WHY DO WE GET MARRIED? Part 2 – DO YOU HAVE TO BE MARRIED TO FEEL COMPLETE?

Read Part 1 HERE

I attended a Catholic Primary School for the last two years of my primary education and back then, I was so taken by the style and methods of the Catholic faith that I wished I could become Catholic. However, at nine years old, I had little or no say in the matter. My parents, especially my mum would never have taken it lightly. I was particularly intrigued with the idea of Catholic priests and nuns taking up the vow of chastity and celibacy, and becoming married to the Lord and as such, not ever getting married to any man (or woman) all the days of their lives. The idea felt good to me back then and sometimes, I still wonder how it would all have turned out had I pursued that notion. One thing I have however come to realize is, it takes a great deal of courage to take up that vow of dedication especially in today’s world where marriage virtually defines the existence of most. That brings me to the question of the day: Do you have to be married to feel complete?


Some of my readers who made inspiring and ingenious comments in the last post have actually done justice to this question in their own ways but I feel obliged to throw in my own submission regarding the subject. For starters, let us define the term ‘complete’. I would simply define the term by the use of its synonyms. Words synonymous with it include: whole; total; perfect; absolute; entire etc. All in all, it connotes a state of fulfillment where nothing more is needed. It’s like the end of a journey of some sort. Now, let’s come back to the matter at hand. Do people actually feel complete when they get married? Yes, they do! At least, most people do. Otherwise, why all the fuss about the idea of marriage? Of course, the achievement of this milestone creates a sense of euphoria and fulfillment in the hearts of the newly-weds. It’s one big hurdle for most and once they cross it, a feeling of completeness just takes you over.


However, I have also come to observe that this feeling of completeness has a semblance to a placebo effect. It’s actually a fleeting feeling and not as real as it seems. For most, the end of the honeymoon period terminates that feeling and you feel like a veil has suddenly been lifted off your face. Reality dawns and you’re like ‘Oh, so what was the big deal anyway?’ Another comparable feeling is what happens when you’ve been on drugs or stimulants and you feel so high before finally making it to bed. Then, you wake up with a dreadful hangover, only in this case, the hangover might not necessarily be dreadful but the fact remains that the ‘high’ just isn’t there anymore. Truth is, for most, it’s just a fleeting feeling that wears off soon enough. For some, it takes weeks or a couple of months for the feeling to wear off; for some it takes a year or two; for some it takes a little longer and yet for some; the honeymoon actually lasts forever! Yes, it’s actually possible to sustain that feeling of completeness for as long as you want. That’s a story for another day.


I’d also like to look at ‘completeness’ from the angle most people desperate to get married look at it. I believe the power you give to someone or something is the power it has over you. If you idolize the idea of marriage and give it so much prominence in your subconscious mind, trust me, you would definitely need it to feel complete and as long as you’re single, you would always feel that terrible void within and until you finally achieve that dream, the void would persist and the longer it takes, the more embittered you become. It is for this reason that most people make terrible mistakes in marriage. They just need to get rid of that feeling of incompleteness and so they jump on the next available bus called marriage and sooner than later, the high wears off leaving them worse off than before.

Source

I believe in the sanctity and importance of marriage but I strongly believe you don’t need to be married to be complete. As an eligible bachelor or spinster, you should hope to get married someday but you don’t need to spend the whole of your days of eligibility day-dreaming, waiting for that day and giving so much power to the idea that marriage would finally make you complete. Once you do this, you become subject to the power of that idea and it begins to control you and determine how you feel and how you see yourself. I believe you are complete as a man or a woman regardless of whether you are married or not; regardless of whether you are well into your thirties or pushing forty and all your colleagues and friends are married while you’re still single. Marriage does not make you complete. It only adds to you.


Let me compare it with this scenario: if I am worth 16 billion dollars, I am a billionaire, right? Then, my business has some nice times and I get richer by 3 billion dollars and my worth becomes 19 billion dollars. Does that make me better? Of course it does but does that actually do anything to change my billionaire status? No! At 16 billion dollars, I was a billionaire and at 19 billion, I still remain a billionaire. That’s what marriage is and that’s how we should begin to see it. It is an important thing to do but it is not a necessary thing. Without it, you are just as good as you are and you shouldn’t feel less of a person. An awful truth is religious houses have further fueled this concept of ‘Marriage makes you complete’ with some of its teachings. FYI, our Lord Jesus Christ wasn’t even married yet he was and is still the most complete and perfect being that ever walked the face of the earth!


“And the Lord said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make a help meet for him.” Genesis 1:18


This Bible verse has been so terribly misconstrued as one of the Biblical basis for marriage. Yes, I agree it is a strong supporting scripture for the concept but we should take time to examine what really happened here. Who actually decided to get Adam a wife? Definitely, it wasn’t him. God was the one speaking in that verse. Adam was busy fulfilling his purpose and tending the garden that the Lord had placed him in. He was definitely not feeling incomplete whatsoever. He was perfect the way he was. Then God looked at him and said: “Well, Adam is just fine the way he is, but a partner wouldn’t hurt” and that was why he brought in the woman to serve as his companion and his help meet. God was simply rewarding ‘the man’ he had placed in the garden and who was fulfilling his purpose with a partner to help him so they could chart a higher course together. They were to fulfill their destinies together side by side. It’s like a case of two perfect and complete beings coming together to birth a more fabulous destiny and that’s the way I see the idea of marriage. You are perfect the way you are and marriage is only an opportunity to make you better (which is an awesome idea). However, you could choose to remain perfect the way you are.


One more comparison would be a football league scenario where one team wins by 1-0 and another team wins by 7-0. Both winning teams would still have 3 points each! It’s just the goals difference that would be the difference and in my opinion, marriage is like the goals difference here. It is important but it is not a necessity! Marriage must be deserved! It must be earned. Regardless of whether you are a man or a woman, it’s not your age or achievements that qualify you to get married; it is what you are doing you’re your life in the present as compared with the purpose the Almighty God originally designed for you. Adam earned the right to have a woman as determined by his Creator who then decided for him. If you’re not on a path to fulfilling your purpose in life, you don’t deserve to get married! Also, the fact that you are fulfilling your purpose doesn’t also necessarily mean that your reward from the Almighty God would come in the form of marriage. It could come in various other forms. It’s hi-time we tuned our minds right especially in this part of the world and stop seeing marriage as the ultimate means to our fulfillment.


Let’s continue this in the next post where I shall examine the question: “Must you have children to have a fulfilled marriage?”


PS - I have been having running challenges with Spam Comments on this blog for some time now and it's been a major headache so I had to deactivate the 'Comments' section while I work at resolving the issue. However, please feel free to email me on: gbengasile@gmail.com and I'll definitely revert.

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WHY DO WE GET MARRIED?

“And the Lord said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make an help meet for him.” Genesis 1:18

“Therefore shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave unto his wife: and they shall be one flesh” Genesis 1:24

Now before you begin to wonder if this going to be some sermon, let me clear the air. It isn’t. This is simply a plethora of rants that have been bottled up inside me for so long and I run the terrible risk of exploding into bits and pieces of flesh, bones and clots of blood if I keep them in any longer. I have been married for some time now (technically for almost ten years, although in for a shorter period officially and traditionally; let’s save that explanation for some other time) so I dare say I have some experience and I could consider myself a sort of authority in the marriage business. Okay, scratch that but I know I’m not a rookie in this game at least.

I understand that just like in academics, experience in marriage also has its grade levels. A school of thought assumes that the first five years of marriage is akin to the First Degree (B.Sc) part while the next five years is the second degree (M.Sc) part. Then once you cross the ten-year mark, you’re in the Doctorate cadre. You get your professorship once you hit twenty years in marriage and thereafter, you sort of become a Professor Emeritus or whatever title experience in marriage could be measured with. So, I speak as someone about to begin my Ph.D and trust me, this comes with loads of experience. If you still don’t agree, bite me!

Source

In my part of the world, people seem to have a rather annoying fixation about the issue of marriage. Over ninety nine percent of men and women have ‘Marriage’ on their list of plans. The position of marriage on that list is not necessarily important but what matters is the fact that it is certainly on that list! I have also come to understand however that both sides of the gender divide see the ‘M’ word differently. While men seem not to be too bothered about when they get married, women see it as an ultimate achievement; hence it is usually in the priority list of every woman especially once she begins to approach her mid twenties. 

By age 22/23 as she begins to round up her first degree or second degree as the case may be, she begins to hope for an eligible suitor if he is not yet available or make plans with him regarding marriage if he is already in the picture. By 24/25, an eligible spinster without a man in the picture begins to get a little apprehensive and any eligible spinster between the age of 26 and 29 without a man begins to dread her situation. By the time she hits the big Three O and beyond, a sort of bitterness begins to set in and the prayer points begin to change from ‘I need a good job’ or ‘I need a breakthrough in my present job/career’. It becomes ‘I need a husband’. Of course, men also seem bothered about marital issues but it’s not as serious as it is in the case of women. For instance, you’d hardly find a 28 year old man praying seriously about marriage. In fact, some 35-year old men are still comfortable as bachelors and are not even bothered about it. The general assumption in my part of the world is: a man can always get married any time, any day! I hear this is because men don’t have that invisible clock women have.

Then I ask again: Why the apprehension? Is marriage really such an accomplishment that women seem so desperate to get married these days? Someone would then answer and say: You know, women’s cycle differs from men and once they begin to get into their thirties, chances of conceiving and having a smooth ride during pregnancy becomes slimmer. Okay, granted! Fear of pregnancy issues could compel women to want to get married on time but then I ask: Whoever said childbearing is the major reason for marriage? Is that what God actually ordained it to be? That takes me back to the first lines of this post and the bible verses.

“And the Lord said, ‘It is not good that the man should be alone; I will make an help meet for him.” Genesis 1:18

I believe God actually ordained marriage for companionship between the man and the woman. That is the first reason for marriage and that should be uppermost in the heart of every man or woman intending to get married. You shouldn’t want to get married because you want to have children. This fixation with ‘having children’ has led a good number of men and women into rushing into marriage with people they eventually found out they were not even compatible with. Eventually, just as they rushed into it, they rushed out of it and left the offsprings of that marriage stranded as products of a broken home. You should be marrying your husband or wife because you love that person enough to want to spend the rest of your life with him (or her) with or without the children. There are so many issues associated with the idea of marriage that sometimes make me almost feel marriage is overrated but of course I bet so many people (especially women) would not agree with me.

I am certain I would not be able to complete this discourse in one post so I’ll take it as a serial discussion in as many posts as I can. I would look at this series from three perspectives:

• Do you actually need to be married to feel complete?

• Must you have children to have a fulfilled marriage?

• Is marriage actually not just about you and your spouse?

Please note that whatever I say or I am going to say here are my personal opinions so don’t be too quick to crucify me. After all, every man is entitled to his own opinions. Feel free to share yours too. Let’s continue this in the next post.

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ANOTHER SHITTY EXPERIENCE

I had thought for a good while if I should actually do this post or not. For some reason, it kinda sounds absurd doing two consecutive posts talking about shit. I mean, who does that? Definitely, most people don't. Then I thought again to myself. I'm not 'most people' so I decided to do it anyway. The story I began in the last post would really not be complete without sharing this experience.

The incident of 2005 proved to be a pretty embarrassing one for me but I was able to get over it eventually especially when I considered the fact that most people had lots of other stuff to think about than about some guy who shit his pants. Worst case scenario; they would laugh about it for a day or two and then move on with their lives. I have to admit however that it was pretty difficult for me to move on after that experience. It took my last nerve to show up for lectures the next day and I assumed every single person who looked my way or smiled at me knew the story.  Nevertheless, within a few days, it was history and I was back to my usual stylish and suave self. 

Of course, I never bothered to pursue my love interest in Chichi, the lady who brought me water to clean up myself. I was sure I would never be able to look at her without imagining her visualizing that ridiculous moment when I stood in the toilet in my messed up boxers. The sight of her that day passing me the bucket of water and with her hands over her nose was one I would never be able to get out of my head. Thus, pursuing any love interest with such messy clouds hanging over my head was a definite no no! I took special care after that day to ensure I never ever found myself in such a situation ever again . . . until about two years after when a similar event occurred.

For some time now, I do not ever bother to eat or drink anything before travelling, especially if it's through public transportation. I have experienced a rather strange phenomenon that sort of connects my mind to my bowels and as much as I have tried, I have just not been able to overcome it. Whenever I embark on any trip, my bowels suddenly develop a mind of their own and I find myself having reasons to visit the bathroom repeatedly before setting out. Once in the vehicle, my stomach gets extra-sensitive and thanks to the deplorable state of our Nigerian roads, every bump on the road further provokes my tummy’s sensitivity.

As a result of this, once I arrive at my destination, the first thing I usually do is go to the toilet for some evacuation of whatever my cranky insides have conjured up during the journey. I’m still yet to understand if my case is a medical condition and what it is called. The irony of it all is, I never experience this whenever I drive myself on such trips. Now, ain’t that some situation?

2007

The last straw that finally influenced the free-tummy-empty-bowels decision came about on one fateful day in 2007. I was on my way to Lagos from Ondo State; a four-and-a-half hour journey all things being equal. I had a light breakfast and set off at around 10am. Fortunately, I was one of the last passengers in the bus and so there was no delay. I paid my fare and settled at the right back corner of the 14-seater bus. A cute chewing-gum-chewing girl was seated on my left. Since we were going to be seating partners for the next four hours at least, we naturally had to say hello to each other. I decided to mind my business thereafter. Truth was, I had some emotional situation hanging over my head during this period so flirting with some random girl was the last thing on my mind. Her Sony Ericsson K800i phone caught my attention though. That was probably the ‘iPhone 6 of 2007’ if comparisons are to be made.

The journey was a rather smooth one for the next hour and half and I continued reading Dan Brown’s Da Vinci Code which I had begun a few days earlier. We made a ten minute stop-over in Ore town and some passengers had seized the opportunity to buy stuff from competing hawkers struggling to get their wares through the vehicle’s windows. Some passengers alighted and rushed into the nearby fast food restaurant to ‘do their business’. I would have loved to come down to stretch my legs but my seating position meant I would have to disturb the lady beside me who had not bothered to leave her seat. I had no ‘business’ to do at that moment so I waited patiently for the journey to continue. Besides Dan Brown was thrilling the hell out of me at that moment as Leigh Teabing was planning an escape for Langdon and Sophie from his chateau.

I was so engrossed in my book that it was until I heard the engine start that I realized everyone had settled in again and we were good to go. It must have been about thirty minutes later when I felt a slight rumble. I dismissed it as a possible protest in my bowels. Perhaps, I was hungry. After all, I had only taken a few fingers of fried plantain and fried eggs and washed it down with a cup of tea that morning. Of course, that wasn’t food and I had a right to be hungry. We hit a terrible bump in the road a few miles ahead and I felt the rumble move down below. Instantly, it became clear to me that these were no hunger pangs. The protest wasn’t a request for an entry but for an exit. With every bump in the road and every pothole we hit, the feeling got worse and I was almost sure I would repeat Episode 2005. This would be a bigger disaster for many reasons.

Source

For starters, I had a beautiful girl seated beside me and I was sure I would be the headline news in her house that day once she got to wherever she was going in Lagos. Second, this was a public bus and who ever shits his pants in a place like this? The embarrassment was bound to kill me right there. Third, if I dared shit my pants here and the passengers were even nice enough to bear with me, how would I get a change of clothes? I had just an extra shirt in my bag. It was a ridiculous situation to find myself again. I made an attempt to call the driver’s attention but a thought stopped me. The passengers in the bus would definitely yell at me and ask me why I hadn’t come down to handle my business during the stop-over less than an hour before. Besides, how was I actually supposed to ask? “Driver, please park. I need to take a shit!”? I processed the thought in my head and instantly decided I wouldn’t risk the embarrassment. It was a case of choosing the bigger embarrassment – Shit in my pants and get embarrassed or Plead for a stop-over and rush into a nearby bush to take a shit while all the passengers waited for me. Whichever way, I was going to be embarrassed but I had two options here. I had a final option though – endure till I got to Lagos, which was over two hours away!

I still don’t know where I got the courage from but what I did eventually surprised me and I have considered myself a super hero ever since! It must have been the longest three hours of my life. Yes, the rest of the journey eventually spanned over three hours as we hit a most annoying traffic on the Lagos-Ibadan expressway. I was like a mad man all through the period and thankfully, the lady beside me slept for a good while or else she would have suspected something was wrong with me. Of course, I didn’t dare attempt to fart this time thanks to the lessons from the 2005 experience.

I told myself again and again that if I survived this, I could survive in the war zones of Benghazi, Afghanistan or Iraq. Trust me, it was that bad! I almost pleaded for a stop-over many times but held back and finally we arrived at Ojota, Lagos. As the driver parked the bus and came around to open the trunk to let out passengers’ stuff, I climbed out from the same trunk. It was too risky to wait for everyone to get out of the bus before I did. Only I knew why.

“Oga na wa o,” the driver said, “You dey rush o!”

Even the lady beside me seemed to wonder why I dashed off like that. I ignored them and with my bag swung behind me, I dashed off.

There was no fast food restaurant in sight so I asked a guy selling airtime recharge cards around for the nearest hotel or guest house and thankfully; it was just a minute away. I thanked him and took hurried steps towards the guesthouse.

“Hello,” I said to the receptionist, a rather ugly looking dude.

“Welcome bros” he replied.

“Please I need to use your restroom” I said, sweat breaking on my face. I could almost feel ‘it’ coming.

“You wan rest?”

“Abeg I wan use toilet!” I almost screamed.

“Na short time be that. Na N400.”

“What?” I screamed. “Guy I no dey do short time o. Na just toilet I wan use.”

“Bros na the price be that” the guy said dismissively.

I winced. This was clear exploitation but I just couldn’t deal with that right now. I gave the guy two N200 notes. “Please let’s go now. I need to use the toilet now.”

He handed me a key. The keyholder had 102 inscribed on it.

“Last room on the right,” he said, pointing in a direction. I was off already. I would find the room or break down any door if I had to. I had already paid for it anyway.

“Water nor dey o!” he called out after me. “You go patient small make I go fetch water!”

I could have strangled the guy.

In seconds, I was seated on the toilet bowl blasting out like the world was mine. At that moment, that was my own heaven. The N400 I paid was hurtful but it was just my luck. Of course I took it up with the guy when I was relieved and out.

“Na people like una dey spoil Nigeria” I told him. “You take advantage of people in their desperation.”

He shrugged dismissively as he retrieved the key from me. “Oga na your own be that o. When shit wan kill you that time, why you no talk all this one?”

I ignored him and left the place. I realized he actually had a point. Anyways, I had done what I had to do.

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THE GOD CALLED 'SHIT'

Yesterday I had an experience I wouldn’t like to have ever again. I woke up around 3 am with a terrible tummy ache. A forced belch jumped out of my mouth and the resulting stench made me feel as though I had eaten seven rotten eggs. Alas, I was experiencing a terrible constipation. I felt a clearly audible rumble in my tummy and rushed to the adjoining bathroom. I jumped on the toilet and my buttocks had scarcely touched the cold ceramic bowl when I emptied my bowels of whatever was making me so uncomfortable. I remained there for about ten minutes feeling more relieved by the minute. Then I washed up and returned to bed. By 7am, I had repeated the trip three times already and I knew it wasn’t going to be a funny day!

Source

My skinny body frame had always been a source of concern for me for sometime now. Of course, I’ve always been slim but my assumption had been that as I grew older, I would put on some weight and alas, most of my colleagues back in college and university who had similar body sizes as mine have since added up considerably. However, I have somehow maintained my boyish skinny frame. I’ll be 30 in a month and I barely weigh 70kg. Worse still, I maintain the worst kind of diet I know. Food just doesn’t appeal to me. I could go a whole day without eating anything solid and I wouldn’t feel a thing. In fact, my wife has turned my case to a prayer point.

Recently, I decided to fix this issue permanently and so I did some serious research on a number of nutrition sites online and got some prescriptions. I began a 30-day plan and yesterday was Day 4. One of the medications was to boost my appetite for food and I think things went a little too far yesterday and I exceeded my body’s food intake limits, hence the constipation.

I kept running back and forth from the toilet and in spite of my eating a semblance of the popular ‘Agege bread’ and taking extra doses of Flagyl to stop the incessant stooling, I continued to visit the loo. In fact, I almost shit in my pants as I drove back home from work later that evening. It was a very narrow escape and if I had been five seconds later than the time I hit the toilet bowl, I would have done the unthinkable. The experience reminded me of some previous episodes I had many years back – experiences that made me agree without any doubt that shit is no respecter of persons and could pass for a god in its own right. It could animate you, constrain you, influence you and do whatever to make you do its very own bidding regardless of your age, gender, social status or even political affiliation for that matter.  Let me relive these crazy episodes:

 

2005

I was about twenty years old at the time and in my second year in University. On that fateful day, I had experienced some tummy trouble in the morning and taken good time in the bathroom to pass out all that needed to be passed out earlier in my room before proceeding for lectures. I was a few minutes away from the lecture hall when I felt a severe pang hit me again. It felt like I was going to give birth to a baby in that instant.

“Oh God, help me!” I muttered to myself as I stood still for fear of taking another step lest I mess myself up right on campus with hundreds of people watching.

Source

My legs suddenly felt extra heavy as I calculated how long it would take me to climb up the stairs to the nearest toilet facility which was about two floors away. The thought of the state of that toilet repulsed me. Truth was, I had never used the toilet on that floor before. The only time I ever ventured in, the state of the place had been so terrible that I turned back and endured till I got back to my room off campus. However, this time, enduring was totally out of the question. I was more than ready to sit on maggots if need be just to save myself from the impending embarrassment.

On my wooden legs, I took slow steps and gradually made it through the first floor. By now, I was sweating so profusely that anyone would imagine I was wearing an explosive jacket underneath my clothes. I looked ahead and I estimated that I had about fifty footsteps to make it to the toilet. However, fifty steps felt like a million steps at that moment. Suddenly, someone called out my name. I shook and quickly caught myself. I surpressed a fart that seemed determined to force its way out of me. Allowing a fart at that point was a huge risk I couldn’t dare take.

Okey, a course mate bounded up the stairs behind me.

“How far, Geebee. You sef just dey show?” he asked excitedly, hitting my behind casually with his back pack. I could have died right then. In an instant, all hell was let loose and the fart erupted carrying with it a good dose of excrement. The hot feel of fresh poop on my bare behind was convincing enough. Ironically, I felt lighter and better too. I winced.
“Guy, you don make me shit for body.” I managed to say, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow me right then.

My coursemate looked at me as though I had told him I was carrying a bomb. He backed away slowly as his eyes wandered to my ass.

“Oboy! You dey serious o!” he mouthed, trying hard not to burst out into a bout of laughter. The look of amusement on his face was so annoying and if only I could at that moment, I would choke him. It was his fault as it were. Why did he have to hit me with his pack?

I nodded shamefully as I passed my books to him. “Abeg escort me reach toilet” I quickly said as I tried to walk as fast as I could. I could feel the thick slob threatening to force its way through my boxers on to my pants. The smell was beginning to spread through the air and I spotted some girls approaching. I began to walk faster hardly noticing the eyes that had begun to trail us as we made it to the second floor and headed towards the toilet. Okey had to call my deputy class governor, Chi, a cute lady I had been eyeing for sometime to help me get water to wash up because the water system in the toilet had stopped.

When she brought me the water, I was standing in my messed up boxers but I didn’t bloody care. The surpressed grin on her face and her attempt to shield her nose from the smell didn’t even bother me.

“Look! Shit is no respecter of persons o!” I told her as I gratefully collected the bucket of water. “I can imagine!” she said, still trying hard not to laugh. “Sorry about this.”

“It’s okay to laugh. I won’t be angry.” I said on a final note as I shut the door.

I would bet she almost laughed herself to death that day! After that day, I could never muster up the courage to even talk to her about how I fancied her. The shit episode had officially ruined any such possibilities.

I had to wait in that disgusting place for another thirty minutes as Okey rushed to the hostel to help me get a change of clothes. When I emerged from the toilet at last, a lot of eyes were on me. I simply smiled. What else could I have done? Till date, I believe that day was the most embarrassing day of my life.

I had a similar experience about two years later but for time’s sake, I’ll talk about that in the next post. All in all, these experiences and those of a few other people I know have proved to me time and again that when shit hooks you, you have no choice but to surrender yourself to its whims and caprices. It practically becomes a god to you at that moment. It’s no wonder that Otunba Gaddafi of the renowned DMT Mobile toilets has his tagline as: ‘Shit business is serious business’. Trust me, that dude knows what he’s talking about.

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THE PARABLE OF TREKKERS

Being a child was so much fun and at times I wish I never grew up. I know it sounds crazy but that’s how I feel right now. Whenever I look back and reminisce on those days, I wish I could sleep and wake up twenty years younger and relive the experiences of childhood even if it were just for one day. Adulthood and its huge share of responsibilities has a way of cutting out all the fun and when you look back for a second at all you had to forsake for the sake of growing up, you can’t but wince and sigh. That’s my story presently. 

Why do I say this? I realize it’s been almost a year since I last dropped a post on this blog. Talk about one hell of a hiatus! What have I been doing all this while? The only answer I could think of right now is that I was being a responsible man – a husband, a father, a C.E.O, a church minister and so many other things all at the same time. I should also mention that since my last post, I have become a father to another beautiful baby girl. She’s going to be nine months old in a few days time.  Talk about time’s flight.

At some point, I was beginning to think I would never write anymore – really, I still feel that way. I’ve begun several (emphasis on ‘several’) posts on my laptop in the last one year and after the first five lines or the first paragraph, I would suddenly run out of steam and stop. I’m actually hoping that doesn’t happen with this post as well. Of course, the fact that you’re reading it shows that I made it this time and you can’t imagine the extent of my elation on this singular achievement. Trust me; I know what I mean here. Imagine a dancer suddenly losing his dancing skills or a singer suddenly losing her voice; that’s how it has been for me in the last one year. It just seemed as though things that used to be so easy to do became a bunch of much hated chores.

What really happened to me? I still don’t know. I’ve tried to blame this on my ‘huge chunk of responsibilities’ but then, I ask myself: Am I the first person with these responsibilities? Of course not! There are lots of people with much more on their plate and they still find time to fulfill their passions. Writing used to be a passion – a big one at that – for me but somehow, that passion has continued to slip away. As much as I try to shake it off, the resultant feeling hurts. I want to go back to those wonderful days again and perhaps, now is the time!

Source

The spate of recent trekking embarked upon by a number of Nigerians for particular reasons got me thinking. Initially, I considered the idea as outright silly and stupid. For chrissakes, why go through the stress of trekking all the way from Lagos to Abuja to show your solidarity for a newly elected president? Why trek all the way from Abuja to Bayelsa to show your appreciation for a sitting president who simply conceded defeat in the polls? I believe there were numerous cases of trekkers all trying to outdo one another. I even heard of a newly wedded couple who embarked on another trek from Warri to Otuoke, Bayelsa and with their three-week old baby in tow. The entire initiative sounded ludicrous to me and I simply considered these people’s actions as baseless attempts to attract unnecessary attention to themselves and curry some executive favour. I actually began to write a post on it some weeks back but after the first paragraph . . . you know the rest.

Regardless of my lack of conviction or appreciation of what these people decided to do, I have to admit that they did something heroic. They all set out to do what a greater number of Nigerians would not do. The underlying connection they all share is their resilience and determination. They refused to pay any heed to the possibility that people like me would laugh at them and consider them silly or crazy. Most certainly, they got discouraged by people around them who said it was a pointless act but they decided they would do it anyway. The first man who did the trekking perhaps was the real hero amongst them all by virtue of his position in being the pioneer of the scheme. The others who came after him would probably have been ridiculed and labeled as desperate imitators or copycats and the likes but they simply didn’t give a shit. They decided to go ahead anyways and I have to salute them for that.

Getting my steam back is going to take a lot of courage and determination. I would have to brush the dirt of my shoulders and keep walking again. The more I sit back and look for excuses, the more time keeps passing me by and in a flash; it would have been ten years since my last post. I really wouldn’t want that for myself. I wouldn’t want to look back sometime in the future and begin to smile and sigh as I remember ‘the good days when I used to write’. I rather choose to look back then and remember the days when I couldn’t write as well as I would be writing then. I want to look back and remember days like this when it was hard to get back into the game but still I did. That’s when I would be truly proud of myself. In spite of the responsibilities and other things that seem to want to block out my original passion, I choose to stick with that passion. Like Johnny Walker, I’m going to keep walking! Or better still, I’ll keep trekking!

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THROUGH THEIR OWN EYES - Meph

Hey guys. I am Meph. Oh, you haven’t heard the name before. Yeah, I know. It’s not your everyday name and no, it’s not a short form for Memphis. God! That name reminds me of Egypt (not that I’ve ever been there anyway. Lol). Well, Meph is a short form for Mephibosheth and please, don’t even get started on that now and you may please close your mouth now before some fly finds its way into it. I guess by now, you see why I choose to go with Meph. The full name is definitely a jawbreaker, right? Well, it ain’t my fault. Blame it on my dad or perhaps my grandpa or whoever thought of such a name for me when I was born.

Did I tell you I am a prince? I know it sounds unbelieveable. Kinda like when Lisa found out that Akeem was a prince. What was that movie again????? Yeah, 'Coming to America'. Like really? Who would look at me with my ugly face and lame feet and all and even think in that direction. Hmmm, indeed man looks at the outward appearance. Only the Lord looks beyond all that. I bet you my godfather, King David would agree with that again and again. Seriously, I’m a prince or at least so I was told. Well, technically, my dad, Jonathan should have been king after his dad, that is, my granddad who was actually a king. Oh, finally you figured it out. My granddad was King Saul, the first king of Israel and my dad, Jonathan was the crown prince but somehow he didn’t quite become king by a strange turn of events obviously orchestrated by the Almighty God. However, I don’t think that robs me of my position as a prince or do you? Well, that’s your problem. I’m a prince so you can call me Prince Meph if you choose.

Let me talk about my background for a while. I never actually really knew my dad, Jonathan. In fact, I was barely five years old when he died. I still have a vague memory of him though. I learnt he used to come in once a while to check on me and my mum who I can hardly remember as well. I was told dad was a very busy man and was usually away with Grandpa attending to official national business. I learnt dad was never really interested in becoming king someday much to grandpa’s chagrin. Of course what would you expect? Even I would have been so pissed. Whoever turns down an opportunity to be the king of Israel? Well, that’s my dad for you. Strange dude, right? Yeah I know.

Anyways, I understand dad had his reasons for not being keen on being king. For some reason, dad felt his best friend, David would be a better king. Now, that still baffles me till this very day and I’ll tell you why. David and my dad became best friends by a strange twist of fate. There had been a time when some terrorist called Goliath came along with the army of Philistia to threaten our country and no one dared fight this man. I understand he was about ten feet tall and so huge. Now, who would dare fight such a man? I know I wouldn’t. However, David was not like the rest of the people. He was just a skinny kid back then and from one of the poorest families in the city. In fact, I understand he was just an ordinary shepherd boy. A freaking nobody! To everyone’s greatest surprise, he actually killed Goliath with an ordinary sling and stone. It was overwhelming and that day, my dad fell in love. Hey, no, I didn’t say he was gay. Of course if he was, I wouldn’t have been born so banish the thought.

David’s feat was unprecedented and so he became so popular and everyone wanted a piece of this guy. Grandpa didn’t like the idea that some little kid was becoming more popular than him and he decided to get rid of him at all cost and that was where his issues with my dad, his son began. Dad loved David so much like a brother and was determined to ensure Grandpa never hurt him. I heard they even made a covenant to love one another for ever and protect each other’s families. At some point, David had to run for his life and Granddad actually got so obsessed with this that he and thousands of his men set out searching for David to kill him. Now, that’s another code I’m yet to crack. I mean, the king left his duties as king to go after one single man. Well, I guess my granddad was another strange dude. I heard that he had an evil spirit from the Lord tormenting him and making him do ridiculous stuff. Sometime later, the guys from Philistia came to fight against my country and it was in this war that grandpa, my dad and three of my uncles were killed. It was some serious massacre as I learnt.

By this time, Grandpa had become so unpopular in Israel that everyone wanted to wipe out his entire family. My uncle Ishbosheth was the only surviving legitimate son and soon, he was killed too by his own servants. Crazy world, I know. As it stood, I was the only one left; a five year old kid who didn’t even know jack about what was going on; yet people were after my life. Beats me too! My nanny took me and together we escaped. As we made our flight, I fell and broke my legs. We fled to some ghetto called Lodebar where I grew up away from the eyes of those who sought to kill me. Little did anyone know that I was a prince and had as much right to the throne as David, who had become king shortly after I arrived at Lodebar.

I got to go now. Next time, I’ll tell you guys how I was eventually found out and how some soldiers stormed Lodebar and took me back to Israel to face what could easily be my worst nightmare!

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THE CURRENCY SYSTEM

The mystery of time continues to surprise and indeed overwhelm me. Someone once said time is the currency of life.  Back in middle school, we were taught about the ‘currency system’ and how it works. Depending on whatever currency is in operation wherever you live, your access to that currency gives you a right to make certain demands and they are automatically met, as long as you can match that demand with the appropriate currency and the adequate amount. In some cases, you have to spend physical currency – notes, coins etc. and in some, you do the barter thing, where you exchange something for something else, more like a case of ‘scratch my back; I scratch your back’. In the final analysis, it all boils down to satisfaction. You spend whatever currency you have to get a form of satisfaction. You smile at a guy and he becomes interested in talking to you. You help an old lady cross the road and she appreciates you and says a word of prayer for you. You work for a specified period and you receive salary or wages. The currency system itself is what drives life and the currency of life itself is time. Whatever you get out of life is determined by the amount of time you are willing to spend.

The stages in life today have greatly evolved and continue to change form. A child is born; he passes through the infant stage, then the toddler stage, then the young child/preteen stage, teenage stage, the adolescent stage and then becomes a full adult. Soon, depending on the person’s perspective, he gets married or not, lives on and all things being equal, grows old and dies. End of story. All through this life process, time remains the currency that determines what is gotten out of life.

Sometimes, I try to reflect on which part of my life has been my favourite so far. Of the periods I can clearly remember, I try to make a choice between my later childhood, teenage stage, adolescence, adult stage or the stage I presently am – as a husband and a father with responsibilities to my immediate family; as a businessperson and my responsibilities to my clients and society in general or as an employer and my responsibilities to my staff and other colleagues, to mention but a few. I realize that in the short period of my existence, I have always had to make use of this currency called time. Now, the question of whether I spent my currency wisely or not is for me to answer. Now, which would be the favourite part of my life so far?

That question brings mixed feelings of all sorts. If I decided that I preferred a particular period of my life, wouldn’t that imply that I despise the other periods of my life and by extension, the people I had the opportunity of associating with in those periods? If I decided that I love all the periods of my life equally, wouldn’t that downplay the tough moments in those periods and the regrettable experiences or actions I had cause to be a part of during those periods? I therefore choose to take the middle ground and say every part of my life so far has been a mixture of ups and downs, good and bad, nice and scary – the best of both worlds. I guess that is the way the Creator planned it to be, all in a bid to ensure we grow right and become what we are supposed to become. Have you ever thought for a minute why the beautiful rose grows in the midst of thorns or why the nice looking tongue is surrounded by a set of sharp teeth? That’s how life is supposed to be!

A recent experience gave me a reason to smile and sigh. I discovered Hellofood. Today, as a married man, I hardly visit the kitchen for anything at all. Yeah, feel free to call me ‘traditional’. In fact, even in my days as a bachelor or a ‘free guy’ as some like to call it, the kitchen had always been my least favourite part of the house. I hardly have the time or patience to prepare my own food or even wait while food is being prepared (ask my wife. Lol). Now, this is not because I hate food or don’t like eating but because I hardly have that luxury of time. However, I don’t feel different or strange because I know there are hundreds of thousands and indeed millions of similar people in Nigeria, especially in the commercial cities like Lagos, Abuja, Port Harcourt etc. We love good food and we want to eat but we don’t have the time!

Now, imagine you could simply pick up your phone or make a few mouse clicks to request for whatever type of food you want, selecting the exact restaurant you want the meal ordered from and within minutes, you have your food right where you are – be it at home or in the office. And wait for it, all these at an affordable cost! Now, that’s what’s up, if you ask me! That’s outsourcing at the highest order. Hellofood has come to solve our time and food problems, taking the burden of thinking of what, where and how to eat off our shoulders and allowing us concentrate on the more important things and indeed spending our currency of time wisely in life. Check out their website and get literally blown away. 

So that’s it, folks. Let’s call this a Christmas Special. I wish you all a Merry Christmas! I hope to see you again before the New Year! Ciao!

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TO LOVE AND TO CHERISH Part 3

Read Part 1 H E R E

Read Part 2 H E R E

The thoughts raced through my mind at an alarming speed. I could hardly concentrate and held on to the steering wheel a little tighter causing my long nails to dig into my palms and force some pain. I realized I was drunk. Okay, maybe half drunk, I assured myself as I recalled how I had taken a deep swig out of the Vodka bottle and nearly emptied its contents as I stood by my car in the parking lot. I had managed to leave the bar with a lot of eyes trailing me with disdain after settling my bill and paying some extra for the broken glasses. I caught the disappointment in Stacy's eyes one last time before stepping out into the night. To hell with that! I said to myself. She was just a freaking waiter and Lord knows I could have a hundred girls who were hotter, finer and definitely not waiters!

I did not know who to hate more at that moment – Mike or Anita. For the moment, I settled on Anita. I had always known all women were bitches. That's what my dad had fed into my head right after mum walked out on us two days after my seventh birthday. Anita had barely started walking then. However, I always made an exception when it came to my kid sister. She was the apple of my eyes in the very essence of the word. I could do anything for her, even die for her if I had to. I loved her that much. In fact, I had practically raised her myself. I was her big brother, her friend, her confidant, her everything! When my dad had been so heartbroken and never wanted to have anything to do with her because she was the splitting image of mum and reminded him too much of her, it was me who had shouldered the responsibility of being the dad she never had. It had taken so many years for dad to finally accept her and love her as a father and it was I who had made
that possible. Now, Anita was going ahead to stab me in the back!

I cast my mind back to my best friend, no scratch that; my now ex-best friend. Where did Mike find the audacity to try my patience like this? How could he do this to me? Our friendship had transformed into an unbreakable brotherhood over the years right from the first day we met when I had gone to submit a late assignment.

"Would you get out of my office before I spit on you?" Dr. Ese Idioko screamed.
I shook and got on my knees quickly. "I am sorry ma." I pleaded. "I was not in school when you gave the assignment ma. I had to leave school to take care of my sick sister and I just returned yesterday . . ."
"Then, go and submit your assignment to your sick sister", the woman said, flashing me a look of disgust. "You first year students act as though you are still in secondary school. Please leave my office, boy!"

I felt tears well up in my eyes. I had stayed awake all night to get this work done as soon as my roommate informed me of the deadline when I returned to school the previous day. I couldn't bear to start my first year with a carry-over in FMS 110. I resigned to my fate and was about to get up when I heard a voice.
"Mum, please allow him."
I looked at the direction the voice had come from and noticed a young man of about my age seated at a corner of the office.
"Michael, don't get me upset this afternoon, you hear me!" Dr. Idioko lashed out at the young man. "How many times have I told you not to interfere whenever I am dealing with my students?"
"I'm sorry, mum", the boy apologized. "It's just that . . ." He broke off as his mother's angry stare intensified. I was a little confused. Apparently, I had started a war between mother and son. He looked in my direction and flashed me a 'sorry-pal-I've-done-my-best' look.
"Are you still there?" she said as her gaze settled on me.

I got up in an instant and mouthed a quick apology as I headed for the door, wondering how I would recover the 20 marks I had just thrown away in the course.
"Wait!"
I turned and felt hope building up in me. "Yes ma'am"
"Submit it over there" she said, pointing to a huge stack of papers I assumed to belong to my colleagues. I obeyed and prostrated in appreciation. "Thank you ma. God bless you ma."
"Don't thank me. Thank him!" she said dismissively as she looked over at her son. The boy smiled mischievously. "Thanks mum" he muttered with a wink.
"Thanks sir" I said after a quick rumination of how to address him. He looked about my age but he had saved me and so was ready of all the respect I could accord him at that moment. He simply smiled at me and gave me a thumbs up.
That was the day I met Mike.

We bumped into each other in a campus restaurant some days and I insisted on paying for his food in spite of his refusal. We had a long chat and I realized he was in a second year student of Civil Engineering, a course his mum detested. Had she had her way, she would have wanted him to go into the Management Sciences. He was her only child, a product of a failed relationship with his father, a man he barely knew. She had never remarried.
"My mum is like ten men rolled up in the body of a woman" He said, "But no matter what, she's still a woman!"

From that day forward, Mike and I became like two peas in a pod. In fact, before long, I was Dr. Idioko's favourite student of FMS 110 and I ended up scoring an A in the course. I became a regular in the Idioko household and even lived there all through my second year when I had accommodation problems. Mike and I also did a lot of bad things together – things that still haunt me – and it was for this reasons I could not bear to see him marry my sister.

I thought about my sister as I turned into my street. Anita was about to make the biggest mistake of her life and I was never going to allow her make such a mistake. Not while I was alive. First thing tomorrow morning, I was going to call her up and ask her to come and see me. Then, I would give her the talk.

As I pulled into my driveway, my headlights flashed on a figure seated on my front porch. I squinted to have a better look. For an instant, I thought I saw Stacy, the waiter. Good heavens! Was I dreaming? It had to be the booze! As I moved closer, I had a better view. It was Anita! I was shocked beyond words. Speak of the devil! The lights settled on her as I brought the car to a halt. I realized my sister had been crying her eyes out!

Watch out for TO LOVE AND TO CHERISH Part 4

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IF I WERE A B . . .

I remember the first time I heard Beyonce's 'If I were a boy'. That song seemed to make a lot of sense initially but then, in the same manner the most interesting routines tend to get boring over time, the song soon began to irritate the hell out of me. I began to feel like 'If you were a boy and you would do this or that, who cares?' Would it bring down the price of garri? Besides, such wishes or dreams were best left unexpressed. If Beyonce really wanted to be a boy, it wasn't impossible. We have transgenderists all over the place so why sing about it and keep it as a wish. 

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She's got the money to make that happen anyway so why not get on with it and spare me all that crap. Anyways, that was just my anger talking . . . my anger at JayZ for being the one to sweep a princess like Beyonce off her feet when there were finer looking guys like me out there. Yes! I reiterate. I am way, way, way finer than JayZ! (Like, the guy is even fine at all!) But then, like Beyonce's wish wouldn't likely ever happen, that wish of mine (if it ever was one) was definitely a wild dream. 

Well, I heard some news sometime last week that I'm still yet to recover from. Now, y'all know normally I don't do gossip and all of that (If I ever tried that, it would take me several lifetimes to get to where the likes of Bella and Linda are) but I just had to talk about this because it affected me personally. In fact I haven't been the same ever since. On a positive note however, the experience taught me one or two things about life and the fact that no one is invincible. I wouldn't necessarily call myself 'overly religious' (Like, the word even exists) but I am someone who believes in and loves God with all of my being. In my little time on earth, God has shown me what it truly feels like to have a father. He's been a father in more ways than I can imagine. Well, that's a story for another day. However, if you've followed 'The Geebee Chronicles' series, you'd be able to have a little understanding of what I mean. Now back to my personality. I have always craved the knowledge of God in more ways than I can remember, right from the days of my childhood when I did so blindly and in my naiveté even till the days when I went so far away from him and indulged myself in the most unimaginable vices possible. Yet, deep inside me, I constantly felt that longing for him and that call of a father to a runaway son. Thankfully, I found my way back and keep finding that path that shines day by day.

In my quest for God, I have had cause to study the Bible, volumes of Christian literature, religious books and listened to teachers of the word of God. In fact, I have a few preachers I label as my special ones - both here in Nigeria and internationally. These men and women have helped in a great deal to shape my understanding of deep spiritual things and while I wouldn't claim any of them to be perfect, I make bold to label them as my mentors of some sort. Pastor B happens to be one of my top ten in that regard. I have sat under his ministration a number of times and even in absentia, I could spend thousands of naira buying his tapes and CDs and I never ever feel the same after listening to him even when I have to listen over and over again. He is one of the men of God I respect, and trust me, there ain’t too many of them. Now, imagine my shock when I read Ese Walter’s story and the follow-up stories and buzzes all over the social networks. All I could think to myself was ‘Why Pastor B?’ ‘It shouldn’t be him’. ‘Wow! This is sad!’ ‘No, it can’t be true’ etc. I guess I felt and still feel this way because of the sentimental attachment I have towards him. Now, I’m trying to put myself in his shoes and imagine what I would do if I were in ‘the eye of the storm’ as it’s been touted around hence the title, ‘If I were a B . . .’

The first scenario of course would be if the stories being peddled around were not true. If I were a B . . . I would:

-     Cry my eyes out for hours days asking God ‘Why me?’, and like Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, plead with God to let this cup pass over me. Haba! If this was supposed to be a trial of faith, mehn, that’s pretty tough, don’t you think?

-      Come out openly to deny the story and not ‘decide to keep silent’, well, except if God actually tells me to. After all, God told the children of Israel to ‘stand still and see his salvation’.

-       Comfort my wife and stay strong for her. Y’all know women are so chicken-hearted in situations like this and they tend to feel the shock more than men. Even Sarah, Abraham’s wife got to a point where she was ready to give up and take the easy way out through Hagar, her slave. Come on! Don’t stare like that. Go and read your bibles joor! lol

-   Keep praying to God for my accusers (now, that’s a difficult one) that God should touch their hearts and make them repent of the evil they were doing. Remember, on the cross, our Lord, Jesus Christ asked God to forgive those who crucified him for they know not what they do. Although, in the deepest recesses of my heart, I would want to be like Elijah and call down fire from heaven to consume those false accusers.

These are a few of the things I would do if I were a B . . . and the stories aren’t true! But then, like Beyonce noted, I am not a B . . .

Now, on to the second scenario. If the stories are actually true . . . deep sigh! I wouldn’t even want to be a B . . . in the first place in that case! If I were a B . . . then I would:

-  Act like David did after he had Uriah killed, and took his wife and was rebuked by       God’s prophet. I would cry out to God for days the rest of my life if I have to, for his mercy. I would spread before him in sackcloth and ashes and fast and pray for as long as my spirit can bear for him to have mercy on me and restore me to right standing with him.

-  Make an open confession and ask for the forgiveness of my wife and for her prayers and support too. In fact, it would be at a time like this that her support would mean the world to me.

-  Ask for the forgiveness of my false accusers (oh, they wouldn’t be false in this scenario,    would they?) and make any appropriate restitution.

-  Ask for the forgiveness of my followers and like the prodigal son, tell them I am no longer worthy to be their Shepherd and they should also pray for me that God would have mercy on me.

-   Hand over my church to capable hands and proceed on a soul-searching journey of at least one year, preferably outside my immediate location to go and get myself back on track with God and await his directives on what next to do.

These and much more are some of the things I would do if I were a B . . . but then, I am not a B . . .

As the wise ones say, it is he that wears the shoes that knows where it hurts the most. Like Beyonce’s song, all I have noted above are just gibberish. I have to be in the shoes to know what I would actually do. However, I need to stress the fact that we should understand that no man regardless of how powerful and anointed is a superman. We are mere men (and women) and are susceptible to vices of all sorts. It is only the grace of God that keeps us from falling. Let he that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he falls. 1 Cor. 10:12

How was that for a comeback post? It feels good to be back in these parts again. I hope to stay around for a while. I promise to drop the concluding parts of ‘TO LOVE AND TO CHERISH’ in subsequent posts. Thanks for keeping faith with a runaway blogger like me. Cheers!

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