15 Years Later…

November 11, 2015November 11, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha103 Comments

When we met for the first time, the universe did not shift on its axis!

It was not love at first sight for me, but probably for you.

My love at first sight was cradled in my young arms and we were cooing at each other; my dear friends first daughter and cute as a button too.

In you stepped that very first time and that image of me cuddling up a baby struck your eyes and stuck in your heart.

You chose there and then that I would be yours to have and to hold.

I gave you my cold shoulder, but you warmed me with your heat.

I had no plans for such distraction, my career laurels beckoned silently.

But, fate had its plans, and I am glad it did.

You systematically wooed and broke down all my walls,

Every fence erected, you climbed over and crawled into my heart.

You brought laughter to my lips,

A twinkle in my eyes,

And more joy into my life,

The butterflies came,

And you gave me such bliss.

Now and again, you make as mad as a hatter,

But your love cocoons me all over.

Its 15 years to the letter today,

The very day I said, I do, I do,

It always feels like a birthday,

With lots of unwrapping to do.

My dear darling husband, you decorate my life,

With my heart filled with love,

I do, I do, I do, again and again.

To infinity and beyond.

For today’s gratitude challenge, I am grateful to God for walking with me through this fifteen years of married life.

His abundance of grace, peace, love, mercy, joy has endured in our lives. Indeed, I am blessed.

Won’t you join Colline’s gratitude challenge? There is always something to be thankful for.

Kind regards,

Family · Life · Love · Personal story

Staring Nightmare in the Face…personal story

November 6, 2015November 6, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha37 Comments

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.

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?

Family · Hope · Inspiration - Motivation · Life · Personal story

Lifes Lessons… a personal story

November 5, 2015November 5, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha34 Comments

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.

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?

Family · Humor - Bellyful of laughter · Life · Love · Personal story

In Many Ways, We Become Our Parents…

November 4, 2015November 4, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha27 Comments

One of the voluntary days spent teaching children etiquette in a school in Lagos — **One of the voluntary days spent teaching children etiquette at a school in Lagos**

Except where parents are as mean as rattle snakes, during their formative years, most children look up to their parents as their heroes or role models without clay feet and worthy of emulating.

They soak in mannerisms, attitudes, lifestyle and a host of character moulding outlooks from those who have been placed in positions of authority as their custodians. This serves as a reminder that it is very needful to exercise diligent caution in writing positively all over the clean slate of life of these young ones whom we are responsible for.

Recently, I find myself gravitating towards a lot of things that my parents used to do and those that they inculcated in me in years that I hardly knew anything.

I catch myself these days, repeating certain statements that my mother makes.

The wise adages and idioms which laced my fathers enunciation’s line my speech and thoughts every other day.

Asides from working for the University until they both retired, they both dabbled into so many other things such as side businesses, farming, arts and craft etc. and I can proudly say that maybe I did inherit some art skills and entrepreneurial abilities from them.

Though it seems I haven’t been a successful green-fingers like my dad. I think my lack of success has been out of sheer laziness. Plants thrived under dad’s fingers, but in my own case, I have been more inclined in putting in the plant into the soil, watering and whispering to it a few times, then with a pat on the head, I stroll along, expecting the sapling to know what to do and to thrive. Of course the poor young sapling either strives to thrive or dies trying

Career wise, I did dabble into working in a school environment for a while but it didn’t hold my interest for too long. I reverted to volunteering my time to school work.

My mother told us a lot of stories when we were growing up and since we have long flown the coop, she currently enjoys the pleasure of volunteering her story moulding services regularly to the children’s church and it is always impressive to see how these children hang on to her and adore her. They call her mummy ever so often that I even feel twinges of jealousy occasionally.

I think I must have acquired storytelling genes from her.

I cannot recollect making conscious decisions to follow in their footsteps, but I catch myself sliding in directions that they have taken and it does make me ponder for a moment….maybe, I am becoming my parents. Who knows, I may still become a plant-whisperer as the days go by. Not a bad feeling at all is it? 🙂

In response to NaBloPoMo prompt – Wednesday, November 4

When you were a kid, did you want to have the same job or a different job than your parents when you grew up?

Blogging · Family · Life · Personal story

Growing Gains or should I say Pains?…Personal story

November 2, 2015November 3, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha50 Comments

Delving into my brain and trying to excavate a remembrance of a toy that my parents deprived me of in my archive of childhood memory bank, I come up a bit short.

Though I recollect begging off some Goody-Goody rubbery chocolate bite and Bazooka Joe chewing gum, from a childhood mate and wishing that I had my own kobo to purchase some. Those things were sweet!

It turned out that she had pinched some kobo’s from her mothers purse and the butt-cracking whoop she got sobered my aspirations in my head. You could hear her mothers paddling and querulous voice as well as my friends wailing in the entire neighbourhood.

Back then, your parents would discipline you openly and the auntie next door would probably chip in her own reprimand, to spice up matters. The fear and shame kept you on the straight and narrow for quite a long time. It was just the way things were.

My life was shaped with love, laughter, rebuke and encouragement and maybe I didn’t know better, but we hardly took much notice of material things that seemed lacking.

As a child, I was raised in a community where everyone was virtually at par in wealth. A decent home, a utility car to get you around, a university staff school for the children, a common playground and other haunts where we got up to all sorts of mischief.

In my minds eye, our parents pockets never overflowed with golden pennies but they provided the best of the basics and the little treats now and again, meant a whole lot.

Shopping malls did not dot the landscape as is obtainable these days and going to the few that existed then, was a treat in itself. Today’s digital gadgets were non-existent, even our television was a Black and White Grundig that came on only in the evenings after the National anthem and watching those cartoons was a privilege.

Most times, we amused ourselves creating our own kites, building cars from discarded tires, crocheting, skipping ropes, playing hopscotch, making pat-a-cakes from sand mounds, scrambling up mango or cashew trees and a myriad of things that children did.

Now and again, a friend would acquire a new toy doll or toy car and we shared in playing with it; of course with a promise to her/him that when he got ours, we would share with them as well.

Christmas and birthdays were beautiful and magical times spent with family and friends and then came the presents, usually something that was in vogue at that point in time. It seemed every little girl owned a rubber doll with sets of combs and what have you or a Raleigh bicycle with a little basket it front.

Now that I think of it, maybe the parents used to converge for a meeting to decide on the present theme for the year.

It was really a simpler life.

In response to NaBloPoMo November 2015 Prompts

Monday 2 November – What was the one toy that a friend had that you wished you had when you were little?

Image credit: Pinterest.

Inspiration - Motivation · Life · Personal story · The Daily Post

My Roller-Coaster….personal story

October 27, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha32 Comments

Life is a constant flux of change and naturally as all humans are prone to, mine has evolved in little and huge ways.

My cycles have gone through mountain peaks and deep valleys, through Tropics and Savannah and each evolution has contributed to my story; to my growth in personality and maturity of mind; to the pathway of better understanding of myself as a complete entity.

Some changes have been premeditated while some, were thrust on me by Providence, but the most important aspect of these changes has been the strengthening of my inner mental core, resilience and spiritual walk.

For close to two decades, I have gone from a care-free single, all career guns blazing young lady to become a wife and proud mother. From formal employment, to part-time/voluntary service and self-employment/entrepreneurship.

In this space of time, I have migrated within 3 different Continents and when you are talking about leaving; I just left Texas to United Arab Emirates a couple of moons ago!

It has been a major shift especially in culture mentality. I am still in the bid of catching my breath even though I know that my sojourn in this place will not tarry for too long.

The challenges that such changes predisposes you to, which goes beyond leaving your comfort zone and familiar grounds to places of new beginnings are numerous, that the experience alone can constitute a book.

However, the trick in handling these things, is to keep a very broad and positive mind. Make a concerted effort to have a positively motivated outlook and become a sponge that soaks in all the good vibes around you.

That way, you will acquire the best experience that your life is teaching you at that point in time.

I am presently focusing on self-development and as I continue to transform, my hope is to cascade my support outwards to others and also to persevere in my efforts as a writer.

In response to The Daily Post prompt If You Leave

Life is a series of beginnings and endings. We leave one job to start another; we quit cities, countries, or continents for a fresh start; we leave lovers and begin new relationships. What was the last thing you contemplated leaving? What were the pros and cons? Have you made up your mind? What will you choose?

A link to my neighbours/Community · Devotions · Hope · Inspiration - Motivation · Life · Personal story · Weave that Dream

The Miracle is in You!…..

October 25, 2015October 25, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha9 Comments

In my second quote of the 3 quote series, I would like to share the often forgotten sense of ourselves as miracles.

I love to remind myself of this quote, which unfortunately, I have no idea where I learnt it, but when I started meditating on it with regards to myself, the sense of awareness of the miracle in me, simply grew and keeps growing.

Most of the time, we are seriously enmeshed in the entire drama of trying to eke out a living, the drama that unfolds around us everyday, the stories of our lives and the wishes that things should be different, that we lose sight of the fact that our mere existence, our every moments, are ”miracles in action.”

Our miracles start to happen when we channel as much energy into our dreams and being as we channel into our fears and shortcomings.

You are still a work-in-progress. Don't give up on the magic in yourself. — You are still a work-in-progress. Don’t give up on the magic in yourself.

Leannenz, I thank you for inviting me to participate in this quote series. It is a good opportunity to reflect on those things that matter.

I would like to invite 3 awesome bloggers to share their favorite quotes in the series of 3.

Tasha

The Happy Quitter

Anand

Kind regards to you all.

Family · Hope · Life · Love · Personal story · Writing

It was always enough…. a personal story

October 23, 2015October 24, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha28 Comments

Back in my parents home, we always had what we needed and the most important thing was that they were enough.

My dad was no Adnan Khashoggi and I am not going to paint a picture of any silver spoon.

Our home was a respectable middle class Nigerian Lecturer’s home where the basic things were provided and on special occasions, such as birthdays a communal party was organized for the celebrant with other children within the neighbourhood.

In my family back in those days, we had no idea that we could ask for presents or the likes. We just did not have the mentality of such entitlement or expectation that exists today.

So, as a result, the presents you received on your birthday tended to be something more practical that you had need for and during Christmas your presents were based on what was currently in vogue for children: a doll, books, football, a mouth organ, an accordion, a flute etc.

We were contented. Like my mother always said, ”you don’t miss what you never had.”

I missed nothing because I had everything that mattered.

In response to The Daily Post prompt Out of your reach

Was there a toy or thing you always wanted as a child, during the holidays or on your birthday, but never received? Tell us about it.

Blogging · Inspiration - Motivation · Life · Personal story · Success · The Daily Post · Writing

Brilliant Bulb…personal story

October 20, 2015October 21, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha38 Comments

Ever so often a brilliant bulb comes on in my head with an idea hovering within.

I am not the dullest knife in the pack, so my genie lamp does come on frequently you know 😉

Hatching good ideas seems to be a pastime, but the big question is what do I do with all the hatched ideas that I incubate?

Sometimes, nothing at all! A lot of times I share them with others who go forth to continue with the hatching!

Nevertheless, I have recorded a few successes here and there, one of such is that I am here talking to you!

Another happened several years ago, when my dear husband was on assignment in Lagos.

I wasn’t prepared to return to the formal workforce again, because I wanted to have time for my young ones. I looked around, saw the need to provide quality culinary and baking services, so I jumped in with my two feet.

It was not an easy feat with the ups and downs of Lagos, but the three years spent doing that business, were exhilarating, financially rewarding and extremely tasking.

I started out with a team of six staff, consisting of a cook, a baker and his assistant, a driver and service girls.

We started à la carte meal supplies to corporate enterprises that required our freshly made finger foods and huge pots of jollof rice, stew, pounded yam and soup etc for their workshops, training’s, meetings.

It was a crazy time. We would sometimes start work at 4:00a.m. in order to get every thing ready and deliver to the customer by lunch time and race through the infernal Lagos traffic jam with a customer calling every five seconds to know if you are almost there.

Sometimes, it required prepping stuff the day before in the evenings in order to meet deadlines.

I would come home worn out but satisfied and we got lots of referrals from satisfied customers.

Within the space of a year, I outgrew the space that I had rented inside the shopping complex and I needed to secure bigger space.

With money in my pocket I went hunting for land to purchase. Purchasing a parcel of land, I built and equipped a bakery and modern kitchen from scratch coupled with a little office for myself and a staff cloak/relaxing room.

Several learning obtained from the experience:

Catering business is a grueling business but financially rewarding!
You work harder to ensure the success of your own business than any other employment.
Learning how to effectively manage a retinue of 10 full time staff and several ad-hoc staff (the staff number grew within a year) with all their quirkiness.
Customer is key to your business. Keep your customer happy and you grow your business.
I actually started putting a cookery book together but….
I became not only a Business Owner, but also a Manager/Supervisor, Procurer, Human resources Officer, Accountant, Marketing Executive and all the hats that needed to be worn.
I invested and gained a property from the process.
I provided employment opportunity for others.
It gave me extreme satisfaction to prove the naysayers wrong. At the initial onset, even my husband was not too keen on the idea, until he saw me buy my first bus cash-down. NOT ON CREDIT! To obtain loan in this part of the World is no piece of cake, especially when a business is viewed as a new venture.

When I started building the bakery/kitchen without any form of loan but the sweat from my brows, he was amazed at my tenacity and success.

Sadly, our nomadic lifestyle of moving from one Continent to the other made it unfeasible to effectively run this business from afar.

Another day, we could share more brilliant bulb ideas over a cup of coffee!

Now I am looking at other possible ventures, let me go and put on my thinking cap.

In response to The Daily Post prompt Brainwave

What’s the best idea you’ve ever had? Regale us with every detail of the idea — the idea itself, where it came to you, and the problem it solved.

Humor - Bellyful of laughter · Musings · Personal story · Social critic

Gossip…

October 16, 2015October 17, 2015 jacquelineobyikocha19 Comments

That sizzling piece of news about someone, burning your lips like hot potatoes, that you can’t wait to spit out; all mangled up and embellished with your juices to sweeten the tale, It’s called gossip. As delicious as it can be, its dosage can equally be very virulent and in some cases destructive.

The hair salon was quite modern and well kept. Better than a couple of African owned hair shops that I had been to. It was my second visit, and I came back because I was satisfied with the first job.

It was spacey (I hate cramped quarters) with white ceiling boards and studio lights running in the center of the ceiling. They had comfortable black swivel chairs and independent work stations with large mirrors from wall to wall, giving you (the customer) vantage views of all sides of your hair-do and allowing a spot check, on progress with your braiding (it can be a tedious assignment to sit and braid one’s hair). The walls were painted lilac and pink and the black and white linoleum floor covers were spotless. I liked the place.

I was right on time for my appointment, but the ladies were adding finishing touches to a guy’s hair-do. I watched in fascination and wondered to myself, why a man who could easily shave his hair and have some peace would choose to sit through torturous hours of fixing tiny hair pieces and twisting his hair a few strands at a time. I shook my head in my mind, wondering what I would give for such wonderful opportunity to have water cascade down my head in the shower at every blissful given moment.

It got to my turn eventually and the butt numbing, knuckle cracking job of looking beautiful started. My head is pulled ~~every which way~~ by the fast and deft fingers of the three Ivorian stylists, whilst they chattered to no ends on top of my head in their broken French.

I was privy to all the inner life details of the last customer. He had been their good customer for a while, but the amount of disdain and blistering comments they made about the poor paying guy was disturbing. I decided not to become a good customer, there and then.

I was entertained with possibly embellished stories of auntie Jolie, and how she was cheating heavily on her dear, faithful husband. I also learnt that she was a kleptomaniac. I knew that these viperous women would be a source of someone’s broken marriage sooner than later.

Lo and behold, to my utter surprise, these women started talking about me and about Nigerians, in French of course, and on top of my paying head. I could barely keep still. I struggled very hard to keep my tongue in my mouth and I waited patiently – as I did not want to leave the salon in a huff with my hair half done. I listened in chagrin as they analyzed my sizable anatomy and evaluated my entire outfit.

What I really found perplexing was the blatant attitude of throwing caution to the wind and engaging in unprofitable talk that can only get them into trouble one day. It was also very presumptive to think that because I am not Ivorian, I obviously would not understand their french. Very erroneous speculation because, unbeknownst to them, I speak French as well as I speak English.

My hair was finally done, but I deliberately made a little fuss about the smoothness of the braids; which by the way was okay. I made them redo several whilst they cursed me out under their breath and I had my tongue in my cheek.

Finally satisfied with my hair-do, I stretched my entire length of 5’11” to its limits and in Parisian French, I chewed off their ears and castigated them for their porous lips and careless tongues. I was satisfied with the mortified looks on their faces (not that it will make them stop gossiping), and I would have loved to see how many shades they could turn into but unfortunately, they are too dark to blush.

I walked away, a satisfied customer, no tips were paid.

I however want to leave you with a thought: Gossip is not a sport to engage lightly in and it’s sharp two-edged points can equally be turned on the propagator. I don’t think one ever wants to get involved in a case of come and repeat what you said. It can be very distasteful.