Musings of a Dark One

    For as long as I can remember I have hated the idea of the white man being superior to the black or red. In school, we were taught that the British and the French colonized a considerable portion of West and East Africa; the French with their Assimilation policy and the British with Imperialism. In movies, I saw how badly the black man was treated in America - a slave or worse, an animal. I read about how he and consequently his descendants had lost their identity and adopted the name of their master.I understood that the white man thought the black man was dirty, worse than a dog, probably a monkey, of lesser intelligence. Words like blackmail, blacklist, blackmarket, etc, were created or re-created - not sure which.
    On those rare occasions that an "oyinbo" was doing their shopping or just driving by, I would get disgusted at any blackie like me staring at them for too long or treating them like they were from another planet. I often wondered aloud whose skin actually looked better. I am  not a racist or anything; it is just my subconscious reacting to senseless prejudice, past or present, experienced or imagined.

       
                                            

  Aaaaargh...it's been such a looong time. You know how it is when you got no inspiration??? Well, it's been like that for me. Mmmmm...I smell salty buttery popcorn... Yeah right! Certainly not in this hostel. Today was NOT fun; lectures on Saturday are so not cool. I had to bear it cos it really wasn't compulsory, I'm the one who wants an Oracle certificate. Perhaps, when my laptop decides to play good host to the Oracle software, I'll enjoy it. Meanwhile, I have been enjoying some hilarious, some inspiring, and some simply amazing Naija blogs. You see, Nigeria's got so much talent but corruption, laziness, bad government, selfishness, blah blah blah, kills us. No one is disciplined. Anyway, Naija na yarns for another day. What was it I wanted to tell you again???????? Oh well, maybe next time I'll tell you... miss me :D

Salut! Bienvenue :)

Take a real deep breath and fasten your seatbelts cos we're going down memory lane. Do you remember ever being hurt and treated unjustly by someone? Have you ever been made super angry that you could have  put a bullet through someone's skull? Can you remember what your thoughts and reactions were at that volcanic moment? Dis you pour out magma instantly? Did you wait for it to build up before you let it all out? Or did you seal it up inside until it cooled and turned into cool new rock? :)

The thing is molten rock is not cool at all (literally); you can't let it out without lots of it pouring on you. It is also painful to seal it in but it is worth it in the long run...and many times in the short run too. You may end up being friends with your offender, or at least he/she begins to respect you as well as other people. Overall, it makes you a better person and holds a lot of reward for you in the hereafter. When you look back and think 'I really shouldn't have reacted that way', do you like the feeling of regret? It sucks. But when you look back and say 'wow, I sure am glad that I didn't say or do anything stupid', it feels good.

Some may say you shouldn't let all that anger build up, but if you have a good motive such as Allah's Reward, you'll have no problem. You can read Qur'an or make dua or even just remember Him to let it all out.
 



                                                 



ALLAH (Subhanahu Wa Ta'ala) Says: "The good deed and the evil deed cannot be equal. Repel (the evil) with one which is better (i.e. Allâh orders the faithful believers to be patient at the time of anger, and to excuse those who treat them badly), then verily! he, between whom and you there was enmity, (will become) as though he was a close friend."

[The Qur'an Surah Fussilat 41:34]

Unforgettable...

"I waited and waited for death but it did not come."

Slowly, I opened my eyes. I could feel a sharp pain in my neck. The air smelt putrid, the ambience sickening. I had been sitting on very rough cement, leaning against an equally rough wall with my head obviously slanting in an uncomfortable position.

In no more than a split second, I took it all in. I had been kidnapped and now I was in a very small room somewhere in an uncompleted building. I remembered how I had noticed two men following me at about two thirty in the afternoon. At a point I started running and they eventually caught up to me; I couldn’t recall anything after that, I didn’t even know what time it was.

Before long I began to hear footsteps; I could tell that it was a man. He was holding a torch and as he appeared at the door he pointed the torch at me, blinding me. He walked up to me with an easy pace; when he was standing right in front of me, he stooped, torch light still on my face. It seemed that he was staring at me for what seemed like eternity. Then in a flash he stood upright again and banged my head really hard against the wall behind me in a single swift action. The pain was explosive, I was sure that was my death, even more so as I noticed the blackness engulf me and my consciousness leave me.

This time, when I woke, the pain in my head was catastrophic; it seemed that my head was run over by a train. It took me a while to fully open my eyes and when I eventually did, there he was sitting right in front of me – my tormentor. I wondered how long he had been there for, though that was the last of my problems. I was unsure of what was to come my way next. Then, for some reason, my eyes wandered to his hands where he held a whip. At that point, I began to imagine dying as a martyr – I hoped I would die as a martyr.

Before long, my stomach made a faint rumbling sound that reminded me of a dying generator – one of those kinds you see in animated comedy. It seemed that my most generous host had understood because he left and returned about twenty minutes later with a loaf of bread and two sachets of water. At first I thought he was going to stab me and then use the water and bread to clean up the mess or even just suffocate me with the bread’s paper bag. Apparently, he bought them for me to eat. He dropped them right beside my head and helped me sit up. For a moment, I was certain he was not the same person who had banged my head against the wall. He placed the bread and water on my lap. I was starving but didn’t have the strength to cut the bread; perhaps it was my fear that sapped my strength. Again, my kind-hearted host fed me till half the bread and all the water was gone. He left and I fell asleep feeling confused.

When I woke up again, it was with ice cold water poured over my head. As I gasped for air, I was whipped with the most painful rope of twisted leather you ever felt. Now I was certain that was death. I waited and waited for death but it did not come. I cried till I could feel my throat no more, I ran from corner to corner of the locked room till I could run no more. Eventually, the soothing blackness came – the temporary death.
When I realized that I must have been back to earth, I wanted to go back to my place of rest. The pain I felt was unbearable. As the memories of my torture came to me, hot tears poured down the side of my face to the floor. I wondered how long I could continue, I didn’t want to believe I had survived the beating.

It was dark, I guessed it was about 2.00am but I still didn’t know how long I had spent there. I began to wonder why my Lord had allowed all that happen to me, then I remembered I hadn’t prayed – stupid me. I reminded myself that under no condition should I miss my prayers. I got up slowly with my whole body shaking in pain. I looked around, and as I expected, there was no water. I ignored the aching in my throat crying for water. With all the strength I could mutter, I bent low enough to dust my palms with some of the dirt on the concrete floor. Painfully, I rubbed my hands over hands, face and feet. I tried to stand but my body wouldn’t let me, so I decided I was going to pray while sitting. I wasn’t sure where to start because I wasn’t sure how many prayers I had missed. I found my hijab lying a few feet away from me. As I crawled to get it, all the muscles, tendons, bones, and cells in my body protested violently. I raised my hands to my ears as I had done all my life, saying the words that glorified my Lord. As I dropped my hands and folded them on my chest, a tear dropped. By the time I had done two complete units of prayer, my clothes were wet with tears. I didn’t know whether it was the physical pain or the psychological pain. Just as I was concluding my prayer with salams, my tormentor appeared at the door. I caught a glimpse of him from the corner of my eye and my heart skipped a beat. I hoped he would go away once he had noticed I had been praying, rather, he went and sat on the seat right in front of me which had served as my sutra.

Distracted, I sat there, my head bowed. Then for the first time, he spoke. My heart skipped a beat again but this time it remained still until after he spoke a sentence. He said, “When you pray like that, do you ask your god to bless you with people to kill? Wait, if the men get virgins in heaven, what do the women get?” the tears were uncontrollable; they just kept coming. I understood that this man was hurting me because of my religion, because of who I am. I could not begin to imagine what the so called Islamist sect, Boko Haram, must have done to him. A side of me felt really sorry for him yet another part was angry at him for taking it all out on a mere girl like me. I wanted to scream and let him know that all the violence perpetrated by those barbarians in the name of Islam had no basis in the religion, that I was sorry for whatever pain had been caused him, and that he should not be taking it out on me; but I could not. Somehow, I could feel his pain. I began to look at the bright side of things – dying because I was a muslim might earn me Allah’s Mercy in the hereafter. At this point, I was ready for death.

My kidnapper, tormentor, and host told me of how he lost his wife, son, and mother in a bomb blast in Kaduna. How he had to leave his home and his means of livelihood for a strange land for he had no family; he never knew his father. I cried for him but I cried even more for how badly the reputation of Islam had been injured by terrorists.

He must have drugged me for I found myself on a hospital bed after I woke.

Ferris Wheel

"Aaarrrggh...I am the worst person ever; when will I change? Doomed I tell ya...doomed!"

Ever found yourself saying this, or at least something similar?
We get so pissed at ourselves for not getting up and doing what we should or for doing things we shouldn't be doing.
We make up our minds all the time to do something about it, yet, somehow we wind up in the exact same spot we started.
And then, some of us end up cursing ourselves and admitting how hopeless we are, some keep trying and some simply give up.
I am not going to ask you to keep trying; rather you should keep it up.
Keep eating till you become obese.
Keep drowning your system in sugar until you get diabetes.
Keep postponing exercise until you find yourself in a wheel-chair.
Keep being unapproachable until you are still a spinster at seventy.
Keep ignoring your kids until they give you a heart attack.
Keep committing that sin until you find yourself in hell with no escape.
What I am saying is if you cannot change yourself, perhaps others will see the results of your foolishness and lack of will and change themselves.



                                                     

Dead Stories Diary - My Story

  I know this might sound weird but I think I have found a way to connect to the dead. I had always been a happy child, even in my early teens. I was always the first to break the ice and first to laugh at the dryest jokes. I was quite a handful and the boys just couldn't get enough of me, i was strict about them though. Suddenly i changed, but not without good reason; a little over eleven months ago, my aunt died. Aunt Jane was my best friend. She was mom's youngest sister and had been living with us since I was five. Though she was older by just two years I called her aunt. She died after six days in a coma, she was in an accident on her way back from school, the very day I turned sixteen. She was buried in a graveyard fifteen minutes from our house. UME was two weeks after she died. Though I aced my WAEC & NECO exams, I missed my JAMB cut-off mark by just a stroke. After Jane died, I kept visiting her grave. I often took a mat along and sat on it to meditate, read and have picnics all by myself. After the first two months or so, I knew that it was no longer Jane that brought me to the graveyard but the peace I felt each time I went there. People were beginning to think I wasn't normal but I did not care. Before I knew it, I started creating stories about why and how some of the other dead people had died. My stories were so good that I became impressed with my own creativity. One day, during one of my saturday noons reading at my favorite hanging-out spot, I noticed a lady go to one of the graves and drop flowers. That wasn't the first time I had seen that lady at that particular grave. She was there just staring at the headstone. In a flash I remembered the story I had made up for the dead woman. Several minutes later, I heard her sobbing. I dont where the courage came from, but it came, and the next thing I knew, I was asking the sobbing lady, "what happened?". Surprisingly, she received my question well and she started talking.
  Throughout the time she spoke, I couldn't help but stare at her mouth. I didn't know if she noticed, I didn't really care. When she was through she said "I have to go now", I managed to say "bye". Guess what...yes, you guessed right; her story coincided with mine(the one I made up), the only thing that I got to learn from her was the names of some of the people involved. Trust me, I was scared; I just had to leave that place. I got up and ran; I could have sworn that I ran faster than Usain Bolt ever had. I was so fast that the normal fifteen minutes journey home was reduced to five minutes. That night, I got really sick; it was the worst fever I had ever had and it lasted two days. I made up my mind never to go back to the graveyard.
After much contemplation, I decided to put down the story of the dead woman as fiction without adding or removing any detail, just the way I had created it and the just the way Sandra, the dead woman's daughter had narrated it...

WATCH OUT FOR 'DEAD STORIES DIARY(2)- BELLA WHITE'.

Life's a Picture

Life is but a picture;
The faces we see,
The dreams we dream,
The beauty we admire,
The attractiveness we desire.

A man will not eat what he does not see;
If he's blind, with his hands he shall feel,
A picture it is in his mind he has made,
Faith we keep in a God we do not see,
But a picture we make of His Blessed Love and Grace.

Jaded!!!

okay!! that's it.. I've had enough! I'm tired of being lazy. I know all my previous posts are crap but hey....give the girl some credit. the posts you have seen are from over two years ago; they are my first ever attempts at writing. why am I telling you this bullshit?! well, because I want you to be part of my entire learning process..my own progress y'all!! you appreciate it don't ya?????? :D

Caged

I hate it

I hope it is only a phase

This is something i must beat

I wonder if i am strong enough to win

I want to be free

CAGED

I hate it

I hope it is only a phase

It is killing me slowly

I need a quick escape

It must not be delayed

I need space

Space to run and find my hidin place

CAGED

I hate this

I hope this is only a phase

This fence of steel bars

holding me down so hard

I can see the other side

I want to be on the other side

I need to be on the other side

It is true that the grass is not always greener

But not in this case it is different

Dont ask me why

Because i cannot say

I have the keys here in my cell

I can set myself free

But I will not

I can reach for the keys but I dare not

This place is not strange

I've seen it before

Many times over

I did not create it

I found it there

It ties me down like vipers tangled at my feet

I yell but hear no sound

I run but move not an inch

I am a prisoner in my own head

CAGED

You Are Home

The sun smiled at me,
I swear it did,
Felt like a dream.

Had to look again,
Just to be sure.

It still had that grin on.

I wanted a picture to keep,
But how unsure I was;
I could have been dreaming.

I got home feeling airy,
Butterflies in my tummy,
My steps more graceful,
My head up in the clouds.

Something else happened;
Later that night,
The most graceful moon
Whispered to me.

She sang me a song
Of the place I belong
You are home
You are home
Long lost child.

Hearing a Story

It makes me sad hearing a story...hearing a story from a sister in kind...
A story of despair...one that tells of her times of pain, one that tells of her journey through a life that we all must live...
Hearing her story pricks like a million needles thrown spontaneously...her story makes me realise that she went through all of it so I wouldn't have to...

There is always a story to learn from...could be yours or someone else's...

Love So Real

This is something I wrote over a year ago. Hope you like it.


When I left home and was lost, Tricia found me. She held me so tight, she kept me so close. I hated her for she had so much love. Once, I said to her face "I hate you with all my heart". I had stabbed her with my tongue, but she did not mind. Tricia got married, time passed and I did not, I was so mad. While she was away, I burned down her house. I knew that she cried, I knew she was hurt, but she did not mind. Time passed, and I felt alone, I got mad so I drowned her child. I knew that she cried, I knew she was hurt but she did not mind. I got so miserable, I drank poison and died. In my goodbye note, I told her I hated her for she had all I wanted. I had stabbed her with my pen, or so I had thought. I did not care that she was hurt, I did not know that she cared till the day that she read her speech over my grave. She said about me "..she was such a beautiful soul, and I loved her so...". Then I realised all that I had lost. To see her again is my only wish, though there is no price I can pay to undo all the pain.

A Brief Analogy of Life

Scenario A – an examination which disallows cheating, you either know the answers or you don’t, the invigilators are watching closely to find any opportunity to pounce on you and the examiners score you with no mercy, penalizing you for your mistakes where necessary. Scenario B - an examination which allows you learn during the process, interact with others and borrow their wisdom, correct your mistakes, and warns you when you are about to make a mistake. The examiner watches you through the process so he decides how to reward or punish you accordingly after your papers come in. the life of this world is like the second scenario. Allah (God) puts us in this world to test us; He watches our every step, giving us opportunities to pass His test with every breath that we draw.

JAMB Withholds 27, 266 Results

As I read this piece from The Guardian's online newspaper, my mind went back to last year when I wrote my UTME. It was horrible; my centre was so bad I thought my result would be cancelled. We were asked to pay a substantial amount(don't remember how much exactly) for the seats we sat on by the centre's proprietor. The penalty for not paying - your result will be lost. It was a threat; eventually I had to pay. Now they're saying there were no miracle centres this year - what a joke!

"THE results of about 27, 266 candidates who sat for this year’s Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination (UTME) last Saturday would not be released due to their alleged involvement in large-scale examination malpractices, which the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) said it has detected.

One of the tricks is the embedding of prohibited external materials into their persons, to enable them bring such inside the examinations halls.

An example was two mobile handsets embedded in sandals in two separate locations in the country.
Similarly, at least 24 other mobile phones were confiscated from candidates from across the country, contrary to the guidelines released by the board

Announcing the results of the examination in Abuja yesterday, the Registrar/CEO of JAMB, Prof. Adedibu Ojerinde, said the new trend in the examination malpractice showed that candidates were determined to beat the system, but warned that the board would continue to devise strategies to beat such tricks on the part of the candidates.

He said the affected candidates have since been handed over to law enforcement agencies for prosecution even as he confirmed that unlike in the past, there had not been miracle centres this year. He attributed the development to the fact that the candidates were given the freedom to select where they wanted to sit for the examinations.

A total of 1, 503,931 applied for the 2012 examinations, while 1,384,644 candidates were confirmed to have results.

Details of the analysis of the applications by gender shows that 55.78 percent are males while 44.22 percent are females.

This translates to 883,082 males and 660,522 females.

336,330 candidates scored 1-169; 374,920 scored 170-199; 601,151 scored 200-249; 71, 339 scored 250-269; 901 scored between 270 and 299. Only three candidates scored between 300 and above.

Only 5,161 candidates recorded invalid results for the 2012 UTME as against 28,069 recorded last year and 96,451 in 2010.

Ojerinde attributed the drastic reduction in the number of invalid results to the increased enlightenment of candidates, and expressed the hope that with time, incidents of incomplete results would be eliminated.

About 141 virtually impaired candidates sat for the examination for the 2012 down from 200 in 2011. Also, a total of 181 prisoners, mainly from Ikoyi and Kaduna prisons sat for this year’s edition, while a total of 49 albinos registered and sat for the examinations.

Imo State has the highest registered candidates for the examination with 123,865 candidates or 8.24 percent followed by Delta with 88,876 or 5.91 percent; Anambra is third with 84,204 or 5.60 percent; Osun follows with 73,935 0r 4.92 percent; Oyo with 71,272 or 4.74 percent and Ogun follows with 71,173 or 4.73 percent.

Conversely, Jigawa tops the list of states in the Northwest with intakes with 11,529 or 0.77 percent; Kebbi recorded 7,364 or 0.59 percent; Yobe with 6,389 or 0.42 percent; Zamfara followed with 5,713 or 0.38 percent; Sokoto  5,664 or 0.38 percent while FCT comes last with 3,380 or 0.22 percent.

On examination malpractices, the JAMB boss confirmed reported incidents of fraud, noting that it was the desire of JAMB to ensure the integrity and sanctity of its examinations, saying its officials who were found to have hands in the fraud would not be spared.

He stated: “During the 2012 UTME, we had some disturbing news of extortion of innocent candidates by greedy proprietors, supervisors and invigilators.

“But we assure the public that all these people would be brought to book accordingly, just as I make bold to say that JAMB will not spare any culpable persons.

“We also know that those engaged in exam malpractices will stop at nothing to achieve their aims.

“For instance, in 2012, some discoveries and new tricks were on display by the crooks, where we discovered candidates embedding their mobile handset phones in sandals. This was discovered during our routine scanner checks after the candidates passed through the biometric verification machines.” Ojerinde added: “ A Cursory look at some of their antics will show negative ingenuity on parade, but we say that no matter how smart they think they are, they would be caught and flushed.”

Investigations conducted across all the accredited JAMB examination centers in Lagos State revealed that many schools, through their workers, turned the exercise into money-spinning ventures.

Before the students were allowed entry into their various examination premises, the UTME officials stressed the need to discard any material/luggage, other than those relevant for the examination.

Security officials, led by the officers of the Nigerian Security and Civil Defence Corps (NSCDS), enforced this instruction, making the students seek the best places to hide their valuables.

Some persons promptly began demanding money to keep bags in a “warehouse”.

Some security personnel who caught candidates with handsets seized same but released them on payment of up to N1,000 each. And they made fortunes.

There were also reported instances of supervisors accepting fees to enable students carry in handsets and even bring in already solved answer sheets.

Author of this article: From Mohammed Abubakar, Abuja; Bankole Shakirudeen Adeshina and Laolu Adeyemi, Lagos."