Perspective is a very interesting proposition, it infers to what we see and how we see things. most are somewhat intimidated by it and would rather cower in fear and let others run over them with their interpretation.
Please, understand that, where ever you are in the scheme of things in life, you have a seat at the table, the only difference is, the size and location of your table but, the privilege or misfortune to occupy a particular seat at any table accords you the right for your opinions to be heard.
The degree of importance to your table will be measured by what it represents and the relevance and gratification humanity draws from your position and contribution as a participant.
Some tables in life only offer great distress and discomfort to society. They have become the bane and the scar a nation bears. Societies have been stigmatized and traumatized by the activities of these lot.
Fortunately, there are other tables that offer different levels of value to society. They have become relief points and symbols of consolations and theaters of hope, for what society can be at her highest form of decent expressions.
It is imperative that everyone should come to a level of consciousness that, allows us the right to be heard. We all retain a unique view of life and represents different shades of a shared humanity. Your opinion has a place at any table. This however, does not imply just saying anything for the sake of talking, you should at the least exhibit a modicum of common sense. you must always do your research and maintain a position that is born from convictions.
Let the limitation to your perspective only be subject to the seat you occupy, by that I mean, where you seat may not offer the best view. So, if you must give a description of what you see and the ideals you profess, chances are, it may be obscured and vague or outright silly, not because of your intentions but, primarily by the limitation of your view point.
This applies to life and our positioning in it. Your level of exposure offers you a degree of insight, but even at that, you may still not hold a very refined opinion on a subject matter but, the point however is, let your opinion be heard all the same.
The goal to always keep in mind is not about being perfect but rather, not being forced to silence by the brilliance of others. Knowledge can be very prideful and so is arrogance, a thin line separates them though, but there exist a difference nonetheless, don’t let any of that deter you from owning your views.
What every other person should be to your life is a motivation that inspires you to become better and to change view points when ever necessary. You can only see from where you are at every point in time, start from there, It may not be good enough but at least you are willing enough to even see at all and take the risk to be heard. That’s the avenue where others can vet your opinions dispassionately and offer opportunity for continual growth.
Life is in a constant state of progression, be flexible enough to quickly make the adjustments and refine your thought patterns. Never subscribe to mediocrity and never be unashamed or too afraid to document your journey.
Life after all they say is a story book, so be your own deliberate script writer most of the times, fill in the pages with your version by being a keen observer of life. The goal should be in your sincerity and progression not necessarily in perfection, for the illusion of perfection only breeds stagnation.
Trust is a very delicate subject matter. It is one of those exclusive preserves that is of esteemed value to most. it’s not surprising to find people guarding it jealously.
As a people, Codependency is a critical factor of the commonality we all share in our humanity. It therefore means that Relationships amongst ourselves is an intricate weave that has its origin in our creative and existential design.
Whiles our relationships with others is a must and will be expressed at different levels across all stratas, the cordinates however for meaningful engagements and continued interactions is hinged on that delicate balance called trust.
As our sense of participation and engagement awakens, the value of tradeoff becomes more apparent. Tradeoffs would mean and be characterized as all our human interaction which spans through our socioeconomic, political, spiritual and all other factors of expression that interphases our existence.
To successfully navigate through all of life’s intersections one would have to allow a level of vulnerability even when it is not often seen as such. To evolve in a relationship where engagements gives birth to an Exchange be it goods or services or loyalty or devotion would require the capacity to trust ; that right there is a vulnerable spot.
Now it is understandable why it is critically important for alot of people in how they dispense off their trust level on any thing.
Trust is usually earned upon the alters of personal vetting subjective to the scale of qualification as ascribed by the entruster. The quality of a man’s trust is subject to the degree of his awareness to his personal principles and core philosophy.
All other factors not withstanding such as manipulation, deception, ill advise, misjudgement, pressure of any sort or literacy.
What is foundemetal however in the dispersal of trust is the sense of worth a person feels and a right to bequeath trust by his personal sense of merit. This will imply a sense of competence to act as such and also deserves and demands reciprocity.
Upon this premise there fore it is understandable to expect certain levels of reactions when such a trust is undermined discarded or betrayed.
To abuse a man’s trust is to betray his expectations. It is a debasement of his sense of worth and a desecration of his sense of observations. It can be very disorienting and indeed very depressing. It is no wonder anger and resentment is a resultant effect.
Some folks can be very forgiving and tolerant and would extend the benefits of doubt a couple of times maybe owing to an inward guilt that blames them for certain outcomes even when it is really not their faults. But It’s not uncommon to find alot of people having trust issues and having a hard time trusting again especially the very subject of betrayal.
Betrayal of trust could be intentional or in some instances unintentional but whatever the case is, emotions are stirred up and people with bruised emotions do not treat kindly with such betrayals.
What could possibly go wrong?
When you acted in a manner that has called your loyalty, when honest communication is not just your strong suite. when your words simply don’t measure up to your actions, when your commitments become selfish. When you capitalize on the weakness of others to pry and munipulate them or even when your good intentions falls short to deliver on a promise, all these and many more can be a very distressing moment and experience for you when you find yourself at the short end of the stick.
It’s apparent that the circumstances that could lead to a breach of trust are myriad but for the purpose of this article we would narrow it down to an actual character malfeasance, although our outcome is applicable to all dimensions.
Character is what defines a man, the representation of which is clearly evident in the display of action and not necessarily words spoken.
Maybe you find yourself in a situation where even your character flaw amazed you in person. When your actions became so out of tune from initial portrayal that earn you trust in the first place.
When you probably became so obsessed with a negative behavioural pattern or attitude that was further reinforced and empowered by your new level of influence or wealth. When all those that use to matter to you at some point have become inrelevant and insignificant that your arrogance and disdain have left scars in their hearts.
There is a level of influence a man could get to that he unconsciously suspends his sense of empathy.
Maybe you are just plain dubious and a good pretender that was just bidding for time to manifest that level of ugliness that has cause disaffection and mistrust towards you now.
Time , money and power has a way of reintroducing a man to others and even to him self.
Whatever the case is there, Such a situation speaks to the quality of your character, the duplicity of character that tends to plaque many people. this could also be an indication that you may not really know your self and your tendency given such factors as opportunity, time, money and influence.
Trust betrayed leaves many wounded and upon realization it is even a heavier burden on those who had betrayed trust. It is critically important therefore to cultivate the tools that makes for an amiable character and develop a self simulation system that would subject all of your character traits to vetting measured against as many of life’s sceneros that typifies the growth levels you envisage in your journey through life and in your relationship with others. The essence therein is to pass the test of credibility.
This is especially more critical to all those that have not experienced the misfortune of being mistrusted.
Your attitude and character must be trained and fortified until it becomes something you are very familiar with so there be no surprises in dealing with people at various levels of relationships.
However, If you are in the position already where you have betrayed trust then it is important to know how to navigate from hereon.
The realization of a shortfall is a humbling one but one that is essential and a must if life is to offer any substantial sense of meaning or worth to such a person and in their pursuit for new levels of interactions and sustainable relationships.
Those who pursue sincere growth in life soon discover the feebleness in acquisition and possession of materiality. Though very important and at it’s lower level an indicator of relevance and certain stress relive yet it all pales in the face of valuable relationships abused and misused which had provoked the breach in trust.
The challenge of repentance
It takes sincerity to be remorseful and a disbandment of Ego to admit wrong. But that is just one swing of the pendulum.
The desire to make people believe you are truly remorseful and reformed is another ball game entirely. Most people underestimate the pressure involved in these undertaking. It is very frustrating when those you have betrayed refuse to give you the opportunity to proof it. Especially when that it’s actually a genuine intention having learnt from your mistakes.
People like to insulate them selves from Futher pains and disappointment. They would rather not deal with you anymore and discard you completely than allow you back into thier circle and become vulnerable towards you again.
This is even more difficult when they have not fully healed or trying to move pass that experience you remind them off.
So a posture of repentance even when true can not be expected to recieve a positive reaction from such class of people. It is even more unconvincing when you are no longer in a position of power or influence over them.
The tendency to regard your remorse as unreal and merely an act borne out of your disadvantage position should be expected. You will be confronted with questions like,
What is the quarrantte you wouldnt turn back and do even worst when you regain your influence as has been the case with so many others?
Why should you qualify for their trust again?
Why should anything you say even matter any more?
Why will your be different this time around?
The truth of the matter is those who betray trust finds themselves in a very difficult, precarious and unpleasant condition.
The power to determine the reaction of those you have offended is no longer in your control and there is nothing you can do about their choice.
You have lost the credibility to question their reaction how ever they decide to express it.
No matter the integrity of your conversion and the intention you currently portray they deserve every right to be sceptical of you.
Unfortunately that is the cross you will have to bear until God intervenes.
So the critical question for those who find themselves in this predicament is what must be done?
Be Repentant.
It is that simple that’s all it takes. But don’t be fooled by the simplicity of the word repentance. It is much deeper than giving it a casual nod. Repentance means to turn away from who you were and become a new person. It means to subject your self to a new wave of influence that is designed to transform and mold your character into something completely different from what brings dishonour. It means to develop a new character that has the capacity to withstand the test of integrity.
To be repentant is to simulate your character across every level of human experience and growth that you can possibly come into with the best guide post which is Scriptures form the Bible.
Repentance is not just an act but a state of mind that constantly needs reminding and strengthing.
Your repentance must be genuine to you first off and then before God I said you first because you must become aware and have a sense of remorse, you need to realise you are really sorry and in need of a new trajectory to your life. Then you must realise that your capacity to do right is not in you until you get help. There is no one else that can offer you such help but God.
The subject of God has become relative to many in our contemporary world opinions are rift and so many self help materials are widely spread but the fact still remains that there is a God who superintends over the affairs of men.
It is important you realise this because there are levels of betrayal that no words can fix anymore. So no matter the new discoveries you have found on the best ways to tender an apology or whoever it is you know that can be your advocate will not help except there is a supernatural intervention.
You must follow these sequence first before you proceed to ask for forgiveness and apologize where possible.
Let your focus be in doing the right thing and being truthful to yourself first and then to God .
Stop trying to proof anything just do what is right. Don’t focus on trying to convince or persuade those you offended any more or any other person for that matter.
This may sound arrogant but the truth is the task of trying to convince someone to the fact that you are now a better person is actually not in your power anymore. You have failed the test of credibility and people often hold a very strong sense of judgement .
People will relate to you the way they choose to no matter the impression you give them and justifiably so if they have been disappointed by you countless times.
So the key word here would be your intentionality and your focus. If you are true to your new conviction of remorse and a transformation of your attitude to a better quality of expression that pleases God then you can trust him to do the impossible and bring restoration to what ever it is you have lost. Your focus should just be targeted at pleasing God’s heart. In so doing you will be lead to be in worthy service to others. You will be useful to a course of action and God alone will give visibility and acceptance to what you have become.
What more?
Proverbs 16:7 When a man’s ways is pleasing to the lord he makes even his enemies to be at peace with him.
Isaiah 49:5 He says even the lawful captive shall be delivered.
John 12.32 And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself.”
The revelation and import of the above scripures are so liberating.
It speaks to a situation where people hold you in judgement or mistrust you by reason of your past.
But only God can make even your enemies to be at peace with you. Only God sustains the ability to make even that man who is isolated justifiably so to be delivered, forgiven recognized and appreciated again.
Only God has the capacity to draw all men when our focus is targeted at lifting him high In our praise , lifting Him high in our worship, lifting Him high in our devotion and in our prayers.
So be comforted and be focused on pleasing the lord. When we delight His heart he will cause a sense of Realignment to occur that would be to our favour
The significance for a broken and a contrite heart is very imperative, find out all the principles and methodology that allows you access into God’s favour and just live out your salvation in truth and obedience then the lord will restore your broken relationship and give you honour.
We need to urgently arrest the morality of the Nigerian youth. The sort of things we see currently where very young boys running mad on our streets with chants of disavowals of supposed wealth they were in search for is becoming very rampant.
It is always very tragic and painful to watch such display of insanity provoked by apparently unseen forces. one would only wish upon such sighting that it were a skit of one of the many Nigerian Nollywood movies but sadly this is no fiction but a real life dramatisation that is not directed by any living producer.
It’s sad to see how young people have become ritualist at such young age all for wealth not as if there is a suitable age for that sort of adventure anyways.
One only begins to wonder what motivates them to the extend of such level of desperation to venture into the occultic with a bend towards the demonic.
It’s a tragedy too deep to bear for some watchers. Grasp materialism has eaten too deep in the subconscious of this young folks . This all speaks to their sense of reference. The wrong mentors are constantly in Their faces so they are under tremendous pressure to measure up and model after this so called celebrities or influencers without the genuineity of growth and wealth.
In light of these the failure of the right mentorship system and the right leadership structure that is geared towards meaningful impact is laid bear. We all unfortunatly share in this burden when we fail to provide the framework that models the right values.
We all share in this moral failure that has been bequeathed our young folks. Those that are older don’t actually fair better In the area of morality anyway so the cancarworm runs deep.
Scriptures has admonished that there is no peace for the wicked , oh how true. I can only imagine the requirements that is placed on this young minds to facilitate the agency of the demonic to work on Their behalf. It’s can only be a demand that would provoke the dark recesses of their minds to do the unthinkable and wreck unfathomable havoc upon the lives of others just to gain advantage over others.
We need to be intentional in shaping the culture of the next generation. We need to be advocates for modesty. We need to reintroduce Christ in dimensions that resonates with the youths. We simply need to be unconventional. Then we can truly find rest in our land.
“Live free ,live happy” it’s a choice only you can make. keep standing however hard pressed. Maybe all you see right now is relentless emptiness. Hmmm, … I implore you, look again ! , see with the eyes of a kid,… “daddy can fix anything”
Predators would yet prowl but if your head must bow let it tilt only for honour and the admiration of your heels. Life has storms but when it catches up with you be sure to spring back up. You owe your self some “bounce back” because you are involved then there is still some spark in the journey… fear nothing,
you may have been hit hard but so also is your resolve to stay strong… you may have been misunderstood so also is your commitment to purpose…
you may have been betrayed so also is your ability to love and accept yourself . ..
you may have made the mistake, well, now you can avoid it… dust your “behind”. Hey! it may seem too late but remember nothing is late till you refuse to show up.
Life is all about perspectives… raise your brow there is still an “angel” in the unknown… read more books, forsake unprofitable companions … fear not, make a new friend… smile some more… just shrug those shoulders again and refuse to worship in the opinions of others..always remember what you empower, enslaves you.
Focus on what’s constructive to your character.. it’s your responsibility to build an edifying and impactful response . .. live your best, it is good enough, at the end that’s all that matters… that you ran your race and finished your course not someone else’s’ but yours. Just take a break and live free, connect to your essence, commune more with your spirit… ensure eternal value in your interactions with life, refuse to be eternally useless… don’t waste the motion…there is rhythm to your life as well… catch that dream again, you exist to simply be the difference ,oh yes!
You are that valuable… born to display a unique virtue. .. Don’t let any one or any issue pull the curtain on you…Press on against the tide. Control your choices… be a friend, make a friend, make that phone call send that message, someone has been waiting to help maybe you should help as the case may be… don’t stay down! expand your reach even when you get a negative response. Diversify your contacts, the next could be positive… you will always need bridges on the journey… find a coach or become one… don’t even try to find the balance in life find the truth and stay free, there is so much to live for, don’t quit now don’t quit at all. Go for the word… it may not come to you, go find it..
Be bold to speak out… destruction only lies in the blossom of those that despise the truth… God’s word is truth… Never cower in the face of seeming defeat nor slant under pressure… connect to your core keep sailing, your victories are only a shore away . Otto my friend says it best… “In any situation you find yourself today there is always an anchor to hold” . ..
“Integrity is telling myself the truth. Honesty is telling the truth to other people” -Spencer Johnson
Heavy breathing and the sound of weight lifting was a constant behind the house. The barrack was a jungle, training and building muscles was for survival and superiority.
The humiliation of being beaten in a fight will never repeat itself. “try na Francis, you are in secondary School now o, carry this thing jo”, ” …don’t let any body beat you now o! let alone a girl”…came my brothers sarcastic tone… they didn’t forget my fight with Chindalu cos dad was told what a “sissy” I was when my teacher came to the rescue.
Little did my brother know that my motivation to be strong and muscular was also to stand up to him when we fight for there was always one reason or the other to engage in a physical combat.
I tried to lift the weight… up… down… up… down… The panting was heavy and the arm stayed sloppy… I tried, I always did, but that was my brothers’ world; they carried different measures of weight with such ease and staying power that forces admiration.
Mom would scream from the living room “Francis, don’t carry that iron oo, you are not as strong as your brothers…don’t bother your self”, she would continue., we would all burst into laughter . “You need to go and sell the sugar cane oo” “the clock is ticking” she would add… oh! I wanted Mum’s validation of being lazy so I could run and leave my brothers to their strain.
My world was with Mom, and selling her merchandise – Sugar cane in Sabon Gari market after school, (moi – moi) and (boiled ) (yam) to the recruits enlisted into the Nigerian Army Training program in the evenings.
Mom experimented with every trade – water, rice, ground nuts, kulikuli , Garri,bread and minerals(carbonated drinks)….with a tray on my head and miles to cover traversing the adjacent town and barrack I had my daily ritual cut out for me. I wondered how I stayed fat selling all of this at different times and seasons.
Mom would always serve our meals in same plate and make us eat together. I guess she believed eating from the same bowl strengthen family ties… well this seemed to be the rumble in the jungle for my brother and I.
With our meals served, my younger siblings( brother and sister) shared theirs. My older sister had her meals separately, she was very quiet and kept more to her self, I guess she was always reading, because she was exceptionally brilliant…I don’t know where I fall in that classification of intelligence within the family. My younger brother was also a “bookworm” and exceptionally neat and calm, he churns out the best paintings and drawings you can imagine… he was so gifted. My older brother apart from being a sports enthusiast, he would always seek to acquire new skills that pay some money and this would help him lay hold on some small cash, he was fast becoming a big boy and having “special friends”.
They all had something they were very good and distinct at, it was common place to be exceptional in certain skills for them all…well my skill was soon to be discovered….(laughs)
My brother had the biggest lump when he moulded his “Eba” ( a meal made from Cassava tubers popularly grown in many parts of Nigeria) on his palms…the dent was evident in the plate… his mouth seemed to have an air conditioner, as well… however fast I tried to eat I didn’t seem to measure up! each of his lump seemed to drag me miles behind.. soon, I reached for the only piece of meat in the soup and hauled it into my mouth.
Hey! … my brother was as swift as a gazelle , his hands to my throat and the meat was forced out… off we go fighting again… oh I was no match to my brother and yet I did not respect my self and my flabs)… Mom on the other will not just separate our meals…
“Today is a fight to finish”, I made up my mind. After all, “he is just two years older ” I thought! How can he always beat me and every other person for that matter! “No way”! “Not today”, ! “If I don’t get this meat, he wouldn’t either”
… I wouldn’t let him swallow it even though he was already chewing away. I dashed for his throat as well… he was taller but when a man is angry he gains height with rage… I held him tight… and the punches rained in, though it was one sided, I didn’t seem to hit the target with my punches. so that’s not my style.. wrestling was… “hulk Hogan” was my hero and I had learnt a lot from wrestle mania.
At this time, the plates had been sent flying in all directions “egbemm” was the sound on the floor…
Mom, of course was tired of always separating our fights. We were not her only children for crying out loud, she must have thought…. Today, hers is to mind her business…
Down on the floor we continued but my back was the one against the floor… with tears rolling down my eyes and my mouth “singing a new hymn” . “Give me my meat Ohhhh! Give me my meat ohhh!”
Before long my “song” changed to “uhmmm my chest”… “Ummm my chest”.. uhmmm… my brother was way stronger than me in all aspect of physicality yet I embraced illusion to always take him on.
“Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret” -Ambrose Bierce
The Ghanian teacher made classes more bearable . My sitting position at the back of the hall was treasured and well guarded…, No one dares call me to answer any more embarrassing questions, certainly not in Zaria…
His accent gets in the way most times anyway, so I couldn’t trust his impact in my understanding so far; but somehow I could pick… bits and pieces and enjoyed classes now though.
The sea of heads in front made me
Invisible but, for the daily row calls…I hated it. “Present sir”, … I would answer and quickly dash down to my docking position, hoping I have been erased from his radar… until she came… hmmm… she was built like a hulk…, her hair cut, low as the norm. This further stripped her of every form of femininity and her deep Igbo accent didn’t make it any pleasant yet she chose to sit with me…, Chindalu was her name.
Chindalu… she is so different from Utchua… Utchua was my best friend. she was my neighbour… now we had our apartment at the Sergeant Quarters . A twin bungalow. We were now free from the constellations of people within the “other ranks” Quarters. We had space and our own private convenience. The bully and his friends where becoming a distant blur. Utchua, and her family were our only neighbours. This was fun. Although very young yet , I could not help but notice how pretty she was. She was very fragile but pleasant to be with and her smiles were enchanting, her femininity was sublime… we will sit out all day together after school at home before I proceeded to hawk minerals (carbonated drinks) for my mom in the barracks, but I will sneak and go to mammy market where Utchua’s mom had a shop.
Her dad was richer than dad, they were so rich that they had a coloured TV and a video player plus a Volkswagen car. We only had a black and white box TV and dad’s C 185 motorbike. She was my ally and would give me a “sold”bottle of mineral and the money , then take an “unsold” one from my bowl. This was my only sale for the day because I spent all day with Utchua and enjoy a Volkswagen ride back home. I was usually fascinated at this.
I eventually got along with chindalu in school. She would make me laugh. Wonder what she says to me, I was fascinated by her jokes and pranks and longed to be back in class so she would make me laugh. I would chuckle so hard that I forgot I was in class, and eventually my teacher wanted to share in the joke… “Francis Awusa”,
I heard the call, this was now my new name, still trying to even get acquainted with it…, “sir! ..was my response…” what’s the answer”? …” I can see you are very excited”, he said, with his heavy Ghanian accent… I wondered, why all these Ghanaians in our school in the first place? “why are they the ones teaching us”?, I thought. “Don’t they have their own Country? “. hmmm… “I am sure our country is finer than theirs” …
” yes we are waiting for your answer”, his voice cuts through and brought me back from my reveries… this can’t be real! Is it me he is referring to? how? Why? . In Zaria again? …
I had no clue what the topic was,… I had been lost in the world of Chindalu… “we are waiting”, he said again.. this is very serious… did he dream of me?…my thoughts were everywhere else but the answer… At this time ,I had to stand, sweat broke down my spine and my knees buckled with a lost smile My face must have looked like I saw an alien or something.
“In Zaria again”?… I was mute… “come over here” ,.. I made my way to the front.. “what is wrong with you”, “Your Dad is a very intelligent man and you are this dumb”!. He knew dad, since dad was of the Education Corps in the Army and the School, Depot Army children primary school where I was a pupil was under his purview… he gave me a front row seat and asked the other fellow to take up my seat behind and take over my friend Chindalu. Anyway, I cared less at this time, I think I dislike her now… oh! … how I will never speak to Chindalu again for making me laugh. it’s her fault…now I am in front of this teacher, and paired up with Francis my name sake , the most brilliant boy in class… I have never liked him he seems to know every thing… his hands are always soon to go up before the teacher finished asking the question… I am sure he thinks I answered the same name now because of him… and now I am tormented by his presence at such proximity and his intelligence…how could I cope with Francis by my side and the teacher right in front…Chindalu I dislike you, you made me laugh so loud… chai!…
Chindalu tried to make up and chat me up during break one day,… I will not have any of it. And she shoved me. “What? … not again”… more so from a girl!!!! No way!!! I angrily shoved her back… hard enough… though it only made her stagger backwards a bit. …. “leave me alone”, I screamed… I don’t want to be your friend anymore… go away…. don’t talk to me again…..
hmmm…. “it was a mistake” had I known…… Chindalu, apparently cared less about the friendship anymore but was not going to leave without a statement. … something ticked off…. she charged at me like an angry local Igbo hunter… and the fight begun… the crowd gathered…” she is a girl!!! common Francis”,… “you can handle her” I thought within my self… and we fought… hands clad around each others neck… hmm …I tried… she was like a rock of Gibraltar. Her frame was not for nothing, she was born to do this “fight” … hey! I am a boy!. .. but she was built to stand any thing on foot… I guess I over rated my flabs for strength… I was on the ground in no time… and chindalu… the girl warrior was pounding away.
The crowd cheered her on and none came to the rescue… they roared in laughter while clapping and .!!! …. “what was that?” … they chanted… “what?”…. they kept at it…!!! it was a song… hmmm… it will soon become a nick name.. oh the sound of it…as they continued chanting….”ouch” “woman wrapper”. Clap clap “woman wrapper”clap clap “woman wrapper”… the chant seemed to be an Adrenaline for Chindalu as she punched on…
To be continued……
“Zaria”! …….. I heard the inquisitive tone in her voice. Yes, Zaria …… came the whispered baritone response, “the posting was released today”, he retorted.
“Hmmmm” was the exasperated sigh that came as I heard mom said,- “North again?!”- They had lived in Jos, Plateau State ( in the Northern part of Nigeria) prior to that time. Dad obviously didn’t sound happy. ….. He had a thriving pool office business ( coupon betting business, a form of gambling and prediction of scores in the English football premier league) and had courted popularity within the barracks. …… I’d often hear him say jokingly “eti! Play your game, make your move, this draft (local chess) I used it to pay my wife’s dowry.” that was his usual draft parlance when he had got his opponent where he wanted him.
Dad was the best draft player in the barracks and he was such a gifted speaker and would not stop speaking, he was good at teasing , I guess that was one of his ways of intimidating opponents. He was popularly dubbed “Sunderland”, his favourite club side in his pool business.
Mom, on the other hand didn’t seem to have many friends, she always seemed to have too much time in her hands so we were her constant concern. I always wanted her off my back. No sooner had I started the football match with my friends behind the pool office, with my hands clasping to my oversized shorts, that mom’s voice cuts in “FRIDAY…stop that rough play, you better not come crying to me ooo! Oya!!! leave that place!!……” then with sludged shoulders I will reluctantly abandon my football tournament and proceed to my usual ‘mama and papa’ games with my other friends.
hmmmmm!!! mom was sure to disrupt this fun in no time as well.
Posted to Zaria?, I wondered what it all meant within me as I pretended to be asleep. It was my little way of holding unto the night for as long as I could because each waking up would be daylight, no more hiding place for me any more, school I must go.
“Hey stop it! Why are you shoving him that way? Leave him alone”, that was my older brother coming to the rescue. I “wondered” what I ever did to this bully who would take pride in harassing me and making fun of my chubby figure ever since we arrived Zaria…
The journey to Zaria was quite exciting , we carried our entire belongings and dad’s precious motorbike occupying the choicest part of the truck with our family size mattress thrown atop the truck . we were set, We all hauled into the only available stretch of seat left in the truck. The long distance held a lot of “thrill” for me as my eyes stayed opened looking through the breezy window as we transverse the many cultural divide tucked in those vast expanse of empty land on our way that somehow connects us…. making us a unique entity called ‘Nigeria’. I was also too glad to be leaving that entrapment behind called school. Oh…Zaria is going to be so much fun.
…My brother’s presence definitely gave me the boldness; now finally , I can stand up to this bully of a fellow. On a certain day,while playing together, I probably made some utterances that were somewhat hurtful to him, he quickly reached out to my neck dragging me closer to him, but , my brother after warning him to back off, joined the fight immediately, hmmm! – we were no match for this bully, my brother was struck to the floor and up I was in the air like an inflated balloon, he must have been a sumo wrestler and decided to take on us for his practical slamming lessons. And here came the slam, “bugha” with my face crashing on the cemented floor from such utopian height, oh! What a nasty gash sustained to the top of my left eye. The blood just won’t stop.
The MRS ( military Clinic) in Zaria had a little wounded fighting guest…… Some stitches later and a scar I still carry till date. From that day, I learnt to gauge my opponent before running my mouth, my brother’s presence notwithstanding.
The fuss was certainly not over with both families digging it out later….. in such congested living and shared conveniences within the barracks, the clashes where soon going to be many. Dad was not even supposed to be within this stinking quarters by virtue of his rank in the Army, but for shortage of accommodation in his new area of posting. It was a make shift until his apartment would be readily available…… It was such a long sojourn. The bully and many more sure took their pound of flesh on me while we waited to move to our permanent quarters.
Zaria was not going to be fun after all…. To be continued…
The C 185 Honda motorbike, was dad’s jewel a priced possession purchased with the cash won from his pool betting (coupon gambling). He was the first to buy and own this high class of motorbike at the time. and this bought him a unique identity besides his tall firm masculinity.
Dad towered way above his colleagues in height and frame, he was a rallying point of some sort and his Pool betting business venture had come to stay.
The plastering of the third room extension of the bamboo pool office was a necessity, this was going to be our room now. We would be within the business premises for the best part of each day. Home in the barracks would only be visited at night after the last “forecaster “has left our pool office. Dad would always count and store the monies of the day’s proceeds ( this was a ritual i observed closely) before we lock up our office or permit me rather, lock up our house, yes it was built by us after all. This was our special house I dare say, built by us. It was our architectural masterpiece. Dad was the architect and mom – the Engineer. My siblings and I were part of the mason and we made it. Wonder how the roof was made, have no recollection and never bothered to ask.
This was our first enterprise, our own merchandise, mom was not left out, she had her spot where “carbonated drinks” and home made chin chin and buns were sold. Mom was so enterprising and really hands on. At Christmas, she would single handedly slaughter the goat, she made the chicken we eat at rare occasions on Sundays. I always wondered why dad never bothered to help out in the slaughtering of these animals. I guess he was averse to the blood of animals. Yet he would eat the biggest portion, oh! how I envied his plate.
I was soon to be fished out from my golden spot at the gutter after words filtered to dad that his son was never seen at school and he wondered where I go to, after all I often left home every morning before him.
He followed me up stealthily one day, I would often pretend to ease myself each morning behind the house so as to allow my older siblings get a good head start on the way to school before I would march on to my own “special class”.
No sooner had I settled down in the ” coziness” of my beloved haven (gutter) did I see dad’s imposing figure above me…. What?! .. F.r.i.d.a.y!!! ( imagine, this was the name I was previously called) came the sound of his baritone voice that was originally intimidating and frightening enough and now laced with anger, hmmmm…. (I often wondered what dad swallowed to give him such a deep tone) his voice sent cold shivers down my spine as my innocent large eyes looked on to him for any mercy he could muster. I immediately knew that my bliss in the gutter was over…. “No wonder my report card was always missing”, he must have thought. Dad’s numerous army baton soon found it a thing of fancy to break on my back, guess “spare the rod and spoil the child ” was Dad’s coinage.
The journey is set and the baggage packed. The road long yet ready to be unwound. The content of the baggage lightens at some twists, yet more needs added at certain curves. If this story be told, who better tells it? but one who has walked the scripted paths. Why write the story? Oh! Why not? We make our lives. The privilege of hindsight gives a vantage position to observe the conjectures and juxtapositions of the constituents, and to better understand the why of what has become the enterprise of our lives. So its articulation must not only be artful, but with the clearest of intention to show what greatness looks like on two feet. …….. and to show that greatness has a face and has a path and has choices and her decisions are patterned and could have been on either side of the coin.
Who dare defines greatness?…….. What if I measure up to their assessment on all count? ……..Will I be in the classification?…….. is greatness benchmarked by their opinion? Is greatness devoid of mistakes, failure, shame and guilt? …….what then is greatness?……. Is it bestowed or acquired? or could it be attained or ascribed? ……. I dare to say, greatness is what I make of it. When rarity is ascribed us, that even without words or speech we speak volumes. Who cares what they think? We are first and primarily tenders of our own lives. It is in the discovery of self that we become extensions of others. We make a good story when the script of our lives involves the evolution of others. Our expressions are best served in the inventory and utility of the people and industry that have become beneficiaries from our interactions. We are what we make of our lives, we are embodiments of greatness.
And now the story begins…
“Reality is more scintillating than fiction” – Francis Awusa
From the earliest recollections…. who could explain it to the perception of an 8 years old barrack boy who should be in class in the mornings , in the school situated just within the barracks in Abak, present day Akwa Ibom State; the absurdity of jumping into gutters to escape sighting from the rider of a C185 Honda motor bike. the sound though still distant but distinct enough to warn of Dad’s looming advance on his way to office before proceeding to open his pool office ready for the day’s business where military “wannabe” rich gamblers would frolic later in the day for their permutations and nap.
“Quickly!” “Quickly!!” came mom’s voice,”we need to finish the third room”. My fat little hands carried a tiny container of sand as I wriggle my bogus waist towards the mixed mud in front of her. I have done this sand fetching along side my older siblings countless times, navigating the shanties of the Mammy market of the Army barracks to our own spot, where sat our three – room pool office I wonder if all I ever carried and supplied was up to a bucket size.
All hands where on deck in the construction, mom had no concept of child labour, we were all involved.
This enterprise was far more exciting than the torture school held for me. My hands barely ran across my head to touch my ears, yet they enlisted me to be a pupil. How I hated to be in the midst of so many barefooted children of which I was one and every morning I was to be with them.
The nights where never long enough. What was that?!… 2×3? How should I know? I hardly understood what the teacher was saying, and the constant repetition of the multiplication table was a chorus that was incoherent to say the least. How could any of us be singled out to stand alone? The question was directed at me by our class teacher, unbelievable! I was transfixed. All I did was stare. The laughter was loud enough to mock my ignorance. ‘I will never come back to school’ , I thought to my self. The gutter became my respite, my solace, what pleasure I found being there all by my self doing hide and seek with the raving sound of Dad’s motorbike. I simply joined returning pupils at close of school and off to mammy market I come. School over, oh ! happy day!! to be continued…………..
This is a walk in the recess of my mind. An unveiling of self. A realisation that we are all a book away. We are just untold stories, figuring that reality is even more scintillating than fiction.
We are all chapters and paragraphs that will make a good read if only we write about us .We have wrong measuring sticks and sometimes, we assess our selves mostly by what others make us feel we lack, we think centrally of we don’t currently have and we simply assume we don’t measure up. Hence we have probably ask
“what’s there to write about me?”.
Who would possibly be interested in my story? I don’t have a known name or a recognizable face or a remarkable track record.
Hey! Your story is good enough.
You are very much part of the equation in life. No one is more important that you in your own right as a fellow human.
Redefine greatness. Who says you must conform to a certain standard? You’re uniquely different and that should count for something. We are all a book waiting to be read. But how would they read if we don’t write? We think they don’t like reading ….. , oh! I realise we don’t write enough, so nothing to read about you. We didn’t just appear here, we are all a bundle of stories. And people wonder how we are what we are. Even if they don’t say, their eyes betray and screams the curiosity and inquisition.
perspective is all that shapes our lives. What if we give meaning to our stories. What if we look and see differently the very events that have played out. What if we despise shame and strip off the regalia of our now acquired strength and invincibility and just tell our plain old story. Make it available for all to reach by just a click of the button. What if we remind others that we have shared humanities, and always had insecurities and uncertainties as well. And maybe we still do. What if we told them we once thought we would amount to nothing in life. Maybe some are there now. But see what we have become. Atleast we are still standing.
when we connect to the events of our lives and see the humor in the drama that has made the race of our lives, hmmmm …… it is interesting afterall. then we can engage more in the journey ahead and actually anticipate the responses we can now put forth by reason of our enlightenment and exposure. Over and above all by the acceptance of what we have now become.
Who am I? I am an enigma even to myself. I unfold and evolve everyday. Don’t we all? I am a treasure by my own biases at least we all deserve that sentiment. All I have become and would ever conjure forth, is a consequence of my formation. I am a repository of memories as we all. We’er never bigger than our knowledge trove. I am what I know. I am on a journey. Ain’ t we all? For We are but guest in this voyage call life after all.
Francis O. Awusa ( F.O.A) 