I almost lost my faith post 2023 presidential elections

I think it would be good to begin this conversation by starting off with saying that being a Nigerian is something I take very seriously. My identity as a whole is an aspect of my life that I know God is particular about. On the front burner of my identity attributes is my faith (Christain) and next to it is my Nigerian heritage. After which my gender, mixed cultural heritage, colour, accent and the other identity stuffs follows. Thus, I knew God was deliberate in placing me in Nigeria. This I came to accept graciously, despite the chaos in Nigeria. I took pride in my identity, perhaps because I chose to bask in the knowledge that we have the richest culture, dance and food (not that I have eaten much of other countries food but I have heard gist now).

I am that Nigerian that takes everything Nigeria ‘personally’. Only last week, I became teary as the Nigerian national anthem was sang at my children’s school during their end of year program. At that moment I remembered how as a child I chanted same national anthem, believing and hoping for a brighter future. Sadly, here was I singing same song with my children, reminiscing on how the country seemed to be cascading downward. Some of my friends and family will not be surprised to hear that I was a bit weepy that fateful day, because they know that I could be very emotional. However, you can not blame a girl for wearing her God given emotions. God put those emotions there, as such they must be maximized to the fullest. Enough of my blabbing about my emotions.

Let’s get back to the main gist. It is therefore in light of my love for Nigeria, that I was hopeful for the day when we would be redeemed from bad and corrupt leadership. Hence, when the whole 2023 presidential electoral process started I was very positive that this was our year of redemption. I went all out to support the most credible amongst the lot. I am sure most of you already know who that is. Of course it was none other that Peter Obi. I was challenged about his past records, as for the first time in Nigeria we were having a presidential candidate with a clean slate. No corruption and embezzlement could be accrued to his name. All his certificate were intact (void of any form of controversy). All this man stood for, did not only appeal to me but also challenged me. I prayed, fasted and even campaigned for this noble man to become the president of Nigeria.

My goal for the 2023 elections was simple; do whatever you can to get the right leader on sit. This I did but unfortunately couldn’t vote due to voters card issues. The problems in Nigeria election processes are so numerous that I would not even want to start that conversation today. But the summary is that I was very hopeful on Peter Obi becoming the next elected President of Nigeria. So, you can imagine how heart broken I was when ‘we had what we had’. For lack of better words permit me to describe the present leadership as such. It was sheer fowl play in my opinion. This unfortunately left me shattered

Simply put, I was heartbroken! I literally wept. I questioned God; I asked him if he cared a hoot about Nigeria? I felt he favored Israel over us. I was broken, very broken. I wondered if my Nigeria was under some sort of curse. I felt God didn’t care and so I decided not to care either. During that very week I began to indulge myself in reading literatures that God had longed delivered me from. I used these novels to cushion my pain, the same way drug addicts use illegal and not prescribed drugs to numb pain.  Of course, my prayer life and devotional life which wasn’t at its best place at that time, worsened also. My hurt however did not stop my involvement in church and all other godly activities. I am a church girl through and through, so I am very good at doing church even when I am not good with God. This is an act I have mastered overtime and I am quite good at. Sadly also, is that during this phase those around me thought I was okay, even though I was drowning. My husband who suspected I was not fine, felt It was only a phase, and that I should snap myself out of it.

I must mention that I was also angry with those that supported the opposition. I felt these individuals were given to tribal sentiments or/and just very selfish persons. I was very hurt that I could not help developing some form of resentment towards such persons. I was just so angry and hurt, I couldn’t help myself. I even stopped watching news stations, avoiding political discussions. Again, I say I was very very hurt, that I even began to pray prayers I never thought I was capable of praying. I wanted God to kill the announced winner. Oh yes! I imagined all kinds of death for him, while waiting for God’s vengeance. Like an entitled child, I felt God owed me that much and I waited patiently but still God was quiet. So, after the presidential swearing in, i gave up on Gods love for Nigeria and this affected how I began to see myself. I felt God did not love me as much as He did persons from other nations. The irony, is that I wore my feelings beneath the surface such that only those very close could suspect. Even at that, the extent of my heartbreak was only known to me.

To be continued…

My Elder Brothers weren’t my favourite Humans

As a girl child, following two boys came with its own frustrations or should I say challenges. I wouldn’t say I was a Tom boy as a growing child but what I vividly remember is that I didn’t embrace my feminine status with so much excitement. I envied my brothers, I felt they had more privileges and freedom than I did. I became accustomed to hearing words like “sit well”, “stand right”, “talk softly”, “you have to love being in the kitchen”, the list continues. The latter was my greatest nightmare as my mum insisted that I must learn to hang around the kitchen.

I grew up in a home where anyone could be called upon to handle any chore. Gender was not a basis for assigning chores, rather age was. This explains why my elder brothers started doing most of the chores before myself, including cooking. Still I felt some level of pressure on getting me to do things right. To be fair, my complete lack of interest in chores may have spurred my mum’s intentionality. Sadly I won’t say she was successful because I still don’t sit right nor stand upright or even sweep right (I ended up being a stray despite the focus). Perhaps the only thing I may have gained some level of mastery in, is cooking. I think I cook alright, but I may be a bias judge.

My parents were very careful not to be gender bias but still this did not dwindle the pressure I felt. I did not make sense of why I couldn’t just be like my brothers. Why I had to walk differently, sit consciously, and talk more politly. This stemmed my initial grudges with my brothers, oh yes I mean it. They, on the other hand were excited whenever they were in positions to buttress these ‘girly’ requirements. Simply put in Nigerian slang, ‘they enjoyed pouring san-san (sand) inside my garri’. So much so, that I wondered if my brothers and I, came from same loins, or if I was an adopted child. My looks betray me though, because I am my mums replica. Still, I felt there was more to the antagonism I faced from my brothers.

Finally I got older and gradually began to see my brothers more as allies than just flatmates. I would often run to them in confidence to share deep secrets, victories, plights and quarrels. They listened attentively to my secrets, cheered my victories, mourned my plights but would question my quarrels. One would expect that family would always have each other’s back, but this was not my case. My brothers were thorough when it came to investigating offenses, hence would always dig out where I acted in error (no matter how minor) and will proceed to criticise my actions or inactions. This was disheartening cos at this point I had lost my mother and was hoping to be indulged by these elder brothers of mine. Yet again, they broke my heart.

I remember one particular occassion where I had a serious disagreement with relatives and was so sure I was in the right. I ran to my brothers expecting a pat on the shoulder plus a supporting statement on how they will stand by me in my plan to get back at them. As always they listened carefully, found the little areas where I faulted and engaged me on my minor faults. They further asked that I returned to status quo in relating with these relatives and condemned my pay-back agenda. This was very heartbreaking, so I began to keep my troubles to myself. As much as i disliked their response I couldn’t blame them cos my parents exhibited same character. My Dad for one had a unique way of settling our siblings squabbles. He would have seperate conversations with the different warring parties, where he corrects each party of their faults no matter how little, with the hope that everyone takes their needed correction. Of course a fruit does not fall far from its tree.

Family plays a very critical role in building the personality of an individual. Many dysfunctional persons we see in the society are victims of dysfunctional homes and upbringings. There’s a tendency to want to indulge an individual cos he/she is ‘family’. Unfortunately the ripple effect is what visible all around us today; a people so irritable, unforgiving and revengeful. A society where rather than dunce spites/quarrels we take pleasure in fanning these evil vices to flame in the name of solidarity.

Thanks to my amazing brothers, cos curtsey them, I have learnt to move on from misunderstandings with little or no hurt. I have also learnt to be introspective during disagreements, so it’s easy to see where I went wrong and apologise. My brothers thought me that saying sorry doesn’t make you less. These guys showed me how to travel light, not holding tight to past wrongs. Their influence to me is so positive that I don’t know how to keep malice’. Hence, all my efforts to keep malice with my husband now that I am married always fails.

Presently, I look forward to having conversations with my brothers cos such conversations are always inspiring and motivating. My big brothers have helped me become a better person. Gossip is not their thing and many times when we have reason to talk about a person in the negative, it ends with a burden to reach out to them in love and/or pray for them. Of course I still have a number reservations about these two and their ways, but much more I’m grateful that I’m blessed with brothers who have helped me become less petty and more relatable.


Thanks Babs and Bolu, cheers to many more beautiful years of siblinghood!

Tribute to my Dad at 70

I thought, why wait to write a Tribute
Why not now, why remain mute?
Why not share the story of a man so astute
A man whose legacy none can refute nor dispute
I wish I could do a song or even play the flute
But since I can’t, I thought to journey this route
So here begins my Tribute

Happy 70th I must say
To a husband who sticks to his wife, as a porter would the clay
To a father whose yes is yes and nay, nay
An academic through and through not minding the meagre pay
A pastor, yet never given to public show nor display
To a man whose heart is sincere as the light of day

Happy 70th birthday dearest Dad
That I get to call you Dad makes me so glad
I’m eternally grateful that I am a member of your squad
Cos you’re a rolemodel whose life is a placard
Pointing men to Christ and as should be the standard
Yes you are always so patient and calm, but sin gets you mad
A servant of God, whose desire is to please his master, that explains why you work hard
Disciplinarian, never tired, always on guard.

Happy birthday, May you live long
I’m sure you’ll wonder how long is long
Yes! I will love to have you around for real long
But I so know, you wouldn’t like that to be around for too long
So my prayer for you today is:
That your lagacy will outlive your earthly tenancy
That the lives you touch will inturn be pillars in the church
That the children you’ve raised and will in the gates be praised

So Dad, we want to say thank you;
Thank you Dad for showing us Christ in everything you do
Thanks for teaching us contentment by the way you live
Thanks for modelling purpose in the decisions you take
Thanks for living out love in the way you love
God bless you sir for raising the bar so high, that makes it so difficult to settle.

Today I must confess that God has used you as an example, an exhibit, a letter of a true Christian life.
God has used you as a beam of light that has kept me from backsliding over the years
Cos I have seen God in your lives (that is in yours, mummy’s and even late mum’s).
Our story is similar to Timothy’s, who was surrounded by examplary parents
We have seen God answer your prayers for each and every one of us.
We have seen that one could have so little yet be so fulfilled
We have seen you live out Paul’s words ‘for me to live is Christ and to die gain’
We have learnt that it is possible to love nonbiological children as yours
Your lives clearly testify that it pays to serve Jesus, this I speak from my heart.

We’re happy that you’re here today
But someday when you’re no longer here
I’m sure your legacy will outlive you
Dad and mummy are 2 of 3 people I know that you can comfortably have conversations about death with
Dad will say things like, there’s no point cementing his grave, so that his body can easily mix up with the sand
Strange right?
I remember two Sundays back in church,
We were having a conversation on how much love to show those who hurt us
My father said, we must keep loving them knowing that the worst thing a man can do to you is kill the body,
And this means going to heaven straight away
Dad, this explains why you live every day of your Life, preparing for a life here after, heaven.

So Dad when you’re gone whenever the lord deems fit
Remember in heaven where you’d be
that we’re grateful we had you as a Father
Happy birthday Dad
Live forever dearest father, pastor, teacher, discipler and friend

Love at first sight

It was love at first sight
His eyes shone so bright
Crystal clear, like the morning light
As a man drunk in wine’s delight
He seemed so oblivious of my plight
My first instinct was to take flight
I wasn’t ready, was my fight
Cos I had seen love infested with blight


It was love at first touch
I’ve known nonesuch
How could a mere touch
Dispel all my fears as such
This was way too much
Rather than stand tall, I began to slouch
My body trembled as though to crouch
It wasn’t borne from fear of mistouch
Still my heart panicked with a hunch
For with love I couldn’t vouch


It was love at first dance
I never imagined he’d my way glance
Talk more give me a chance
But here I was swaying with his assistance
His hands firmly to my back in guidance
It was as though I was in a trance
Leaning in, I was met by his appealing frangrance
It felt so good in that instance
But somewhere in my heart I maintained a distance
For with love I was not ready to make alliance


It was love at first walk
I could feel the stare, the talk
Eyes boring into my soul in eyestalk
We weren’t a fit, hence the talk
Yet he seemed unaware of the backtalk
Even my unsure steps, didn’t make him balk
But still my fears didn’t let me enjoy this lovewalk


It was love like no other
The crime was mine, my murder
Yet he stood condemned like a sinner
Standing calmly without a bother
This didn’t make sense to many either
Why would he? was their wonder
But I had no answer
None what so ever
At this point I had to surrender
All the walls I’ve built came assunder
Cos if this wasn’t love what could ever
For alas, I’ve found my true lover!

Who am I?

I am a Nigerian
Yet the other day I couldn’t get the job cos I don’t speak hausa
Don’t bother I was told, there will be another
Still the next was zoned to the east
Not necessarily because they are wise
like the wise men from the east
But yet again they wanted someone from the igbo heritage
Alas another came with yoruba being the preference
EMI-Lokan I said, now it’s my turn
Sadly I was turned down they said your father isn’t yoruba
It was not enough that I am my yoruba mother’s replica
It did not count since my father is Igala

I am a Nigerian
Born in Enugu state,
Shooled in Abia for my university education
Served my father land in Ebonyi
Yet you don’t think I’m igbo enough

I am a Nigerian
Living in Benue
Yet at every slightest chance I’m reminded
That I am not a son of the soil
Even though I nourished that very soil
Maybe even more than the so called son of the soil

I am a Nigerian
Yet you say It’s a taboo for my friend to marry your tiv son
cos you, her father is igede
It doesn’t matter that the tivs and igedes are from same state
Or that you share the same land

I am a Nigerian
Yet you don’t think I should govern
Not because I am not qualified
You are actually impressed with my qualifications
But tribal sentiments have made you settle for less

I am a Nigerian
However I don’t seem to fit anywhere
For my very own have turned their backs on me
My ‘mother’s’ children have forsaken me
They say “you are not one of us”
For no fault of mine
Now I am left to wonder
Who am l?

My mother’s death @ 49years had me thinking she must have sinned against God…

You wouldn’t blame me for having such a thought because I had no other logical explanation that could suffice. How else could I explain why someone as amazing as my mother would die at 49, leaving behind all her loved ones.

My mother was an amazing woman, she was extraordinary. I am not saying this just because she was my mother. That woman had the capacity to be all things to all men. She was so relatable, never given to class nor sect. It was amazing the people that showed up in our home after her demise. Most memorable for me was her fish seller (customer), he stared at my mum’s picture and lamented how it was good people that died untimely.

I remember how deliberate she was in showing my siblings and myself Jesus. She also joyfully provided guidance with our school work. She would listen to every detail of our stories of excellence and even failures. Her facial expression was my favourite part, she did not listen only with her ears but also with her facial expressions. She would wake up early to take each child through his/her note books during tests and examinations. Patiently taking turns not leaving any child behind. I remember how she was my very first spoken words coach as she would make me recite some write ups even at a very tender age(my siblings were not left out).

My mother taught us to treat all men fair. We learned to share the little we had with those around. She would give the choicest to visitors while leaving us with the less choicer. She was excited anytime she could afford to give us a treat which wasn’t very often, because it was not easy raising 5 biological plus the non biological children with my father’s meagre lecturer’s and her little state government salaries.

My mother was a Christian through and through or so I thought until I came back home from school to be confronted with the news of her death. I had just concluded my senior secondary 1 (SS 1) and being my first year in boarding school I was looking forward to the long holiday. I was picked up from school with my father’s car however it was being driven by a family friend (Daddy Ota) while ‘Mummy Foluso’ (my friend’s mother and my mother’s close friend) was also in the car. I was a bit suspicious but I never imagined death would come knocking so close, so I ignored every suspicion. As soon as we reached home after the about one hour drive from school, I received the shocker of my life.

I was confronted with my mother’s picture in front of our house, with a condolence register just beside. Then I looked up and saw my mother’s sister (Aunty Moji) coming out from the house. What in the world would someone who should be in Lagos be doing in Benue state? I knew immediately that my darling mother was gone and was set to take off but for hands that held me down. My mother had written a farewell letter to me while I was in school but I didn’t know. She had written from her sick bed which was obvious in her handwriting. I remember her final words to me in the letter were “always remember the family to whom you belong”. Those words have kept me from backsliding.

I was in shock and as much as I couldn’t speak up, I felt my mother must have done something wrong to have died after just a brief illness. It was not still comforting when a number of people shared how she had known she’d soon die. The church didn’t help either, especially with statements like “…you are in the sanctuary while others are in a mortuary”. This statement is often used to display how more privileged those alive are as opposed to the dead. So I would wonder “what did mum do to be taken by God at 49years old?”

This question plagued me for years and I settled that she must have done something wrong. This did not make me doubt that she was in heaven. Of course I never questioned her transition to heaven. However I felt that maybe like Moses, God did not want her alive anymore as a result of something she did wrong of which she must have apologised. This thought heightened overtime with the loss of other family friends and relatives. I thought the dead were disprivileged not until I saw Apostle Paul mention that “for me to live is Christ and to die gain”.

Paul’s declaration began to make me do a rethink. It then dawned on me that death is not evil, moreso that going to heaven can only happen post-death. Jesus assured us that He’s going to prepare a mansion for us. So rather than wonder what sin the dead have committed, I have began to pray more that “I will make it to heaven when I die”. Death is inevitable so rather than feel more privileged than those that have gone ahead, I rather would prepare to go down that path someday enroute to heaven.

So, yes my mother died at 49 even though God promises long life to his children but I am rest assured that only God has the definition of long life. Just consider it; my mother lived for 49years but the lives she affected are so numerous such that over 20years after her demise I still meet people who have amazing things to say about her.

Today I come with grateful heart to thank God for blessing me with such an awesome mother for 14years of my life. I am also grateful to all those who stood with us through these years both family and friends. To those that have answered my crazy questions (top on the list is uncle Willie) I am also grateful to God for them.

Rest on mum, rest. There’s so much to talk about when we see again…

Death!

Death!

My present favorite picture!

Starring at this picture, I remember uttering words of prayer to God, asking that He kindly gives Argentina a win and a win they got. I did not watch the 2022 world cup finals because my heart would not have taken it. I had actually stopped watching ball some seven years ago. This was a decision I took after watching a La Liga finals where one could rightfully say I had nothing at stake, as none of my favorite teams were playing. In an attempt to guard my heart from heart break, I chose to remain non-partisan, so I took no sides. However, at the tail end of the match I decided to tilt in favor of the winning team. Unfortunately, football happened, and the apparently winning team lost and again my heart was so broken. I did not handle football losses well, as I would get really sad/troubled, and this could go on for weeks.  At this point I knew it was time I protect my football fragile heart; hence I ended my football watching career. But before quitting I had already made some lasting relationships one of whom was Lionel Messi. So, although I quit, I had still looked out for him from afar, silently wishing him well whenever his name was mentioned.

Argentina winning the world cup was comforting to me more for Messi and this picture does justice to capture that. I remember watching in a replay this very moment, where Lionel Messi stole a kiss at the magnificent world cup after receiving the golden ball award. I love every bit of this picture because it captures the fulfilment of a lifelong dream. I didn’t see Messi as one to dare such a move (stealing a kiss at what wasn’t yet his), nonetheless I am glad he did. I also watched the excitement of his teammates, I could see pure joy cascading through the faces of each player. Qatar made it more magnificent with the striking stage and the incredible fireworks. Thanks, Qatar! Everyone that followed or experienced this world cup is affirmative that this was a unique experience.

Post world cup euphoria I got thinking, reminiscing on how esthetic it was. I watched some clips here and there, truthfully it was exceptional. But most exceptional for me was still this picture of an outstanding footballer being crowned for many years of hard work. It was as though the picture portrays a man saying the words of Apostle Paul in the Bible “I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith”. The irony is that Messi’s intent for stealing that kiss most likely stemmed from a place of self-actualization and not necessarily because he wanted some pictures. I would like to think it was a gesture borne from a place of gratitude and accomplishment.

This picture gives me a tiny glimpse of what the heavenly crowning ceremony would look like. Of course, at the end of a life spent fulfilling all of God’s desires I hope to relish every single moment of my award ceremony. I’m not certain what I’d do, I hope of course to kiss every bit of my crown but still, I can’t be too sure. Oftentimes, I would plan and rehearse my response for moments like this, but then when it’s time to act out the script I get so overwhelmed that I forget my rehearsed lines and gestures. So I cannot say for sure what I would do, I doubt even Messi had planned this picture posture either. What I’m just so sure of is that I would be in awe of the moment, more so that it’s going to be something way more magnificent. The crowd of witnesses will be there cheering on me as I walk enthusiastically to get my crown.

Congratulations Messi! But a bigger congratulations to we Christians (both dead and alive) who qualify to partake in a much more glorious award ceremony. Perhaps you’re yet to belong to this winning team then it’s time you join the train. Welcome on board then!

My father’s brother and my father

I grew up in times where fatherhood was not limited to biological fathers. It was a time where everyone that played a fatherly role was called daddy. A time where it was rude to call a friend’s father anything less than daddy. So I had many daddies which could be quite confusing. To help reduce this confusion we had to attach a suffix that is unique to that particular daddy. This suffix could be names of children; for example I could call my friend’s father, Daddy-Foluso. Foluso, happens to be my friend’s name and defining her dad by her name was comforting. Sometimes we defined these daddies by the location. This brings me to the story of my father’s brother (who my siblings and myself call ‘Daddy-Idah’) and my father.

Growing up, I knew my father had many ‘siblings’. It was also times where cousins were referred to as brothers and sisters. Again, this was very confusing as I had lost count of my father’s so called siblings. However, there was a brother that stood out; Daddy-Idah. Daddy-Idah is my father’s biological elder brother who we sometimes qualified by his location. We added the suffix Idah because he was located in Idah, Kogi state of Nigeria. He is a seasoned library scientist who rose to the rank of Chief Librarian before retiring in 2019.

My father on the other hand is an Environmental Engineering lecturer, who like his brother has attained the peak of his career and is now a professor. My siblings and myself grew up calling my father, ‘Dad’. So, whenever my father and his brother are in the same space it was easy to call one Daddy and the other Dad. This so stuck that up till date I consider it rather disrespectful calling my uncle, uncle James (James happens to be his first name). Uncle James also happens to be Dad’s elder brother, who for the longest I’ve known plays both the big brother and fatherly role to my father. I guess you can now understand why I could never call him anything less than Daddy, or to be more definite Daddy-Idah. Haven given this background, I will stick to calling my father’s brother Daddy and my father Dad onwards.

Daddy and Dad is what I call inseparable. I have grown up seeing them loyally stand by and with eachother. Their ideologies, thought patterns and even beliefs are similar. This is amplified in by their faith in Jesus, which is another area they share unapologetic similarity. I don’t know the history of their faith and I’ve never asked, what I do know is that in my over 3 decades of existence I have seen both of them defend their faith in Lord Jesus Christ in their actions, inactions, words, silence, love, and even hate for unrighteousness.

Their love and loyalty to eachother is so visible to all. They would show up for at eachother’s event, they would always keep in touch with eachother. Good enough they valued the sanctity and oneness of marriage. So, their relationship never demeaned the unity of the husband and wife, but rather amplified this truth. That explains why their closeness never affected their marriages negatively. Although, to be fair to their wives, they weren’t spoilers, instead they helped in the preservation of this brotherhood. I have heard scary stories of how spouses have scattered siblings relationships, which is so not cool. Marriage should be a place where relationships are nursed, not spoiled and I will tell you why. In many scenarios children are often made by what they learn from parents. They would love and respect their siblings, if they see their parents do same. They would appreciate relationships if they’ve grown in homes that do. It’s hard to expect children to become what their parents aren’t, as they are unconsciously, subconsciously and consciously modelled by what they see firsthand.

In recent times I was at an event where Daddy and Dad were both present. I watched in admiration as they yet sat by eachother, to me it was a noble act. I guess they had grown accustomed to siting and standing with/by eachother in the past about 7 decades of their lives, that it only comes natural to them. Their relationship is so inspiring that I sometimes catch myself envying same relationships for my siblings and even my children.

Of course they’re aren’t perfect neither are they the same. It’s funny how they differ even in their similarity. Daddy-Idah is actually more sensitive and caring especially towards the girl child. You could be sure to get more sympathy and support from him than you’d his brother. Dad on the other hand is less in your business, he could sit back and trust you to use your best judgement as opposed to Daddy who I feel could be a spoiler with his spoon feeding methodology. While you can get Daddy-Idah emotional and disturbed on some happenings, Dad will remain calmer. So we (my siblings and cousins) exploited and explored their strengths and weaknesses for our benefit. We knew who we could get away with what and who we couldn’t. How could I almost forget that Daddy was more protective, especially of the girl child, which we didn’t like. He had his eyes hovering over us like a mother hen protecting her chicks from the hawks. I will save this gist for another day.

The first major dissimilarity I saw between my father’s brother and my father was political. While one believed in a particular party the other did not, and being that they could both be defensive and vocal on what they believe in, made it quite interesting. At some point, in order to reduce their disagreement they would rather avoid having conversations about such matters. These guys were and still are an item and I pray that God graciously keeps them both because I fear how they’d survive without eachother. I pray that they’d remain strong in faith, and die as heroes of the gospel they’ve so defended. I also pray that God will be so generous to build their mansions side by side in heaven, so they could continue what they’ve left off here on earth.

I’ve learnt the beauty of siblings and family relationships from these two. They aren’t only loyal to themselves but also to their extended family, they would show up at family functions and happily so. They would mediate family squabbles and quarrels pro-bono. They would forgive insultive family members and were constant in their prayers for both erring and non-erring family members. So, it’s rather confusing and disturbing for me, on how the world seem to be shoving aside healthy relationships in exchange for pursuing the ‘finer things of life’. Basing relationships to things like status, wealth and other very ephemeral standards. Our lives are fast becoming constrained to our nuclear families, forgetting that extended families are offshoots of the nuclear. In simple words, ‘your children who are nuclear to you, will make families who will be extended to eachother’. We’ve learnt to love only when convenient and dump at the slightest dispute and difficulty.

I’m glad my siblings and cousins are firm believers of what we’ve touched, seen and watched for almost our whole lives. I for one rate relationships to man, next to the most important thing in life; relationship with God. Such that I have become a strong relationship advocator. Remember Jesus said, the first commandment is to love the Lord your God with all your heart, and the next which he likens to the first; ‘is to love your neighbors as yourself’.

I would rest my pen soonest, but not before I do a toast to my father’s brother and my father. Two men who I’ve come to love dearly and I’ve learnt the value of family from. ‘Cheers Daddy and Dad, may your days be long and filled with greater accomplishments!’.

5years after my mum’s death, dad remarries!

I lost my Mum 20years ago, she was amazing. So, that explains why I felt really betrayed 5years after, when Dad says he wants to remarry. My Mum and Dad were a thing; it was a marriage where I can confidently say I had no vivid memory of them having an argument. They were some couple, and even when Mum left, I never imagined Dad filling that position. Mum died when I was 14, I wasn’t a child anymore, so my memories of her are not vague.

I wondered, how an amazing relationship could be forgotten so soon. I think, this was my first romantic heart break. Unlike Shakespeare’s Romeo who would rather die besides Juliet, Dad was here making plans to marry another. It was more hurting that it was someone Mum knew, oh yes, they used to be friends during mum’s lifetime.

It was all shades wrong to me and I was quite disappointed in Dad, I refused to listen to his reasons for going the route of remarrying. It wasn’t my thing to display tantrums or openly make a fuss about my unhappiness. So, I voiced assent when asked my opinion but deep down I struggled with this enormous betrayal.

The marriage happened and again I wept a lot during the wedding ceremony. How does a man repeat same vows he said to his late wife to another woman? They had violated the law of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ again. I was 19 now, and was well read in romantic stories. This was a breach to the kind of books I had grown to love.

It’s 15years after I watched Dad marry another woman. Now, I’m all grown up and wondering why I was so selfish and childish then. You wouldn’t blame me though, I was only protecting my Mum’s territory. Being happily married myself, I can truthfully say ‘I would love my husband to remarry if I happen to go before him’. This is my truth! I have seen that the world is too lonely a place to walk alone. I have learned a lot from this experience. Was life perfect after Dad married again? I would say a resounding no! It wasn’t; it was me trying to fit into a home with step siblings and all. I was expecting my new mum to be 100 percent my late mother and it didn’t happen. There were issues and several things I needed to unlearn and learn. It was not easy for me and neither was it for everyone else.

Over a decade after, almost all of us kids who were there from the onset of the remarriage are out. We kicked against this marriage in our hearts and some vocally, but today we’re all out. We’re in different places, building our own families and paths. These two; my dad and my stepmother (who I call mummy) are having a swell time; because they have each other. They’ve been both a blessing to me and I’m grateful to God for them.

So today if you would ask whether I want Dad to remarry, I would scream a resounding yes! He should, he deserves to live again, and this is not to disrespect my mum’s memory, never! Mum is in heaven where she belongs and her legacy lives in me and my siblings. However, Dad deserves another chance to love and be loved by a woman as amazing as mummy.

I’m grateful to God who blessed me, with not just one mother, neither two but many mothers who pulled their weight around me when mum passed. That story I would write another day…

Today however I celebrate my Dad and Mummy for an amazing 15years of marriage. Enjoy!