Out Of My Head

Today’s post is by @Qghaz. He writes here

She took each step delicately at first, careful not to fall till she mastered how to balance her weight on each leg as she jumped and landed on the steel bars. The rail track was empty. A cool breeze blew, and she loved the rush of the wind harassing her face. Her lips were molded into an upward curve that spoke the feelings of her being.

When she became more confident, the rail bars threw her legs up as soon as she landed on them. Slowly, she perfected her childish play. She didn’t plan to break into a run but she ended up doing so out of excitement, and when the clouds began to shower blessings on the soil, it only made her run faster till cardiac muscle stretched to their elastic limit. She was happy. When she stopped to…

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Things I Left Unsaid

How can you make a move to tell someone how you feel, if you already feel the rejection even without saying the words? Six times, six times I watched them almost kill you, and a hundred times over I died from the pain, but because you’re still alive, I am reborn each time, only to be drowned again by the tears that run down your face.
I am incapable of loving another; they complain I speak your name too often, I refer to you too quickly and I force them into a clone of you. But no matter what they do, they can’t be like you. They can’t have the glow of your eyes that the sun envies, they can’t have your delicious fair skin that remind me of chocolate dipped in milk, they can’t have your beautiful innocence that is made of all things good.
I may have no place in your present life but I wonder if I have a place in your future, if I could make you roll of a chair laughing, if I could be your screensaver. I wonder if I could be the reason you stay up late, and if I could make you daydream of me and make people stare and wonder about what fills you up with so much joy. I’m a dreamer, I don’t promise perfect days, but I promise perfect moments that would last a life time plus more.
Love is sweet, love is bitter; try as you may you can’t abandon love. I’d love you softly, I’d love you tender, till you can’t go a day without me, baby. You might resent it, that I would break your defenses and leave you open like park benches, but if I must have you, I must have you wholly. I want to forge a union with heavenly blessings, which the stars can’t outshine, and the gossips can’t fathom. Ours was built to last, till death do us apart.
For you, to trust is murder and I can’t say I blame you, so don’t give it to me for free, let me earn it. You’ve been damaged, a wounded lioness. I see your pain behind your smile, I see your fears arrest your hope, and I see you’re scared of your own shadow, afraid to let go of the past, terrified of what the future holds. I’ll tell you what; life is all about taking chances. Push me into the deep cold sea, if I emerge as promised, do not hesitate to take the dive.
Hey there, please do not think I am an obsessed lover, everyday but I wake up to the possibility of rejection.
Sometimes people stay in our hearts even if they don’t stay in our lives. I just thought to let you know what has been going on behind your back, inside my heart, in the home I have built for you.

thanks for reading.
ff @Qghaz

Redeeming yesterday

Everyday I pray for you, I whisper a supplication every time I look towards the flesh beneath the breast you once caressed, I see where you once called home. I seek forgiveness for what I did, but forgiveness today doesn’t mean yesterdays sins are forgotten. Often I wonder what you would look like, and even though I have been blessed with three more of you, you stand out in my heart. You seem to have occupied a space in my heart that your siblings don’t even know existed. I once thought to expurgate my thoughts in the hope of finding serenity from the heavy compunction you cursed me with, but to forget you is to rip out my heart, to hack my heart out is to perish. Sadly I am stuck in this abyss as a memorial of my foolhardiness.
Oluwapamilerin, and that’s exactly what you did, made me smile whenever I looked at your little face. How on earth does one kill a child? Or how do you live with the thought that you placed a little defenceless candle in the wind, and when I ask why they did that to me and you, they know nothing better than to murmur or feign obliviousness of the subject matter.
How can I repay you? How can I payback for that which you missed, the clear blue sky on a beautiful summer morning, or the sight of the twinkling stars against the dark blue clouds. My dear, you should have seen a waterfall or the face of your mother when she gives you a smile that only true love could bring forth. That last part truly breaks my heart because I got to see that a lot and you almost never did.
At the hospital where you brother was born, I refused to look at his face for two days because I was afraid he wasn’t going to be you. When the doctor told me I was pregnant I thought you were returning. They transferred me to a psychiatric ward when I refused to breastfeed your brother for a week, but they never got to see your priceless smile. Sweetheart, by now you should know you live in my heart, do I still cross your mind?
Olukanni. My prince, I remember like it was yesterday, how you lost your crown. I keep the records of your short being in a special part of my brain, in a separate folder, on a separate shelf, in a carefully locked safe, so that no one tampers with my memory of you and the memories of you don’t tamper with my existence. It was all in a matter of a few hours, maybe two or three, and you were gone. Gone like a visitor in a market who is afraid of occupying the market woman so much that she looses her customers, Omojola, I refused to accept it but you were gone.
The nurse had the nerve to blame me for not bringing you to the clinic when I noticed you had a fever, but do I say no to my mother who offers me herbs for my child. She called me aside and said she blames my husband for not having enough money to buy good medicine, but your father says it’s the government who cannot provide proper health care. The government blames the doctors for going on strike, yet the doctors blame my husband for voting wrongly, my husband blames his father for practicing partisan politics. His father blames his father for feuding with the clan that had the better candidate. Tired of this blame game, I take all the blame for bringing such a pure soul like you to this filthy earth.
Malaria tainted my baby’s life, poverty left me unable to guard him, and powerless mummy watched her jewel get expunged from the earth. None of my many tears could resuscitate him, the community that had a hand in his death offered apologies, word that couldn’t raise the dust that sat over his head. Your father, in an act of retaliation against the cheat that death is, made me gravid three times after you left the earth. Not that I am not happy with my life, but you added a special colour to my rainbow.
It’s not right that we remember the dead with sad tales, especially when their life brought so much joy to our feeble heart, and their death opened our eyes to the little we know of life, happiness and everything in-between. The scars they leave behind could be an insignia, so that you value the life we have like we are holding an egg, easy and delicate, but never too delicate because it might just fall of our hands.
In the end, death is my friend, and in due time he will take me to you.

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God over everything.

The Art of Foolery

Giving your heart to a woman sometimes is like giving your heart to the devil, the worst part, I gave mine to Morenike on a silver tray on bended knees. She didn’t even look at it, she destroyed me. I have faced all sorts of rejections in my life but when it comes from the one you’ve invested so much in, the strongest ale cant burry your sorrow. I never forgave her just like I never forgave my people, they were doomed to the same faith.
Morning came unannounced, the cocks crowed, and the devils that trod the earth were chased away by the golden rays of the sun, finding abode in the shadows and the hearts of men. I got up, blamed the gods for keeping me alive for another day and found my way into daylight were I would toil till night came to diminish my strength and force me home guided by the lanterns in the sky.
All my life I have lived a lie that promised to lead me to the truth. Maa’mi started it, she said I was special but the entire village knew better, I was an abomination. Mother fueled me with lies of why I had a near white skin and golden hair and why the sun never liked me much. When I was no taller than her hips, she told me I was an emissary of the gods, but when I began my adolescent years and my decline in faith, she changed her tale to suit my mindset. Next I was a warrior in my previous life that died saving my village from a disastrous fire which burnt my skin. That didn’t hold for long, I got beat up by Morenike’s lover in the market square, if I was once a warrior, I should know how to fight.
As difficult as it was, I was forced to reject my mother’s explanation and embrace the unkind postulation that was attributed to my birth, at least they had justification for their theory. The people of my village were strong arrogant men who achieved everything because of their physical prowess, a man’s wealth was dictated by what he could achieve with his might, this quality stood us apart from all other surrounding villages. In war and economy we nested at the peak, in beauty and in character we shine like a light. Hence it was an unwritten law for any man or woman to marry from outside our clan, we had to keep the purity of our being. Mother let love soften her into inviting a stranger under her wrapper, and she bore the clans first weakling, me.
I didn’t fit into anything, I wasn’t wanted and the people never failed to hide their disdain for me, the abomination child. In some quarters, it was suggested that I shouldn’t be allowed to watch the dance of the maidens that was to hold after the coming of the new yam. Disallowing me the privilege to marry from my village meant I was silently banished. I had spent all of my young life trying to be accepted and yet they blame me for a sin I had no hand in. I wasn’t going to leave without payback, in fact I wasn’t the only one that was going to leave.
One day, curious me had sought to find out where the sun lived so I followed it. I walked with zeal to discover something no one in my village had ever discovered, maybe I would finally get accepted upon finding my discovery. It took countless blisters on my foot, hunger and a painful thirst. I didn’t find the residence from which the sun set forth, but I found the village where my mother met the transgressor that crippled my existence. Some had golden hair like me, some had brown hair and others had black but they looked almost like me, similar skin color and they had an aversion to the African sun and mosquitoes. I spent a few moons with them and for the first time in my short life I felt accepted, I felt loved and most of all I felt a sense of belonging. Suddenly, I was whole.
Jack was my master, my devil, the first man to welcome me with a smile, his teeth were brown with the tobacco that made him cough a lot, his ugly smile managed to force the hair at the back of my neck up in joy. One day he told me a lie, but I chose to believe, he knew I wanted a home badly, he knew it was my ultimate weakness, yet he used it. The only thing worse than a man who cripples another man with the thing they hold dear is the fool that creates the opening for such a devil to walk in.
Jack called me one cold night to share a false secret, he sat me down and told me of his past and how he fell in love with an African woman, but the duties of the king of England and the fear of getting reprimanded by the throne made him run away. He made his story coincide with the time in which I was born insinuating that I may be his son, all this because he wanted a favor from me.
I walked into my village wearing uncustomary clothing, gone were my traditional Yoruba attire, my cream shirt and brown knickers were hugging my skin tight, I hadn’t earned the right to wear a shoe yet but I looked just like them. Mother wept from afar as I announced to the village what I had seen over the hills. Naturally fear placed a knife to their throat and forced them to buy my plan. The fact that they listened to me for the first time made me feel very powerful.
We marched at night to the direction that was supposed to be away from the slave merchants and their hoodlums. After we passed the point where a brave hunter had once sacrificed his life, we were greeted by Jack and his army of thugs with sophisticated weapons. Two dead men was all it took to warn the other men not to fight for freedom, my people were no weaklings, but this time they surrendered and a heavenly glow left their faces. I had conveniently led my people into the hands of the slave traders and my price was love, the same love that led my mother to bear me. Should I be happy?
As a freeman I strolled around the cages were they kept my mother, relatives and friends. My first tour made me grin as I watched them cry in sorrow, some cursed me while others begged me. Power sure felt good. The second time I approached the animals in the cage, I noticed my mother wasn’t crying, she told me a tale that threatened to stop my heart.
A young hunter from my village had lured a village belle into journeying with him to find the abode of the sun, he also wanted to show the sun a woman whom shown brighter than it when she smiled. While on the journey, they both played like young lovers would, it was inevitable, she feared the gods would be angry if she got pregnant outside wedlock but he feared nothing, she greatly admired this quality in him. They hadn’t gotten too far when they got to a village were the people were rounded up to be thrown into the harsh embrace of slavery. They ran back in fear to warn their people. To safe guard his people, the courageous man made a deal with the gods to make secret the location of his village, he sent his pregnant lover back home in tears and a strict caution never to tell anyone about his deal as it would break his spell. The gods took his life in exchange for protection.
Mother hadn’t told me about my father for the safety of my life and that of the people of my village. I had been a weakling all my life not because I had a different skin color but because I had not sought to do better than what I thought I was and my people had judged me as different only because I acted as a weakling unlike the typical man whom showed courage. I limited the possibility of what I could achieve and the entire village only accepted me for whom I presented myself to be.
‘but I am the son of an oyinbo man now maa’mi’ I asked my mother.
‘no idiot, you are just like every other yoruba man except your skin colour, and that’s because you are an albino’ she replied in the most unkind manner her soft and gentle voice could communicate.
As I watch the slave ship sail away, my heart is engulfed in deep grief, my soul is haunted by regret and my existence is cursed to live a long life swallowed in depression and shame for my stupidity and inhumanity. In the end, we are a product of how wise or foolish we choose to be.

To the ones that left and never came back.
Thanks for reading. See y’all next week Friday.
God over everything.