How She Left

I notice it even as I eat, or sit or walk; my motions are getting slower, more deliberate, purposeful even. I hear the door handle twist violently, almost like the person who twists it expects it to swing open. When it did not open, I hear an even louder knock.

I lay still in bed, allowing whoever it is the pleasure of a second knock. All the while I imagine who I must have given the right to knock on my door that hard.  After the second knock I lazily pull myself up from the bed, in the distance from room to door, I hear even louder knocks.

‘Did you not hear me honk at the gate?’ she asked as I opened the door and I hoped the question came out as a joke. It wasn’t until I turned towards her and saw her awaiting response that I sighed defeated-ly and said,

‘Was I supposed to hear?’ a response that didn’t really mean anything, but seeing as it answered a senseless question to begin with, I did not mind. I probably should have asked if I was the gate keeper or if people stayed in their houses and listened for honks.  

We sat for minutes in silence, I thought of offering a cold drink from the fridge but I did not just get myself to. Instead I sat there, willing to say much and actually not saying anything. We both stared, it was uncomfortable at first but it quickly got better. She pulled herself up abruptly, grabbed her car keys and said,

‘Let me quickly drop someone off and return’, I smiled wide. She had outdone herself. I didn’t think she could stand our silence for thirty minutes.

It is ten minutes before she sends me a message,

‘I might run a little late’, I smile and think to myself ‘Learner’…. ‘this is how she finally leaves my life’

Have similar stories of partners who craftily leave just before valentine so they can avoid gifting? Please share in the comments or leave me a mail.... 


Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

Airline Review: The New Spirit of Africa

‘Why Ethiopian?' 

and I immediately knew why she asked. I heard the gory stories too; from plane seats that had tear marks from wear to aircrafts that made a wiggling sound just as you take off and the food; horrible awful food. In the end of what was a long conversation, she said 'please leave Ethiopian airlines out of it'. It was at this point I made up my mind to fly Ethiopian, experience it for myself, see if there was any truth to all the rumors I had heard. 

The rumors began to prove true a good eight hours before my flight; I tried to check in online and save myself the hassles of airport queues, but no, the Ethiopian airlines web site kept popping up an error message whenever I entered my flight details. This was the only time during my experience with the airline that I wished I had taken my sisters advice. 

The airline was nothing like the stories I had heard: we flew in a very generous Boeing 787. There was very adequate leg room such that I could stretch and even cross my legs without inconveniencing the person who sat in front of me. The inflight entertainment was spectacular; the lineup had so many recent movies that I was spoilt for choice, I eventually settled for Hercules and Invictus only because I hadn't seen both of them. The music too; really nice. 

None of the warnings people gave me of Bole International Airport were correct, to my mind it is a very decent looking airport with its expanse of glass and very high ceilings, everything about it I liked, except of course the bathrooms which were usually packed full and had wet floors. This is easily explainable though, it is mostly caused by people performing ablution in non designated areas. I used the Sheba Miles lounge and I was impressed, I had coffee, wifi and was comfortable enough to catch up on sleep. My 5 hour layover was an experience in itself.

The food on board was delicious, better than most bigger, more expensive airlines. I was served an assortment of long grained rice and really tender chicken, a bread bun with butter and cheese to compliment it, a generous bowl of fruit salad with berries and papaya and mango, and a vegetable salad mainly of beans, carrots, peas. All was really nice. 

Most airline related complaints are of air hostesses, but that wasn't my experience; I did get upset a couple of times when I pressed the call button and no one answered, but after a few minutes a hostess came by with apologies, a complimentary gift bag from first class and promised to constantly refill my paper cup with fruit juice as compensation.

All in all, the Ethiopian experience was lovely, especially for the price it flew; as I see it, the airline is both very easily affordable and very comfortable. I will fly the airline time and again. I insisted on filling a comment card on my way out: I am not one to get good services and not commend the business afterwards. Perhaps we all should do this, encourage businesses that make an effort to deliver real value. 

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

26 long years.

My fondest memory from being 25 is arriving at Hartsfield Jackson. I would sigh a long held sigh and whisper

‘I am finally in the land of the free’,

then my thoughts would wander and I would ask myself if a man in Atlanta and a man in Nigeria would turn 26 at the same time? Or if a man in Nigeria would turn 26 an hour before the man in Ghana? I would conclude that such time zone differences were too complex for my fragile head to decipher.

Over the years, I have cultivated the habit of writing a short post or poem every 12^th February and it is relatively easy to look at my previous year’s list of goals and tick most of them as accomplished. This year however, it is different.

Apart from two or three accomplishments, the list stares frustrated at me. I wanted to travel more, earn a lot more, work two or three more writing jobs but none of these has turned out the way I planned. What I would later come to conclude is that progress in your circumstance (wealth, title, salary) is one thing and progress in yourself is an entirely different thing.

In the last year, I travelled for a bit: experienced cultures I had only dreamt of. Survived surgery and believe me when I say nothing gives you a better appreciation of life than surviving surgery. I finally took some responsibility and know what I want to do with my life, what steps to take that would lead me where I want to be in the next few years. And I met a slightly muscled, hazel eyed beauty who I am determined to have the most meaningful intimate relationship with.

In retrospect, this list looks far more meaningful than making a lot more friends or trying to beat deadlines. Perhaps, the major lesson here for me is recognizing that personal progress even when I have not made career progress is progress and every growth, no matter where it happens counts.

That said, I am happy, grateful just to be where I am and I look forward to exploring all the ills and good that come with being 26. 

Please share tales on how you spent your last birthday in the comments or leave me a mail at momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) 

A BIROS TALE

‘Like it is in the picture’. I would run to my mum bellowing like a wild puppy. Pointing to the Ebony magazine I had in my hands, I would repeat, ‘buy me a Mont Blanc pen like it is in the photo’.

My mum would nod a nod that said something like:

‘why does a 9 year old want such a pen’

and then proceed on her journey. She would not buy the pen like it was in the photo when she returned and I would not ask her about it. My brother would later say to me that she had a budget of four hundred pounds for all of four children and could not afford my six hundred pounds pen from the magazine.

Today’s post would not be about luxury pens and all, it would be about a biro or bic- whichever is more appropriate. One First City Monument Bank had freely given as a New Year ‘thanks for your patronage’ gift to customers. As I received mine, first thing I would think is:

‘Would customers not appreciate improved services even more?’

The biro would go on to mean more than just biro to me. It would prove to me that there still is some good to Nigeria. From it, I would come to sudden realization that even when we say Nigeria is doomed because it lacks good people, this is most often not true.

It was on Friday the 17th January, I had stopped a taxi just up the road from the American Embassy and asked the cab driver to take me to my office, he immediately would demand a four hundred naira fare and I would allow a smile spread generously across my face. Three hundred I’d say and he’d look me in the face and frown that weird frown that ultimately continues until it becomes a smile, he would nod slightly and I would get in. Apart from pleasantries, we would not speak until I got to my office. I paid him in complete change, thanked him and I hurried off. He would mutter something like N300 was inadequate and I’d simply ignore him. Thirty minutes would pass and I’d be busy with the day’s paper when the security guard would interrupt and hand me a biro. He would say the taxi man returned it.

This single act would leave me impressed. Remind me that even in a country where everyone is said to be corrupt or self centered and poor, a taxi man still would expend his time and fuel to return something as basic as a biro to its owner.

I would immediately picture God saying:

‘For as long as you are faithful with little, I would bless you with even more’ and I would wonder what this means.

I’d say a prayer for the taxi man and say ‘thank you’ to the security guard. Seating at her desk across from me, my colleague would look to me and ask:

‘are you sure that taxi man is Nigerian?’

I’d look back at her and smile, knowing exactly what she meant.

Share your stories of exceptional Nigerians here in the comments or send me a mail at momoh.adejoh@gmail.com. 

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

In Gratitude

courtesy: www.gratitude.org

By

Adejoh Idoko Momoh

Usually, I think through as I write my blog posts. Checking for inaccuracies, making sure that every statement reads just as I intended it. Today, it will be different. I would write directly as the words come to me, no second thoughts, no corrections.

In the last 5 years, I’ve gotten through the Christmas and New Year holidays with excitement, calm and some sense of accomplishment. Why? Because these past couple years have been some of the best in my life. I have seen myself grow in love, forgiveness, skill and health.

One of my proudest achievements of 2013 must be my blog. For the gift of readers, I am truly grateful. I have seen my blog grow from a site where I mostly write thoughts that are read by a few friends to one that has more international readership than it has national. My readership has grown from a modest 50 persons the first year it started- Yes, I really had only 50 readers read my blog in a 12 month period- to about 2,000 in December 2013 alone and about 45,000 in the year.

I would get e-mails from people genuinely interested in my posts, I fondly remember an e-mail message I got from an anonymous reader on my post ‘Finding Fit’. I had returned from the United States and saw the obesity crisis first hand; it encouraged me to write a post in which I referred to certain people as fat. This is the first time I would hear from the anonymous reader:

Dear Adejoh,

I have read your blog for some time but didn’t feel the need to write in until now. I found your post ‘Finding Fit’ very interesting to read. I enjoy your play with words and the ease there is to your writing. Fascinating. 

However, as an overweight lady myself it is my opinion that you need sensitivity training. You haven’t considered genetics or any other factors which can lead to weight gain in your piece. You somehow manage to generalize and blame it on diet and a lack of healthy choices. The sad thing is the piece in itself was so enjoyable that despite hating its message, I stayed reading it to the end; I guess that’s good writing. 

Anonimous.

In all honesty, as I read this mail I smiled. Thankful that a reader would take out time to read my blog and send me an e-mail in response. It is at this point I would conclude that the achievement really is in my readers, not the blog itself. After all, it really is simply personal experience and things as I relate to them. I would realize that one of the down sides to living in a busy society is that we tend to take things for granted. We overlook everyday blessings; the gift of readers, the blessing of people who freely share their opinion and the generosity of all those who offer encouragement however they can.

It is for this reason I have decided to with my first 2014 blog post just say ‘Thank You’. It is my hope that in this year, we all would be more generous with our thankfulness. I have come to realize that one of the reasons why we should be grateful for the seemingly small things is that it helps us appreciate the big things in life when they come. And the other and perhaps ultimate reason is that as we learn to appreciate the small things, we realize that no act of kindness really is small.

Share your stories on gratitude as comments here or send them privately to momoh.adejoh@gmail.com 

Discovering ISLAM- On Separation of Sexes

By

Adejoh Idoko Momoh

One of my first experiences with Islam was in my mother’s reading room; as she busied herself in the corner reading and chanting verses from her Koran, I picked up a bright purple and yellow book. Its title startled me:

‘Islam forbids the free mixing of men and women’

I remember fondly then I wanted nothing to do with a religion that would seek to forbid my association with my mother and sisters: the only females I had come to see as role models at the time.

It was not until 2007 when I travelled to the Islamic holy land, visited the holy shrine and stood at the foot of al-Hajar al-Aswad or the black stone in my ritualistic dress that I realized this doctrine is tradition at best. Adopted by a few, practiced overtime and has come to be accepted as right.

First off, there is no separation of sexes in the holy Ka’abah: I walked with and took instructions from my mother as we performed the tawaf - the circular walk around the Ka’abah, we were together during prayers and several other men and women prayed alongside each other. This was particularly refreshing for me, in some way, it made me more interested in the religion, in learning its tenets. 

I began to wonder, the Ka’abah and the rituals surrounding it are relics of Islam in its purest form as observed by the Holy Prophet (SAW), if there was any need to separate sexes in Islam wouldn’t it be obvious in this holy mosque? Would efforts not have been made to build a female section behind the male section in the Ka’abah?

My mum had constantly told us that her aim was to read the Koran wholly from cover to cover inside the holy Ka’abah before we had to return to Nigeria, so when hunger began to whirl in my brother and I, she suggested we have lunch at a Kentucky Fried Chicken close to the mosque. I grumbled a bit, wanting to eat some home cooked food but that trip to KFC would eventually provoke some curiosity in me, make me interested in the religion and its truths.

Inside the restaurant, there was a partition with bright red labels that read ‘Men’ and another that read ‘Women’- I sighed to myself and muttered ‘the separation of sexes Nigerian mosques are so familiar for finally shows up here’. A giggle would later escape my lips as we sat to eat.

My brother would ask why I laughed and in dismissing his questioning, I would simply nod and say I just remembered something funny. In reality, I thought of the irony and hypocrisy inherent, it is okay for men and women to mix when they prayed and it is not okay for men and women to mix while they eat?

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh

What Would Victoria Do?

BY Adejoh Idoko Momoh

There’s something about the worship here; the church amazing in its construction: paved rocks like waterfalls leading to doorways that in themselves lead to a really expansive football- field -like arena with very high ceilings of public address systems, air-condition vents and beautiful art.

With arguably the largest congregation of any American church, Lakewood Christian Center seats a remarkable 40,000 people; the building was once Houston’s Compaq Center before the church bought it at $7.5 million and then started an ambitious $93 million worth of renovations, the church as it stood before me, justified every expense.

‘I am a mess sometimes. I might be a mess tomorrow… And you know what? God-says- it- is- okay to- be- a- mess, provided- I don’t- stay- that- way’ Victoria Osteen would say. Picking her words individually, in that voice white people use when they are overtaken by amazement or the sudden realization that whatever troubles they have has been mysteriously relieved.

I would loose concentration, think to my local church: Pastor Biodun Fatoyinbo’s Commonwealth of Zion Assembly, Abuja. His church, much like this: in branding, the motivation- like sermons, the largely youthful, hopeful population with excellent service of songs and praises: the ideal picture of a progressive church.

I would allow my mind wander. Ask what Victoria would do if like Pastor Modele Fatoyinbo, Joel Osteen had an ‘Ese Walters’ leveling allegations of a weeklong affair against him. A weeklong indulgence in fornication which Pastor Biodun fully aware of his actions lured her into, first by asking her to join his pastoral care unit, offering personal spiritual counseling and encouraging her to try alcohol. 

His ‘Ese’ would probably say he spoke in his very charming Texan accent, saying: ‘I’m gonna teach you a level of grace mankind doesn’t understand’ his eyes sparkling with the glow of a teacher eager to school his student. He would then threaten just like Pastor Biodun did: ‘I see premonition in which you leak details of our affair to the press. When such a time comes, remember that the bible requires you to hurt not Gods anointed’

Bringing myself back from thought, I would see her. Light skinned and very pretty in her above-knee-length blue dress accentuated at the waist by a metallic black belt, I imagine she would say to Joel, our marriage is for better and for worse, but mostly she would realize that he didn’t just sin against her, but against his church, against the part of Christ’s body he shepherds and therefore owed more of an explanation than the ‘Leave it to God’ posture Pastor Biodun has currently adopted with the people of COZA and the larger public.

For every one worker who would labor every Sunday, every weekday making sure services run smoothly,

she would demand that he apologizes. Not because by his apology he admits some form of guilt, but because by his actions, he has brought them embarrassment.

She would probably ask him to take a back seat from church activities, let other pastors who were content with their wives and didn’t see the need to desecrate their flesh with adultery, shepherd the church.

She would know that he is human, probably forgive him after she overcomes her own anger. She would know that because of this humanity, he would make mistakes sometimes and would need the direction a good wife should provide.

She would pull herself together: show that she is a woman in control and not just one who is lingering in the background, gleefully playing the victim of a cheating husband. She would take a stand: publicly stand by her husband, help him find God again or walk away, but all she would do, she would do boldly.

Adejoh Momoh (momoh.adejoh@gmail.com) can be followed on twitter @adejoh