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Thursday, 11 July 2019

Evil and you





Recently, it occurred to me that the line separating good and evil passes not through circumstances of birth, nor between classes, nor between religion either but right through every human heart and through all human hearts.

This line shifts. Inside us, it swings with time, goes left or right as the years go by. And even within hearts overwhelmed by evil, one small minutiae of good is retained. And even in the best of all hearts, there remains ... a small corner of evil.

Aleksandr I. Solzhenitsyn, The Gulag Archipelago 1918–1956 posits: " I have come to understand the truth of all the religions of the world: They struggle with the evil inside a human being (inside every human being). It is impossible to expel evil from the world in its entirety, but it is possible to constrict it within each person.”

He continues:
“If only it were all so simple! If only there were evil people somewhere insidiously committing evil deeds, and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us and destroy them. But the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?


When a vast majority of humanity realises this, it can then approach enlightenment

Wednesday, 9 January 2019

Musings on forgiveness and retentive nemory .Help

HMMMM (Musings of one who they say 'dont belong...')
This not the usual jokes or self deprecating humour.
Life is both sunshine as well as that endless rain that comes with storms. Also I typed out without editing, just typed as it flowed..expect terrible writing..
I am typing this to myself, as a way of understanding self...to look back at the issue critically, how an insignificant event, (someone ran her car into my parked car directly causing bodily harm/ injuries to me) affecting so many other plans and leading me into financial obligations even debt previously unplanned for. She had zero remorse..
Also any reasonable human being with similar or worst experiences that will like to share tips on how to handle situations like this..
.
Preamble.lol: Nowadays Its like to engage in social media (even FB, even in ones own space) in an honest fashion, first, one needs to meet certain criteria (being a saint is one of them)...well I dont meet any predefined 'criteria' and I have this issue heavy on my mind.
Second: some ppl take everything to be a joke/or an opportuniry to mock..

So I aim to put words together to see if reading it back, will somehow make it easier to understand.

Forgiveness is a means of avoiding the anger and other negative feelings caused by the action of others.
Memory: the ability to remember information, experiences, and people..the faculty by which the mind stores and remembers information
Forgiveness when one has...well graphic memory?

One Madam/Mrs Tolani, hit my parked car, the impact pushed me and I fell unto a crate of breakable bottles..a couple of those bottles broke on impact and the jagged edges injured me, 2 deep cuts one shallow.
Like some other human beings, I have a sensitive disposition, in addition, like many others i have this meddlesome 'selective retentive memory' even my chieftess noticed this at a point in my childhood. She called it another name but never mind that. Growing up I learnt to protect that part of myself, and part of protecting myself was to forgive forgive forgive, or explain it away so as to forgive.

When provoked, I try to take a very long time to react and say I do, i seek ways to make amends whether it was my fault or not.

but along the way I dont know if ppl became more selfish, uncouth, much meaner or just thoughtless and i didnt get the memo,cus recently i am having to apologise as well as forgive a lot more than usual...

and now.

Forgiveness is so easy to preach, a little harder to imbibe.
Just before Christmas, Jabi was suddenly in a rush, it was like everyone wanted to travel all at the same time, that same dat. I drove out to the shops by the road to get some essentials. Seeing how everyone was in a mad haste I made to safely park, run off to get some toiletries and on my way back, bustling among last minute shoppers...it happened. She hit my parked car,the impact was what i could properly recall.

As i was getting oriented with what happened, and made to get up, some storekeepers/pedestrians swung to action, tried pulling me off the crates "aunty sorry" "aunty comot for road make we pass" madam I sabi the woman, na my customer, like you, take this is her number'
I got up and was bleeding but because it was darkish and i had on a dark outfit, not immediately noticeably. At first I reacted as I would normally, thanked everyone, took the phonenumber, said it was nothing and drove my damaged car home.
At home I saw the extent of the damage to my car and my person. I tried to stop the bleeding. Imagine the scenario, all around me where carols and/or fireworks. I was wondering how much blood do I have. Managed to get to a hospital even there i was bleeding so i left. Went to a pharmacist who expertly cleaned the wound and bandaged it (plaster)..He adviced i leave the area dry and also let me know he was travelling to his village, gave me some supplies...I paid from a very stretched budget.

A day later it was seeping pus. Feeling vulnerable I called the woman, she was initialy polite but when I told her what she did she spoke aggressive yoruba and hung up. For some reasons as she hung up, her phone sent me a message giving me her full names, various phone numbers asking me to patronise her 'kiddies business', even showing me the facebook.
Not knowing it was automated and frankly out of sorts with the whole thing I texted her that i got her message with the business details and who knows I may tell interested people or even patronise her kiddies business but the issue remains on ground. She called back speaking in aggressionand in yoruba, with Ilittle english here and there, i managed to hear "which text did me Tolani send?"" which business?" "my husband Hazeez handles car issues" and the clincher "did I tell you to patronise her"..etc etc etc..In all this exchange there was zero remorse..I sent the 'patronise my page' text back to her....and my heart remembered forgiveness. I also remember I had had accidents and even in my dazed state, I apologised profusely AND did restitution. treated the victims fairly.
I have lived in Abuja for a number of years, moved here with that car and have had 2 major accidents with my trust jalopy.. One in particular comes to my mind, I was driving on a seemingly deserted (of other motorists) street and you know as you go downhill your car goes a bit faster, then i saw one woman with about 10 children..(Rule of thumb, when driving and i see kids I slow down and honk, as they tend to either cross the road without looking properly or just play games that puts them in a dangerous spot on a motorway) I saw madam with 10 kids, made to break, my break failed, one of the older boy was pushing the girl onto the street maybe a gamw, I honked but also made a decision to turn my car and hit a wall than harm a human.

I paid for the wall, my subsequent treatments and my car survived (it has suffered)
Back to Tolani, as i opened the wound and winced, all around me where fireworks and people wishing themselves a merry christmas. I imagined she was at home with her husband and children, without a care in the world that she caused deep cuts to a stranger causing that stranger to spend so much money even place self in debt...all because of her actions.

Three times daily I cleaned and dressed the wounds remembering what happened..wondering to myself why didnt I stay indoors? By new years eve I think I got a handle on how to treat deep cuts but I still have the scary memory. I was speaking to a mentor of mine (she has her own challenges currently being in the eyes of the public) she told me it could have been worse, quickly followed by an example of a worst off situation. Sadly I am not one to use the suffering of others to console myself..so to speak.

I think I am typing this to myself, as a way of understanding myself...to look back at the issue critically, how an insignificant event, (someone ran her into mine causing injuries) affected so many other plans and push me into financial responsibilities (read debt) previously unplanned for. At this point I dont need her apologies)

Forgiveness is so easy to preach, a little harder to imbibe.
Will read this a few more times to be sure I am being fair...and to understand why forgiveness (or should i say forgetting it even happened) is not coming as easily...

Tuesday, 8 January 2019

NIGERIANS (INCLUDING NORTHERNERS) DONT EXPERIENCE DEPRESSION? excerpts from Ike Anya


I read..a lot..to say the least, plus when online I read expansively, once in a while catching a gem in an article or a book...sometimes its not from the main theme, or the monologues or even the moral lessons. Its the little details that get to me. I read this a long time ago, it moved me and I saved it to be used at an appropriate time.

Now I realise there is nothing like 'appropriate time'

I learnt a lot from his article and I hope someone someday also gain something valuable from this great piece of work.

Enjoy Excerpts from the gifted Ike Anya's: 'People dont get depressed in Nigeria' I learnt a lot from his article and I hope someone someday also gain something valuable from this great piece of work.

I open the newspaper and the word ‘Nigeria’ catches my eye.  It’s a feature on the young British Nigerian novelist Helen Oyeyemi in which she speaks of her struggle with depression in her teenage years and the difficulty her parents faced with understanding it. ‘Because people don’t get depressed in Nigeria,’ she says. ‘They were like, “Cheer up, get on with it.”’
The black words sliding over the page carry me back in time to another place, where I too, like Helen’s parents, believed that people don’t get depressed in Nigeria.

I wake up to a clucking sound outside my bedroom window. It is guttural, low-pitched, and there is a rustling in the fields of guinea corn that stand sentry immediately outside our low-eaved modern bungalow. I walk to the window and peer through the grimy glass louvres, past the hole-ridden metal mosquito netting, and see a herd of cattle making its gentle, almost silent way through the fields.

I walk out into the living room that I share with the other occupant of the small two-bedroomed house set on the edge of the hospital compound and head for the bathroom. There I retrieve my battered metal bucket and head out to draw the water for my morning ablutions. At the well, there is a gaggle of young children, chattering rhythmically in Hausa as they deftly throw the black rubber guga into the well, hauling it up to fill the buckets and jerry cans surrounding it. As they see me make my way along the path lined with bowing neem trees, they shriek their greetings, laughing, excited.
‘Sannu, Likita, sannu.’
I am likita – Hausa for doctor – and I am twenty-seven years old, freshly qualified from medical school in southern Nigeria and posted to this small northern village for my national service.
One of the children rushes to grab my bucket and, despite my protestations, runs to the well to fill it up and deposit it back at my feet. I thank him and head back to the house, leaving the children to continue their chatting and fetching.I walk down the tree-lined mud path that leads from the grandly named staff quarters to the hospital, pausing on the way as I meet colourfully dressed and veiled women heading for the market in the next village, who greet me in the elaborate formal ritual of the Hausa culture.
Ina kwana . . . ina kwana, I echo as they enquire after my well-being, my work, my family.
Ina gajiya?
Ba gajiya.
Yaya aiki?
Da godiya.
We finish off with a madalla and I make my way along the low-ceilinged corridors to the clinic where, as usual, there is a large mass of people of all ages and sexes already gathered. Looking into the distance, I notice that work seems to have started again on the wall that is being built around the hospital by the Petroleum Trust Fund. It isn’t clear who has decided that this is what we need most – a generator to stop us doing surgery by lantern light might have been good, as would some equipment for Wilson’s fledging laboratory – but the contracts have been awarded in faraway Abuja and Kano, and so I suppose we must be grateful that the contractor at least seems to be making a good fist of building the wall, which is supposed to provide us with additional security. And he has employed local labourers to do it, so we must be grateful for that as well.
Muttering angrily to myself, I settle into my chair and ask Sani, the cheerful youth who, with his smattering of English, has bagged the role of interpreter, to summon the first patient. I hear him calling out a woman’s name, having first, with an air of self-importance, bid the crowd to be quiet and to listen well. I have soon learned that everyone who works in the hospital is highly revered in the village. We all, apparently, are called likita and there are rumours that the theatre cleaner, the hulking Kaka, runs a thriving sideline in low-price hernia surgeries performed after hours in his living room. Considering how bare the theatre itself is, his living room may perhaps not be that much more under-equipped for the purpose.

bearded young man, perhaps twenty-five years old, dressed in a blue riga, walks into the room, carrying a toddler in one arm and with the other solicitously leading a young woman, a girl really, dressed in the simple wax-print wrapper and blouse with a loosely tied headscarf that is the common dress of all the female folk here. He greets me respectfully but with an air of distraction as Sani ushers the girl into the seat. The young man stands guard beside her, holding the baby and focusing on my face. She sits listlessly, head bowed, silent.

I look at the blank sheet of paper, torn out of an exercise book, that lies before me and serves as a consultation sheet. I ask her name, her age and what has brought her to the hospital. I do not bother to ask for an address, swiftly amending the history-taking technique learned at my medical school in Enugu. Her husband answers as she continues to look down, despondent. He says her name and volunteers that she is perhaps fifteen years old. Having by now spent over a month in the village, I can already pick out his answers from the rapid-fire Hausa without Sani having to interpret and am not surprised that a girl that young is already married with a baby. It is the way here and one of the nurses has explained to me that in their culture a woman is not supposed to see her second menstrual period in her father’s house. He cites the Quran as his source and I tell him of the many Muslim northern Nigerian girls that I knew while at secondary school, many of whom remain unmarried and are pursuing careers. He is silent but I sense that he refrains from challenging me out of respect rather than out of any acceptance of my counter-argument. Returning to the patient before me, I ask again what has brought them to the hospital. My question, once Sani has translated, elicits a burst of animated utterance from the man, his wife remaining silent, her head still bowed.
Her problems started, Sani translates, perhaps a year or so ago, soon after the birth of the little boy, their firstborn. She would spend almost the whole day lying on the mat asleep, she had stopped smiling or singing while she cooked, she now cried a lot, and had ceased doing all of her household chores. I can see the concern on the husband’s face as he recounts the many ways in which the girl has changed from the cheerful industrious woman he married, to this lifeless bundle of misery draped floppily on the chair beside me. He swears that he has been good to her, that he does not beat her, even though he is only a poor farmer, and I can see it in the newness of her cheap wax-print outfit and in the rows of bangles that adorn her wrists. They have taken her to see a number of traditional healers but the maganin gargajiya has failed to work its magic and so, against the advice of his family and hers, he has brought her here to try Western medicine.
My first thought is of post-partum depression and yet my doubts remain. In spite of our psychiatry lectures and placements, the hours spent in the wards and outpatient clinics at the psychiatric hospital in Enugu, many of my classmates, myself included, still look at depression as a largely Western illness. The few cases that we have seen in the clinics in Nigeria have been mostly among the relatively affluent, and so we imagine that it is a luxury for those who can afford to ignore their more pressing immediate problems – what to eat and how to keep a roof over their heads – to indulge in afflictions of the mood.
And so I probe a little more, asking more questions, trying to disprove the evidence of my own eyes. How, I wonder, can a young woman who has grown up in this harsh environment, waking up early to fetch water, cook, clean, farm till late in the day, be suffering from depression?
And yet, the more I probe, the more the husband, through Sani, proffers evidence to confound my theory. I am conscious that time is passing and that there are still a slew of patients to see on the morning ward round and so I embark on more rapid-fire questioning. Is she eating? No, she has had a poor appetite since the illness began and has consequently lost a lot of weight. She has also stopped visiting her friends and family and takes little or no interest in her child or, indeed, in anything.
The more I try to discount it, the more conscious I am that this is looking more and more like a classic case of post-partum depression. I look up from my scribbling on the page and meet the eyes of her husband, staring, his gaze almost boring into my face, his countenance steady, earnest and hopeful. He has come to us against the wishes of his family and the village and I feel that I owe him something. I must not let him down.
Finally, with an inward sigh, I reach for a pile of neat slips of paper, which Sani has meticulously cut up before I arrive, to serve as prescription forms. The recommended treatment for depression is either therapy or medication.  I look through my formulary, flicking through the well-thumbed anti-infective agent section to the pristine antidepressant section, trying to decide which antidepressant might be most easily available in this remote place. The question of going to the hospital pharmacy does not arise as they have struggled in the past to fill prescriptions for simple antibiotics. Knowing the limitations of the pharmacy, I opt for Amitriptyline, the cheapest and most basic of the antidepressants, and ask her if she is still breastfeeding.
‘No,’ her husband says, she has not really breastfed at all and the baby is being suckled by his brother’s wife who has a toddler of her own.
I scribble quickly and hand the paper to the husband, explaining through Sani how the medication is to be taken. I know that he will probably have to send someone to Kano, a good hour’s bus ride away, to buy the medicine. I wonder what it will cost him – this is the lean time between harvests. Perhaps he will need to draw on the last few naira saved from the previous year’s cotton crop, reserved for the ram meat for the impending Sallah festivities. Or perhaps he will join the throng of supplicants squatting outside the Hakimi, the village head’s palace each morning, bringing their needs and concerns.
Whatever the cost, I sense that he is determined to do whatever it will take to restore his wife to him. I pray that I am not sending this young man on a wild goose chase.

I ask them to come back in two weeks, fearful of giving a later appointment, just in case I have got the diagnosis wrong. I do not want to leave her for too long on medication she does not need. They leave the room the same way they came in, a ragged chain of three, her battered plastic slippers dragging on the rough concrete floor.

Two weeks later, I am sitting in the clinic again and my head is reeling.
Sani calls the next patient and she marches forward, her gauzy headscarf tied at a jaunty angle. She carries her toddler in her arms, cooing soothingly to him. Behind her is the bearded husband, a broad smile splitting his expansive face. As she takes her seat beside the consulting desk, he falls to the ground, wanting to grasp my feet in gratitude. I ask him to get up and laughingly begin to scribble on her sheet. I do not need to ask if the medicine has worked.Nearly a decade later, I sit in a white-panelled meeting room, beneath harsh, bright fluorescent lighting. I look out to the rooftops of west London, the arch of Wembley Stadium barely visible in the distance. My colleague responsible for mental-health provision is explaining the challenge of getting more people to use the new ‘talking therapy’ service for those with low-level mental-health problems. We have invested hundreds of thousands of pounds, but uptake has been slow.
As we debate how to address this, my mind wanders back to a small, bare consulting room, in a hospital in the northern Nigerian savannah, and I wonder how my patient is faring.

Mena: Again above are Excerpts from Ike Anya's: 'People dont get depressed in Nigeria'
I learnt a lot from his article and I hope someone someday also gain something valuable from this great piece of work.

HAPPY 2019!!! AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Hey hey

As it is the time of the year..I was going through a number of fwd fwd messages, fwd wishes and fwd 'preaches/sermon' sent from people wishing others a happy new year.

This one stood out..Will the real author please stand up so I can give due credit. Thank you


This BRAND NEW 2019

May your days be Useful, your night Restful,
 

May your homes remain Peaceful, May your hands and treasure chest remain full so you keep giving

May your efforts be ever Fruitful,

May your ends be Beautiful.

May God restore anything you may have lost in the past years.

Remain ever Blessed,keep up your positive outlook,

keep being the loving happygolucky bubbly spirit you are...

any stumbling block is your stepping stone.


keep breathing,your best is yet to come..and it may seem bleak some days but you will get the desired goal!

the sky is your limit



Happy New Year

Saturday, 29 December 2018

RISE AND SHINE? WHEN? WHY? (including helpful tips from a celebrity writer Nkem)


 

WHO, WHY, HOW, WHAT WHEN?

Who knew spending a large amount of resources and energy trying to give back to ever demanding 'humanity' or just being there in almost every way for humanity, whether working hard at a job, and yet the salary keeps reducing while tasks become overwhelming for one person or helping someone else's business to grow (with zero expectation) yet receiving negative backlash seemingly from nowhere, or trying to please family and never meeting up to very high rigid yet ever changing standards, can leave one feeling soo exhausted, drained and finding ways to cope.
Worse still, 'humanity' betrayed, slandered and mocked away all that energy...and yet...I still have to rise and shine?

Thoughts weigh heavy indeed, gladly the relative safety of blogger.com gives each user a place to express thoughts without feeling picked apart (well you sort of still get picked apart, I just used it for lack of a better word), an avenue to let it out and hope for solace in ..written/typed word..solace in words.

How can one describe these thoughts:

Its like:

...walking into a pitch black room full of objects at every tiny step.
...slipping from the side of a hill without any branch, or a dent to stop the sliding
...being carried along the current during a storm that does not seem to have an end

Looking to make sense of it all, I found this lovely article written by the famous celeb Nkem and a little piece of me is both glad and sad. Glad that someone can express similar thoughts and sad that she too, felt helpless and exhausted at a point. I shared some of it below, it is not my article and I do not own it. I admire her earnest method of writing and two points resonated so deeply with me.


...the year has been a kaleidoscope of some sort… if that makes sense. On the 1st of January 2018 when I was writing a list of goals I would like to achieve in the year for instance,  travelling to Bangkok for a protracted period of time was not on the list. Hell! A lot of things that has happened in the last 300 and something days has been nothing I envisaged by a long shot. Sure, I achieved certain goals I set for myself… like earning the desired minimum wage I set for myself, getting a car, going on the number of trips I wanted, becoming more extroverted, getting closer to God, e.t.c…but a lot more I never imagined happened to teach me several invaluable lessons. Of course,  if narrate them all, I would probably have to publish my own “We’re going to need more wine”, so maybe I’ll settle for sharing 3 of these things I have learned and the events that lead me to the realization.

DO NOT buy a Nigerian Used car
I found myself with a 2012 Toyota Corolla, Nigerian used of course. Little did I know that I had spent a huge chunk of my savings buying a liability...When I finally decided to sell it,their analysis.. discovered that the car was originally a 2008 model which was revamped to look like a 2012. Kai!

A toxic work environment is more likely to change you than you can change it
This year I left a job I  had since I graduated from university. My very first job. I had worked there for 7 and half years and had never for one day gotten a bad performance review, even though I combined this job with other  tasking side jobs. Sure, I did get a promotion at some point, but the major promotion that I wanted…the game changing one that I needed to really validate that endeavour was being eternally delayed for reasons I couldn’t really place my finger on (even though I had been recommended for it by two different HODs ).  Actually, I was doing the job already, except that I did not have the title and the money that came with it.

Because I had been there for so long, I felt a measure of loyalty; I felt that if I just stayed and maybe worked even harder, things would change. I guess it eventually dawned on me that I was hitting my hands on a tipper loaded with sand (the adage sounds so much better in igbo). I realize how toxic it was – not just for me professionally, but for my mental health as well. I was losing my passion for that field and I was just unhappy. This job was turning me into a shadow of who I really was ; I realized I had to quit.(this account hit me like a ton of bricks, it got so bad that at a point my heart raced faster,  at the thought of going back to that toxic environment with visibly decreasing remuneration)
Of course I didn’t realize at the time that God had something much better in store for me and it was really all orchestrated, but I learned the important lesson that a toxic work environment is more likely to change you than you can change it. It is best to leave. Sometimes life gives us roadblocks for a reason, and we need to recognize when to quit- whether in a relationship that just isn’t working out, or perhaps a change in our career path. I guess it helped that I had enough money saved, so I had the option to walk out without hesitation
.

Just because they are family does not mean they cannot be toxic (very deep sigh)
I am someone who values family above everything else. There is nothing my sisters or nephews would ask that I do that I would not – as long as I have the ability or means to do it. There have been times I had sleepless nights trying to figure out how to meet the requests for them. .. Actually, I grew up being controlled..

Becoming an adult and gaining my independence of course gave me a measure of control; I could make my decisions for myself without necessarily being “called to order” or judged unnecessarily. Even then, there was still a shortage of autonomy and this persistent self-betrayal where I find myself constantly changing my opinion to please my siblings or not being able to say ‘No’ when I really should.  These are, on a normal day, what I would classify as  signs of a damaging relationship… but because it was family, I did not want to look at it that way.
A few month ago, however, I overheard a conversation between two of my sisters and they were talking about me. They don’t know that I know about that conversation as I did not confront them over it (I also know they won’t read this article), but it kind of yanked my eyes open and made me realize that what we had was an unhealthy relationship. Any relationship in which you experience withdrawals of energy without deposits will definitely leave you in negative. It is toxic and you have to cut it off or manage it accordingly. Being family does not make it any different, especially when it starts to affect your mental health and general state of being. (this hit me hard, got me very teary)

It’s okay to manage anxiety with a pill
I really do not want to talk about this, but what is the point in writing this article if I’m not going to be completely honest. A major part of my 2018 was me handling anxiety. Very few of my friends know this, and my family do not know the extent to which it may have gone. Most times I just said to them: “Oh, I went to the hospital today, it’s nothing, I’m okay”. Actually, I remember the first time I went to the hospital (late 2016) and they diagnosed stress. It was funny to me because the doctor asked me : did you lose someone special? Did your heart get broken? Did you lose your job? e.t.c… I said ‘no’ to all these questions

It was unreal how stress could come with physical symptoms. At the time, I had about 3 tasking jobs, other freelance writing gigs and zero social life, so I decided to cut them down and socialize more.  I even invited a friend to come live with me. I did not take the pills they gave me to “relax” at the time, because it was just ridiculous.
Then in 2018, it become worse.  This time in addition to chest pain, rashes, even worse pain from the shoulder and arm, shortness of breath, dizziness and  nausea, I started having  panic attacks. If you have ever had a full-blown panic attack, you would know that it is not a joke. I would not even wish it on my enemy.
This time the doctor did several tests and said it was stress-induced anxiety. At this time I just had two jobs and a few freelance writing gigs. They weren’t really physically or mentally exerting, why would I take pills, biko? I refused to take the pills. But then, it started to affect the quality of my life: I wasn’t giving my best at my different jobs, I was disappointing everyone, being unnecessarily difficult in my relationships… and basically becoming someone else actually.
I remember that a client I respected a lot called because I had missed a lot of deadlines. I had actually planned these articles, but had spent most of my valuable time zoning out, as I was consistently losing motivation and focus for everything. I remember that when I considered telling her what was really happening, it just seemed silly. Actually I think I did tell her, but in a half- baked way that probably made me look like a phoney. I don’t know. To cut long story short, after the last panic attack, I decided to actually accept this diagnosis and take the pills, and also adjust my lifestyle. And it worked!

I guess my point is, 2018 taught me that it is okay to accept stress as a diagnosis; it doesn’t make you weird or inadequate or a psycho who can no longer be loved.  And even more, there is nothing wrong with taking medication for it. Just don’t get to the point of addiction though

Believe bigger. We have access to anything that we can believe God for…anything
Those who know me will tell you that I have come through life and conquered a lot by my faith in God, through Jesus Christ. I am not the most righteous or the best christian; heck, I even almost dated an atheist at some point this year (God forgive your daughter). In the last years, I had backslid a lot and my relationship with God had really watered down, until an incident this year got me realizing that even when I was closer to God back then, I was not believing big enough. The truth is, if you have faith enough, you can access anything and within the time frame you want it. No joke. And it’s not magic. It is simply by hard core un-staggering faith.

I remember I got a job to move to Israel by September, but thanks to our green passport, the work visa process became a drag and I had to quit the process entirely. It was certainly something would have tipped me into a state of depression, but here’s the thing: in the space of five days from the day I realized I wasn’t going to move to Rawabi anymore, I did a series of  interviews got another job and moved to Bangkok… in the blink of an eye.
If you have been to Bangkok or South East Asia, you will know how difficult the process with NDLEA and processing the work visa can be.

Of course, I am omitting certain juicy details but the essential thing I picked was this: there is nothing too big to imagine or have faith for.
***

Mena: Go forth and Conquer Nkem, (believe it or not, I cheered for Nkem, this hardworking young lady deserves this and more)
and as for my state of mind.. *for now I am blinking back tears from sheer exhaustion from wild thoughts* lets end it with words from my so called friend as (s)he dismissed my worries by saying 'las las you go dey alright'

Monday, 16 July 2018

Why 12th of July?



Why 12th of July '18? It could have been any other day but that day remains one of the worst days...
The effects of that day continues and today she is just about to face it, the next few hours she will face it..





She has used all methods of escapism and now there is no more.
As one who. even on a normal day, worries a bit about events occurring a million miles away, in the last few days, she has worried as deeply as she can and has been as anxious as humanly possible..
Her circle do not know the level of turmoil she is going through so they remain innocent and completely blameless.
The few who knew, even with no details, were deeply concerned and also remain blameless
The last sentence of encouragement she recalled was 'U shall absorb whatever comes' (sic) but she is not so sure...
..what she is sure of is that once again she feels alone as one foot steps forward and the other foot follows in this path of life..
..what she is sure of is that her heart beats very fast as she takes deep breaths preparing to face    whatever today, 16th July, may bring as consequences...
..what she is sure of is if she survives today, she will be spending more time writing
...and now, as unprepared as she is...the time is UP

Tuesday, 26 June 2018

We held on to each other as I slowly took off her thong with my teeth....

Hello!

So I was alarmed at the number of young people not taking their sexual health seriously. By young I mean from the age of consent to 22yr old.

I would have thought with the rise and rise of instant!information on all topics, the igeneration would be more worldly wise? Who would have thunk that??

I think its time for a repost, presenting the evergreen moral lesson, written by Obi Eze.......




From across the street, the sign at the clinic didn’t look as inviting as it did last week. It took a while before I could force myself to cross over to the other side. I walked in and said a muted “good morning” to the nurse/receptionist.
I guess she was used to people being apprehensive on the day they picked up their test results, and she replied with a cheery “Welcome sir, and how are you today?” I managed a smile and handed over my card.
“Sir, you will be required to see our counselor before picking up your test results”, she said without looking at the card.
“I already did, last week when I came for the test…she signed my card”
“Ah…alright then. Hmmm…your results have been ready since the last 4 days."
"Yeah..I was like, out of town". My excuse sounded lame.
"Please give me a couple of minutes sir, I’ll be right with you”
It turned out to be the longest 2 minutes of my life…I sat in the reception chair with my hands clasped between my knees. There were a 2 other people seated in the reception room but, as if by an unspoken agreement, we simply refused to acknowledge each other's presence. I guess everyone had a lot on our minds right about then.
I leaned my head back on the wall behind me and picked a spot on the white ceiling to keep my eyes locked on, allowing my mind to be flooded by the muted music coming from hidden speakers… “Gad…you gotta help me out here”, I prayed silently…
I tried to keep my mind focused on happy thoughts and on the other things I had to do for the rest of the day, just to while away time, but my mind kept going back to memories of how I got here in the first place.



.............................................................................

My job used to take me around a lot…and I get to be “out of station” sometimes for months on end. I was in the old Energy city for about 3 months…sometimes for up to 3 weeks at a stretch, working on building a centre for one of the communication companies here. I stayed at a small hotel in a quieter part of town…just a place I could kick back after being on my feet for most of the day on site. Being a loner (usually), it was my kinda place: small, hidden and quiet. My cousin often came around to drag me out on weekends and take me around town though. Most other times I just stayed in my hotel room, watching movies on my laptop or working, creating a “sound wall” of loud rock music.
Towards the end of the building project, a number of the advance staff from the communications company started coming around, “to beta test the place”, like they said anyway.

That’s when I met Nancy.

Smallish, bookish, academic type…shrill voice, big eyes, wearing a shoulder-length weave, acrylic nails..legs that looked great in heels, her skirts were always cut above her knees...hmmm, not bad!
I actually didn’t notice when she came on site. I just started getting reports from some of the construction workers still on site doing remedial work that there was this “bitch of a woman” giving them hell…complaining about any and everything.
“Just do what you need to do, so we can get out of here”, I told them.
On that fateful day though, I was in my make-shift office, in the still-unfinished space meant for “phase 2” of the project, working on my snag-list for the building, when this cute chick walks up to my desk..
“Are you Mr. Obi?”
“Er..yeah?”
“Can you come with me for a minute; I need to show you something”
She led me towards the back of the building…I noticed the construction workers we passed on the way there, who usually gave nods of acknowledgement anytime I walked passed them, did their best to stay away from her path.
“How come there’s water in the underground tank, but no water in the bathrooms?” she asked, pointing to the full underground water storage tank..
“Excuse me, I REALLY must apologise for that”, I answered “we didn’t expect the company staff in till Monday. The booster pumps are being delivered tomorrow and will be installed and tested over the weekend”
“Well I hope so, my people are coming in on Monday, and we expect to have fully functioning offices”
“Promise, cross my heart” I said (or something to that effect).
I guess maybe it was the “authority” in her voice that intrigued me…or maybe I had been away from civilization for too long.

I hung out with my cousin that weekend...we both went out to the building site first. She wanted to see what I had been working on all this while and I wanted to make sure the pumps were installed.
“Nice work you’ve done here”
“Thanks, I should be out of your hair by next week-ish”
“Na wa o..will miss you jarey”
“Yeah yeah”
“Hey, I almost forgot…a friend of mine, we went to secondary school together, she called me last weekend that she’s been transferred here by her office, a communications company”
“..and her name is??” I asked, wrinkling my forehead.
“Nancy..you know her?”
"Oh jeeez..!!"

I got in early on Monday to make sure everything was working right…I just HATE it when the advance staff comes to take over their building before I’m out of there...they complain about EVERYTHING…I want a socket here…My desk will be here, can I have a light point over it?...Do we have to share bathrooms with the HOD?...Can we have more power outlets in the kitchen…Can this window be widened??
Sheesh…if I remained here long enough, the ass-wipes will be asking for jacuzzi’s in their offices…
I don’t really know why, but I kept an eye out for Ms. Nancy…the place was getting busy with staffers sorting out their furniture and stuff. I spotted her waving at me from amidst her “people”, and she gave me a thumbs-up sign…I guess she knows the pumps are working now. I went off to my office to sort out my hand-over reports..

Thursday: I was supposed to be back in the Lagos office by Friday morning and I was waiting for the driver to come take me to the airport today. I had confirmed my flight for 4:30pm and called him, asking him to come pick me up by 1:30pm..it would take a two and a half hour speed drive to the airport and it was still 11:30am, so I still had a couple of hours to burn. I decided to stroll around the site one last time before I leave, maybe take a few final “after” pictures. Again, I don’t really know why, but I ended up in Ms. Nancy’s office. They were having an early lunch, or celebrating their new offices…a bunch of food packs were on a table at one corner of the office.
“Hey, Obi…you hungry? Join us na”
“Sure...why not?”
I grabbed a food-pack and a coke, then sat in her “visitors’” chair and we ended up talking for a while..about the building, about my cousin, her secondary school, varsity, MY secondary school and varsity…she turned out not to be such a hard-nosed bitch after all. The driver finally showed up at about 1:00pm and waited in the car downstairs. I sent him a food pack down to keep him busy. As I was about to leave Nancy, I leaned forward to plant a kiss on her cheek..I noticed she moved her head away just a tad, but stilled allowed the kiss..hmmmm..

Plane touched down in Lagos about 5:45pm...flight was a bit rough, but I guess around here these days, any flight that lands in one piece was a good one. I had just switched my phone on when a text message came in..
“Did u hav to kiss me in front of my workers? I dont tink dat was necessary, did u? Hope u had a safe trip– Nancy”
Hmph, drama…well, at least now I had her number (it hit me just then that I forgot to ask her for it...how the heck did she get mine?)
Stressed out with Lagos traffic and the “no light” wahala when I got home, I had almost forgotten about her till just after midnight. Bored with writing my report, I wondered if it was too ungodly an hour to be calling her…decided on sending a text..
“Sorry if I embarrassed u in front of ur subordinates..wasnt my intention. Got back 2 Lag ok. Thanx 4 d rice”
Reply came in half a minute later
“Dats ok..glad u got home safe”
Hmmm….a fellow night owl..cool..!!

Anyway, what followed was about 2-3 months of all-day text messages and funny/generic emails, late night hours long calls, phone sex..and this was before happy-hour was invented (hey, she worked with a cell-phone service company, they get free air-time) etc.

She called quite early one Saturday morning...
“Hey, Obi…a colleague of mine is on leave in Lagos…could you text me your address so I can send it to her. I gave her a something for you, she needs to know where she can drop it off”
“Er..sure”
The cute chick lying next to me groaned as she turned to face me..
“Who was that?", she whispered sleepily.
“Friend…no biggie”
“Shit..it’s still dark…wake me up at 7:00 jo..I’ve got lectures today”
“Sure”
Mandy was a “friend”…met her a few years earlier, and she went to Varsity close to where I lived. She had come over to hang out for the weekend. I sauntered off to the living room to watch early Saturday morning cartoons (at least we had light now; I better enjoy it while it lasts). Slumped on the couch and sent off the text to Nancy.
Woke Mandy up at 7:15, made her breakfast while she showered, and she later left for campus. It was almost noon while I was taking a shower when Nancy’s call came in..
“Hi Obi..my friend’s having a little trouble finding your place, I’m gonna ask her to call you now, so you can you give her directions..??”
“Yeah..sure”
Her friend called me thirty seconds later (she seemed to be giggling a tad too much). I asked her to hand her phone over to the cab-driver and I gave him directions. It wasn’t till I hung up that it occurred to me that Nancy might actually be with her in the car…and they were both on their way to my place!!
They arrived at my door about 15 minutes later, with Nancy carrying a suitcase (Uh-oh!)
“SURPRIIIISE!!”
“Yeah right” I thought…“Heeeey, welcome to Lagos” I said.
We all hung out at my place for a while…gisting and laughing…for about an hour before seeing her friend off.

We were hardly through the door when we got back before we practically went at each other like starved pit-bulls…she was every inch as crazy as I imagined and more.
Second time around was less frenzied…but just as mind-blowing, she was quite the gymnast.
Doorbell rang about 3 hours later (Shit...I had forgotten about Mandy!!)
Long story short…plenty of drama that night with Mandy throwing a SERIOUS tantrum and me having to do a suicide watch over her all night, and then Nancy having a girl-talk with her at 5am in the morning about the “unreliability of men” and the “need NOT to take any of them seriously” (What the heck…was THAT supposed to be helping??)...I mean, I sat there and watched them have a conversation about me like I wasn’t even in the room…weird!!

I had gone back to Energy city about 3 months later to see about starting phase 2 of the building project. Not surprisingly I stayed at Nancy’s place this time, and not at the hotel. I stayed only one night though.
We had gone back to phone calls...emails and text messages for more than another year, and it seemed like the long-distance relationship syndrome was taking effect. No expectations, no promises, no nothing (drama free, just like I preferred it).

Then one night she called me and asked if I was driving…

I said yes, I was still on my way home from work. She said she’d call me again later that night and hung up.
That was strange…she wasn’t sounding like her usual cheery self.
She called again at about 10:30pm..
“Hey Nancy…yeah, I’m home. Are you ok?”
“No…not really...was at my doctor’s a couple of weeks ago”
“Whoa…what’s wrong?”
It turned out that she was supposed to have a surgical procedure done, and had taken preliminary blood tests 2 weeks earlier which turned up showing that she was HIV positive…she confirmed it a week later and decided to call and tell me about it…Now THAT was a total mind-fuck for me. Torn between having to console her about the discovery, asking her about the up-coming surgery, and worrying about whether I was also infected, I only managed to fumble through my words on the phone. I could hardly put a coherent thought together, much less a sentence. The rest of our conversation was more of a blur…all I could hear was the blood pounding in my head.
She seemed to sense the turmoil I was going through at the time and started telling me words I would later hear almost verbatim from a counselor a week later. She encouraged me not to space out, to go take a test and take it from there. Needless to say, there was NO sleep for me that night.

First thing was to get a test done, right? Shit..I had NEVER had an HIV test done before...I know where they had a clinic close to a pal’s place at Yaba, but I’ve never been in there before.. it took me 2 days and 3 visits to the clinic before I could work up the nerve to walk through the door. I tried to look cheerful as I approached the nurse. Told her what I came for and she gave me a 2-page form to fill. Then had a counseling session…the counselor seemed to have assumed I already tested positive…and advised me on “appropriate behaviour”, diet, exercise and attitude “in case I tested positive”. Then it was off to the little room..a nurse came to take a blood sample from my arm. She seemed to be trying not to look me straight in the eye…quite disconcerting, that.
“Ok..that’s it”, said the counselor when I went back to her office, cotton swab on the needle entry point. “The results should be ready in a couple of days, you can come back then to pick it up”.
I said my thanks and stepped out into the street. Everything was different from then on. Work, play, eating, sleeping…nothing felt the same anymore.
It took me another week to finally go down to the clinic again….

...........................................................................................................

“Mr. Obi Eze?”
“Yes?”
The nurse had finally come back to the reception…
“This way sir”
She led me back to the counselor’s office…who waited till the receptionist left before addressing me. I noticed my pulse had become fast, heavy thuds in my ears..
“Mr. Obi, I wont mince words with you sir, your results are out and they don’t look too good. I’m afraid it came back positive”
I almost didn’t hear the words she said…my heart was pounding so loud in my ears, I felt it was going to explode right there...the room seemed to sway a bit. My forehead became instantly wet.
“Are you sure”, I said when I finally trusted myself to speak; I couldn’t even recognize my own voice…
“We triple-check these things, sir..it’s totally fool-proof”
She then went on to repeat most of what she said in the earlier counseling sessions, consoling me as best she could (or rather, as best her training could afford her)…I didn’t catch most of what she was saying, anyway…it was all a blur.
“Do you have any idea how you could have been infected”
I thought about Nancy then, but just shook my head…still in shock
“Have you had any intimate contact with anyone in the last 3 months?”
Still all I could do was shake my head. She didn’t seem convinced though…I’m sure she thought I wasn’t even listening to her (she was right).
“You might have to call anyone whom you feel you might have infected, and tell them to get tested…even if it’s just a routine test”
I nodded this time, looking at the floor…

She wrote out prescription drugs, re-emphasising the need for proper diet and exercise.
“There’s still life Mr. Obi…and so there’s still hope, you HAVE to live your life as carefully as you can from now on... Come back in another month for some more tests and evaluations, and we’ll see..ok?”
She said a few more practiced words of encouragement and even saw me to the door (I guess that was a gesture reserved for the VIP patients).
I stopped at the receptionist’s to make an appointment for the next month. Funny...she no longer seemed as cheery as she was when I came in.
The sun was bright when I stepped onto the street…people were walking along without cares in the world, kids playing on the street. It would have been a perfect day…if only..if only…
Everything was different now, plans I had might have to change, promises I made to people…things I wanted to do…ALL that has to change now.
“Damn”, I thought, as I crossed the street to where I parked.

Stopping at a phone card shop on my way home, I loaded my phone with air-time.
I had a few long calls to make…

My thoughts: The above piece, titled 'HIV+...so what next..??' was written by today's featured author Obi Eze








Sunday, 20 May 2018

Amazing advice for ALL generation— written in 1997 by Mary Schmich,

Hi, 

I hope you are very well. :-)






Its been a while I shared anything here. Life happened and is still happening. Might share a bit if motivated or....might close it, if not.

Lately, I  have been thinking about how life simply does not come with a manual, and somehow I remembered these lyrics and it contains some valuable advice.

They are from a famous essay — written in 1997 by Mary Schmich, a columnist with the Chicago Tribune, I hope this means something to you, in whatever stage you may be, in your journey in life.
.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the class of '97.
Wear sunscreen.
If I could offer you only one tip for the future, sunscreen would be it.The long term benefits of sunscreen have been proved by scientists, whereas the rest of my advice has no basis more reliable than my own meandering experience...


I will dispense this advice now. Be careful whose advice you buy, but, be patient with those who supply it. Advice is a form of nostalgia, dispensing it is a way of fishing the past from the disposal, wiping it off, painting over the ugly parts and recycling it for more than it's worth.

Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded.
But trust me, in 20 years you'll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can't grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked...


You're not as fat as you Imagine.
Don't worry about the future; or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubblegum.
The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind.
The kind that blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday.


Do one thing everyday that scares you.
Sing.
Don't be reckless with other people's hearts, don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.
Floss.

Don't waste your time on jealousy;
Sometimes you're ahead,
Sometimes You're behind.
The race is long, and in the end, it's only with yourself.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults;
If you Succeed in doing this, tell me how.

Keep your old love letters, throw away your old bank statements.
Stretch.

Don't feel guilty if you don't know what you want to do with yourLife.
The most interesting people I know didn't know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don't.


Get plenty of calcium.

Be kind to your knees, you'll miss them when they're gone.

Maybe you'll marry, maybe you won't, maybe you'll have children, maybe you won't, maybe you'll divorce at 40, maybe you'll dance the funky chicken on your 75th wedding anniversary.
Whatever you do, don't Congratulate yourself too much or berate yourself either.
Your choices are half chance, so are everybody else's.

Enjoy your body, Use it every way you can... Don't be afraid of it, or what other people Think of it,
It's the greatest instrument you'll ever own.


Dance
... even if you have nowhere to do it but in your own living room.
Read the directions, even if you don't follow them.
Do NOT read beauty magazines, they will only make you feel ugly.


Get to know your parents, you never know when they'll be gone for good.
Be nice to your siblings;
They are the best link to your past and the people most likely to stick with you in the future.

Understand that friends come and go, but for the precious few you should hold on.
Work hard to bridge the gaps in geography and lifestyle because the older you get, the more you need the people you knew when you were young.



Travel.
Accept certain inalienable truths, prices will rise, politicians will Philander, you too will get old, and when you do you'll fantasize that when you were young prices were reasonable, politicians were noble and children respected their elders.
Respect your elders.

Don't expect anyone else to support you.
Maybe you have a trust fund, Maybe you have a wealthy spouse; but you never know when either one might run out.

Don't mess too much with your hair, or by the time you're 40, it will look 85.

But trust me on the sunscreen...

Brother and sister together we'll make it through
Someday your spirit will take you and guide you there
I know you've been hurting, but I've been waiting to be there
For you. And I'll be there, just tell me now, whenever I can.
Everybody's free.





Reference: Baz Lurhman   
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xavFb4WH7o0

Very powerful..even 21yrs after it was published!! But thats my opinion, did it make any sense to you? 

Thanks for reading, :-)
Mena



Monday, 20 June 2016

THINGS TO DO WHEN YOUR SPOUSE UNEXPECTEDLY DIES

Hello and Welcome,

I hope you are very well. I have not blogged in a while and I apologise, there has been so many changes to adjust to and unplanned events kept coming up.

Do pardon me from regular blogging as I am still adjusting, however I do this for a dear sister and friend who has asked us to share, she recently lost her husband and has some tips. She is African American but some of her lessons may actually help some of us.

Death is such a forbidden topic especially in Nigeria, perhaps Africa, and yet even after the death of a loved one, the family left behind have to survive through the shock, the changes and adjustments. 

                           

Enough with my ramblings here is what bougieblackgirl has to say on sudden unexpected bereavement;

I just lost my wonderful husband. my husband of 14 years, Joseph, our family’s provider and protector died from a brain aneurysm last week. He was only 34 years old.
Let me be honest with you, I’m devastated, in shock and in some form of denial. When someone called me a widow I was heartbroken. How am I writing? Well writing for you brings me solace.
You see right before he died, everything seemed so normal. We dropped the kids off at school, I went food shopping and we did our normal routine. Within hours he was found unconscious and later declared brain-dead. I asked myself if I was there would he had survived. Why I didn’t see the signs? What could have I done differently? Unfortunately, there was nothing no one could’ve done. Even after knowing all that, I’m still questioning myself.
How am I dealing? It’s been rough. I can’t sleep at night. I force myself to eat and I cry almost every time I’m reminded that he’s gone. The irony is he’s all I want to talk about. It’s hard living in this house because everything in our bedroom is exactly where he left it before he died. I kept it that way. I can’t imagine moving his things. His bottle of water is on his end table. His gum is on his side of our dresser. He’d prepared his work clothes to be taken to the dry cleaners and they’re right where he left them. He was an old school military man raised by old school folks. You know how we military people are. Everything had to be freshly starched.



Even though I’m grieving, I learned so much from this ordeal.
There are also many important steps we must take after a spouse dies. If you ever have to go through this nightmare or you want to prepare for when it happens (because we all die) here is what I need you to do…
1. Lean on your support system. You’ll need them now more than ever for advice, protection and a shoulder to cry on.
2. Find all of your legal documents. This includes birth certificates, social security cards, a DD214 if they were in the military; insurance policies, etc. (Please put them in a safe place so that everyone knows where everything is.)
3. Contact your spouse’s creditors. Some credit card/loan companies have insurance to cover your loved ones debt if they die. We all die so ask your creditors if you can sign up for it and take it. You don’t want you or your loved ones to have the added burden of debt after a spouse’s death.
4. Contact your spouse’s bank to have the funds transferred over to you, if you don’t have a joint account. If your spouse has a debt with the bank, the bank can seize your spouse’s assets to clear up the debt. If they have a debt, contact an attorney before informing the bank. One more thing! Make sure your spouse lists you as the beneficiary on their accounts. If they haven’t, do it NOW.  My hubby had his account before he married me.  I am lucky. Some people aren’t when it comes to death and money. If you aren’t the beneficiary, his other family may contest it. To protect you and your spouse, have them change it.
5. Create a budget to track spending and stick to it. Include bills and money coming in.
6. Find out what bills were paid, what bills are due and pay them. This includes car notes, insurance payments, utility bills, etc. I’ve just had to pay tons of bills including part of my husband’s funeral costs.
7. Cancel your spouse’s drivers license to prevent ID fraud. There are vultures out there. To prevent being a victim of identity theft, contact your state licensing agency.
8. Contact your spouse’s employer and old employers for insurance policies, pensions and 401ks to begin the beneficiary process. When you contact your job’s HR department, ask how long you will keep your spouse’s healthcare. Also ask about their last paycheck and ask how you can begin the claim process. You will also get access to their retirement, if they have one.  (We all die so get a will, GET LIFE INSURANCE and save for retirement!)
9. If your spouse is an organ donor like mine was, make sure you understand what it means. You don’t have to do it. If you do, I applaud you. Get the representative of the donor organization explain in full detail what they are taking and the condition your spouse will be left in. I had a witness (his mom) in the room with me.
10. When we picked out a funeral home we asked for recommendations from family members. Ask around! Our family made an excellent choice. We went with a Black owned funeral home that did a spectacular job. When meeting with the funeral director they will ask you if you want a full funeral with burial, cremation with or without a service, etc.  Funerals are expensive.  Here is a tip. Let them know up front you only have a set amount of money to pay for the funeral. I negotiated prices with the funeral home. You can too. Stick to your budget and don’t spend more than you can. Some relatives will pressure you to spend more, but they aren’t paying for the funeral services. You are! Lovingly ignore them. I’ve had relatives who spent in the five-figure range for another relative’s funeral. Don’t do it!
11. Once you’ve set the dates with the funeral home for your spouse’s service and  set up the burial:
  • Contact the place of service if it is not at the funeral home.
  • Contact the funeral participants and confirm their attendance.
  • Create a program. You can have the funeral home design it or you can design it yourself. If you do design it, you will save hundreds of dollars. That’s what I did. I am self-taught in Photoshop, Indesign, etc.  I made the program just the way my hubby would want it. You can also get pre-made pamphlets designs. All I paid for was the printing. The funeral home will charge you for the number of pages printed in each program.
  • Ask yourself will there be a repass? If so, are you using a caterer? If you need to save money, let family cook or have everyone bring a dish.  Do what works for you.
  • Get the word out about the funeral and burial date and time. Since my hubby was young and his friends were online, I used social media using images expressing the date and time of his funeral. If the person is older go where your spouse’s friends are.
12. Next you will have to pick out an outfit for your spouse. Some funeral homes will sell you one. My hubby was a straight suit and tie guy so I supplied them with a white tee-shirt, black socks, a complete suit, underwear and tie. After dressing your spouse they will ask you to view your spouse before the funeral. Please have someone there with you when you do this. I had my mother-in-law, my sister and my brother-in-law there. It is incredibly jarring to see your loved one in a casket. I will be honest. It broke my heart because I had to face the realization my husband wasn’t coming back. I miss him so much.
13. Once the funeral is over, get multiple death certificates from the funeral home.  You need this document for #3 and #8 during the claim process.
14. Don’t forget to send out thank you cards. This is simple etiquette. I’m doing mine now. Some funeral homes offer them for free. Use them.
15. Go to benefits.gov to see what government benefits you are and your children (if you have any) are entitled to after a spouse dies. Make sure you have your family’s social security numbers, birth certificates and your proof of your marriage. You’ll need them to go through with federal survivor benefits.
16. Ignore the pressure to give away your spouse’s items before you are ready. My hubby died a few days ago and I still haven’t moved his stuff. Yes, people have asked for his things, but I told them to wait.
17. Get a lawyer if you need one. They are there to protect you.
18. Grieve in your own way and seek counseling. My kids and I start counseling next month. Do it.
19. Finally live your life. Life is so short. If something or someone isn’t making you happy change your situation. We take life for granted when it is really a precious gift.
These past few weeks have been the hardest in my life. There are days when I’m too tired to do anything and there are nights where all I want to do is cry. I know things will get better.My husband’s death has devastated to my sons. They cope in their own ways. My oldest is like me, reserved. He asks questions and then goes back to his space. My youngest is hurt, but needs to be around people who love us. We’re lucky. My husband has an amazing family and a group of friends and we have you who are helping us get through this trying time.


                



I’m not done yet. I have one more thing to tell you. People will probably get mad at me, but I want you to focus on the one word I used throughout this post. What was the one word I used over and over? The word was spouse. Now just imagine if I was just a girlfriend after 14 years of co-habitating?  I wouldn’t have been able to make the medical decisions or even have access to his room before he died. I wouldn’t have had access to our car or even have a legal right to stay in our home. I wouldn’t have had a legal say in his funeral arrangements.  I’d be at the mercy of his family. Luckily they aren’t like that, however, like I said before, some people are. Just imagine. I’d be in probate for my sons’ inheritance. That can take months and even years depending upon who contests it. Who wins? The lawyers! So before people say marriage is just a piece of paper, I’m proof that is so much more. Look, marriage ain’t for everyone but it’s easier when you are dealing with the passing of a spouse.
Please consider protecting your family and yourself. Get insurance and a will, keep your documents in a secure place and make sure your beneficiary information is up to date.  Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts, prayers and support. I love you so much!!!
The only limit you have is the one you have is the one you have placed on yourself. Think and be limitless.

Bougie Black Girl 

Mena says: This is a very strong minded, opinionated beautiful friend and even in her grief she still cares for others by sharing this in her blog (in reference within this blog) and allowing for it to to be shared. This is the 5th unexpected death news I have heard so far and each of them, have families still trying to adjust to the new situation. It is not easy! Please visit her blog and if you want to, kindly support in what way you can. May J's (BBG's hubby) soul RIP and may God grant the survivors favour, Grace and peace to go through this difficult period. Amen 

Friday, 22 January 2016

MAN WRITES REASONS WHY MEN SHOULD NOT WASTE THEIR TIME DATING SINGLE MOTHERS




(If you’re a single mother, you won’t like this..:-)) An American author named Shawn James this week wrote a controversial essay titled ‘Why Real Men Avoid Single Mothers’ – detailing 15 reasons why men should not date single mothers. It’s got people talking.

1. Never Available. A single Mother’s schedule is never open. Single mothers are the kind of women to always cancel dates at the last minute. Something always gets in the way of a man spending time with her. It’s hard to have a relationship with her because she’s never there.
2. YOU are NOT a priority. Usually in a relationship the man winds up DEAD LAST. Behind, her kids, her job, the car, the kitchen sink, the stopped up toilet. Even the dog gets more attention and affection than a man involved with a single mother. Any man who gets involved with a single mother winds up a fifth stringer in a relationship. And he rarely ever gets called up to play.
3. Thinks the world revolves around HER and ONLY HER. A single mother is one of the biggest narcissists on the dating scene. She often thinks that a man has to drop everything in his life to be part of hers and her kids. They’re so selfish they don’t think a man has needs, wants or a life of his own. He’s just supposed to be there to give her everything she wants in life.
4. Emotionally Unavailable- Most Single mothers cannot form an intimate connection with a man because her feelings are invested in other people. Usually her primary focus is on her children.
In addition to dedicating herself to her children, most single mothers have given their hearts to someone else- their children’s father. And those feelings she still has for him will always prevent her from getting closer to you. There will always be some distance between a single mother and the new man in her life.
5. The ex/ Baby Daddy is ALWAYS THERE. A man just doesn’t deal with a single mother. He deals with her ex or her baby daddy as well. And this guy is always hovering around like a helicopter looking to c*ckblock you. Some of these guys still think they have a shot at getting back with her. Others just don’t want to see her happy. A lot of these dudes want to f!ght over her.
Seriously, it’s a game they’re playing with each other. And they’ll be playing that game with each other until their children turn 18 or 21. Head for the exit. It’s just not worth dealing with this fool and his insecure bullshyt.
6. The kids are working AGAINST YOU When dealing with a single mother you also deal with Kids. Kids who still in their little heart of hearts think that Dad will come back and love them.
Seriously, GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE.
7. Those kids will HATE YOU. They will act out to keep you from getting closer to mommy. They will make accusations against you to get you in trouble. Again, it’s just not worth dealing with the bullsh*t to get with a female. There are four billion women in the world. You can find a quality female who doesn’t carry all this baggage or give you this much grief.
8. Entitled attitude Single mothers think because she had a baby out of wedlock the world owes her EVERYTHING. And she thinks she’s the one who deserves the best. Even though she’s usually collecting welfare, food stamps, or child support, in eyes she’s still supposed to be treated like she’s a queen because she popped a kid out of her v*gina.
In their deluded distorted vision of the world Men are still supposed to take her out to the finest restaurants and buy them lots of expensive stuff. And he’s supposed to take care of her kids too, buying them whatever they want while taking a blind eye to their bad behavior.
9. Distorted self-image Single mothers still thinks she’s as sexy like she was before she had a baby. Only she doesn’t understand how her body has changed. In some cases for the worse.
Single mothers are the type to try to squeeze themselves into sexy outfits like low-rise jeans and cropped T-shirts to show off their belly button, not seeing the muffin top and stretch marks squeezing out over the top of their pants. They’re the type to stuff themselves into slinky spandex dresses, (not aware of that gut, and the cellulite on their asses) and head out to the club. She thinks men are supposed to run up on her offering to buy her drinks. And because a few thirsty simps step to her, she thinks she’s still got it. But the only people who wants what she has to offer are scavengers at the bottom of the social scene.
10. Always the victim. Single Mothers never take responsibility for their actions. The situation they’re in is always the fault of that “no good man”, “these damn kids” their mother or someone else. They never take any time to do any self-examination or make any efforts to change their lives. They’re still looking for some Rich Incredibly Handsome Man™ to put on a cape and play Captain Save-A-Hoe™, sweep her off her feet and take her out of the troubling situation she helped make.
11. Jekyll & Hyde Personality. A single mother will be the sweetest thing when a man first dates her, but a few months into a relationship she turns into a NUTJOB. A man will usually see glimpses of this when she chastises her kids when he first meets them. During that meeting she’ll yell at them and bully them to get them to act right while praising a man like he’s an angel.
It’s all an act. Heaven will turn into Hell around the six month mark.
Once a single mother gets a man settled into her life it’s not common for her to start verbally abusing him and mocking him as she projects all that pent-up rage from those previous failed relationships onto him. And it’s usually around this point that most men realize why this woman is single and why it’s time for him to hit the exit door.
12. Drama Queen. Because a single mother always sees herself as a victim of society, she’s always talking about her problems. And she always has a new trouble to bring everyone. There’s never a good day in the life of a single mother because there’s always some new crisis about to emerge in her life.
The reason single mothers need the drama is because it makes them feel important. It makes people pay attention to them. And when Captain-Save-A-Hoe™ is doting on them trying to solve their problems it makes them feel an artificial sense of value. They need that value to deflects people’s attention from how pathetic their lives actually are.
Manipulative In most cases, a single mother has no interest in a man she’s dating. In a lot of cases she’s just using a guy as a pawn.
13. In most cases she’s dating to make her Baby Baddy jealous. Deep down in her heart of hearts she believes that if she’s seen with someone else who sees her as valuable that he’ll see her as valuable and take her back.
In other cases when she’s not trying to get a rise out of Baby Daddy she’s playing the sympathy card™ using a guy to get gifts, free dinners and free drinks out of him. To a single mother, The men in her lives are just human ATM machines where she whispers a sweet nothing in his ear like a PIN number and money comes out of his wallet.
And because she’s a drama queen who loves to play the victim, the Single mother plays to men’s emotions to get them to react in the way she wants. It’s not common for a single mother to tell her man man about her baby daddy so he can go f!ght him. Or pit two baby daddies against each other. Many a man has wound up either dead or in prison because a single Mother played the victim card™.
14. Dishonest. A single mother is a LIAR. It’s how she gets what she wants. It’s how she manipulates people. It’s how she takes care of her kids. It’s how she survives in this world.
Single mothers lie. And they LIE ALL THE TIME. They lie to men about their age, their height, their weight, how many kids they have, the job they do.
On top of the lies they tell to others They lie to themselves. They lie about about how beautiful they are. They lie telling themselves they’re still a catch. They lie telling themselves they still have a chance with a good man. They lie telling themselves that their lives will be happily ever after one day.
The horrible truth is without those lies most of those single mothers would realize how pathetic their lives are. How they have no options in the dating scene. That they’re at the bottom of the barrel in the dating scene and the only men who want them are pathetic Manginas and thirsty Simps.
15. Carries Baggage, baggage and more baggage A single mother has more issues than Time and Newsweek combined. And when she’s looking for a man, she’s not looking for an equal caring partner. She’s looking for a Pullman Porter™ to take care of her kids, and clean up her messes with her childrens’ father. Brothers, don’t let yourself get sized up for the white jacket and the bow tie!
Anyway, dealing with a single mother is like walking through a minefield. After several months of being involved with her, it leaves a man anxious and tense because he doesn’t know where to step that won’t lead to an explosion that k!lls him.
That’s why Real Men avoid single mothers like disease.
Real men understand life is too short to put up with someone’s drama and their emotional baggage. We only have a limited time on God’s Earth and who wants to spend it being a Pullman Porter cleaning up someone else’s messes. As I stated before in a previous blog, let that woman take her run over Jimmy Choos and clean up her own mess. She made her bed, now let her lie in the wet spot.
Don’t date single mothers and don’t waste your time with them. There are four billion women in this world. If you’re patient, you’ll find a good one.

Follow original debate here