FADING HOPE

Our hope is getting dimmer as the sun sets.
We had springs in our steps and loud brags about the power of our votes.
Now we whisper to one another, the possibility that we may never hope again.

We were optimistic as we chanted "change"...The Nigeria of our dream so real we could touch it.
So we marched with our thumbs, powered by our cards. And we voted to bring our dreams to live.

There were promises, some we weren't too gullible to believe. Like a Dollar to a Naira in a year...we weren't fooled. Yet we hoped for change and for change we voted.

Our hope is getting dimmer with every sunset, but with every sunrise we await the News still. Hoping to find therein, something to rekindle our hope.

Selky, the POOR girl

Selky! selky!!

The poor girl heard her mother call out loudly.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry, wondering as she ran if she had done something wrong.

There by the stool she found her mother grinning, “Selky my daughter, Aunt Ralia will take you away from the hardship of the village to the sky lights of the city.”

All she had to do, her mother told her, was to be grateful.

Selky! Selky!!

The poor girl heard her aunt call out loudly.

She ran as fast as her legs could carry, wondering as she ran what she did do wrong this time.

There on the sofa she found her aunt fuming, “you stupid child, I rescued you from a life of hardship and plan to put you in a school but you are good for nothing.”

Selky wasn’t sad, now she is grateful and hopeful.

the POOR girl

You see her gathering burning coal from the neighbour’s fire. 

You know she is about to make her own fire.

She has to cook water for her brothers to bathe and have some meal.

While the fire burns, she is bent over, sweeping her father’s compound;

Ever so careful not to wake her brothers from their restful state.

You will be moved to pity her for she is only an 8 year old child.

She cooks and cleans and waits on her brothers.

She is a girl child for whom there are no plans for education.

But don’t pity her. No. Don't pity her for the reasons you've so far come to know - Because she is happiest in the mornings while she cooks and cleans and tends.

Because the morning liberates her from the terror of the night; for at night she is worried about the rough big hand that goes up her skirts.

She is scared about growing up; more like terrified.

She recalls too well what happened when her sister was declared “grown up”.

She remembers loudly the screams from her sister as she was being sliced from childhood to womanhood; her genital cut and sewn to keep her “chaste, beautiful and worthy of a husband.”

This girl child is terrified most of all about marrying her father’s friend, a choice she has no voice in. 

The poor girl’s worry, you must know, is that her father's friend chews too loudly.

MEMORIES

It is rather uncanny and almost always a certainty that an event is remembered differently by witnesses. In whole, it is usually the same story retold by these different witnesses but the details, the tit-bits, are usually different. The beautiful butterfly perched nearby at the time might be the first thing I remember when asked to recant, but until I mentioned it, you had completely forgotten it was there, that you had admired it dismally.  The first thing you remember is the shock you felt at my rapid mood swing.

Do we choose what we remember? Or do our memories come from what is most important to us? The story we recant from memory may not necessarily be all we remember but the part of it we want to share, or the detail we want our listeners to focus on, usually to buttress the points we favour or that favours us. We carefully leave out parts of the details we wish didn't happen and recant the bits that sound good to us and as we’ll hope, good to our listeners. If we embellish long enough, we may start to forget the truth of what really happened.

Memories can cause damages. Serious irreversible damages especially in relationships. One may be up in bed after a nice date, re-living the hugs, conversations, the smiles and the knowing looks when memories of past fights, probably forgiven (or at least in the process of forgiving) hurtful words show up to ruin the moment. These mood ruining memories have a way of lingering long and they do not come alone. They show up with a  basket full of ‘what if’ questions…

“what if he isn't really sorry?

“what if she was acting tonight, if she was really into me she’ll never had acted the way she did a gazillion years ago.”

…and just like that, one “bad” memory of an argument that lasted 5 minutes ruins and takes over the good feeling of the memory of an aggregate 5 months of bliss.

Okay, I think it is an insult to the power of memories to simply classify them into “good memories” and “bad memories”. Memories are good, they make us; it is what we do with them that matter. We can choose to let go of unpleasant memories and treat them as a part of our learning past, or we can hold on to the hurt and remain miserable.

A Lazy Tuesday Morning.

I've been up for hours. I've been lazying in bed, I've played candy crush saga until I've ran out of lives. Twice. I've read chats on whatsapp, I've responded to chats on whatsapp. I've even reread old chats and I've made new resolutions.

I've rolled and rolled on the bed. I've had a cup of sugar filled yellow label tea. I've even been to the toilet for the big one. I've counted the ceiling, vertically and horizontally. I've thought of several things, the range of which is impossible to belief.

The most reoccuring nag in my mind all morning has been, "do something girl, write something, read a book, don't just lie here. It's almost noon and all you've done is wait for the phone to beep and wait for lives to fill on a game. Wake up Ttonia, wake up!"

Then I picked up a book to read, I've read several pages of this book before now, but I decided to start over. Two pages and the back cover into the book and I'm tired of reading, not the books fault please,this book is a fun read. This isn't just what I'll rather be doing. So I went back to tossing and turning, candy crush and whatsapp. And on cue, the nagging thoughts returned.

Again I decided to give in and do something. "But what do I do? I could finish that proposal," I thought, "or perhaps start writing the one I've completed only in my head." But no, I'm too lazy to do any mental work. How about I complete the online registration for that training, the deadline is in about a week. No, still mentally tasking.

I know what to do, I'm going to write, I'll just pick up my favourite pen and the yellow writing pad and start writing. I'll write anything that comes to my head even if it's these silly random indecisive thoughts.

So I've picked up the yellow pad and the current favourite pen and I've written these words. I'll type and share so you'll get to read my thoughts on a lazy Tuesday morning. Or should I say you've just read my thought?

Losing.

His eyes met hers and a new friendship began. They'll talk for hours unend about silly things and not so silly things. Her waking moments were filled with thoughts of him.

He sends her short texts, flowers and chocolates. The kisses, long walks and whispers of sweet nothings were the highlights of her day and the warm memories that accompanies her to sleep at night.
Then the flowers stopped coming, so did the chocolates. The texts became shorter and farther apart.

The whispers of sweet nothings became a distant memory so that all she now has are memories that seem so long ago, they could have happened in another lifetime.
Memories she is fighting to hold on to and losing.

Battering is successful

Domestic violence against women is the most common cause of injury to women and it is happening in our society today, even as you read this. 80-90% of children living in violent homes are aware of the violence hence its attendant effect on their lives. Girls from domestic homes are 50% more likely to abuse their children than those who are not and they tend to marry men who abuse them. Women who are abused are also more likely to abuse their children. Women are dying, children are becoming emotionally twisted, hey even the batterers are crying out for help. So why is domestic violence against women still prevailing?

Wife beating is sanctioned by many traditional laws and religions; this makes it okay for men to go commando on their wives at the slightest provocation. The provocation isn’t always necessarily a result of happenings at home; it could be something that may have happened at work or while drinking with friends. I am not saying here that it is okay if it is as a result of something that happened at home. There is absolutely no reason on earth why a man should beat his wife no matter what she may have said or done. Sure, women can be a handful and an annoying specie of the human race, it is in our DNA. Yet, getting angry is a legit emotion which should be expressed but not by hitting another adult who happens to be your wife. Let's face it, she isn't the only person that annoys you still you do not go about hitting anyone who does.

System failure contributes to the success of violence against women, no one effectively intervenes, not friends, not the neighbours, not the police, not the church, not the courts, not the media, no one. You hear your neighbours’ wife screaming from the slaps and kicks; you turn up your radio to drown the noise. It is their privacy, you won’t intervene. Do you really believe that it does not affect you? Or that minding your business makes you the stand up guy and earns you the perfect neighbour award? This batterer neighbour of yours is grooming a future batterer who might end up getting married to your grand niece. Fat chance? Not really!

I think that intervening does not only help the victim but the batterer too. I mean, somewhere deep inside, he wishes he kept his promise to himself. A promise he made to never hit any woman in his life, especially not his wife. A promise he made to himself severally while watching his mother take abuse from his father. A promise he renews each time he gets remorseful for hitting his wife. He wishes someone would intervene. Somehow, I see him as a victim too; a victim of societal breakdown and poor role modeling.

The success rate of wife beating can be curbed if batterers stop getting away with it. We really can’t afford to let this keep prevailing, call the police, knock down that door and make a citizen’s arrest if you have to but don’t do NOTHING. The violence Against Persons (Prohibition) Act, 2015 shouldn’t be another policy for the shelves. It is aimed at prohibiting all forms of violence against persons both in private and public; I earnestly hope it doesn’t fall short of its aim.

Let us all join hands in this fight to end wife battery, it is not a fight to be fought by a particular gender, or by survivors of violence, it is a fight to be fought by everyone, men and women. Every child deserve to grow in a violent free home.