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Blog, Poetry, Writers

One More Push: A Poem by Solomon Ekoja

Century after century Year after year Nation to nation And village to village The story’s the same One more push Always makes the difference The corridor of history is laden With multitudes who lost Coz they threw in towels That should have wiped away Tears of travails In seasons of breakthrough Few though In spite of failures Took steps further Until just a push Engrafted their names In the sands of history Imagine roses without thorns And life without troubles It’ll be like an empty sack Expected to stand erect Without grain Life’s beautiful And exudes essence When we overcome challenges Trying times abound Like morning dew On the mountain top That fades away When the sun of faith Rises from the east To cast its illumination Brightly with patience Just as mistake is part of life To ere is human When you fail Don’t remain in despair Dust yourself Get up! And have a retake In the monotony of pain A prize lays ahead Thomas Edison Though a renowned inventor Had several slices From the bread of failure A man with flesh and blood Like you and me Refused to doubt Like the doubting Thomas Nine hundred and ninety nine trials of his Birthed the light bulb That illuminates our world Abraham Lincoln Another worthy model For the present generation Thinking of giving up Kissed defeat severally Like rails On a magnetic track Through persistence One more push Paved his way to the presidency When there was no way Sarah A portrait of perseverance Though stricken in years Got strength to conceive Isaac The son of promise After one little push In the direction of promise Anna The prophetess Though a widow of many years Never stopped interceding With fasting’s and prayers When things looked bleak Until the messiah was born Elizabeth Though barren Gave in one push After Gabriel’s message To birth the forerunner John the Baptist Hellen Keller Though blind and deaf From a tender age Accepted her condition And little by little Became the first deaf-blind person To obtain An arts degree Despite piles of failure Give it a trial Maybe another strategy A little push Harder than the former Maybe another pull Like the force of gravity Maybe just a row Like the nursery rhyme In the right direction That’s all you need To rewrite the pages of failure In the leaves of life Till the boat anchors On the shores of success With a book titled “A man who never gave up” Don’t give up Forget giving up Never ever, give up Quitters never win Winners never quit It’s too late to give up Coz all that will settle it Is just one more push.

Essays, Writers

Man Up by Peace Habila

  The day Nkem died; the earth stood still for a moment. It happened within the twinkle of an eye. I watched  helplessly as her life began to ebb. She fought hard. She gave it her best shot, but the labor pangs overshadowed her when she had just dilated 10 centimeters. The image of her lifeless body with our  stillborn baby dangling in between her thighs still sends cold shivers down my spine and had kept me awake most nights.  The  thoughts of the events that culminated in her eternal end forces me to think  that if only we had done somethings differently, she wouldn’t have gone through that painful death. I wish I had the antidote for death. That Saturday morning, everything seemed normal. She pushed her protruded stomach around our small apartment with a pinch of  pride, the type typical of self-assured pretty damsels. She had rocked the Duduke crooner that morning in preparation for her EDD which was in two weeks’ time. We had no premonition that death was lurking in the neighborhood. She was full to the brim with life and smiles. In fact,  she had a bowl of her usual spicy snail and mushroom soup that looked very irritating. She relished each bite to my astonishment. I stood there wondering why a sane person would enjoy such. Well,  pregnancy cravings  can make one devour with pride the unthinkable meals of unfamiliar climes. Hours later, she complained of a sharp pain around her pelvic and it grew with the minutes. I knew she had gone into labor. I grabbed few items from the house, dragged her to the car, and rushed to the hospital. She was examined and two hours later,  we were on our way to the labor room. The pangs behaved like an elastic band; at some points, she had few moments to smile and tease my fear- plastered- face, at other times, the pain got her screaming the roof down. The nurses kept urging and instructing  her to push. With each command came her hands clinging to mine as if they were yearning  for my veins. It climaxed when we saw the head of the baby. I cheered her on, rubbed her head, endeared her, and gave   her all the love I had left in me. Soon, her face dropped. She instinctively redirected her gaze towards me. I lovingly turned towards her, rested my shoulder on the edge of the bed, and gave her a piercing look, eyeballs to eyeballs. The connection was deep, real, and somewhat  magical with a level of pain rays shining forth. Within a flashlight, she shot a weak smile which  grew faint almost immediately;  then, it happened. Her eyes suddenly froze after she had given me the faintest smile. It happened so fast that I had to replay that moment over and over to convince myself that I was not dreaming. They knew it was a stillbirth, but none of them warned or alerted us. They wanted her to birth it, a task she could not complete. I stood there in shock as they performed the medical ritual of trying to resuscitate her. I knew she was gone. I felt it in my bones. The tall nurse walked towards me and led me away to allow the doctor, who just arrived, intensify the ritual. I stood in the vestibule pinching myself and hoping to wake up from the nightmare. I could not just process it.  I soon went blank even of the basic things caused by adrenaline. Then the doctor appeared. ‘I’m sorry, we lost them’, he said. I sank deep into his arms the way I would sink into Nkem’s arms after a bad day at work. I was about to launch a scream when a hand touched me from behind. The hand was accompanied by   the familiar words- ‘be a man, man up! The elderly man who said those words had monitored the whole event from onset. He stood before me with a disposition that says ‘I have all things under control’. His non- verbal cues complemented his words perfectly and made me appear stupid for wanting to wail. Truth be told, those words changed my life. It first took me back to my childhood where we were taught that boys don’t cry. We were forced to hide our pains in our esophagus. We were taught that tears meant weakness and was not a good characteristic of a strong man. I knew it was time ‘to be strong’. So, I sorrowed  as expected by society. I needed society to validate me as a strong man. I was hoping that act would also  impress her in the great beyond. But deep within, I was dying. I was in dire need of a little petting in a subtle but reassuring voice. At the funeral, hot painful tears welled up in my eyes but, again, I quickly dismissed them. I kept a strong face, a boiling heart, and shut the boy in me seeking to wail to escape the excruciating pain. Well, no one gave me a broad shoulder to cry on. Their supposed words of comfort were mere melancholic demands of the impossible. I was expected to suck up my pains like  chilled coke racing down my thirsty throat. I was still being a man when I slid into depression. I was manning up when suicidal thoughts started creeping in. I was trying to man up when I attempted suicide. I  was only trying to man up when I lost my sanity. I was still manning up when I woke up in the psychiatric ward at Yaba. Peace Habila, a resident of Jos, Plateau state is passionate about creative writing. She wrote in via peacehaila2017@gmail.com    

Essays, Writers

Don’t Give Up by Humble Ogbonna.

  His wife had just put to birth, he could not hide the anxiety on his face when the doctor called him to the office to tell him that she was delivered of beautiful triplets. He could only manage to smile because several thoughts were going through his head; he has been jobless for three months now, his house rent expired six months ago, he doesn’t know where to get money for the hospital bills and how would he cope with three extra innocent mouths to feed? ‘Do not forget to quickly pay up the hospital bill’, the doctor reminded him. He left the doctor’s office in hopelessness. The next day he hanged himself. She was the only child in the family, and her goal was to be an artist who paints real-life stories but her mom wanted her against her wish to be a doctor. After the examination, she failed yet again. She could not bear the shame of facing her parents, telling them she had failed again. The next day she was found dead in her hostel room after drinking pesticide. The examples illustrated above paint vividly the ugly reality that we are facing in recent times – suicide. The increase in suicide cases is so alarming that the World Health Organization once estimated that almost 800,000 die from suicide each year, that is one person every 40 seconds. Today that figure has reached about 1,000,000 deaths annually. My heart goes out to the families and friends of those who have committed suicide. However, why do people choose to end their lives and what solutions might be provided? These are important questions that this article will answer. Why Suicide? Ryunosuke Akutagawa, a popular writer in early 20th century Japan wrote before dying “It is suffering to live, of course, I do not want to die, but…” This statement underscores the fact that no suicide victim really wants to die, however, there are a few reasons why many decide to end their lives. Bullying especially among youths in schools and colleges has led to increased suicide rates. These include cyberbullying, physical bullying, and verbal bullying. Many young ones are bullied because of their physical appearance, race, skin colour and even the financial strength of their parents. Sometimes, the bullied victims try so hard to ‘fit in’ with the rest of the kids, but when this doesn’t happen, they retrace to solitude and finally end their lives. Cyberbullying which has become popular due to the ever increasing rate at which young ones use social media has led to some suicides. To some kids, social media is their whole world, this is what cyber bullies take advantage of by blackmailing their victims or making slanderous posts and comments about the victim. The innocent victim not being able to bear the enormity of the situation might decide to end it all by taking his life. The end of a romance is another reason why some commit suicide. Not being able to deal with a breakup especially when the person had done nothing wrong in the relationship and had sacrificed a lot for it, only to see everything go down the drain. This, sometimes lead a few to commit suicide. Undergraduates who commit suicide because of educational-related issues do so because of the fear of failure. Some were pressured to study certain courses just to be like their peers or please their parents, others know how difficult it was for their parents to send them to school and so ‘I will never disappoint’ becomes their anthem, but when reality sets in they fail, the shame of facing their loved ones back at home with the news that they failed becomes overwhelming which has led some to end their lives. A girl who was raised in a very religious household might have contemplated suicide when she gets pregnant before marriage. The feeling of disappointment, having failed her parents who had tried to race her up in a godly way from infancy might be hard to bear. It even becomes worse when she decides to carry out an abortion, the feelings of guilt that might plague her for that cruel decision might make her commit suicide. Nothing could be more anxiety-laden than a family head not knowing where the next meal for his family will come from. The inability to provide for the members of one’s own family due to financial problems and unemployment has led some men to take their lives instead of living with the feeling of being an incapable family head. The media no longer places a high value on life with movies depicting gross violence and bloodshed being released every year on our TV screen. Dr. Seiden of the University of California noted that ‘by the time a child is 15, he or she has witnessed 14,000 murders or violence on TV.’ The devaluation of life depicted in such movies is also another cause of suicide since so many movies have been watched showing life being ended without regard. Other factors responsible for suicide include loneliness, chronic or painful illness, death of a loved one and perfectionists who suffer setbacks. The greatest cause of suicide, however, is depression. Awake! The magazine reports Prof. Jamison who once attempted suicide herself as saying ‘People seem to be able to bear or tolerate depression as long as there is a belief that things will improve.’ But when things do not get better, the feelings of hopelessness, helplessness and haplessness set in which then lead to such ones ending their lives. Having discussed the common causes of suicide today, what then is the way forward?  Should Suicide Be An Option? Life is a gift. The joy we feel when a baby is born, the pleasant sound of music or of birds singing that falls on our ears, the satisfying fragrance of flowers our nose smell, the beautiful evening sunset that befall our eyes and the tasty meals that our palate savours all give evidence

Essays, Writers

 Let Me Do Your Make Up by Arueze Chisom.

You see that sentence up there, which most times seem like a favor, have terrorized me more than ISIS, Al-Qaeda and Boko Haram put together has ever done to any country. Sitting in an almost empty rickety bus that keeps displacing me from my seat anytime it hits a pothole, my brain decides to dredge up an experience that I know I would need years of therapy to forget. Even a blind man knows that most of Nigerian roads are more of pot holes less of tar ones, so I was alternating between the window seat and the conductor seat which made the flash back more painful to recall. Two years ago, I was in my second year in the University. Having successfully gone past the era of ‘fresher’,  I made the decision to let the school go through me and not always the other way round.  I felt bolder and braver. I decided to test the waters by doing away with most of my clothings that spelled out  my   naivety and went for something chic. Though there was an aspect of me that was yet to change: my make up routine. I was a white powder and lip gloss kind of girl, nothing more nothing less. Seeing my classmates all glammed  up made me eager to learn  a new makeup routine.  I tried to learn but everything I did was getting me to look exactly opposite of my classmates. I ditched it, mentally reminding myself to do that after exams. The week ahead got me all giddy because it wasn’t just going to be a mundane one as my roommate had planned on celebrating her birthday in Grand. Some where in my head, I had tucked  away the dress I would wear. Checking it from time to time to avoid any change of plans or wardrobe malfunction. I already had a vivid imagination of what I would look like:  I would wear a bodycon sea green gown  and a silver slightly high heeled sandals( I was more comfortable on flats, but It was a risk I was willing to take). As I reminisced on my imagination I  smiled sheepishly to myself  but there was a little problem that was actually a big one.  I didn’t visualize what my face would look like. I wondered who would do my makeup? I didn’t have enough money to call a make up artist because I felt it was trivial but I made up my mind not to go the party with a face bare of makeup. I was so happy with my thoughts I decided that  there must be some one who would definitely make me up. On the day of the party, I woke up like every other day and  went about my normal day but always conscious of the time so as not to be late. Once it was 3’o clock, I turned deaf ears to anyone who tried to hold me back at school and took to my heels, straight to my house. When I got to my house, there were people I wasn’t conversant with but they were friends with my roommate so it was okay. As we got ready, make up kits brushes, clothes  shoes were littered every where but no body picked them up. As I hung around trying to replicate what I saa around me, a girl who was also invited to the party offered to help me put on some make up. Grinning like an idiot I said a quick thank you and sat on a chair, then she began. She applied the first liquid brown stuff, she could lay her eyes on, she told me it was called the foundation. I relaxed, thinking to myself  anything that has foundation will definitely be strong just like a house.  Using a small foam to blend it in. Then after a while i thought we were through but she applied another and another. She kept going on that I lost count and decided to relax. As she was applying them, my roommate had finished her make up. Then  I beckoned on her to hurry  up. Around 6:30 pm my roommate burst into the room saying the car we would ride with was here. Then she announced she was through, grateful and glad I grabbed my purse and ran to the car as the other girls were scurrying like squirrels trying to get one thing or the other. As we sandwiched ourselves at the back of the car, I  tried to take a picture but the image I saw staring right back at me made me skip a heart beat. Suddenly the car stopped. We had gotten to our destination. I felt like the ground should open and swallow me. The girls with me  started giggling, the one who couldn’t hold it in burst out into fits of laughter. She said and I quote “ you face looks like a corpse embalmed” then everyone started laughing. The girl who had done the havoc to my face, was trying so hard not to laugh. So as we were standing there some guys approached us,  Immediately they looked at me, I could never forget the look on their face. They kept coughing like tuberculosis patients trying so hard not to laugh. At that moment I couldn’t take it anymore, looked around for some water to wash my face. Immediately I did, I left there and boarded the first bus I saw to my house.  At times it’s advised to stick to what you know.   Arueze Chisom Precious, a passionate writer can be reached through sommytilly1402@gmail.com

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