Mixing Business with Pleasure

I write my life into my work; I can’t help myself. I deny it all the time of course. People read what I’ve written and send me messages saying things like ‘how are you Amina?’ and ‘how have you been holding up lately Amina?’ And obviously I tell THE lie and say I am fine. On my adventurous days I say I’m splendid, super, the picture of perfection, always awesome. The real truth is that my written work isn’t always centred on my life. That would the height of hubris and slightly obsessive on my part. However, I can honestly say there isn’t one thing I have written that wasn’t as a result of an event in my life. Some events are more profound than others. Some of them are more closely and honestly interpreted into my work than others. Yet it is always the case that I observe something from my life so far, often from my past, and after thinking a little too much about it an idea begins to form. That idea quickly becomes coherent words that end up on paper. Some days I feel the need to share it immediately however awful it is. Other days I leave it on paper. I go back to it over and over again looking for the loophole I unwittingly created. Some of these are still on paper somewhere and they’ve never been shared.

So on the days when I’m feeling dark, which I am beginning to accept is most days, I write. I write whatever I am feeling or seeing or thinking. I write till my fingers cramp. I write till the words look like unbroken scribbles. I write till I can’t make sense of any thought that pops into my mind. I write about everyone that matters to me. I write about everything that has had an impact. I just keep writing because it is the only way I know how to live.

Home

Home. It has become somewhat of an abstract notion to me over the years. I suppose that’s what happens when you move around so much. It means something different to me every time I talk about it. I mean I’ve barely been in Dubai a whole year and there are aspects of it that have come to feel like ‘home’.

Sometimes Nigeria is home, after all I was born there and I did live there for 13 of my 20 years. Other times it’s the UK. I stayed there for close to 7 years, I went to high school there, I experienced life there. I did things I can’t even begin to outline there. Not only did I grow up there, I grew smart. Then there’s Dubai. You know that thing people always say about you meeting lifelong friends at university? I’m finally getting to experience that here. I suppose that’s what makes Dubai so ‘homely’ for me right now. So for as long as that feeling lasts-or rather for as long as it outweighs my need to run somewhere else for cover-this place will be home.

I think the “problem” with me is that I am a Nomad. Long before leaving Britain, I was itching for new scenery. I thought moving from England to Wales would scratch that itch but it didn’t. I’m not a home-body, so to speak. I enjoy moving around, not too much, just enough to be mystified often, to be constantly rediscovering, to have a new opinion about myself, people and the world. I think that’s why I want to be a journalist.

The dream would be going from place to place, covering story after exciting story. The irony is I know that dream isn’t going to last forever. I’m going to get tired or old or boring (or all at the same time!) and when that inevitable day finally arrives what will I do? Will I just curl up in whatever corner of the world I find myself in and die a peaceful death? And if I do decide to go ‘home’ for the final chapter of my life where will home be? And if I do, by some unforeseen miracle, end up having a little nuclear family attached to me, what are they gonna be doing while I’m off playing free spirit and traipsing around the world? And this is all working under the assumption that the dream will become a reality…As always I am CLEARLY over-thinking everything. What will be will be, regardless.

On a lighter note, I got my results from first year and needless to say I wasn’t immediately satisfied. But in the grand scheme of things I did pretty well and I give God all the glory. Second year hear we come!

This is our Africa.

This is us. This is our Africa. This is the way we live, often not out of choice; we make do. This is where we wake up to pure joy and the beautiful sun glistening on our ebony skins. This is where we take casual walks in torrential rain without discomfort or fear. Our growth is stunted by your greed. But we are who we are; born fighters. It is going to take much more than your lies, deceit and exploitation to quench the flame that burns in our souls and shines in our eyes. The world will not remain silent to our cries forever, and even if it will, we will not. This is who we are. This is us. This is our Africa.

I will not pretend that my people were peaceful before yours came. Like much of the human race often is, we were at war with each other. I might even go as far as commending you for giving us a reason to be united. But even with our meagre wars before your arrival, we were better off. We had a system that worked, granted it would not have worked forever, but I assume we would have found a way to cross that bridge when we inevitably arrived at it. We shall never know for sure now. Your people came with talks of peace and unity but instead they brought with them war and division. They came to us preaching about giving when in reality they were all about taking. They came with talks of advancement when they were experts on recession. They took, they drained but worst of all they never left, not really. All things considered I think my people and I have acted fairly civilly towards you and your people, whether you deserve it or not. Often times when we react to the many ways you have and continue to taunt us, you deem our reactions childish. Our apologies for being the oppressed, sincerely. Yet we have one final request, if you would not mind terribly. I ask, like Moses did to the Egyptians, that you do us one insignificant favour: let my people go. I call it insignificant because we could ask for much more, but we will not. We will be independent, like we have been trying to be for years now, if only you’ll let us go. Call off the dogs, put down the weapons, yell retreat and surrender the motherland back to us. We are asking nicely. There is a revolution upon us. 

Time is of the essence

Do you know what the problem with people is? We always miss the moments! Your crush tells you they are moving across the world and your answer is “OK!” when really you want to scream “No! Don’t go! Don’t you dare leave me in this limbo!” The love of your life takes a sudden interest in someone else, and for the sake of friendship or diplomacy or Christ only knows what else, you practically organise their wedding for them. The whole time you’re thinking “I love you more than mere words can express” I will love you till China and Africa meet. But we never say how we feel. And on the off chance that we do confess our hearts desires, we do it when it is all wrong, then we apologise profusely for our awful sense of timing. I think it’s because we’ve come to expect so little of the world. Timing is of no relevance to you if you believe the outcome to be inevitable.

It isn’t just about love either, it’s everything. Having the opportunity to do something profound with your life and passing up the chance because you think you’re unprepared or unworthy. Really, all you are is afraid. Afraid that if we venture into the unknown, we might not like who we’ve become when we have to leave. Sometimes it is ignoring an opportunity to say something life changing to someone, honestly answering a question that you’ve spent so much time lying about, it has become second nature. We have all told that lie, when someone asks “How are you?” and you say “I’m fine!” with pride, joy and a beaming smile. But underneath it all you are far from fine. Of course I’m not asking us to hold our heart out on a platter every time someone offers a simple greeting. That would be slightly awkward. But there are times, you have to admit, when you just need to honestly answer: “I’m not fine, in fact I’m awful. My day has been horrible, my week even worse and if I have to smile and play happy families one more time I might actually pull my teeth out with pliers.”

It’s outrageous and scary, almost humorous even. But it is oh so liberating at the same time! The truth is we are all guilty of letting the important moments slip through the hourglass.  

Here, too dark. How you can study?

My mind admittedly works in a strange fashion. I make connections in my head where normal people probably wouldn’t.

I was sitting outside one night with my pen and my book in my hands, when a security guard at my accommodation at the time asked me a question that made more sense than anything else at that moment.

“Here, too dark,” he began. “How you can study?”

I smiled sheepishly at first, confused because I had no answer for a seemingly simple question. Fortunately he required none because he left as soon as he finished speaking. Then I did something I think I should do more often. I closed the book and dropped it on the table next to the pen. I couldn’t see clearly, so I just stopped. I wasn’t giving up; I just wasn’t being my usual stubborn self. I let go, temporarily of course, because I realised that when you are left in the dark, no matter what else you know there can be no real achievement of clarity; you only know half the story after all.

So you have two options:

·         Move into the light; discover the truth.

·         Stay in the dark and let go [until you are ready or able to try the former, of course].

Victory Cry (Prod. by Mista Caddy) - Embassy Crew

This is a song my friends in Dubai just released...what do u guys think?? If you like it, please share it :)
Click here to view and enjoy :)

Notice ME

My parents practically banned all forms of vernacular in our household to the best of my memory. Don't get me wrong, they encouraged us to indulge in our culture and speak our language but English first, because they aligned it to education. So in the end we could barely speak our mother tongues fluently and we were never allowed to speak Pidgin English, which is a kind of Creole common amongst western Africans.

Yet children often pick things up from school. One of these many linguistic strays I picked up would be the colloquial terms used by my peers to tease attention seekers. Notice me. Feelamonge. These two I remember fondly. They were one of those things that left you terribly hurt whenever you were on the receiving end of them, though you never really knew why. Even now, I think I would bite the head clean off anyone bold enough to accuse me of seeking attention. I remember the sting of choked tears at the back of my throat when someone I was quite fond of reminded me, with no shortage of nonchalance, that the world didn't in fact revolve around me.

Yet to some extent I know that I am. My blogging is proof. My social networking is proof. My interaction with friends and acquaintances is proof. So I begin to wonder: is it a sign of our times, a stigma on our generation? Are we cursed to constantly feel like we are incomplete, incompetent and therefore need to feed of off the attention we can scrape together from others, all the while feigning innocence and humility? Or is it just me? It's probably just me...but then again, I suppose it goes back to the cliche about no man being an island, because in all honesty, who amongst us can survive alone?