Loved.

Hey, guys.

So, as you know me, you probably know I love Easter, much more than I do Christmas, probably because I received the life of Christ in that season, or maybe I just… Never mind. Lol.

I shared a story on my Whatsapp status yesterday. It’s an Easter retelling that I first wrote in April 2020. I want to share it with you too. Enjoy. ❤️

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It was Him! It was Him!
The one with those eyes that haunted me in my dreams these two days incessantly. Those eyes that almost drove me mad. It was Him I saw again this morning.

Naturally, it takes a lot for me to step out of the house for public displays but this one was one I wanted to watch; this man had been gathering dust for the past few weeks, I mean, earlier this week there was a procession in his honour and today I hear he’s dragged on the streets.

These kind of processions are my favorite: the ones involving these self-absorbed, hypocritical, holier-than-thou, religious scumbags and take my word for it, I’ve met this type several times. Or rather, this type have met me, paying heavily to feed their lust and treating me like filth as soon as it is satisfied. This type I know like the back of my palm.

It shocked me to my marrow when my babe, Damaris (code name of course), chairlady “men are scum” gang called me some days back and was weeping. She was signing off the business. She’d found Love, she claimed.

“Wetin be dis wan?” I wondered. (Of course we are both naija babes; she entered Samaria, took the city by storm and I stayed in Jerusalem–even in the “holy city” utility workers are much appreciated.)

Pissed, I ended the call abruptly. I hate nonsense talk.

So, today I heard that her “lover” was being dragged on the streets, and I stepped out to watch, to mock and jeer.

Mingling with the crowd the hatred was palpable and contagious.
What I did not have an answer to though was what he did, so I moved closer to the front to get the gist. Close enough that I was right behind him at one point, separated by four Roman soldiers.

Never had I seen anyone less desirable yet unexplainably appealing; his back a bleeding mess, his cloth torn, and he could barely walk.
Yet he looked at me with kind eyes, eyes that saw into my soul, eyes that laid me bare. I felt ~naked~ , exposed! So I spat.

How dare he make me feel vulnerable?

I spat again, my spittle a perfect aim on his right eye. I wish it blinded him.
Feeling fulfilled I hissed and turned back, hurriedly leaving the street.

Hard guy, hard guy, I wiped a tear that escaped my eye, closed them tightly and cursed. How could one look melt me like butter?

That night and the next I sought sleep in futility. Thirteen times each night I woke to the most impossible thing—I was weeping like a baby. Something had broken inside me.

His eyes haunted me. How could a person’s eyes be the perfect blend of all colors in the rainbow?

What was he?

Werewolf? Daemon? Fae? Valkyrie? Vampire? Wizard?

What?

And what spell did he cast over my soul that made me long for him so?

This morning at 3am I’d woken to go to his grave and sprinkle myrrh to appease His spirit so I could rest. I heard the earthquake from afar but I was determined to get there still. I met the soldiers scampering away from the tomb, undeterred I moved on.

The road was rather herculean but I made it across stopping short at the tomb. The earthquake had completed, and in the quiet silence I wondered what nerves I had to be there…

I felt before I saw Him. This beautiful man. With the most loving gaze, this Jesus of Nazareth, who said to me, “I have called you by my name.” See, Love is a person. The same one that said to me “Come, drink of living water.” and says to you. “Come, yield and find rest for your soul.”

Amen.

Emem ye ifure ke obufa ofion emi. (Have peace and serenity in the new month).

The gist I owed you

So, today I had to flog myself (mentally) into writing to you about something I intended to share a few weeks ago.

It’s 11:52pm, Thursday night, I’m writing from my bathroom. I came in to wash my face. No vex. I’ll probably finish by Friday morning, but this gist must get out here. E don too tay, abeg.

Before I tell you what’s up, I hope you are fine.

So, we have a neighbor at my work place who has four kids, three males and a female. For some reason I do not know, they prefer to be at our place than their mother’s, and they’re mostly delightful company, so we don’t mind having them.

On this day, the kids come around as they always do, the oldest of them, Ebuka, buys a pack of wafer sticks containing six sticks. His immediate junior and their sister share a sachet of ground nut.

As the oldest sibling, he asks them for groudnut and they gladly oblige. He helps them finish their ground nut, then turns away to munch on his wafer sticks all alone.

I am cutting a dress on the table and very unhappy with his attitude, so I call him out. He says something rude, and frowns. I tell him to give his younger siblings one of his wafer sticks; even if he won’t give them one stick each, at least one to share amongst themselves.

He then breaks one wafer into six pieces and waves one piece in the air above his siblings’ reach, saying “take, take. You see, they don’t want oh.”

And this gets me very upset, so I walk away, because I’m about to call him some unlikely names.

About an hour later, I’m sewing beside my tutor when Ebuka slaps his younger sibling who is playing with him, it’s so hard that everyone in the shop looks up. My tutor is angered by Ebuka’s continous ill-treatment of his siblings and cautions him.

Turning to me, we begin to discuss about our homes; how the firstborns naturally take responsibility for everyone else, and how children should be taught to take responsibility from very tender ages.

We’re totally oblivious to Ebuka’s sudden stillness. He is listening to us. After the conversation between my tutor and I, Ebuka vows to change.

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Well, it’s been a few weeks since then and I tell you, he has changed. It’s a beautiful thing to watch. He still makes mistakes, but he’s corrected when necessary.

And now to the crux of my gist.

You know, we all know people who are doing the wrong things and yet we allow them continue, because we feel it’s the responsibility of their parents to tell them right from wrong.

Sometimes, we even feel they’re old enough to know… But, don’t you realise that if people know better, they will do better?

Like Ebuka, there are people all around you in need of light—the light you have to give. Give them light and watch them morph into a beauty. Trust me their transformation is worth the light.

We didn’t think he would understand, because he’s seven, but he did. This applies to unbelievers around you too. They want to change, but how will they hear if there is no preacher?

Will you be that preacher?

Emem ye ifure. (Peace and serenity.)

From, your GJ.

No soda November

Heyyy, did you miss me as I did you?

I have a thousand stories in my head to tell you, but, you know how we do it na. One story at a time. But, mehn, I’ve missed writing to you.

I’m still owing you one major gist (that is still unfolding sef). I’ll deliver, after this.

So, today at work, I was so thirsty—the temperature in Calabar is climbing by the day as the rains, thankfully, are letting up; however, you know “Calabar rain” has a mind of its own, so… We are sha hopeful that harmattan is close, and with it is this “desert thirst”, the same one I experienced yesterday.

Earlier in the month, I’d off-handedly mentioned to my elder brother that this month is my #nosodanovember.

Trust me,it was not a serious sonthing. So, when, in the middle of the week, I declined a soda drink, the “me” in me was shoooked. Lol.

And then it happened over and again till in a blink we’re six days away from month end.

Yesterday, I left home in a hurry and didn’t take my flask of water with me, so after setting up my work space, I was dizzy, sweaty and confused, as these are major indicators for dehydration I knew I needed water.

I work from a storey building, so I stepped out to the balcony to search for any hawkers. The first thought on my mind, however, was chilled Pepsi, or any soda replacement. And guess what? I found one.

It was then that I remembered that this is still #nosodanovember. Guy, it took a lot to turn my eyes back to the dress I was to work on and ignite my thirst/cravings. I knew I needed water, but another part of me was calling for soda, the thrill would have been doubled, being that I had set bounds for soda, but…

Help came when my mum brought water. I called her to help me get as the hawkers mostly sell unhygienic water. She’d told me earlier that she intends to do her shopping, and that, my guy, is how I was saved.

Thinking on it late last night, two things stand out for me:

• The words we speak, even unconsciously, are powerful.
• We are as strong as our support system, whatever it is, so we must choose wisely.

So, my #nosodanovember is still on. If December is not such a sweet month, I’d have continued till January, I just might oh!

Till I write you again, emem ye ifure (peace and serenity).

Xoxo, Your GJ.