CLOSURE: ‘ LOOK WHO ISN’T TALKING ANYMORE’

This piece in no way relates to the mischievous-matchmaking-talking-toddler of John Travolta's 1989 romance comedy “Look Who’s Talking”. In fact, its only reference here is because I took liberty to steal a bit off its title. This write-up is about incommunicado in its meanest best; In other words, the silent treatment.

In January, my friend Ronke called me late at night to rave about a guy she had gone on a date with earlier in the evening. I remember the call came just as I had begun dozing off and I was irritated by the intrusion to my most revered sleep. But my sour mood quickly dissipated as I got caught up in her excitement.

They had been match-made by an old friend of hers and had kept chatting on all social network sites you can imagine for almost 6 months. The chap was out of the country somewhere in the Americas receiving technical training, but had just returned to the country. Last night was their first official face time and I remember how anxious Ronke was about seeing Funsho. Of course, over the course of the 6 months they had been speaking, an attraction had grown.

With that 11.30pm call, she had downloaded to me every part of their evening together and how he had dropped her off at home and placed a chaste kiss on her cheek, before returning to his car. Ronke was sure she was in love and she was convinced Funsho felt the same way. I was elated and she promised to arrange for me to meet Funsho. After meeting him, he made a good impression on me and I noticed how well he seemed to treat Ronke, - open the door for her to go through, pull out a chair for her etc. it was almost too good to be true for a Naija guy to do all that.

Months later, I realized I hadn’t seen Ronke in a while so I called and invited her for lunch. I noticed she wasn’t her dapper self. So I queried her and she told me she and Funsho had drifted apart and left it at that. But upon more query she opened up. For a while he never made any effort to reach her first and when she did call him, his line was constantly busy, or switched off. Gradually, her text messages began bouncing back un-delivered. Convinced that something bad had happened to him, she asked her friend who had match-made them, only to find that Funsho had left the country and was on posting to some Non English speaking country in Europe.

The most heart wrenching moment was watching her question if there was something wrong with her, worrying if she was too ugly, or if she had a nasty attitude. What she desperately wanted was closure. She wanted to understand the reason he could possibly have to behave like that. I watched her grapple with that while I tried my damnest to convince her he was a chicken and it was his huge loss.

A close female friend of mine also is by far the chief of “shunning”. When she no longer likes a guy you should see how she avoids him like the plague. To pick hin call na war. Oya send him a message to explain why you no longer want to see him, she’ll say “ehn when his brain finally tells him I’m not interested, he’ll pack his two legs and waka”.  

So also, years ago, when there was the craze for blackberry phones, a male friend of mine also told me how a girl he was dating had asked for a BB. Convinced she was in love with him, he put together resources and got her a Torch 1, though he was only a struggling Corper. She showed him appreciation for a while and then abruptly, she cut off communication with him and tossed him to the kerb with no explanation. 

I have always believed that closure is the best thing anyone can give anybody they claim to like or had liked. It doesn’t matter if there was/or there wasn’t a fight, or if you are no longer attracted to the person, or if you just need a little breather. You should as a matter of fact have the courtesy to try to explain to the person you are seeing why you can no longer be together. Explaining yourself doesn’t mean you are wrong, it just means you respect the other person enough to be honest. Life, is hard enough, why make it harder still for someone else just so you can feed your over inflated ego? 

Ever been in such a situation? How did you deal with it?

OF TEENAGE LOVE AND LOVE LETTERS

The year was 2000, the much talked about, anticipated and yet dreaded millennium that was to herald the end of time. Jesse was in his final year of secondary school and Bea was a year behind. It was evening at a special graduation party held for graduands organized by the school. There was a flurry of activities as younger students tried their best to entertain the graduating students amid cheers and applause, but the lovers were oblivious of it. They sat side by side holding hands while they recapped the events of the past few years, mulling over what the future held in store for them. Jesse stared long and hard into Bea’s eyes and spoke sotto voce, “I will marry you someday. Definitely not right away but someday. Then, I will buy you a car so you and our child won’t have to ever climb ‘okada’ I’ll also build you a majestic house. I will really work hard to provide all you will ever need”.

Bea was ecstatic, and in her ever effervescent manner, she hugged him tightly and told him, “yes, we will do all that and even much more. But for now you should have fun at University while I try to graduate high school which will definitely be so lonely without you. And if God tarries and wills, He will work out a beautiful life for us both.” Jesse replied in his usual quiet voice, “Just promise to wait for me Ok?” And Bea nodded.

 The lovers had begun dating 2 years ago when Bea had transferred to the school from an All-Girls Junior secondary school. But now, with Jesse's impending departure from school in a couple of days, gloom hung over them like a thick fog. He was moving almost immediately to a university in the West where he had secured an admission with his GCE to study Engineering, and Bea had predetermined to apply to a University far North upon completion of her secondary education. With this knowledge, they sat quietly as dusk gathered, imagining the pain of having to be apart for a long time.

Later that night, when Bea returned to the dormitory, she pulled out a special shoe box where she kept her valuables, with a larger part of that being Jesse’s letters to her. She pressed a couple of them close to her face and inhaled the scent that still lingered on them. They had created a routine of spraying the letters with whatever perfume they were using that period so they will feel close to each other. She read a page off one of them and placed it on her chest then she dog out the Walkman radio Jesse had given her with the several selections of their favorite songs and hit ‘play’. She sang along to their favorite Dido track, tears in her eyes while she fell into an exhausted sleep. 

That was 14 years ago.

TODAY

Bea rolled unto her back and rubbed her massive tummy. Even half-awake she felt sore, but when she felt the familiar kick against her swollen abdomen a slow smile spread across her face. Just then, she felt she was being watched, she turned into Jesse’s handsome face watching her and her smile got broader. The years have been kind to him. He had filled up his lanky frame and was quite a hunk. She was sure if the baby took after him they would be forced to get a huge Rottweiler to chase boys away. That thought brought a lazy smile to her face.

“Good morning babe, I just love watching you sleep” he crooned. That sing-song baritone always did something to her insides and she could already feel the blood flow down south. “Morning darling” she replied, and snuggled in closer for a cuddle while he rubbed her arms and back. As she raised her face up for a kiss Jesse teased “and she brings that sexy mouth of morning breath”. They both laughed, warmed with the knowledge that this was their favorite time of the day when they talked about everything and nothing. Sometimes they loved watching the sun come up and transforming the lazy dawn into a splash of colours and sometimes they totally forgot the world outside and just sidled up for some TLC.

While snuggling and making out, Bea’s mind wondered to the highs and lows their relationship had endured. Of course there had been major fights, even those that lasted for years where they hadn’t spoken to each other. But as her best friend in secondary had always said “yours is a match made in heaven” and now, she was inclined to believe so.  Bea broke the cozy silence then. “Sweetie, remember when I almost married Obi 2 years ago?” Jesse made a scoffing sound and responded “if you hadn’t called it off when you did, I was ready to walk up during the ceremony and ask the Reverend to halt the nuptials”. They both laughed reminiscing on that rough patch. “You know”, Bea said, “I was only doing so to spite you right? You two are so different; I wanted to punish you even if it meant punishing myself also. How dumb” she said with a shake of her head. “You have always been such a stubborn gal” he said jokingly in a faux igbo accent.

“What say you, let’s spend the entire day in bed let me rediscover all your happy tingly spots again” Jesse said, moving to partially straddle her and began kissing her neck. With eyes already darkening with arousal, Bea brushed him off “no no no, we have to unpack that huge box and arrange the nursery. We have been procrastinating this for a month now”. They grudgingly left the bed and ambled to the tiny pink bedroom that was to be the baby room adjoining to theirs. Bea and Jesse had both gone to Bea’s family home to pick up a few things in anticipation of the arrival of the baby. They were sentimental things Bea’s mother had saved up from when Bea was a baby and some personal things she had left when she had still lived at home.

While unpacking and arranging the items around the room, Jesse came across a dainty leather and opened it. At first he didn’t recognize the papers and thought them garbage. Bea wobbled over and realized they were the love letters Jesse had written to her years ago. They both poured over them, laughing at the absurd exaggerated cursive they had forced their writings to take so as to increase the aesthetics of the letters. One letter caught their attention and the words soothed their hearts. It was in the words Jesse had written to her the first month they began dating in secondary school…

 “I saw you earlier walking with your friends, your hair tied in a red ribbon and you were just breathtaking. My friends just kept whistling commenting on how lucky i was to score a babe like you, as though I don’t already know that myself *laughs*. I hope you do know how much I love you sweetheart and I can’t wait to marry you and have many children with you. I hope our children have your beautiful hair”

Gently touching his face “awww Jesse, you have always had a romantic streak, even though you try to keep it bottled up inside that hard exterior. But I have always seen beneath all that stoniness” Bea said. “Oh shut up and bring your cute lil ass here” Jesse replied with a repartee, half rebuking, half cajoling, while he gathered her in an embrace teasingly cupping her ass to buttress his point.

….. Let’s just say the nursery wasn’t fixed that day. They played out their teenage fantasies… well, with a big tummy getting in their way, but they were just as happy. It was theirs - their own sign to show true love exists and they had that.

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SALON BANTER; THE BEAUTYFUL ONES ARE STILL NOT YET BORN

 

Some literary guzzlers will remember corruption laden African society portrayed in Ayi Kwei Armah’s 1968 novel from whose title this topic was culled. However, for those who don’t, well… I do hope you are able to get some insight as you read.

 

I was at the salon on a windy Saturday morning getting my nails done when i struck a conversation with a fellow customer about Nigeria and the way forward. Such an odd topic to be discussing as most women meeting in salons would rather exchange hair growing tips, beauty tips and other such trivia. Not us though, and especially not that day.

 

This woman had come in with her very pretty and adorable looking 2 year old baby girl to do their hair and I was commenting at how pretty her baby was. So I said “wow, the beautiful ones are already being born”. I made that remark only as a joke and in an attempt to be witty but unbeknownst to me it opened the proverbial “can of worms”. It quickly became the subject of a full one hour tirade on why things weren’t working in the country and how no succor can possibly come anytime soon.

 

My stylist opened with a story of a young man who lived in a neighborhood where a robbery occurred. The police had come when they got the distress call and shot at the robbers, so while fleeing, the robbers dropped their bag of loot. In it about 2 million naira cash and other valuables like Gold, silver, gadgets etc. This young man stumbled upon the bag of loot the next day while he was going for a run, picked it up and as a ‘good Samaritan’ went straight to the local police station to submit it. Instead, officers of the Law who were supposed to “protect” people, locked him up for almost a week and grilled him endlessly about how he came about the loot. Accusing him of being part of the robbery gang.

 

It was then the mother of the adorable baby went on to interjected saying, if she had found that loot she would never have taken it to the police. She would instead dig a hole, bury it and hide it for a while, and then she would later take it out and use it to help others. To some, that may sound a bit gallant right? But that does not make it right. After all, as they say and so featured in the lyrics of Wyclef Jean’s song “They say two wrongs don’t make a right”.

 

There is also an incident that was narrated at my house about a certain young man who was involved in an auto-accident a few years back. Several people in the car died but he lived. While people rallied to their upturned vehicle in an effort to assist the victims, some came with less than honest intentions and began looting the personal belongings of the victims. One ‘ransacker’ held the accident victim’s hand and while trying to pull out his wristwatch, the hurting young man opened his eyes and asked him “you would dare to steal from a dead man?” the guy quickly ran away from the scene.

 

These are only a few instances of the kind of people this nation is breeding. We accuse our leaders and politicians for being everything bad, but what about we the citizens? How do we treat each other? The truth is that most of us have that same mindset.

We castigate our leaders for being corrupt but even the lowest filer/clerk at an office expects you to tip them or they will conveniently misplace your file.

 

I was chatting with my friends the other day and there was a general consensus that while we know our leaders are less than stellar in the performance of their duties, we too intend to cut our own piece of the national cake when we get there. There lies the problem. If our grandparents who are in power are corrupt and we the young generation are planning to be yet corrupt, when will Nigeria truly be better for us?

 

From the looks of things this nation can only get better when our generation is dead and gone. So, therefore is our duty to train our own kids well enough and hopefully they can change this country for their own children.

 

Nigeria is not perfect, but we can make it better.

 

Congratulations to Nigeria for marking the passage of time.

Happy Centenary celebration Naija.

Many cheers.

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

-By Ope Ogunbowale
 

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

 And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say

 The breath goes now, and some say, No;

Whenever I feel bad, all I want to do is write and vent out my anger and frustration in the best way I can. Usually it takes me hitting rock bottom to come up with new philosophies and perceptions.

I lost a friend recently and it got me thinking, what is the essence of life, why should we struggle and hustle so much and in the end something as trivial as a headache hands one away into the cold hands of death. However, in my lamentations I started to understand a few things. 

Firstly, life is a race, more like survival of the fittest, but there is no guarantee that the fittest wins the race. The most important thing is your deeds and the lives you touch while running the race because when you are gone only memories and deeds remain. 

Secondly I came to understand the meaning of ‘everybody dies but not everybody lives’. Living in itself encompasses just being yourself, being happy, not conforming to individual nor societal pressures, as in the end, your life story is about you and not the society. Therefore, why let the society or peer pressure dictate or plot your life and how you live it? Eventually, it is your life, and your story, and you are the chief story teller, so it is all about you and the lives you touched.

We plan tomorrow like we have a clue, sure if anybody told my friend she would not cross over to 2014, she would have laughed and said ‘you are not serious’ with her soft and gentle voice. Do not wait till tomorrow to tell someone how you feel about them, because they may be gone by then. Push boundaries, add value to yourself, be the best you can be, pursue your dreams, dance in the rain, give someone a smile, take a leap of faith, be hopeful, for eventually we shall all go. Make your time here count, truly live your life.

Permit me to bring in Pareto’s 80:20 management principles which states that 20% of our activities accounts for 80% of results, thus we should focus on the 20% of our best assets and through them the 80% results can be attained.

I grieve deep, but it can never bring back the souls of my loved ones gone, I conclude with the wise words of John Donne(1611), “ours is a valediction forbidden mourning”, till we meet on the resurrection morning, Adios.

AFRICANS AND THEIR IRRATIONAL PENCHANT FOR RESPECT

Africans are by nature quite obsessed with respect and this obsession may be predicated on our cultural upbringing. I remember while growing up we had some neighbours who whenever they came to the house knelt on both knees to greet my mom. In the same vein, we in turn had to return same to their parents anytime we go over to their house to play. And God bless your soul if you didn’t do that, then you will be reprimanded in the strictest of ways.

From time immemorial I had a daily ritual. As soon as I wake up in the morning, I matched to my parent’s room to greet them good morning, then proceed to render same obeisance to my aunts, uncles and elder siblings. That caught on for a long while before I ditched it as one of my attempts at a stubborn juvenile emancipation. 

This matter of respect reminds me of an ex-colleague I worked with a couple of years back. She was cool alright and couldn’t have been more than 10 years older than I am and we got off well. Though now that i think about it, I believe it was mainly because she thought I was older than I really am. I have been told that I act quite mature, guess i am an old soul.

Anyway, this colleague seemed okay with me calling her by her first name until for some reason she stumbled upon one of my credentials and figured out my age. Since then, things changed and she began to Lord over me at any given opportunity, though I did my best to ignore her. Until one day she sequestered me at the office toilet and informed me flatly that she did mind the way I called her by her first name. Saying she would prefer if in future I used the prefix of Mrs or Madam while addressing her. It seemed to me like something from a standup comedy. See me see wahala. Well, I thought since it was so damn important to her, I mentally reset my mind to always include that prefix to her anytime I addressed her.

What’s curious about this is that I never respected her less when I called her by her first name, so why did she feel the need to crave for a ‘Madam’ title? In fact, by the time I began calling her madam, whatever ounce of respect I had for her diminished considerably.  And please note that she never extended a similar respect to me. Instead, she bossed me around more than she did in the past. Including, leaving me to do her work, while I barely had time to do mine.

Recently, I was at a wedding and the MC called the chairman of the occasion to the high table but the chairman refused to rise. Apparently, he is a Chief of some sort in his hometown so without affixing his title, he refused to acquiesce to the invitation and kept the occasion at a stand still for several minutes. It was only until his aide walked up to the podium, collected the microphone from the MC and called the entire names of the said Chief before he walked to the high table.

At Lasgidi a couple of weeks back, I was hanging out at a spot with some of my friends and a top European expatriate Mark who was my friend’s boss. It was a fun night and we talked about everything. Gradually the discussion shifted to this matter of respect and how Africans and maybe Nigerians in particular could give their right arm just to be referred to as Mr, Sir, and the most revered “Oga or Madam”.

My friend who worked with other Nigerian men in the same company with portfolios lesser than that of Mark told us that if he ever called anyone of the other Nigerians by their first names, he was sure they would plot to have him fired. But not Mark. In fact, Mark could not possibly fathom why on earth he could possibly want to be referred to as Mr. Mark. In his opinion it will make him seem unapproachable to his subordinates and that, he couldn’t stand. While we joked around the table referring to him as Mr. Mark, my oyinbo brother became miffed.

Same with my bosses, whenever they introduce themselves to people whether those closest to their age of even much younger, they tell you their first name only. One time I asked Papi why he did so, and he informed me that it is himself he’s introducing. It is his father who is Mr. Papi.  So I began to wonder, if whites and other Nigerian with a certain kind of exposure cannot be bothered about this eye service we do here, why do we choose to be rope ourselves with it to the point of strangling ourselves?

I have some very tiny cousins who will gladly call me Aunty. They could practically worship the floor I walk on but I would never have that. To me, it will only distance me from them, making me unapproachable and somewhat like a cold distant relative to them. Besides, what will it benefit me? They already respect me as it is, do I now want them to revere me? Haba! 

In our society it is normal for us to use the Madam, Oga, Egbon, Yaya titles. Since it is so for people you are older than to respect you, why would you feel the need to affix a title to your name? This I believe is just an extreme case of vanity and aggrandizement. 

Do not get me wrong, I am not implying that we respect our elders less. All I am saying is that we also must respect those younger than we are. There’s no place where it is written that it is the sole responsibility of the young to respect elders. It is a ‘give and take’ relationship. When you respect people, you in turn get respected yourself.

#Word.

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