Twenty Twenty-One

The clan is like a lizard, each time it loses its tail, it grows another.
Chinua Achebe, Things Fall Apart.

These words kept me sane on the days I nearly lost it. It’s much truer to say for everytime I lost it, I came back, stronger. Every year had it ups and downs, for this year, it seemed the downs were unending at first. The first half of the year might have as well been a thousand years of suffering, tears, heartbreak and learning.

I wrote my first professional exams in this half of the year. The preparation time was the most trying part of my life in medical school. I fought with myself greatly, I broke down into a million and one pieces and I was so melodramatic. There were days when I stared at my voluminous academic workload and tears rolled down my cheeks. How about the days I was sullen and would talk to no one because I was overwhelmed. Those days aren’t left out, they were the climax of this half of the year.

The first rains of genuine joy fell early June. They fell in the form of my first professional MBBS/BDS results. I passed! I knew boundless happiness. It’s one of the happiest moments of my life this year. I intend to do it again next year.

The world is not a pleasant place
to be without someone to hold and be held by… .
Nikki Giovanni, The World Is Not A Pleasant Place To Be.

The latter part of the year would undoubtedly be my best not because it was without its own trouble but because as Nikki Giovanni rightly implies, grief shared with the ones you love, that love you too, are lightweights and can’t kill one.

I started this latter half with healing all the parts of me that were broken. It was difficult because I had to make tough decisions, one of which was contesting for an elected position. I was undecided till few weeks to the election. Another lie, I wasn’t undecided, I just didn’t declare my intentions on time. It was the metamorphic time of my life this year. The electioneering process changed me. I grew an uncanny trait for quick decision-making and trusting my intuition. This would come in handy in future, if it hasn’t. I did win my first contested election.

I want to be happy, forever because I deserve it.
Divine Amaewhule Chimmakwa, 2021.

The latter months of the latter half of the year brought me weightlessness, lightness in spirit and a new kind of joy. It is something more than the frantic excitement that fills little children when they blow up fireworks. It supercedes the joy of chasing beautiful butterflies or feeling butterflies in your stomach. It’s peace of mind, and love. This year came with a torrent of emotions, I am particularly pleased that peace, happiness and love are the ones I feel now, at the end. Twenty Twenty-One has a happy ending if this is any end. Cheers to another 366 day cycle. Happy new year, dear daughter of Afri-fans, thank you for the best year, yet.

So Far, What Next?

I survived. I am alive. This year has taken from me more than it has given me. If I stored up the tears I shed for all the times I cried this year, I would have a river in my honor; River Chiokikemmakwa. Life can be a bed of thorns and roses. There’s no talisman against laying on the thorns.

Mental health is underated. Pray, how many times can one run mad in a year? It has been a busy year. A year of growth, tears, hope, love, heartbreak, inner struggle, wins and love again. There’s a lot to say and not enough ways to say it. I have done terrible things and terrible things have been done to me. I have come to realize that I am far from perfect, I am simply divine.

Life isn’t so bad when we accept certain things. Life isn’t so bitter when we understand that not getting what we want doesn’t mean better things would not come to you. Life isn’t about heartbreak if we choose to dwell on how much love we can give not how much love we deserve because everything good will come. Life isn’t dull if we are brave enough to see that we are enough colour to light it up. There’s more to life if we are brave enough to practice self-love.

I have met many a person, great and noble, kind and generous, loving and caring, teachers and learners, lovers and beloved, friends and brothers, strangers and foes, I don’t think I would forget them in a hurry. I have learned and unlearned from them. I have learned what it means for something to be unforgivable such that it makes other things forgiveable.

I am growing, evolving into a fine woman, the world is changing, moving, waiting for no one. I have decided to chase my dreams with the speed of Usain Bolt because if I don’t, who will? May the odds always be in my favour because “if a man says yes, his chi would say yes.”

Finally

Finally I am returning to school today. I am finally blogging too. Dear daughter of Afri-fans, life is not easy. It’s been a busy year for me. I have been faced with tough choices. I have been made to choose between love and art. I have been made to prioritize and the people I hold dearest to my heart have been at the receiving end. This might be the period of a great leap in my life.

I am at the barber’s waiting on my dad get his hair cut. These men are talking politics. In time past I might have listened attentively but my mind is not here. I am thinking of how ridiculous love is. Love is intoxicating. Love is fufilling. Love is pain. Love is joy. I still remember how he tried to impress me by telling me how good a writer he is. I fell in love a little more because effort is orgasmic. Now, the thing that held us together is a string, thinning at it’s end. The thing with strings is that you don’t know when they would snap, you don’t know how strong they can be. You don’t know if you are stronger with or without the string. Even if you know, I don’t know, dear daughter of Afri-fan. I don’t know.

The days are running fast. It’s as though the sun is being pursued by a wicked master. The moon is not spared either, she seems to live in fear and is always on the move. The nights are short too. Time is running. Everything is coming closer, to a supposed end. Perhaps the end is just a time of new beginning.

Pat Ashinze said that I should be calm. Calm? I feel like a volcano threatening to erupt. Omotayo said that I am too hard on myself. Am I? I think so. I have to agree with him.

Sometimes the end is not the best. I think there was something the matter with March. The month drove me mad and healed me. I thought I reached my limit whenever I reached the bottom but it was just a figment of my imagination. I want to say that I am broken but that’s a lie. I am not broken. I am just tired. I am numb even.

Sometimes those who leave, forget home. Sometimes those who leave, forget those they left behind. I am scared and tired. I keep having gyrations in my head. Words keep bumping into each other in my head.

I planned to blog about the African women who see men as a source of revenue. I also planned blog about African women and their mothers-in-law. You see these inspirations were gotten from the salon when I went to get a new hairdo. The talk was about sex, marriage, men, women and mother-in-law.

While the men at the barber’s spoke of politics and their wives, the women at the hairdresser’s spoke of sex, married life and their mothers-in-law. I bit my tongue from saying “Must a woman get married?” to these women. Since I was about the youngest I kept my tongue in check and busied myself with my phone.

It will take a while before I taste this freedom again. The freedom to get inspired and to write.

My First Love

When someone returns from a journey, we say “ihelé” which is ökúkü Iwhuruohna (Ikwerre language) for “welcome.” It has been a while since I blogged so I am saying “e menem” which is “Thank you” for welcoming me and tapping the link.

I had no intention to blog today or anytime soon but circumstances made me blog. This blog post was birthed from a conversation I had with Vera Ikediasor.

[23/09, 15:15] Vera❤️: I just wonder how you are so curious about Chimamanda Adichie yet it’s Chinua Achebe for you.
[23/09, 15:16] Divine Amaewhule: Achebe is my first love.
[23/09, 15:16] Divine Amaewhule: I read Things Fall Apart in JSS1 for the first time.
[23/09, 15:17] Divine Amaewhule: I read Chimamanda; Half Of A Yellow Sun in SSS3 for the first time.
[23/09, 15:19] Vera❤️: Oh I see, such loyalty.
[23/09, 15:20] Divine Amaewhule: It is Achebe that made me love African Literature.
[23/09, 15:20] Vera❤️: I read Achebe; Things Fall Apart in my school bus when I was in primary 5.
[23/09, 15:20] Vera❤️: I was too emotional to see the beauty of the book.
[23/09, 15:20] Vera❤️: I stopped when Okonkwo killed Ikemefuna.
[23/09, 15:20] Vera❤️: I cried.
[23/09, 15:21] Divine Amaewhule: Achebe’s work is one I have come to clutch so tightly.
[23/09, 15:22] Vera❤️: I’ll make a conscious effort to reach it again.
[23/09, 15:22] Vera❤️: I want to bond with Achebe like you do.
[23/09, 15:22] Divine Amaewhule: It goes beyond loyalty.
[23/09, 15:23] Divine Amaewhule: It’s a book that will always make me happy, content and forever grateful that our history did not start with colonization.
[23/09, 15:24] Divine Amaewhule: When I read foreign books and I see the ridicule and injustice done to Africa in these books, I am grateful for Achebe.
[23/09, 15:24] Divine Amaewhule: I smile because Africa did tell her story and her son told the story.
[23/09, 15:26] Vera❤️: That’s true.
The Ghanaian book you sent me; Homegoing made me fall in love with Africa.
I cried while reading it.
I began to appreciate our culture before the slave trade.
[23/09, 15:26] Divine Amaewhule: Even I, felt so.
[23/09, 15:26] Vera❤️: I resented the slave masters more, for raping the girls.
[23/09, 15:26] Divine Amaewhule: That’s why it will always be Achebe for me.
[23/09, 15:27] Divine Amaewhule: You should read Achebe’s essays too.

I have always been an avid reader, devouring books voraciously, up until my first year in secondary school, I read more of Western Literature. Western Literature fed the hunger in me for stories but they left me hungrier, I will like to call them appetisers. Reading Things Fall Apart was one of my first steps to embracing my African self. Making this blog post this reminded me of a poem I wrote early this year. Here’s it:

In a voice not louder than a child’s whisper, Achebe told the story of Things Fall Apart and like the sound of a siren it has spread across continents. It’s a story that resonates the depth of an African nation before colonization. It’s a story that illustrates the transit from when freedom was free to colonization.

Achebe is my first love. He will always be my favourite novelist. I hope someday, I become someone’s favourite writer in the true sense of the word.

What If I Told You That I love You, Omotayo?

I told the one I love that I was going to blog about him. I couldn’t see his facial expression but I am certain I surprised him. Now that I am here, on my blog, I don’t know what to write about. I have to give special thanks to my Dad and Eseosa. They made me realize how lovely it’s to love, for the sake of love.

I guess you might be wondering how I knew it is love I feel for him. I knew it the first day I met him. I raked his body with my eyes and I am certain he did the same thing because I felt butterflies below. He didn’t seem to flinch under my sarcasm. He matched my snide remarks tit for tat. One of the first chats we had, he said ‘I don’t trust you.’ I had not met him in person then but I liked him instantly. I loved his blatant honesty, he did not have the patience to mince words. You see, my heart went for him because of mental intimacy before physical attraction.

I had written love poems before I met him but falling in love with him gave my writings life. That’s what love does, right? He made me want to make word planes and take him to cloud nine. The first day I wrote him a letter, it felt good. I wanted him to know that he is the soul behind most of my poems. I am drawn to something within him, something rare, mystique and special. My inner goddess is attracted to this thing inside of him.

There are times when I am uncertain if what I feel for him is love. On those days when I am uncertain, I become downcast. I am unable to write because he has become my muse. I read somewhere that for writers, nothing is more important than their work, not even love. This statement doesn’t hold true for me.

I can hear you, my dear daughter of Afri-fan singing ‘egungun be careful, na express you dey go.’ I am afraid, it’s too late ‘motor don jam me.’ I felt that my love would never be returned because ‘to love’ means a lot to me. It didn’t deter me from falling deeply in love with him. It seemed everytime I fell and hit a surface, my inner goddess tunneled through into the well of love.

No, The Universe did not say that you would love someone who would not love you back. All it did, was show you that you could love without demand or condition. Wholly. –T.H.E

He loves me too, in the conventional way.

I have this burning urge to make him immortal. I want to write a story about him but first, I want to live, for him, with him. I hope my words become a thread that binds us together, till whatever end.

Once, he fixed his eyes on me and asked me ‘What would you call me?’ I gave no answer then. When I read ‘In Dependence’ by Sarah Ladipo Manyika I found the answer to the question he asked me on the page where Tayo translated his name for Vanessa. I call him Omotayo, it means ‘the one who gives me joy.’

With him, there are rough edges that remind me life is no bed of roses. With him, there’s a certain freedom, peace and safety I feel. With him I know my silence is heard more clearly than my chattering. Has he not told me ‘your silence speaks so loudly?’ With him I don’t feel the need to build up defences, it’s as though he holds the key to my heart and soul. With him I feel like a man can be a great audience. When he stares at me I feel beautiful inside out because I know he’s taking in the beauty inside of me as well.

It is so scary to love someone as much as I love him. It’s even scarier because I didn’t start to love him because I want to be loved. I love him for the sake of love, because to love is the right thing to do.

I knew I love him because unconsciously I say a prayer for him. I am not a sport person but the first day, he said ‘I love you.’ My inner goddess did back flips. My heart leaps each time he says it.

I know people can fall in love and out of love, but since I am in love with him, it’s till whatever end.

Tell me, have you ever loved someone? How did it feel? Was your love returned? Was your heart broken? Are you in love? How does it feel? Your dearest daughter of Africa, will appreciate your comments. I want to hear your love story since you have heard mine. Oblige my request by dropping it in the comment section.

Stay tuned, I intend to serve you something else soon, something exquisite and mouth watering, if this isn’t that already.

What If I Say, I love You, Omotayo?

No, The Universe did not say that you would love someone who would not love you back. All it did, was show you that you could love without demand or condition. Wholly. –T.H.E

He loves me too, in the conventional way.

I know people can fall in love and out of love, but since I am in love with him, it’s till whatever end.

Stay tuned, I intend to serve you something else soon, something exquisite and mouth watering, if this isn’t that already.

My Nakedness

Every time I write, I strip a layer of myself. I am in the salon waiting on my dad while he gets his hair cut. I wonder if they would know what I am doing just by staring at me. Would they know that I am stripping off myself on my blog? Can the world really behold my nakedness? Would you cringe at my scars?

I seek strength. I am not okay. There’s something I want to feel. My inner goddess is restlessly flapping her wings in search of an escape. I don’t know what I intend to escape from but I know where I want to escape to and it doesn’t exist.

I am depressed. Life is tricky, one minute I am so happy and the next I am sad. It’s beyond mood swings now. It has to do with the fact that I feel this much happiness is not good. I feel like I am harbouring a foreigner – stranger in me by feeling so happy. I wish I could voice this out in a voice not louder than a child’s whisper but the world might say it’s a lie. My fellow Africans might spit and say ‘God forbid’ offering prayers on my behalf because depression is not an African thing.

How else do I describe this feeling of self lethargy and unhappiness? Verily, it is only he who wears the shoes that knows where it pinches him. I don’t know where I got this strength to write about my depression maybe it’s a sign that there’s hope.

To accept that there is something the matter is a first step to finding the solution. Someone said ‘You are losing yourself.’ I agree wholeheartedly. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I have to remind myself who I am.

I can still hear my mom’s voice telling me ‘Your name is Divine Amaewhule Chiokikemmakwa.’ as I washed the bitter leaf earlier today. I wonder who Divine Amaewhule Chiokikemmakwa is. I don’t know anymore.

I should calm down. I feel like some stripper because writing this is like stripping a layer of myself off. I wonder how many layers I have stripped off now. I feel like a plantain leaf in the harmattan. If you read up until now, I guess you didn’t cringe at my scars.

I wonder if I have the right to give strength to another when I, myself seek strength. It’s only befitting and proper that I don’t let my unhappiness engulf me and rid me of any feeling of humanness.

My father just called out ‘Chim’ I guess that’s me. I have to go, dearest readers. Sayonara. Is my depression my nakedness? It’s writing about it that makes me feel naked.

Will I Grow Sedately Into A Tall Iroko Tree?

I don’t know why I keep writing, even though my doubt heightens. My days are characterized by some happy thoughts and more thoughts that are not happy.

I badly want to believe that the feeling of not being worthy is just a nonexistent apparition. I am at a cross road. I don’t know who I am. Perhaps I have forgotten who I am and what I stand for.

Is my mind frail? I bother myself too much. How is it that you would feel your feet firmly on the ground with your partner/lover and still feel the twinge of unease around/about his ex? I find it difficult to put it in words. It takes courage to confess that one is jealous of the remnants of emotions between your lover and his ex. Feeling jealous is foreign to me.

My tongue has caressed “intention” a million times, willing its meaning to possess my entire being but to no avail. I am trying so hard to become a better person. It’s not easy but I shall not relent.

Sometimes, the stories I want to share with you die before it’s birthed. I want to write about racism without having to listen to jabs like “You can write about it because you are African not African American.” I want to write about love, the love I want, the love I give, the love I get and how divine it’s to be in love. I am afraid to tell these stories, let me confess. What kind of a writer am I? What kind of a writer gets frightened by the stories within her? What kind of a writer cages stories that are restlessly flapping their wings in search of an escape to travel the world? Am I even a writer?

Some days it seems to me that my dreams are slipping off my tight grip. The determination I used to clench it so tightly has turned to a lubricant. Who knows, they might be slipping away to take roost?

Writing this has relieved the unease_ jealousy. I should not have forgotten that the heart can’t fear and trust at the same time. I should learn to eschew my mind of the tiniest of doubts. I believe in myself. I believe Divine.

I have ranted enough for today. I should get some rest. I should write more often. I should purge my heart of doubts. I should allow Divine grow. I will be alright.

Life Is Nothing Without Dreams

I hope this reaches you in one piece. My phone is about to shut down, but I will go on to make this post anyway. The story I have to tell is restlessly flapping it’s wings in search of an escape.

What if I told you that there’s no story for me to tell? You would still go on to read the last word. I want to talk about love, the fulcrum of life but my battery might fail me.

I have gotten used to the restriction of movements, maybe just for the time being. I no longer take notice of the fleeting days and nights. I feel the end of this pandemic is near.

I am certain that at the end of this pandemic, a speedboat awaits me. Life will become faster. It’s left for me to navigate through the sea and make waves as I please. I have never been to the sea, I am certain that I will find my way and I won’t get drowned.

I have to make an outline of my achievements, every single one of them. You might be wondering why I want to do that. It will enable me create more goals. I have decided that from now, I will be intentional about my goals. I will pursue them with the speed of Usain Bolt and I am certain I will cross the finish line.

I am learning to focus on my growth and appreciate the steps no matter how little, that I take towards my goal. I know that soon, it will be said “Divine Amaewhule has made great strides …” Isn’t it funny how I believe so much in my dreams?

I am also learning that I have stories within me, stories that the world will stand and stare with astute ears to hear. It’s not enough to have these stories, it becomes something when I tell it. I am confident that I am a writer. I am certain that I will write the stories I have. Just the day before yesterday, I met the hero of my book. I haven’t written a book yet, but I felt it deep within me that it’s what it’s.

There are days when I feel that I have done nothing towards the realisation of my dreams. I still sleep well because I believe that it came towards me because it’s my fate. Fate is strong yet so brittle. I am willing to limp to my goals if need be because I have to get there.

I am not surprised that my battery has stayed true to the end, even I will remain steadfast to my dreams. I fear my intuition. I believe in myself. I love the one who believes in me too. I love you. I believe that I am loved too, it gives me peace. I hope the one who tells me “Believe whatever makes you sleep well at night” sees this, I love you with all my heart.

Life is nothing without dreams. Love makes life more beautiful. Love makes one a hero, this means I am a heroine.

I don’t love love

I feel like weeping with the rain. To love and to be loved is indeed divine. Love gives strength but now I am shivering with so much weakness. Could I be weak from so much strength?

Today was normal. It started on a gentle note. I have to confess, I couldn’t sleep up until 5am this morning. I was restless, it happens when I want something so much. I was awakened by mom at 8am. I missed seeing my dad off to work.

I surprised myself with my outburst of emotions today. I don’t know what is wrong with me. I think my antidote might be here, my dad just got back from work. I want to go on and on explaining the depth of how I feel but soon my dad will request for his meal.

I have to go now, stay safe, happy and in love. Isn’t it funny how I am the one that needs the advice?