hello Blog

 

 

https://goo.gl/gMBQTe

 

 

 

THE HIT

A Saturday morning, and we took our girls to the kiddies taekwondo club at Brickhall School run by the Chika Chukwumerije Sports Foundation (CCSF). So, I sat in a corner and watched children taking turns at the kicking pad, with Master Chika rewarding each badly executed kick with a slight tap on the head. It brought back memories, I swear… But this is not what I am here to talk about.  

He was preparing them for his CCSF Taekwondo Prix Series II. It’s a competition he holds every Quarter to support the development of taekwondo at the grassroots. Like we used to have when we were young, and constantly battling for trophies at the Lagos Country Club, and Ikoyi Club, and National Stadium, followed everywhere by my father and his ubiquitous video recorder… But this is not what I am here to talk about.

An integral part of prepping for a competition is sparring. So, he suited these kids up in fight gear – shin guards, hand guards, body guards, head guards – and paired them up for mock fights. My daughter had never been in a fight before. But got paired with a girl a year younger than her, shorter than her, not nearly as strong as her, who fell to the ground with the first push kick… But this is not what I am here to talk about.

Three rounds of this and my daughter came out of the ring beaming, ‘Daddy, I won!’ I nodded at her, but soon as she was gone, turned to my brother and said, ‘That was not a fight. Give her a fight.’ So, he put her in the ring again, this time with a girl a year older than her, taller than her, and a little more experienced. And I sat up attentively now. Yes. My daughter likes her push kick, so charged at her opponent right out of the gate. But instead of falling down, the girl staggered back, then responded with a kick of her own. It hit my little girl hard.

Not hard, physically. But mentally. This, I could see on her face, the SHOCK at the unnerving realization that a challenge could still be standing there even after she had unleashed her ALL at it, and not only standing there but with life enough to kick her back. I call it, ‘The Hit’. And I have experienced it many times myself, that moment when someone kicks you back in a way that shatters every pre-conceived opinion you had of them, and how a fight with them would go. Yes, it’s the moment you realize you’re in over your head or, putting it a bit more philosophically, in deep shit.

Yes. People react to this moment differently. Some people, I swear, are made of steel. It’s in their genes. And I saw a little boy that morning that reminded me of some of my people back in the day. Because when his much larger, bigger and stronger opponent kicked him hard, he smiled a smile that could only have been induced by a surge in adrenaline. And I shook my head at the wonders of genetic kalo-kalo, because I knew that this one – if no one teaches him to temper bravery with wisdom – will one day try, indeed, to do exactly what Mohammed Ali said, that is ‘wrestle with an alligator, tussle with a whale, handcuff lightning and throw thunder in jail’. True.

But my little girl, ah, my little girl…her shock gave way to fear, and her fear gave way to tears… But we cheered her on from the side-line, so she wept but kicked her way to the end of a fight she lost. So, I sat her on my knees and told her, ‘Don’t cry. We win some, we lose some. That is how it is.’ But in my mind I thought, ‘This is great! This is great! We shall come again tomorrow!!’ Because, do not be deceived, our destinies lie, always, outside our comfort zones. Yes. This is what I am here to talk about.

Image taken from:

http://theworryfreelife.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/08/comfort-zone.jpg

LOVE HURTS

Sometimes, people disappear. This is true. For Love is not always a duet with two feeding off each other. No. Sometimes, the house is standing only because you’re carrying it. I tell you, it’s hard to tell how long this must continue before it becomes abuse. All I know is, there are seasons in everyone’s life when they have enough strength only for themselves. And if you are the one who has to share this season with them, ah, you will not find it easy at all.

But, once, I was a teenager. And slammed the door in my mother’s face. When I opened it, she was there. So I learned, there is that day on which our Love must be unconditional. Not because you massaged my feet, or will bring me home a box of chocolates. I’ve watched it on Discovery channel. How, within minutes of being born, a baby deer is nudged to its feet. But it takes a bit longer for the children of men to learn this lesson, that the World does not revolve around their needs. In the interim, we clean their bums and swaddle them, feed and protect them, knowing they may walk away, one day, in anger or irritation, at the things we become in our old age.

But, once, I was a child. And woke up to the whispered sounds of my father standing by the door, praying for me; gently tiptoeing away when he was done.  And I lay there the rest of the night wondering - how many times does he do this? Not an easy lesson, this one, how Love must always do more than it can ever boast of, or be given credit for. But, some days, they will NEED you, even when they are asleep and do not know it. On days like that you will have to find something more motivating than your natural desire for a standing ovation to reach out. So, let me tell you this.

Look into the eyes of those you love, and read what lies therein. For, I tell you, there are days when those eyes will beg you not to walk away, not to abandon me now in a darkness so deep I cannot talk about it. You will see them grow bleak with tears, but every time you ask, I will stubbornly say, ‘Nothing. I am fine. Leave me the hell alone!’ At this moment, I beg you, listen to your own heart, quieten the static that is always our ego when the love we offer is flung back in our faces. Yes. And if in that still small place where our inner truth resides, you hear a voice – the dependable voice of your unerring intuition – and it says to you, ‘Stay’. Please…stay.

Image taken from:

http://8020.photos.jpgmag.com/49909_14732_edf249b9a5_l.jpg

THIS LOVE...

I have lost count of the number of times my heart has skipped a beat since she was born. It skipped a beat when her mother bled, when she lay in bed all day because in truth there is no cure for a baby that will not stay. 

It skipped a beat when her waters broke, and I leapt out of bed before I was fully awake, for that cry of anticipation – of the woman who got up in the middle of the night to pee and found herself standing in a pool of amniotic fluid – bypasses the brain. 

It skipped a beat each time the midwife came to listen for her’s, when I held my breath unknowing, breathing again only after I’d heard her's.

 It skipped a beat when they pulled her out, when her mother turned to ask me, ‘Where is my baby? Why can I not hear her crying?’ And I was looking at the door, the same one they had rushed through, three mid wives and a silent baby.

 I tell you, these are the origins of Love at its most primeval, that silence between two people that begs God to break it with the delicate wailing of a newborn. That is the only way I can explain it,  this…chasm that opens up within me some times, when she looks up at me. I have tried to find the bottom of these depths. What will I not do for you? What? I have not found the bottom of these depths.

So, I have looked away sometimes because this too will be difficult, explaining to a child why one who has not been spanked, or had his ears pulled, will suddenly sprout tear-filled eyes? For this lesson, of how love is a man’s strength and a man’s weakness, is a difficult one to teach, how the thought of things that have not happened and may never happen – like losing you in a crowded shopping mall, like thinking of you crying and calling my name, or imagining the day when you will have to learn to live without me, like having someone snatch you away through an open window or from an empty sidewalk and having to live with the knowledge that you are out there somewhere, maybe hurt, maybe in pain, and I cannot be there to fulfil the destiny of a father, to throw my life down so yours can spring forth – can wake me up in the middle of the night hyper-ventilating. 

I love you. Do we not say this to each other, playfully, me trying to teach you how to mouth the alphabets of emotion, even though understanding – true understanding – will be many years in the future? But I walk these paths, the same ones my father and mother walked before me, I sit up in the same night, creep down the same hallway to quietly open the door to your room, to look in, to listen, to listen until I hear the reassuring sound of my child breathing; and I worry – the same worry – at the storm brewing outside your window, at the chaos of a society that will not build itself, at these loose bricks crashing down from the ceilings of a crumbling state, threatening to crush my only reason left to hope still. And I determine – feeling the sinews of my soul tense in the most total willingness I know I will ever experience in this life to embrace battle with its consequences, whatever they may be – that you will have a better life…

Yes. I am your father.

Image taken from:

https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/a2/e1/9c/a2e19cbc26cb98e30495502743059712.jpg

DID YOU MISS NSW6? HERE ARE MORE VIDEOS TO ENJOY!!

---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Night Of The Spoken Word <nightofthespokenword@gmail.com>
Date: Sat, Jun 25, 2016 at 8:50 AM
Subject: DID YOU MISS NSW6? HERE ARE MORE VIDEOS TO ENJOY!!
To: Night Of The Spoken Word <nightofthespokenword@gmail.com>

NIGHT OF THE SPOKEN WORD 6

So, do you remember that moment when you swore you would never love again? Ha! Life and its sense of irony, because the very next day you saw her - THE ONE. So, my brother, how shall we do this thing? You know? Make her an offer she cannot refuse? You know? Set the perfect trap for the perfect bush rat? You know? Toasting (or chaiking, or blocking, or spinning, or cornering, or whatever it is you want to call it) a woman is always a delicate operation; too much 'bota' and she thinks you mommy's boy, too much kpako and she laments, 'Have I fallen so far in life area boys are now coming?' At NSW6, we walked that tight rope, and we walked it well, all the way from love at first sight to till death do us part. Yes. You will enjoy this! Just click on the link below:

Click on this link to watch TOASTING Watch out for NSW7. Coming...OCT 1ST 2016. You don't want to miss it! You can subscribe to my Youtube channel for more Spoken Word videos@Dike Chukwumerije's Youtube Channel (click) To get notices of up and coming NSW events, you can like our Facebook page @Dike Chukwumerije's NSW (click) Thanks!

THERE IS A TIME TO FART

I know. You only behaved like that because you thought it would be noiseless and odourless. But now people are scampering to the left and right, and someone is even screaming at the top of his voice, "Whoever did this thing eh, e no go better for am!" (He is referring to you). But don't worry. God does not answer useless prayers.

Yes. It is a thing done by all. Beauty Queens and others, house boy and master, drug pusher and the NDLEA staff that nabbed him, no matter, all have stomachs that rumble and, should it linger long enough, will sprout the same sweaty forehead, and twist subtly for freedom, regardless of who nearby would be provoked into unleashing their inner juju priest as a result. You understand?

Because God does. He made the hole after all. He knows these things; that make-up is, well, made up, and no one really wakes up looking like the cover page of Vogue; that picture-perfect is all the stuff that's cleverly hidden, and a human being without an arse-hole has more things to worry about than the one who uses it a bit too often. You understand?

Because, like a rocket, the effort to move forward quickly sometimes causes a loud explosion in the opposite direction, yes? Nothing to worry about, my brother, it is the ying and yang of life, that a woman in labour will push out many unprintable things before the baby's head crowns, and if you wrinkle your nose at the first discharge, and (in the voice of a British butler) say, "Oh, this is all rather nasty, could you keep it in please?" It is true, you will see no more crap, but, well, no baby as well.

Can you imagine? So, let it be known if it needs to be known, that there are days when we must tell the guardians of etiquette and protocol to shut the hell up. No. Not because we have misplaced our Sunday manners, but because we are in the middle of something big and in dire need of all our goddamned energy to get it out. Do you understand?

That it takes a little effort to look presentable - to tie the hair in a neat bun and look away in time to burp - but on some days even this little is a little too much. Yes. For the effort to become everything we can always demands everything we have, don't you know? When we are there, against the walls of our limitations, exerting to the max, pushing against these barriers with all of our strength, that is also when we are most in danger of releasing one?  Yes. Deal with it. You hear me? Deal with it.

For, I tell you, if Life just happens to have woken me this morning on an important errand, and this is the day you also happen to decide that you are going to be standing by the road ticking off who says it correctly - fork, fok or fek - please, do not be angry, if I find a fork and chook you with it. Yes? This is it, my brother. That we must not go around farting just because. But - never ever let one stand in the way of giving Life your absolute best, yes? Use wisely.

#nsw7

Our own Poetry is real

Image taken from:

http://blog.sociusassociates.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/Etiquette2.jpg

http://www.etiquettescholar.com/images/dining_etiquette/table_setting/informal_table_setting_picture_largeweb.gif