We Need Your Help!
Dear Friend, I need your help and I would appreciate it if you took time to read this post. So…thank you in advance for obliging me. I was seated in church – The Diplomats’ Centre in Kaduna – a few days ago when I noticed some people close to me. A young girl, whom I thought could not be more than 13, was feeding a baby. She wasn’t doing a great job of it and I craned my neck to find the mother of the child. I noticed that there was an equally young guy close to her who seemed to follow her every move. ‘Maybe he is her brother’, I thought to myself. I concluded that they were siblings of the baby and their mother was probably somewhere in the church. I decided to concentrate on what was being said but somehow, I couldn’t get my eyes off them. I watched how the girl handled the baby and kept waiting for the mother to show up. Boy and girl passed the baby between them and I was happy that the baby seemed to be a quiet one. Soon enough, I offered to hold the baby and they obliged. The baby was so small and he quickly warmed my heart. I held him for some minutes until he began to fidget. I soon returned him to his ‘sister’ who then proceeded to take him outside to, I assumed, find their mother. Since the baby was no longer in my line of sight, I soon forgot about him. It wasn’t until Dr. Uzzah Wado, the founder of The Diplomats’ Centre, invited them up and introduced them to the church that I was brought back to reality; and my heart broke. The girl, whom I would call Pre, was the MOTHER of the child and the young man, the FATHER. I was shocked! These were babies themselves! How were they parents?! Dr. Uzzah told the church that they were his new friends and he would appreciate it if they could help out with baby things, food and what not. It occurred to me that my first instinct about them was right; they were poor. As soon as the service was over, I walked to Dr. Uzzah and asked how I could help. I requested that he gives me their account number so I could send a little something to them every month. That was when he told me everything. Here is the summary. Even though they looked really small, Pre and John Doe (not real name) are 19 and 21. Their baby, whom I thought was barely a couple of weeks old because of how tiny he is, is 8 months. They grew up in the Television area of Kaduna state; a neighborhood marked with poverty, drug abuse, prostitution, drunkenness, high level of crime and other vices that are reminiscent of a typical ghetto. It was no wonder that Pre and John were drug addicts. When they had their baby, their families kicked them out and they have been living from ‘hand-to-mouth’. And because they can’t feed properly, they do not look well-nourished and their baby is stunted. Now, while Dr. Uzzah was glad I wanted to send them money, he didn’t want me to send it directly to them and he didn’t need to explain why. I knew! Addicts cannot be trusted with money. It was as simple as that. I asked what I could do then. Dr. Uzzah told me they were going to facilitate a rehabilitation process for the parents to wean them (completely) off drugs. This involves getting them a house where they can be monitored, feeding them, getting proper baby formula and drugs to help their baby develop and helping out with clothes. The goal is to make sure that they are in touch with the bare necessities they need on a weekly basis so they are not tempted to sell food to feed their addiction. I wondered if the baby wasn’t better off in some other home but truth is, our social services aren’t working well; if they are at all. And Dr. Uzzah has assured me that some of the mothers in the church were going to take turns caring for the baby as the parents went through the rehab process. I trust Dr. Uzzah. He has been helping young people like this since forever. Literally thousands of us have at one point passed through his house when we were in crisis. And I always say, if I hadn’t met him when I did, my life would have taken a worse turn. So it is time for some of us to give back. Pre and John Doe need a house, baby formula, clothes for themselves and their baby and other knick-knacks. I am deliberately keeping their picture and real names off this post because I don’t want their bad history haunting them when they get clean and have their lives back. And I know that it may bring up the authenticity of their plight but that is a risk I am willing to take. I am hoping that I am trust worthy enough for you to help me help this family. So I am asking that you help me ensure that this family gets clean and change the narrative of their story. If you want to help me do something about it, you can contact me on +234-905-912-7552 or send money to; Name: Ochekliye Ramatu Ada Account Number: 0314142011 Bank: FCMB And if you are in Kaduna and can only donate clothes or food or household effects to this family, please go to; Compassion and Wisdom Church, R2 Gwari Road, Opposite Gidan Hakimi, Behind Royal Tropicana Motel, Television. Tell them you are making a donation for Ramat and they will understand. I would really appreciate it if you can help in whatever way you can. I understand that people make choices that have consequences but I also understand that life affords us various opportunities
H
By Abe Onche Innocence sits on the threshold He sits, at home in the vacant vastness Decadent, twisted into silence By the ravages of a destitute lifetime He cannot raise his eyes for fear Fear of rising to the cold stars of love Fear of rising to the harsh words of safety Fear of rising to fall that much lower Far from the light and the face of God Angels with tattered wings are his company It is they that prompt, they that prod They are the demons in his flesh Scouring trails across his nerves He cannot rise to reach the stars, The lights he once delicately counted Now replaced by the glint of metal Littered across the ground around him. Evidence of heights he tried to soar On chemical wings There is an irony to the needles Desperately threaded with dreams and hallucinations To sew up a naked existence Leaving nothing but a score of wounds To mark their vain efforts
Glass, Brillo, Flame & Rock.
Image: Pexels By Kabir Babiotos Glass, Brillo, Flame & Rock. The shortcut to eternal doom they say; the worst of all evil. The fast killer, the baddest bitch; crack! A dance with the devil himself, in a ballroom made of thin glass floors, best to watch your step for you might fall or better yet dare not even get in to begin with. An opulent orchestra with the most majestic tune, it’s like a sweet poison or forbidden fruit, one dares not to taste, because like Adam and Eve in that garden long before you and me, things will never be the same again; probably. In a single moment that didn’t coincidentally occur, I find myself in a parking lot. But I state for reference long before this parking lot I once found myself in a bathroom sitting on a toilet seat with the devil in my hands. All by myself I looked straight into the glass stick and at the time it looked like a long road and at the end of it was a mystic story as white as snow, small but very powerful I knew. And in my other hand was a lighter, the key that would unlock the door and lead me to this story. But this wasn’t just any story, we’ve all heard of fairy tales, fables, fantasy, myths and sagas. This one story seemed to be different, it was cryptic in nature, apart from the murkiness which was more of a cliché and being my own master of seeking pleasure in dark and twisted spaces all in the quest of my never ending savvy for the search of beauty and pleasure in all things both ravishing and grotesque, this story here seemed to be in allied balance of both; Bitter but sweet, Grand but with an abundant sprinkle of a certain kind of grim, but Angelic and Ungodly all at the same time. Adamantly Gemini, being both two sides of the coin, the Twins; zodiacal constellation between Taurus and Cancer containing the bright stars Castor and Pollux, certainly this to me would be a lush treat. And like Hansel and Gretel and the old ugly witch every treat comes with a price; give or take. I ask myself more than once if that price is worth it, trying to find a centre point to hold myself before I slip over the edge down the waterfall or jump up past the clouds above straight to the stars. Waterfall or stars each has an enticing amount of splendour but I certainly know either which way I go as long as I take this road, inevitably I will always fall right back down to the ground where I was before. It’s fast and powerful to break the barrier of time and space; that thrill! For we thrill-seekers that is. But no matter how fast the roller coaster ride is it shall definitely come to a halt, everything ends even life itself. I ask myself if to live is just enough, we’re all selfish in very many different ways, I just wanted to feel alive if only for one moment, to be anything but ordinary, this thirst is my fuel I need it to have a meaning to life, to understand it. At this point I’m beginning my first dance with the devil. To stay alive we must survive and to survive we have to cross all sorts of bridges all in our paths. Some of these plights are probably illusions created in our already messed up heads but we live in our heads most of the time, so to ignore this would take deep inner strength but for the odd ones like us who would rather take the frame of its hinges and look at the wall behind it when told to look beyond the picture, where we know there is either a puzzle, wonder or misfortune, the unknown mystery. At certain points in my life I feel like a David and Goliath comes to me at different points in different forms and proportions. To succeed David had to take Goliath head on with only a slingshot in hand and all he wanted to do was succeed; he had to but what if he didn’t? Little or nothing about him would have gone down in history. DISCLAIMER! I do not intend to go down or up in history like David or Goliath but my life is my story and I have the right to make choices good or bad, but at the end I hope it leads me to a good place. And getting there isn’t necessarily a smooth or easy ride but if the price is worth it everyone just wants to be happy. “Happy” the thought of the word gives me a slight tingle up my spine & my fingers stop trembling. I stare at this devil in my hand straight in the eye, put its lips on mine, my fingers bracing it tight in a stylish embrace that sort of looks like that of a classic waltz, I lift my glass stick upwards towards the sky (or bathroom ceiling) and with a single spark of blue and yellow flame I embark on my journey, my very first dance with this very much harshly talked about devil. At point of ignition my eyes are halfway shot as if an unexpected wind were about to gush on my face not knowing whether to keep them open or closed for this first deadly kiss. Slowly I suck this kiss into me and almost instantly in can see that splendour. It’s vague, fast and I can’t completely comprehend which one it is, the waterfall or the clouds. I can hear my heartbeat like the drums, the sizzle and crackling noise from the rock is like a variance of string instruments, this dance has officially begun and I can’t turn back now. My eyes are fixed on the flame that is burning at the opposite tip of the glass stick
