The National Theatre

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: Agada ò morí alágbẹ̀dẹ.
Eng: The sword cannot tell the smith's head from others. - Yoruba Proverb.
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I'm so busy, I apologize for my absence.
A friend correctly called me scissor-hungry. I've chopped off my hair five times in three years (to my father's disdain). Anyway, I'm repenting.

The National Theatre.

7 Months Ago:

Stay Naked!

NakedSha.

Disrespectful Nigerians

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Our people are occupying.

Respectfulness redefined!

The officers thought this was disrespectful? I'm getting them.

#OccupyNigeria.

Men and women, with titles, too big to stand up to the National Anthem. Am I surprised?

What did you think - Nigerians in the Diaspora are numb to all these things?

Some of us have only one passport and it happens to be green.

Nigerians have been singing that 'We No Go Gree' song for years. Finally, we no gree. One of them said to Sowore 'I am disappointed in you'. If a typical Nigerian politician in this bland regime is disappointed in you, you deserve a pat on the back. You must be doing something other than wrong.

Occupy their Townhall meeting (in New York city) until Asorock is occupied. 
....................

Also see Naijalines.

NakedSha.

Allah is Not Obliged...

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: Oore tí a ṣe fádìẹ ò gbé; bó pẹ́ títí a ṣomi tooro síni lẹ́nu.
Eng: The favor one does a chicken is not for nought; in due course it will make stew to delight one's mouth. - Yoruba Proverb.
........................................................................................

This is how this books starts. When I bought it at Farafina, Lagos, I started reading in once I got home. As soon as I read the first line, I thought, Oh no! Let's put this aside and have it as dessert. Great decision because after very tough and more in-depth books, the lightness of this story (even despite the war and wild-west context) was soothing. Birahima is hilarious. Such a good book. If Ahmadou Kourouma were alive, I would love to listen to stories at his feet.

Page 1.

Birahima uses his dictionaries (which were gifted to him) to dig out big words and then explains to the reader what the words mean as if he grew up understanding these words. What's funny is half the time, he abandons the actual definition and just explains it the way he knows best.

Page 126

Haha, Birahima sha. I'll stay with this character for a long time just like I did with Uwem Akpan's characters.

Page 163

The book is saturated with innocent comments like the ones below. Well, innocence or sarcasm depending on how you see the world. 

Page 176

Page 203

Birahima is a child-soldier. So, his storytelling is very much like that of a child but his environment shows up in the words he uses A LOT. Faforo, walahe, gnamokode, nigger, fuck, shit, bitch, etc.

Biko, because of literature, read this book!

NakedSha.

My People, Ebezina!

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
#OccupyYourCountry.

Also see Naijalines' posts here and here

At this point, Nigerians have taken the country into their hands. Jungle justice at its most redefined. 20 years ago, only 'radical' Nigerians would go out to protest the issues we face. Today, Nigerians (period) are hitting the streets.

In two words:

It is unfortunate - the killings that have occurred. At worst, the government will not listen, the strike will continue and it will be a long, chaotic road to get the government to listen. At best, they will listen immediately. Pride is what I feel for all the Nigerian youths out there. Some of us have only this one country.

Please listen:

My heart and my mind is with us.

NakedSha.

I am a Happy Soul Child :D

...Omonoba...
Our People Say:
Yoruba: Kí ní ḿbẹ nínú isà tí yó ba òkú lẹ́rù?
English: What is there in the grave to frighten a corpse? - Yoruba proverb.
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I am not a great book critic; if only Osondu Awaraka would plow the dust off his blog. Anyway, here are the books I read in 2011 in no particular order:

1. Allah is Not Obliged - Ahmadou Kourouma
2. Purple Hibiscus - Chimamanda Adichie (for the eighth or ninth or tenth time)
3. Open City - Teju Cole
4. Icarus Girl - Helen Oyeyemi
5. A Love Rekindled - Myne Whitman
6. Voice of America - E.C Osondu
7. Wizard of the Crow - Ngugi wa Thiong'o
8. Sophie's Heart - Lori Wick
9. The Princess - Lori Wick
10. And the Shofar Blew - Francine Rivers (for the third or fourth time)

I hope I have not left anything out. I also didn't think you would care about the academic novels and books so I have taken them off the list but they are all listed here.

I had an eventful year. It was extremely busy and had its fair share of doooooowns but I Loved it, loved it.
I went home to the Kins (also known as the Kins-lings, the Clan the Lovers or the Family), taught Vacation Bible School at the church [Ikoyi Baptist Church] in Lagos, learned a gazillion new things about the same Nigerians that I grew up with and that I see every year.

In July, my sister from another mama, my mum and I were stuck for more than four hours at Port Harcourt airport (thank you. Aero). So, from around 10pm till midnight, we sang and sang and sang for the travelers in our own little corner of the airport. It was a lot of fun. All we were missing were a producer and a mic. Anyone know this song, 'God of Elijah, send down fire?' We turned it into 'God of Elijah, send our plane.' We sang so many songs, the travelers were so impressed. Good times.

My internship, my awards and grades at school, this book cover, the people I met when I went back to Nigeria- Tolu Akanni (who is one hilarious soul), the fun times to / from work in Lagos with Eknoreda (here also), this Kachifo event and this E.C Osondu book reading, the great Lagos flood, my two trips to my darling Port Harcourt city, everything. This year was a roller coaster of fun and trials.

Myne Whitman, your contribution to the literary scene is much talked about and has definitely made an impact. Keep doing your thing. You are doing a great job. Kudos and God bless.

My year in one sentence:

1. [When I remember what the Lord has done, I will never go back anymore.]

My year in one song:

1. [...we can debate till the end of time who is wrong and who is right. Or I can honor your choices and you can honor mine... - Gift of Acceptance by India Arie and Idan Raichel.]

My year in one pic:

{The journey from church to car during the great flood.}

LAUGHTER!

One more thing:

ChizzyD came up to Boulder and she becomes un-anonymous here. Yop, yop, yop, yop, yop.

It was great to have her here.

God bless you, dear 2012. I hope Nigeria does not break out in war. If we do not, and if all the cries of the citizens eventually lands on listening ears, then it is either God is partial to or extremely merciful towards Nigerians. There is little reason why he still listens to us scream and wail when in fact he may have answered us a while ago.

NakedOne.

December 10 - Another One

Last Year's Post: The Tenth of December - The Fifth One.

For my lost lovers:

Chinonye Egbosimba,
Mayowa Oyebode
Sandra Gbemudu,
Stephanie Nwoko,

and all those who perished in Sosoliso, 10.12.2005.

To the world, you're the epitome of how a country can shatter its own future. How all the careless and non challant leaders were exposed one day. To the world, you're propaganda for a failed aviation system and needless deaths.

But the news does not remember the clothes you wore or how we smiled or how we did homework together in Grove and Montessori and Bereton and Bloombreed. We still remember everything and it sucks that we're bigger but you're still small in our memories. And how we would wait for term breaks to catch up on school stories.

The world calls you The 60 Angels but how can I call you an angel. I knew you in flesh. I guess you are with angels.

It is getting easier to deal with the memories and talk about them.

Damn you country so good at killing

Damn you (hurt) feelings for persevering.

-Knaan

But not much has changed.

Damn the soil that swallowed our pride.

Damn the prize that we paid for their lies.

Damn the fire, the liar, the fire.

Damn their stories, their trials, their promises.

Damn that Rivers State did not have water.

Damn you burned bridges, damn you stolen future, damn you incomplete stories.

And BLESS you heaven for accepting them.

We're fine, we've made it through 6 times, it'll get better.

But it'll never be easy to erase you.

NakedOne.

Charcoal Art in 2011

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Eng: The one with many uncles slept hungry - Kenyan Proverb.
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I was sent information about an artist in Abuja called Laolu Senbanjo. He does his pieces mainly in charcoal and incorporates all sorts of (particularly Yoruba) mythology, ancient art forms and shapes. Bankole Oluwole of Afrosays is organizing a pro-bono promotion for Laolu's work, which is great since Laolu's work  is rather under acknowledged.

I am fascinated by Laolu's art.

I'll allow his work speak for itself because I cannot do it enough justice. Here are a few of his pieces:

Find out more about him and his work at his website http://www.laolusenbanjo.com/

His gallery is located at:

17 Aba Close, off Lokoja Street

Area 8, Garki,

Abuja, FCT.

Nigeria.

(+234 8060500501)

All pieces are copyrighted to Laolu Senbanjo.

Bless,
NakedSha.

Albino Character: You Still Defend The Man

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
The lazy person replies, 'yes', to all propositions - Yoruba proverb.
...........................................................................................................................

I will not attend the funeral of a savage.
Do not speak of him as such.
The dead man?
Do not speak of my dead husband as such.
You still defend the man. The depth of 'Seyi's wisdom was as oil used to fry dodo. 
Call your father Papa not 'Seyi. 
While 'Seyi was sick, I heard his heart, blurry but distinct enough, asking for one more day to pour blessings on the sheep in his pasture. This Sunday, the pews will be filled with thirsty deer, panting for water. Their well has run dry and the digger taught no one else how to feed sheep. Sheep - waiting for the stick to point North. Then, going North. Sheep - waiting for the road to lead to water. Then, realizing thirst. Sheep wander away when the shepherd is lost in sight. I hope these ones spread away like birds in the winter. His death was no punishment - relief for his bitter heart - but he fought the fate that came to pluck him out of his sickly misery. For once, this man lost a fight but he carried pride with him until death. His eyes were open enough to see me but blind enough not to know who I was. He thought I was you. He spoke with strength unusual for a dying man. Why do you forgive this man? Or, do you tell me less than there is to know? Until his final breath, he cursed you and...
My husband will never curse me.
...and your 'bastard' daughter, me.
My husband will never curse you.
The congregation will not believe my tale, would they? They believe almighty 'Seyi always blessed and never cursed. Imagine the gasp, the horror, when I tell them that he asked you to kill your baby. He asked you to dissolve me all because my skin is pale like taffeta and my nose is red. He never acknowledged that I was his child.
You are my child, Motun. You are our child.
Yes I know. I have the gait of a limping chicken, just like him. My smile mirrors yours. I know I am your child. What I don't know is why he never looked me in the eyes and why he called me 'the fair share of curse every sinner deserved'.
Who told you these things, Motun?
Ma, the wall between my room and yours is thin.
He didn't mean to say them. He never understood why you were lighter than the rest of us.
Albinism is not curse, ma. It is what it is.
I know.
Do you really? I never heard you say so. He thought he was talking to you on his dying bed when he said that you were stubborn to not confess your affair with a strange man. He was so sure, ma, he called upon God and said that I was a mockery of your secrecy. So the world could share your shame.  I'll tell them all one day that their shepherd was a killer of sheep.
They won't believe you, there's no need for that. He led a whole congregation, allow his memory be of peace.
Do you curse me too, silently? 
I will never curse you.
Perhaps in a language I do not understand like the tongues they speak in the congregation?
I will never curse you.
But am I a bastard?
No, Papa is your father. He was a father to you and the entire congregation.
His final words were simple but I do not know what they mean?
I'm sure he loved us. He just did not understand.
For someone who led a whole flock, he knew very little. He spoke of three others. He said that he would pray for you when he reached Home. I was surprised that he would even care to pray - the man suffered, ma. He did painfully. He said that if I had been 'quenched', it would have fulfilled the last piece of sacrifice. I do not know what sacrifice he spoke of. He said I was tough unlike the others and refusing to remove me was unreasonable because the stubbornness came the fourth time around. He said that he would pray that the souls of the other three children rested with him. 
He was dying. It is normal for his words to be meaningless. 
There were three others before me?
*Silence*
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NakedOne!

First Love

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
Yoruba: A kì í pè é lẹ́rù ká pè é lọ́ṣọ̀ọ́.
English: One does not call it a burden and also call it an adornment. - Yoruba proverb.
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[It's not a poem; something between poetry and prose] cc AduraOjo

To the new man, Sultry:

I'm older now, I know. My skin is rotting and my hair is thinning. But your stunning boast has also worn. Don't ask for any more of my tedious love. I have your ring and your graceless name and I can take nothing more from you. I should have made you swear before Sango or Amadioha or even my father's grave that you would have and hold. You, my husband, have not done much for me. Your words are still and bland like stale bread and they do not refresh me. Your nakedness does not awe me. Have you ever noticed how my hair curls or the flaws on my chin? Do you even know the name of my God?

Allow me travel to the far South where they speak another language. Let me dwell briefly with my first lover, perhaps he will teach me again how to love you. So that when I cook, the food will be tasty and when I pray, it will be for you. I will not dive into the well, all I want is for splashes of refreshment. I know my wish is selfish.

Home is closer to the market man, Aboki,

His oranges are sweet and juicy and never old.

I have learned to recite your stiff sentences,

Like Grace or the Pledge .

The first gave me not very much,

But his heart and prayers and endless love.

He took from me as little too,

My heart and prayers and endless love.

It is only in doing me no right that you have done me wrong.

Your love is sultry, unlike my first.

Yours,
NakedSha

Some Things Sting as Bad as Death Itself.

...Omonoba...
Our people say:
[Frankly, they are too weak and disgusted to speak today. All they are doing is shaking their heads.]

Oboma H is my very good friend. We went to nursery, primary and secondary school together. We almost went to College together until at the last minute, I went to the U.S.A instead of Canada.  But that hasn't changed many things. This girl is one of the best dancers you will ever meet, as an aside, and we have had about as many awesome memories and disagreements as possible and these things only made us stronger.

Then, Oboma lost her father recently.

It's hard for her, especially because she was really close to him and she talked about him all the time. Oboma called her dad 'Father' with a very interesting Kalabari twist to the word, (so it has the same stress pattern as 'Oga'). So, we all referred to him as Father. She's hurting but she's as strong as I would never have expected. I'm literally tapping strength off her and her mother. It's unbelievable and it's a miracle.

                                                               Bomsy and Father.

Oboma's dad was extremely warm and kind (as is her mum) and since I've related with them for more than ten years now, they would always ask about me and vice versa. Extremely funny and his age did not show on his health. He would walk into a room ever gracefully with his walking stick and he would sit with everyone. He would NEVER sit up front or on the high table until he was called up. NEVER. And he was ALWAYS called up :) I know he's resting in peace and really, much of him lives in his children, his wife and those that knew him.

Oboma, be strong. You have lovers. It's not today we started going through thick, thin and BS. So, no be today e go end. God has you.

So, I didn't have to write a post to comfort my friend. Until I saw this:

The text reads (verbatim):

"Gurl you're dumb...so what if you lost a dad are you the first? Feel free to delete the comment and me from your list."

I know you already know, Bomsy, but just as a reminder, you're the furthest thing from dumb. You're strong and beautiful and a fighter. And your dad is in a better place, looking down on [Paul Barde] and wanting to whoop him.

Your response was what made me realise that this guy was opening things you were trying to allow heal.

So, I plead in the nicest way possible...people, bico, be sensitive to others. I would not have done an entire blog post about this but in view of all that has been going on in recent times, I'm sick-to-my-stomach on the amount of insensitivity some of us have. 

Don't do it.

If what you have to say will not constructively release warmth and prayers and kind wishes so that someone who is going through pain can heal, then you don't have to speak. You really don't.

Oboma, you will heal. Allow this Barde, Paul to wallow in his foolishness. According to IphyIgboGurl, 'you know what they say about when you argue with a fool'.

To all those in pain because of death (or, for example, rape) or statements that sting like them, God be with you and focus on the few warm words this generation has to offer. It's a pity.

Shout out to all those who have taken matters into their own hands  since waiting for 'Monday' was a complete waste of time, especially Sugabelly for making use of her Engl-Igbo skills to fish out those first names. Some heroes come in flimsy forms. 

Bless,

NakedSha.