Sunday, November 27, 2011

Who Am I

If I asked you to describe yourself, what words would you use? Would you describe yourself in a one line sentence, stating the obvious? Would you be funny, smart, beautiful, tall and 25? Or would you be melancholic, choleric, sanguine and a libra. Would you be sexy and have oloju come and do? Would you be dedicated and courageous and driven and afraid? Lol...I just described myself as I would have, a long time ago.

However in recent times, I have realized that I cannot describe myself in those words. Because doing that takes all the wonder out of it. If I said I was funny would you not wonder how I got to be funny? Or if I said I am by nature a lonely person, if you have met me you would immediately argue with that. But that would be because you do not know me. You do not know the experiences that have shaped me, my life. The little and big things that have combined themselves into forming me, as you see me.

Which is why when I started reading Bobo Omotayo's "London Life Lagos Living" I was immediately captivated by it. Right from the Prologue. I said to myself, "he knows, he's got it".

I have come to know myself a bit well in the past few months and I am still learning myself. Why? because to the constantly stirred broth that is me, new experiences are being added every minute. I am constantly changing and I am blessed for it. But today;

I am the scar above my left eye after a pillow fight with my brothers

I am the prayer to God for a baby sister when my mother was 7 months pregnant

I am the cholera that ravaged me that my father thought that I would die

I am the Danielle Steel novel I read when I was 7.

I am my first kiss

I am the tears I shed for my older brother when he wouldnt come home

I am the silence in the dark cupboard my brothers locked me in

I am the first iced lolly I ever had

I am my first steps that I dont even remember

I am the pap i puked down my father's shirt because all I wanted was mashed potatoes and vegetables

I am my first day at Olashore. Complete with round geeky glasses

I am my set 6 class

I am my suspension letter

I am the As on my WAEC result

I am the songs I sang on stage at University

I am the first copy of Calais I found at a roadside bookseller at 14

I am the wedding dresses I sketched at 13 and the slef-destroyin lily I drew at 15

I am the tears I shed after a relationship

I am the increase in my heartbeat the first time I heard "Heartbeats" by Jose Gonzalez

I am One Tree Hill, Season 4 Episode 9

I am my resignation letter and my search for different

I am the dreams that I have let go and I am also the dreams I have refused to let go

I am my silent smile and my silent anguish

I am my pilgrim soul

Now Playing: Collide - Howie Day


How would you define happiness? By whose definitions should we abide? Would you adjudge me to be less happy or not at all if my definition doesnt resemble yours?

Last weekend I went to Makoko (or as my friend J likes to tease me for my pronunciation, "Ma-koko")with photographer friends, Teju Cole and Leke Alabi-Isama on a photo-walk/photo-canoeing and at Makoko, my heart broke and I cried.

It was not their poverty that made me cry. It was ours. Or maybe it was theirs...but what right do I have to those tears? Even while I felt pity for them, seeing through eyes coloured by my supposed enlightenment and betterment for want of a more appropriate word, I wondered how they saw me. What did they think of me? Did they want to be me?

Did they want my Gucci sunglasses or my Gucci rubber shoes or my pretty purse? Those stupid things that I hold dear. Or did they pity me for my inability to just be free from it all. And just be happy and content, as they appeared to be.

As we canoed our way through what in civilization may as well have been Venice, I wondered if they ever got out. And a voice inside immediately challenged me. Why should they? it said. They appeared to have everything they need so why leave? Are my dreams better than theirs because they are different? And then I wondered about their dreams. What was their motivation. Or had they simply stopped dreaming? And will Makoko be all they'll ever know?

Till now, all I have are questions. What do they know that I dont? What have they seen? What have they heard? Surely they must know something that I do not know now, and perhaps may never know. Surely they must know the secret to life and all the world's happiness. How else can they look so happy?

I want to know what they know, I want to hear their stories. They may break my heart. But at least I'll know.

Makoko, I will never forget.

np: Heartbeats - Jose Gonzalez

See photos taken by Leke at

My photos

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Any Day Now

Any day now I'll run to the rooftops and scream that I'm in love. I'm in love with your smile and I'm in love with your eyes. I'm in love with your voice and I'm in love with your laugh. I am in love with the beauty in your soul and the strength in your spirit.

Any day now, my healing will be complete. That which started long ago in the sacred space of my heart. When you knew me, and saw my pain and spoke to me of love.

Any day now, I'll shed my last sad tear and embrace you, and cure the longing in our hearts.

Any day you'll take my hand and I'll take yours. Any day now, that which we both wait for will come, and I will write the words to frame our souls. And you will capture them in the way only you can.

Your love makes it worthwhile. Any day now I'll tell you. I love you.
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN