Lessons from the ‘Guardroom’

As I reflected during my early morning walk today, I was reminded of a personal story that happened to me when I was only 17 years old. The day I was arrested and locked up in a cell by the Nigerian Military Army.

The year was 1996. The Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) was on strike (that meant no school; to your father’s house). The only way to live without running crazy doing nothing was to assist my mom in her pharmacy & business center.

You see, my mom’s pharmacy shop was located inside the army Cantonment (barracks), about half a mile away from the famous ‘mammy market’ – your one stop market for any product or service you need at home, in school or at work. Right after the bomb that exploded in the barracks in 1996 (can’t remember exactly the month) the order given was that closing time for every shop in the market was 7pm. My mom’s pharmacy however was not inside-inside the market, so that never really applied to us. As such, the pharmacy closed around 8:30/9:30pm.

Let me say at this point that I hated (the smell of) medicine/drugs and so it was a thorn in my flesh being in the Pharmacy. Plus it wasn’t in my agenda to do anything related to Pharmacy or even Medicine especially after I had failed Chemistry in my first semester in college. It was just so abstract to me. But working in my mom’s pharmacy was like a rite of passage in my family. My sister had done her bit, and it was my turn at the time. Sorry, I digress.

On this fateful day, around 7:10pm, a group of armed military men stormed into the Pharmacy. With me was the nurse on duty, and a salesgirl (cashier) that was already getting ready to close. I wasn’t afraid; there was no reason to. However, they came in and started to shout in pidgin English with loud baritone voices. “CLOSE THIS PLACE NOW. WHY UNA STILL OPEN THIS PLACE? WETIN UNA STILL DEY DO? EVERYBODY, OUT!! OYA, GET OUT NOW!”

I was shocked. We’ve never had to close the shop on mammy market time. It was the only pharmacy in the whole of the Cantonment at the time (not sure if there’s more now), but even the clinics would send families of patients to my mom’s pharmacy to get prescriptions filled out for a family member that may have been in a serious ‘okada’ (bike) accident. It happened frequently.

Anyway, before I could try to explain to them why it would be impossible to commot (get out) asap, one of them pushed the salesgirl out the door. She ran for her dear life. The nurse couldn’t run because she just had a baby, and she still ‘kinda’ looked pregnant. So, they turned to me, and kept yelling at me to lock the doors.

The ‘main lock’ for the shop was a roller shutter door that had to be pulled down after the burglary proof door had been locked. But you see, at the time, I was only 4ft 11, (weighing 98 pounds), which meant I had to grab a stool to stand on to pull the shutter down. The nurse was already outside. She was visibly shaken. They had noticed she may have been pregnant. Still hoping I could talk to them to finish the money reconciliation for the day, pack up and keep the biscuits that could be eaten by rats, and turn off all the gadgets and lights in the business center section, I tried to run to the other side of the shop to grab ‘my’ stool from the business center. I say ‘my’ stool because no one else used it for the same purpose as I did.

Long story short, they wouldn’t let me get my stool. I tried to explain that I couldn’t leave the shop unlocked, and I needed a stool to resolve my vertically challenged situation. All I tried to say fell on deaf ears. My explanations were interpreted to mean that I was defying their orders. They kept yelling in pidgin English, I kept responding in proper English language. I think that was my offense. At this point also, I was upset, very upset especially because I didn’t want to come to the shop anyway.

They told the nurse to leave. She was free. I was ordered into the back of their truck. I knew there was nothing I could do at that time. I had no phone. Everyone had run into their houses for fear of getting arrested for no reason. My only witness (I think) was a 4-year-old girl that used to sometimes come to play with me in the shop. Her name was Blessing. She would later indeed be a blessing to me that day.

I got into the back of the truck. The boldness and toughness in me from how my parents (especially my dad) disciplined and trained me, kicked in immediately. (Yes, my father was a Retired Lieutenant Colonel. He was in the military all my life at that time). There were other people in the truck. All males. They looked scared. Some were even begging to be released. My face was blank. I opened the book I had been reading all day to pass away time and continued reading. One of the soldiers hit the book off my hands, and then shouted, “Who be your papa?” I knew where he was going. So, in order not to make it look like I was trying to brag with my father’s ‘title’, I told him my father’s first name. That didn’t help him, but I could tell he was glad it wasn’t a ‘big man’ since he didn’t recognize the name. He then asked, “Which class you dey?” I looked him straight in the eye and told him I was a freshman at the Obafemi Awolowo University (greatest of the greatest Ife). That touched him in a place he didn’t like. His next set of words carried on till we got to the guardroom. With rage in his voice, and with his rifle pointing upwards, he went on talking about how his younger brother too is in ‘unifasity’, how his younger brother is making money, and how he can speak better grammar than me. I wasn’t sure why I needed to hear these but nothing he said moved me. I wasn’t intimidated, and I wasn’t going to let him put fear in me.

We got to the guardroom, and we were ordered to be in a straight file and do frog jumps. [Frog jump was a type of corporal punishment where you hold both ears and do squat jumps] (I laugh) Frog jump that we do in school every day. The guys that were arrested were pleading, some were even crying. It may have been fake tears. I knew I could do frog jumps. In fact, I was sure I could do more than what they asked. It was common punishment in the boarding school I went to.

I rolled up my sleeves, rolled up my pants and got to work. I had done 2 laps of frog jumps when one of the soldiers said something to me that made me know he was upset that I could do the frog jumps without breaking. What they thought would break me, was very familiar to me. Before college, I went to military-governed schools all my life. There was no corporal punishment I wasn’t familiar with. Then, one by one, we were called to come write our statement. I had never written one before, so I wasn’t sure what had to be in a statement. Was it what led to the arrest, or the crime you committed, or what was on your mind? I didn’t know. But when it got to my turn, I looked at the soldier next to me, holding on to his rifle like an expensive woman’s bag, and asked him; “what should I write?” He was angry. He then shouted, “MY FRIEND, WRITE YOUR OFFENSE JOO!” My offense? What was my offense. I wasn’t sure, so I asked him again, “Oga, what’s my offense?” This was when he started calling for backup. I could tell that he was angry. The other soldiers came, and they too were very angry that I had the guts to question them. But honestly, I wasn’t ready to write anything. I didn’t do anything. At worst, I would write my name. I heard my co-arrestees whispering words of advice and talking about what the soldiers could do to me if I did not comply.

Comply? Comply with what? I didn’t do anything, and I wasn’t ready to make them make me feel intimidated or threaten me. When nothing else worked, they booked me into a cell after another lap or two of frog jumps.

What they thought would break me only fueled my determination to stand my grounds.

I was in the cell for about thirty to forty minutes before help came for me. What I experienced in the cell is a story for another day. And no, I wasn’t raped or assaulted, because I know you people now. I was harassed a bit though. It could have been worse if I had spent a minute longer in the cell.

Help came for me about an hour later. My little friend, Blessing, narrated what happened to me to my brother who had come to pick up but didn’t see me. He and my dad were able to trace me to the guardroom based on Blessing’s story.

So, as I reflected on this story earlier today, I was reminded again that the disciplines we receive in life (from our parents, and guardians) are meant to give us a boost to overcome our challenges when life happens. For every whip lash, for every punishment, and for every scolding I received in my younger life for my mistakes, I am always thankful. Life happened to me that day, but I was already equipped to face the situation. Thanks to my parent’s discipline and training.

In my reflections, I also realized that we are as strong as what has been deposited inside of us. At the end of the day, I am eternally thankful for these three (things) that I have received from my parents that have helped me and continue to help me navigate through life:

God – my plug for salvation

Family – my plug for support

Education – my plug for income/wealth

I need nothing more, nothing less. These three, I do not joke with.

Lastly, big blessings come in small packages. Don’t run after the big packages. They may be empty. (Side thought: Ever wondered why baby Jesus was wrapped …? He was our big blessing in a small package). My size-kolio (small) 4-year-old friend, Blessing, was a saving grace for me that day. My life may have taken an irrecoverable dent.

PS- Guardrooms in Nigeria are so overrated. I hope we will have a government one day that will reform our prisons.

I know many will also want to know what happened to the soldiers that arrested me. Leave that side 😊. I’m here now, still standing, still praising, still thankful!

What lesson(s) are you taking away from this story?

Broken!

It’s Thankful (testimony) Friday! (Inspired by one of my very beautiful friend and sister, Toyin)

Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you the eighth wonder of the world 😊 …

This beautiful wonder (aka My Clarinet) showed up suddenly in front of my house sometime last year, just before Christmas. It was an early Christmas gift. I had been pleasantly surprised with this gift by an amazing couple 😍 I fell in love with My Clarinet almost immediately. I was fascinated by its silver trims, curves, and bold black color. There was only one problem though; I didn’t know how to play the clarinet.

I promised myself I would learn to play, or at least learn to play a hymn or two. So I got practicing and learning.

It was hard at first but I somehow got a hang of it. Not before long, My Clarinet became my handbag; it came with me everywhere I went, like Mary’s little lamb. I would play the ‘tatata’ I knew how to play and it was always refreshing (at least in my ears)😀. It soon became my ‘de-stresser’. I would pick it up in the middle of work especially whenever I get stressed, play a few tunes, get refreshed and then get right back to work. It made me happy. 😊

And then the unthinkable happened. A few days ago, I was (late night) practicing as usual. A hymn had popped up in my head all day and I couldn’t wait to practice/play/hear it. As soon as it was time, I went straight to my clarinet and picked it up like a child being presented for christening. But first, I had to ‘gbon’ out the molecules of liquid solution (aka my spit) inside it. Because as it is written, “the rookies shall play the clarinet with spit”. 😂 (Shebi I already told you I’m a ‘practicer’, not a pro yet).

Anyway, I had to get the instrument ready. Lo and behold, as I swayed my clarinet back and forth, the midsection fell out and dropped on the floor with a thud. #Lobatan

I didn’t think anything of it. I picked it back up and put it back together. I was ready to play (sorry, practice). The moment I played key A, My Clarinet came out with a sound that had all the letters of the alphabet in it. 🤦🏽‍♀️ It wasn’t funny. I tried a couple more times, each time checking the instrument to see if anything had come off, but no success. So finally, I decided to cry. I sat on the floor and cried quietly. The tears were black because it mixed very well with my mascara. I came to get refreshed, but instead, I got disappointment, aches, and pain. I went to bed that night, sulky.

Next day I got on Amazon, hoping to see if I could buy another. But the moment the picture came up, And I saw the price, I realized that my account will have to #SòròSókè for me to buy another one. So I shut down my computer. I decided to find an alternative ‘de-stresser’.

Two days later, during our family devotion, I decided to raise the issue of my clarinet as a prayer point. I was serious. Right after prayers (or maybe before we even prayed, I can’t remember) my all-knowing, sometimes-smarter-than-I daughter suggested she could take it to school to see if the band students would be able to fix it. I kept saying “Wo, it’s broken jare” (It’s broken already). And in my mind, I questioned what ‘magic’ a bunch of high school students were going to perform on My Clarinet. “What do these small small band shidren know?”, I thought when they’re not Fela Anikulapo band or Chris Ajilo 🙄 But just so that I do not dismiss my daughter’s efforts, I lazily agreed for her to take it to the group that I assumed was the starter pack of Fela’s band. 🙈 In my mind, I had written off the clarinet. I think I saw where it was broken but I kept quiet on that. I have been tired all week, tired, and dragging myself to do everything.

My daughter took the clarinet to school today. And I just got this text ….

Right now, I feel like somebody just gave me a new kidney, liver and brain.

Lessons learned.

Treasure the things (and people) that bring you joy. Never toss it (or them) up and down

It doesn’t matter how trivial you think a situation is, you can always still pray about it. Make it a prayer point

Never belittle the words of a younger person. They may be God’s mouth piece at any point in time.

Hope for the best. Even when you have to put your hope in the hands of a high school band group 🙂

Finally, no matter how bad the situation is, GOD CAN!!

The Bite of Surrender

I started to get worried 10 months after my younger son was born because he still wouldn’t eat anything I fed him, except for milk. He had started to teethe, but he wouldn’t eat. Of course, he didn’t look like he lacked any nutrients. He was growing well, he played well, and did all the normal stuff babies would. But I am sure mothers will understand my kind of worry.

I tried everything; different types of baby food, different methods of feeding, different songs for soothing, … nothing worked. I wondered all the time if there was something blocking his throat. I complained to his Pediatrician repeatedly, and he assured me he would eat when he wanted to, and that there was nothing wrong with him.

I waited, and kept trying. Nothing happened. One day, I became tired and frustrated. My son must eat. Something must go down his throat today. And so, I let my frustration drive my determination to force-feed him that day. For those of you that come from my original side of the world, I’m sure you can easily relate with force-feeding.

I got home that day, and I was ready to change the situation. I made some noodles, mashed together with some chicken breast. I held him to my thighs, one hand gently squeezing his cheeks to force his mouth open, and the other hand working the food to his mouth. And yes, it was a desperate time so I was going to use my hands to feed him.

He fought, and cried. But I was determined. This food must go down his throat. After a few attempts trying to get the food in his mouth, and him spitting it out, I had to step up my game.

I squeezed harder. This time, his mouth opened wide. The morsel of noodles went in, along with 2 fingers of mine. Just as I was about to give a sound of victory, the few tiny teeth in his mouth squeezed my fingers together.

I felt a pain in my brain that only gibberish could describe. It was internal. I felt blood gushing out from every part of my body. In that instant, all of my determination flew out of me. I felt drained. I felt helpless, and hopeless.

I maneuvered my fingers out of his mouth, got up, wiped his mouth, wiped the few tears that streamed through my eyes, and surrendered. He was wailing profusely now. I was weeping inside.

There was no point. I handed my son over to my Mother-in-law, who sat there the whole time watching, and hoping too that this would work. I washed my hands, and surrendered. I had just been bitten. Bitten hard. Bitten by my own son. I was only trying to make sure he ate. Not only was my power drained, but what was left of it was taken out from me.

He was 10 months old then. Now he’s 4 years old. He can eat a whole house now. There is, and was nothing in his throat. I just had to be bitten to learn my lesson.

Sometimes we struggle with our problems our own way. We analyze the situation, and believe that a calculated strategy, and strong determination will see us through. We are crazy enough to do crazy things like using ‘force’, and going against all odds.

But God wants us to surrender. He wants us to release every force, every determination, every strategy, and every frustration to him.

When we don’t, we usually get bitten. He allows the bite to happen so that we can surrender. And in that instant, we realize we have to be broken to acknowledge His greater power.

Could it be that the pain you felt from the bite in your job, your home, your marriage, your ministry was to make you surrender? Could it be that the sting that made blood gush through you had to happen so that you could surrender to Him? Could it be that you needed to be broken to release what is left of you to the One who is greater? Could it be that you had to be bitten to realize that your strategy is limited?

When you get bitten, don’t throw a pity party. Let the pain of the bite cause you to surrender to the One who can handle the pain, and make things fall into place naturally.

In due time, you will eat and eat well.

A tribute to Kathy

This is not what I planned to pen down today, but I hope doing this will help show my appreciation and gratitude to Kathy.

I shared before now the challenges I faced when I was pregnant with my now 4-year old son. Coupled with fatigue, and the fears and anxieties of a pre-term delivery, was a difficult 6 weeks after he was born. He was in NICU for almost a month. I had to shuttle to the hospital every three hours or so to feed. I was still in pains from the C-section, and I was weary and tired. The chair by the side of his bed was my bed most days, and some nights.

I say ‘some’ nights because whenever Kathy – the nurse – was on duty, I didn’t have to stay. I trusted her enough to give necessary attention and love to my son. Not that the other nurses were not trust-worthy, but Kathy was different.

Kathy gave lots of attention and love to this pre-matured baby of mine; just like she did with the other preemies in the NICU. She would sing and talk to these kids, and would always tell us how well our son behaved 🙂 We all loved Kathy. She would take time to engage me in conversations about just everything. She talked about her family, as much as she listened to me talk about my family. She knew every member of my immediate family. She was always pleasant.

One of Kathy’s many drawings on my son’s chart board in the NICU

The first night I went home, it was supposed to be difficult, but Kathy assured me I needed the quality rest, and that she would ensure my son is fine. She told me I could call anytime in the middle of the night to check on him, and it wouldn’t be a disturbance to her. I was happy. I called Kathy twice before dawn. Each time, she giggled in between our conversation as she told me how he’s been eating and sleeping and doing well. My mind was at rest.

The next morning, I hurried to the NICU to see my son. He was sleeping, just as Kathy had described over the phone in the wee hours of the morning.

My son was born a week before my husband’s birthday. Of course there was no plan for any kind of party for my husband’s birthday since we both were in the hospital spending time with our son. Kathy was on duty that day. Her husband had brought her lunch. And so for some few minutes, Kathy was off-duty. An hour later, she came back with a cake and a hand-made decorated card for my husband. We felt really loved by this woman. She had spent her lunch-break getting the cake and making the card. At last, there was some birthday fun for my husband in the NICU…thanks to Kathy.

My son was discharged 4 weeks later. We exchanged phone numbers and we stayed in touch for a while. It’s been at least 3 years I heard from Kathy but I knew she would retire as a nurse in that NICU because she was that good with the kids.

I was excited when my sister-in-law told me couple of weeks ago that she talked to Kathy over the phone that morning. My sister-in-law recounted how Kathy talked about the loss of her mom just a few weeks prior, and how she had been dealing with that loss. She no longer worked at the NICU because there was new management that didn’t think she should be doting on all those little babies. Her very traditional way of caring probably didn’t fit in anymore. My sister-in-law told me she sounded really sad about the loss of her mom. I can’t imagine the hurt and pain.

I was happy though at the possibilities that I would get to talk (or at least see) her.

But in the days that passed, I would think about her and all she did for my son, and us while he was in the hospital. She was a great nurse.

Earlier on in the week, my sister-in-law called me to tell me Kathy passed. She passed unexpectedly on the morning of January 30th.

I screamed. I was in shock. “What?” I was looking forward to talking to her (at least).

Kathy is gone; the very loving and caring nurse in the NICU.

I don’t know a lot about her life outside of the NICU, but all I know about Kathy is that she was very loving and caring. The many preemie babies she doted on (and their parents) will miss her. I haven’t seen her in about 3 years, but I will sure miss her.

Thank you Kathy for making those challenging days easier to bear. Thank you for being an excellent nurse to our son. Thank you for the many smiles that gave us hope. Thank you for all you did, and the love you showed to us in the short time we knew you. You will be truly missed!

May your beautiful soul Rest in Peace!

The Left-over Transformation

It was one of those evenings I didn’t feel like cooking. So I stopped at ‘China Bistro’ and got some curry chicken, fried rice, crab rangoons, beef with broccoli, and some chicken fried rice on the side; just enough for the family (or so I thought).

We all had our fill; even the kids got second portions. At the end of the day, we had some leftover chicken fried rice, and some crab rangoons. I figured the left-over crab rangoons would make a good snack for me in-between meals the following day, so I put them in a zip lock and made a mental note to get them in the morning. I wasn’t so particular about the fried rice, but I wasn’t going to throw it away either.

“Motherhood is telling people that the only reason why you gain weight is because you eat everyone’s leftover to avoid waste”

#onYourOwn #leftoverfoodplatter #nowastes

So I threw the leftover chicken fried rice box in the refrigerator. I was sure it would be gone by the time I got back from work, or at the most, within 48 hours.

Of course I didn’t forget my crab rangoons the next day. I took them to work, and snacked on them till they were all gone.

Life of the Chicken Fried Rice … Day 1

I got home later that evening, and the left over chicken fried rice was still there sitting in the refrigerator, as intact as I had left it the night before. Everybody wanted something different for dinner; pancakes, eba, pounded yam, noodles, … except the leftover. Somehow, we all agreed on dinner; the leftover chicken fried rice was not in the picture.

The morning, and then the evening, and that was day one.

Day 2 …

I was too tired to cook, but I wasn’t ready to take the easy route by ordering fast food (or having everyone eat out). It was almost 7pm when I got home. Everyone was hungry and tired. My daughter ranted about how she hasn’t been able to focus on completing her school work because she’s hungry. My husband also looked like all the food in the world had disappeared.

I got the impression that there was absolutely nothing ‘ready’ to eat. I was going to start feeling sorry for them, but I opened the fridge; and there it was – the left over fried rice – still sitting there … in the midst of two hungry people. OMG!!

The morning, and then the evening, and that was day two.

Day 3 …

When I got home from work (tired). I opened the fridge, and little Ms. leftover Chicken fried rice eyed me from its little corner, looking sulky, lonely, and pitiful. “I don’t have time for you today”, I said to myself as I eyed it back from the corner of my eye. I decided to move on with making something fresh for dinner.

The morning, and then the evening, and that was day three.

Day 4 …

I wasn’t going to let this happen. I couldn’t afford to watch Ms. leftover get dumped in the trash. Although I didn’t want ‘her’ myself, I had to sacrifice my diet resolutions, and eat the sad and miserable-looking rice. If I didn’t, I figured it might turn to an ugly disgusting sight within the next 48 hours.

Nobody wanted it. I didn’t want it either. Everyone in my family knows how much I do not like throwing food away. In fact, sometimes, I can hardly get myself to do it.

I brought the rice out of the fridge. I was about to violate my diet schedule in order to save this rice from the trash, and add on some six hundred and fifty unplanned-for calories to my body.

This rice just didn’t appeal to me. But I couldn’t throw it away. As caught in-between as I was on making a decision, it didn’t take too long to conclude. “I will eat this thing”, I thought out loud.

I already had dinner planned and ready, but I decided to eat this left over, even though it didn’t appeal to me, to avoid throwing it away.

The Transformation …

I got my frying pan and stir fried some mixed vegetables (carrots, peas, sweet corn, etc), tossed the left over rice in the pan and stir fried some more, and then to spice it up, I added some crushed pepper.

I emptied the contents in my plate, and got some orange juice to go with it.

I sat down to eat.

All of a sudden, everybody wanted a spoon of the transformed left over. All three kids sat around me, holding out their own spoon. Ten minutes later, everything was gone.

The left-over food the family rejected has now become the Chief course-meal

(CibM Meme Chapter 101, verse 1)

My thoughts? …

So many times in our lives, we see people (or things) that are leftovers, or look like leftovers – abandoned, sad, ugly, pitiful, and lonely. And really, maybe they are. But when we invest our time and the (little) resources we have in these leftovers, the end-result becomes appealing and attractive. All of a sudden, everyone then wants to be associated with the transformed person (or thing).

As I reflect on this episode, my heart fills with gratitude and joy. I was once a left-over that has been transformed (by God). His transforming-expertise is out of this world.

Whenever you feel rejected, lonely, ugly, or miserable because you are being treated like leftover, be resolved to let the greater power of God spice you up and make you something new.

The greater lesson though is that in this new year, be resolved to transform someone or something that others have labeled as ‘leftover’. Be resolved to be the change and not wait to hold out your spoon after the work has been done.

To those that hold the same belief as I do, remember that we were once leftovers that God transformed. Let that spur you to ‘pay-forward’ because at the end of the day, “The left-over food the family rejected will become the chief course-meal”, and everyone including you can enjoy!

Have a happy new transformation-project-filled year!

Politics, Love, and the Whale (from the eyes of a CibM)

In the wake of November 9, Donald Trump was declared the winner of the 2016 presidential elections in the United States of America.

I received and read many tweets, Facebook posts, emails, and text messages that had some element of great fear, hurt, pain, and insecurity. My friends from Africa, especially in Nigeria, called to ask when I’d be coming back ‘home‘. There were jokes flying around social media about the elections, the candidates, and the president-elect. Some were funny, others were just not meaningful.

People were planning to flee the country. Canada’s immigration website crashed.

All of these got me confused at first, then shocked, then scared, then I moved on.

I voted. It was an early voting. I felt really accomplished.

Election result aftermath …

The one concern that I read, saw, and perceived from all the messages I got centered on the same issue; “What should I tell my kids, and how do I explain ‘this’ to my kids?”

Children and Politics …

I’ve heard my eleven-year-old daughter’s manifesto before; the first time was when she became a big sister. She made declarations about how she would be in charge and take care of her little brother. After all, she had waited 7 years to have him. In fact, I’ve heard it many times when she tries to justify why she needs a new pair of shoes, or any other kind of favor from me.

I’ve even heard my three, and four-year olds make promises about what they would do if I take them to Chuck E Cheese; how they will not fight each other, and how they will share their toys and play nice. 🙂

As a mother, I see children play politics all the time. Whether they understand what they’re doing or not, it all boils down to some kind of politics.

At the end of the day, they all live and play together, loving each other under the same roof!!!. Most times, they don’t keep their promises, but somehow, the kids still live together in peace … and politics continue as usual the next day….

As adults, and as hurt or as happy as we may feel about the just concluded elections, we must be very careful not to complicate the messages we pass on to our children. Children will always be children, and we must not try to make them jump their ages and talk to them in deep adult-world talks. In my opinion, we should be able to communicate the basics of the election process, and the outcome of the 2016 election. Period.

2016 elections from the eyes of a CibM to ‘a child’…

Four candidates – Hillary Clinton, Donald Trump, Jill Stein, and Gary Johnson – contested (or campaigned) for the office of the President of the United States of America.

Donald J. Trump won the election, and is therefore the president-elect until he is officially sworn into office.

All four candidates visited different cities in the country for almost two years, giving manifestos of why people should take them to ‘Chuck E. Cheese’, and one was able to convince more people”. (Of course we know as adults that the political state of our country is nothing compared to Chuck E. Cheese, but we’re talking to children, remember?)

Lessons to teach …

Life is full of competitions. We must be ready to play strong, and fair regardless of what you see or hear (from this election).

Some people are not happy with the outcome of the elections because their candidate lost.

If you are one of those not happy about the results of the election, let your children know that you are not happy. However, tell them that there will be many more elections to come. So, we should always be thankful for opportunities that await us.

In life, a heart of thankfulness is a heart that wins.

Some people are happy with the outcome of the elections because their candidate won.

If you are happy with the outcome of this election, let them know that you’re happy with the outcome, however, let them also know that you hope your candidate meets your expectations. No matter how much facts we have before we take a decision, we can only hope for the best.

In the meantime, and before the next election, it is important to act, talk and think with dignity and integrity.

Depending on how you saw each of these presidential candidates, let the children know that sometimes ‘bad’ people prosper or win, but that doesn’t mean they have to be bad or mean.

There is good in being good.

Tell them that sometimes, the good people do not prosper or win, but that doesn’t mean they have to stop being good.

Tell them that sometimes we make decisions based on good and concrete facts, but they still go wrong (because of other factors beyond our control). But at other times, we just make plain bad decisions that will definitely go wrong.

We must always look before we leap.

If you voted, it means that you used the power you have (as a citizen of this country) to make the country better by making your voice heard. Let the children know that in life, the power we have as humans must be used, and not misused, to make the world a better place to live.

In summary, life is designed to move on as long as we have breath in us. Let the children know that they need to seize the day (carpe diem), and maximize their potentials.

The Whale part …

And, if you’re like me, when your three and four-year olds ask you about the 2016 presidential election, and when you try to explain to them, you can tell them the story of Jonah and the whale from the Bible. If they ask you how it relates to the elections, tell the story all over again 🙂

By the way, the story of Jonah speaks to the great grace we have in God.

Finally, tell them we must learn to stand stronger together to make America greater than it was yesterday. This starts from the home, and it starts by quelling all the fear, tension, pain and insecurity surrounding us now.

As adults, we have a greater responsibility than the president to make sure we fix our homes and our children.

When we build strong families in America, America becomes greater and stronger together!!

May our land be peaceful and filled with love that can never be swallowed by a whale, or anything bigger or smaller than a whale.

God bless America!!

Two Pregnancies, and a Birthday

Although this is a late post, the lesson from this story is life-long.

My younger son recently turned three.

birthday-cake-ideas-for-3-year-old-boys-13

It wasn’t surprising that most families and friends that called to give their birthday wishes thought he turned four. The reason being that he acts, talks, and thinks older than his age. I sometimes think too that he’s been in this world longer than three years 🙂

It got me thinking while I was at work that day, as I reflected on my pregnancies, and the years after.

Being pregnant with son #1 …

You see, my older son, who is now four years old was born at 33 weeks. I was so impatient with that pregnancy that I prayed every morning after my thirtieth week that the child would come. I was tired. Suffice to say that doctors had put me on weekly progesterone shots to help prevent preterm labor. Once a week, after my seventeenth week, I would take a drive to the doctor’s office to get my shot. Everything seemed to be great until my thirtieth week.

My wish came true with son #1 …

At about the 30^th week, I was tired. I was ready to go on maternity leave. I was looking forward to a get-away from work. God heard and answered my prayers three weeks later. He was born at 33 weeks, weighing a little over 4lbs, and about 19 inches in length.

It was a C-section.

He was small. He wasn’t breathing well. He was immediately taken to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU).

I did not anticipate the struggles and challenges in the days ahead. Firstly, I didn’t have the opportunity to hold him right after he was born, like I imagined and wished. I cried. Then my stomach would hurt, so I would stop. But I would cry again, because I couldn’t believe I was missing out on holding my son.

The next three weeks were gruesome. I was discharged while he was still in NICU, and I had to make frequent trips to the hospital to see him, and feed him. The chair by his bed was my bed most days. I still couldn’t hold him for a couple of days because he was still too small. I cried almost every day, wishing he had stayed a little longer in the womb; wishing I didn’t say those prayers to have him so early.

When I was finally able to hold him, I was emotionally and physically drained. I felt the discomfort we both shared each time I held him. He would cry. I would cry too.

I should have been patient. I shouldn’t have wished or prayed him out too early. I should have nurtured him in the womb a little more. Maybe then, all these wouldn’t be happening. The time away from work I had looked forward to, became very stressful and frustrating. I spent most of my maternity leave healing. Had I known? All because I was impatient, and maybe a little selfish.

Son #2 …

He came a year later. We were excited!! Another boy!!

For this pregnancy, I was once again subjected to the weekly progesterone shots. But this time, I had learned my lesson, so I chose to enjoy this one. I decided I would not complain, or give attention to my tiredness enough to want me wish the baby out.

I focused on the things that gave me joy; my home, my job, church work, and family (not in any particular order). I kept trying to serve at my duty post, even when I was tired from the pregnancy weight I carried. I tried to eat well, and sleep well. I asked God for strength each day; strength to nurture and carry the pregnancy well. I was still looking forward to maternity leave J but I was ready to wait to allow this one ‘bake’ fully.

During one of my routine check-ups, the doctor had told me the delivery of the baby was “destined for 27 weeks”. I chose to be positive, and hoped for the best. In the meantime, I prayed for patience and strength. I wasn’t going to let fear, tiredness, or maternity leave, make me wish for an earlier (preterm) delivery. This one was going to be baked well.

The delivery …

It was very early in the morning. I was 37 weeks, a day shy of 38. My water broke!!!

I got to the hospital as soon as I could. I was admitted. I slept, woke up, slept, and woke up again. Contractions happened in between, from mild to very intense. The pain-relief medication worked great. So I slept again.

I woke up, and this time it was time.

In three minutes, the baby was out. No pain, no unnecessary drama!!! Boy, was this pregnancy and delivery easy or what?

He weighed 6lbs. He cried. He breathed. I held him so close to my chest.

Easiest pregnancy. Easiest delivery. 48 hours later, we were home … together; all because I wasn’t impatient like my previous pregnancy. I waited for God, and on God to do what He had to do. I allowed Him to let this one ‘bake’. He knew the right time.

Lesson learned …

When God gives us a seed to nurture, He expects us to put ourselves into the business of nurturing. And while you’re waiting for the manifestation, be patient. When you allow the seed to take its proper course, it comes out better, and you’re a happier person.

“He blesses without adding sorrow (and stress)”

Just keep trusting, keep working, keep serving, and keep nurturing at your duty post. In due time, the results will be amazing.

Each pregnancy journey has been a blessing to me. I have learned through each of my pregnancy experiences that my seeds (pregnancies) are meant to be nurtured. And while I’m nurturing, I must be patient so that its manifestation will indeed be a bundle of joy.

So, now that my youngest is three, stay tuned for the how-old-are-you story.

Matters of the Heart

Deal With Your Pee!

Today, I was reminded, based on an incident a couple of years ago that involved my then nine-year old daughter, my two-year old son, and myself, that I am ultimately responsible for the way I treat others, and how others treat me. I am being reminded to deal with my ‘pee’.

Two years ago …

This particular Saturday, I woke up tired, and I was a lot more tired at the end of the day, of course, due to the fact that I had to run my one thousand and one errands within the short time frame. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with my nine-year old’s speed-talk. So, I decided to gather momentum, and use that energy to get my two-year old ready for bed. But first, bath time.

Normally, the last thing I take off him is his diaper. As soon the diaper goes off, I throw him quickly in the bath tub because I never want to get pee’ed on. It smells; bad. But I wasn’t thinking tonight. I was badly tired. I took the diaper off, and held him in front of the mirror, just so I could catch my breath and gather more strength. I was standing right in front of him too.

Before I could lift him, I felt something really warm flowing down my stomach. In the split second I had to think, I looked around to find out what in the world was going on with my body. If I was in Church, I would have probably thought I was being anointed with warm oil. But then, on my stomach? I looked again. Lo and behold, it was pee. I gave a long hiss to show my disgust. “Oh no”, I thought to myself, “this is not what I bargained for tonight”. This hiss wasn’t doing it, so I advanced to a loud groan, “Ooooooooooooooh no”

My noise got my nine-year old sprinting through the hallway to the bathroom. “What happened mom?”

The conversation …

Me: *hiss* “Your brother just pee’ed on me”

My nine-year old daughter: (turning to her brother) “What? Why? Why did you do that? Is that what you’ve been learning from your Bible? The Bible did not say to pee on your mother. In fact, it says the opposite”.

At this point, I was immediately trying to figure out what Bible she was reading, and what that Bible said about ‘pee’. I wanted to laugh at the way she scolded her brother, but I had to let her finish. So I stood there, pretending like she was making very valid points.

She continued …

“The bible did not say to pee on your mother, it says you have to face the toilet, or you deal with your pee”.

Okay, I was so tired, but I had to let the laughter out so I didn’t burst. Firstly, what Bible was she referring to? Definitely not the one I read to her. Secondly, where exactly did anyone say anything about facing the toilet in any bible version?

As I laid in bed that night, I reflected on the whole incident. I replayed the whole scene in my head again, and I got the message.

Lesson learned …

Don’t we all? Don’t we all try to ‘pee on others’? Don’t we all try to throw our trash on someone else, only because we can’t face our toilet, or deal with our pee?

I learned that night that regardless of how much trash (or pee) we carry, or how pressed we are, we need to learn to ‘deal with our pee’, and stop throwing our trash elsewhere.

But I think a greater lesson I learned is this; “DO NOT STAND OR SIT WHERE YOU WILL BE PEE’ED ON”. Don’t let anyone dump their trash (or pee) on you. It might feel warm at first, but it really does smell.

Now the question is; “how exactly do you intend to deal with your trash?”

Lord help me!!

Don’t be a dumping ground for someone else; do not keep company with those who are willing to dump their trash on you.

Onboard Flight #3960

On my quiet drive from work to the boys’ daycare earlier this evening; the only time of the day I have to reflect on the many blessings in my life; I was reminded again that when I give my fears to God, He takes me to a place of rest and peace.

… rest and peace

My friends and family know that this Caught-in-between Mom (CibM) and planes do not go together. We are just not compatible J I am one of the few humans that could start a drama in a flying airplane from fear. Yes, I do have a phobia for flying.

Few years ago, I had to travel to Knoxville, Tennessee for work, and I cannot even begin to narrate the mental preparation I had to make weeks before this trip, just so I don’t cause a scene in the plane.

Contrary to what I had prayed for, the flight was not canceled. It was right on schedule. I feared even more on this day because there was a ‘bad’ storm. I’m sure frequent flyers would have considered that kind of weather ‘light rain’.

My legs wobbled with my first couple of steps as I entered through the airport doors. The airport looked different this morning. Everything looked so strange. As I walked through the security gates, it dawned on me that this was the point of no return. OMG!!! My whole system started screaming, there was chaos in my brain, as if a tornado was passing through.

We started boarding at exactly 5:50AM. And for the first time since I got my ticket, I looked at the flight details.

Delta Airlines, Flight #3960, Seat 8B.

No going back! I smiled at the air hostess like I was a pro as I entered the airplane. I got seated and pretended to be all calm. I looked at the faces of the people around me. Some were already sleeping, and some were laughing with excitement. I couldn’t understand how they felt this comfortable in an AIRPLANE.

Soon after, the flight attendant stood in the middle of the aisle. I couldn’t really hear what she was saying but I understood what she was trying to do. She looked like someone trying out for a choreography audition as she swung her hands and pointed to different things, played with a seat belt, the oxygen mask, etc. … Yeah right, like as if I’ll remember all these in the event of any mishap. And then, I heard the pilot clear his throat as he greeted the passengers and welcomed us onboard … Onboard Flight 3960.

I felt the plane move backwards. O.M.G!!! This is for real!!

This was a defining moment. I heard the pilot announce that due to the weather, we might be experiencing some turbulence for the entire 44 minutes of the flight. I wanted to yell “put me down!!!” I closed my eyes, with my seat in upright position, put my knees together, clasped my hands and put them in between my thighs. I could not even say a word of prayer but my thoughts travelled far… so far away.

I closed my eyes and thought about all the times God had seen me through really bad situations. I thought about my beautiful and entertaining daughter, I thought about my family, I thought about my Church family, my loving and caring friends. I remembered all my visions that I had written down for the year. I flashed back to all the times God had made me smile. And then, all of a sudden, I felt God’s love and peace.

In this world I travelled to in the plane, it was so beautiful and happy. I was so relaxed. At this point, I was determined to open my eyes and face my fears. I was determined to trust God and let Him have His way. So, I took a deep breath in and opened my eyes. Just as I reclined my seat so I could relax and reflect more on these happy memories of God’s faithfulness, I heard the captain announce, “It’s been a pleasure serving you today; thank you for flying Delta”.

“What in the World?? We’re in Ohio already? Are you kidding me?” My words almost audible. What happened to all the bumps and turbulence the pilot had talked about? I looked outside the window, and I saw ground!

Yipeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!! We’re here, I made it, I made it, I made it!!! Onboard flight 3960!! I made it!
I took time to reflect on flight 3960 later that day. I wondered if the plane really did take off. I almost concluded that the plane never took off, and that I was transported to my destination in a mysterious way

I then realized that God took me out of my fears onboard flight 3960, and helped me focus on what would bring Him praise. He took my ashes away, and gave me beauty. He gave me strength in place of my fear, He gave me gladness instead of mourning and He gave me peace in place of my despair. I will forever be grateful. Let me encourage someone that though your fears might be real, there is a God who is always onboard your flight … give Him your fears!!

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