Stop with all the Nigerian accent BS

God, I hate all these “Nigerian accent” things…there’s no such thing as a Nigerian accent for crying out loud! We don’t even speak the same native language or share the same ethnicity. You can’t tell me I sound like Musa, your Hausa neighbor, or Chika, your Igbo aunt. I don’t even sound like Iya Kasala, and we’re probably from the same state. Neither do I sound like the president of my country -_-

You can’t imitate a Nigerian accent, because it doesn’t exist. And you make people look stupid. 😑 If you say try to imitate an accent from Nigeria, that’s fine- pick and choose, Fulani, Ibibio, Igbo, Oyo (even though they’re Yoruba, they still sound very distinct), your daddy from Ogbomosho (again, also Yoruba, but very distinct). Don’t just come here and be insinuating that we sound anything alike. Maybe if we had a common native language called ‘Nigerian’, we could have a ‘Nigerian’ accent. But we DO NOT. We all (mostly) speak English with accents derived from a mix of our native tongues, and education.

I understand there has to be some generalization cos everyone in the world speaks differently. It’s okay, generalize all Yoruba people. I still maintain that I don’t sound like daddy Ogbomosho though 🙄 Cool though. Yoruba people: We all add ‘h’ to the beginning of every word that starts with a vowel, and take away the ‘h’ from every actual h-word. And just fuck words up generally. H’am h’espetin ‘Arry Potta part 2 h’in d mail toe-marrow (I’m expecting Harry Potter 2 in the mail tomorrow). 😒 I don’t sound like that though do I? Asides the h’ocashuna (occasional) slip up. ☺️☺️

Anyway, point h’is (oops ☺️): there is no such thing as a Nigerian accent. We don’t have a common native language that could commonly accent our English. So many native languages, so many great (and at times killer) versions of the English language, so many, ‘far too distinct to be generalized’ accents.

‘Ope you af h’enjoy diz pieze. ✌🏾️✌🏾

P.S: the only general rules that will probably apply are more in the area of mannerisms- open your mouth as wide as you can, always shout, always sound angry and aggressive, gesture intensely too. When laughing, slap your neighbor’s back really hard cos the laugh is just too much to handle, also, occasionally throw your arms, and legs around when laughing, and if possible take out the next person’s eye while at it. 😒

“You Have No Right to Insult Nollywood”

Hello everyone! Happy new month 🙂 I hope the new year has been good to you and yours so far. Well, apart from January not wanting to end though lol…but we thank God it’s finally February. Many birthdays too! ^.^

Anyway, the reason for this piece is besides all that. I’m angry today actually. I usually get these emails about top stories, or interesting stories on Twitter. I mostly ignore them, cos I don’t really care these days. But I’m never one to shy away from controversy, and this particular story looked promising. It was a YouTube video actually, it was tweeted by popular Nigerian female actor (correct, I don’t like the word ‘actress’), Omotola Jolade-Ekehinde. In the video, another popular female actor, Stella Damasus, expresses her grievances and anger towards a comment made by Ghanaian filmmaker Leila Djansi. I really didn’t know what to expect when I clicked on the link, and when I saw the 12 minute duration, I thought I’d just exit the page as soon as I got the gist of the story. But when I started the video, however, I was beyond furious. The beginning of it all- Leila Djansi in an interview said the new filmmakers should be distinguished from the rest of the Nigerian film industry (nicknamed Nollywood) and they should be called Independents because of the negative connotation that comes with Nollywood. According to her, it would be like naming your son Hitler. First of all lol. Secondly, Hitler was a great leader, misguided and terrible FUBAR, yes, but he was a great leader…but that’s another controversial issue for another controversial day. Lol. Besides,we get the negative connotation Hitler gist, and that was terribly uncalled for. Now Stella goes on this very detailed rant about why Miss Djansi should please shut the fuck up. And I agree with Stella 100%.

If you know me, then you’ll know that I will always always take a jab at Nollywood whenever I see a movie that should not have even been allowed to exist. I’m not even going to act like I don’t think Nollywood does nonsense at times, cos the truth is that they do…too many damn times sef lol. Just like our idea of magnificent art at age 5 was drawing jargon on mummy’s kitchen wall. Are you now going to say because some 20 years later, and you’re now an art graduate, you want to make sure you are distinguished from the 5 year old kid you used to be? Madam Djansi, who studied in America, did you not watch older movies, and see some whack ass gunshot scenes for example in some noir films, or even those terrible punching effects. Have you ever heard Steven Spielberg or Martin Scorcese ask to be distinguished from the industry that produced those movies? Instead, are those movies not still celebrated because of the great visionaries, brilliant minds, risk takers behind those movies? We’ve seen better gunshot scenes than when Peter O’Toole got shot in Lawrence of Arabia, but do we say oh, let’s differentiate that industry from the industry that produced Die Hard? Everyone understands that advancements were still being made, even till date, people are still searching for better ways to do things. Madam, why don’t you make yourself useful and do that too?

It is good to be educated. Good to be able to improve yourself, and return to improve the society that brought you up. But don’t you ever make the mistake of bad mouthing or demeaning that same society that you owe your very existence too. Yes, I’ll use a similar analogy to the one Stella used, cos Africa is very keen on family. Your parents strive, and work their butts off for you to do better than they could ever dream of. They will give their all for your success in a heartbeat. It might mean they have to go without food or water or decent clothes, but as long as someday, you will be better off than them, they will delight in their toil. Then you finally become big madam/oga, and return to defecate on them, because you are “enlightened” now, and you no longer want to be associated with the poverty that they connote. This child is nothing but a bastard devil baby, who will roam the earth to never find fulfillment. No curse. A child with a good head will come back to improve her/his parents’ lives because she understands the sacrifice they willingly endured so she/he could be, and do better.

We may criticize and bash Nollywood all we like, but it still doesn’t change the fact that because of the seemingly silly movies, mistakes, whacky scenes, editing and production flaws many have made, we are now seeing better quality films being made. You will ask what about stupid movies like Blackberry Babes, or Azonto Babes, or Brazillian Hair Babes, or Kukere Babes, or whatever other God-awful titles there are out there. My question is this: isn’t that part of our story? Do you not go to campuses and observe girls who are actually like those wayward characters you see in the films? Are those stories not close to home? Lie and deny and kid yourself all you want in your high chairs, but the truth is those stories are not THAT far fetched. You want to see a high speed chase in a Nigerian movie? Lol, ok. Why should it even happen? How many high speed chases have you ever seen in Nigeria? Okay, or even heard of? How many?? So why should we take a thing that is not ours and then try to force it into our stories? Even police shoot outs, how many have you ever witnessed? Is it not true that we value our lives more than anything else in this world? For ‘gossake’ what is police shoot out? Somebody cannot come and die o jare, don’t kid yourself. On the flip side, that juju, that Babalawo (native doctor/shaman) that you see speaking and arming that amulet or charm, casting that spell…hell, some of you even have these cults or covens or herbalist in your very own families. We see you at deliverance services 😒What of that woman carrying the bowl with the sacrifice in it? Eskisss (excuse) sir, didn’t you just see a real life bowl of sacrifice at that T-junction? If nothing else, with regards to the nature and ideas of the stories, Nollywood wins for realism. Because those stories are as close to, and whacky as our real lives, and the different characters we encounter are.

Now, with regard to the disappearing scenes, or the special effects, even plot development and script sef, we do have a long way to go. And it is a VERY long way. But how old is this industry for heaven’s sake? And how old is Hollywood in comparison. Seestra (sister), Hollywood wasn’t built in day you know, and even your great achievements are passable B movies at best in the eyes of The Academy, just so you know. The African film industry is still growing, and believe it or not, you have not outgrown it, don’t kid your disillusioned self to think you are too big for Nollywood. There are concepts known as process, work-in-progress, growth, and development aunty Leila. Don’t sit on your high chair, with your fancy equipment and spew idiotic rubbish about men and women who have labored with bleeding hands to make it possible for you to even be able to know that you can express your thoughts in film. Do not for one second even try to imagine that in some parallel universe, that Nollywood didn’t make you, and isn’t still making you sef. Aunty, you can speak all the English in this world, with your eye glass that’s even asking for independence from your face, but Fuji House of Commotion over you, any day, any time. There are some of us who genuinely want to help grow Nollywood, don’t sit down there and think because you have “arrived”, you have license to operate without common sense. Career anybody le ku any fucking time (anybody’s career can die any fucking time). And it’s not even in a place like Africa that you’ll be burning bridges you haven’t even finished constructing, but that’s by the way…

Fellow Africans, Nigerians especially (everyone else is welcome though), let us address the issues and challenges we face, and proffer sustainable solutions for positive growth and development. One critical Wole Soyinka is enough abeg (please). We need more people saying this is how we move forward, not people trying to show us how wrong and bad we are. You think we don’t already know that? Please, refrain from actions to dabaru (scatter, confuse, etc) us any further.

Kind regards,

Madam Controversial

 

 

P.S:
Click on the link below for the video containing Stella’s comments on Djansi’s statement. Gotta love aunty Stella ❤️

Stella Damasus- You Have No Right to Insult Nollywood

 

 

(Photo Credit: Yahoo Search, http://www.terangaweb.com

My Ofada Story

If you know me, you would know I don’t eat much, but when it comes to ofada, there’s no messing with me. I have two weaknesses in this life: Garri ijebu and ofada. Surefire ways to my heart. Grandma and mummy know that. That is why they embarked on a historical partnership to bring baby girl these goodies from the other side of the Atlantic.

It was some two weeks back when mummy told me that my aunt was coming to the abroad, so I should send my list. Yes, exactly. It was like hearing I had just won $50k in the lottery. So I made my list. Actually, more like I copied and pasted my list immediately she asked. I always keep my list updated and handy for such events as this. Sha, I sent my list.

I was so excited, I was practically skipping around the house. The plan was I’d travel to NYC with my aunt to meet my other aunt who was bringing the bags filled with so much love and affection. Next thing, phone went off, bzzz bzzz…mummy. “Hello love, how are you?” “I’m fine Toyin, just calling to give you your bill. #25k.” “Ah, juz lai dat? (just like that) No “don’t worry, mummy will take care of it”, no love for a young baby girl?” “Sorry, you’ve gone past that stage, you’re ready to be borning your own pikin (giving birth to your own kids). So no more free food.”

My heart was breaking, she wasn’t even going to let me send the money to her, she was just going to tax the gift daddy was sending me. Such # government (harsh government). 😢

Consolation was that mummy said her and grandma had jointly made the ofada sauce…at this point, I remember the end of that poem we learnt in school…

“And each to each sing

Songs of love.”

 

-Life in Our Village by Matei Markwei

…this was such an emotional moment for me. I not only get ofada, but I get ofada cooked with all the love in this world :’) what have I done to deserve such favor from the gods?  Sha, I reason the thing…for garri and ofada, come and take my birthright sef (lol, jk). Iz no problem mama, too much money sef, just take whatever you need. 😎😎

Aunty took off from Naija. Countdown began. This one pass Ball Drop excitement sef. I started making plans for the trip. Planning to get my hair done, picking the outfit that I’d wear to go and pick up my babies 😍😍 Someone cannot go and fumble and look like a hobo where ofada tinz are consined (ofada related activities are concerned). Some few days to trip, mummy called me at 7pm here, which is 1 am Nigerian time. She was asking me question, I was answering. Mostly about awon olori ike (plastci headed) GTBank that want someone to come and have ‘att attack’ (heart attack) because of bvn sometin. Shaa..next thing mummy now started to vex, that she was already going to sleep and I’m keeping her awake, iz one h’a h’em in Nigeria for gosssake (it’s one am in Nigeria for God’s sake). Ahn ahn, eskiss ma, beht izz you that call me now (Ahn ahn, excuse me ma, but you were the one who called me). :s

Sha, I vex and off phone. Then I sent I love you message after, so that shoe will not fly from Nigeria and hit me. As if this was not enough emotional trauma, my Aunty had to call me to say ofada bag af lost (had gotten lost) somewhere during the baggage transfer, and they af sheck (had checked) America, London and Lagos, and iz not dia (it’s not there). Ah! Awon aye that don’t want somebody to jaiye with ofada! (Ah, the evil world people that don’t want someone to enjoy life with ofada) I begin to hope, but hope die when aunty say 5 days, they are sasshing (searching) for bag, bag not found. Ah…awon aye! (Ah, the evil world people!)

Three days weeping, crying, dazed, and confused. Ah, it hit me hard. I almost sank into depression. Real stuff. The ofada sauce was frozen alright, then wrapped, the put in freezer bags, but after almost a week in whatever storage they put the suitcase in…such bleak prospects 😭😭😭😭 Then, there was also the problem of “let customs not find the bags of formerly frozen ofada gone bad, and now trash every other thing in the bag”. Owo ma ti jona ni yen. (Money has entered fire is that) Ah! Issolova. (It’s all over) This is how it ends. This is how the ofada tale ends. No joke oh, I cried…it was a very painful sometin. Even husband couldn’t console me, and you know ozband (husband) is easy consolation sometin for me (can easily console me *wink wink*). But not this time. This time, izz me and my God, and this my ofada that go and enter one chance*. I don even know where to start prayer from, what am I even praying for? Ah ofada! Ofada! Why you do me like this? 😢

Today, I sha wake up around 6, usual time alarm goes off. I check my phone as usual, cos it’ll be midday in Nigeria already, mummy would’ve blown up my phone. I see something. Issalie (it’s a lie), my eye is playing tricks. Tricks I say! Ayee. Please, don’t play with my emotions. My heart is still wheacck (weak) and fragile. Please, please. Could it be? Is it true? Oh Lord Jesus!!!! It’s a miracle!!!

Handle is small tin abeg. This is a miracle that calls for wrapper, gele**, and the slaughter of goat. Testimony time!

“Ever since I moved to the Northeast, I’ve prayed against every spirit of winter. But today, I bless the name of the Lord who has made it possible for us to have winter, and I will love this winter with all my heart. Ah! And I say to you dear brethren that the Lord who made it possible for this winter to preserve my ofada even for as long as it was lost for, will surely preserve you and your loved ones this festive period.”

Seasons greetings from yours truly!

–♥

“Ofada makes the world go round…”

 

 

 

 

 

 

*- a vehicle that leads you nowhere, but to doom, destruction, and death

**- a Yoruba traditional head tie

As for the meaning of ofada, it is not something I can define or explain to you; it is an experience…a feeling…one which you must strive to know for yourself…

African Poets: Wole Soyinka

Abiku

In vain your bangles cast
Charmed circles at my feet;
I am Abiku, calling for the first
And the repeated time;

Must I weep for goats and cowries
For palm oil and the sprinkled ash?
Yams do not sprout in amulets
To earth Abiku’s limbs.

So when the snail is burnt in his shell
Whet the heated fragment, brand me
Deeply on the breast. You must know him
When Abiku calls again.

I am the squirrel teeth, cracked
The riddle of the palm. Remember
This, and dig me deeper still into
The god’s swollen foot.

Once and the repeated time, ageless
Though I puke. And when you pour
Libations, each finger points me near
The way I came, where

The ground is wet with mourning
White dew suckles flesh-birds
Evening befriends the spider, trapping
Flies in wind-froth;

Night, and Abiku sucks the oil
From lamps. Mothers! I’ll be the
Suppliant snake coiled on the doorstep
Yours the killing cry.

The ripest fruit was saddest;
Where I crept, the warmth was cloying.
In the silence of webs, Abiku moans, shaping
Mounds from the yolk.
– Wole Soyinka

African Poets: Dennis Osadebay

Who buys my thoughts

Who buys my thoughts

Buys not a cup of honey

That sweetens every taste;

He buys the throb,

Of Young Africa’s soul,

The soul of teeming millions,

Hungry, naked, sick,

Yearning, pleading, waiting.

Who buys my thoughts

Buys not some false pretence

Of oracles and tin gods;

He buys the thoughts

Projected by the mass

Of restless youths who are born

Into deep and clashing cultures,

Sorting, questioning, watching.

Who buys my thoughts

Buys the spirit of the age,

The unquenching fire that smoulders

And smoulders in every living heart

That’s true and noble or suffering;

It burns all o’er the earth,

Destroying, chastening, cleansing.

– Dennis Osadebay

Mine (9)

“So where are you from?” he asked as he packed my plate with food to hold a nation for a year.

Am I really that skinny that I look starved? And here I was thinking I was healthy. I knew I had lost a few pounds since I got here; apparently, oyinbo food and I are not particularly compatible. He stopped when he noticed me staring at the monstrosity that was supposed to be my food. I finally tore my eyes away from Goliath and faced him.

“You’ll need your strength later,” he said as he tried to hide his grin, but his eyes held a promise of something. Something I couldn’t quite place my hand on…until…click!

“Oh”, I half-whispered, and then giggled thinking to myself, ‘thank God I’m black. The last thing we want to do is start blushing like a goat’ (I know goats don’t blush, please leave me). That didn’t stop me from smiling like a fool, although I looked down at Goliath in order to avoid David’s burning gaze.

“So, where are you from?” he asked again, as he moved to his spot beside me on the island.

“Nigeria,” I said, bracing myself for a lengthy discussion spent discrediting common misconstruction about Africa, and African countries, and also preparing not to lose my cool.

David was straight out of my favourite, most exciting erotic novel, but that doesn’t mean I won’t lash out at him the moment he says something stupid. Maybe I could even exaggerate things a little bit, so he could beg me with that sweet sweet tongue of his. What the…keep it together woman!

“I figured you were from an African country, the accent. I didn’t know how to say it without sounding rude, so I…”

“You’re fine,” I smiled, “I don’t think it would have been rude.”

“You miss home?” he asked, and then suddenly, I began to reminisce on the ‘good ole days’ back home.

“As a matter of fact, I do. I miss my home, I miss the people, I miss being in a place with culture, I miss the food- the tasty, spicy food.”

I said the food bit with my eyes closed, licking my lips, and daydreaming of some hot pounded yam and egusi soup. God I miss home!

“So I take it you’re not too fond of the food here,” he asked, looking almost sad.
I am confused for a split second; is he such a patriot?

“Oh,” my eyes light up at the realization- the restaurant, his restaurant. “The food here is great actually, not as much spice, but I love it. Except for the part where some sauces and the chicken are sweet. I like my chicken spicy, not sweet; that confuses me a lot. But the food here is amazing!” “Honest,” I added for emphasis, hoping he’d believe me.

“It’s fine,” he sounded like a defeated child, “you don’t have to like my food.”

Aw hell! Mummy warned me, but I didn’t listen. She warned me to stop being so darn picky and choosy, and try to be adventurous for a change, but nooooooo, I just have to hold the whole world to my ridiculous standards. Ugh! I felt like I had been punched in the gut.

“I’m sorry,” I said, almost begging, “adjusting has just been difficult, even though it should have gotten easier after two years.” I felt so embarrassed, “I’m sorry, I tend to be quite picky.”

Suddenly, it looked like Goliath just grew a size bigger. I pushed the plate of food away as I fought back the urge to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he put his hand over mine, “it’s just that thinking of some Nigerian hunk cooking you your favourite spicy meal makes me a little bit sad.”

I couldn’t hold back the laughter that erupted from what seemed to be my stomach.
“You really think I’d leave you for some Nigerian hunk just cos he can make spicy food? I might as well leave you for myself then.”

He smiled like a little boy who just found out his crush likes him back. The next thing that came out of my mouth was really deadly. I should have thought this through, but by the time I realized that, it was too late…

---

oyinbo- Yoruba term for white person or pertaining to the Caucasian race.

egusi soup- A Nigerian dish. It is a soup made from melon, usually accompanied by a carbohydrate morsel.

Guest Feature: Yemisi A. Ikuomola (II)

MY FIRST LOVE

PART 2

A MINUTE OF YOUR DAY

I hate to bother you with my thoughts like this
But I just cannot help the many questions that pop up
Who else would understand and appreciate them
If not the one involved?
Why this coming back together?
How did it happen?
Was it premeditated?
Was it planned?
Who initiated it?
Were we too hasty?
Did we think things through?
Are the feelings mutual and genuine?
Was there any emotional coercion?
Was there any guilt trip?
Did we take the best course of action?
On my part, I wonder:
Was it so easy for me to be in again? Definitely not
But I could not resist the truth any longer
I had it buried for too long, just needed to admit it to myself
What is your perception of me?
Do you sense genuine emotions or an adventurous mood?
Did you expect what you got? Did you get what you expected?
What are your own true motives?
Are you desirous of a lasting relationship or just in need of company?
Do you mean all you say and write?

My answer? We both had longings long buried
Which time never healed and fate only had one option:
To earth them at the appropriate time
My heart is so believing and trusting
That I think it might be playing tricks on me sometimes
Or am I just plain naïve about the issues of life?
All I can think of is that I feel love afresh!
If it is wrong, then I never want to be right
This is just so wonderful!

Like a young lady falling in love for the first time
I want to experience all that I missed in my youth
Passionate love
Elusive? I think not
If I can feel the way I feel then I am capable of genuine love again
I miss you greatly, I miss you every minute of the day
I wish I could have you in my arms always
Alas! You are thousands of miles away
But I know that very soon
We shall be together again
And that one day we shall be united forever
Pipe dream? I think not!
Whatever the mind can conceive is achievable
IF the feelings are mutual.

What bond of perfection to have a life from you within me
To give life to another of you
Then my love will be fulfilled
If all this is not love
Then I dare say that the dictionary is yet to be complete.

You came back and turned my world upside down, inside out
And I am loving every moment of it
Thoughts of you and our tomorrow keep me awake all night
I no longer dread it, but actually look forward to it
It feels good to have a positive scenario to ruminate about
I don’t know about you, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you
If we are on the same page, what is to stop us?
I love you and mean it with my whole being
Never felt like this before, never expressed it like this before
Never more positive, never more forward-looking
Go on my Love, tomorrow will be okay
If we keep on believing that what we have found
Is indeed true!

You are my First and True Love!
Thank you for coming back to me.

---

First written in October 2004
Updated October 2014

© Yemisi A. Ikuomola

African Poets: J.P. Clark

Ibadan

Ibadan,

running splash of rust

and gold-flung and scattered

among seven hills like broken

china in the sun.

– J.P. Clark

Image: Nairaland

“Afrocality”: A Nigerian Expression

Image: Ross, Denise. FELA! Dec. 6, 2010. Web. Apr. 20, 2015

I am an African
I am an African woman

Ile Ife, apoti ese Olodumare, and the cradle of civilization

I love my skin
I love my African skin
I love my dark, African skin
I love my hair
I love my thick, comb-breaking hair 😂

I love my accent
I love my thick, very African accent
I love language
I love my beautiful African language

“Orisa bii iya, ko si laye”

I love my parents!
Oh yesss! My “too African for their own good” parents 😂😂
Yes, the parents who whooped my sorry behind with no mercy 😂😂
The struggle of every African child

Oooh I love my names
I love my perfect African names
Oluwatoyin, Omolajipe, Adetoun, Mojisola, Temitope, Ikuomola

FELA! The abami eda himself, who taught me to revel in,
And celebrate my Africanness

I love my dance
I love my fire African dance
I love my music
I love that sensuous tune your hips unconsciously sway to
Yes, that Afro-beat, that original Afro-jam

I love my African heritage
I love my African way
I love my African culture
I love my African food
I love my African attire

Ibadan; the ancient city
Eko Ile; home of the greats

I love my Africanized English
I love my Africanness
I love that the first thing you notice about me is my Africanness
Because before anything else, I am first and foremost an African woman

---

Ile Ife– An ancient town in Southwestern Nigeria
Apoti Ese Olodumare– Translation: God’s footstool
Orisa bii iya, ko si laye– Translation: There is no deity in existence that can be compared to a mother
Fela– Nigerian musical legend, and political activist
Abami Eda– Strange/mysterious creature
Ibadan– An ancient city in Southwestern Nigeria
Eko Ile– An indigenous name for Lagos, a state in Southwestern Nigeria, and the commercial capital of the country.

Tranquil (Part 8- FINALE)

8.

“Emeka is dead”, she emphasized for utmost clarity.

I froze, staring at her in disbelief. I could tell almost exactly how it had played out.

“How did you do it?” I asked, knowing already that she had done it.

“Poison”, she said, “I watched as he begged for his life. He was weak and pathetic. I hated him and even more his seed that I am carrying.”

She sat beside me and examined my scars. She wept bitterly. She was sorry, but she knew that sorry wasn’t going to be enough.

“It’s not alive”, she said.

“What’s not alive?”

“The child died two days ago, and it was impossible for it to be removed. They tried all they could, but to no avail. The dead child has refused to come out. So just as you said Onyeka, the bastard hates me and wants me dead.”

I looked at her swollen tummy and I cried for her; I finally cried with my sister. I held her close and told her she wouldn’t go alone.

I promised to go with her.

That night, we lay in bed together, recounting the good old days when we were young and happy; before life robbed us of all our innocence.

“Onyeka, what will you miss most?” she asked.

I knew my answer straightaway.

“The calm and newness after the rain”, I said.

“Me too”, she said.

I would miss the peace, the serenity, the sudden calm after the heavy roaring of the thunder, raging of the lightning and the mighty downpour of the rain. I would miss the rains.

But as the blood dripped from our wrists that night, a new kind of peace began to dawn on me.

“I will miss Chike” she said.

“Chike. I will miss Chike as well. He will never forgive us, but someday, I hope he will understand.”

And with that, I kissed my sister goodbye and set to concentrate on the new feeling that was overtaking my body.

Tranquil.