The weeds are out of order

Dear Miss Akerele,

It has been a while since we’ve had a heart to heart, and today you have spun the need to talk to you. We had a brief chat on Skype and I referred to you as an Unkept Garden (feel free to use unkempt if you prefer). I thought I might explain in detail what I meant. Mostly, I pray that you will find you. Not what people want you to be, but the you that would be proud enough to stand tall, even though in reality you are quite a short woman… I love you all the same.

Let us take a look at the word Unkept - not retained, not preserved, not maintained. If you prefer the word Unkempt- neglected, untidy because of neglect, disheveled (like the unkempt clothes of a tramp) 

Now I remember the first time we had a heart to heart. We were in the mini fridge room behind the kitchen at church, when I probed regarding an issue that seemed to bother you. Before this time, my impression of you was a young disrespectful, selfish girl with an Ego the size of Mt. Kilimanjaro. We talked and all I deduced from the conversation was that you were an attention seeker, with serious identity issues, suffering from high end dependency and needed help. Boy was I wrong? Or probably right in some sense. In all the time I have spent getting to know you and love you, I see a woman suffering an identity crisis, and as a result you find the best of you is left to wither while you try to become other people’s expectations of you.

I have chosen this picture of to describe my perception of you (unkept garden) because of the colours that spring out in the midst of all  that green. The green here represents who you are, and the confusion and misunderstanding that you have become. The colourful flowers in the midst of all that green are the talents/abilities that you possess. They unfortunately have fight hard for a place in your life. Not because you don’t have the ability to excel with what you've got, but you have let other people’s perception of you determine who you should be. It takes a lot of strength to say “Hey, this is who I am” knowing that it may not appeal to all, but saying it because you have found solace in you.

Change does not happen overnight. It takes guts, and determination even in the face of failure to make a change. Even though my perception of you may be floored and lacking  evidence, and it could just be me seeing what my life was before I decided that I was not going to be defined by other people’s reality of me, I feel strongly in my heart that for you to find you, and all the beauty that exists within you, you’re going to have to take a chance and weed the garden. It’s not a day’s job. You’ve got to be willing to get your hands dirty, and look at a patch and say you know, I’d prefer a rose there instead, and probably some lilies here.  And you’ll find the making of you. You will begin to find that while you may feel bare some parts of you will be on the mend. You will find that just like this plot below, a fine arrangement begins to come together. In spite of the uncertainty, the assortment of flowers begin to find a place where they should be.

 

After months and months of ripping the garden apart, replanting and watering, and weeding, one day you will wake up smiling. Not because you’ve got it all right, but because you know how to get to where you’re going, Who you are, and most of all can take responsibility for your own actions. It will be like waking up to the sound of the weather man forecasting that the day is full of sunshine and you can enjoy the weather without the interruption of rain, winter or any restrictions that may normally impede.

I’m not going to wear you out with my illustrations, but hope that when you get to that place where you can be content with yourself and truly say THIS IS ME, I will still be a part of your life and will be standing in the crowd smiling at you knowing that we have achieved a milestone.

The wise words of Nana Cher 

Charity begins at home

I've spent most of my life writing about matters I deem dear to my heart. As a teenager, I wrote about my feelings which usually concerned boys, my dreams of becoming the hottest woman alive, my imaginations of being deflowered by this muscle clad, 6 foot 2 hunk which was obviously short lived by reality some years later and the more horrifying fact that not only had I missed out on the 6"2 hunk, the first time ordeal did not involve a short moment of sharp pain followed by endless minutes of sheer pleasure which rocked me to Jupiter and back…. Mills and Boons authors have to be sued for misleading me.

As I grew older my need to write down my daily occurrences (at least the ones I thought were funny) took over. Every detail i thought important penned into my temporary auto-biography.

Today I want to write about something that has affected me greatly. It’s got nothing to do with sex, or the hunk of a man that I pray would be mine forever, its more to do with abject poverty. The type that I have been fortunate enough to avoid the chance of meeting. The type that as long as you can read this note on my page you’ve probably never encountered, or have risen against.

Yesterday, I took a moment to look at a picture posted on my friends wall. What they thought was a funny picture rocked my sense of being. I refused to laugh, I saw what we the fortunate ones in Nigeria always saw. The suffering of others and the jokes we made of their suffering. I’m not sure if this is a measure devised to deal with the suffering, and the fact that we’ve done nothing to aid or improve their state of existence, or if this is just the norm we have come to accept as a way of life. As disturbing as the picture was, I started to think more about the unfortunate state of my Africa, my home country being a point of focus. When you’ve got things easy, you don’t really see how hard

others have it. It’s always around us, but because we don’t live in this reality, we prefer not to see the suffering, the lowly lives that our kindred have found themselves in.

When I look back in time, I remember the times I got on my knees and prayed to God for something as stupid as a new Video player, or a bicycle and even a car just so I could run from one end of the city to the next. In the midst of it all, a child out there just wanted a meal, a good hearty meal. One filled with the right amount of greens, good beef on their plate, not tiny cutlets of the skin of the beef that is barely visible, and good hearty seasonings. A meal nutritious enough to keep them going long enough to wake up the next day and perhaps get a chance to hope for something better.
A pair of shoes, cause the current ones can barely stretch to cover the entire foot, or under pants to cover their nakedness. Under pants that would probably not even be brand new, worn previously by some kid in some western country first before making its way to our dearly beloved 3^rd world country to be hung in the open in very unhygienic markets for a miserly price which they still can’t afford.

While I’m fighting every day to live my dreams, I have come to the realisation that some people don’t even have the opportunity to dream, not because they don’t dare to dream, but because life by default, stole their opportunity to dream. All they’ve got instead is a need. A need to survive this mess called life.

All my life I have prayed that good things happen to me and those around me, but I’ve never prayed for the suffering of my people, because I chose to be ignorant to their pain. Now this picture has touched me, made me see life differently, and while I’m grateful that I’m not a product of this circumstance, I cannot help but remember my people in the struggle. It is my prayer tonight that this child whom someone set out to make a mockery of as a result of her situation, will rise above it. That her current circumstance will not determine her tomorrow. And that she gets a chance to improve her life and those around her.

Memoirs of a lonely heart

Sometimes my heart stops for half a second because I see a man that attracts my undivided attention. The pull is so strong I can’t help but throw caution to the wind, and just for that half a second He is the most magnificent thing I have ever set my eyes on. I don’t care that he might be a bit too old/young for me. He just makes me feel warm inside. For that half of a second he represents everything I have been working so hard for. He is the alpha male that I dreamed of.

But you see it was just half a second, and the moment has passed and all that’s left is an empty feeling. Reality hits me like a wave knocks a surfer of his board. Yes, I must have been crazy to think that he would look at me twice. What in the world was I thinking? There is no way in the world we would even get together, our lives are so different.... And so I watch him walk away, smile as he side steps to avoid a lady bumping into him.

Half a second was all it took to lose him to this big big world.