HEARTSTRINGS

SOURCE: ideasvalentinesday

ROSE:

I always wake up to a wet sweet tingling on my cheek,

Right where your lips touch before they move to my neck.

My tongue never gets used to your flavor as it bears the drugging effect of wine, chocolates and pure love.

We’ve been married just a year and I still look forward to marrying you the very next day, and saying I do all over again when you hug me from behind.

I often wonder if this would be till the end of time.

LILY:

I have loved you for a decade or so, borne your name for half the time and will want you forever.

I took vows by the sea with waters, earth and sky echoing them in unison.

Bed sheets can bear witness of the passion we share and the lights of how often we abandon them so that I can find you with hands and not eyes.

But outside your arms I know no solace for I am yet to bear the name mother;

I often wonder whether you’ll start to mind that too.

DAISY:

At first your touch was mild and then they turned to jabs that later turned my skin purple after a day or two.

At first I never wanted you to stop speaking for your words were laced with roses and I glowed as each syllable passed through me.

Now I’m running out of heart for each word from you destroys one more inch of it and makes me less woman.

Three missed periods have ended with scarlet fluid running down my legs and more life ebbing away from me.

I often wonder how long it takes you finally destroy a woman.

IRIS:

You have renamed me, re-molded me and made me yours in a way that can never be undone.

The purity of every interaction with you saved me from myself and every hugged pulled more of me out from the clutches of a stained past.

The children are beautiful but I wouldn’t want any without you and I can only love me and them because you constantly show me how.

All this time have taught me that some things- special things like what we’ve built- can defy the Constance of change.

I often wonder how little a woman I’d be if you hadn’t come along.

JASMINE:

I have watched you love me in more ways than one; with words, gifts and care but then, I have watched you love us all in the same way.

I see the lip stains, texts, and receipts, and how you steal quick kisses from them when you think I’m not looking.

I have gotten threats from unnamed women who want more of you and forget that you are solely mine or at least, were meant to be.

But I have loved you more, kissed you more, prayed for you more and given to more of myself.

I often wonder what I’m missing and how every other women manages to have enough of it to give you.

VIOLET:

I buckle at the knees each time I hear the sound of your voice or even the horn of your car; my body lives in the constant fear of the shame my thighs face by you.

My breasts and neck hurt from where your canines constantly dig in each time the bed lamp goes off.

My nostrils are accustomed to the stench of alcohol from your breath and my face to the eerie feeling of you drooling all over it.

You’ve become a nightmare as constant as the wedding ring I wear.

I often wonder how long it will take to lose you both.

IVY:

I have watched your dark hair disappear taking with it all the passion we once had.

Sweet names have gone with age and adventure with the fading memories.

A full house at Christmas and thanksgiving keep me grateful but I often miss little things like your notes and tickles and long nights of sweet nothings in foreign lands.

These days, memories and stories keep me happy and not you.

I often wonder if we’ll ever taste passion ever again before our demise.

LEILANI:

I have loved you for half a century and more and you leave me thinking that more can be done.

I have learnt to disregard age because the longing in your eyes each time they find me have never waned.

You have taken with you “all of me” and returned to me “all of us”; something I never thought existed or could be so amazing.

You have become the best of wines getting better with age and more exotic with passing moments.

I often wonder if death will be strong enough to break what we have.

ME:

I have heard all these tales and more, and have dared love once and tasted its exotic flavor.

I have tried to protect myself from the drama and heartbreak and have prayed on every night that my tale be magical.

I have grown to desire love in its purest form and am trying to learn how to wield it.

Now I’m focused on becoming his dream even before he finds me and loving others so that we can reflect God’s intention.

Perhaps in targeting a thousand souls, I will find that “one” and would have enough love to give and room to receive.

I often wonder what beautiful tale is yet to happen with me.

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 DISCLAIMER: The names are fictional. Also, I do not suppose that these extracts embody the experiences of every woman. However, these tales are as true as many of the women you have known.

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 I hope I struck a chord in you. 

xoxo.

Nazzy

AVOIDANCE AND IDENTITY WAHALA

Let me start by agreeing with @tilola; Misery is having a story with no medium to tell it or no audience to tell it to. I have been miserable. The mouth in my brain has been itching to say something but my fingers have refused to do their job. They haven’t found the keyboard attractive lately. That’s not the sad part. The disheartening part is that my blog traffic has experienced a slight drop. From where I stand, it means that I’ve been leaving my readers out in the cold and some have decided to stop knocking on my door. I apologize immensely. Please come back oo. Without you, there’ll be no blog; I might as well read my pieces on my laptop while imagining voices in my head saying, “Oh my goodness! You’re such an amazing writer”. If you guys want me to employ a doorman, I will.

So I’ve meaning to do this post for some time now. A few months ago, I wrote an article for to do this post for some time now. A few months ago, I wrote an article for YOU MAGAZINE. The item was about “the dos and don’ts for a first date”. It was a decent piece. I didn’t say anything you haven’t heard before. There was recurring talk on being modesty, dressing right, not having sex on the first date, being yourself and blablabla. When the edition was released, my sister called and was gushing about how she loved the piece and how my parents taught it was cool. Since, everyone was cool with the article, I relaxed and forgot about it. I was in school at that time so the editor sent copies of the magazine to my house.

On getting home, it was one of the first things I was shown. I was glowing with contentment. After a few days, my mum called me for one of those disturbing heart-to-heart talks. My dad was present as well. At that point, I knew that something real was about to go down. The conversation started with questions on the next step I would be taking with respect to my career. In response, I dropped the bomb that I wasn’t interested in getting a masters degree in econometrics which my dad has always dreamed about. I did not get the outburst I had expected. My dad just went cold and quiet although I’m sure the Nigeria-Biafra war part 2 was going on right inside of him. My mum was obviously bothered about something less trivial and so didn’t stop to process my lack of interest in “our dream plan”.

Mum: I heard you are now a professional writer and that you even write on the internet.

Me: Emmmm….Yes ma.

(She gives me that downward yimu that Nigerian mums come up with when they mean to say “hmm! Okay oooo” *note the tone*)

Mum: I saw the article you wrote for that magazine. I’m not saying it wasn’t nice o. As a matter of fact, I was so proud that I took it along with me everywhere I went, but after reading it over and over again, I stopped. Yes, I stopped. Writing is very nice but one must be careful about the style of writing she adopts, especially a young, unmarried girl like you. See that your magazine article baa, I did not like the style. You had little business writing about something like that. Don’t you know that people reading it will be thinking that this girl has “experience”. Ehen, they’ll be thinking that you have experience and it’s not good for your reputation as an unmarried well bred girl. You can write about these things after you have gotten married and had kids.

At this point, my head was spinning. What does “experience” even mean? How does writing a decent article about dating lead to the conclusion that I have a wealth of sexual experience or that I have dated everything that owns a pair of boxers? After all, my only reference to sex in the article was a ‘don’t’. At first, I wanted to get mad at my mum but I realized that I she was only trying to protect me from the society and its identity wahala. A society that judges people based on baseless assumptions. A society that is quick to draw faults out of the well of people’s actions and pure intentions. A society that devours you while pretending to save you from drowning in the sea of its own shallow minds. I just couldn’t wrap my head around the situation.

I know that it’s probably justified to evaluate people based on the proceeds of their thoughts but if we are gonna do that, then we must take a critical look at the whole picture. We must consider the motives and the exact message that the writer intends to pass across. People need to stop helping others think. A person is only responsible for what he says; you are responsible for what you make out of the speech or writing. Like Chimamanda Adichie says, “A single story will create stereotypes and the problem is not that stereotypes are untrue, but that they are incomplete”. I mean, you can’t go around thinking that Nazzy is some kind of slut because she wrote an article on dos and don’ts of first date. It’s just plain stupid and illogical.

One thing that has battered many individuals and households in African societies is the issue of “avoidance”. Avoiding the truth, the unconventional, the awkward facts, will only drive us towards lies. There’s no solace in running from the truth and hoping that bumping into it tomorrow will not wreck your world. We live in a social order where people make every conscious effort to stay away from issues that are inevitable, in the bid to… Honestly, I don’t even know what the point is.

Parents won’t talk to their kids about sex because, well, it’s a sin and at the end of the conversation lurks the devil waiting to send you straight to the abyss. The first time I used the word ‘sex’ in a sentence while talking to my mum, I almost threw up in my mouth and it was obvious that she felt uneasy as well. Why is that? NEWS FLASH: There are bad friends, pornographic sites and movies and let’s not forget terrible house helps who are willing to “educate” your kids on your behalf. Oral tradition in Africa has worsened the issue; there are a thousand and one versions of what would happen to you if a boy touched you, literally. Even if these dudes are some kinda King Midas that makes everything they touch pregnant. Let’s push sex aside.

There are a whole lot of controversial and sensitive yet important issues that should be talked about. Your ability to relate to these things especially when you learn from other people’s stories and experiences is what gives you a complete story which is a stronger platform to build your life on, than half-baked single stories.

Recently, a young boy had a boil on his penis and came to me complaining about it. What caught my attention was that he did not refer to his penis as one but as “toto”. I asked him who had taught him the word and he said it was his mother. When I confronted her, she said I should leave the issue alone because the boy wasn’t old enough to know what a penis should be called. Before then, I had no idea that one had to wait till a certain age to be able to name some of his body parts. I had no idea that knowing the name of a part of one’s body could corrupt their mind. Now this kid will have a new revelation of what his penis is when he “finally grows” and of course, will experience changes during puberty. He may tend to be more curious about that part of his body than he should and might be misinformed in the process of trying to figure things out. I’m not a psychologist; I’m just saying. We hear these kinda stories about parents trying to protect their kids from things that they do not need protection from. Information is power, remember? Teach all that is true about a thing and in it will come the wisdom to do right by that thing. It’s simple.

When we avoid these issues, we give the victims the luxury of excuses to justify their shortcomings. When we avoid these issues, we condemn people who fall prey to these circumstances to a kind of isolation; a place where they are held bondage by their fears because self-expression or even a quest for solutions is forbidden by those who feel the need to nurse their self righteousness and hypocrisy. When we avoid these issues, we place a film over them; they become obscure grounds and people are misguided by barriers that exist only in their heads. When we avoid these issues, we exacerbate their repercussions while concealing the certainty of their occurrence. When we avoid these issues, we ignore those who are right in the middle of issues like sexual abuse, abortions, rape, homosexuality, domestic violence, female gender mutilation and a host of other “unholy issues”. What exactly are we trying to avoid by avoiding these things? When did hoisting a flag of ignorance become a criterion for dubbing a man righteous?

It is for the sole reason that a free mind today is regarded as wild, while feigned innocence is regarded as purity. After that talk with my mum, I considered opening another blog where I could write anonymously and possess the freedom to talk about any sensitive or controversial issue I deem fit. But no, I don’t want to be a faceless voice. I want you to listen and remember my face whenever you reminisce over my words. I don’t want to be the person that hides from the truth she speaks because people might think she’s probably lost her womb for writing about issues like abortion, or that she’s not wife material because she’s bold enough to speak against domestic violence. There is no honor in doubting your own words just because others believe in theirs. Let us drop the quest to be identified in “a certain way” that conforms to “a certain way” at the expense of a credible society.

I want to hear your take on the issue. I believe its something many Africans can relate to.

Cheers!!!

MY SEX, MY CROSS

I walk around with this weight beneath me.
This weightless weight...
It defines me,
It qualifies me,
It is who I am.
With it comes release, pleasure and then pain.
My sex.

I am a girl and I had not a choice.
This gift was thrust upon me for reasons beyond my horizon.
I have accepted it.
Why won't you?

I'm the helper, the life bearer, the care taker.
I'm not the lesser being.
I do not care to be held a prisoner by a lifeless part of me.
I'm more than just 'female'.
I'm more than 'breasts and buttocks'.
I'm more than your 'saddle'.
I'm a woman... A person with feelings and dreams and the right to choose.
I'm not a rag doll, a trophy, a baby factory or a piece of furniture...
Don't treat me as one.

Let me live.
Let my ambitions thrive.
Let my talents and skills flourish.
Let the fire of hope in me burn.
Let my choices be mine.
Let me live for myself.

Dear Man, I ought to stand beside thee and not beneath.
Dear Culture, stop being biased against me.
Dear Religion, Aren't we all equal before God anymore?
Dear World, my ovaries are not yokes.

We are omnivores and not sin eaters.
We are not food to satiate the hunger between your legs.
We are not punching bags; find your way to the gym.
We are not weaklings because we are tender.
We are not dumb because we ought to submit.
We are not for the night, rag dolls to please yourself
Nor for the day, handbags to adorn yourself.
We are not victims.

I am the lover and the mother,
The wise and the strong,
The warrior and the teacher,
The cure to the insanity called "manhood",
The balm to soothe the madness of the young.
I am 'the woman'.

My sex is not a curse,
Today I cast off that cross.
I'll live above your beliefs.
I'll break loose from your grip.
Gender is itself
And I am myself.
                                                                                                                                                                   

This is for every woman whose sin is being a woman. Its for everyone who has lost anything as a result of gender discrimination. Everyone preaches 'gender equality' but what about the woman who is beaten up everyday, or the housewife with no self worth or even the African woman being ridiculed because she bore only female children.
Despite the growing rate of civilization, some people are still stuck in the world of male chauvinism. If you are a woman, stand for yourself; you have a right to be your own person. Fathers, invest in your girl child; she's just as good as a son. Men, please treat us right, the difference between you and us is the 'Y chromosome'. Ladies, your sex is not a tool to earn pity or evade honest  work.
Appreciate the women in your life.

xoxo,
Nazzy