MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY

BURNING HEART


Do you know that feeling when you are hurt so much and you just want to cry! I mean you want to let thousands of droplets of tears out of your swollen eyes, but you wouldn’t be able to because you have no single tears left in there.
That time when you could feel the blood in your heart dripping like the remnant of rain on the zinc, after a long downpour that continuously drips down on the earth; and the chest up to your upper abdomen hurts so much as though someone is in there frying some delicacies.
Or that time when your heart beats violently against your chest or breast making a tapping sound as though your chest were a window pan that got controlled over by a heavy wind.

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This is what happen when I buried those moments beneath that no penetrable part of my being, and let them eat me dry and hurt me alone. Mahatma Gandhi said “no one can hurt us except by our permission” don’t you think it applies to only a few persons?
This few years of mine, I have spent my miserable life like an object among humans. I don’t know what joy and happiness look like; I have become a human without any other feelings aside pain and sorrow.
Everyone complain about how cold I have become, how uninteresting my life had turned into. No one really cares to ask how I landed into this and how I will get out of it.
Each time people are gathered in their multitude rejoicing, there is this ache, a terrible one that burn down through my heart and rendered me helpless. At times I wish I could cry but it was impossible since my soul had become like become a desert deserted by rain for years, no tears would flow. This pain and sorrow, and its story is a long one that I wouldn’t be able to narrate today, for today is a day of lamentation – even though am not sure of tomorrow am pretty sure for tomorrow, my story will narrate itself.       

Irresponsible Spouse


Jamila came from a village where people believed you must get married to someone from your village. Her paent got her married to a man from her village called Abdullahi. She never liked Abdullahi from the onset but she promised to make her parents happy because they have invested so much in her; they gave her all the basic necessities of life which a daughter deserve to have from her parents. It was because of this  that she surrendered and succumbed to their wishes. She was indeed docile and submissive but Abdullah, was a cassanova. He never lowers his gaze on any lady he sees, be it an ugly or pretty lady. He was jobless so he took his new bride to Jigawa where his brother lived.

They managed to get a two roo apartment for them. Jamila was a very intelligent lady. She is a nurse by profession so she was fortunate to secure a job at near by hospital. Moreover, she goes to their in-laws house everyday to wash their dishes, sleep the house and fills the bowls with water. in fact, she did most of the household chores just to win the heart of her in-laws. They loved her so much that they treated her just like their own child. Abdullahi couldn’t give his wife helping hand but rather always pressuring her to give him money from her earning. She never complained but gave him.

 Ten months after their wedding she had a baby boy. The child was named after Abdullah’s grand dad. A year later, his sister was diagnosed of appendix and he asked his wife to help his sister in the hospital where she works.

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The bill was expensive but Jamila talked to the accountant so that it can be reduced. Her sister in-law Aisha had a successful operation. Aisha was married but was attending a school at Jigawa, so she brought her three children to stay with their uncle’s wife. For Jamila it was an added responsibility because she was the bread winner. She brought the attention of her husband to the issue that she can not take care of his sister and her children. He ignored her. Aisha felt that she wasn’t welcome in the family. She immediately called her mum and told her Jamila was a bad woman and had never liked her. The mother in-law became angry with Jamila and hated her. What baffled Jamila was that Abdullahi always traveled without telling her. He comes back home late, while girls always call him on phone to book appointement with him. He had a ‘’Sugar Mummy’’ who prevented him from attending to his wife. The sugar mummy bought him a car. Some months later the sugar mummy too discovered that he was flirting around with many ladies. She became perturbed and took away her car from him.

Jamila was into thrift contribution with her colleagues at the hospital where she worked and she was able to save N250,000. When she collected her share, she gave the money to Abdullah to help her buy a plot of land. He took the money and was never seen again. Months passed and soon it was sallah period. While he was away jamila the school fees, house rent, electricity bill, health bills and many more for her children. Like became difficult for her and her salary was like a drop of water in an ocean that couldn’t ease her problems.

She was so broke financially that she stole the hospital the hospital kerosene. She also stole medicine and sold them to be to feed her children. She struggled to buy a sallah ram. She gave the ram to one mallam to help her slaughter on sallah day. A day to sallah abdullahi cmae back home while jamila was out. He asked his children if their mum had bought sallah ram. They showed him where the ram was kept. When she came back, she saw him and never said a word to him. The next day, he collected the ram from the mallam and slaughter it. However he bought a new phone for her from his travel. She was so angry with him and she threw the phone on the ground. Out of annoyance, Abdullah grabbed her and slapped. She slapped him back and a fight ensued. He beat her to stupor. Her children called her neighbor who took her to hospital. When she regain consciousness, she asked of her husband’s whereabouts but instead was given a divorce later from one of his friend. She couldn’t believe what she saw and busted into tears and regrets.

Narrated by Fatima Abubakar

Story by: Amina Abdullahi

culled from Tambari

Love is Blind


My parents and immediate family were very angry when I first became engage to Nuhu. Grandpa was the main engine behind their opposition. They all believe because Nuhu was blind, he will be so dependent on me couple with his poor background and blindness. Despite all these, we married months later. 

My parent and immediate family were all prevent from attending the wedding ceremony by grandpa. However, things work as planned. Grandpa told me something I never understood then. His words were “he who swallows a pestle must be ready to sleep while standing”.
Is spite of all their opposition we got married few months after; Nuhu quickly got used to finding his ways around our new home – he had trained himself by working with heart instead of the eyes.
Almost a year and half later, after all my toiling for the betterment of the house, Nuhu and I went to an eye specialist hospital where it was confirm he could see again. Nuhu was wheeled in for necessary check up. 
Nuhu had good news to tell me. He said the operation was going to be successful. I was happy that my love is going to regain his sight. He also said after the operation he would see how beautiful I was. I wasn’t beautiful. Couple with my dowdy appearance, my pot belly, and short height.
The operation was scheduled at nine on Thursday morning. The surgeon had strictly warned me not to come to the hospital before noon that day. The waiting was hell! Seconds became minutes and minutes became hours. When it was exactly one, I got dressed and went straight to the hospital. The surgery was a success, the doctor said. I went to the clinic twice a day to see him. He was bubbling with energy and enthusiastic.
A week later, I woke up with migraine. I look at myself in the mirror and tears began to drop down my eyes. Finally, I wore a t-shirt and a long skirt, with my short hijab to match.

I walked slowly along the corridor to my husband room. I stood at the door for a moment with my heart pounding. I slowly opened the door and went inside. He was sitting up on the bed. He looked at me as I raised my eyes, for a moment, neither of us spoke. “You’re beautiful”, he said.
Tear roll down my eyes as I was so shameful of myself. He looked at me, and for some moments neither of us spoke. I knew there was love in his eyes, and I went into his outstretched hands. It was glaring he was in love with me.

Truly love is blind.

YAHAYA BELLO


I want to let you know that this little piece has really given me a lot of headache thinking about how to really start writing it. I don’t know if this is perfect but this is my final decision. I have to start this way, maybe it is unprofessional but what do I care if my aim is achieved and you the reader finally get to see my points. 

Yahaya Bello is a household name in one of the Middle Belt State of Nigeria, Kogi State to be precise.  Bello, to the Igalas, the majority of the state is the synonym to Obo-ilo (which literally means bitter leaf soup).  No one really knows how they come about the name but it does makes sense thinking about how they rhythms and maybe due to the bitter and hard living conditions he is left Kogi people with. 
Who is Bello? Bello happens to be the youngest, nonchalant, uncultured and a kindergarten governor of the people of Kogi State. I won’t tell you how he became the governor of Kogi state. If you want to know click on this link http://www.google.com/YahayaBello 
After the unfortunate death of the rightful winner of the governorship election, Adu-oja(which literally mean slave of the people), a name which he acquire for himself through his selfless service for his people or perhaps to the people of the state, the stubborn, uncultured young man was named a replacement for the vacant position.
LET ME PRAISE MYSELF FIRST
Let me praise myself a little. My friends used to call me Okocha before Ronaldo and Messi made their name to stardom, since then I was called either of them by name. Maybe I was the best on the field in my own world outside La-liga and the English premier league.
You will be surprise to hear this but it’s true. I’m a good artist too; a glance at my room will leave your mouth agape. This no doubt earned me the title of “Leonardo da Kogi”.  Not only that but also I was a good singer, the Lionel Richie of my hood.
Before I forget, I was the love doctor to all my friends back then in school. They were no issues concerning love that I wouldn’t be asked about. Most of the tactics which I taught them works miraculously. Instead of calling me Shakespeare, they resorted to Sha Rukh Khan, the Bollywood king of romance. Maybe there was no spear in me they could shake, which was why they didn’t call me Shakespeare.
A VOICE FOR THE VOICELESS
Now let’s talk about how Bello, Kogi and his governance concern me. My name you already know. My father used to tell us right from childhood that we were Kogites but I never believed until his death when we had to relocate due to troubles from his people that our mum was too young to take care of us alone in the far away from home northern Nigeria.  

Before his death, none of his children knew he had a house in the state. It was a secret he hid from every one of us except our mum. We moved into the house after burial and it was like starting all over again. 
Oh I forgot to tell you about my first experience in the state. I will say it was the most unfortunate thing to have occurred to me. Before leaving the north for my state, I was full of enthusiasm that I was going to a state equipped with basic amenities, but when I finally left Abuja behind and entered Ohono, the first Village or Community I could remember easily to be where I noticed I was in Kogi state, my heart melted in shame. The first entrance of the state was nothing to write home about.
Also, entering into the state capital will leave your eyes wet with tears of disappointment. Believe you me; your heart will boil in anger to see such a welcoming disgrace. Big Lorries, and trucks parked at every corner of the road and leathers and dirty clothes littered everywhere.
Let me stop here before the former Governors read this and actually think I am saying they did nothing. You all tried. Weldone sair! 
After some months later, my mum got a job at one of the general Hospital. She was a nurse. This is where Bello came in. She worked under both Ibrahim Idris and Wada and we were very contented not really rich.
After the exit of Wada, Obo-ilo began to act up. Screening without ends and that became the beginning of our nightmares. Bello himself was not aware of his doings. He was like a kid holding a pencil and a drawing book in his hand, painting and drawing as he wishes without dimensions. 
Mum began borrowing to pay for our school fees as the nature of her job wouldn’t permit her to start any business. 
Last night I overheard the person she had been collecting money from asking for her money. Bello, please pay our fathers and mother so that no one would disgrace them because if they do we may forgive you but we will ask God to pay you back accordingly. 
We can’t eat good food

We can’t wear better clothes

We can’t afford our school fees

She works in the clinic but we can’t afford medical fees
PLEASE PAY OUR PARENTS!!!

BELLO IF YOU READ THIS IT’S JUST A LITERATURE… IF THERE WAS ANY INSULT IT WAS TO BLEND THE WRITE UP NOT TO TARNISH YOUR IMAGE… WELDONE SAIR!

Destiny


On some turns of birth 

I came to be

I had met you oh destiny

As a companion of a must 
Whether I agreed or not

You did as you desire

Not as a friend

Nor as a foe
When the Heart boils

Like water on a fire

And when face delighted 

Like a morning sun

It was all because of you
What is my own I have to come

To this path called life
With or without an option

I agreed to what you said,

and went with you, holding your hand,

choosing you as my companion…
On what part am I wrong

On what path have you brought me

Whether I want it or not

You forced it on me

What I find unacceptable

is what you want,

I’m not able to understand you,

nor are you ready to fill me

With bliss
The decisions you made

You made them alone

Why am I your victim

Trapped in between disbelief and doubts


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