PARIAH TO PHARE

 

She sits and stares, motionless, till the tears begin to drop from her eyes.

Her moans of pain are not heard. She swallows them and though the lump is thick in her throat, she doesn’t dare let it out.

She wonders about her choices, if she really screwed things up or if indeed she is where she ought to be.

She never really was given a chance. She never really had what she wanted. Taught contentment and humility she had had to suck her needs and pride back to be accepted, wanted, and tolerated.

She hates that she is still not content, not that she complains about it but her heart knows, when she see those object displayed as treasures to show comfort and affluence.

She seeks to look affluent. To want what others do. To have what others do but she dares not speak of it. She remembers content.

She builds up a character around it. She really doesn’t like glittery stuff anyway or gold, doesn’t match her skin colour. Her crude gadget does all she needs and social media only distracts. Does it not?

Gradually these excuses become her and she grows to realize the bunch of others having it, don’t know why they do. They have become robots, getting what the times tell them they should have without asking questions.

Her inability to blend had made her different, distinct, and classic. She smiles at last; maybe her nothingness wasn’t a bad thing after all. It had fetched her something not bought, no price tag. Something unfathomable; Phare

Failing over and over

Father- daughter

It unwinds him how little, pink and fragile she looks on arrival. He has heard they usually look this way but he manages to see her as more exposed and his first instinct is to protect her. She is his and he doesn’t totally understand how he had contributed to the creation of a being just like the ones he had always adored, admired and feared simultaneously. He holds her in his arms and she moves and makes sounds trying to cosy up into this new resting place. He holds her tiny hands and they are warm then she opens her eyes shyly and looks at him and he is enthralled. It lasts only a moment, her glance, before she shuts them again to sleep but it meant a lot to him, she had seen him, maybe even recognised him. He suddenly realises that he had lusted over and hurt her grown type and he immediately feels sorry for it all and wants to make sure to keep her so much so that none of his type ever lust over her, ever.

He has got this in control; this being a father, amuser and protector thing. He really doesn’t have to do much; just carry her a few times when she’s awake. Maybe change a diaper or two, in which case his wife must feel really grateful and lucky that he is such a good father. His baby is almost always so happy when he carries her and she is happy to do as he says. She seeks him and is excited about anything he presents to her. She makes him laugh hard and thinks him her hero. He likes this position, this control over another being who is his.

Then she starts to want more. She wants more than his attention, his presence, his presents, his tricks. She's reluctant to try new summersault techniques and her body almost always hurts. It’s becoming uncomfortable to look at her or carry her because there are now two moulds on her chest. They just freaking grow up so fast, it blows. That’s what she says “it blows” what happened to the old time “it’s annoying”. What does ‘blows’ mean anyway? The baggy trousers and shirts he bought her now seem to be going down her box and she wears more of skinnies and tights and silk. He hated this loss of control over her and any iota of it, that he thought remained, flew out of the window the day he saw her coming from a party with make-up on and behind her were boys boys? boys!...

He doesn't know how it happens but she gets molested and his heart is broken; he sees her as damaged just like that girl he heard about…

He feels sorry and inadequate for not fulfilling his post as protector but instead of apologizing and helping her mend he becomes a coward. He can’t look her in the face so he avoids her like one would do a plague. In order to protect himself from his inadequacy; which really isn’t his fault, he makes her feel unwanted, ugly, used, inadequate. He turns his own angel into a leper in his house. She feels unimportant probably even like an object to be used. Becoming what society often refers to as a girl with daddy issues. In some off way, she finds she poses some sort of power over these men and decides it is better to make them pay for what is already being referred to as damaged goods. She convinces herself that it is a win-win situation.

A friend of her father sees her in a club or some other place he frequents when his wife is "stressing him out" and goes to tell her father about it. He sits and listens, stammers and raises his voice as he says that he has disowned her a long time ago. He never thought she could amount to anything reasonable anyway. His highest hopes was that at least she’d give him a rich in-law but apparently she couldn’t even do that much. Imagine, she doesn’t even speak the dialect well. She was probably a gift-the revengeful curse of an old girlfriend-sent to punish him. They laugh about this and a picture of her innocent- tiny- pink-fragile-self flashes through his mind and he chokes on his gin. His younger daughter rushes to get him a glass of water and she can’t look him in the eye. This must be a nightmare, his soul screams but instead of telling her ‘thank you’ he yells at her to get another glass of water for his friend who he catches watching her backside as she walks away.

 

rebound

He awakens my senses. I see clearer. I wake and breathe different; the air is cooler, the day a tad bit brighter. An almost permanent smile is glued to my face. The hairs on my neck suddenly acquire life. Almost everything tastes like chocolate and his voice creates a sort of soothing resonance that only my ears seem to catch.

We’ve all heard about the rebound. He/she is the perfect person we find right after a bad break-up or in the process of a break-up. They usually don’t last long; after the first bloomy moments when you completely get over your ex, the rebound starts to seem like just every other person that isn’t your ex. The fantasy fades, the perfection flaws, his/her reference to your ex-lover starts to sound hypocritical and then you discover you have probably made another mistake right after one.

I have heard of the rebound too but you know how something regular happens to you and you don’t want to admit that it is what it is. You are like 'mine has to be different from others. I mean no two situations are the same, right?' There were other prospective rebounds. This one won all others. I can’t help but acknowledge its presence, its stance, its intensity, its gut. It can’t be wrong if it feels so good.

They make you become more self-conscious. Are you tall enough? Is your ass the right proportion? Does your accent sound forced? Things you didn’t bother yourself with in your last relationship because you already landed someone. It dawns on you that you try harder now to impress. You stop to ask yourself sometimes if you should let yourself get consumed again. You start to wonder if you are cool enough to entice em, keep em, if you’d really want to keep em and then what exactly ‘keeping em’ implies.

Intense; the way he can be stoic one moment and then unexpectedly stare boldly, deeply. Just when I think it’s all in my head and that it’s a tease or just momentary, his gaze holds mine and I believe again. I want it to be true. The truth I told myself. Or is it true? I can love again, well…not yet though but it does feel good; all that excitement that come with new flames. I tell myself it is just for fun. Then I catch myself lingering a little too much on the memory of his face.

the perfect break-up letter

Dear stranger,

                I want to be interested. I want romance. I want care and love, not just a passive look. I want to look into eyes that want to know what I’m thinking, into eyes that make me want to smile and blush. I want the truth; sincerity. I want to hear about what happened today with no exceptions; no editing. I want to be held as if I matter. I want to be interesting enough to be paid attention to. I want hot sizzling sex that tells me there is some love in there. I want to be able to watch you hug someone and not feel a single bit of jealousy because I know I get a much better hug. I want to be that person you call with a big smile on your face. I want to be your princess; what makes your day brighter. I want to be your peace.

                I don’t get half of this now and I know you would say it’s my fault; that I ruined it, that it was all there in the beginning and I made you lose it but then no one ever loses love or affection or care. Yes at some point I might have lost it myself but one always gets it back if one ever cared enough. When you apologized, I was always expected to forgive and wipe the slate and over and over I did but now that I have to apologize (and I have) it seems to me like you just nod your head and say you agree but you don’t truly forgive. It’s locked up in there, all that malice and I don’t think there is anything I can do to change it; you already made up your mind.

                The question now is if I have to take it; take being a confortable existence in the life that is totally functional without my presence. Do I have to accept my fate and carry this burden all my life because you believe you are doing right by yourself? The answer is NO. Like you, I have needs and like you, I have to satisfy them. Some people (females mostly) would try to feel satisfied and take what they get (making lemonades out of lemons). I, on the other hand, would go after the orange juice. I never thought I could settle for less. Usually I make what I have into the best and if it is not working, I go out there to find exactly what I need. The universe was made to provide for us; if you look hard enough you would find what you are looking for. I guess what I am trying to say is, I’ll be leaving soon.

Yours apologetically,

Your soon to be ex.

meeting my stranger

Dear stranger,

My name is … does it really matter. I don’t know yours either and I feel quite comfortable sharing things with you. I could try putting a name to you just to make it feel cosier; pretend we are long lost friends that accidentally met in ‘assuming land’ and decided to share experiences. Let’s see: Gilbert, Lucy, Simone, Chad, Clem, hmmmm… Charlie. Yes Charlie. Ok then.

Dear Charlie,

Naa! I don’t think so. It doesn’t work for me. Let’s just stick to the stranger thingy. What do you say? Alright.

So, my dear always attentive stranger, I hope you get my letters even though I don’t get yours except in ‘assuming land’ which is quite fine by me. I like to imagine you have problems too just like me and need someone to unburden to. That really is why I write to you... just so you know that other people have problems much more grievous than yours. You are so lucky you do not really exist unless your problems would be much worse. I can imagine your first problem being that no one acknowledges you but really you should be glad because people are rude, dubious, and selfish these days. Imagine saying 'good morning' to someone and they look you dead in the eyes and still don’t respond. A child greeted me while I was walking through an unfamiliar street one day and I lovingly and excitedly replied his greeting because I thought it was really strange in these times to be greeted by a child, who you weren't familiar with, when he stretched his hand to beg me for money for his school fees.

I could give many instances of such but I wouldn't want to bore you now, would I? Besides today is about YOU. Ok then, I imagine your second problem would be ME; my constant whinning to you about my feelings, experiences and failures, and for a non-existent person you do have some fleers that don't sit well with me. Here I am talking about myself again *sighs* and I can feel you rolling your eyes. If only you had an actual face I could punch. You realise, though, that there is no talking about you without me. Uhun, well because without me there is no you. I bring you to life. if I didn't interact with you noone would as you are in me and noone can gain access except me. You are a bridge between my concious and sub-concious and i really don't know what i would do without you.

You have helped through tough time and taught me how to grow out of self pity. You taught me self exteme and helped me keep my head up high when everyone else expected me to constantly admire the ground. Coversations with you helped train my voice and though people would see it as madness, and a few times the stares made me stop, but you constantly put words in my mouth and images in my head to force me to speak to you. Though I tried to make sure we were (I was) indoors most of the time, just so i don't get tied up and hauled to Yaba-left. There were lots of sad times and tears but you made me laugh. I learnt to laugh at the most ridiculous things and found that others found them funny too. My stranger is my mind. It works like a totally different person yet we could converse like we have been long time friends, constantly teaching me things I never thought i could learn without, yet dwelling within. A lamp leading the way. A nail knocked in place. My manna constantly falling from the heavens.

Yours inspired

Me.

Clarity after Death

Nancy felt herself getting weak, her breathing was no longer steady. She could barely keep her eyes open for more than ten seconds and that ache in her chest region was definitely her heart loosing life. The illness was killing her fast and there was nothing she could do to stop it, it was only a matter of minutes. Seeing her daughter watch her from across the room only intensified the pain so she thought of how best to end it. The moment she raised her hand, Dumebi rushed over to her side.

"Mum? What is wrong? Do you need me to get you anything?"
"No my dear. I just want to talk to you. You know I care about you and even though my temperament doesn't allow me show it much, I really do."
"it's ok mum. Everything will be fine. You will get better soon."
"I don't think so my dear. I won't."
"Just rest, you'll see. Let me get your drugs." she made to stand but Nancy held her, so she knelt back with a puzzled and distraught look on her face. Nancy tried to put up a reassuring look but she was too weak.
"I need you to do something for me."
"Okay. What is it?"
"In my blue box on the shelf, there are papers in there that state that you are my 'next of kin' and that all my belongings and money is yours, including this house. If you have any problem with my people or your father's people call Barrister Joe. He'll sort it all out. He has all the originals. Do you understand?"
"I do but it really doesn't matter now. I don't need it yet...besides you are still here." Nancy wanted to her exactly how she felt and prepare her daughter for what was coming, but she know Dumebi would not listen; she was so stubborn and hopeful. Nancy loved her for that and immediately wondered why she had never told her. She wanted to tell her now but she felt her body grow weaker. She had to send her off.

"Go get those papers; I want to show you every part of it so you know."
"now?"
"Yes please." As Dumebi stood and walked towards the room, Nancy watched her; knowing it was going to be the last real image she would take with her. A tear escaped her eyes before she shut them from the world.

She felt a sudden lightness and lift and when she opened her eyes she couldn't comprehend at first what was going on. She was still in the house, still laying horizontal but hovering in mid-air and weight, density and gravity had no relevance. The ceiling seemed to be moving closer and she reached out her hands to stop from colliding with it but her hands just passed through like the ceiling didn't exist or maybe it was her who didn't. Realization began to sink in as she turned around (she seemed to have done it only by thinking it).

Just below her was herself; her body, she figured. At that moment Dumebi entered with the files. She watched as Dumebi leaned over her, shook her. She saw her lips move and her face framed shock from comprehension. She watched as the first drops of tears tickled down, the controlled sobs before it burst into uncontrollable crying and screaming. She wished she could console her daughter; hold her, tell her everything was going to be fine, but she guessed that what happened with the ceiling would happen again. Dumebi still in tears now picked up the file and went through it, and the more she read, the angrier she got and Nancy knew she had the right to be.

Nancy had always been too hard on her daughter and husband; always pushing, blaming and cursing them because she was the bread-winner. She realized now how stupid it was to have kept all that money she made just because she felt they didn't deserve it. If she had helped them instead with what she made they might have had a shot at a happy home. She recalled the many times Dumebi asked her for money and how she had yelled at her to go ask her father. In those papers now was about ten million naira she had left behind, untouched. She tried to place a reason; why she had kept that much money to herself while they were in need of a lot, but couldn't. Even if there was one, it wasn't good enough to excuse what she had done.

She had failed; her time on earth had been wasted. She couldn't right what wrong she had done and wondered where her soul would go now. She kept hoping Dumebi would forgive her as she felt her essence fade. She was sure that Dumebi would better herself, she knew she would because she had indirectly taught her to be strong by being harsh to her. All she had to do was to wait for her forgiveness and she knew she would get it; her daughter had a kind heart.

HIS FEARS, MY LESSON

Dear Clement,

           We went to see your mom, by we, I mean my mom and I. When I saw her I could tell she had started crying from the moment I called to find out where she was. I felt terrible for inflicting such pain on her and almost wished I hadn't come but it was inevitable. Anyone that cared enough would pay that necessary visit. I wondered then how condolence visits started. What it was meant to do and if people were aware of the pain it caused the family members of the deceased to see people who felt sorry for them or with them. It wasn't comfortable sitting with her, we had little or nothing to say. It got awkward, it got quiet, it got empty but we still sat there with her. Eventually I prayed and my mom tried consoling yours with words and all that time I held my own. Then your mom started to talk about how close you and I were and I couldn't hold the tears anymore. Although I still tried to keep it together so she wouldn't break down. All this was going on while I half expected you to walk in and tell a joke.

           I know death, a few has happened in my family but I still couldn't understand it. My cousin, my uncle, my grand-dads and then you. The night I saw the news on Bobby's Facebook page, I was numb, for a few minutes I couldn't process it so I kept going back to reread it. I also read other posts by Bobby, just to be sure. I dropped my phone and distracted myself with some books, I was writing my exams then. Some minutes passed then I closed my books and checked my phone again; it was still there. I sent him a message and finally lay down and the tears poured down. It started as a few free drops, till the gates seemed too narrow for the volume it trapped behind and then the hiccups and heavy breathing and finally the outburst. I could feel you around me as I cried. I imagined you were there trying to console me as I told you I needed to mourn you. You looked down from above and I could see you smile. That instant I became aware of how terrible a friend I had been and I was angry that I didn't get to hold your hands as you laid sick. Maybe if I had been there...

           I still remember the way you called my name in mockery; raising your pitch at d second syllable and stretching the third one. It used to piss me off then. I'd do anything now to hear it again. I remember the frown you had on your face when you advised me not to become a career woman. I  had laughed and I smile now because I understand you were worried about my feminism because you cared. I still haven't changed but I did get a short like the one you wore, I used to admire it on you, it makes me feel closer to you. That day you told me you were scared of what the future held for you and I didn't understand it. You were fresh out of school with a good degree, smart thinking and creative mind. I didn't think anything could stop you; even capital. I never thought about death, now I wonder if you did.

           Looking at your mother I felt insignificant. I realized I couldn't console her, I couldn't even console myself. The only reasonable thing  that I obviously couldn't do was to go get you back for her, for Bobby, for Diana, for Myself and for all the lives that you had touched. You brought laughter and fun, respect and wisdom, you were a wonderful companion and you could always make me feel lucky on my worst days. More than a friend, you were that brother I never had. Every time I walk down that area, that street; anywhere we've strolled and talked together, tears well over my eyes and I smile amidst it knowing I'd never forget those times, your voice, your laugh, your ever pouting mouth. We all love you and we miss you everyday.

 

Your bully,

Damusca.