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Little rants · Musings · Social Issues · The Daily Post · writing ideas

Have You Heard The News?..

jacquelineobyikocha26 Comments

bbc-news-icon

In response to The Daily Post prompt Connect the dots

Scour the news for an entirely uninteresting story. Consider how it connects to your life. Write about that.

With the amount of distressing news that comes on once you turn on the Television, I limit my time spent on TV to the barest minimum each day and on some days, not at all!

Catching the headline news is done when my day is half gone, that way I keep sane and will not start my day with so much disheartening, depressive news.

I  equally refuse to listen to news before going to bed. It is bad for one’s health!

However, with respect to this prompt,  I turned on the TV and caught the tail end part of  possible strategy for combating ISIS.

The question posed was that with all the human atrocities that they commit, how come they maintain a  position of financial strength by selling oil illegally and purchasing ammunition from undisclosed sources?

What went through my mind as I listened was:

  1. Who are these Clandestine ISIS  customers?
  2. Who are  their shameless ammunition suppliers?
  3. How come the World powers that be,  lack the  intelligence to decipher who these entities are?
  4. Is it that the World powers know and yet they choose to play Possum or Ostrich?

I know that without being told that there are those who will forever capitalize on the sorry state of affairs that exists in the World to fatten their pockets through the loopholes of terrorism, but to what ends?

How much is it really worth trading on people’s lives ?

I think that these are some of the most miserable greedy humans on Earth!  Those who trade on human lives to line their pockets!

All the wealth acquired can never buy a true moment of peace!

We can only occupy a room at a time , drive a car at a time,  eat only so much and at the end of it all, we have a small 6-foot space in Mother Earth where we go from dust to dust and with NOTHING AT ALL! !

Sorry to sound so dour 😔!

That is what the news does to me at times.

Well, let me turn off the TV right now and look forward to brighter thing’s since I can’t solve all the  World’s problems!

A good evening to you all😊

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Image credit: Pinterest

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Family · Inspiration - Motivation · Life · Love · The Daily Post

That Butter Yellow Coloured House….

jacquelineobyikocha46 Comments

Grundig

Our old house on Imoke street inside the University of Nigeria Nsukka campus, was a colonial British styled three-bedroom, three bath bungalow with a garage for my dad’s Renault on the left side, a huge open veranda to the right and a detached maid’s room that my brothers turned into their ”man-cave.”

It stood on what was quite a substantial portion of grounds (maybe a plot or more), on which we grew so much crop. There was a big mango tree that had the penchant to hang heavy with fruit right at the back, an avocado and grapefruit tree to the side of the veranda.

We tilled the ground ourselves with a hoe and grew crops ranging from cassava, yam tubers, yellow pepper, bitter leaf, curry leaf, potatoes, amaranthus, okra, corn, melon, lettuce, plantain and more. We grew a lot of the crops that we ate.

Sometimes, when the work was a lot, my dad would engage some labour hands to do the tilling whilst we did the sowing. You had to grow a combination of crops that performed well together, that way they would both do very well and the manure from our chicken coop helped in nourishing those plants. I learnt crop rotation through this process.

The house had a sprawling nature (they built them big back then), with big louvered windows that swung open outwards and mosquito nets installed to keep the pesky things away. Instead of a picket fence running round the house, it had a trimmed hedge of purple hibiscus running around it.

It was painted creamy oil paint colour but time and the elements matured its painted exterior to butter-yellow. Its corrugated zinc roof was reddish in colour. The rooms were coated in dusky blue and the hallway, living and dining room with the kitchen were cream in colour. The flooring was terrazzo and we scrubbed its floors with hard brush and foamy detergent every Saturday mornings.

I recollect my mum or dad apportioning spaces each Saturday morning and you had to scrub, mop and shine these floors to my dad’s satisfaction. Of course, there was no luxury of gadgets to carry out these chores. We performed these tasks manually with our bare hands, including washing our clothes.

Our house was quite a beehive. It was a middle class Nigerian home. My parents had six of us along with several young cousins who spent some part of their lives under our roof. It was in our culture to assist in raising less fortunate relatives and back then, when academicians were still valued, my parents were viewed as comfortable, so I grew up seeing them extend charity to other relatives who grew up and went to school under our roof.

The weekday mornings were filled with noisy and hurried preparation for school after a family devotion in the parlour, usually led by my mom and the evenings with noise of different things. Chattering voices, pounding mortar, squabbling siblings, music from my dad’s Grundig, loud singing from one person or the other.

Our weekends were equally filled with house chores, catechisms and block rosaries, play, social events and all manners of things we got up to.

It was always lively and during harvest season, we would all gather at the veranda to either peel cassava for processing, melon seeds for soup or corn for drying. These chores were performed with my mom or sometimes my grandma keeping our minds entertained with old folktales and songs.

The aromas/fragrance that floated through the butter-yellow house were of different blends. On Saturday mornings, the whiff of Omo Blue detergent and drops of dettol disinfectant which was used in scrubbing the floors dominated the air until the evening hours when it gets replaced by aromas emanating from one native pot or the other. This could be yam pottage, vegetable soup, goat-meat and bitter-leaf soup (which is one of my favorite native soups 🙂 etc. but there was an aroma that came to stay for a very long time.

Two particular aromas that linger most in my mind, maybe because they persisted for quite a long while, is the yeasty aroma of home made bread that my mom baked weekly. Slices of her bread slathered with Planta margarine, jam, marmite or peanut butter and a cup of Horlicks would fill and sit in your tummy for a better part of the day. The bread smell was soon joined with that of cake.

She ventured into baking cakes every other day and supplying shops in the neighbourhood as well as students hostels on campus, when the Federal Government started their incessant delays in paying staff salary which led to a lot of financial hardship in some homes.

My mom became quite resourceful with baking and crafting to augment their insufficient and epileptic salary payments.

We would cream the cake batter in a huge local mortar that she bought for that purpose, until she was able to save up to buy a Kenwood mixer.

I remember the flavour of vanilla essence and nutmeg added to the cake batter, the Topper butter that she used for so many years and the licking of the sugary creamy cake batter.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

In response to The Daily Post Our House

What are the earliest memories of the place you lived in as a child? Describe your house. What did it look like? How did it smell? What did it sound like? Was it quiet like a library, or full of the noise of life? Tell us all about it, in as much detail as you can recall.

Societal Issues · The Daily Post

Yes, There Are Boundaries…

jacquelineobyikocha29 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Too Soon?.”

Can anything be funny, or are some things off limits?

Title banner off-limits

A well developed sense of humor is something I think I possess.

I am a Christian but not a dour faced sanctimonious one!

I love good jokes any day and will even laugh at myself with ease.

There is no need sweating all the stuff (hard and small) because life is already hard enough and rather too short!

However, there are jokes that I will not be shining my teeth at ever at all!

I find such funnies to be insensitive and in very bad taste!

Things to do with Child Sexual Abuse, Domestic Violence, Terrorism of any sort, Rape, Murder are an absolute NO! NO! for me.

I am aware that some comedians thrive on such tripe and I do question at times if they are perpetrators of such acts themselves!

I am very doubtful that victims and survivors of certain obscene act would be laughing it off. Bad jokes

If that is the case, we won’t hear of women who often fall to pieces and commit suicide after acts of sexual molestation.

If it was so funny, we won’t have so many issues of troubled children who were abused till they lost their sense of self and are left battling with hangovers of such issues.

If it were hilarious, we wouldn’t have so many dysfunctional families due to domestic violence.

If it were rib-cracking, our jails will not be spilling over with perpetrators of nefarious crimes.

Indeed, there is a limit to a joke and a fine line should be drawn on such jokes that are in poor taste!

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Creative Writing · Fiction · Short story · The Daily Post · Writing

His Flanges Got Propped!…. A short story

jacquelineobyikocha31 Comments

Defeat

It’s been quite a grueling competition! Sebastian is determined to win the championship even if is by the skin of his teeth!

He has come far and this is it! The moment of his life and his dreams!

He could almost taste the victory and the fame at the end of it all.

His face would be splashed all over the papers and television. Instant celebrity status stamped on him as he turns into the toast of the town.

Endorsements would fly in from here and there. He could imagine his preening and the ladies cooing after him; his companionship sought by all. He could see it all! The pause to pose for silent brooding pictures for the paparazzi. The constant request for interviews. The frenetic social calendar. What a success it would be!

For just a split second, his wandering mind drifts off from the game at hand. In that split second, the ball comes sailing through the air and his delayed reaction causes him to over-reach. His legs fly out under him! He sails into the air, landing with such a heavy thud at an odd angle.

Pain pierces and radiates through his entire body. He struggles to rise but this legs crumble under him as the excruciating pain keeps him down.

The medics rush to attend to him and a quick examination is carried out.

Through the haze of the pain, a sober voice filters through;

“Well my young man, it appears you have popped a rib or two!” Said the Voice.

”You will be needing a FLANGIPROP  for support for several months or more.” ”Unfortunately you cannot continue with the game.” The droning voice continued as he administers on-site first aid.

He is quickly holstered on a stretcher whilst he writhes in pain and anger. This is not the way it is meant to end he argues in his mind.

The flashes of the camera keeps popping in his face as the paparazzi catch every wince of pain and misery that is etched on it.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha.

In response to The Daily Post – Invent a definition for the word “Flangiprop,” then use the word in a post. 

The actual definition of Flange: An external or internal rib or rim which is used to add strength or to hold something in place.

The actual definition of Prop: An object placed against or under another to support it: anything that supports.

The Daily Post

Fare Thee Well my Dear Polo Park…

jacquelineobyikocha30 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Ode to a Playground.”

New face of Polo park.
New face of Polo park.

When the news of your demise filtered through,

That the bigwigs had finally purchased you,

To plant their mega buck superstores and install new, expensive play toys,

To charge and enrich greedy pockets so much more,

I was dismayed, I was disheartened, through and through,

How dare they do such a thing to you!

Such appalling steps taken to deface,

Attempts to erase decades of a joyful place!

Of laughter of children that echoes in the heart,

Of scrapes and bruises,

Of hides and seek,

Of swings and slides to your utmost delight.

The birds squawk in harsh protest,

 No more crumbs from the little ones,

Even the trees weep in anguish from such assault,

The glee and joy of young scrambling ones,

Would they know no more!

Yet you live on in this grown child’s heart,

Always fond will your memories be,

My Polo Park, you were a treat to me,

Where friends were found,

Fostered and Flourished.

Maybe you have gone somewhere else to be,

Where you will gladden the hearts of other young ones.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Family · Life · The Daily Post · Weave that Dream

Encapsulate it Please….

jacquelineobyikocha9 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Immortalized in Stone.”

Key to immortality

The moments spent with my family are priceless to me, especially as I watch my children gallop in growth and at the rate that they are growing, before I can say Hey Presto! they will fly my coop.

If I could compress all these precious moments, dotted with times spent with good friends, then have them encapsulated in a frozen kaleidoscopic capsule, so that even when I am old and my memory is no longer as sharp as brass tacks, I may revisit and relive them as often as I choose.

Are there any words or acts of mine that would add value and minister wisdom to others even when I am long gone? If I should peradventure find such words; those are the words that I will have immortalized in stone. Those words that will nurture, strengthen, encourage, motivate and teach are keepers.

What adjectives can I use to describe the probability of such occurrence? Fabulous, Fantastic, Wonderful and every hyperbole that you can think of.

Alas! The transient state of life makes such dreams impossible Since at some point, everything that has been created by man shall become detritus. Back to planet Earth oh my wishful, illusive mind.

© Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

The Daily Post · Writing

Learning is Ad Infinitum…

jacquelineobyikocha31 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Lazy Learners.”

 

I fretted to get good grades, but that was when I was very young.

Now I fret to do my best because that is what pleases me to do.

However I am not going to fret myself to death;

For those things that I want to learn but haven’t gotten round to doing them for various reasons that are unavoidable,

Learning process is ad infinitum. We learn till the day we die.

I have a long list of things that I would like to learn, because it pleases me to know them.

What I do each day, is to learn something new, no matter how minutiae,

God willing even in my dotage, I shall trudge on to those martial arts classes,

I shall probably learn a bit of Japanese along the way;

Basket weaving for the fun of it,

Taking better pictures through practicing;

It’s a long list of things to learn…..

It just never ends..

learning

Family · Inspiration - Motivation · Life · The Daily Post

A Step back into Childhood….

jacquelineobyikocha46 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Life’s a Candy Store.”

BookstoreWhat a delightful day this would be! I am six years old again and I get to spend it as I please and with whom I choose.

Well! Well! Whoever says that life doesn’t have it’s pleasant sweet spots and that the lines don’t fall in the right places is a big, fat lying Pinocchio! Just watch me 🙂

It’s a beautiful Saturday morning. Of course, I am still young enough to get excused from doing serious chores, apart from brushing my teeth properly, taking my shower and eating sumptuous helpings of mummy’s homemade pancakes with dripping drizzles of maple syrup, nicely done omelets (no vegetables please), sausages, baked beans and a nice warm cup of cocoa.

We all pile into my daddy’s lovely blue Renault Saloon car. It has seen a lot of good mileage and made lots of beautiful memories.

Off we go to Leventis super stores in Enugu; a forty-five minutes drive from our abode in Nsukka, through the old road and past the Milken hill.

Milken hill is a verdant wilderness and as I peer through the wound up windows of our beloved Renault with plate number ”ECH 480” winding, its way through the snaky, precarious, hilly road with its scary drop, my child eyes imagine the trumpeting Elephants, the roaring Lions and the curious monkeys that inhabit that wilderness.

The scary drop seems like a bottom less pit and one must negotiate it with care. Many cars have been known to meet a fatal stop on this part of the road.

We make it safely to Leventis. It is a store of a child’s dream and every book and toy that my mind can conjure is stocked here.

”Chinny, you and your siblings can go and select three items each for yourselves.” ”Two books and one toy each.” ”We have two hours to spend before we go to visit your cousins, daddy says to me.”

Daddy is such a wonderful man. He knows I love books and he stokes it rather nicely by buying lots of them for me 🙂

I make a beeline for the huge outlay of more books than I have ever seen.

Rows and rows of beautiful, vibrantly coloured story books fill my eyes. A browse and a selection of the two books that I want to go home with are made. I then settle down at the children’s corner where I quickly digest  another one whilst waiting for mummy to finish making her purchases.

I debate in my mind whether to exchange my toy option for a third book. I know that on a good day when we are not squabbling, my sister will allow me to play with her new doll and I want all the books in the book store to belong to me.

I negotiate very nicely with daddy and I end up with four books instead of two. I have diligently checked the prices on all the girly toys and they far outweigh the price of two extra books; somehow, I feel sensible and smart. I think daddy appreciates my consideration.carousel

Don’t be mistaken, I love toys like all children, but my love for books far outweighs my love for toys. Besides, I already saw my parents looking at Raleigh bicycles. I know that they would be purchasing one for each of us.

Our shopping is done! We make a quick stop at No 1. Chief Alex Ekwueme street, the home of my favorite cousins. They don’t need too much coaxing to join us for a picnic party at Polo park.

At the expansive Polo park grounds, we take turns on the rides, on the swings and slides. We play ”Swe” and ‘‘Uga” until hunger pangs kick in and it is time to tuck into the goodies that mummy has dutifully packed.

The picnic basket  bulges with all sorts of goodies – enough to feed an army.  Fizzy pops, cake, cookies, sandwiches, jollof rice with chicken, etc are generously marshaled out on paper plates by mum. picnic at the park

Daddy has a sweet tooth (I think the sweet tooth thing is genetic) and never fails to get those lovely ice lollies on cones for us for dessert.

Our palates are sated and our tummies nicely rounded from food.

Evening is fast approaching. A quick decision on whether to drive back home through the Milken hill or to spend the night at the cousins is made. Auntie Christie always graciously opens the door to her home.

She would always say “Jay-Jay, Alberta (shortened for my dad’s name: James Joseph and my mum’s name Alberta-Bianca), it is too late to go driving back to Nsukka o, you guys must stay over till tomorrow o.”

With delight we turn the house upside down with our horse-play until we were tuckered out.

They had a very big house, with lots of room.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

P.S. This article is based on ”my real life story” as recalled from my minds eye as a child.

Quick Glossary

Milken Hill: These hills are found at Ngwo in Enugu North LGA, they are 100 meter above sea level, offering beautiful standpoint for a panoramic view of Enugu metropolis, especially at dawn and dusk. The hill was named after one of the earliest colonial administrator in Enugu. The first road into Enugu city winds through the foot of the hill bounded by a deep gully. Underneath the hills are relics of coal mines and its beautiful tunnels. Beneath the Milken hills is the Iva valley. The hills are good for mountaineering. However, drivers are advised to drive slowly with caution through the meandering roads.

Enugu – One of the State’s in the Eastern part of Nigeria.

Nsukka – A town and Local Government Area in South-East Nigeria in Enugu State

Chief Alex Ekwueme: Former Vice President Alex Ekwueme is one of Nigeria’s most respected statesmen alive today.

Swe – I think this is what is called hopscotch.

Uga – synchronized clapping rhythm of hands followed with feet competition to outwit the other.

Jollof Rice – A popular meal eaten in most West African homes, a one-pot meal made with fried tomato and pepper stew, rice, meat and spices

Life · Love · The Daily Post

Its a Hardworking Love….

jacquelineobyikocha39 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Yin to My Yang.”

Good relationships

There are no perfect relationships! They all require some modicum of work!

Some relationships are fantastic, some are marginally okay whilst some are an absolute lesson in “who not to be with” and probably meant to be tossed into the garbage can.

The term soul mate is a misleading concept that hints at perfectionism, which is not a word that can be ascribed to any human.

We all are works-in-progress, who spend a better part of our lives trying to figure out who we are and this process cascades down to everything that concerns our lives. ”There is always room for improvement.”

That said, The Yin and The Yang of soul-mating, are those parts in our relationships that keep chipping at each other, until their rough surfaces are smooth enough for the jigsaw puzzle of our characters to blend in seamlessly, or, alternatively, they chaff at each others bits until the edges are so jagged and worn out that ”would be” Soul mates become Stab mates.

It’s a reciprocated effort.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

Devotions · Family · Inspiration - Motivation · Life · The Daily Post

That Thing That Niggles Me…

jacquelineobyikocha39 Comments

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Must Not Fail.”

Not failingThe fear of failure when it comes to the aspects of life’s material wants has ceased to bother me, because I have really come to realize that we can exist on far less than we tend to surround ourselves with.

I literately and completely believe in the word of God in Ezekiel 34 v 26: that says: I will make them and the places surrounding my hill a blessing. I will send showers in season; showers of blessing.

I have seen this proven true time and time again in my life even when I neither earned it nor deserved it.

I know that as long as life exists that hope exists. That faith and perseverance will sustain me.

It is always wise to keep in mind that failure is only a setback and not the end of the street. It is an invitation to learn from, to grow from and an opportunity to start again.

However, as a mother blessed with lovely children, there is a fear that niggles my heart each day and that is the fear in my ability to do a good job in raising my children.

With the amount of corrosive erosion in human ethics and values, I am concerned and wonder if I am doing enough to raise upright children who will be blessings to their generation. Therefore, I must continue to try.

On a personal note, I live with the fear of failing as a Christian in the true sense of the word. Not the picture of me that the World sees through the acts of Earthly Godliness but the intrinsic me that no one else is privy to.

I however remind myself that it is only by the Grace of God that I am redeemed and not by the arm of my flesh.

These two thoughts drive me everyday and if I do not fail in these two things, then I must count myself as extremely successful.

Let us not fail to remember that success is relative. What count’s as success for me, may be viewed as idiosyncratic nonsense to another.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha