Letter to my unborn child(Ayomide)

Dear Ayomide,
My joy, my love, my everything. I miss you. I miss the way you used to kick me and wear me out and give me sleepless nights and aches and pains.

Ayomide, I prayed for you, ached for you, willed you to come and you heard me. You were finally here! Our joy, mine and your father’s. In my belly, kicking, tossing and turning.

I could see you in my head, saying your first words, taking your first steps, going off to preschool, graduating from college, getting married with daddy sobbing like a baby; my cute little girl with curly, soft hair like mine and perfectly set eyes like her father’s.

I could feel you. Feel you hugging me, feel your presence in all my happy moments,feel the pulsating, overwhelming love I had for you.

You were mine, finally. Until you dripped down my legs, a bloody mess for the third time.

Now white hospital walls is all I see. Pain and emptiness in my belly and my heart are all I feel.

Why is it that you don’t want to stay? Do you think I’ll be a bad mother? I promise you I won’t if you only give me a chance. Or it that God is punishing me? For what exactly? Is He just toying with my emotions, dangling you in front of me and then snatching you away when I reach out to touch you? Showing me that I’m nothing but His puppet? Or is it the devil that’s afflicting me and God’s just there watching, arms folded?

Ayomide, come back to me. Please. And stay this time. Stay.

Your mother.

I’ve been wanting to write this for a while but I kept forgetting and then something somewhat similar happened to someone I know and I remembered. It’s pretty short and I don’t know if I was able to quite capture the emotion but I hope you enjoy.


Alhaji Gafar

Lying there, Alhaji Gafar could almost see his father’s stern face, hear his father’s deep voice telling him “Gafar, you have to grow up to be an upright man. Always do what is right no matter what it costs you. Be a good man. This is what Allah expects of us”. Alhaji Gafar had spent his childhood and teenage years trying to be good because it was what Allah expected him to be. As he grew older and wiser, he began to feel the joy of being good, the love for people and he realized that he shouldn’t be good thoughtlessly only because Allah expected it of him, he should be good because there was joy in being good, because it was good to be good and it felt good to be good. So Alhaji Gafar, armed with this epiphany, was the very definition of all that is good and upright.

When he was approached with the government job, he was reluctant because he knew that most people that held government jobs were deceitful,evil,greedy and had hands stained with the blood of many. But Alhaji Gafar told himself he would be different and he would try to bring positive change so he took the job. He didn’t care that many powerful men screamed death threats at him when he refused the cheques they pressed into his palm to change figures somewhere, put their names somewhere or remove someone they didn’t like from a job. He never embezzled money, never gave or received bribes, never used his position to oppress others.

And so lying here on the cold ground in a pool of blood, the knife of revenge sticking out of his belly, life seeping out of him and death breathing harshly on the back of his neck, he wondered if he should have been different but he knew he had led a life he,his father and Allah were proud of. He closed his eyes and let death take him by the hand and lead him away from this world where good was bad.

Hi guys. I know it’s very easy to be bad and extremely difficult to be good but let’s all try as much as we can to do the right thing(Isn’t it a little funny that I’m saying this after the good guy died. LOL). Happy Democracy day Nigeria! May God give us more and more good people in the government with each passing year.

June 3rd

I’m featured on The Rambling Newt! Please check it out guys!

Ramblings of the Newt

Today. We have Jennifer, gracing our ‘eyes’. Enjoy.

I check my watch for the umpteenth time. It’s 11:59 so I just watch the second hand make its way around the circle. 12:00! Finally! Like clockwork, my phone rings. No need to look at the screen for caller ID, I know it’s you; you always call first. “Hi baby” I coo into the phone. You proceed to sing me “happy birthday” with me smiling like a fool and wiping a couple of tear drops.
I always told you that you were an angel in human form; not only because of how special you are, but because of your voice that would put the birds, the American Idol contestants and a few angels, dare I say, to shame. Your singing ends and you say “Happy birthday baby! You are the light, the love and the joy of my life and I’m…

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