Your Stories. My Stories. Our Stories. Please forward all enquiries to seunodukoyaofficial@gmail.com.

Archive for October, 2012

Midweek Fix: MAGICK

MAGICK

I am just sitting here…staring at the sky.

That’s how most sad stories start.
But it’s true you see;

I am just sitting here…staring at the sky,
Dressed in my work gear, I don’t know why
Oh yeah…I do know why
Don’t blame me for trying to lie

A sweet little girl gave me a tract just now;
I didn’t know when I crushed it,
They say love is patient; I don’t know why I rushed it,
I should have been more careful; I was the one you trusted,
I was so caught up in it I just naturally became selfish

But the first time I saw you; I swear it was magick.

I’m a graduate; two years diploma in law;
Four years in educational psychology,
But for all that I cannot figure out
What exactly goes wrong in relationships.

A guy’s sitting beside me staring at a girl,
The girl’s staring back at him as well
I bet the guy thinks he’s really lucky;
Luck has nothing to do with it; it’s just magick.

Abeg; stop frontin’ jo! You know what I’m saying
You know how you felt on your first date; see him grinning
How you guys talked for hours, neither of you wanted to go home,
Now; a few months later you ask; ‘where did all that stuff go?’
How it was; you met someone new, totally fresh and un-spoilt,
After three dates already thinking ‘happily ever after’ now
And sometimes it last just weeks, months or even years,
And they say ‘all good things come to an end’

But the first time we kissed; I swear it felt like magick

How we talked; it was a miracle we had so much in common,
Then what we thought only us had in common became common
And then, the common-ness made it stop making sense
And it’s ironic; like a rare jewel named ‘common sense’

How the connect survives the worst the world has to offer
At first; how every offence was treated with laughter
How suddenly with the shifting of the veil,
How things that didn’t count suddenly began to matter

Emotions are liars; a little different from illusion,
But we need them to live; can we find a solution?
And I won’t leave; I’ll stay here and seek absolution,
From all my wrongdoings; maybe I’ll be cured of my confusion

But when I touched you I experienced magick

The power of two hearts; that for a moment beat as one,
Excuse me; who’s the fool playing that Mariah Carey song?
For you; maybe it holds pleasant memories or even magic,
For me, it brings back memories that are tragic
Could you please just stop it?

The power of two hearts; that for a moment beat as one,
The power of dreams; that bad timing did corrupt,
To the hearts that stay strong; still believe in love
And in the search for happiness, find God above

In memory of the times we couldn’t stop texting;
Of the fact that, for good or bad, we never made it to the sex thing,
In memory of the fact that we did bring joy around us,
For a moment trapped in time; that you were actually mine

And when we were together; I swear it was magick.

I’ll forever miss you.

And yeah; remember the guy I spoke about earlier?
He and the girl just walked away now, laughing
And the way they were doing; I doubt they’d make next year,
But for now, they both look incredibly happy.

What’s that if it’s not magick?

IN MEMORY OF SOLA DUROTIMI

In memory of things that could have been;
In remembrance of things that indeed were.


Mid-Week Fix: Can We?

CAN WE

Let’s assume I’m just wondering; thinking out loud,
I can hear you singing and I’m loving the sound
It’s easy to get carried away by your love but I must;
Share these thoughts with you so we can build a trust

Can We Cheat…?
The cyclic thinking about relationships?
How it must always pan out the way of the critics?
How it’s impossible for one not to be selfish?
And I wonder which of us; me or you is equipped to sell fish?

Can We Lie…?
Together in bed and just chill? While I…
Penetrate your mind with fingers steeped in wisdom
Lubricated with juices scooped from scrolls and books,
Creating landscapes and skylines with bible-based kingdoms?
And yeah; I’m raving ‘cos I’m suffering from an intellectual hard-on

Can We Steal…?
Away from negative ‘friends’ and fools?
Who think all we need to work are their opinions?
Thoughts like ‘She’s moving too fast’ ‘He’s cheating on you’
Ha. Why are they still single if they graduated relationship school?

Can We Kill…?
All negative concepts, thoughts and contracts?
Like how we must be shagging for this to really last?
Or like…how I must hold back how I feel for you?
Or like…how you should be ashamed of being true?
Or like…how I must act like I like your dad?

Can We Do…?
What we really need to…?
Like let you know just how much I really want you?
What we need to; really work for us to work, and not hesitate?
Like understanding; marriage is a journey and wedding’s just the toll-gate?

Can I put you on my shoulders; make you see farther for us?
Can you ignore the guys in the fly cars and join me gladly on the bus?
Can we change our vocabulary; create a great future with speech?
Can we stop ‘I’ ‘your’ ‘my’ ‘mine’ ‘me’ and think in terms of we?

Can We Just…Be?!


Sweetness III

It was the way he watched me. He would look into my eyes as though he was seeing beyond, into my soul. His smile told me he liked what he saw.
I hadn’t known a man’s smile could make me soft in the head. He knew and he took advantage any time we argued. He complained that I fussed over him; little did he know I was doing it more for myself. Making him happy made me feel whole. I loved him. I loved the woman I was when I was with him; beautiful, intelligent, sexy as hell.
Now all I can do is hug myself as the nostalgia takes on, leaving a bittersweet chill in its wake.
He came into my life at a time I had reached the justifiable conclusion that no man would love me. I’m not one so inclined to overly dramatic tales but I had had my fair share of heartbreaks, disappointment and unrequited ‘love’.
We met at a wedding. He was the best man and I was a good friend to the maid of honor. Much later, he would tease me of the most popular crime in Lagos; ‘mo gbo, mo ya’. ‘I heard; I branched’.

Guilty as charged. I was there for one purpose; free lunch! The reception was about five minutes walk from my house and so when my friend asked me to drop by, my tummy growled in consent. With a killer pair of red shoes and a trusted cream dress that fit just right I was good to go. My friend came to meet me at the entrance of the hall and made sure I was well taken care of.

After the food, came the shame. Gathering the little I had of my pride, I slipped out without notifying my friend. Alas, I wasn’t to go unpunished for my crime. Just after the gate, the heel of my left shoe got caught in the crack of a concrete slab. I landed with an ungraceful thud to the ground, my hands supporting me. I must have been quite a sight. I heard his chuckle before I saw him. I would have given anything for his head that moment.
He circled till he was facing me, offering me his hand and smiling. The rest is well, ironically now history.

How the relationship progressed, I cannot say. From fending off his teasing remarks for not knowing the names of the newly married couple, I was dicing pineapples in his kitchen.
It had been almost 6 months since we started seeing each other when the visions began. I call them visions because I saw them while I was wide awake. I would see two women, dressed in traditional Edo attire in a tug of war.

‘He is mine;’ they would say to each other. And just as quickly as they appeared, they would vanish before my very eyes.
I knew I was the only that saw them. And the thought was the only thing that assured me of my sanity. I had to go home; I was convinced my answer was there.
I spent the weekend with him before I left. I had an uncanny feeling about this goodbye. I hugged him a little tighter; I couldn’t stop the flow of tears that welled in my eyes.
The journey was long and tiring but once I was in my mother’s arms, it was all worth it. The next day, I called him and had him speak to her and my siblings. I was grinning ear to ear. How I loved him! He spoke to them like he knew them personally. My mother seemed to be taken with him. Which was why the sadness in her eyes startled me after the goodbyes.
‘We must talk. Let’s go to my room.’ I followed quietly behind her. We sat on her bed.
‘I know you’ve started seeing them,’ she began. I gasped, unable to contain my anxiety. How did she know? There was no doubt she was referring to the two women.

Mother cleared her throat and began the tale.
A long time ago, there were two friends; Muwa-lisa and Amenawon. They were inseparable. The villagers often said they descended to earth as twins but were born of two different mothers. They both fell in love. Muwa-lisa to a rich traders son and Amanewon to a charming young prince, both from the next village. When the time came for the young prince to choose a bride, he picked Amenawon. Excited, she rushed to tell her best friend the news and promised to take her to meet him the next full moon. Just as planned, they walked hand in hand to where the charming prince would be waiting. He turned to greet them, and Muwa-lisa found herself staring into the eyes of the rich trader’s son.

She let out a broken sob before falling to the ground. She loved him though she always knew he loved another. She had only hoped to win his affections. She could never have known it was Amenawon. Dying, she clutched her friend’s hand and said; ‘he may be yours now, but he will be mine in the next life’.

She died instantly and Amenawon mourned for her friend.

After a while, Amenawon married her prince as planned and had beautiful children. But Muwa-lisa’s broken heart did not rest; taunting the prince in his dreams till she had his soul. Amenawon was left a young widow with children.

Her grief was immeasurable, yet she thought nothing odd of her husband’s death. When her first daughter lost her husband to a mysterious illness she knew something was amiss. She went to visit the village oracle who confirmed her fears! It was Muwa-lisa. She would take what should have been hers for generations to come. The only way she would be appeased was with the blood of unborn children. To have children would mean the death of any man a descendant of Amenawon married.
We were descendants of Amenawon.
I started laughing hysterically. This was the 21st century for crying out loud! But my mother was prepared for my argument. She asked me to recount every living female relative we had that had a husband alive and well with children. There was none. I looked at her as then it dawned on me. I had no memories of my father.
Mother began to speak again. ‘You may not believe me but I’m telling you now because I know you love that man. My mother didn’t tell me this truth till I lost my husband. She wanted the family blood line to continue at all costs. I never forgave her.’
I was lost. My head was spinning. I staggered out of her room into mine and I cried myself to sleep.

If this was true, I needed to get away from him. I couldn’t bear to lose him but I wouldn’t be able to live knowing I was the cause of his untimely death. I called him later that day, reciting words I had put on paper. I broke up with him.

I sit now in my room in my mother’s house staring at the wall but not seeing it. I thought it would get easier. I did not think I would still hurt this much – did not think it would hurt more than it did the past day. I miss him. So much.

I hate the sight of pineapples these days.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————-


I did not think it was necessary to write a part three – as far as I knew, the story was done. But a dear friend told me the unresolved nature of the story disturbed her subconscious; and that she feels an explanation as to why she left is necessary. So she offered to write it.

She’s Nura; @bellanura27 on twitter. She writes to escape – and it makes her feel good to write great stuff. She’s working on her debut novel at the moment.

I think she’s single too.

Do read more from her here: http://www.itsnura27.wordpress.com. Give her your support.
Thank you!


We Don Dey Madt!

 

WE DON DEY MADT

 

We know how far na, we know as e dey go

‘No be me’ ‘e no consaign me’ na only dat one we know

If I talk about am, dem go say I too dey show

‘Where justice dey since?’ E dey for go-slow

 

We don kolo

 

First na girl dem rape, we dey share the video,

We dey yarn nonsense; ‘she like am jo’ ‘she be ho’

The school VC say ‘Na all my students I know’

The gist reach National Assembly but wind carry am go

 

We don kolo

 

Now it’s ‘innocent’ students, brutally brutalized for stealing phones,

I say ‘innocent’ ‘cause I really don’t know

But what phone is worth the breaking of skulls and bones?

If I too talk for my area, dem go tell me; ‘bone!’

 

We don kolo

 

I salute Sinzu; I like ‘E don dey madt’ part II

My believe na say all of us dey madt true true

Dem dey kill our fellow men, we dey watch the film,

E go do we like film trick; our turn go soon reach!

 

We don kolo

 

 IN MEMORY

 

 

 

 


Dust and Ashes

Isn’t She…?

That is…that was my mother.

I had a moment during the funeral service – a moment in which I was just thinking about her and how much of a good son I was or had been.

It wasn’t much.

I kept thinking about the times when she would ask me to do something for her; run an errand or something. And I would just say ‘I’m busy’ in a really rude way. Though I would usually go back and eventually run the errand; but it still did not change the fact that I turned her down at first. And probably hurt her.

I kept thinking about the times when she would ask me for something and though I had it; I’d probably put my needs first. I kept thinking about the times when she would want to talk with me and because I was in a hurry I wouldn’t give her time of day. Sure; we usually got back to it and I spent time…a lot of time with her regularly; I just can’t help but feel bad about the ones I missed.

I think what happens when someone dies is – you start to remember EVERYTHING you did wrong; where and when you missed it. And then you start to feel guilty. At least, that’s usually true for me.

But I know for a fact that while I had a beautiful relationship with my mum, I could have done more. Been more. Show her more.
I love her. Really do. And she knew before she died.

I keep hoping she would come back – so I could try harder to be a better son. I would…I would…

But I also know that if she had not gone; if she wasn’t dead, I probably would have just gone on treating her the same way I had been.

Look, I’m tired of the ‘be strong’ ‘be a man’ that characterizes every one of my conversations these days. Don’t get me wrong; I understand completely that half the time people don’t know what to say. I understand that it’s their way of saying ‘I’m sorry’, ‘I care’ and so on. But…

It hurts. So much. So much.

As I go about my day, I still feel as though someone’s playing a mean prank on me. I still expect someone to call me from home and tell me ‘your mum is here – she just slept for a bit’. I still expect to receive a call from her asking me if I would come home and what I would like for dinner.

I still expect to wake up.

I try not to think of how long; if ever, it’ll be before I get to see her again. I…

I hope you learn to appreciate your mother and your father if you still have them; and everyone around you better after reading this. I hope you all care for people who care for you. Forgive that ex. Value that spouse. Appreciate that mother. Thank that father. Hug that son. Get to know that daughter.

It’s no use; it makes no sense sending people flowers when they can no longer smell them.

Adieu Mama.