Advertisements

Posts Tagged With: yoruba

The Traveler ~ a short story

emereMe, I laugh at you.

“Why?” You ask.

Tonight, one minute to the eve of my 33rd birthday, I’ll die. Jesus died at 33, why not me?

“You’re Jesus now,” you scoff.

How dare you laugh at me? We shall see who laughs last.

I won’t die on a cross -no, nothing dramatic like that, though I do wish I could beat that. Your Jesus takes the crown for that one, you see. But it’ll be my cross, and my pleasure, which I’ve carried from birth until now that’ll kill me.

You don’t believe me. You’re still laughing. Watch!

My death will shock you. I’ll stun you by the method I choose to leave this world. You’ll wonder why I left my sleeping husband on the bed we’ve shared as man and wife for two years, walked to the kitchen, and after drinking a full glass of water, plunged one of the knives -the very set you gifted me on my wedding day, so deep in my chest, you’d think I wanted to excavate my heart. You’ll wonder why I didn’t write a note to explain the darkness that haunted my soul the days, maybe years, leading up to now. You’ll hate me; you’ll wish you could somehow drag me back from the land of the dead so you could box me in the ears for leaving my three month old twins – a boy and a girl- whom I claimed were the light and the joy of my life.

Are you still laughing? I didn’t think so.

By the time I’m done with you, your nostrils would flare in anger amidst your tears. Your bitterness will move you to anger at God. Yes, your God with whom you say there’s no grey. Why didn’t he prevent me, you’d ask? You’d quickly realize your wayward thoughts and ask for forgiveness for blaming him. After all, he could smite you in anger like your preacher says. But you need a punching bag, so you’ll point accusing fingers at the devil. He is a lesser threat than your God. My death will leave you so confused that your silent rage at God would feel like fire in your bones until you’re burnt out and numb. But I’ll be gone… gone faraway. Maybe heaven, maybe hell. Who cares? Not I. Does such even exist?  I laugh at the theory. But you can’t touch me where I go. Not you. Not your anger.

“Who are you?” You ask in wonder.

Who am I? The question is, what am I? Haven’t you heard of me? I am only a traveler, a child-woman who must have the best of heaven and earth. I journey between the spiritual and physical world at will. My will. That’s my purpose – the destiny my whole heart embraces.

It hits you. “Emere!” You scream.

I laugh. Tell me, who is laughing now?

Note to the Reader:   For non-Yorubas, Emere is a mythical creature who comes to earth as a human but leaves the world on a day of joy so she can bring grief to her loved ones.

Buy my book Lessons in Love ,  out now at Amazon. And if you’re in Nigeria, get your copy at Takada Books….the link is to the upper right. Get your copy and spread the word.

Advertisements
Categories: Blog, My Stories, Reflections | Tags: , , , | 10 Comments

The wedding day: An excerpt from Omo-mummy

Love isn’t something you find. Love is something that finds you. – Loretta Young

Sorry! Content no longer available.  You may read another excerpt of this book by clicking HERE.

Side note: Omo-mummy is a derogatory term used for adults who are easily controlled by their mothers.

Categories: My Stories | Tags: , , | 12 Comments

For Wale Taylor – My first love II

“Aiyeeeeeeeee!” If I live to be a hundred years, I will never forget that scream …the one that marked the beginning of my life’s torture.

I was fourteen and I dreamed of Wale Taylor both night and day. In my night dreams, he was asking me to marry him and I was saying “Yes, Yes, Yes.” Then, we lived in a perfect world that consisted of a big Castle, filled with servants that said “My Lord” and “My Lady”…a castle where lack of electricity and armed robbers did not exist. A world where Whitney Houston’s “And I will always love you” played 24/7. In my Daydreams, he was kissing me again and just for special effects, I would hold up my stuffed pillow and pretend I was kissing him, tongue to tongue, mouth to mouth – as they do in the movies.

I kissed the poor pillow so much that it finally lost all its puffiness. I was having that daydream again when my mother’s harrowing scream reached me in my room, yanking me out of my romance-trance to the world of reality. “Aiyeeeeee” I ran and what I found in the living room left me too stunned to scream.

Sprawled on the floor was my larger-than-life Dad, saliva foaming from his mouth, his limbs contracted. My mom and my brothers were kneeling beside him, tears of panic running down their face as my mom screamed some more. Someone was banging furiously at the door trying to come into the house. Dazed and confused, I ran to the door to open it. Wale’s parents were at the door. Behind them was my crush – Wale Taylor himself.

They were all in their nightclothes. “Mama Yemi, mama Yemi….what is going on?” Wale’s parents cried. They didn’t have to repeat their question before they saw my Dad on the floor. “We need to get to him to the hospital now,” Wale’s father was saying. He lifted my Dad’s limp arm and pretty much knew it was too late. “My life is over. My life is finished,” My mom cried in Yoruba. Wale’s mother ran to my mother’s side and just then, someone rapped on our front door again. In a matter of minutes, there was a large crowd in our spacious living room as the commotion increased with every passing second. I remember someone attempting to wipe the foam off my father’s face.

A group of women was trying to hold my mother still. Others were trying to cover my Dad’s lifeless body from my brothers who were yowling and screaming, terrified at the sight before them. But no one seemed to remember that I was there, crouched by the door entrance, immobilized with shock. No one remembered to hide me from the ugliness in the living room …except Wale.

Except my one and only Wale Taylor, who held my hands as tears lacking any comprehensive emotion coursed down my face, while adults scurried to reduce the upheaval in our spacious living room.

(To be continued)

Categories: My Stories | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

Blog at WordPress.com.

%d bloggers like this: