Tag Archive | Neighbourhood

My week’s walkabout – Echoes of my neighbourhood 30.

On Thursday’s, I share pictures about ‘Echos of my Neighbourhood.

I would like to invite you to participate. The challenge is quite simple and you can find out more about it through this link.

After a busy last week, I took things to the slow lane this week though I still took lots of photos of ‘this and that’ in the course of the week.

Kirst shows us the singing, ringing tree and I must say it’s spectacular. I’ve never seen anything like that before and would love to hear it. Lady Lee loads of ripples of thankfulness and smiles are delightful 🙂 Take a peek, please.

So, when are you inviting us over to your neighbourhood?

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha


out-of-the-silent-breath 2

I hear the reverberations of the magic that’s hidden within.

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The numbers…

Door[1]

The words Jen read startled her. The spidery handwriting indicated that the writer had struggled while writing.

“If you are reading this letter, thank you for finding me. It means that my time here is over and I am sorry that you are unfortunately saddled with the responsibility of laying me to rest. The money inside the envelope is some money set aside for my cremation. I don’t want to be buried in a box for I have lived buried for far too long inside one and would like my ashes to be scattered across the Seas so that it can float free. I loved the sea as a young girl.”

She wasn’t sure if she should simply put the letter back as she found it – back in the envelope marked ‘URGENT PLEASE READ’ and propped on the empty vase on the dust covered table. She could go away with the pie she had brought along and no one would know that she had visited, but her curious interest had been thoroughly aroused.

Everything about the little house down the cul-de-sac was intriguing. A pair of nondescript eyes in glasses always stared out of the window when she took her brisk jog in the evenings, until a week ago when she stopped seeing or feeling the eyes; the bold numbers on the intricately designed door were unusual since no other house in the area had such numbers and none of the neighbours she interacted with since her move to the neighbourhood knew anything about the person living behind the door.

Decision and justification made, she baked and went visiting. She reasoned that it was the neighbourly thing to do. To fraternize with those living close to you a little bit, especially if you are going to be living there permanently.

Her gentle rap on the door found it slightly ajar and she stepped in cautiously, repeatedly saying hello, to no response.

Jen’s eyes quickly took in the sparse furnishing, an implacable, unpleasant odour hitting her nostrils and sending alarm bells to her senses that something wasn’t right and to get away fast, but her piqued mind sent her walking down the short passage which led to the rooms.

The design of the bungalow was familiar since it’s shaped like hers but both houses were sharply different. Where her’s wore a cheerful, homey and inviting look, the atmosphere of this one was forlorn and tired. The drapes were worn with age, the wallpaper lifting at the corners, the dirty rug gave off a musty smell that mingled with the other smell that only grew stronger with each step.

A body laid on the bed in the second room as though in deep, peaceful sleep but the pungent smell of death belied it’s appearance. Rushing out of the house into the street for fresh air, Jen dialed the police.

Providing all the information that she could muster when they arrived, she watched with saddened interest as the men from EMS respectfully wrapped the frail body of an old lady in a body bag. Spying the numbers that was crudely branded on the inner part of her left arm which was so thin that her skin was almost translucent, Jen recognized that the numbers on the arm matched the numbers on the door.

What did it they represent? Who is the lady? What was her story? These questions raced through her thoughts and she wished she had followed her prying mind to seek the eye’s in the window earlier.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

The story behind the door. Discover challenge


Below is my first just published Poetry Book “Out of the silent breath” which is available on Amazon and Smashwords.

When you buy my book, you support me in an invaluable manner.

Stars, Five Stars, Logo, Icon, Symbol, Five, Rating

‘A Richly Layered and Passionate Read.’ Jan Cliff

Out of the silent breath

 

 

When One Finger Picks Oil….

Blanket Race or Religious castigating remarks always feed off the wilful, ugly actions of the misguided among us in society. Nelson 2

These actions earn names and virulent comments from those who perfect the act of positing themselves as armchair judges, pointing fingers, pontificating and lumping people under labels.

In fairness to others, we should learn to stop herding and lumping people into categories to suit our lack of open-mindedness and to satisfy our cravings for ”I told you so’s” as is the case of an African proverb that says “when one finger picks palm oil, it spreads to the rest.”

It is a given and natural phenomenon that the influence of one’s upbringing and society will not only rub off on them, but will dictate and shape their views, behavioral tendencies and if this is the case, then it stands to reason that the individual is not necessarily to blame for how they turn out, but the society at large and their upbringing.

Who are society? We! We form society and not aliens from Mars.

What have we done as a society to improve these situations that we find ugly, which keeps perpetuating itself until they are fast replacing the normal with the abnormal?

Since we are too busy being politically correct, we are all to blame.

If we truly love and want to change our World as much as we claim, is this not then the time to stop playing Possum and to stop hiding our heads in the sand?

Is it not yet time for Muslim leaders to stand as one voice and castigate the bad eggs who perpetrate evil in the name of  Islam?

Is it not yet time for the people to question the status-quo and raise eyebrows at those who do these so-called brainwashing?

Is it not yet time for Christians to open their hearts and express that love that we profess?

Is it not yet time for every Religious leader worth his salt to speak up and condemn these inhumane practices and other behavioural tendencies that hurts the society at large?

Or, have they lost their essence as the salt of the Earth?

Is it not time for the arm-chair pontificators to get off their butts and do something more useful other than to be judgmental?

Let us steadfastly attempt in seeking positive ways to do better things for the benefit of our society and not by the spate of ugly words spouting off peoples mouth all over the place.

Today, I will share these African proverbs with you, which should help us realize that our little works can have ripple effects since we are not in isolation and that:

”It takes a village to raise a child.’

”If your child is dancing clumsily, tell him, my child you are dancing clumsily. Don’t not tell him “darling, do as you please.”

”A child is what you put inside him.”

”One should shout when a child comes home with a stolen egg, otherwise the day he comes with a stolen ox, it will be too late.”

We are society. Let us stand for the truth.

Thank you Chape for providing the opportunity to enjoy ruminating over these proverbs. I would encourage you to visit his blog. You will find lots of useful fitness tips and neighbourliness.

My invitation extends to these 3 awesome bloggers:

Ngobesing Romanus of Success Inspirer

Tony Burgess

Beth at Nutsrok

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Image credit: Pinterest

On Fiery Banks of Sand…

My view from a 45th floor at Dubai Marina

My view from a 45th floor at Dubai Marina

Though Dubai may sound like Mumbai,

In influence as well as affluence, different they are!

On feisty banks of fiery dynastic sands,

Mighty men bank dynastic dreams and hold their hands!

Where waves of heat, rolls down in sweat,

Here baked in the sand and down your hands!

Built on incessant backs of hardworking peasants,

Who faced from afar seem hard-paced and unpleasant!

Yet behind shrouds of bright coloured rags,

Are found bright eyes like yours and I!

Gigantic, architectural feats dots skyline for miles,

Every mile and feet spots your face in awe and smiles!

Houses are like daring sprouts, hugging the clouds with a lot of clout,

A twinkling feat and an attempt at tickling an Angels feet!

They flower so fast these beaming towers of concrete,

With crescents of moon carved into very fluorescent beam!

Beneath emissions of incandescent beauty,

Belies penchant for pedantic duty!

Flowing robes and thobes of white,

Slack beguiling robes of black and black,

Dots every spot, every crook and nook!

Dazzles and sparkles of gold to be sold

Beckon to you to come and behold!

A mix of the saintly saints and the saintly sinners,

The stoic-faced faces and the sunny-side faces,

A potpourri of cosmopolitan, metropolitan lifestyles

Mingle in this restless, sleepless city for miles and miles,

Resplendent in the banks of feisty, fiery miles of sand!

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

In fulfillment of Writing 201 Poetry – Day 7: Neighborhood, Ballad, Assonance

Random pictures in Dubai