Welcoming Baby Joel

Tobs Thots

During our usual Sunday visits to my grandparents’ house after church my aunt, Syreeta and I would gossip a little before Dad starts up about how we should get going, reminding us of the long journey to our home far far away LOL. Well as usual, Aunt SY (as we all call her) and I were in the kitchen, when she said the words “I believe you’ve been told Akinyede number 3 is on the way”, I was so stunned because I had not been told. I really was speechless for a while (or so it seemed to me because she didn’t seem to notice). It was then I began to notice the tired look and little bump. The next thing I asked was” when’s the baby due?” and much to my dismay she told me the baby would be due around March 2015. Well I was disappointed that I…

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+ Edelweiss

A happy new year ahead, everyone!

I wasn’t sure how to begin this piece (I’ve re-written these opening lines too many times to count), and yet, I already have! So I’ll just go with it. And somewhat briefly.

In retrospect, God really surprised me this year. Almost as much as I’ve disappointed Him, to be honest… and myself. It was a 2013 much more than I could hope for. Heck, it was so much more than I bargained for! Hehe. But, in a way, isn’t that the point to it all?

Here’s an analogy I once heard: if you ask God for wisdom, you better expect that some twisted things’ll happen around you. Ask for patience (not the Dame), and expect lots of really annoying folk (like the Dame) to test your limit. And so on — you know, kinda like King Solomon with the two prostitutes and baby, after seeking wisdom.

Sounds like perfect wisdom to me.

But then, as always, the negative experiences cloud your judgment of what’s what. And you find yourself right back where you started. Desperate. It’s especially painful for me when I see how much I fail God, daily. But let’s be positive.

2013 is history when the day is over. New year resolutions and what not aside, I’m making a stricter, more conscious decision to meet God halfway, impossible as it be. For all the goodness I’ve been shown this year, I’ll try and retry, again and again, to earn it with my spirit, soul and body. (Body, be warned!)

* * * * *

Dear Father,

Thanks! You’ve outdone yourself once more. Did I mention how I’m grateful that you often used a single situation to solve multiple, altogether? That reminds me: the job.

I love how you made an early Christmas gift of it, giving me new friendships, among other things. Rock on! Like you, I’d like to rock that office (for You). Every corner. In every way. Through Your loving grace. I don’t want this job-love to grow stale like it all-too-often does. Please, Lord, constantly redefine its essence in my daily “struggle” (not that I’m interested in struggling at all).

And my walk with You, let’s start that afresh. Let this coming year be the monument and first, true testimony of my total submission — absolutely and entirely: body, soul, spirit, mind, strength, everything — to you now. Personally. Publicly. And forever.

Your son

+ Afterthought

Hey pals! I know I owe y’all one Love, Oluwatobi entry, inspired by my biggest brother’s birthday this Friday. Please, bear with me; I’ll have that ready for y’all before the day is up. In the meantime, you can read up on my attempt at a humorous Monday Memoir here, inspired by a childhood memory of the celebrant.

Now, this is just a quick, little review of the movie, After Earth, directed by M. Night Shyamalan and starring Will and Jaden Smith. The review (which I love) is from the Facebook page of a super-inspirational “mentor-from-afar” of mine, Michael Samuel Miller Jr. I hope you are inspired by this:

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+ One Dazzling Wednesday

Hi everyone!

Confession #1: I’ve missed Monday Memoirs a lot! (Hope you did too.) I’m very excited to be back… just saying.

Confession #2: This week, we’re celebrating my eldest brother, as he marks his birthday this Friday. And in true WBT style, we kick things off with a completely fictional lighthearted memoir, based on a true-life childhood memory of his.

*snickers*

Enjoy.

* * * * *

When he held the deflated football in his hands, he frowned. Like he had to pick it up to believe it. Michael, Jumal and Toke had all run home. They first. Phillip, Remi and Kenny, Osas, Nnamdi, Hassan and Tom followed. Quickly, their lanky legs propelled their prepubescent bodies away from house number 12 as the hour of six was drawing near. Tomorrow was a school night. And curfews were a god.

When iOne and iTwo had earlier picked their teams, he had to be picked first. It was his ball, wasn’t it? Hehe. No matter, he could be counted on to lead the team: the real reason. As a threadbare leather ball got kicked around for two hours, his name echoed throughout. The brand-new neighbours would later come knocking on his mother’s door. “We just came to greet you,” glossy lips beaming smiles. “How is Pelumi?”

When bluish-black skies warningly sprinkled rain at 6:15, he suddenly remembered that Aunty Ike would soon start dinner. Ooh! Lesson time! his mind exclaimed on cue. He pictured his plateful of tonight’s menu and salivated. But he couldn’t leave the monkey posts lying there till Dad arrived. Absolutely not!

Then…

When he was picking up the last of the heaps of Dunlop slippers and rocks, it happened. Thor (or Sango to you) released the first lightning bolt of the evening, right in front of him! He ran into the house startled. Had his friends been there, they may not have recognised him, white-faced as he was. Aunty Ike cooked alone that night. But no, there wasn’t any yam and plantain pottage leftover.

When the aroma filled the house, his shock took flight. The hunger too. And my big brother’s tummy could testify, there wasn’t a prize as golden and satiable as anything that came out of our kitchen.

When he laid eyes on his trophy, he smiled, thinking of the 8-0 scoreline of that afternoon. Of that moment, that Wednesday, Flash! Thor took a Polaroid photograph which my imagination now holds dearly. Priceless!

+ Divine Design: Secular Music

It seems apparent, the need for a platform that gives room for “righteous reasoning” on some particularly stubborn grey areas in Christian living (especially for those of us, young adults). Welcome to that platform, the Divine Design series of dialogues, a new addition that will occasionally feature on Sunday Scoop.

A conducive spiritual laboratory for resolving lifestyle disparities, this hopes to be a medium dedicated to fulfilling the Word’s demand: “But encourage one another daily, as long as it is called ‘Today,’ so that none of you may be hardened by sin’s deceitfulness.” (Hebrews 3:13) And this we do to identify what God really says and why He says it, so that we lead truly conscientious lives.

This beautiful verse of scripture shall form the basis of the Divine Design series:

“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2)

Okay then, let’s begin!

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We kick-start the series with the much-debated subject of secular music as a Christian consumable. This unending and quite controversial matter, with its various opinions, seems to have spun very many generations (often heating up Christian talk channels as some dormant genre unexpectedly takes popular culture by storm).

I once met a music and film critic who became a friend. He and I had a friendly debate centred on a rising blues diva who was gaining major ground on the globe, critically and commercially. At some point during our minor squabble, he let me know that he had had and listened to both of the lady’s albums, deleting them soon after, as his music library was made up of nothing but Christian music.

Then it struck me (I, the democratic music-lover with a humble playlist of all music secular and Christian): How would that not be a hypocritical thing to do?

I have, at some point or another, pondered the possibility of living enjoyably in Nigeria, where one is a “multi-genre” music enthusiast/composer and has to depend solely on the media for creative “triggers.” (More so, we suffer the non-existence of exclusive Christian music channels in Nigerian media; a reality that’s had me playing with the idea of starting one.)

My argument as a truly Christian performing artist is thus that I cannot but monitor the trends, as a means by which to, firstly, broaden my horizon. Secondly, also from the standpoint of a Christian composer, me playing dodge with secular music would be quite like a Christian adjudicator who loses his sense of balance when voodoo-related cases come up.

In essence, where others see worthless charcoal, shouldn’t I see the medium for my own Mona Lisa? I think it’s clear what I’m trying to say.

Kirk Franklin himself, a “mentor-from-afar” of mine, has made some truly amazing material — some even award-winning — that are heavy on sampling or an outright recycling of secular music! For example, there’s “Lovely Day,” off The Nu Nation Project album. And recently, “September,” an almost blatant copycat of Earth, Wind & Fire’s 1978 smash hit of same name… to mention but a few.

All that said, I will resound my unapologetic respect for these and other such scripture:

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

“Do not be unequally yoked with unbelievers. For what partnership has righteousness with lawlessness? Or what fellowship has light with darkness?” (2 Corinthians 6:14)

“For I am not ashamed of the gospel, for it is the power of God for salvation to everyone who believes, to the Jew first and also to the Greek.” (Romans 1:16)

But then, I came across this interesting online resource from Got Questions Ministries that sets the record straight. If you lean more towards “conservative,” then you probably don’t want to follow the link above. (Hehe. That’s a teaser, all right!)

The article starts with a question: “Should a Christian listen to secular music?” It answers this question — in my view — very, very eloquently, balancing reason and purpose. It explains that God gave us the gift of music, first and most importantly, for worship. But also, and often understated, He gave us the gift of music for soothing and/or entertainment. The example of King David is cited, who can rightly be described as “the most famous musician in the Bible,” and yet would often be called upon by the tumultuous King Saul for his hands of anointed harping. (1 Samuel 16:14-23)

The author goes on to point out the most important deciding factor for listening to secular music. (S)he says it’s the content of the lyrics that should determine. Simply put, we are made to understand that it’s perfectly okay to listen to music that’s uplifting and positive, yet isn’t particularly scripture-based.

And I agree.

“Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.” (Philippians 4:8)

“Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” (Colossians 3:2)

“We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Corinthians 10:5)

But that’s just me. What do you think?

+ Mountain? What Mountain?

So he said to me, “This is the word of the LORD to Zerubbabel: ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the LORD Almighty. What are you, mighty mountain? Before Zerubbabel you will become level ground. Then he will bring out the capstone to shouts of ‘God bless it! God bless it!'”

Then the word of the LORD came to me: “…Who dares despise the day of small things, since the seven eyes of the LORD that range throughout the earth will rejoice when they see the chosen capstone in the hand of Zerubbabel?”

Zechariah 4:6-8,10

Ha ha. And some say God has no sense of humour.

I don’t know about you, but this passage reads with major paradox. We often see our mountains as mighty, but our gifts and blessings as small. A closer look at the entire chapter of this passage reveals that the power of sight has nothing to do with having eyeballs: “He asked me, ‘What do you see?'” (v2). You see, even though Zechariah could see clearly what the angel was showing him, he was absolutely clueless as to what really he was seeing.

Are you in doubt of what you see? Believe me, it’s for your own good that you open your eyes. No, I’m not asking you to bulge your eyes at my post. I’m simply asking you to let God’s Holy Spirit in. Like the passage says, it’s not by power or by might. Ever heard the saying about working smart, rather than working hard? Same thing. It’s the simple principle differentiating “white collar” from “blue collar.”

So do you feel like you need (more of) the Spirit? Has your perfect physical vision left you spiritually shortsighted? Or is all you see before you mountains, and within you “small things?” If your answer is yes, then I’m glad to let you know there’s more than enough of the Spirit for you. And at absolutely no cost! Because Jesus Christ, the Giver of the Spirit paid it all for the whole, entire world.

If you need that Spirit right now, would you say this quick prayer?

“Holy Spirit, please come into my heart (anew). I confess that I am disabled. I realise that my own power and might are insufficient. I know that the mountains before me are nothing to You. And so, I ask for You to take over me, through the sacrifice of the Holy Lamb at Calvary. I claim Your divine sight for my life. I receive the permanent, corrective eye surgery that makes my smallness mighty, and my mountains levelled. Thank you, dear Lord, because You have done it. I am liberated. And it is, indeed, finished. Amen!”

Welcome to Perfect Vision! 😀

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The Trinity+You=20/20… That’s the Word made ice creamy :d

+ Watch Yourself

Hey peeps! Miss me? Don’t lie jo, you did. Hehe.

Okay, it’s that time of the week when we delve into matters pertaining to “people-packaging.” And speaking of time, this time, we’ll be talking timepieces and how to accessorise with them. (About time!)

So… Watches. We love them. And most of us can’t live without them. But the purpose for they’re high demand have gone way past their original intent: telling time. They’re now full-fledged fashion accessories!

According to John E. Brozek’s delightful detailing of the history and evolution of wrist watches, these timepieces of bodily adornment weren’t always the universally embraced status symbol or fashion accessory as today they are. In fact, less than 100 years ago, the so-called wristlets were simply bogus and not manly enough for men. That’s right, wrist watches were even more unlikely accessories for men than skirts, Brozek points out quite humorously. Today, however, it’s something of a different tune; women shunning watches more for bracelets, men more in search of prestigious manhood in the likes of Rolex and Cartier.

But I’m not hear to talk watch history. I’m here for watch fashion. However, if you’d like to read more on Bozek’s fun timeline of watches you can check it out here.

Okay, I usually would never opt to copy verbatim from other folk, but I read this other awesome piece that put everything I felt into words, and I couldn’t resist:

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Watches Tell More Than Time

Watches tell more than time. They tell your station in life. They tell whether you are hip and trendy or conservative. They can even tell if you are old money or nouveau riche. They tell whether you have made it or are on your way up. When watch collectors leave their Ferrari parked outside, they still have their watch on their wrist. The watch they wear makes just as much of a statement as their car. Watch collectors are usually car enthusiasts and wine aficionados too.

The Fashion Of Watches

Watches have become a fashion statement over the past 15 years. At a time, a man had a watch for his entire lifetime and maybe received a gold watch for his retirement or from his in-laws-to-be at his wedding. Now, most men have several watches: an oversized steel one for sport, one for work, and a gold one for dress. In the past few years, many men have started collecting watches, and an average collector may have fifty in his wardrobe with a special display box. Nowadays, it doesn’t matter the brand or price range — bigger is better. Just a few years ago, 38mm was considered large, now 44mm is standard; the bigger the toy the bigger the effect.

Ladies will have at least an everyday steel watch with diamonds and a gold watch for dress. Watches come with interchangeable straps to coordinate with outfits. Never has a watch had so much fashion appeal. One’s watch also makes more than a fashion statement.

The Governator

Audemars Piguet has partnered with various charities and celebrities like Arnold Schwarzenegger, a notorious watch collector, and introduced The Governator, a steel watch with the Governor of California’s Seal on the case. The only way to get one of the 25 pieces available was to give a $25,000 donation directly to the Governor’s after-school charity. That is, of course, after signing a contract not to sell the watch at auction for at least five years after purchase. What a statement that watch makes: I am a philanthropist and I make great investments, not to mention I have good taste and great connections.

When it comes to watches, the more complicated the better. These are very popular because only those in the know understand the value of the piece. What looks like an average strap watch with cool stuff on the face could be a rare and intricate piece of machinery. These and the more complex, the pricier they get. These are more like works of art than timepieces.

In fact, waiting is the name of the game in the watch industry. The new models debut in Switzerland in January and April, each year. Jewellers put their clients on waiting lists for the hottest and rarest models. There are some that are limited edition and some that are so difficult to produce that only two to three come into the country per year. These are the most coveted and it is necessary to have a good relationship with your jeweller just to get a look at these beauties.

Most companies make the same model in several versions, with varying complications. They can range from an all-steel sport model to a timepiece with the highest complications and several functions, such as a Minute Repeater Perpetual Calendar, which displays: hours, minutes and seconds; a perpetual calendar with displays for the date, day-of-the-week, month, year and a leap year indicator; a perpetual moon-phase display, and to round it off, probably the most complex watch mechanism of them all—a minute repeater which announces the time acoustically in hours, quarters and minutes on tiny gongs.

(© 2010 Morays Jewelers INC. All Rights Reserved)

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Dang! That last bit threw me. But hey, you get the picture. I’m guessing the next time you go watch-shopping, you’ll take a time-out to think this through.

All right folks, that’s it from me. Time up.

+ “Cheese…!” Ain’t Cheesy

Boo hoo. Isn’t it the 21st Century? I’m taking my pictures… myself. *folds arms*

Let me clarify. I’m ABSOLUTELY SO VERY NOT a selfie junkie. That kind of person who has a rarely adorable addiction to holding up camera lenses to his face multiple times a day — *cringes* — that’s not me. Not that I have anything against the innocently negligent narcissists of the world. 🙂

Just today, I was looking through some recently taken selfies and I thought to myself. Some of my great selfie concepts (can’t I gloat a little?) could use a little more exposure, however introverted I may be. And though, even if rarely, I’m notably unconcerned with the (technical, not the artistic) quality of the art, because I find that I’m too busy thinking of its execution. In essence, please enjoy the creativity of my selfie offerings, regardless of their shortcomings.

Oh! And for those who need a definition, a selfie is simply a photo that… Wait, this is the 21st Century, if I’m not mistaken. Oya, abeg save my word count the wahala and visit Google, you’re welcome.

…And now, join in and say… cheesy! (Just kidding o!)

Abeg, love yourself o; selfies don’t lie

Back at Chyna Spice in Abuja
(pun intended)

My first lighting experiment
Not so cool eh?

@Ease
(Not a Twitter handle, thanks)

This is me in model mentality mode

Here’s proof that almost every selfie is simply idle pastime

Thought I’d mix it up a little

Yup, I still am an introvert

O how I love this haircut!

I can look dapper when I wanna

I only serve in style

I sometimes used my phone’s timer to achieve some fun selfies

And now, here are my top 10 favourite selfies of (duh!) me

#10

The best way to achieve a full-sized selfie

#9

O boy, this angle and pose are my pride and joy

#8

This one makes me smile, wasn’t so easy taking this though

#7

A selfie favourite completely edited on my old Nokia C3

#6

This was not an easy pose to pull off
*rubs neck retrospectively*

#5

Loved em all so much, I couldn’t choose one,
These are me waiting for the paparazzi

#4

A classic selfie of mine

#3

In a funny way, this selfie makes me feel like an accomplished photographer

#2

2nd lighting attempt. Gosh, I’m in love with this one!

Ladies and gentlemen, my favourite selfie of all time
#1

Speechless was what I was after I took this

So there, selfies are not such a bad thing, so it turns out. All you’ve gotta do is ask yourself, “What exactly is this selfie for sef?“

MU+Me

Hi guys! I’m glad to be back from my week-long vacation, after the blog’s all-week, one-month anniversary special. I hope you enjoyed the small things I managed to whip up for you.

For me, seeing Monsters University on Friday was the perfect top-off of a successful celebration. What was that? Er… no sir, I’m not a child or childish. However….

Hi, I’m Oluwatobi. Did you have a healthy childhood like me? Please, tell me that, growing up, you at least had a taste of that fine blend of zany, inspired toons (kai! Those things on Cartoon Network today don’t qualify jare), coupled with outdoor games (gosh, who said soccer?) and wacky friends. You didn’t?! *faints*

Big Dreams Start Little: Little Mike Wazowski stealing the show at M, Inc. like me as a kid

If you’re “too adult” for animations, or suffer from any phobias, allergies, viruses or spiritual problems related to animations, you might want to make a U-turn right about now before you give my other precious readers as I am pro-life.

Um, just checking that you saw what I did up there with the “pro-life” bit. This is an animation-themed post after all. Okay. Ahem.

Yeah, so Monsters University finally premiered in Nigeria last week. Ah!! If you know what these silly Nigerian distributors put me through before I got to see the film. Three weeks ago, that film house in Surulere (plenty pun intended) set September 6 as the premiering date, only for them to shift it to two weeks ago. Can you imagine? I phoned them to complain o. Yeske! Is it easy to be a fanatic? But of course the following week, MU was still “Coming Soon.” Still, my guys weren’t done playing — with a wicked winning streak — the game of most inefficient cinema.

Final straw was last Friday, these people put MU up on their online schedule with 3 time slots, only to take it down minutes after. *facepalm* I didn’t need Dr Phil to tell me to save myself the headache and go to the Yaba cinema that knew what they were doing.

A Monstrous Wait: Monsters University hit Nigerian cinemas 3 months after its international release!

You see? Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death (by lack of gratification), I will fear no evil. And so, come what may did, I saw MU! You’ll forgive my bias though if you share my sheer joy in the modest ingenuity that is Pixar, and her darling, cinematic babies. Gosh, you shoulda seen my eerie walk into that theatre. Almost like Mike did college in the beginning of the film, googly-eyed and all.

“Finally!”: Mike makes his grand MU entrance

I like the premise of this film. Taken, it’s not quite as original as the average Pixar offering (even Cars, a critical low for the film studio), but it does prove to be a story worth being told. Critic Bill Goodykoontz called it “one of those movies that has absolutely no reason to exist, but once you’ve seen it, you’re kind of glad it does,” even giving the film three and a half stars out of five. Have you seen the critical response of any other animated movie out this year? Trust me, MU comes tops, by (very) far!

Rotten Tomatoes’ critical consensus reads that it “doesn’t scale the heights of Pixar’s finest efforts, but Monsters University is still funny and thoughtful family entertainment for viewers of any age.” And I totally agree. However, all sentiment aside, I will say, having seen the first film (released in 2001) only weeks before this, MU resonates better with me than most people, I’m sure.

A Pixar Pioneer: Monsters, Inc. is the third original film from animation superpower Pixar

Mike Wazowski and James P. Sullivan are an inseparable pair, but that wasn’t always the case. From the moment these two mismatched monsters met they couldn’t stand each other. “Monsters University” unlocks the door to how Mike and Sulley overcame their differences and became the best of friends.

Disney/Pixar

Best Friends For Never: Mike and Sulley don’t exactly hit it off at first

Like I was saying earlier, the Monsters University story is a worthwhile one. One of the richer inspirations for its comedic, and paradoxically its dramatic, elements are derived from Oozma Kappa, the fraternity-ful of social misfits who, like the average monster, aspire to scarer status. (Hey, I think I’m on to a little Pixar story secret though. Call it a hunch, but I’m pretty sure that, many years from now, when Mike and Sulley help Monstropolis discover “clean energy” in children’s laughter, these weirdos won’t exactly be missing out on much. For all you know, Art and the rest of OK may be Monstropolis’ lucky charm, making all the big bucks and magazine covers. Insightful hypothesis, no? Well, if there’s ever a second sequel set in the future of Monsters, Inc…. *knowing wink*)

They’re OK: The Brothers of the Oozma Kappa fraternity

One major lesson of this story for me is this: “if you dream it, it’ll happen; but most likely never the way you expected it.” Mike was sure as deodorant that he could be a scarer. But, quite like real life, he would soon find out that what destiny really is is not all hard work and resilience. Just as much, it’s knowing that life’s unpleasant realities are designed to make you your best, and then become the world’s solution. You see, to fulfil his destiny, Mike didn’t need to be a scarer. Instead, in a funny way, he needed to be scared. To fear failure so much so that he would always keep going the extra mile to prove, in his words, “that I am something special.”

Big and Bad: You remember that big slow-mo entrance the scarers do at Monsters, Inc… Hehe.

I admire Mike, and not just because I see a lot of myself in him (the reject parts of him more than any other). This guy was totally fearless. You would hardly believe that a little green thing with limbs could publicly and confidently stand against the illustrious Dean Hardscrabble of the School of Scaring to wager his way back into her programme, under terribly disadvantageous odds. Thus was the size of Mike’s confidence, and his entire personality. Why then wouldn’t James P. Sullivan of the gigantic Sullivan name (pun intended) see fit to ride on the waves of this fast-talking, one-eyed “monsterlet’s” never-say-die spirit.

No Hardscrabble: Mike wagers with MU’s legendary Dean of Scaring School

But this story, on the surface about Mike alone, is just as much Sulley’s. His is a lesson of self-realisation, which calls to mind the setting — college, where self-realisation, amid all of the partying, often prevails. With a last name like his (and possibly a mansion filled with butlers to call home), he has no clue what kind of world Mike is coming from. But much worse is his not knowing who he himself is. But he soon will when he’s faced with forever losing the one little guy who was never afraid to stand up to him, and then he has to fight fears he never even thought he had.

Scaring Circles: Masterful Mike, Sloppy Sulley

Long story short, I love Monsters University and its themes of best friendship (carried on from the first film), destiny, self discovery, team spirit, sacrifice and definitely fear(lessness) that abound. Young or old, animation fan or foe, monster or human, this one’s a story everything and everyone needs to hear again and again.

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All pictures are copyright ownership of Pixar Animation Studios

+ Okàn Mi

A castigating chill met with Atanda’s skin as soon as she stepped outside her home. In half a second, it had run up her nerves as a gathering mob, awakening goose pimples and raising hairs in solidarity, and, reaching her brain, soon culminated in conviction. She flinched. It didn’t matter that she’d dressed prepared for the after effects of last night’s thunderstorm. Sure, she had seen year after year of 6th July’s cold wetness, but it had never been like this. And she knew for a fact it had nothing to do with global warming. She was a research meteorologist after all.

Atanda padlocked, bolt-locked and key-locked her barely 6-foot door and eased away from the spring-hinged screen door to slam shut after her. Turning around, she started at the sight of her neighbour’s three sickly-eyed cats—one cat, really, and two kittens—glaring fixedly just across the hallway from her. Strange she’d be startled, being that she saw the cats every morning (and evening) since last October, when, as rumour had it, Mrs. Prince moved here with the little luggage her in-laws let her keep. (Barrenness was her sin. Then cats? Case closed.)

There were three and a half feet of potholed concrete between Atanda, still at her door, and the screen door behind which the cats glared at her. Yet, she felt like these sparsely spotted feline were reaching right through her soul and fumbling with her numb heart. As if they had heard her throughout the night, sleeplessly replaying the heart-stopping words of the physician from the previous day. Like she was replaying them right now. Atanda stopped herself and heaved deeply, tears beginning to well in her eyes. She turned away and began to make her way down the dank hallway dividing the two parallel rows of room-houses roofed as one. The soft mews of Mrs. Prince’s cats and distant crows of the backyard fowls faded behind.

Why are you doing this to me again? Haven’t I paid enough for my mistake? I was just a girl then, for God’s sake! As if she wasn’t blaming God himself. All of a sudden, still walking, her lungs exploded, unleashing a medley of heinous curses. A heartless man, states away, would receive them. They would be fresh from hell like the sachet-packed quick meals he manufactured and sold. Tearful and satisfied, she gingerly touched her eyes with the right sleeve of her cashmere jacket. She wore no make-up.

It was now 5.14 a.m. She didn’t need to be at work till 8 because there were bigger issues on her mind. Much, much bigger than sacrificing a really comfortable life with an abusive uncle upstate, or banking another month’s stipend for a doctorate in Australia planned for next year. Life’s terrible habit of pulling back the finish line, metres away from relief, had re-emerged timely. She fought the urge to sob. She had just joined the queue of waiting BRT bus passengers, and hated any manner of dramatic public display. The line of multi-colour-clad Lagosians was long, humouring the inexistent sunrise that signalled the new day of new bustle, reaching the length of the bus stop and snaking back the way it came. Atanda noticed a man on the front end of the queue, standing close beside. He was a thirty-something man in oil-stained and faded overalls; outdated bifocals rested on the bridge of his nose. But that wasn’t her concern; she was more interested in the newspaper she just saw him buy.

FG to Probe into Pasta Poisoning Scandal, the headlines sprawled across the front page read. There was a tubby middle-aged man, who reminded Atanda of Papa Ajasco, standing in front of the man in overalls. After the other man was done buying the paper, the Ajasco look-alike turned around and examined the headline, poised for a conversation starter.

“This is one sad country,” the tubby-man’s emphasis resounded. “It’s been five good days since the unfolding of this mayhem.” The overalls-man looked up in approval.

“But na the system wey we supposed to blame. You know that if to say the people that are checking all this thing, if dem dey collect better salary, all this thing no go happen. My broda know two people wey dey work for that company. Him say government done approve the super-geti siiince, then one minister come buy shares and appoint him broda. Na the broda wey no finish studies for abroad come spoil the thing. Him use cheap material to package the super-geti. Instead the clean recycle one wey government approve first time. Na him dey kill all those innocent people!”

Whether it was his customised pidgin or alarming stammering that threw people off, Atanda didn’t know or care to know. Because the sound of the word “kill” attacked her with a strange suddenness. She turned away; face grimacing, body tightening, handbag clutching. She didn’t know how unprepared she was to face the world’s raw insensitivity.

The tears came then. Endless tears. Repentantly flowing. She sank to the floor helplessly, surrendering to her life’s ceaseless marathon.

* * *

5.49 a.m. Atanda walked up to the door of the hospital room. She sighed, readying herself, and opened the door. The room was empty. She panicked. She stormed out into the hospital’s spacious hallways, panting frantically, for fear, not for exertion, and soon found herself stumbling into the doctor’s office. She burst through the door and saw, to her bewilderment, her twin brother limply seated on a gurney, tired pillows propping him up; Doctor Bimpe was holding his lower eyelids down, examining his orbicularis oculi, the moist, pale-reddish muscle beneath. She looked up, startled by Atanda’s sudden entrance and smiled, traces of residue shock still lining the doctor’s forehead.

“Oh hi, Atanda! Isn’t it a miracle? Only the second person to show rapid recovery, of all the hundreds affected. You really should be thankful he took your diet advice years ago. I know I am! As you can see, Iyanda, you have one heck of a guardian angel,” she said with a wink, her eyes still on Atanda. Lips pursed reverently, Doctor Bimpe turned towards Iyanda to resume examining. “Come on now,” she added, waving Atanda over with a white-gloved hand.

Atanda’s first instinct, since barging into the office, was to run out screaming Ghost! She was sure her brother wasn’t in the ward where he had been admitted because he was gone. “Kill…,” the overalls-man’s haunting voice echoed in her head. But then, serenity slowly crept in. Reality was rewritten right before her eyes. Her brother was alive, and she felt an overwhelming. She felt gratitude, and it was deep indeed.

Her handbag and picnic bag, holding the health food she brought him, willingly slipped off her shoulders and unto the floor. She edged closer, surreally, to Iyanda, gently placing her palm on his chest, millimetres away from his once-dying heart.

“You’ll be fine, Okan Mi. My Heart.” Tear drops happily cascaded down her cheeks. She rested her head on his shoulder. “You belong here.”

_____________________________________

Dedicated to an amazing sister.

Funto, this is for you.