Tag Archive | privilege

Playing Ostrich – Streams of Consciousness Saturday

Prejudice blinds a man to his own stupidity and such a disease has no cure. Life and times have evolved so much that their postulated propositions to recapture their so-called glory days is a myth and a white Elephant project.

Promoting preconceived notions about people whom you’ve never met or related with is something that simply baffles me. Politicians who propagate racial divides annoy me to no ends. 

Previously, I was led to believe that such opinions were formed from lack of knowledge and exposure, however, how on earth do you explain the pompous and potentially dangerous posturings of a man who is not only well travelled but wealthy enough to know the difference?

Privilege. That’s the right answer. Golden spoons afford certain men so much privilege that their entire existence is all about them and how great they are.

Presently, I’m trying so hard not to linger over the television in order to preserve my sanity and not to break my TV and if playing Ostrich is the only way to survive then I’ll try my best to succeed in doing that, however, I can’t shake the feeling that potential disaster hangs in the political balance.

Profuse prayers I utter in the silence of my mind hoping that some people’s personal ambition will not bring us to the brink of disaster and that I will grow old gracefully if perhaps they don’t frighten me to death post-haste.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha

SoCS – P

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My thoughts of class, humans and photography…Streams of consciousness Saturday.

Once I saw today’s prompt, my thoughts automatically went to societal distinction usually drawn by the word ‘class,’ but I chose to do a reverse of thoughts.SoCS badge 2015

Talking about privilege is a topic that I’ve never been particularly fond of because, instead of building bridges, it actually plants more wedges of division in the hearts and minds of those who are at the other end of the spectrum of the division of classes, so, let’s leave it alone for today.

…But, I can’t resist the question on my mind which is to wonder why mankind chooses to create this artificial forms of segregation that in all societies, you find an existence of class division even if the lines are faintly drawn?

In some societies, the class distinction is so obvious and becomes entrenched as the tradition that it perpetuates itself as a caste system whereby progenies of a line that falls within this caste system are almost condemned to the bottom of the echelon to almost dehumanising levels.

It’s a situation that showcases ‘man’s inhumanity to fellow man,’ because it’s artificially and deliberately orchestrated to demean the worth of certain class of men while uplifting the worth of another class.

I’ll just leave that thought at that. If I continue on this tangent, I’ll probably end up writing an epistle on class distinctions as we speak.

On the other hand, it’s been on my mind to attend professional photography weekend classes, but everything in this city costs a handsome packet.

I’ve been doing a bit of DIY but I would really like to take it a step forward and develop my skill which I believe will be worth the while and pay itself over time. Still searching for an effective but cheap class, who knows, I might dig up something affordable.

The beautiful thing about taking pictures is that photography doesn’t discriminate against humans. It sees no class, race or creed. It simply captures what you show it, freezes it in time for decades to come.


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

She is amazing at describing love and life in her poems. She creates such beautiful images with her words. Truly, she is a talented writer and I’m so excited to have her poetry book and to continue reading through it.

Out of the silent breath

Some Edible Mushroom…

Red_poisonous_mushroom_in_the_hand

The cool early morning breeze seemed soothing and refreshing, but Jen did not think so.

She was chilled to the bones. The night had been very cold with rain drizzles.

Her lightweight jacket and rucksack were barely enough barrier against the chill,

and the park bench was not made for a good night’s sleep.

She knew she could not linger for too long,

constant fear of being accosted by the groundskeeper,

kept her as uncomfortable as a colicky cat,

but she had no energy left to undertake yet another long trek,

to a county soup kitchen.

She had chosen this quieter place, to keep out of the way of the officers,

who diligently monitored the obvious public ones, and were quick to shoo you along.

She stared blankly into the lush green fields,

the early morning tweets of birds, reminded her of home,

of the birds that had built a nest in the old oak in the front-yard.

Her heady dreams of finding that pot of gold,

at the end of the ever elusive rainbow,

had tugged and pulled at her,

until she left her small hometown, to the city of fortune.

She could remember ma’s tears as she stubbornly sought her way.

Her cupboard had quickly run bare, her rent a history to be told,

items of value pawned at such an accelerated rate.

Still pride would not let go, nor a cry for help uttered home.

The intercessions were getting busier by the day,

With people clutching individually inscribed cardboard’s.

Eyes silently pleading, in hope of a hand out.

She had grown tired of the pitiful stares,

Of the leers with suggestive looks on their faces,

Of the eyes reluctant to make contact,

Of the eyes that looked as if they had seen vermin or vomit.

She resolved to find a way to go home to ma,

At least a warm bed and food she would find.

Hunger pangs were gnawing her insides,

Last nights sandwich had barely been enough.

The sprouted dewy mushrooms glistened in the morning light,

Their toadstool shapes looked so pretty, clean, soft and edible.

Grandma gave us some of those, when I was a little girl she recalled,

but grandma forgot to educate the little girl,

that most times, those attractive ones, would surely pack a wicked punch.

She gorged from desperation, and drank from the water fountain,

Several hours later, she slept and was no more.

P.S. Remember to show compassion to the less privileged around you. You might very well be saving a life. 🙂 Thank you.

Jacqueline Oby-Ikocha