Posted in Music

Stream goodness.

Music is powerful and the right kind of music is a lethal weapon whose capabilities are boundless.

Today I’ve been streaming 3 albums of Maverick City music on repeat. Twenty six songs. Over and again and goodness, love, peace is distilling into my soul.

I’ve been more productive than I’ve been in days today. And even now, though I’m not plugged in, I can hear the chords strumming in my soul.

Have you ever needed to unclog your mind? Or just unwind? Find music, plug in and let it rejuvenate you.

Emem ye ifure (peace and serenity).

Your GJ. đź’ś

Posted in Healthup with GJ

Word therapy

On #thelittlebigthingsthatmakeushealthy.

He sat criss-crossed on the bed. Eyes open, he stared at the wall just beyond her. The steady knock of her heels on the facility’s floor sounded almost musical.

It was easy to assume that her beautiful face was the object of his attention, but his unwavering gaze as she shifted away from his visual field confirmed my fears.

I was barely twelve years old, but I’d heard enough about this condition to know what it was. He was losing his sight. Not blind, because he could make out light from darkness, but not seeing too, because all that was not darkness had one tag to him–light.

“Hello Kelechi. It’s a pleasure seeing you once again. You look lovely as always.” she said, drawing close to his bedside. I watched from my relative’s bedside, grateful that he was dozing, so I could focus on the unfolding scene. “Very well, thank you, FelicĂ©.” he responded. “Your hair is lovely.” (I was certain he couldn’t see any freaking thing because his eyes were still fixated on the wall, but, oh well.)
“Oh. Thank you,” she said, a pleasant smile gracing her red lips which she pursed her for a moment, mulling over something. “Ready for your session?” she asked. “of course!” he grinned “I was born ready.”

“Alright, then. Say with me ‘I love my eyes. With the aid of my eyes I see the beautiful world around me.'” “Still sounds like a lie, but I believe it a lil more than I did in our last session, so here goes: I love my eyes…”

In the hour that followed, they went through a series of words repeated over and again while soft instrumentals played via mp3 serenaded the room.

Over a period of twelve weeks, these sessions continued and by the thirteenth, Kelechi could tell red from pink. It was miraculous.

I would come to know in time that FelicĂ© was Kelechi’s therapist and the words she made him repeat over again were called affirmations.

But, the profound effect those simple English words strung together had on his healing process would never leave me for eternity.

Your healthtechie. đź’ś


Ps: I’m learning to let my stories tell the story. Did you learn something? Share your thoughts with me in the comment section, please.

Posted in Stories

So much for a hug.

In this issue of #thelittlebigthingsthatmakeushealthy.

A long time ago, when 10 naira meant more than a sachet of water, there lived in Lagos a boy called Kunle and his mother who was a widow.

She owned a beauty store where Kunle spent the most of his time. Every day, at the close of work, he would ask his mother for a ten naira note, and when she asked what for, he would reply that he was saving it to buy a gift on Christmas day.

Determined and persistent, Kunle asked everyday until Christmas eve, and try as hard as his mother did she couldn’t get him to tell her what he wanted to buy. He only said she’d know on that day, so she resigned to wait.

At long last, it was Christmas day. All of Kunle’s extended family resident in Lagos gathered together to exchange gifts. Then it came to Kunle’s turn to give his mother a gift. To their surprise, he brought five neatly arranged bundles of 10NGN note to her.

Smiling at her 5 year old son, mama Kunle patted his head, collected the money and was headed towards the kitchen, when she was halted by Kunle’s voice. “Mama, my hug?” “What hug?” she asked. “You gave Iya Ahmed a hug when she gave you five bundles of 10NGN note some months ago.” he said, brown irises threatening a tear-storm.

It was all it took for Mama Kunle to tear up. Gathering her boy in her arms and embracing him tight, she whispered in his ear, “hugs are free, my love. Hugs are free.”