Decades: Chunks of Time

Earlier in the year, I connected my dad to the angel who ensured he had an education, thanks to Facebook . Some weeks after posting an answer on Quora , something told me to go to Facebook and check out the daughters timelines. One of them had actually posted pictures of Pastor Moon, asking that we all call him to cheer him up, as he was battling cancer. I told my dad, who insisted I ask for permission from one of the daughters, before he would call. My dad would call, and chat with the pastor for a while. Pastor Moon's health got a boost, and he was extremely happy that Dad called him (Whoever said our health is not connected to our emotions lied). That was March. This is June, and I came across another Facebook post from one of the daughters, requesting for prayers for Pastor Moon who was losing the battle against cancer, and might not even make it to his 59th wedding anniversary. I took a snapshot of the post and sent it to my dad. He decided to go visit them. The ticket

Some months ago, I answered a question on Quora : What's the nicest thing anyone has ever done for you . Here is a recap of the relevant part of my answer below: My dad was the last of four kids by his mum, and while he was still a toddler, his rich and influential dad changed towards them all, refused to send the other kids to school and focused on his younger wife. So they all had to do odd jobs to even survive. My dad barely finished primary school as a result of this. His eldest sibling, also male, was way older than him, so he had finished his education before all this, and was working at the Seventh-Day Adventist Hospital in Ile-Ife , Osun state, Nigeria . One day he heard that one of the missionaries needed someone to help around the house (here in Nigeria we call them houseboy or housegirl), and he went and got my dad to fill the position. By then my dad had already left the rich-boy attitude behind due to the hardship of surviving, so taking the post was no big deal

Akara and Fried Yam, Courtesty Pinterest (Nigerian Foodies) GOOD DEED: THE OKADA RIDER Some nights ago, I closed late and so I had to patronize an okada rider. For those outside the shores of Nigeria , we have what we call okada riders in almost every city in our country. Imagine someone with a motorcycle, carrying passengers for a fee. That's an okada rider. At first they were a new means of livelihood for many, then they became a nuisance, especially when they were being used for robberies and attacks. Various cities now have laws governing their working times and where they can operate, if at all. Okada riders are allowed to patronize the areas where my office is, and where I live, so its quite easy for me to use them from one location to the other. So, on that night, I hailed one of these 'transporters' to take me home. After negotiating the price, the man asked how much I was holding. It turns out he would need to break down the money he had to be able to

Mr. Takiti returned hom after work, one hot day, to meet his two sons fighting and arguing. He was extremly tired but he took the time to ask them what the problem was. "Toni and Tosin," he asked, as he drank a glass of cool water, and wiped his brow. "What is the matter? Why are you fighting?" "Toni hid my Ben Ten watch!" exclaimed the older Tosin. "Toni why?" asked their father, as he placed the glass cup on the table. Then he changed his mind. "I don't want to know why," he added. "Just give the watch back to your brother." "Yes daddy" the six year old muttered. One hour later, Toni was still looking for the watch, as he had forgotten where he hid it. Tosin was getting more upset and shouting so much, that their father woke up and called them again. Toni was again instructed to give the watch back, while Tosin was told not to make any more noise. Two hours later, Mr. Takiti woke up in a smoke

I know I know.... Its been sooo long. My life has been in the Master Tapestry-maker's hands, being woven in intricate patterns, far far far away from where I thought it would head to... It is well. So, I am back. I will rant, weep, praise, exclaim, despair, then start all over again. This is a return to chunks of time.

I wrote this piece while waiting for my flight on Saturday June 2, 2012. I had to stand for about five hours, and I was too angry to even smile. Little did I know that a tragedy was due to grace our country the next day...May the victims' souls rest in peace.... I am so angry right now. My anger surpasses the physical, because it is not about my present issues, but about the whole country in general. I booked a return flight to Lagos from Abuja from a popular airline here in Nigeria, some weeks ago. A day before the flight, I got a message that the time had been postponed to about two hours later, so we set out for the airport an hour later than planned. We are one of those people that love getting to the airport and checking in exactly when the airlines say - two hours before. We spent the better part of the first hour in traffic. We got so frustrated that I came down from the car and began walking towards the toll gate. Now those who are familiar with Abuja airport road

Hey mum, I just wanted to thank you. I thank you for deciding to get married - some women didn't see the need. I thank you for deciding to have kids - some women didn't want to mess up their figures. I thank you for going through discomfort all through the pregnancy. For going through all the pain. I will be forever grateful to you for allowing God to use you to bring me to this world. But that's not all. You didn't give me away - some women did that to their kids. So I thank you for putting your needs, your wants, your career aside, to raise me. I thank you for taking the time to teach me the Lord's way. I thank you for loving me with all my faults. I thank you for ensuring that I had the best you could afford. You are a mother, and blessed are you amongst all women. I LOVE YOU