couldn’t save her. 

But not once have I cried that the only person I have loved with all of my heart is no longer here with me. That I would no longer have air kiss competitions after she told me she loved me at the end of our phone conversations. I haven’t cried that I wouldn’t hear her call me ‘pretty babe’ while caressing my face or take a jab at my small bum and squeeze it.

Continue reading “Dealing with loss”