Receiving Flowers And All The Benefits


The other day I found this on Instagram.

Credit: @blommavase on Instagram
Credit: @blommavase on Instagram

I’m very upset. Because I have never received flowers before.


You may be wondering why I’m turning red in the face because of flowers. It is because a few days ago, I saw dried flowers used as a prop at a photo shoot. And after reading much about flowers and appreciating them from afar, it was a sore reminder that I was missing out.

Flowers are not forever, but how I wish dearly and look forward to receiving them. I’ll place them in a jar of water and put it where I can see it as often as possible. Afterward, I will dry them and press them within the pages of a book. Yes, I’m a hopeless romantic.

The longer I wait for that elusive someone to give me flowers, the more likely it is that my anxiety level rises. I mean who doesn’t like receiving gifts, however receiving flowers is a whole new level. The only remedy is to order flowers for me by myself and act surprised when it comes. That would be hilarious but I don’t want to miss out. You may think it is such a little thing but receiving flowers or having them around does amazing things to your health.

Photo credit: Pinterest

The good news is I have received a plant before from my friend Noah (I can’t find where I saved the pictures).

It was an Aloe Vera bush with the most beautiful coat of green I have ever seen (yes, I’m biased). I called my plant Catherina, and my mood honestly improved when I got her.
I felt all loving and nurturing like a mother and had this connection with mother earth. I had been granted the responsibility of watching over life and witnessing its transforming power and yes, I was a bit conceited😂. So, I want flowers as soon as possible (even though they won’t last for long).

PS My Catherina (aloe vera bush) emaciated weeks after staying with me. I had to return her to Noah before she returned to the earth. I guess I need to learn how to take care of plants first.😓

Photo credit: Pexel

Studies have shown that flowers not only appeal to our senses of sight and smell but there are also tremendous health benefits to be had from receiving flowers.

To purify the air

The basic science that we all know is that humans inhale oxygen and exhale carbon dioxide. Plants require carbon dioxide for photosynthesis, and in turn, they give back oxygen. Our leafy neighbors also help to reduce dust particles which is a great help to tackle respiratory problems. When next you receive flowers and you keep them in your room, know that the air just a lot cleaner.

Get your glow on

Ever feel gloomy and down, and everywhere you look has a gray cast? That moment right there is when receiving flowers would make all the difference. Well, studies have shown that flowers can add the dash of color that you need to brighten up your day. You BLOOM and GLOW, and open up to positive vibes and energies. When women receive flowers, it improves their mood and gives them that much-needed feeling of being cared for and loved. The same goes for men. Receiving flowers induces warmth and leaves you feeling like cotton candy inside.

Improve your mental health

Flowers help to improve your emotional balance, keeping you on the sunny side of the spectrum. This is great because you get to tick off depression and anxiety from your list, and your mental health improves tremendously – that bottle of Xanax will stay untouched in the cabinet – especially when you are receiving flowers from the ones you love. Lavender and Jasmine are known to reduce stress, and Chamomile, commonly taken as a tea is notorious for its anti-anxiety effects. I guess you can say that flowers are all-natural anti-depressants.

Sian Wild says, “Flowers are proven to help reduce recovery time. Although flowers are no longer permitted in hospitals, if someone is ill or recuperating at home, a thoughtful bunch of blooms can generate a sense of wellbeing. Blood pressure and heart rate levels will be reduced.” Flowers and good health are related.

In my previous post, I talked about how little things can make a big difference, and the act of giving and receiving flowers is one of such little things. It conveys emotions that do not require words, puts a smile on people’s faces, and remember that it can improve poor health.

Now you know why I want to receive flowers and why you should too. If you can, send your loved one flowers today, it would be a simple gesture that will go a long way to make their day sparkle.

  • What’s The Truth?
    Our perception of the truth can be distorted…but we’ll still choose to die on that hill.
  • Left Behind
    The abandoned church stood like a man awaiting trial.
  • How To Live Like A Hero
    And the pressure keeps growing and growing and growing until you feel like you are moments away from exploding.
  • The Story of How I Met Mo-Isu
    The apparition introduced himself as Mo.
  • Saturdays Are For Weddings
    It is an unspoken rule that Saturdays are for weddings in Nigeria.
Like, share, and comment about receiving flowers

Morning Musings


Today, like most days I find myself awake even before the sun is up. The sky is inky black and I look out my window as if anticipating a lover. The hours before sunrise is one of my favorite times of the day. I like to wake up early in the morning so that I can spend time with myself.

I like to imagine that every morning is like a painter painting over an old canvas. I like to tell myself that I’ve gotten another day to love and be loved. I like to think about all the things I would like to do and the process I’ll have to follow to get there. Another chance to give meaning to my existence and going after the things that I want. I like to watch the window like I’m waiting for my lover to jump in and carry me off farfarfaraway.

When I hear someone say that they are not a morning person, I just cannot relate. For me, I just love to be up early, to breathe deeply, and listen to my heart thud in my chest in a quiet rhythm. Also, it makes sense to revisit yesterday with fresh eyes, accepting that the past is in the past – I’m in the present. Those things that hurt me before are all behind me, and I do not have to be shackled by them. Morning comes with its uncertainties yet I would rather run into the future than dwell in the past.

I hope today stays fresh and wonderful to you too.❤️ Have a wonderful day and a happy weekend.

Photo credit: Rigozo

I love city lights. I took this picture in the early hours of the morning after it rained.

Thursday Talk Series| Live and Love Your Life By Noah

Holla fellas. It feels good to be back this thursday. I’d give you a high five, but you know that’s not possible. Hope you’ve had an awesome week so far. My biggest takeaway this week about life: We can evade reality, but we cannot evade the consequences of evading reality – Ayn Rand.

I’m beyond excited to have Noah here. I thought this introduction would be my easiest yet but mehn I thought wrong. When I first met Noah years ago in Kaduna, it was the breezy, hello and goodbye kinda meeting. He was the boy next door…very cliché, or so I thought (wrong, again). He’d acknowledge my presence with a smile, a nod, or a few words sometimes. However, there were days when he was withdrawn, I felt like condensed air or a fly on the wall. Because he sings beautifully, I suspect a tune plays in his head that shuts out the world. “Yeah, whatever, I don’t care, ” but I did, a lot more than I cared to admit. Maybe I wore him down with my charming/annoying self, or maybe he and his folks took me on as a charity case (I was the new crazy Lagos girl), but things got better. I’ve gotten to know Noah and it has been precious. He is one of my book/music plugs; we have almost the same taste to my surprise (hooked me up with Tomi Adeyemi, Kevin Kwan, Laini Taylor, The Chainsmokers, Calum Scott, etc, and I shared my pancakes with him). He’s a yogi (the serious ones unlike me), and he grows all kinds of plants (he gave me my first lovely aloe vera bush, Catherina, and still helps me with her because I’m not a good plant mom). He’s diligent, dependable, has a wicked sense of humor (aka bad mouth), and can sing every song that Adele has released. Let’s meet Noah☺️

Q. Can you introduce yourself and what you do?

A. My name is Noah Yari. I am a consultant with an organization that mentors entrepreneurs.

Noah Yari in his traditional attire
Noah Yari

Q. Why do you do your job, and would you rather do something else?

A. I do it because I’ve discovered that Ihave a passion for helping people. I get to meet and interact with such beautiful souls and help them rewrite their stories. It’s very fulfilling work. I love what I do. I wouldn’t change it.

Q. What have you accomplished so far that has made you proud?

A. First of all, I don’t believe that you have to accomplish something grand to be proud of yourself. I would say my biggest accomplishment is overcoming depression, self-doubt and anxiety. I used to be quite a basket-case. LOL

Q. What do you appreciate about yourself and what would you like to CHANGE?

A. What I appreciate most about myself is my will power. I’ve realised that I am my only problem and I am the only solution .

Q. Would you consider yourself an introvert or an extrovert and why?

A. I would describe myself as an introvert, mostly because everyone I know says so. I enjoy my own company but I also enjoy the company of others, especially when we are on the same altitude.

Q. If you win a million dollars, what would you do?

A. I’d buy my parents a new house. They deserve that much.

Q. I’ll What do you feel is the difference between living and existing?

A. I always answer this question with that old saying ‘the grass always looks greener on the other side’. I feel people who believe this are those who are just existing and waiting for life to happen to them. I believe that someone who is truly living won’t have the time to compare his ‘grass’ with others because they’ll be too busy watering theirs and making life happen. Don’t wait for life to happen to you, happen to life, and just enjoy the ride, that’s living.

Q. What was the last book you read and what can you say about it?

A. The Girl With The Louding Voice by Abi Daré. It’s a coming of age story about a poor girl with big dreams who refused to be a victim of her circumstances. What I love most about it is that it was written by a Nigerian and set in Nigeria. It was utterly refreshing.

I always answer this question with that old saying ‘the grass always looks greener on the other side’. I feel people who believe this are those who are just existing and waiting for life to happen to them… someone who is truly living won’t have the time to compare his ‘grass’ with others because they’ll be too busy watering theirs and making life happen. Don’t wait for life to happen to you, happen to life, and just enjoy the ride, that’s living.

Noah Yari on Thursday Talk Series

Q. Do you believe aliens exist, if yes, what are they like?

A. I believe aliens exist because the size of the universe is in comprehensively large. It can’t be just us. I don’t know what they’re like but if I were to guess, I’d say they’re not that different from us on the inside. By this I mean they have souls and can experience love, sorrow and pain. I believe they have brains too!

Q. What is that thing that you see as an obstacle which can stop you from having success?

A.The only thing that can stop me from achieving success is not a ‘thing’ really. It’s God. Only the Big Guy/Gal can stop me.

Thank you, Noah, for showing up and I didn’t even have to resort to threats😂 It’s a lazy Thursday guys and I could use a break. If you are still here, thank you so much for reading. Don’t forget to like, share and leave a comment.

You can follow Waking Dreams on Instagram

I promise❤️✌️🏾
  • What’s The Truth?
    Our perception of the truth can be distorted…but we’ll still choose to die on that hill.
  • Left Behind
    The abandoned church stood like a man awaiting trial.
  • How To Live Like A Hero
    And the pressure keeps growing and growing and growing until you feel like you are moments away from exploding.
  • The Story of How I Met Mo-Isu
    The apparition introduced himself as Mo.
  • Saturdays Are For Weddings
    It is an unspoken rule that Saturdays are for weddings in Nigeria.

Thursday Talk Series | How Bukkie Balances Life And Work


If this is your first time here, I’m excited to welcome you to Thursday Talk Series. And to all the ancients, I hope the week hasn’t been too rough for you. Sometimes we take for granted how normal and boring life can be, until excitement comes our way and makes a complete mess of things. It’s the reason why a lot of times during the week I had to consciously talk myself into being productive. I said to myself, “If it’s important to you, you’ll do it.” Several instances surfaced where I deviated from that mantra and I was faced with unforeseen consequences. So yeah, boing is nice too. On the upside, I have a couple of new projects due and I’m pretty pumped about them. One of them is setting up an Instagram account for my blog | @iamrigozo (I’m swimming in shark-infested waters) and hopefully I’m up for the challenge 😂😂. I’ll keep y’all posted.

Alright, today we have Oluwabukola (Bukkie) with us and she’s the kind of woman you’d want on your team (I know this because we go way back, and the first time we met, we played tag team to get hostel rooms and we won). Fun fact: She walks with a spring in her step like she’s listening to music, and is about to do a pirouette. Bukky shows dedication to the people she cares about and the things that matter to her, and all of her quiet determination is wrapped up in an outer bubble of refinement and chic. I’m certain she’s the type to plan and execute a heist, while she’s playing host to a crowded room of dignitaries, policing people’s fashion, and sipping champagne (it’s the imagery for me). I’m over the moon that I got to interview her🥰🥰

Q. Can you introduce yourself and what you do?

A. My name is Oluwabukola Adebo and I’m from the southwestern part of Nigeria, Ekiti to be precise. I am currently working for a financial organization where I am largely into client relations and management.

Adebo Oluwabukola

Q. Why do you do your job, and would you rather do something else?

A. Well, like I said earlier, I’m client-facing,  primarily involved in customer service, and my work relatively is meeting new people, understanding their issues, and proffering solutions; in general it’s relationship management at its core. Well, at the beginning of my career, I initially wanted to work in investment banking, I felt it went with the course I studied which was Economics but now it’s like every year I come up with something new to do. One thing that I’ve been interested in is fashion and décor. I love putting clothes together and creating beautiful spaces. Mostly I would like to be a successful businesswoman.

Q. What do you appreciate about yourself and what would you like to change?

A. Well, I’m grateful for the fact that I have come this far with work despite the many times I have quit in my head, and though each day seems like it’s tough, mentally I’ve grown tougher. Also, I’ve grown closer to my friends and built strong and long-lasting relationships over the years. I would like to break through my fear, because I feel like I could be so much more without it. Likewise, I’d like to stop procrastinating most of the things I have planned, and change it from DO IT LATER to DO IT NOW.

Q. If money was not relevant, what would you do all day?

A. I would most likely read a lot of books, travel and vlog about the places I’ve been to, probably write a bit and watch lots of sappy love movies. But honestly for me to live freely, I would need financial freedom, so at the end of the day money is still important.

Q. What do you feel you take for granted and how does it affect you?

A. Honestly, right now I cherish the things that I have but if I had to pick something I would say the new friends I’m getting close to. I’m terrible at returning missed calls so if you don’t know me well, you’ll take offense; some people couldn’t get past it. However, I’m making strides to correct that behavior.

Q. What have you accomplished so far that has made you proud?

A. Well, this is tough but I would say the fact that I’ve been able to create a work and life balance; being applauded at my Job for doing amazing work and at the same time getting awarded at the completion of my professional exams. It was unexpected but it felt good nonetheless. So, generally I’m grateful for growth on all sides.

Q. What two things do you think of the most each day and why?

A. Well, the thoughts that I have to vary based on the seasons in my life. Currently, it would be the, “What am I going to the next,” if I take away all the financial pursuit and seriousness from life, primarily because I want to be free, not necessarily unemployed, but not bound to the policies of office culture. Also, I like to think of the clothes I’m supposed to wear the next day, I’m usually torn between turning up in all black or doing something colorful.

Q. What’s your idea of real success and how can it be achieved?

A. For me, real success hits when you have self-fulfillment. It doesn’t mean you have to be super wealthy or own the most houses, but if you’re genuinely happy, peaceful, and comfortable doing what matters to you, surrounded by people you love and who love you, it makes a lot of difference. I don’t think there’s a strict rule to achieving success, there are some definite things one should do like being intentional, disciplined etc, but at the end of the day what pattern works best for you is what you subscribe to.

Q. What’s the one thing you think that should be taught in school about choosing a career that isn’t?

A. I would say financial management, not necessarily at its core but the art of being an entrepreneur should be emphasized. Most schools teach children how to work for people and not for themselves. I think it’s more important that kids are sensitized from a young age that they can be whoever they want to be, that are there are no limits to success. In addition, extracurricular activities should be promoted, kids should be allowed to express themselves.

I don’t think there’s a strict rule to achieving success, there are some definite things one should do like being intentional, disciplined etc, but at the end of the day what pattern works best for you is what you subscribe to.

Oluwabukola Adebo on Thursday Talk Series

Q. What is that thing that you see as an obstacle which can stop you from having success?

A. Well erhm, I would say I’m my biggest motivation but I think some personality traits hold me back, I’m a very reserved person and with the way the world is moving, people who speak up are more recognized, so I need to break through that barrier of being timid and be more outspoken.

Thank you so much Bukkie for the interview and know that I’m rooting for you (we all are, right guys?) I’m also grateful to everyone for being here. Hope you have a brilliant Thursday.

Follow Bukkie on Instagram

I found this the other day, who can relate?😂😂
  • What’s The Truth?
    Our perception of the truth can be distorted…but we’ll still choose to die on that hill.
  • Left Behind
    The abandoned church stood like a man awaiting trial.
  • How To Live Like A Hero
    And the pressure keeps growing and growing and growing until you feel like you are moments away from exploding.

Thursday Talk Series |On Debby Sews Happiness


The holidays is over, and I spent my time working…sadly. Well, the past week has got me questioning the concept behind, ‘hard work’. According to Oxford dictionary, it means |a great deal of effort or endurance| hard |done with a great deal of force or strength| work |activity involving mental or physical effort done in order to achieve a purpose or result|. Haba! Clearly both words mean the same thing and yet they are placed side by side (must have been done by a sociopath). Here’s my own definition of hard work |slaving away at a thing with the hopes that the reward will be great, except it does not always turn out the way one expects|. Keep this in mind if you hear the word when next you apply for a job or project, so that you’ll know what you are signing up for. Sociopaths will get what I’m saying.

I’m excited to introduce Deborah on today’s Thursday Talk Series. Ours was a peculiar meeting…you know how soft light firsts saturates the sky to herald the coming of dawn, and when finally the sun comes out it feels new and mesmerizing…it was like that. And if there ever was a smile that could be infectious, Debby’s smile would go viral. It’s not common to meet people who have found a way to tap into that elusive well of happiness and yet she readily let’s you take part in her cache of happy. Really giddy to have Debby here (she wrote down her answers in a book and it took her weeks to finish it and she has been anxiously waiting for today😂❤️)

Q. Can you introduce yourself and what you do?

A. I am Adeyanju Deborah, a graduate of Bingham University, Department of Anatomy. I am a very playful person and always happy. Lol. My favourite colour is white (cause it represents a fresh start for me) Think of a plain white paper, a white canva, a white fabric; they all represent a fresh start, or a new beginning. I love to travel, listen to music and sew, which brings me to what I do. I SEW – I am a tailor. I sew for ladies only (sorry guys, you guys hardly sew clothes biko). Actually, I do a lot of things, but I majorly sew.

Deborah Adeyanju

Q. Why do you do your job, and would you rather do something else?

A. Let me start by saying that sewing is not a job for me, cause a job sounds…I don’t even know 😂🤷‍♀️. But for me, sewing is like therapy, my getaway, and it makes me happy. How did I even start sewing? I went to a fabric shop with my mum, and I was mesmerized by the number of fabrics I saw there. Looking at the different colours and design, all I could envision was various designs and styles of dresses, lol. I told my mum immediately that I wanted to learn to sew. And when we went to drop the fabrics she bought at her tailor’s place, she dropped me together with them😂. Would I rather do something else? Is there something out there that would give me so much joy, something I would think of wherever I am, something that gives me that getaway feeling, or something that leaves me feeling like a genius? If there is, please count me in. Like I said earlier, there are a lot of things I can do; I bake, I make snacks, I make small chops (the best you’ll ever eat 😉), I can make wigs and beads (not very well though🥴), I tie gele. But all of these cannot equate to sewing for me.

Q. What have you accomplished so far that has made you proud?

A. A lot of things come to mind, but I would summarize them by saying, whatever I do and do well always makes me happy. The day I cook a tasty meal, or I sew a dress that fits perfectly, or the day I give an advice and everything turns out the way I said it, I definitely would feel proud of myself. The truth is many times we wait for something big, a great accomplishment, before we pat ourselves on the back and say, ‘Well done baby girl,’ but I believe that whatever we can achieve, whether big or small, it is enough reason to be proud of ourselves. That being said, I’m proud of myself for this interview sef. 😅

Q. What do you feel you take for granted and how does it affect you?

A. For a very long time, I didn’t know or I didn’t understand the platitude that ‘life is special’, until recently. I took life, sound health, good food, going out and coming back for granted. The Bible says, God has given to us all that pertains to life and Godliness. I took all of that for granted. But I have come to realize that today we are here and tomorrow we are gone, so whatever needs to be done, should be done immediately. Most of the times, it might not be that I take it for granted, let’s just say I expect it to always happen as normal, but I have come to a realisation and I can now say it is a privilege. That’s why whatever opportunity I have now, I seize it and make the best of it.

Q. What makes your work stand out from others?

A. Very simple, excellence. Isaiah 60:15 is my motto. It says I shall be eternal excellence, so yeah, excellence. I love a work done with excellence.

Q. What do you appreciate about yourself and what would you like to change?

A. I appreciate my mind the most. My mind is an interesting machine that never stops running even when I’m asleep. I have the best play in my mind, the most interesting, puzzling, mind boggling thoughts, the best advices, best ideas, best of everything in my mind (and no, this is not pride, this is self-appreciation). Talking about what I’d like to change in my body, I find that the list is endless, lol, but then there’s nothing I can do about them, at least not yet, so I’ve learnt to accept all my flaws and love them all.

Q. What do you feel is the difference between living and existing?

A. Very interesting question. Lol. To live means to be alive. How do you know that you are alive? What makes you feel alive? What makes you feel like you? Whatever those things are, do it and live it. That’s what it means to ‘live’. And funny enough, whatever these things are or this thing is, it would always fetch you money, or impact lives, and even leave a legacy behind. But you see ‘existing’, it is the direct opposite of all I’ve said. To exist means you are living but not making any impact, you are just there. Your presence changes nothing. You add no meaning neither do you subtract any from life. You are just present and your presence is not useful (that sounded really harsh) lol. Anyways, that’s existing.

Q. What’s the one thing you think that should be taught in school about choosing a career that isn’t?

A. I won’t say one thing, I would say many things but let’s just pick some right now. I’d use myself as an example; what I wish I knew about choosing a career in school:

  1. A career doesn’t have to be a white-collar job.
  2. Build a career in something you are passionate about, something you would love to wake up every morning to do.
  3. Don’t stress if you haven’t figured it out right now, give it time, you will eventually.
  4. Nobody is a failure; we are all just different and gifted in different aspects.

Q. What two things do you think of the most each day and why?

A. One, my future and two, sewing. I want a future better than my present, of course I want things to be better. I day dream about this always. I’m not worried about my future; I only remind myself to keep going. Truth is, I’m even excited at the thoughts of how my future would be. About my sewing, I think of what I’m working on at present, how to sew it, what ways to achieve it, what materials I would need to sew it and things like that.

“I definitely would feel proud of myself. The truth is many times we wait for something big, a great accomplishment, before we pat ourselves on the back and say, ‘Well done baby girl,’ …whether big or small, it is enough reason to be proud of ourselves.”

Deborah Adeyanju on Thursday Talk Series

Q. If you could, what’s the one thing you’d change about the world?

A. If there’s anything I would change about the world, it would be to transform the chaos and troubles and heartbreaks and pain and tears, to peace. I’d trade all of that for peace. Interestingly, Christ has given it (peace) to us already, all we have to do is to accept it and I wish everyone would. I would really love a world of peace, love, humanity, selflessness, happiness, and joy. I don’t know if that’s me asking for too much, because God tried it once and the devil hijacked it. Lol.

Thank you so much Debby for the interview, it was a pleasure (as always). And thank you everybody for reading. Have a Thursday to remember. Bye!

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On Rainy Days – Danta’s Letters#1


Dear Ogonne,

It’s was raining and the sound of it beating on my roof woke me up. It’s been several minutes since I have been listening and watching the rain through my fogged window. If you had asked me how I felt, I’d tell you that I was happy and sad. Happy that obviously it’s raining, the sound of the rain feels like an old friend, the same as the organ that bellows in my church. There’s nostalgia and a lot of memories that come with the rain. I’m sad because I would really like to be out there in the torrid weather, cold water running down my sagging breasts and thighs, droplets catching on my eyelashes by choice, because I’m aware that there are several people out there, not by choice, who’d rather be inside, safe and warm.

It’s always like this for me when it rains. My memories sharpen, such as the ones of the house where we lived when I was a child. It had a bad ceiling and was drafty because the house was old and was not well maintained. Not only was it unpleasant when it rained, but it also got cold like an icebox. The only good thing was running outside to fetch water and play in the rain with the rest of the kids in the compound. This didn’t happen every time our parents were around. On the occasions when we were allowed, our underwear would stick to our skins like paint on canvas. There was little need for modesty, soon we would chase each other naked and screaming, with our bottoms freezing. It made no difference except it made the experience better. After we are called into our respective homes, we got dry and wrapped in towels. Sometimes our father would massage us with Robb (we turned down Aboniki, ask your mother, she knows what I’m talking about) and our teeth would chatter involuntarily for a couple of minutes as the chill was chased away. If our mother was up to it, we’d fill our bellies with a warm meal. After getting dressed in dry clothes, my siblings and I would huddle under covers for warmth. It could be on our tiny couch in our living room or on our spring bed that squeaked with the effort of holding our weight (it was well past the age of retirement). Part of the reason was to get our feet off the worn carpet that didn’t help to keep them warm. Whenever I think of warmth, I remember the times I fell asleep piled up like laundry with the rest of my siblings. When our parents were not around we’d fend for ourselves.

Most days we’d be too energetic to sleep, especially if it was still daytime. The games we played in the dark to pass the time can never be forgotten(because it was almost always dark when it rains, with the electricity cut off). We built forts with sheets, cushions and pillows. The neighbors would come sometimes and we could team up for wrestling matches or cards. We told ludicrous stories or rehashed old grievances. It was always something when it rains.

Days like this I’m stuck in my chair, my arthritic hands and feet testifying, and still the rain with it’s tap tap tap on my roof brings back memories long forgotten, sweet and sour. I expect your memories of the rain to be different from mine (your mother has heard stories like this, and I’ll send along with this letter some of the pictures from that time). Tell me what you feel when it rains in your next letter and don’t start with your excuses that I won’t find them interesting. Your stories make me feel younger than my years, so indulge this old woman. I wonder that it’s still raining quite frequently in June, hian! Soon the weather would be warmer; you should expect my endless letters complaining about the heat.



  • What’s The Truth?
    Our perception of the truth can be distorted…but we’ll still choose to die on that hill.
  • Left Behind
    The abandoned church stood like a man awaiting trial.
  • How To Live Like A Hero
    And the pressure keeps growing and growing and growing until you feel like you are moments away from exploding.

Ramblings By The Window


I started the morning intending to write a story before the end of the day. Sometimes it is a good thing, sometimes not so good. All I know is that words need to be spilled and spilled they shall be. Today is no exception, plus I have a deadline to meet. My editor will have my head if I do otherwise.

I’m sitting by the window perched on the stack of crates I use for a chair. The red cushion that cradles my bum is worn from years of abuse. My writing desk is a DIY table with hairpin legs – I found them in the dump and setting it up was no joke – I am quite the creative genius (if I say so myself) my house is full of some questionable pieces. I let out a sigh, feeling utterly dejected. I really can’t think of what to write and my head can’t take anymore of my not so gentle knocks. If you see me with my hair in a messy bun (several pencils are in it giving the impression of a porcupine), my T-shirt with holes and reedy legs sticking out from my strawberry patterned shorts – you’d be hard-pressed not to remark on my general state of dishevelment. Not to worry, it’s a sign that I want to be left alone to work.

Sighing, I peel off the sticky note stuck to my chin (no idea how it got there). I had scribbled, ‘Talk to Angela’ on it. Yes! I forgot, ergo sticky note. I was going on about intentions and this one is rather important. Days back, Shay – my neighbor’s daughter – told me she wished she had the money to get the new purse that was a rave among the girls in her school. I also want her to have the money, heck; I would buy it for her if only Angela, her mother will let me. Now Shay is the sweetest thing and Angela does what she can raising her alone with her wages as a clerk down at the realtor’s place. I am sure the purse would put a dent in Angela’s budget and that is why she refused to get it for her, but Shay is tenacious, like most children her age and I worry about the outcome. I’ll see to it as soon as possible.

My desk holds my laptop, my journals, and a cup with more pen and pencils than I can ever need and another cup that contains the dredges of my tea and a pack of chocolate cookies. Everything is covered in sticky notes. My eye catches the ticket sticking out of the book I was currently reading, The Art of Happiness by Dalai Lama and Howard C. Cutler. The ticket was for a concert last Monday night. James had passed it along saying it was our first official date. It can’t be me groaning like my period just kicked in. I put my head in my hands and groan louder. I’ve known James for two years now. We met at the gym and have become good friends. He has been anything but subtle about his intentions and has grown bolder since the jerk that was my ex- fiancé, Fred, left me for some bimbo from work. Dear heavens! I’m in a mess now. To hear him say it, was bad, and my brain remembers it word for word, which is worse – “I love you Alicia, I really do. But I love her more. I hope you understand.” Snap! The pencil I was holding is now in two pieces, which is good. I’ll poke his eyes out with them. Actually, the concert was fun. James was wonderful and attentive. Truly I have no reason to complain because I had a nice time. But I feel apprehensive about being with James.

I toss the broken pencil on the table and pick up The Art of Happiness, the ticket serves as a book marker for where I stopped the previous day. The book presents the Dalai Lama’s view on leading a happier life, augmented by Cutler’s observation as a Western psychiatrist. I stare intently at the phrase highlighted in green – The purpose of our existence is to seek happiness. I trace my fingers over the words, not sure if I expect it to jump out of the page. When it was first mentioned by the Dalia Lama, Cutler raised objections (as did I). If I can’t write I might as well read.
‘Are you happy?’ Cutler asked Dalai Lama in the book,  and he had answered, ‘Yes. Yes…definitely.’ I can’t help but think that when I was with Fred I thought we were sort of happy. We had to be because we were in love, understood each other well, and made plans for our wedding (even though we hadn’t picked a date). Apparently it was not enough. I have never been under the delusion that life is easy, I mean happiness is overrated, right? All a person can hope for is a measure of satisfaction with their lot. I have my family (lately I have included Shay and Angela), friends, my work and colleagues. I’ve had moments in my life when I was struck with profound joy, no doubt that it was happiness. Still, to pursue happiness solely seems like an effort in futility.

Dalai Lama explains that through the discipline of the mind – in this sense he uses the Tibetan word Sem which has a broader meaning closer to “psyche” and “spirit”; it includes intellect and feeling, heart and mind – happiness can be attained. ‘By bringing about a certain inner discipline, we can undergo a transformation of our attitude, our entire outlook and approach to life…When we speak of this inner discipline, it can of course involve many things, many methods. But generally speaking, one begins by identifying those factors which lead to happiness and those factors which lead to suffering. Having done this, one then sets about gradually eliminating those factors which lead to suffering and cultivating those which lead to happiness. That is the way.’

As I read I ask myself questions and my answers leave me restless. Am I happy? My honest answer is no…definitely no. At least not in the last couple of months. Not withstanding I have made great strides. I do not feel like a piece of wood adrift in the ocean or see gray clouds on the horizon. I’m on the mend. I cannot fault myself for my emotional dependence on the people I love and care about, but sometimes I wish it was not entirely so. It’s why I feel uneasy with James. I know I’m using him to buffet against the hurt and betrayal that still lingers. I have not brought under control my heart and mind, that one is true. It is wrong and he doesn’t deserve it. I will have to tell him the next time we meet that I can’t be with him. Not the way I currently am.

Catching my mind drifting, I place the ticket once more to mark the page I stopped and drop the book back on the table. I hear Shay calling for her mum and in a few minutes she runs out of the house. I give her a small wave when I catch her eyes and she waves back, hands high above her head, then she turns around and off like a rabbit she goes. Someone needs to bottle up that child’s energy and commercialize it. I pick up a pen and write on a fresh note ‘The purpose of our existence is to seek happiness,’ On another one, ‘Your state of mind is key’ and, ‘Cultivate inner discipline. I place them in my journal, and hope my resolve is strong enough. Instead of writing like I hoped for, I’ve spent the morning ruminating. Since Angela is around, I best talk to her now before I forget, again. The rest of the cookies I’ll give to Shay when she returns. I’ll continue writing when the fog in my head lifts, hopefully before the deadline.

"We begin, then, with the basic premise that the purpose of our life is to seek happiness. It is a vision of happiness as a real objective, one that we can take positive steps toward achieving. And as we begin to identify the factors that lead to happier life, we will learn how the search for happiness offers benefits not only for the individual but for the individual's family and for society at large as well."

The Art Of Happiness

A Christmas Story


It is undoubtedly my favorite time of the year. My husband, Damilare, and I just got back from our Christmas shopping on Christmas eve. We are spending the holidays with his large family in Lagos, and always it’s a lot to take in.

The whole gang is here – his grandparents, mother and siblings, their respective spouses and kids, several uncles, aunties, cousins, and a couple of close friends. I have stopped trying to remember which child belongs to whom. Growing up with my folks in England as an only child, Christmas was a small affair until I met the Gbadamosis – these guys turn every holiday into a party of sorts. Speaking of my folks – they are spending the holiday with a family friend in New Orleans – I should call to check in later in the day.

The day is bright and warm. The three-story mansion is beautiful and tastefully structured with clean lines and has an open balcony overlooking the spacious living room with doors on all sides that leads to other parts of the house. The Christmas decorations are put up by hired experts every year; even so, the place looks homey and inviting.

“Hello, everyone!” I sing hands weighed down with shopping bags as I walk into the living room from the entrance. My husband follows with his ever-present smile and hands burdened with more shopping bags. Lately, his smile has been giving way to frowns. Dammy can fit right into an NBA team with his height, while I’ll most likely end up with Girl Scouts.

I spy my mother-in-law coming into the room from the opposite door that leads to the hallway, and a smile lights up in her eyes as she sees me.

Kii re? Ahn ahn! Did you raid the store, my dear?” my mother-in-law asks.

As luck would have it, we’ve shared a bond since I married into the family. She dotes on my husband – I understand, I dote on him too. Also, I miscarried my first issue, not unlike her. I don’t know how we could have moved on if she hadn’t spent the next six months shuffling from Nigeria to London to spend time with us. Dammy’s father – God rest his soul – was equally very supportive. Happily, we have two boys now, Kolawole and Feranmi, and they are the joy of my existence when they aren’t up to wrecking my sanity.

Mummy, E ka ro!” I greet, the words tumble out of my mouth breathlessly, if not a little bit awkward, and my knees move to the floor.

“What are you doing? Stand up. Welcome, my dear.” She moves quickly to my side and pulls me up to my feet. She is pretty still in her blue caftan, and her hair is in braids that fall to the middle of her back. There’s a couple of gold rings on her fingers, nails polished bright red.

I make a face at him not to rat me out and try to convey my sweetest smile to his mother when she looks my way – do I look guilty?

“Dammy, don’t you think this is too much? Why are you making Anike carry these heavy bags?” she scolds and swats Dammy on the head.

He shakes his head, a frown already on his face, “Good morning Ma. Here, these bags over here are for the house.” He sets aside a couple of bulging plastic bags then looks accusingly in my direction. “Jess was indecisive about what gifts to buys for the kids, so she emptied the toy section. I told her to leave them in the car when he got back, but she insisted,” my husband says with exasperation before he leans down to place a kiss on her forehead.

Dammy didn’t tell her that I craved chocolate chip ice cream and wanted to get rid of the evidence outside the house. I blow him kisses, and he rolls his eyes.

Dammy moves to the spiral stairs – its traditional railings draped with fairy lights and garlands, set against the large windows that go up to the first floor.

“I’m taking these up to our rooms so that the kids won’t see their presents before we wrap them up. Jess love, drop the bags, I’ll come back for them. Just sit down and put your legs up.”

“Aye aye, captain! You know, I’m not invalid, even though this cherry doesn’t pop until next month.” I say to his straight retreating back.

I don’t want to make a scene in front of his mother. With her help, I park my very pregnant self in the nearest seat, groaning deeply as the ache down my spine unfurls.

“Where’s everybody?” I ask after she has given me an earful.

The room is deserted, with toys and knickknacks littering every surface – the former is unusual, the latter is unavoidable. The Christmas decorations are still intact, thankfully. Even though there’s no ritual for Santa or sharing of gifts by the tree on Christmas day here – you get prayer and gifts at odd hours – the house comes alive and becomes a marketplace with the arrival of more family members. We trade family secrets, gossips, and everything in between. I can’t complain because I have been having so much fun; it’s taking a toll on me trying to keep up.

“They are at the back of the house. Kunle is flying his drone, and the entire lot ran out to watch.” With a shake of her head, she walks off in the direction of the kitchen.

“That will occupy them for a while, I guess.” Kunle is her son-in-law, Pelumi’s husband. Pelumi, her only daughter, is the doctor in the family and my best girl.
She’s all shades of fun.

His mother returns with a glass of juice, a bowl of chin-chin and chicken, for me to eat, and I dig in.

The rest of the gang wander back into the house. The older kids act like they couldn’t wait to get rid of us, their phones pressed to their noses. They make me feel so old. The younger kids act like we don’t exist in whatever fantasy world they inhabit – except when they get hurt or hungry or both. I get swarmed by them, exchange greetings, and swat at my boys when they come circling me like hawks.
The room quickly devolves into barely contained mayhem, and I waddle-walk to the kitchen to escape.

The house took two years to complete to accommodate the large family, and sometimes I’m left speechless at the sheer size of each room. The kitchen is at the other end of the house on the ground floor, with double screen doors open to the back. It is hazy with steam from several cooking pots, and people bustle around. There’s a rhythm to how they work, like hands on a clock, talking loudly and sharing jokes. My mother-in-law is the undisputed captain of this ship. I find it mesmerizing to watch, but one disapproving glare from her, and I know it is a bad idea.

“I don’t need your help because I have enough hands; willing, and unwilling. There’s a roster this time. You’d be in it but for your condition.” She smiles mischievously and moves to oversee the girls arranging the glassware.

I glimpse Dare chopping onions, tears streaming from his eyes, and I can’t stop myself from laughing. He’s my husband’s older brother. He currently oversees the family business and can be intimidating, but the way he acts around his mother is proof of how scary she can be.

“Dare, how’s it going?” I tease, and he scoffs. “O da bo?” I say and relish the redness in his eyes as he shoots daggers my way – my cue to retreat before I get into more trouble.

‘Aunty Jessica’ rings in my ears wherever I go – only the older family members call me Anike; the reason it is so is a mystery. Anyway, it seems everybody is busy except me.

Soon I’m cornered by the grandparents. Oh no! I need a translator. I can barely string short sentences in Yoruba, and I only manage to say a spattering of words; my kids are doing better than I am. With them rapidly speaking, I am unable to understand a single thing. It gets awkward because they barely understand English too. Our conversations are always one-sided with a series of facial expressions, hand gestures – some indecipherable sign language of our own making. The general take from the encounter is a good one.

Uneasy and unable to commit to being treated like an egg, I go in search of my husband. The ache in my back has returned, and it’s starting to feel very uncomfortable. I check upstairs since it was where I last saw him head to, and find him on the floor in our room – toys and wrapping paper cover every available space.

“I thought we were supposed to wrap the gifts together,” I say and startle him. I reach back to lock the door to prevent the kids from stumbling in. “I was looking all over the place for you.”

A smug grin appears on his face, “Did you miss me?” I nod without hesitation. Being an only child helped me become independent at an early age. Lately, it can be upsetting dealing with ‘everything’ without Dammy. I can’t say how it happened when being apart from him turned difficult. However, I find myself looking for his face whenever I enter a room. I try not to be needy – in my defense, a gentle reminder that I am preggy – my hormones and nerves are off the chart.

“Your face is puffy and tomato red; you promised to put your feet up.” He says, again that frown turns up.

“I did. For a while, then I got bored. Besides, everybody is busy. Your kids are making a raucous downstairs with the rest; somebody put the music on my way up. Your family members are party freaks.” I say diplomatically.

He fakes a cough, “They are your family too. If I recall correctly, the last time we came around, you danced the night away.”

“Yes! Oh God, they’re contagious.” I try to say it with a straight face, and we both laugh because everybody knows I love to dance.

The bed is thankfully toy free – I can’t resist clean sheets, so I make a beeline for it. When at last, I reach the bed, I kick off my flip-flops and try to sit down, but my back shoots a lance of pain that my brain registers on the high side.

“Babe, please come help me sit. My back hurts.” Dammy springs up and rushes over. “I’m alright, I think I overdid it with the shopping and running around, but I’m fine. I only need to rest a little…”

“That’s it. You are not leaving this room again today. You’ll take your meals here, and I’ll insist that nobody disturbs you.” He says firmly, then helps me lay on my side, propping up the pillows to make it comfortable.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Damilare grumbles as he sits beside me and rubs my back. I wince when he touches a sore spot, and the frown on his face deepens.

“Let’s trade. You can carry the babies while I do the fussing. I can do a better job,” I say cheekily. “Sit down, Dammy love! No, you don’t, that’s enough thinking for one day, you’ll hurt yourself,” I mimic his voice, and my reward is a smile. His hand comes to rest on my belly, and I place mine over his.

My time in Lagos has left me tan – mercifully, the sunscreen I slather over every inch of exposed skin saves me from sunburn. I’m tan, and he is dark. We didn’t expect to stay so long in Nigeria when we arrived a few weeks ago to visit. We stayed back for Christmas because my mother-in-law insisted she wanted the kids to be around, and our boys were fine with it.

“Stay with me. I bet your babies need to cuddle. They must feel left out of all the celebrations,” I say, hinting at how I’ve felt the last couple of days.

When the doctor told us that we were having twins, I swear my husband whooped and pumped his fist in the air as if he heard that his team won the Premier League. He got sober shortly and has since had this haunted look.

The birth of each of our boys was difficult, but thankfully the doctors did their best. The pain of losing a child is a brand in our hearts; perhaps it’s the worst thing that can happen to a parent. Pregnant moms of multiples don’t have it easy because everything intensifies. The worry and stress Dammy puts himself through all the time I was pregnant is hard to watch, but I understand that he is only trying to do the noble thing.

“Okay.” He scoots over and lay down beside me, holding me loosely in his arms. We talk about our plans for a new house when we get back to London and then again about our future, and it feels like old times when it was just the two of us. It doesn’t take long before I fall asleep.

My back is on fire. When I try to move, the pain stabs at my sides and knocks the air out of my lungs. Tears burn in my eyes, and I whimper pathetically. My hands thrash helplessly; all I want is for it to stop hurting.

“Jess! Babe, what’s wrong?” The lights come on in the room, in a glance reveals that it is still dark outside. Dami is next to me in a heartbeat.

“It hurts,” I manage to say. My thoughts scramble, the one that is worried about my babies the most persistent.

“Where? Your back? I’ll get Pelumi. Will you be alright by yourself for a couple of minutes?” he asks.

“Yes. Go quickly.” I cry.

Several agonizing minutes later, my husband returns with Pelumi – one hand holds a medical kit, the other hand holds her night robes close at the front. She is not the only one. A small crowd ends up outside our room like we are having a bizarre slumber party. I don’t know what Dami was thinking, waking them up at this odd hour. If I didn’t feel like roadkill, I would have laughed at the sight. I hope the rest of the house is still sleeping because I wouldn’t want my boys to see me like this.

While Pelumi checks me, my husband hovers like a hawk until she throws him out of the room and slams the door shut in his face. My body is so sensitive, and I’m grateful that her hands are gentle.

“Are you on any medication?” She asks softly. I shake my head.

“I’ll see what I can get for you to help with the pain.,” She says. From experience, I know that it is most likely Paracetamol, and I want to suggest something else. She didn’t say anything about my babies– I need to know that they are okay.

As if hearing my thoughts, Pelumi answered, “Your babies are fine, sweetheart, try to relax. Strong painkillers are not advisable in your condition, and from what I see, your back pain is likely from the weight of the babies. I’ve got chamomile tea; I’ll send it up to you.”

When she finishes, she calls Dammy in, and together they help me to the toilet to relieve myself, and I endure a warm bath. I feel a little better after taking medication and getting a rubdown (my mother-in-law bullied her way to my side).

I’m allowed to see the crowd of well-wishers. It takes a while before Pelumi removes them from inside and outside our room; the sun is already up.

“I’m not an invalid,” I say haughtily.

I am still in bed trying to talk Dammy out of changing our travel plans. He swings from not going at all because of my condition and going at once.

“Feeling better?” he asks.

“Yeah. You can stop making that face.”

“What face?”

“You look constipated when you frown,” I tease, and he hits me on the head gently with a pillow.

“Merry Christmas to you, babe,” I say then, give him a kiss for being amazing. Whatever happens, we will get through it together. I’m looking forward to the new year because it promises to be full of new beginnings.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, relief shining through his eyes, masking for a moment his worry and stress.

Kola drags his older brother Feranmi into the room; his other hand grips his Batman action figure. They are still in their jammies. The latter greets and heads to the toilet, while the former jumps on the bed and throws himself at me. My husband is quick to intercept. Kola is four, just a baby.

“The other kids say Santa did not show up because Nigeria is too far from the UK. Is it true, mummy?” he asks and fires out more questions in the same vein. I feel a stab of guilt for not paying closer attention to them since we arrived and quickly talk to God that I’ll do better, and can he please tell me what answers to give without technically lying. I tell my husband to bring out the presents; we are doing damage control. It looks like today is going to be a long day.

Photo credit: Pexels

Chasing Happiness


My eyes sting, if I don’t stop moving I’ll unleash a flood. In other news, I don’t bloody care. I squeeze them shut tightly and let my chest expand with deep breaths. This thing happening to me, well, describing it is beyond words.

My heels refuse to touch the floor as I choose instead to bounce on the balls of my feet. I am a ballerina pirouetting across the room. My limbs are out of control and fly unmolested. I suspect that my hips are gyrating or rebelling by doing the opposite. I spin around until everything blurs. Then a scream escapes from my lips without any warning. It rings like bells, sweet like dark chocolate, and bright as a summer day. I stop spinning and place a hand on my racing heart, willing it to return to normal. My lips refuse to take their proper form but remain stretched from ear to ear.

I look up to the ceiling until my vision settles. The whole room is thrumming, the walls vibrate to the music; colors burst out in a riot even as the air shimmers.

I don’t always feel this way. Sometimes my heart races for a different reason. I’ll find myself curled up like a fetus in the womb, the cold would rise from my bones and a roar of turbulent waves will fill my ears.

I turn up the music louder and the alte highlife sounds have me moving like a penguin. My voice strains to hit all the right notes without success and I make a mess of the lyrics. I try out the zanku dance and throw in dabs for good measure. The truth is I’m a terrible dancer.

The other day I was with my friends. I remember fondly that we said and did tons of fun, important bonding stuff that I cannot fully recall. Still, I can confess that there were no dragons in my tummy, no crippling doubts about being loved and accepted, and no fear for what the next moment would bring. My heart was swollen with appreciation because I belonged and was loved simply for existing.

There was another time at work when we were focused on our individual tasks. Suddenly I noticed a lull in the usual office din – phones ringing, voices trying to drown out each other, keyboards going tap-tap-tap, slurping of drinks, and feet rushing in every direction. As I looked around, I felt my skin tingling as if the universe itself was watching and participating in the stillness. I couldn’t bear to ruin the mood by calling the attention of the others to it. So I sat there, feasting on the view and appreciating a moment that I would in later years regurgitate time and time again.

Those are the kind of days that I look forward to. When I’m alive and aware, not stuck in my head challenging every decision that I take or missing out on things because I’m too scared to try, and too scared to live.

I walk into the kitchen still bobbing like a bottle in a pond. Where’s the knife? I wonder. I search for a little while and eventually I find it at the bottom of the dirty pile of dishes stacked in the sink. Gross! I wash it clean. It is new, shiny, and sharp.

The intro of Fireboy DML’s – Gbas Gbos rents the air and I nearly drop the knife on my foot out of excitement. This is not how I had planned for this to end.

I place the knife carefully on the counter and reach for the pen and paper I’d brought into the kitchen earlier in the day. I breathe deeply, gather my thoughts, and begin to write. I make sure to keep my writing bold and legible.

I straighten up after I’m done and set the paper aside. As I start to reach for the knife, the kettle whistles, right on cue. Humming, I move over to the stove to turn it off. In a moment I take a sip from my steaming cup of tea. I add a generous amount of lemon juice and stir it in.

I grab the knife in one hand and stretch out my other hand all the while thinking if I should make a small cut or a big cut. Just as the knife is about to make the cut, the doorbell rings.

I place the tea on the kitchen counter and reach for the knife again. I can’t put it off any longer or I’ll lose my nerve. I’ve not come this far to turn back.

This life shoves a variety of flavors at you at every turn. Not every one of them is agreeable to your taste. Dead is a man that misses out on the flavors. I’m not dead – yet.

No! No! No!

“Uju! Uju! I’m home. Where are you this woman?” I hear my sister call from the hallway.

I was so close. So close. I hear footsteps behind me and feel beads of sweat run down my face.

“Uju o! Babe how far? You didn’t hear me calling your name? Obviously, you can’t with all this racket going on.”

I turn around as Amaka moves into the kitchen in that easy way of hers like she’s floating. She turns off the music and I feel trapped. I still can’t believe I didn’t do it. It’s too late now.

Amaka eyes me suspiciously as my silence stretches. I try to hide the knife that is still in my hand but the movement catches her eyes.

“What are you doing with a knife, Uju?” She asks suspiciously.

“Nothing” I quickly retort.

She eyes me some more, “You weren’t trying to…” She trails off.

A nervous laugh bubbles out of my mouth and my eyes dart to the side to avoid her gaze.

I hear her gasps loudly and I swiftly turn my head to look at her. She was looking past my shoulder. How did she get so close? She can see the note I left on the counter. Oh no!.

“It’s not what you think,” I say. I drop the knife and edge towards the door.

The hurt in her eyes pins me just as I’m about to make my sweet escape.

“Uju why?” She asks as she picks up the paper.

I cringe when she starts to read it out loud.

“Dear Amaka, I hope you’ll find a place in your heart to forgive me. Love, Uju.” She crumples up the paper and throws it at me.

“Where did you think you’d have ended up if you had done it? I can’t believe this! I can’t believe you would do this. You know how much I worked and yet you didn’t think twice before trying to do it again. Amaka, why are you so ungrateful? Why do you think about only yourself? What would I have told the rest of the family when they ask me what happened to….”

“I’m sorry, Uju.” I wring my fingers.

“Are you sorry? Are you? Because that was what you said the last time.”

I see red spots appear on her beautiful cheeks. She must wish to throw the knife at me because her eyes focuses on it.

“The cake is for everybody!” she yells. “How e take dey do you ehn! You alone ate all the cake the last time and now, you can’t even wait for tomorrow when the rest of the family arrives before gobbling this one up?”

I pout and start to grumble, “Amaka it’s all your fault for baking cakes that are divine.”

Amaka launches herself at me intent on wreaking havoc on my person, and I run out of the kitchen laughing hard.

“I’ll kill you today,” she screams.

I spend the rest of the day with warmth in my chest, food in my tum-tum, and light in my eyes, that is after Amaka stopped trying to kill me. I understand that I can only live one day at a time, and I have learned to treasure days like this – the happy days.

I put the music back on and this time Amaka joins me to groove. She’s worse than I am at dancing. I tell her this and earn myself a slap for my trouble.

Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment below.

Photo credit: Pinterest

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