a cooking pot and twisted tales
Thoughts and Tales…A Lifestyle Blog with a Zing.
It’s time to connect 😊
There are some humans who are such inveterate liars that even the combination of lie detector and truth serum will not be able to drag the truth out of them.
Lying has become such a habitual thing to them that they don’t even know the truth if it jumps up and bites them in the butt.
They have told those lies to themselves and others so much, that it becomes a distorted truth in their minds.
When such people tell you good morning, you better take a very good look out of your window. You shouldn’t trust them as far as you can throw them.
Honesty and integrity should be a key character for me to relate with any human and once it is clear that you are a liar, your trust quotient becomes non-existent and unfortunately, whatever you say will be heretofore taken with a pinch of salt, if taken at all.
I respect the truth even if it is bitter. It is better to deal with. Telling a lie about a bad situation simply makes it worse.
That said, if I come in possession with one vial of truth serum; I wonder why only one vial, I think I shall first test it on to all the lying politicians especially those from my home country.
They have been hell bent on robbing a richly blessed Nation blind in the bid to cripple it’s economy with corruption and to the detriment of its citizenry.
It would be interesting to hear them sing their confessions like canaries about where they hid their stash of stolen booty which they will be made to restitute.
It makes me so unhappy to watch citizens of a society richly endowed with natural resources live in penury, while some hopelessly unprincipled leaders selfishly and greedily grasp that which is for general commune.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post prompt Truth Serum
You’ve come into possession of one vial of truth serum. Who would you give it to (with the person’s consent, of course) — and what questions would you ask?
Tess stares around her tiny, sparsely furnished apartment in contemplation.
Her last purchase, a lovely ornate antique mirror, found during one of her forays in a delightful rustic gem of a store, stood in a corner, reflecting the soft glow of the early morning sun.
Time to go foraging for more things, she thinks. Those antique stores sell all manners of lovely odds and ends with lots of character and a story lurking somewhere in the background. ”That hand carved chest of drawers was simply gorgeous.” ”I wonder if it’s still available?”
Slowly but surely, her bohemian taste in furnishing her apartment will be a signature of hard won independence. It had been a major feat to move out of her parents home.
“Who still lives with their parents in their late 20’s, in this day and age?”
Her thought of age draws her like magnet to the mirror.
She stares a bit sullenly at her reflection, pursing her lips as she assessed herself from side to side.
Her figure is still arresting. Flat taut tummy and nicely shaped rump. Lovely peaks – check √
”Not bad at all, if I must say so myself, she thinks in her head.”
”I may not be drop dead and roll over gorgeous but I sure look good!”
”Those heated gazes of appreciative eyes when I traipse down the street cannot be a lie”, she reasons.
”Yet here I am a week to the big Three 0 and no flicker of romance in my life”, her musings carried on.
A critical look at the mirrored face does not yield a wrinkle.”Not yet”, she utters thankfully.
”Not a birthday to look forward to.” ”Going over to the house, mama, as usual will be looking at me in expectation of news as if I can conjure a husband with the wave of a wand.”
”Hmm! Maybe, it’s really time to try this online dating!” ”I will talk to Kate to give me the low-down.”
It seems to be going alright with her new online boo – after many disasters, but like they say, you may need to kiss several frogs before you find your prince….
To be continued..
From my neighbours chest of drawers, the interesting things that I found:
A tribute to The ageing from Lavanya’s chambers.
The mind of a child from A Momma’s view
Without Hope all is lost.
Writers block dissolver system found via the stables of Wallace Cass
Fascinating peeks of India’s holy city of Benares discovered through the auspices of Christian Mihai.
Just a few 5 daily reminders for you.
I found this article of very the intelligent idiot humourous. 😉
These crafts are truly delightful 🙂
I really lub dis one shown to me by Itsgoodtobecrazysometimes really warmed my heart.
As much as possible, I tried not to allow my mind and heart to be affected by racial inflections but sometimes you read something that tugs at you like when you are born black.
That’s it from me folks.
It’s a good day today. Be blessed and enjoy your weekend.
Who would like to dance with me? Puhleeeez 😉
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Here I often sit and ponder,
As the days go by,
The rising and setting sun,
So quickly passing by,
Where yonder shall tomorrow find me?
It’s only God in heaven that knows!
For that answer my friend is blowing in the wind!
Will I mingle with the free?
Will I be among the living?
For these answers I do not know my friend,
For it is blowing in the wind!
Will I scribble to the delight of others?
Putting smiles and streaking hearts with joy?
For this I shall strive some more,
But the answer my friend, is blowing in the wind!
Shall I rock grand-babies on my bent knees?
Singing hush lullabies to darling little ears.
This I know not my friend,
For the answer is blowing in the wind!
Shall tomorrow meet me,
Sipping warm cocoa in my rocking chair,
Telling tales of days gone by?
The answer my friend is blowing in the wind!
Yesterday is gone!
Tomorrow belongs to God!
My today is a present gift as I sit here!
Let me be happy, and have peace!
I shall leave tomorrow’s answer, to the blowing wind.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post prompt Six of one, half a dozen of the other
Write a six-word story about what you think the future holds for you, and then expand on it in a post.
This is one of my stories that I have found a bit difficult to write, but sometimes, just sometimes, we have to write to encourage, we write to strengthen, we write to heal and we write for ourselves, reliving our stories and letting it out.
Fear is one intangible menace that lurks in dark corners on one’s path of life. It may be invisible to the eye but felt sharply in the heart.
It can destabilize us, cause emotional distress and worry. It will assume as many disguises as possible and taunt as wickedly as possible.
I am not quite sure when the spirit of fear cloaked my being as a child, but when I reflect on it, I think it might have been consciously triggered when I witnessed the simultaneous loss of my beautiful siblings.
It was an experience in my young mind, which left my mum very distraught and I remember vividly her attempt to jump out of our moving vehicle when we were going for the burial.
I was seated in the back of the car clutching her and as small as I was, around 7 years, I remember pleading with her not to go. She was devastated.
I developed that fear of losing my loved ones, that I would find myself staying awake at nights in my bed and listening until my dad came home, then I would fall asleep.
My parents were pretty close and I not only feared losing my dad, but I worried about the effect of his loss on our family in general and my mother in particular.
I had to stare that fear in the eye just over two years ago.
Following various symptoms and a battery of painful tests, my dad was diagnosed with cancer and the battle for his life commenced.
It was an emotionally stretching journey for the entire family, but what amazed me was that, not for one day, not even once did my dad grumble despite all the pains that he was having.
I would call morning and night to talk to him, fly down to see him and sit with him and he never muttered one word of complaint.
Stoically, he ate all the vegetable concoctions my mother came up with through research, took his drugs and went through all the paces in good spirit – I am doubtful that my mouth would not have spewed all the grumbling under the sun.
Few weeks before he passed on, I started having anxiety attacks and frequent diarrhea without any specific reason. Medically nothing was detected but this continued for a bit. As always, I spoke to both of them everyday, praying with and encouraging them and my dad sounded pretty strong.
On Friday, May 4th evening, 2013, I decided to travel down with the red eye flight to see them for the weekend, luckily I was in Lagos at that time, and I spoke to my dad telling him that I would see him the following morning. We had a good chat.
At 4:00a.m. my phone rang and once I saw the number on the screen my heart froze. I was afraid to pick my phone. All sorts of thoughts raced through my head as I held the ringing phone. It was my mother and I knew.
I knew that something dreadful had happened. I knew that she wouldn’t call at that time for nothing when she knew that I was coming in within the next few hours.
I picked up the phone and my mum’s piercing cries cut into my heart.
The rushing noisy sensation in my head and lightheaded feeling was immense. My bowel movement simply got violent and I started hyperventilating. Fortunately my husband was with me and he held me, he was simply my rock.
How I got on that flight is a hazy memory. My husband helped me to get ready, put me on the flight, made arrangements for my pick up at the airport because I was falling to pieces and almost insensate.
I joined my mum and the picture of my dad stretched out as if he was in deep sleep remains in my eyes.
I called him. I praised him. I sang to him, but he never answered.
The tempest broke. I wailed. I asked him why? Couldn’t he have waited just a little longer? Not a word. Hah! Death you have stung me badly!
In the face of my mum’s instability I had to be strong. I had to be strong for her even as I tore up inside. She had just lost her husband of 40 years plus and I knew that our lives was about to change.
One of my brothers had hurried over to join us as well. We made arrangements and took my dad to the mortuary. Arranged for his handling, started his burial arrangements and coincidentally, my worrying diarrhea stopped suddenly the way that it had started.
It was not an easy journey. Burial arrangements in my place and I daresay in Africa, is a major feat and since he was a traditional title holder, it was more expensive but my dad deserved the befitting burial that he received.
Can I claim that having faced that, that I no longer have fears? That would be telling a blatant lie.
Did the experience make me stronger? A bit. I had no choice but to be strong and luckily as a family we supported each other.
I learnt that things could turn in a blink of an eye and never to take life or my loved ones for granted.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to NaBloPoMo prompt Friday, November 6
What was your biggest fear as a child? Do you still have it today? If it went away, when did your feelings changes?
Amazing that’s what you are.
♥Beautiful, Charming, Divine, Exquisite creation from High♥
Search within, for you to know.
………
Brilliant that’s who you are.
♥Fine, Graceful, Handsome, Illuminating masterpiece from God♥
Unwrap yourself, you will see.
Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Asides from desert nomads who even own 4 wheel drives these days, we no longer have to travel for days on end in the dusty trail of a pony.
I love traveling and have explored as much as I can through different modes of what I refer to as reasonable transportation.
I haven’t tried the hot air balloon yet and my over zealous imagination goes into overdrive at the thought of such an experience. I doubt very much if I will.
I love cycling on my stationary bike and the huffing and puffing is enough for me. I am not sure that I will manage to get far on a bicycle. I probably won’t get to see much as I huff all the way and then have to worry about a sore butt at the end of it all.
A plane is quite expedient to nip about in, because it gets you there faster especially for long distance travel, but asides from the airport excitement of removing your belts and buckles and shoes and what not, the only view that you have for endless miles in the air (held up only by gravity) are clouds in different shapes and sizes and the view of the geographical terrain below from 30,000ft and that is if you are lucky enough to sit by the window because I doubt if your neighbour would appreciate your leaning over their pot belly every few seconds to peek out of the window.
I must admit that I am not particularly fond of take offs, turbulence and landings and these days that planes have taken to falling out of the sky at cruising altitude, that is something additional to worry about.
My guess is that we will get on board, grit our teeth, hold our breath and the seat of our pants and recite our prayer beads for those inclined to do so.
I am a very visual person because this stokes my imagination so I truly don’t mind traveling by road on a bus or a private car. However, that was less tedious when I didn’t have children tagging along.
For a trip that takes more than 3 hours to arrive at your destination, prepare your mind for a thousand times of asking “are we there yet”, keeping them engaged, countless pit stops for coffee, donuts and restroom runs and some possibility of getting lost too.
Our best trip so far was a six weeks tour of Europe via Euro-star TGV. I felt like Agatha Christie on an expedition. It was simply awesome and I met lots of interesting characters on the train.
The sights taken in from London to Paris, Madrid, Geneva, Zurich, Belgium, Amsterdam and environs were absolutely wonderful and I wanted to share my love for Europe with my family. It is an experience that I am looking forward to repeating.
Well now, I had an experience with a camel on a desert safari and I daresay that a short ride is all well and good. I respect those who sit on it for days on end. I simply don’t look forward to having legs bowed from hours of straddling such wide girth and the camel experience is worth a post in itself.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to The Daily Prompt Trains, Planes and Automobiles
You’re going on a cross-country trip. Airplane, train, bus, or car? (Or something else entirely — bike? Hot air balloon?)
Every state of our being as a human is formed by lessons learnt.
The impact of life’s lessons taught a young mind especially through their parents and primary educators are very profound and these teachings can be compared to the art of weaving a basket, where, if the weaver does a careless job, everything unravels and must be started again.
However, if the weaver pays attention and does a careful job, their end product is a fine basket.
In the case of children, sometimes the shoddy, careless job of upbringing can leave negative indelible marks that takes ages to obliterate, if ever at all.
It is only now as a full grown mother of my own children, that I begin to understand and appreciate the numerous lessons that my parents painstakingly tried to drum home into me and I cannot thank them enough for caring about how I turned out as a human being.
Over the years and so many times in a day, an idiom or parable that my late dad said would simply repeat itself in my head.
Sometimes in such an eerie manner that I would feel as if he was right there with me.
To buttress a point he would say things like:
“When you know how to pound, you pound in the mortar, when you fail to learn how to pound, you end up pounding on the floor.”
“When a word is tossed at a sensible person, he takes it and pockets it for later use, but when a word is tossed at a profligate, he tosses it away and remains ever foolish.”
”You had better start looking for your black sheep before nighttime, otherwise, in the darkness of the night, you will not be able to recognize it.”
“A bad market day is recognized early in the morning.”
”You cannot carry a good head of palm fruit to pound in a leaking mortar.”
“You cannot plant corn and expect to harvest okra.”
On my mother’s part, she would elaborate her lessons with a dramatic flair sometimes:
“Whatsoever you do, to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me.” (in a sing-song voice).
”For a broom to sweep well, it must be bound with others. A lone broom stick cannot sweep a grain of sand.” (with a bound broom in her hand for demonstration).
“An okra plant can never grow taller than the planter. The planter can always bend it to harvest it’s fruits.” (the bending of a suitable item would be done with flourish).
Many lessons on contentment, generosity, integrity, hard work, love, kindness, belief, responsibility, admitting your mistakes, forgiveness, caring, humility, commitment, boldness, confidence, overcoming difficulties, living within your means, honesty, to seek God, values and so much more were taught. Now as I grow older, I understand it better.
As an adult, my surviving parent remains my best confidant and counselor. Her words 
are gemstones.
Mum and dad were far from perfect but they tried their very best.
The lessons learnt paved way to who I am today and who I will become tomorrow.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to NaBloPoMo prompt – Thursday, November 5
What is the most important lesson you learned as a child, and who taught it to you?
Empty my thoughts,
that I may feel the wondrous touch of your love,
In deep recesses that no light has seen;
♥
Expose my heart,
that I may understand your words,
through every conscious awakened pore of each moment;
♥
Unveil my inner eyes,
that its lifted sheen may behold,
the brilliant raw beauty exposed in its true nakedness;
♥
Unfold my wavelengths,
that my naked ears may become
attuned to the mysterious calls stirring from the deep;
♥
Pour me out,
that my uncovered lips may enthrall
with language only made known through exquisite expressions;
♥
Lay me bare,
that I may be denuded,
unmasked before your eyes,
naked, unafraid and not ashamed,
when you call me by name.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Plip, plop, tlop tlop, goes the rain drops…
Sweet memories swirl in my mind
Of young days spent
getting soaked to the skin
With nothing akin to worry in sight
Just children, playing in the rain
Wiggling tiny waist and skinny bums
Ah! What a rainfall.
Of rainy days and hair gone nappy, spongy wild from wetness
Of mother dear telling us to hold our ears and listen well
We held our ears and listened well to the chastising
Not to play in the rain again
Until the next fall came.
Quickly forgetting our pulled ears,
Yet again we went. Little urchins we were.
Ah! What a rainfall.
Nostalgic memories of rainfall
Transport me to grandma’s detached warm kitchen
Of the earthen clay pot that contained the cool, refreshing water
Water so clear from the stream, with smoky sweet unique taste
Sitting on little stools watching the drip drops of rainfall
As it gathers in puddles before us
The chicken comes to roost and dry its feathers
Of the smell of roasted dry meat, spices and the sound of pounding mortar
Even the nanny goat likes the homey kitchen, it was warm for all.
Ah! What a rainfall.
Wistful memories of rainfall
Of the days of a blooming damsel
With hair woven in neat cornrows and powdered face to illuminate her glowing self
Rain drops avoided with care, cornrows must be kept in place.
Ah! What a rainfall.
Delicious memories are here with me
Of lying in your arms and listening to your heartbeats
They seem to rhyme with the drip drops of the rainfall
Of cuddling under the covers, as the windows mist over
Whispering sweet nonsense and laughing softly
To little jokes only known by the two of us
Ah! What a rainfall.
Dreamy memories of dreamy moments
Of wondrous yearnings and many birthing
As we clung to each other
Excluding any other
And basked in the warmth of our own dew drops
Ah! What a rainfall.
Desirous moments, may the rains fall
May they make pitter-patters all over the roof top
As you design your patterns of love all over
No longer soaked to the skin am I
yet I feel the drops of the rain within your heat
and it seeps into my heartbeats.
Ah! What a rainfall.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
In response to The Daily Post prompt singing in the rain
Safe inside, toasty warm, while water pitter-patters on the roof… describe your perfect, rainy afternoon.
a cooking pot and twisted tales 