In my hometown, we pay homage to elders holding a brief description of ourselves in their wisdom. We meet them on their seat with a bottle of a dry Gin and some kola nuts. We greet them and hand over the Gin to them. Then, we wait patiently for them to open the Gin and wrap us in their prayers. They commit us in their ancestral shrine and pour libation to our future. Then, we kneel in front of them, head bow and eyes closed; libations are poured on the ground blessing the ancestors for being so good to us. The ancestors have to dine with what the living has brought before them before it could be eaten according to what we were told. Afterwards, the Kola nuts are broken and eaten thereafter.
See, I put my soul out there to write this, not anything else, not my ego; I put my heart out there. I think that is the only way I like to live, and that is the kind of writer I want to be, a cross writer, becoming home to many resemblances and responses to those who might want to visit this lonely heart when it is convenient for them to do so. I put my heart out there to write this, whichever way it comes in shape, it is not sharpened to have a direct number of memories but paintings and words, dreams and most especially, beautiful imageries.
My mother once told us sometimes ago that it is always good to leave a sweet song on the lips so that whenever you are sad you could retrieve it from your lips and sing it out to kill your depression and boredom. And some other times, the deeds of great men are left on the mountain for the sun to have them on its hands for the memories which will breed love and friendship and relationship amidst sorrow. I bleed happiness and joy interwoven by peace in the passion of which I have come to love and cherish his personality. The only thing left to be honored are our deeds after we are gone but I have learnt to honor men even before they leave mother earth because that was how my ancestors were able to find their ways to paradise.
Because every time we remember friends, we remember Butterflies. We remember unicorn. We remember rainbows and colors. We remember Zebras and where love lines crossed paths. We remember laughter and dimples. We remember rooted trust and believe and respect. We remember unity. We remember lovers and affections. We remember there is fire and water. We remember all those who are part of us; one body and soul. Because we are complicated humans that sometimes don’t understand each other and we need other’s eyes to see our flaws. A dark room shows how strong we are and an empty room, the human in us. Between fantasy and treasures, between the now and the tomorrow we crave, we may see us climbing on the circle of our crafts to name each other as a craving body of words.
Because these words are fire and its breath wakes dead bones. Because we are not to forget courtesy and what each and every one of us means to us, because we are humans and we must be humans and we must learn to praise each other not only in death but when alive. When Mother was teaching us how to smile and laugh, she called one of her friend’s daughters. She made the girl stood in front of us. Although, she was having incomplete teeth but she smiled anyway. She said laughter is best seen on the faces of friends. She said smiles are birth with certified relationship. When cuddles and hugs are words entangled and imageries and words are intimate lovers then fireflies become the best closure to our hope, because everything, for me, starts with a gratification of self worth and Evaluations. Because everything, for me, starts with colorful words and these, also are still unborn children peeling off from the earthen dust – Here is a way to commune and communicate with another heart. Let’s start from the end of the story to the beginning to tell of these tales in earnest.
Adebisi, bushes, roads, cars, glasses, injuries, sadness, ellipsis, love, words and dreams: these are our parts and shadows and footsteps and dreams. Have them, with a sinking ship on the background of your life, and then paint with cautionary brush, a life you’ve always wanted to paint to show the entire world – Openness. The sum of my parts might not make any sense on your canvass, but paint it anyway with a beautiful mind if not for anything, just paint it on your face and walk around smiling for tomorrow holds a fresh start of a new rainbow bridged on the sky. This heart holds a dream closer to fortune; I give out my heart to the Pearl labor of affections. Aremu, you are better than the one that left without touching a flower in the garden of creative minds. Adams, you are a meditation in the mind of Kings and Queens.
On a lighter note, the summer I learnt to leave my thoughts on the wings of people’s prayer, that was the summer I started building on self. It was the summer I peeled off my skin for a boy in my street to have it. It was the summer I told a girl how beautiful she was. It was the summer I fingered the beauty of being who I am. I have known you even if not in person but in words. I have felt the weaknesses, braveness, Resilient, and confident hidden in your lines and verses. I have been able to look through your heart and soul and allow my spirit to guide me into the deepest condolences of your world. Your heart is not an Asylum chapel for lazy minds. Your heart recreates builds and forges ahead many dreams. You are a champion.
Words could be entwined sweetness and sweetbreads of antidotes of friends in the journey of life and its dexterity. By means of holding our existence on the palms of our guts, we learn to respect everybody’s personality because we stand because those people once stood for us; they stood in our defense mechanism. They stood there to uphold us through trials and errors and tribulations. Few are brave, others are cowards to face the lioness and lions, and others are in between pushing you to go whilst they darns watching you destroy yourself. Your smile replaces the brilliant ray of the sun because every of your conventional manner represents a pure love and friendship amidst understanding that claims the working of any thought like the blue skies embrace the trees sprouting again. When harmattan is gone into the soul of the grave, you stand to appreciate the living and the mysteries hidden in the art of living itself.
In the darkest distant found between small spaces, in the purity of what stands as the only approach to understanding life and the substances that life could hold, you are a reflection of someone who doesn’t back out in a dire situations. A brave heart holding up the good of life while burden of others you try to fix and desires to break every boring backing down the existence rife of friends. And the grey veil of a palsied seasoned weather covered all faces when as I embrace and take you into my waiting arms, the clouds becomes a sable vested noon to my waiting. Yet, in the street of Aba, I sense braveness and nothingness, the sun rays affected only my palms owning to the fact that I was holding to the fire in your lines and verses and your smiles seen in the body of transcendence.