a cooking pot and twisted tales
Thoughts and Tales…A Lifestyle Blog with a Zing.
He was not fearless.
As a matter of fact
he was always filled with trepidation.
Yet he always found the courage
that galvanized his actions.
He walked into the burning house
and grabbed the little child.
He knew his soul would haunt him forever
if they burnt to death.
Never again he said to himself.
The memory of his mother
and his little brother
forever seared in his mind.
*****
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Fearless, The Daily Post
Image credit: Pixabay.com
Mabel is now at the Autumn of her life, watching the sun-rises and the sun-sets while filling her days with little chores, knitting and waiting for her loved ones to visit.
Christmas is just a few weeks away and she can feel it in her bones already.
Some days, her arthritic pains plagued her, but today is a good day. Her children and their spouses will be arriving soon for their fortnightly dinner.
They had taken it upon themselves to share their visits in batches and come more often since their father passed on.
She preferred to keep her house and didn’t want to move in with any of her children so as not to cramp their style.
Christmas brought special memories and was chock full of nostalgia for her.
Her life with Dan started 43 years ago during Christmas until a misstep on the ladder 3 years past, had sent him in throes of pain with a slipped disc and down the slippery slope of one medical issue or the other until he slept off peacefully.
She recalls mirthfully, how their romance started so many years back. It had all began with a misstep as well.
As she walked down the pews after communion that Sunday morning, Dan had suddenly placed his long leg in her path and an attempt to side step found her tripping and sprawling in Church to her utter dismay.
She had been beetroot red in the face as he stood, all 6 ft 4 inches of him to help her up. He apologized so nicely and that was it. They fell in love and their beautiful union produced five wonderful children.
She always said that an Angel had a hand in placing Dan’s big feet on her path, that the misstep was a benevolent high point and divine orchestration in her life.
Thoughts of Dan always filled her with bitter-sweet emotions.
The ring of voices at the door, alerted her of their arrival. She could hear little Dan’s chatter.
Her four year old grand-son is a spitting image of his grandpa.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post prompt misstep.
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Each day the fishermen set off to the river in search of their daily bread. It took longer and longer, and they had to go further and further for reasonable catch.
Over recent years the harvest has dwindled as the flow of the Nguru was interrupted in unnatural ways and the villagers were unhappy.
The river had many tales to tell. Once it flows past, it never came back that way again, but continued on its journey through the winding villages out to the sea.
The big companies had come with their massive artillery.
They were searching for the gems of ancient days that they believed were hidden in watery coves.
They soiled the water and killed the living things that called Nguru their home.
Simbata the River Goddess is in a rage.
They have turned her domain into a place of greed, avarice and destruction.
She planned to flow over the banks, through the tributaries and into the house’s.
It was time to speak out her displeasure.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post prompt flow.
Aging is an annoying house guest
Who is forever engaged in a quest
He visits without prior behest
And stays put beside you in your arm rest
He has a way of getting your address
Even if you move places so he can’t keep abreast
An inevitable visitor who seeks to divest
All youthful zest even if you do protest
He arrives with a large travel chest
Filled with lots of odious screen tests
Doing his darned best to keep you under house arrest.
By the time he leaves, there’s nothing left but eternal rest.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post Prompt inevitable.
She was on her way back to town when the call came in, her fingers slackened and the phone slipped, falling on the cobblestones with a thud, but she just couldn’t bend to pick it up as she stood rooted to the spot, her legs too heavy laden to move forward.
Staring unseeingly into the distance, tears filled Ellen’s eyes and brimmed over with a silent scream that tore through her head and her heart shattered in tiny bits.
She always knew that this day was coming, yet she wasn’t braced for it.
That single dreaded call, that she had prayed never to receive finally came.
……And the man died! Head bowed in deep grief, her knees buckled as she sank into bone-wracking wailing; like a wild animal, Ellen’s cry was not a pretty sight. She cried with all her being, but everyone who knew her understood why.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Odette’s body shook uncontrollably as she blindly read and re-read the note; a dying man’s last confessions and her tears brimmed over.
She had always known and believed that Joshua was innocent, but no one else believed him and justice jailed him on circumstantial evidence.
They had been too poor to hire a good lawyer and had to rely on the States miserable representation, which had been a pitiful fulfillment of obligation.
Now this! A note exonerating her husband after so many years of misery and when it was too late, since Joshua died in prison, a broken man.
In a desperate need to take a long walk, she left the note on the old wooden table, picked up her shawl and stepped out into the bitter-cold.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Lovingly he fingered the delicate pearls clasped around her neck. 
At first, they belonged to his grandmother, who passed them to his mother and she passed them to his wife.
She looked beautiful as she lay so still, just as though she slept.
With trembling fingers and a heavy heart, he unhooked the beautiful strand of
pearls that has been worn by the women in his family for ages.
He knew that she loved them very much and would want their little girl to inherit it when she comes of age.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Image credit: Pinterest.
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Lagos toughens you up! When I talk about Grace and Mercy watching out for me, it is with the deepest conviction of my heart.
I have been through so many scary moments, that some day’s when I look at myself with all my appendages intact, I know that it is not sheer luck.
‘‘That my life is a testimony.”
My guardian angel has been on full time duty!
If you have lived in Lagos and did not experience one or two hairy-scary moments in your life, then as a matter of compulsion, you have to do Thanksgiving.
It is a bustling, heavily populated, quirky and awesomely crazy city that busts at it seams with rich culture and entertainment.
The commercial nerve center of Nigeria.
As a Lasgidi babe; once a Lagos chic, always a Lagos chic, I love my Lagos to bits, but I also detest a good number of things about it.
To cut a long story short, back in the days when daylight robbery was almost a norm, I was mugged 3 different times at 3 different locations and in the same city by the one’s that are called ” Area boys.”
Secondly, I have faced the barrel of a shotgun of the ‘men of the underworld’ aka highway robbers, 3 consecutive times.
Once was during the wee hours of the morning when they came calling, the next time was on the high street in my car and yet again, shortly before Christmas just as I left a bank.
It scared the jeepers out of my life. My skin flew off my bones in fright and in the last incident for the first time, I was violently ill and experienced an unbelievable migraine. Nightmares ensued and I fled to Europe for several weeks to calm my nerves.
Several months following these incidents, when a stranger came too close, I would practically jump out of my skin, my knees would get all trembly and my pulse rate would simply get erratic.
Indeed, when I look back and think of the times that I stared death in the face, I marvel. One day, I shall write a comprehensive story of these moments.
The rampage in Lagos has gone down over the years.
The robberies are of a more sophisticated nature these days, but there was a season when the men of the underworld reigned supreme!
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
The Daily Post prompt Safety First.
Share the story of a time you felt unsafe.
There are times when people pass on and you wonder…
Was it that we didn’t pray enough?
Was it that we waited too long to pray?
Was it this and was it that?
Then it dawns on you once again!
That The Scourge of Death,
Though a most unwanted visitor,
Is the only certainty in the cycle of life.
And will call at His own time!
Like seasons come and go,
So does the life cycle of man!
Rest in peace, my lady.
Your absence will be felt.
© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha
Image credit: Funcrisp.com
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?
a cooking pot and twisted tales 