Friday, July 19, 2013

SMALL STORMS CAN SINK SHIPS

Some people are just stingy. (Well, frugal, is a more positive word) . Even if you turned them upside down, everything that could possibly drop down has been sewn into the bottom-lining of inner pockets. It’s just the way they visualize the future, full of emergencies and unforseens; the Great Unexpected. So putting aside excess – slicing off and saving everything not absolutely essential to survival today – is as essential as the next breath. It doesn’t matter which stars you struck down when you fell in love, you will quarrel about these things, especially if you are the sort that leaves the lights on in the sitting room and goes to bed. You could wake up the next morning to a photocopy of last month’s PHCN printout, carefully extricated from the Household Bills folder and positioned in front of your eyes, while the lecture on how these things ‘cost money’ plays in the background.

People are different like that. Some people cannot wear socks unless they match with the pant that no one will see. Some people cannot go anywhere unless it had been inserted into the diary, at least two weeks before, and after the appropriate discussions. But there are other people who can get dressed on the way out, slipping on shoes as they bang the door, applying lipstick in the rear view, only asking just after you pass Airport Junction, ‘Where are we going sef?’ The unpredictability of the future could be something that you don’t give too much thought to because of your faith, or because where you’re coming from people didn’t have to wonder about the next meal, or because ever since they dropped you on your head on the way out of the womb you’ve never worried a day in your life. So, you don’t understand millions in savings accounts when the shops are still open in Wuse market.

These things are deeper than feelings, stronger than emotions. If I like to stay in on weekends and you like to go out, we have a problem. It’s easy to call it a ‘SMALL’ problem when we’re still ‘hearing’ romantic music in the background, missing each other the second we leave each other, drunk with the thought of being together ‘forever’ (saying that word as if it meant two weeks). But I don’t know how many relationships are wrecked because the man woke up in the night and tried to strangle the woman, or the woman turned out to have multiple personalities one of whom believed itself to be a dog, complete with midnight howls at the moon. It’s always the SMALL things that do us in. You probably underestimate their impact - night after night of disrupted sleep, from your beloved’s belligerent snoring; listening to her, every single time, cracking chicken bones in an incomprehensible obsession with extracting every last bit of marrow.

Don’t ignore these things. You’ll need to exercise exactly the same muscles to tackle the ‘BIG’ issues, whatever they may be. In fact, it could be better to have many tiny little ‘containable’ fights on a rolling basis, constantly sharpening the art of compromise and conflict resolution, than one BIG one. So, come and sit down for a minute and tell me why we cannot go out to a nice restaurant every weekend. Because the thought of spending all that money on ‘non-essentials’ gives you palpitations? Ah! But do you not understand that it is important TO ME? Okay, fine, I get it; you’re doing it because you love me, and you don’t want us to run into difficulties tomorrow. Fine, how about dinner thrice a month? Twice a month? What is wrong with you for God’s sake?! Please don’t annoy me, what do you mean by once in two months? Let’s just leave it at twice a month? Okay? Okay.

Because that is what it really is – a deal between two people, always negotiated, always negotiatable; trying to find that ever shifting balance between two constellations. Did any of us fall out of the skies? No. That is why we have all have our sharp corners. So, don’t mistake these road bumps for bad omens; but don’t go thinking small storms can’t sink ships either.


Image taken from:

Friday, July 5, 2013

LISTENING

My daughter talks like Scooby-Doo. And gets angry when I keep handing her a teddy bear instead of the big, round garden egg on the kitchen table. Can you imagine? Tiny ‘Big-Head’ wagging a finger at me ‘No! No! No!’ (That one she says well). So, I snap back, ‘Speak in English, for God’s sake. Or Igbo.’ But my wife always says, ‘Listen.’ So, I did. Now, I know that ‘Ah-Oh-No’, means ‘I don’t know’; ‘Kak!’ means ‘Thanks!’; and ‘Ah-won-kpap’ means…well…‘I want pap’. So, we get along a lot better now.

Because everyone wants to be heard, even little children. It doesn’t matter to the other one that I’m trying to write, head buried in my laptop, tapping out my ‘masterpiece’. It takes a while for this single sentence, on repeat, to punch a hole through the fog of creativity: ‘But, daddy, you’re not listening to me!’ I could take that same sentence, delete ‘daddy’, and it would fit perfectly in my wife’s mouth. Not so funny now, with much graver consequences. To be honest, sometimes, I’m actually just thinking of my response; so I even cut in before she’s done. ‘I have the solution!’ Problem solved! But she only sighs deeply, as if I missed the whole point.

So, I’ve been thinking about it and you know what? If you take a deep breath and grow still, you could put your ear to a woman’s stomach and hear the child moving around inside her. It can be surreal. It’s even more surreal to think that that child has its ear against the soft lining of her womb and could be listening to you too. It is possible. Because when I was a teenager, I wrote a poem to the tune of a nursery rhyme I couldn’t get out of my head. Then I thought to myself, ‘When I have a child, I’m going to sing this poem to her’.

And I did – murmuring softly against her mum’s swollen tummy. When she was born, just days old, crying uncontrollably one night, I picked her up and began to hum it. She turned towards the sound; then she fell silent. And, now, three years later, she still puts her head on the pillow beside me – bedtime – and says, eyes closed, ‘Daddy, can you sing ‘Baby dear…’ for me’. And it does something to me every single time. I know, one day she’ll grow old enough to tell me (fully conscious of what she’s saying) that she loves me. But I don’t think anything she’ll say or do will ever make me feel more loved than knowing she heard me through her mother’s womb. She was listening.

So, many things make better sense now – why my wife sighs sometimes right after my technical treatise on a six-point-strategy for ensuring she has a better day tomorrow; delivered glibly, because I’m itching to get back to writing this. I’m slowly getting it - she’s not a child who can’t reach the garden egg by herself.  And the best stories in this life don’t roar forward in a straight line; they take their time, meandering like those enchanting bush paths. They don’t even have to make sense. But, to those who are listening, they always do.


Image taken from: