My patio is my favorite place, specifically after dinner in late summer, when the sinking sun is casting long shadows across my secluded back yard, while the various birds and squirrels and chipmunks are gathering their dinner, and the Earth wraps you in a comforting blanket of her residual heat from the day. It is here that I remember that I am a child of God. It is here, in this peaceful atmosphere of serenity, where I reconnect with the spirit of the Earth and reflect on just how absolutely beautiful and incredible she is. When I observe the five different species of coniferous trees surrounding my yard and how majestically they reach for the clear blue sky; when I watch how the squirrels feast on the seeds at the very tops, inevitably dropping scraps for the ground-feeding birds; the erratic flight on the chipmunk, when I hear the steady tick of the Cardinal, the alarming squawk of the Blue Jay, and the hilarious argumentative chatter of the other squirrels fighting for dominance over the bird bath, the bird feeder, and this tree or that -- that is when my soul is calmed. That is when I realize that there is so much in this world that just doesn't matter. There is so much artificial nonsense created to make us feel anxious, inadequate, and any other myriad of poor diet & social media driven mental illnesses...and it just doesn't matter. It really doesn't. What matters is being one with nature, with the universe, with God, with yourself. What matters is knowing that we are part of this amazing creation of God's. What matters is knowing that God wants us to be happy, and that by design we are content, beautiful creatures, capable of amazing things. Unfortunately, too many of us lose touch with this Divine nature and get caught up in the greed, the materialism, the 'hustle and bustle', the constant barrage of advertisments and social media telling us what we need to be truly happy. It's all false. All you need to be truly happy is to the knowledge that you are part of this Divine creation, and you need to stay connected to it. So here on my patio is where I will remain...until the critters have nestled in for the night, the crickets have begun their chorus, and the glorious sun has sunk below the horizon.

Silence… A woman sleeps soundly peacefully in her dream house. She loved her life: she lived happily with her beloved husband and raised wonderful children. Suddenly, the tranquility shattered. A phone call. Half asleep, the woman stood up. For a second her heart skipped a beat, as if it sensed something was wrong. But she brushed aside her doubts. Silence… The surprisingly calm and peaceful atmosphere is broken by a loud cry. Her husband and son run up to her in bewilderment. Silence. Again. But this silence is different: there is no peace in it. Soon there will be crying again, and it will remain in this house for many years. Who would have thought that this end is actually a new beginning, that this crying is the first step towards stopping other people's mourning? Silence… The world has lost another young beautiful girl, and the parents have lost their only daughter that day. 128 mothers felt the same pain as that woman that day. Another 128 families were stabbed in the back by their loved ones. Time has stopped. Happy moments with her daughter kept flying in front of mother's eyes. She felt deep sadness, rage towards her son-in-law, and guilt for letting her daughter die; emotions were eating her up. Silence… Everyone fell asleep from powerlessness. And even sleep did not bring peace. Now, the woman was thinking about her future. But this time, she looked at it with an empty, hopeless gaze. Funeral… A cry was heard in the dead silence. Everyone immediately understood what kind of crying it was. The mother was in disbelief. “It wasn't supposed to be like this,” she repeated. It is the daughter who should bury her parents, and not the other way around. It wasn't supposed to happen. Gathering her emotions, she went to honor her mercilessly killed daughter. Silence… Court. Sadness still filled the mother's heart. The family waited for this trial for more than 4 months. The trial was already a victory. The trial was a ray of hope that justice would prevail and the killer would be punished as he deserved. An influential rich man could not hush up the matter with bribes. “It is indeed a victory,” she thought. Thanks to the wide publicity of the case, the mother felt not only the support of the public, but also an obligation to remain strong for the sake of her daughter and other women subjected to domestic violence. The judge asked the court to stand up. Silence… Court. It has already lasted 20 days. Looking at the imperturbable face of her daughter's husband and her killer, the woman felt a surge of rage. She wanted to bring him the same pain that he brought to her daughter and the whole family. The rage turned into despondency. It seemed that all the jurors and the judge had already received their bribes, so the killer sat smugly. But looking into the eyes of one of the jurors, the woman realized that the efforts made to conduct this trial were not in vain. On the same day, the president signed the law, popularly named after her daughter. It is designed to protect women and children from domestic violence. For a second the woman thought about the absurdity of the situation. A person had to die painfully for a law to be passed to criminalize beatings, for support centers against domestic violence to operate, for inducement to suicide to be criminally punished, and even for the introduction of criminal liability for sexual harassment of children. The woman felt anger towards the tyrants and sympathy for the victims. But these feelings quickly gave way to mental pain. Only one question was in her head: “Why my daughter?” The woman became pensive and there was silence… Silence was only in her head. A wave of hope swept across the country. The only thing that bothered people was that the trial was not over. Silence… Court… Jury… Judge… Killer… Media… Everything seemed too surreal. It seemed to the woman that she was not in that room. She wished this was a dream. For 2 months now, the whole country has been discussing the life of her daughter. Some even blamed her daughter for what happened. Tears welled up in her eyes. A couple of minutes later, the judge announced a 24-year sentence for the killer (there were cases when wife killers were given only 1.5 years). The country rejoiced. But a storm raged in the woman's heart. All emotions were mixed. This is a victory and a defeat at the same time. This is joy, but at the same time, sadness. Silence… There are different emotions hanging in the air. But most importantly, justice to some extent triumphed. A new era of the country's development has begun. The killers realized that they would be punished for what they had done, and the victims would stop keeping silent about it. People felt safe. However, the grief of the family of the deceased girl cannot be expressed in words. This time, the silence was interrupted by the carefree laughter of children and the silent smile of a woman, satisfied with her life without a tyrant.

It had always been a charming town, a melting pot of diverse life bases stemming from various multi-religious, socio-economic, and educational backgrounds. The town thrived on a rich tapestry of multiculturalism, where people with distinct identities coexisted harmoniously. The weather was a constant companion, friendly and skin-chilling, complemented by the breathtaking landscape that adorned the town. Mornings were heralded by the cheerful crowing of hens, while nights sparkled with the celestial beauty of stars in the sky. However, the tranquility abruptly shattered one somber Wednesday morning. The town awoke to a cacophony of gunshots and bomb blasts, the air filled with the terrified cries of women and children desperately seeking safety. Initially, it felt like a surreal scene from a Netflix movie or a lingering dream. The reality, however, was starkly different as insurgents had mercilessly stormed the once-idyllic town. As a university student who had migrated from the state capital in pursuit of education, my concerns shifted abruptly from academic pursuits to a fight for survival. Amidst the chaos, I frantically sought safety, no longer preoccupied with the pursuit of a degree or the allure of the beautiful city. The pressing question loomed – would I make it out alive? The perilous journey revealed the harsh truth as lifeless bodies of fellow townspeople lay strewn along the path, victims of the insurgents' brutality. The urgency of my escape overshadowed the realization that I had missed a scheduled test that morning. my phone rang, jolting me into awareness. Should I prioritize personal safety or risk everything to save a loved one? The situation bore an uncanny resemblance to a modern-day Romeo and Juliet scenario, blurring the lines between fiction and the visceral experience of love and survival. Compelled by an inexplicable courage, I retraced my steps to rescue my girlfriend from the chaos. Upon reaching the university gate, however, I encountered an unexpected obstacle – it was firmly locked. Moments later, insurgents, resembling thugs in a dilapidated van, arrived, sending a wave of fear through the frozen crowd. Unleashing gunfire, they revealed their indifference to our plight, leaving us to confront the uncertain fate they held in their hands. Fortunately, their attention shifted elsewhere, sparing us from the immediate threat. As the insurgents departed, the previously frozen crowd dispersed in various directions, each person driven by the singular goal of survival. In the aftermath, I stumbled upon a young lady lying helplessly on the ground. Ignoring my lingering fears, I carried her to the university clinic, breaking in to access medical supplies and administer first aid. Despite the chaos, her survival became a testament to the resilience that could be found amid tragedy. The scenes mirrored those from harrowing movies and documentaries about conflicts in distant lands like Rwanda, Syria, or Libya. Yet, now, these experiences were our own, and we found ourselves grappling with the harsh reality of displacement, uncertainty, and the struggle for survival. The arduous journey through the bush spanned two nights, each step a testament to resilience and determination. Passing through villages, Encountering fellow survivors along the way, we exchanged stories that painted a grim picture of the atrocities committed by the insurgents. The heartbreaking journey prompted reflection on the state of humanity, questioning how we had devolved into a society where people were forced to flee their homes due to their religious beliefs and pursuit of education. We reached a temporary sanctuary, not quite home, but a place offering a chance to board a vehicle to a safer haven. The opportunistic motorists, indifferent to our plight, exploited the situation, inflating prices for transportation. The echoes of African slavery resonated as the gravity of betrayal and complicity within our own community became apparent. Finally, back in the embrace of my family, their joy at my survival was evident. However, the trauma I carried from the journey remained hidden behind the façade of relief. The question lingered – how many others had survived, and could the town ever reclaim its former beauty? The foundations of love, trust, and coexistence as a community seemed irreparably shattered. The cruelty of mankind had pierced the fabric of society, and those who had sold their conscience for temporary gains were now ensnared in the web of their own betrayal. The young generation, witnessing this betrayal, faced the daunting task of breaking free from the bondage inflicted upon them.As I sat in the cocoon of my family's living room, the weight of the journey settled upon me. The once-charming town had become a battlefield, and the scars of survival ran deep. The journey had forced me to confront the darkest facets of humanity, raising questions about the essence of our shared existence.

Covid-19 became such a catalyst in time for people and their lifestyles. It changed everyone for better and for worse. But there was definitely something we were able to benefit from, the ability to hear the silence and not have to worry about it being so quiet. Why it was so quiet or what we had to do to fix it, because it didn't need any fixing. I could walk into my room and exist in the silence, in such a pertinent time to the state of the world all I truly cared about was being able to feel peaceful. Being able to stare at the 4 walls around me and look to the ceiling and know there is nothing calling my name and no responsibilities I had but to just sit with myself. I didn't know what to do with myself, all this free time I had to myself being something I'd never imagined I'd ever have and don't think I will again. And not that that's bad, but I long to have that peace again. I never slept, but it worked in my favour, three years down the line I know what I want to do with my life. It never felt right staying stagnant in my room and my surroundings being the same. I would spend the late hours of the nights and early hours of the morning constantly moving and rearranging my room, the furniture would be turned sideways or shifted across the room for a new perspective. But the question still stands, what was I trying to achieve? Should my bed flush to the wall? Away from the wall? Would my dresser come off less demanding in the room if I placed it horizontally? I always found a way to change and analyse everything I changed and did. Then there was also the silence, of course there was never any actual silence, just the faint noises of my presence. The shuffling of my feet across the tile floor, the scraping of the furniture legs as it glided across the room. The television playing whatever movie I could think would make me feel serene. Some nights I'd come up with something to watch outrageously sad and end up just stopping what I was doing to sit on the floor and watch the saddest love stories, or other nights I'd be dancing along to Billy Elliot or even finding myself again and again in the characters on the screen. Every night was different, a different movie, a different layout and a different feeling. Usually spending the earlier hours of the morning filling the time doing something like editing a powerpoint between friends or clearing my closet or cutting my hair… again and again. In the impetuous days, it was funny how the nights became unhurried, steady and undemanding. Each day and night melting into one another, something that was such a cause for worry 3 years ago still feels so recent as yesterday. The busted little radio I spent days and nights trying to fix, the odd projects I would pick up thinking I had a hope of ever getting them to work again. Realising as the times passed all this fixing and rearranging was just a distraction from what I was really meant to be doing. This was the perfect time, the only time I may have had to do this, find myself. I tried everything, painting, cooking, baking, pottery, writing, everything you could dream of. But I was blind, I was always looking for some thing that would make me me, but that was the problem wasn't it? I tried to materialise my character, who I was trying to understand. Trying new things over and over again. But it all took me back to the quiet. That was who I was. That is who I am. I'm not a painter, or a cook, I'm the peace from dusk til dawn, or atleast that's what I feel when I am me. Sitting in my room, moving and changing, that's me. Unbothered, Uninterrupted, Unchanged but doing all those is what made me me. I was how I lived when at peace. How I functioned is this high anxiety time. Sitting and consuming the silence with movies of all genres and fixing everything around me. It was finding where I fit into my own life. And I have, going on to do what made me stop in my tracks from always trying to fix everything. I know I want to evoke the emotions in others that the movies did the me, I want to make people think, feel and cry. And I want them to fall in love and understand themselves just like I slowly but surely did.

It is that time of the year. The time were humans in the world generally celebrate a Kind of love. Red Roses, Maybe blue. Dinners, Maybe Breakfast. Butterfly belles, Maybe Babies. Mushhyy yummmy heartmelting synergy. >>>> But for me, It is just going to be another day to read my books and get well prepared for my exam, This celebration is for today to the average lovers but could be everyday for the other category that notwithstanding CGPA is for ever. PS:: Maybe I like book, exams and the energy that comes with the preparations.

I met a lady who shook hands with death and survived to tell the tale of her horror in the hands of a group of highway robbers. She narrowly escaped the afterlife with just scars to show for her near death experience. As she narrated her story which transpired when she was travelling to another state for her sister's wedding ceremony happening that weekend, I felt intrigued by her statement "At The Point Of Death, Nothing Else Matters". It made no sense to me why she would have such utterance on her lips, there are a lot of things that should run through our minds and hearts at such critical points in our lives but she insisted that it wasn't true and just a fictitious lie we tell ourselves to help us feel like we are not selfish not to care about everything we are living behind. She and others who were her co-occupants in the bus ran for 3 hours straight in a forest that was unknown to them. They were barefoot, their skin and clothes torn by sharp forest plants, their breathing raggard but low, making them speak in whispers and taking short breaths, least their assailants may hear them. She stood up and limped to the wash basin where she was to rinse the relaxer off her hair and I could feel the extent of the pain she was in but also her gratitude that she was alive to feel pain instead of lifeless in a coffin preparing for the journey of six feet and beyond. With a sigh, she kept narrating to the stylist and everyone who cared to listen to what happened next. They eventually arrived at a village after exiting the bushes and the villages gave them water to quench their thirst and seats to rest their exhausted bodies. When asked by the villagers what happened to them and why they were so many in the bushes, the only male who still had his shoes on because it was a sneakers volunteered to explain to them. They had gotten to a particular location that divided the two states and had met a slight hold up as buses weren't moving forward.  Since they had to change lanes because of an accident that occured on the highway the night before, they were travelling on a  narrow path that will lead them safely out of the accident zone and connect them to the nearest route to continue their journey, they didn't anticipate any incident and weren't prepared for the assault.  Their saving grace was the quick thinking of the driver when he noticed that all the buses were empty and slammed on the brakes. He raised the alarm for everyone to alight and the sneakers guy who happened to be sitting close to the doors, pushed it open and everyone came down hurriedly. Noticing that their plan of attack may soon fail, the robbers jumped out of the bushes with cutlasses and guns and clubs ready to mutilate and kill as well as instill terror and pain on their unsuspecting victims. Immediately the ruckus started, everyone took off for their dear life amidst screams and sounds of scattered feets everywhere. That was when she tore her skin against a tree branch but barely noticed as she ran for dear life. Sighing very deeply, she told the stylist and her friends that she never once thought about her family, friends, work, money or fiancee because her whole being was channeled towards connecting with her maker on a personal level. She said, it was at the point where she thought her life was over that she knew nothing else mattered except herself and her maker. Even on the run, when death was staring at her in the face and she was unsure if she would even make it till nightfall, she was very sure that she owed those final moments to her supreme maker. In her word's "Forget all of these things we watch and preach to ourselves about how our last days will be because when the time comes, you will see and feel no one but his Almighty presence surrounding you". She didn't die that day and has the scars on her body and in her mind to remind her of it but she swears that the encounter radically changed her mindset. What bothers me is how true this is.. Being human means we have ties to this world, our families, friends, partners, businesses and vocations that we feel highly attached to and assume that we would be spared one last moment with all of them before we leave this earth. Unfortunately we are ultimately selfish during our last moment, seeking reconciliation and peace with the supreme being, asking for mercy and forgiveness upon our eering souls and praying to be granted eternal rest. In the end, nothing else matters but You and Your Maker.

Peace of mind… is easy to find? Not, but apparently is easily underrated, like Lana del Rey. How about true happiness? For a guy that has it all and a brain without the ability to focus, something always seems to be missing. Have you ever felt truly at peace with no worries in your head and the feeling that you could die right then and there and everything would be alright? Well, of course you didn't, that's why you killed yourself. “Jack, are you talking to C.R. again?”, said my friend P as she passed the joint. “What if she's really listening?”, I said while holding my breath full of brown, before slowly letting the smoke out from left to right, left to right. P was my best friend during high school and the one I would sneak to the roof with during Civics. “I don't think she WANTS to listen, otherwise she would still be here wearing necklaces instead of a noose…”, she said while extending her hand. “Shut up and smoke”, I said as I handed her what would be roughly translated to English as “little cow” (vaquita in Spanish… or was it bachita?), the smallest smokable divisor of the joint, that is, except “1”, the filter, duh. The truth is we both missed C.R. and we both lit our cigarettes. “Are you ready”, asked P. I smiled and said “obvs bitch, I'm the one who showed you.” I never know if you should capitalize the first word after the quotation marks if you wrote something outside the quote before, like it's the beginning of the sentence, but the spoken sentence and capital letters are meant for written language not oral. We each held the cigs up to the sun, vertically with the lit end on top, so that the white engulfed it from every angle. Synchronizingly, we flipped it upside down, lowered it to our bare legs, looked at each other and, without shifting our gaze, gently put them out, each on our left calf. Yeah we do that sometimes. It's not like we're depressed and want to kill ourselves like C.R. did. She was actually the first person I knew to kill herself. We just liked to do it because I discovered that sometimes, just sometimes, there is too much going on inside your mind that you feel disconnected to reality and find yourself in desperate need of a tether, something to remind you to feel. My excuse? I have ADHD since for as long as I can remember. I'm easily distracted and never get tired, bodywise and mindwise. It's like someone long ago started a motorboat engine in my mind, caught some weird timeless momentum and became a uniformly accelerated rectilinear object or whatever. It doesn't even stop while I'm dreaming, I suffer from extremely vivid and sometimes lucid dreams. I tend to confuse dreams with memories, they are so strong I sometimes believe they happened and I get wildly disoriented. P's excuse? Things at home have been wild for her. Her parents are going through a nasty divorce and her sister is having an affair with our teacher. So yeah, sometimes we like to feel alive by putting out our cigs on our legs. Arms would work too, but they are so public. The bell rang with that characteristically nasty loud pitch. Why does every school on Earth needs an annoying bell to signal the beginning and end of classes? Why not use a pleasurable sound? Has anyone thought school experiences might improve if someone changed that Godforsaken sound? P and I lowered our pants to cover the marks, threw the cigarettes over to the parking lot and headed to Math. We were completely stoned so I decided to take a mini nap during class, to which the teacher replied: “Jack, why are you not participating this time? You always get extra points” “I'm not feeling well”. I think Mr. M actually likes me. He is always amazed at how Math just flows through me, even though I almost never pay attention to him. He is also certain I give my friends the answers to his tests during the tests, but he has never discovered how. It's actually quite simple: I grab extra pages for “operational purposes”, solve the exam quite fast and on those pages designated for detailing my operations I solve the exam all over again in a slightly different way than mine. Then, I drop those pages at the same time as one of my friends drops theirs and he or she just picks them all up and voilà. I realized I found an unspoken rule of teaching: if a student is doing really well in a class, the teacher will grant him or her more privileges than other students. I actually don't like Mr. M so I enjoy torturing him like this. I think he is a self-centered misogynistic prick who gets off by showing off his so-called rapid mental calculation and by fucking P's sister. Going to school in Mexico City can be one of the best unintentional social experiments.

Today I had a vision in my head of sitting at my favorite coffee shop and unleashing my thoughts that have been writhing inside of my mind, calling out to me to be expressed on paper. Life has been a little busy lately and I haven't gotten to sit and express deeply in so long, my heart was excited for the time that I had planned. I was going to one of my favorite places, which held beautiful views and great coffee. It started out magical. As I entered, the smell of freshly brewed coffee welcomed me. Though the morning was brisk, the sun was pouring over the views of the city as I watched from inside. Breathing in the beauty, I took a sip of the hot coffee that I held in my hands, letting the moment soothe my soul. Opening my laptop to a blank page, I was ready. A few moments passed as I began to write, my heart racing at the feeling of freeing my mind. Soon after, the business started to pick up. A kind man approached and asked me how my day was going. His smile was sincere and his eyes were inviting. I smiled back, recognizing a familiar face from the past. The first thing he asked me was about stocks, leading into the covid vaccine, and politics. I sat quietly and let him talk, never letting my smile fall, I listened intently. His colleagues arrived and it was clear that they were having a morning meeting. I ended our conversation, "Nice seeing you," and I turned back to my writing. Only it was short lived, as the shop began to fill with conversation of politics, the noise of the disagreements and opinions starting to overpower my peace. I should have brought headphones or something to block out the noise, right? Wrong. I have never been one to wear things that block out the "noise" of the world. I have always been intrigued with what's going on around me. I CHOOSE not to participate in the noise or chaos, but I can listen with an open heart, learning and growing as I take it in. Sometimes the "noise" of the world is beautiful, even if it's not what we want to hear. We are all human beings, whether we believe the same or not. Letting something destroy our peace is our choice. It took me a moment, but I jumped right back into my thoughts, and this was the result. I gained inspiration from the brief disturbance of my thoughts. My peace is my own, my thoughts are my own, my actions are my own, and what I choose everyday is up to me. I choose peace.

I was born in Eastern Nigeria. Here, we Easterners referred to as Igbos and who are majorly Christians, have always nursed an embittered past against those who inhabit the Northern (majorly Muslims) part of the country. As kids, we were often told stories about the 1967-70 Nigerian civil war— an account of our years of fight with the Northerners. In this version of war story, and perhaps in most other versions, we were the victim. For years, this story grew from becoming a part of me, to becoming me. I had no idea what I had transformed into. On several occasions, I made derogatory remarks about these my fellow countrymen. I detested them regardless of who they were or what they had to offer as humans. To me, people were not worth associating with if they came from the North and if they were Muslim. Erroneously, I saw the world through a darkness formed deep within me. However, my first attempt to question this bitterness was through the essay, “Journey of All” by young Alline Kabbatende; and my second is the prevalent coronavirus pandemic which has led to the death of over 444,000 persons worldwide, according to data published by the World Health Organization on June 18, 2020. Now, when I look around, I find it overwhelming to think that these complicated geographies that have separated us over the years could be traced into an overlap by two very distinct things: a pandemic and Alline's writing. More than ever, we have witnessed the evolution of a new bond. From Africa to South America, mankind seem to have found a way— although very much painful— back to one another. We have become more concerned about the general wellbeing. We saw the arrival of Cuban doctors in Italy to help in the fight against coronavirus. And regardless of the pandemic's impact on the economy, we saw world leaders pledge an additional $8.8 billion to Gavi, the Vaccine Alliance, to fund the immunization of children in the world's poorest countries. All these buttress an obvious concern for one another at the moment. But one question is yet unanswered: After this, what next? There is no misgiving that before now, the communal tie that held us together was beginning to split. There were religious crises, unhealthy trade wars, inter-ethnic disharmony and talks about nuclear weapons. However, the curves seem to have flattened as we, in one collective mental awakening, have realized the essence of enjoining to fight our common enemy— coronavirus. But what then happens after this pandemic is over? Whatever is our answer, we cannot overrule the fact that over the course of our existence, we have witnessed several occurrences that tend to separate us into discrete groups. Racism, for instance, heightens our consciousness about skin colour. Inequalities classify us. Invariably, all these translate into perceptions that misguide us to believe that we differ entirely, with no justification to come together. Reading “Journey of All” made me see the world as a human family— one whose sustenance hinges on the interdependence between its members. In reality though, there are bound to be skepticisms. I wouldn't expect a Jew who has heard about the Holocaust, a victim of the 1994 Rwandan genocide or a Syrian whose life is at risk because of his faith, to hastily accept this idea. No, I understand their misgiving and it is not irrational. What I ask us, therefore, is not that we shut our eyes, but that we look beyond this darkness and see humanity for what it truly should be. And unless we look deliberately, we would never be able to see. Hence, it's a fact that this human family depends on our individual efforts for its survival. What I do, personally, is to spread this viewpoint within my own circle. I believe that an idea is akin to a seed. If well planted, it grows to influence one's perceptions and, in turn, one's responses to things and people around him. Therefore, I'm always conscious to chip in this idea of human interdependence in my conversations with others, my writings, social media posts and lifestyle. Whenever I tell people that our differences in race, nationality, gender, ethnicity and religion, exist to foster, rather than deter, our collective growth— I often hope it would open their eyes to see the world's interrelatedness. But beyond that, I hope it would open their hearts. Imagine a world where you barely care about the country next to yours and where all that matters to you is your survival? That is exactly the world we lived in prior to coronavirus outbreak, and it is inadvisable to return there when all this is finally over. Daily, I struggle with prejudice just like everyone else. But in our struggles, we must always remember that no weapon is more hazardous than a heart unwilling to accept someone else as part of the human family. Only when we understand and act towards this, can we create a sustainable world for ourselves and our children.

Lately I struggle to keep my mind quiet. The world is too loud for me to hear my own thoughts. My heart feels full and content, but it doesn't feel good when all I hear is how we live in scary times. How can I have a smile spread across my face when there is so much turmoil racing through the world? I have to hold it together because if I don't who will? Besides I am a wife and a mother who is family driven and I strive to be the best example that I can be for my children, who watch me and learn from my behaviors, reactions, and decisions. The last thing I want to do is affect them negatively. They are my inspiration to be who I am and my motivation to never give up. But I'm tired. Is that okay? I am tired of the constant division in the world and trying to make sense out of it for myself in a way that I can put it into words to help my children when they ask me why a kid said something to them that they shouldn't have. I am tired of adults acting like children and teaching their children morals that aren't necessary based off of their own feelings. I am tired of adults who discourage children instead of encouraging them and building them up. Where is the positivity? Where is the love? And what happened to the easiest verse to live by, "love each other as I have loved you." I am not a perfect parent or wife, but I do believe in the power of love. I am tired of trying to put things into perspective for my children of why some of us can't get along because we don't agree with politics, religion, or whatever else the media throws our way. When our children have an argument, we are quick to separate them and figure out a resolution and an apology, but for some of us adults, we can't seem to do that. There's too much pride and too much dismissal of the other person's opinion and point of view because it doesn't match our own. We are all entitled to our own beliefs and our own opinions, I get that, obviously I am voicing my own. All I am asking for the world to do is to stop pointing fingers and only seeing from one perspective, it doesn't matter what you support or who you support-that does not define who you are as a human being in my mind. We have all been told what we think or believe is wrong at some point, and that is okay. I like to smile at those things, because they threw stones at Jesus too, but he still loved them. We can too, it's as simple as that. Grace is always worth it.

She stopped looking for happiness among people Once she found herself smiling Looking into the skies Watching the sunsets and the sunrise, And the clouds chase the moon at night And when it rains, she watches the rainbow It still has few colors than that of people But has an extraordinary charm no people ever had And when the sun shows up, She would watch the sunflowers tilt towards the sun; smiling to each other reminding her to be patient Life will smile back to you one day the way you manage to smile when you crumble And finally, when the sun finds its way back home She finds her place in her messy bed She clings to her diary Writes about her day and her wishes She then turns the pages of books Filled with the words of self love She sleeps feeling loved and Wake up to the next morning, still feeling loved.

There's nothing as dangerous as the absence of an unoccupied mind. An occupied mind is a troubled one. A troubled mind is one that is filled with so many distractions and hence cannot think straight and critically. This, in turn, affects decision-making in the life of the affected. About five days ago, I had a heated conflict with some friends of mine. It was heated in the room. Our love for football had us sitting in the living room that evening, watching my club play. The other guys in the room were not fans or supporters of the club I love. They just watched to enjoy football. Like in every football room, immediately after the kick-off, the criticisms followed suit. I wasn't having that. All of a sudden, I lost it. I became angry. I started speaking with my voice raised and trying to let everyone know that they were speaking rubbish. One thing led to another and everyone present in the room that day was angry and also tried to make their points known (except for the father-figure who was also present in the room but decided to keep mute, ignore us and focus on what he was doing on his mobile phone). I remember shutting up a friend who was a lady and was also present in the room that evening (although she was not watching the match, she was disturbed by the noise we created as we watched). She tried to calm me down, but I told her not to disturb me and was not in the mood for her hypocrisy. She felt bad and walked into her room. I, paying no attention to her feelings, continued in the argument. On noticing how heated the atmosphere was, how angry everyone felt towards me and how the ocean of offensive words I had doused them with created a spark of fiery arguments, I paused to think. I thought about everything again. There was nothing wrong with the words my friends had spoken. “Or did I overreact?” I asked myself. Of course, I did. You see, the problem was never the talks or the words spoken by my friends. I have had so many similar scenarios where I would be at the receiving end of a thorough lashing of words from my friends, so it was nothing new. Even I did the same when they were in my position. Then I realized it was not what was spoken actually. Although what was spoken by my friends served as a trigger for the already brewing lava in me, they were not the real cause⎼ they did not create the anger. It was as a result of something that I had been thinking about for a while. Before that faithful evening, I remember I was overwhelmed by some thoughts. Although I tried to shrug them off, they were only suppressed and not tackled or defeated. I was planning to get a new phone as my current phone at the time was doing a pretty good job at keeping my frustration level on a record so high. I had planned to get the phone and pay by installment but my plan failed (the same plan I had the month before and carried out but failed due to certain reasons unknown to me). I managed to take my mind off the matter as quickly as I could. I guess it didn't work as much as I expected, because it laid the foundation for the anger that appeared later that night. After I had taken a little time to think about my actions that night, I noticed I had been wrong. I was pained. Though, this was not really because of the actions of my friends particularly, but because of some failed plan earlier that day. What happened earlier that day created an opening⎼ a safe passage for words that I heard regularly to find a way through to my heart. I felt the need to apologize. I did instantaneously and I felt certain relief flow through my spine. I realized that night that there is something about making peace with people. It relieves you of the burden of having to ignore them or feel heavily uncomfortable when you see them. It becomes even harder when the people you are trying to ignore are your very good friends. I woke up the following morning, only to be served with a serious snub by the lady I had harshly spoken to the night before. I had completely forgotten I did that and not remember to apologize to her. I felt uneasy within me once again. But I decided that I was not going to waste any time thinking of what to do. I knew what the root cause of the problem was, I had found peace within myself and all I needed to do was apologize. I walked up to her in the kitchen and apologized to her. She understood immediately and we were good again. Later that week, my phone completely stopped working and I was with no phone. She was told about my current situation by her brother and she, without hesitating, gave me her old phone to make use of; pending the time I got a new one. I was overjoyed. All the while I was seriously disturbed about my phone's problem, there had been a solution to it. I got to understand after these occurrences that a lot of unwanted things can be avoided if we try to create or maintain peace within us.

LION OF THE PEN When it rains, it pours!! These last few days epitomized this, with no less than four family members being rushed to hospital, two requiring urgent operations! The usually effervescent energy of the family chat group quickly shifted to a somberness that weighed heavily on the chest, often causing laboured breathing! The lighthearted posts were replaced with constant updates from the hospitals, messages of mutual support, and prayers ... lots of prayers... Then.. this afternoon, the dreaded news... I remembered that Saturday morning when he had called, requesting that I attend the Maritzburg unveiling of his book, "Mandela In Focus" at the Nizamia Hall. I remembered being in awe as he addressed the audience. I had attended primary school at Nizamia, as did my parents, uncles, aunts and many cousins. And so did he, as I surprisingly learnt from his speech! But never before had I encountered the history of the school as he told it! Even the school governing body later commented on the need to document it! After his speech, he made a bee line towards me, with the visible joy of one reconnecting with a long lost relative. He even stated that he now "recognized the family forehead"! He then quickly rearranged the row of chairs where we sat, into a circle and promptly summoned and introduced me to two other relatives, who had accompanied him to the unveiling. The last we had met was when I was a little girl, on holiday, at my uncle and aunt's home in Durban, where he was a frequent guest, up until my uncle's passing. Our paths never crossed again until January this year, when he had approached me with an invite, to be a guest on his talk show. It was only after providing a short bio for the show, did he make the connection and delightedly stated, "We're family!" Even after the unveiling event, the handful of us stood out on the school grounds as he continued exuberantly chatting, clearly explaining exactly how my grandfather was his uncle, and my mother his cousin. He pointed across the field to the house in which my grandfather once lived, next to the mosque. He said he had spent a lot of time there and could still clearly remember every detail of that house... every fruit tree in the garden... everyone who lived there... and everyone who visited... He spoke of how my grandfather "presided over the community" and how we needed to co-author a book about his life. His love for my late grandfather was visibly evident. By this time, Kevin Joseph, the photographer of "Mandela in Focus", and the school principal had joined in the conversation. He introduced me as his niece, to which Kevin quickly inquired: "Another one?" "No! This one REALLY IS my niece!" he emphatically proclaimed. I later discovered that he habitually adopted people as family. All the cars in the parking lot had by now long dispersed, except for ours... Over the coming months, I received regular phone calls... a caring uncle watching over me... a seasoned mentor... I thoroughly enjoyed listening to tales about his friendship with Muhammad Ali and Barbra Streisand, the lavish dinners, the times when her home was filled with people, at the height of fame... and other things... He always ended his calls with a bit of parting wisdom... He also spoke about the book he was writing, documenting his experiences as a journalist and activist. He mentioned the title he was considering ... "The Man They Couldn't Gag" ... and asked me to write a short poem for the foreward. I obliged with "Lion of the Pen" Lion of the Pen He feared not the hunter's bullets in his quest to be heard And a deafening ROAR it was From his written word AdielaAkoo At the time of writing this poem, I never once thought that barely six months later, I would be writing this piece! It's only been a few hours since that dreaded news, and it still feels so surreal. The reality of lifelessness in one normally so full of life, is quite jarring! From the influx of messages being posted on social media, the positive impact that uncle Farook had on the lives of so many people, is clearly apparent. Combined with this, was his wonderful talent of making each person feel uniquely special! He will, undoubtedly, be sorely missed... Part of my own treasure trove of memories is this autographed copy of his book, "The Goodwill Lounge", in which he wrote this message in bold letters: "TO ADIELA, WHO OWNS THE SKY" And that is exactly how he made you feel! Like nothing was impossible! You could take on the world, like he did! They say that when an elder dies, a library burns down. These words have never rang truer than in the case of my uncle, Farook Khan. May you rest in peace, Lion of the Pen! (10 September 1944 – 3 October 2019) by Adiela Akoo

I look myself in the mirror, I can discern the decay of my face. There is no smile anymore. The stasis of my lips offers satisfactorily lust in my thoughts that torment my mind with Medieval methods. I touch my idol in the mirror and I hurt. I try to close his eyes, but I cannot. They stay open and still and they look morbidly. Chainsaws echo from the overlooked cemetery, tear into pieces mercilessly the marble crosses. What have I done to myself so he looks at me like this? Why my sharpened teeth do not appear on the glass surface with sole purpose to bite her? Sorrow hallowing my forehead with sorrow. Indestructible thorns jab more deeper in the flesh of my skull. Bloody tears sparkling in my hands' palms. If I scream I will die. If I die I will have to kill. If I kill I am obliged to leave. If I leave, I will return. God, why, the sorrows of people transmute into ebony coffins that are buried within my heart? If only I could soothe my consciousness for seven days… I feel something to choke me. My throat is asphyxiating while my glass idol laughs horrendously. I can't stand the howling. No, yell at me no more. Reigns powerful silence, and then spasms commence recalling me in my starting position, before abyssal darkness arrogates my senses. Maybe fate leads me in a deathly destiny, which in case it happens, will become the salvation which is the highest virtue for a tormented soul like mine. No, I don't murmur. The existing circumstances of life have tired me insurmountably, because as I try to open a way out to the future, it ricochets me to the past. Death is the physical continuation of life, and I will be delighted if it happens to the days of my youth, for the simplest reason, that I cannot avoid him. To speak the truth, I don't want to avoid him. I want desperately to remain alive and to feel whatever joy I can, but they don't let me. In which attempt I give or trying to be present, they find ways to chain me and isolate me. The only thing that will never succeed in accomplishing is to handcuff my mind. A free spirit clearly suffering, but in no way it can be imprisoned. A free spirit prefers death so not to lose innocence, insight, respect and prestige. I have thought many times while I stroll in the city, how life would continue if I committed suicide… For sure there will be consequences and repercussions to people who they love me , however they would continue to exist without me, and with the flow of time the rift of pain would heal in desired spots. The verb “die” does not fit here, so, reasonably I use the verb “suicide”. Suicide is not an act of cowardice as some falsely believe. Because nobody knows how much pain a single human has within his soul. Nobody knows the spiritual boundaries and the stamina in a daily routine that open wounds that cannot be healed. How many people we see daily that smile whilst inside them are literally devastated… How many people we see daily that seek a kind word, a velvet touch, an understanding breath, and the only thing that get is disdain… How many people daily we place of the beam of desperation without remorse…Here is a key word which provokes pathogenic causes with fatal results. Suicide as a meaning and as an act certainly is the ultimate hybris against God, though requires determination and courage to turn yourself against yourself and violently remove the coveted life in that way. How many of you have done this macabre thought at least once… In this theater of paradox we daily live, the incarnation of life to life seems like an unreachable dream. Loneliness, disappointment, sorrow, wrong choices, guilt, remorse, unemployment, compulsion, hatred, unfairy tax policies, lies, eradication, violation of human rights, greed, selfishness, stab democracy that all people worship. The rule of law which could be, turns into a cradle of powerful coldness where everything collapse upon the enormous steel walls of human separation. Undead people wander everywhere aimlessly. They stamp upon dead bodies, seeking comprehensible sunrays of justice and transparent water to wash away their sins. How would it seem to the violators of this planet, who have elevated the obedient lobotomy to a profitable enterprise, a universal peace, which it would dismiss forever the wars for interest and people would live happily? A universal peace will destroy forever the human funnel grinders of annihilation. Only by thinking of it, my heart shivers from hope and expectation. A universal peace would give meaning in words and prestige in actions of future generations in a planet which agonizes… The only thing that is needed is an incision of kindness into the hearts of men… An incision that will bring back long-forgotten feelings, good deeds, smiles, hope… Hope for a palatable future life. We need love to live, not pain. Tears drop from my eyes as my words breath on the paper. What I wish for, what I want is, my words breathe inside your psychic dreams…

Sitting on my balcony I take a delight in looking at the sea. Today it is calm, like a mirror, like a shiny polished silver plate. I can spend hours sitting here, contemplating, just looking, waiting, watching. Occasionally a white seagull will fly by, a tiny boat may sail smoothly along and get lost in the distance. Far out and close to the horizon, you will imagine rather than really see the large container carrying cargo ships and maybe one or another cruise liner, sailing in the distance, sailing on the invisible border line that separates the waters from the sky. You can feel the sea, you can hear it, you can smell it, and it will leave you yearning, wanting to stay and absorb it, to breathe it, it will fill your dreams. Sitting here on my balcony, I enjoy the song of the birds as they take a rest in the yellow flame tree next to the house. It is full of leaves and flowers and hard working bees. Their song fills my ears while the sea gives my eyes an incredible delight that I never tire of admiring. Sometimes, with the storms, its power frightens me and I am glad I am not out, helplessly exposed to its violence but safe and dry here on my balcony. My thoughts drift back in time and I see shades of sailors lost between waves but when I open my eyes, the sea is still peaceful and calm. Its beauty once again amazes me and I realise how lucky I am. A soft breeze touches me and the world around me, gently the leaves of the flame tree start to move. The sea, its waves now gently moving, reflects sunbeams in shades of blue and green, shining like stars. While the birds continue their song and the sun warms the afternoon, frayed white clouds dancing over blue sky announce a change of weather. I consider going inside but then decide I´d rather stay on my balcony and wait for the rain to come.