A book from a senior blogger, whose articles I enjoy immensely. I am sure The Secret Place will be one of those books that you will treasure on your bookshelf.

If the tree could speak, what would it whisper, I ask?

Would it utter sweet words of comfort to the birds that nest’s in the shadows of its branches?

Would it chuckle at the antics of little furry friends who keep it company, scurrying and swinging from one limb to other?

Would it weep in utter despair at the reapers who harvest from its bounty of logs leaving no spares?

Will it gnash its gnarly vines and branches in utmost arrogance at those who strips it bare of its bark, exposing her to the

frigid elements or furnaces of hot rod melting degrees?

Would it look down in fondness on the young child swaying in a handcrafted swing tied to its boughs?

Will it welcome a tree house with the young boy and his friends who have found a resting place on its branches;

Listening in to their boyish dreams, adventures and antics, whilst swaying in agreement or caution?

Would it be benevolent to nimble ones, who brace its sturdy gait in search of succulent fresh produce?

Would it willingly offer its shady tops to the worn out laborer?

Or the secret lovers who meet under its shadows for a little tête-à-tête?

If a tree could speak…….

Tell me my friend, what do you hear?

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Olanna would not let the attitude of the obnoxious immigration officer get to her. Her excitement was brimming over and in her state of joy, she did not mind parting with the cedis that she had left on her; she did not think that she would be needing them very soon.

Passage through the Lagos-Badagry border was known to be stressful and she couldn’t wait for the clearance of customs and immigration controls to be done so that they can continue their journey. The seven plus hours form Accra to Lagos had been hectic but was gradually coming to an end.

The bus had trundled assuredly through the West African International road route, only stopping for short breaks, to refuel, and for border control between Togo and Ghana, but through the entire trip, she seemed to be floating in a bubble of good tidings, flipping through various copies of bridal magazines that she had purchased in Accra.

She daydreamed of her wedding which she felt sure would take place in a couple of months and was finding it difficult to settle on the style of gown that she would like to wear on her big day.

Should I have a ring bearer, a flower girl and ladies-in-waiting she mused?

Should it be an intimate wedding of just close family and friends or should I allow Mama to have her way and invite all and  sundry as she is bound to do once I announce the forthcoming nuptials?

The should I’s were numerous but she had a firm belief that Philip would be happy to go along with her choices. He always wanted her happiness, which was why he supported her trips to the West Coast to purchase fabrics for her business.

This good news will definitely prompt a long awaited romantic proposal. After so many years of searching for employment, securing a stable job in a top oil and gas company would be a welcome change from the hustle of her budding fashion business. Sometimes the hassles were so much that she wondered if the gains were worth the trouble.

Not allowing any negative thoughts to form in her mind, she opened her bag and extracted the slip of paper which she looked at so lovingly.

So engrossed was she in her thoughts that the last few hours spent crawling through Lagos traffic passed blissfully and in no time she alighted the bus stop at Ojuelegba.

She hailed a taxi and after some back and forth haggling over price, they settled on an agreeable figure and the driver sped off to Philips house.  She couldn’t wait to see the surprise on his face when he comes home and finds her.

He expected her back on Monday, but her news precipitated a shorter trip.

Madam, we don reach Eric Moore flats o, the driver alerted her.

Ah! Okay. Just move small and stop behind that car over there, she instructed.

It was now dark and the drone of all the generators from the different apartments made an already balmy evening a notch warmer. She paused when she saw Philips Nissan Altima parked in its usual space. Based on their conversation, she thought he was meant to be on call at the clinic till late evening.

No matter! She thought to herself. He will still be pleasantly surprised to see me and best of all when I share my news with him, I bet we wont sleep this night out of excitement. Smiling to herself, she tiredly climbed the several flight of stairs to his apartment.

Taking her copy of the entrance key; which she had managed to obtain after a lot of cajoling, she let herself into the place she was growing to call home.

The light from the plasma TV which was on, provided the only illumination in the living room and music was floating down the hallways from the direction of the bedroom. It was welcoming.

Slipping off her heeled sandals in order not to alert him, she tiptoed over to his room.

The husky incoherent whisper filtering through the crack of the doorway caused her to falter for a brief moment. However, her curiosity got the better of her, thus with a thudding heart and sweaty palms, she pushed open the bedroom door.

An involuntary gasp escaped her lips as she stood transfixed, trying to assimilate the surreal display in front of her.

She gazed in amazement as her Philip, the man of her dreams, her future husband and the father of the unborn baby nestled in her womb was speaking gibberish whilst an unknown man was crouched over him in flagrante delicto. She literally felt her heart shattering painfully into little bits.

The squeak of the opened door had attracted Philips attention and glancing over his shoulders, he saw Olanna, his girlfriend of four years and five months rooted in the doorway in a state of shock.

The interlude had been rudely interrupted and as he shrugged off his sexual partner in order to pull something on, Olanna whirled on her bare heels and rushed out of the apartment; hot tears cascading down her cheeks.

Blindly, she rushed down the stairs, missing a step in her hurry.

Her body lurched forward in a drunken stance, spilling down the concrete steps with thuds and bumps until it finally came to rest on the landing. Her broken body at an odd twisted angle.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Call me an eavesdropper; and yes, you just might be right.
I love to people watch and listen to random conversations of total strangers.
I simply find the ebb and flow of human voices a comfort and sometimes an abstract diversion from
a heavier thought process which can tend to clog one’s mind at times.
So! I keep my ears open; listen in, with as little intrusion as possible, and the snippets of
shared chit-chat and views paints a far more vivid picture in my mind, adding or detracting from the
vibrancy of the persons physical appearance.
This brings me to the little conversation I overheard yesterday in a beauty supply shop.
I had finished picking the few items that I needed and headed to the counter to pay. There was a little
queue of women and I took my position on the line of the second counter.
A senior Asian lady of undetermined age at the start of the second queue seemed unsure of her
choices and was taking some time to ask the cashier a thousand and one questions.
I must confess, the little impatient imp in me got a bit irritated and I rolled my eyes in exasperation
wondering why she would choose to make everybody wait whilst carrying out a pre-purchase
survey.
As this went on for several minutes, the ladies in front of me chose to move to the other
counter which was flowing pretty well. I was now directly behind the lady (out of my own choice)
and thus, became a willing eavesdropper and observer.

If I had been asked to place her age, I would have put her age bracket around mid-fifties. She was quite compact without any excess pounds sitting on her slight frame. Her short halo of hair was colored a rich auburn though the greying
roots were showing. She was dressed in a black Capri pants, paired with a cotton floral top and black ballet flats. She looked
well put together and did not have the appearance of someone who was unsure of herself.

And so they carried on with their conversation:
The lady: Are you recommending this shampoo, conditioner and coloring product based on
customers experience or as a personal preference, she asked in her nicely accented English?

The Store Attendant: Well Ma’am, I have used these myself and they turned out okay, she
responded, in a tone laced with resignation.

The lady: You know, I am worried that my hair will start falling soon, so I am being a bit more
careful with what I use these days, she said.

Well, that statement drew my eyes back to her hair, and rightly said, they were thinning right in the
middle.

The Store Attendant: We have multivitamins that help with hair growth, I can show you
some of those if you like, she inquired?

The lady: I can’t take any form of medication or vitamins without consulting my doctor, I
have cancer, she declared in a very subdued tone.

My heart sank for this lady whom I did not know and would probably never see again and I flash
back to two years ago, when we lost my dad to the dreaded C.

At this point, I couldn’t help but join the exchange.
Excuse me Ma, if you don’t mind my asking, how old are you?
The lady: Sixty-six years she said.
Me: Wow! Sixty-six I exclaimed! I had placed you ten years younger. You look really good for your
age and if you had not said so, no one would have guessed that you are struggling with such a
burden. How have you managed to keep yourself from falling apart or giving in to the “Why me”
victim mentality, I inquired?
The lady: My faith she said. Even my doctor is surprised. I have another round of chemo next week
and I want to tidy up myself before then. It tends to make me very tired afterwards. I just wanted to try
something different whilst I still have my hair. It’s either I choose to let go or I choose to Let God and
since I choose to Let God, somehow I find the strength to go on with my normal life.
I nodded in agreement. I could only try to imagine what she must be going through based on
my own experience with my dad and if a new hair look will perk up her spirits, then, why not indulge
for as long as she can?
Me: You know Ma’am, these days so many people would question your upbeat attitude in
the face of your adversity and they will be hasty in telling you that God does not exist and if indeed
he does exist, why does he allow bad things to happen to people?
In that calm, accented voice that I found interesting, she stated: I rather live a simple life as right as I can
with faith that there is God, than a life filled with splendor but without faith in God.
With all that said, she paid for her items, I paid for mine and we both left the store.

I wished her well and continued to my car. For several minutes, I sat there mulling over her words. Could faith
really play a huge role in our attitude towards challenges that come our way? Is there any
correlation between faith, healing and success?

I do not have all the answers, but I choose to have just a “snippet of faith”.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha