On Turning 21

These Years…

“These are the years that have come at me from nowhere, from nothing, before I was ready. Before I knew how to give as good as I get. They have come in a rush, a whirlwind, joy dressed as hardship, happiness cloaked in sorrow, sunshine overflowing in my cupped palms. These years have come as a trial, a lesson, a fire lit within me that cannot be diminished, a beautiful dream and the will to see it through. I am thankful for these years, to be humbled by them, to let them do what they will, and I count my blessings day by day, count the years that follow, knowing I will make them mine”

Lang Leav

Love Looks Pretty on You

I will start from April 2020, when the lockdown and unease from not fully knowing how Covid 19 worked was on high. I was excited to be turning twenty, I think mainly because it made me officially no longer a teenager. The major plan I had that year was to graduate from school but of course, the year ended and I was still a student. I knew that it was the year that I came out of my shell, the year I tried new things, became intentional about my relationships and learned to feel emotions wholeheartedly. If only I knew that all of these things would come like a huge gust of wind and almost throw me off balance. Twenty tested me! It worked overtime to make its mark in my life’s story and it has. I expected twists and turns in my journey but I had no idea mountains would plant themselves in my path, derail my plans and have me question the essence of my existence. In all though, I am thankful.

Before we get to where the juice is, I’ll tell you a short story. On the eve of my tenth birthday, we did not sleep at home, thanks to me. We had gone to get my birthday cake and my mum entrusted me with the house key. Then we got home and searched for that key everywhere in the car but it was decidedly MIA. Of course, mummy Moyin was livid; it was dark, we were tired and there was no way of gaining entry into the house. Olanike’s mum was a sweetheart though and she let us stay the night while she placated my mum. I think the key was found between/under the car seats the next morning. That night taught me responsibility and I have never lost a key since then. Why that story? Growing up, I always thought that age would change me, that I would shed my childhood and become a totally different person the older I got. But I’ve just realized that I will always be essentially, the same person. Experience will make its mark but I will always be the girl who triple checks that her keys are always in her bag whenever she’s out. Recently, I saw a video of me from my tenth birthday party and the jolt to reality was extreme. What seemed like donkey years to me back then; the distance between ten and twenty one was really a small gap dotted with laughter, tears and too many school examinations.

Now, the juicy part. Anyone who survived 2020 survived A LOT so I am going to skip that part and get to the point where I share with you lessons I picked up and relearned this past year. I hope that you find one or two relatable . So, as I step into this next year, I pray and hope to continue practicing discernment in all aspects of my life and to take with me the strength to continue to live passionately. To twenty one!

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Have a baby! Not a human baby; a plant, pet, project, YT channel, podcast, business, career. Just anything you can nurture and track its growth, birth it.

Life will surprise you. The good, the bad, take it all as it comes and keep living.

Time won’t wait for you. Do what you have to do.

Whatever wants to steal your peace of mind and compromise your person, run far away from it.

A lot of people are just as clueless. You’re not weird or a failure. Take it a season at a time.

Immerse yourself in the right crowd. Find and be with people who share your values.

Genuinely appreciate and pray for your parents/benefactors.

You lack confidence? Fake it if you have to. But have the courage, grit and stamina to turn that lie on its head. Make it spell truth.

You could be the toxic one. Check yourself, be open to correction.

You don’t have to be this or that at a certain age.

Acquaintances, friends, mentors, influencers; surround yourself with people who feel like peace, people who challenge you to be a better person.

Don’t forget to be a person who feels like peace to others.

Your instincts, most of the time aren’t lying.

You don’t always have to do it on your own. Companionship is bliss.

Never forget the importance of family. Keep them close to your heart.

The essence of who you are is found within you, not in the thoughts of others.

You can’t be genuinely happy for your friends’ wins? Check yourself.

Track your growth in life. Take pictures, write notes, keep souvenirs etc.

When you have the opportunity to help someone, do it passionately.

Billy Joel’s Vienna. It’s a song, a story and a life lesson.

And so on the eve of my birthday eleven years after losing the key to the house, I say, thanks for reading. 🌹

Mental Health and Faith

Mental health and faith(religion)

DISCLAIMER; my aim is not to trigger but push you to make the right choices that work for both your body and soul at the same time. Also, I get personal but it’s not because I want you to pity me or pay me unnecessary attention. I’m just using examples I know very well, me and Christianity. So, let’s get into it.

Why is it that too many Christians when faced with the probability of suffering a mental illness are quick to “rebuke” it snapping their fingers murmuring grim God forbids? But the second that cancer diagnosis comes through or mere malaria, the influx of medication and treatments they allow to permeate their bodies is limitless. I fail to see the ideology that backs these acts up and in this blog post, I try to explain why.

I think that when it comes to mental illnesses, believers draw the line too soon and damn any consequences because somehow we have been taught to ignore the signs and even if they're noticed, we rebuke them. Few believers would be diagnosed with a serious disease, Covid-19 for example and decline medication. But those who accept medication do so not because they are afraid to die or that they do not have faith but because it is just normal to take care of your health. Why then would you notice signs of let’s say anxiety or PTSD and rebuke it when you should face it both medically and spiritually, if you wish. Why would you pray that depression disappears overnight and refuse to take any physical steps towards it (If you can help it)?

We need to get rid of this idea that believers do not suffer mental illnesses. Or that if it happens, it is demonic oppression. The same way not all physical illnesses are primarily spiritual warfare is the same way not all mental illnesses are spirit-based. By the way, I’m not saying prayer can’t cure depression. If prayer cures cancer, what is depression to it? But then, prayer will not cure every cancer the same way it will not cure every mental illness. Seek help! Yes, God has not given you the spirit of fear but of love, power and soundmind; but he did not ask you to neglect your mind. It is there in His books that pleasant words are like a honeycomb, sweetness to the soul and health to the bones. If you do not admit that something is wrong, these pleasant words may likely not come to you and in turn, wellness deserts you. Now, the personal part...

I began to have anxiety symptoms before I even knew anxiety disorder to be what was happening to me. Maybe if I had known already, I would have thought that the romanticization of it through mainstream media inspired me to say I had it and I definitely would have ignored the symptoms. At the beginning, I thought I was just extremely shy. But I wondered why this realm of my shyness was just surfacing . My voice would quiver, my hands shook just from having unplanned encounters with people. Mind you, some of these people, I was very close with. It was confusing because I knew I did not have a problem with public speaking. Now imagine how conflicted I must have felt to have conversations and video meetings during the lockdown and will myself to focus and ignore that my temperature was rising or that I was muddling my words. And of all the symptoms that bothered me the most, it was the temperature and sweating part.

So I looked it up and of course, anxiety disorder was in every article Google presented me. Then I read and read and maybe even started to see in myself symptoms that I did not have. I told my parents and their suggestions were super helpful but it took a lot of sharing and explaining how afraid I was to be feeling that way before they took me seriously. I never took medecine to quell what was wrong but I’m just happy that I had a great support system at the time. My dear mother, of course, prayed for and with me but it did not stop there. The physical support went a long way too. And just maybe that is how I have been able to recognize what triggers me and I immediately remove myself from situations that would spiral me into a mess. Unless, it is something I really should do, there is nothing you want to tell me, I won’t do it if it won't give me peace.

Before I stray too much from the main message in this post, here it goes; I talked to God about these anxious feelings. In the midst of it, I would say stuff like my hands are shaking again or please help me to stay calm and at the same time joined online support groups and engaged in calming exercises. I also have sticky notes with affirmations written on them taped at strategic places in my room. I’ve never had to take medication for it most likely because my symptoms are not as severe as severe gets. But if you do take mental health medication, you should do so while trusting in the Great Physician and Healer that you will one day no longer take them. Also, remember that the same God who made available herbs and formulas that have been made into the antibiotics, etc. we readily take created the knowledge and wisdom that has been imparted into professional counsellors so acknowledge your mental illness if you have one, seek help in the right places, if you have to take medication, TAKE IT! Surround yourself with people who feel the same way and those who are ready to help. Do everything except just praying it away. If you will not pray your degree or dream job to just fall into your hands when you're doing nothing to make it happen, don’t do that with your mental wellness.

Summary of my story; the urgency with which you respond to physical illnesses should be the same (probably more) with which you respond to your mental needs.

“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say ‘My tooth is aching’ than to say ‘My heart is broken’ “ C.S Lewis.

In the Name of Chuks We Roam

Art by Kehinde Williams

The only assurance of her continued existence was the leaky tap dripping in the bathroom even though each drop felt like it was seeping from her, what little strength she had left. A clock chimed somewhere in the house and soon, a flurry of activities could be heard here and there- a door opened and closed somewhere, a tap was turned on, soon a kettle was whistling, a stiff knock on the door downstairs- Though, it seemed to all that it was too late, she hoped with all her heart for an intervention. She would give anything just to have him bound into the room, alive, spirited and as usual, a cheesy smile etched onto his face. Her eyes drifted to the side of the bed where he was supposed to be sprawled on, had it been a normal Thursday morning. She would be calling his name and pulling the covers off his body to wake him up as she hurried around the room getting prepared to go off to her job. Peeling herself off the bed, she dragged her feet towards the bathroom, the bed covers trailing after her as they unwound from her body like they too felt the abject wretchedness that evaded every corner of the house, as if to choke its occupants. Fumbling around in near darkness for the light switch, after two flicks and the light bulb refused to lit the bathroom, she gave in. Passing by the mirror, she saw her form and could hardly believe how in one week, she had begun to look like everything had fallen apart. It has actually fallen apart, she reminded herself.

The first night without him was her dawning; the fear that she was lost and alone in another man’s country gripped her heart first. Then came the constant gnawing in her chest because their hearts had started to beat in sync, in a steady rhythm and now that his heart had stopped, she feared hers would stop too. That she would soon be living with a heart that had stopped beating and to her there was no greater misfortune than this. Chuks would have wanted her to find the light in the midst of this rubble but what she knew he did not know was that for a very long time, he had been the only light she saw. He was the reason she fought the urge to plant herself on a train track waiting for that moment her soul would roam free. With that light gone and a heart that would stop soon, she started to think of ways to set herself free. As she pushed the glistening bottle of unused mouthwash she had got him to the back of the cabinet, a single tear threatened to drop as she realized he was never going to come bursting through the bathroom door asking for his toothbrush or bath soap, forgetting that he took them to his night job and were still sitting in his bag. They were never going to joke about how young he was yet forgetting the simplest things.

His uncles back home wanted his body flown back to perform the proper rites but she knew they did not have that money, that she did not have that money. So they called her the witch that killed him to take over his properties and how his disobedience led to his death. As if a beat-down 1995 Volvo was enough property to kill a man for, she thought. Because they never assented to their union, his family used his death as an avenue to perpetrate their campaign of hate. Deep down, each one of them knew it was really the envelopes containing crisp wads of cash Chuks sent monthly they would miss more, rather than their son who would be making a cold grave his new home soon.

When she saw movement in the mirror again, she gasped out of fear because she had not stirred in the slightest bit. But surely, as she turned to her side, Chuks was there, rinsing out toothpaste from his mouth into the sink. She froze, her heart pounding in her ears. His skin was vibrant, blood flowing through his veins and there was no gash in his head like when she went to identify his body. He was-perfect again. Delicately, she reached for him, heart in mouth, her fingers made solid contact with his arm. The joy splayed on her face was almost enough to erase the hurt that had creeped onto her features these past few days.

“Chuks!” she cracked doubtedly.

He too looked surprise to see her. “Obi diya, they told you I wasn’t coming back abi? You need to stop believing everything you hear. I’m not going anywhere Linda” his voice was curbed in a way she knew there was more he was hiding. He motioned her to come closer. She did and fell into his comforting embrace as his woody scent of cinnamon and menthol enveloped her. Her body yearned to melt into his, to be merged with him because she could sense this was only fleeting. His skin was burning hot through his clothes but she was more at peace to finally see him again, talking, reassuring her of his boundless companionship than to ask why he was burning up.

“I thought you were gone. I thought I would never see you again.” she cried into his neck and suddenly withdrawing, she saw herself in his glasses all crazy hair and wild eyes. She ignored it and continued. “Take me with you. I can’t stay here alone. Let’s leave now. We could even go back home” she suggested frantically searching his eyes for a clue to what he would say in response. He burst into laughter, a hearty one that bounced off the bathroom tiles. She feared that someone would hear him and make him leave her again so she shushed him.

“I can pack a few things right now. Wait- we don’t even need anything. I’ll just get our passports and-“she made to hurry back into the room but he stopped her.

“We are not going anywhere, why do you want to run away?” his eyes too, seemed to be searching hers for unspoken answers. The amused smile on his face was beginning to irritate her but compounded with the emptiness her soul had been saddled with the last couple of days, she could not show it.

“But you left me! You said-“ not caring if anyone heard anymore, her voice went up an octave this time.

“Are you okay?” a voice that seemed to be dripping with false sweetness said as its owner flicked the light switch on and the bathroom was instantly flooded with brightness. There was no Chuks, only Fatou, her Senegalese coworker who seemed to get whiter everyday as she advanced in her skin lightening process. Linda turned the knob on the leaky tap and washed the tears off her face. She tried to feign a look that said she was fine but the expression she was met with on Fatou’s face showed she was failing at that.

“Why are you here in the dark? Did you see him again?” Fatou’s eyes searched around the room like she expected to see Chuks come out of hiding from behind the shower curtain or out of a cabinet. Finally, she rested her eyes on Linda and lowered her voice to that doleful tone people employed when they were being empathetic.

“You are going to be alright, okay. It’ll be fine. Your head is only trying to mess with you and I need you to not allow that, okay? You have to be strong.” She said.

“It’s time to leave for the church.” She added, as the wild expression on Linda’s face did not look like it could be allayed anytime soon.

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Art by Kehinde Williams

Linda had never given much thought to how she would die. Somehow, she was certain she would die at a very old age, peacefully, but after seeing Chuks that way, rubbery-skinned and tightly fitted into that casket with his face set into a cold expression she had never seen him bear while he lived, she was no longer sure. When the grave diggers had finished covering him up, the numbness she felt seized as reality struck. The word dead floated around in her head, she felt it bounce around in an oddly empty space pressing itself against her temples as it ushered her into the harsh truth of being a widow. There was little left for her to hold on to. No child, no well-paying job, no relatives or real friends to fall back on, nothing. She took a swig from the bottle on her nightstand. Her lips trembled and her eyes burned as she tried to keep her tears at bay.

Her feet took her to the bathroom just like in the morning. The window was opened and gusts of rain came in through it dripping down the pale yellow wall. The building was old and the paint was already chipped through the frequently soaked wall (a pipe had broken somewhere in the walls and they had given up on fixing it after the fourth trial). The sight drove bile up her throat and in seconds all the alcohol she drank was on the floor, her vision, a blurry mess from the blinding tears that welled in her eyes. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she cried to herself weakly, “Ihe a abughi nkwa I kwere m.” This is not what you promised me. Like jolted by something unnatural, she got up abruptly and went to the bathroom window. Gripping the sill, she crawled out of it onto the landing. Looking down, she saw only two men in the street who seemed to be having a heated conversation under a shared umbrella. She knew there was nothing they could do to help when she dropped because surviving the twelve-storey fall would be a miracle. But miracles did not happen to real people so she stepped into thin air. Memories of the police officer walking into that cramped space reserved for kitchen staff to change in at the hotel she worked, asking for a Linda Chukwuka- he pronounced the last name with so much difficulty- hovered around her. He said her husband had been knocked off the street by a white, drunk driver. Of course, that was not exactly how he said it but that was the essence the message carried. As she fell, the agony that had camped in her soul since his death was gone because she was starting to anticipate the peace she craved. The rain biting into her skin as she clawed at the dirt on the muddy ground with her bare fingernails was the last thing she felt. She whimpered in pain until the taste of blood was all she knew and then, nothing.

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