MTN Valentine's Radio Silence

MTN did me shege today. I went to the base for a different business but had to come home with some extra stuff, which are super important but that I had no idea I would get today. That meant I had to come home by Bolt. This was my plan initially, to go home by Bolt. But even if I had wanted to change my mind to returning by public transport, the extra luggage wouldn't have let me. 

Hmm. Please hmm with me. Hmm. It was time to go home but MTN refused to bring their connection icon. What's going on here? I first thought the phone needed to be switched off or restarted. I did both but no way. How would I go home today? By this time, my head was aching. I couldn't see myself with a heavy backpack and a full carton clutched to my chest hopping from one public taxi to the other and crossing roads. Ah!

I stayed outside at the entrance to the base after I had exited, waiting for network to come so I could book my Bolt jejely. But it was all in vain. After what seemed like eternity, I relocated the pieces of wears I had on the carton inside and forced the lid to close. I had to resort to going by public commercial vehicles.

(Taking a drop would have been a good option but I am managing the few notes I have on me for minor purchases and transactions, I couldn't use that to pay for a charter.) 

It was stressful, ehn. From struggling to enter the first Keke Napep (tricycle) while trying to balance the carton which had its partially closed lid threatening to open on my laps and managing to remove my backpack and place it on the box to alighting and arranging myself and my properties. The second vehicle I boarded was a taxi and when I got to my stop, it wasn't easy to come down either. I didn't even know the man didn't park properly. I ensured I didn't come down when other vehicles were close, though. (I sat at the extreme left behind the driver and the passengers to my right were not willing to come down for me to use the other door.)

"O ya, come down now." That was the driver.

"No, I can't." I replied. "I have some load and cars are coming."

"And so far you people won't come down and let me use the other door, I won't risk my life." I added under my breath.

This was when he decided to park well. I finally came down, though not without restraint as usual. 

Now, it was time to cross. I crossed o. But to climb the central reservation was another palaver as my skirt was penciled, a bit tight and short. Normally, I usually use one hand to pull the skirt up a little to enable me climb. However, my two hands were occupied with the box. Let's just thank God I didn't trip and fall. I climbed and crossed successfully to the other side. I, by this time, had one more taxi to go and some distance to walk before getting home. After all the stress, I got home. Praise God. No thanks to MTN.

© February 2023, Ayobami Temitope Kehinde 

Beggie-Beggie Is Not Good

I remember as *JSS 1 students when Feyisola Akinwande and I would converse between ourselves to go and beg for money from Senior Nike Adebayo and Senior Buki of blessed memory. They were in *SS 1 then. How did we get to know them? They had come to our class to preach to us to give our lives to Jesus. Though I had asked Jesus into my heart several times before then but I still gave my life to Him again. We had bowed out heads and said the sinner's prayer after them. (By the way, when I started attending the school fellowship later and we would be asked to go around and preach during break hours, I never had the courage to do so o. I was always worried about what I would say. Throughout secondary school, it was like this.)

So, Feyi and I, as the "Primary Six-and-a-half" students that we were, would always go to them every break to beg for money, it was always one naira we begged for. But one naira then had value sha.

"Senior Nikẹ, Senior Buki, ẹ ẹ̀ dẹ̀ wá fún wa ní 1 naira." We would say with pleading innocent eyes. They would indulge us and give us one naira each and sometimes they would beg us and tell us they didn't have. Then, one day like that, we went to do our beggie-beggie as usual and embarrassed Senior Nike had to tell us the truth.

"Ṣ'ẹ́ẹ mọ nǹkan? Kò dàa kéèyàn máa tọrọ owó." She told us it is not good to beg for money. We nodded our heads rapidly in agreement and went back to our class disappointed but wiser. We never begged any senior for money after that. (Definitely, if our parents knew we were begging at school, they wouldn't have been pleased.)

Well, I just remembered this story now and I thought to write it down. I doubt if Feyi or Sis Nike remember self. But me, Ayobami, I do remember from time to time and laugh my heart out.

©June 2020, Ayobami Temitope Kehinde

#memories

#childhood

*JSS 1 stands for Junior Secondary School 1

*SS 1 stands for Senior Secondary School 1

Goat Fight

I just saw a kid (baby goat) charging at an older sibling of hers now. The older sibling, who still cannot believe her mama weaned her and now has two other babies to cater to, keeps following her and the new kids around.

So, this kid got irritated and cocked back her head to give her big sister a warning. You need to see the look she gave her. That one got a bit scared and staggered back a little. Then she continued following. Baby sister wouldn't have that nonsense again. Why should she be sharing their mama with them, this mama that is exclusively theirs? She charged at her and started fighting her away.
"Leave our mama alone." She bleated.
"No, she is still my mama, and mind you, I am not your mate." Big sister bleated as she fought back. But it was obvious she was somehow afraid of little sister. She would fight and then move back while her sister kept charging.

I was amused and smiled. I wondered how that kid could successfully intimidate her senior. Was she not even afraid of the difference in size? Then it occurred to me, confidence. It was that same confidence (spurred by a working relationship with God, this time around) that made tiny David face ogre Goliath and kill him. This same confidence was what made a cock, yes, a cock, fight off a dog in one viral video I saw sometimes. Confidence!

©2018, Ayobami Temitope Kehinde

A CRITICAL CASE OF TANGLE-UP

Thank God for hairdressers. I don’t know what people like me would do if they did not exist.

I keep my hair unrelaxed and it is fairly long. I don’t have any treatment I use on it save that I pamper the edges by watching the kind of hairstyles I make, not allowing hair stylists touch the tiny edge hairs while braiding with extension and taking out the braids at the edges after a week or two of making the hair. No special hair-cream, I use a mixture of sheabutter and some oils, nothing more.

So I was told about how good it is to use onion juice to treat dandruff; mayonnaise mixed with any oil of your choice as a deep conditioner and okra juice for detangling and leave-in conditioning. I decided to add these to my regimen and I was so excited about the thought. It is not that I didn’t know about these treatments before, just that I was not into them. If I remember well, I had used okra juice as a leave-in conditioner before, but that was just once. There was even a season in my life when I applied finely blended avocado and banana to deep condition my hair. The few times I maintained that regimen, I went through some difficult time getting dried bits of banana and avocado off my hair. I ended up losing some hair because no matter how well you wash your hair after such treatments, some minuscule of the fruits will still remain in the hair. Because of the stress from getting out the particles from my hair after it is dried, I stopped that treatment.

Now that I have been reminded of the onion, mayonnaise and okra treatments, I couldn’t wait to apply them after loosening my previous hairstyle. So I loosened the hair, detangled and washed. I then grated the onions (added a piece of ginger) and strained out the juice using a handkerchief. I applied the resulting juice to my hair making sure every strand of hair got soaked and the scalp was well reached. I was told to not wash it away because it is a good leave-in conditioner too and gives more shine to the hair. I let the onion-ginger juice dry out and afterwards rubbed the mayonnaise-oil mix through the hair tips to the scalp. I covered the hair with a plastic bag from 5pm till the next morning, I wanted the best result. When morning came, I washed off the substance and then set to prepare the okra juice. My hair by this time was so tangled up. But I wasn’t bothered because I knew the okra juice would perform magic on the knots.

The okra juice eventually landed on my hair and scalp. But, nah, it wouldn’t unknot the tangles. What! I finished applying and came out of the bathroom, waited for the okra juice to dry out and the see if I could detangle the hair. For where? I couldn’t o. Ha! Thus, I sat down with the hair hoping to be able to finger-comb, but no, that was a Herculean task. I spent hours, not two nor three nor four, to detangle just a tiny portion of hair. It was then I realised the hair needed a professional touch. It was past midnight, however, I had no choice than to send a text message to my natural hair stylist if I could come over to her lounge later in the day to get the hair deknotted. You need to feel the hair, 'o di koko bii yanma', extremely tangled. There was no more remedy from my end. On this note, I went to bed. I recall asking the Holy Spirit to give me wisdom on what to do. It just occurred to me now that contacting my stylist was His idea because it was after I prayed that it occurred to me to send her a text.

This morning, I prayed that the Lord would give my stylist the wisdom needed to demat my hair in such a way that I wouldn’t lose too much hair. Later in the day, I went to her shop and she was afraid when she saw the hair. It was a really critical case of tangling-up. She then told me that my order of applying the treatments was wrong. I should have divided the okra juice into two parts, use a part to ravel out the hair properly before washing and then apply after washing as leave-in conditioner and for final detangling. It is after that step that I ought to add the mayonnaise mix. The purpose of the mayonnaise treatment is for curl definition. That was actually what knotted up the hair. 'Emi o mo o'. I didn’t know. Glory to God anyway, I didn’t lose much hair, just the normal amount of hair you lose when you comb your hair.

Do you now see why I thanked God at the beginning for hairdressers? What can someone like me do without them?

©2016, Ayobami Temitope Kehinde

BODA FEMI

 

 

BODA FEMI

Growing up, we had a few kinspersons stay with us. One of them was a paternal cousin, *Boda Femi, who used to come around everytime he was not on campus. He was at the polytechnic then. He had a lot of correspondence Bible courses he was taking in those days. He was always receiving mails for them. Usually, the packages came not only with materials he needed to read to pass the tests, but some extra Christian books and booklets too. It was in one of those materials that I read about how several years back in a certain country that I cannot remember its name, because it was forbidden to have the Bible in your possession, a woman plastered bread dough around her copy and baked it to hide it from authorities that came to check her house. I remember a birthday gift he gave my older sister too. It was the book, ‘The Great Controversy.’

We were obviously fond of Boda Femi and somehow we knew he loved the Lord (he still does). We were also fascinated by his Bible courses and he was just too glad to introduce us to them. We in turn introduced the course to our landlord’s children who were in the same age range with us. Lamp and Light and World Bible School were some of the courses. I was ten or eleven when I started Lamp and Light against the publishers’ rule to not touch the programme if you were under sixteen. But I couldn’t wait till I was sixteen, and the rest of us too, I was so hungry for the Word. I suppose they made the rule like that because they thought a child below sixteen may not understand the course content. But I bet I did, I always paid all the attention in the world to read through my materials and the accompanying Scriptures before taking the tests.

Looking back now, I remember I used to experience the enveloping presence of God anytime I was studying for my tests. I didn’t know it was called God’s presence then, but I knew it was something supercool, something beyond the natural, something from God. Years later, I didn’t have peace about my claiming to be old enough to take the course and I wrote them a letter to apologise. I hope the rule has changed now because it is not all U-16 children that cannot understand spiritual matters. World Bible School course and others did not have such restrictions.

I enjoyed taking those courses and the truth is they were part of the building blocks of my foundation in Christ.

Like I pointed earlier, we were fond of Boda Femi, we loved him and really respected him (we still do, though time and distance have separated us now), we were sometimes naughty to him too. The naughty we here were my younger sister, my younger brother and myself. For example, he was speaking 'too much' English one day, maybe because we angered him or something, I can’t remember, so I quickly made up a *senwele song for him which my younger siblings backed up. We sang, danced and laughed while he shook his head for us:

Call: Boda oloyinbo de

Response: Boda oloyinbo de

Call: O fe foyinbo fo wa lori

Response: O fe foyinbo fo wa lori

All: Nigba to wa n soyinbo nko o

Wa kawa naa loyinbo

Translation

Call: English speaking brother has come

Response: English speaking brother has come

Call: He wants to use English to scatter our heads

Response: He wants to use English to scatter our heads

All: And so what, you are speaking English?

Teach us to speak English too!

And he gave me two nicknames that I didn’t like then. He would call me ‘philosopher’ each time I made my knowing comments and ‘questionnaire’ when I asked him questions. Yes, I was really a questionnaire and I dare to say I am still one. I got that from my day. My dad could ask questions!

This cousin of ours influenced us without him knowing. If only he knew God sent him to our house to be a spur for us children to seek the Lord and not give up at a time when there was little or no encouragement from home to know and love the Lord.

Boda Femi Wuyi Akinlade, today, I have chosen to call you out publicly and celebrate you. Thank you for giving to the Lord. Thank you for being an example of a child of God to us. We were quite young, but you touched us so much without even knowing. Thank you so much. May you be found in the Lord our Father till the end. The Lord will strategically position people that will positively influence your children around them too. He will teach them by Himself.

*Boda is the Yorubalised version of ‘brother’

*Senwele is a traditional Yoruba musical genre

THE GPS AND DIRECTIONS

Some months back, I needed to go to a place I was not sure of the direction to take to get there. So, I punched the address on my GPS and left my garage. But my naughty GPS would not say anything to me about where I was going. I was worried and wondering why it was quiet. I pulled up somewhere to check if I mistakenly set it to mute. No. So what was the problem with that thing? Well, I resumed driving. By this time, I was already out of the community’s gate and just as I approached the end of the driveway and was still worrying my head about whether to make a right or left turn, the GPS spoke up. Really?! “So, why did you keep your mouth shut all this while?” I asked, rolling my eyes. Okay, I can’t remember if I rolled my eyes but I most likely did.

I was relieved it started talking at last and I continued my journey. I noticed that it was sometimes quiet and sometimes chatty. If I was on a route where there was no need for me to make a turn soon, it would be silent until I was like a half or a quarter mile away from where I had to turn. That went on and on. I therefore learnt to trust my GPS knowing that it would speak up when there was need to.

But you know something, that was a season in my life that I was at a crossroad. I needed direction about a lot of things and I needed it right there and then. I was constantly searching my spirit to see what the Lord would say, but it seemed like nothing was coming forth. Thus, I was in a way frustrated.

“Father You know I need to know what You are saying at this time. You know Your word says this and this and this and that. Please speak Lord.” I’d moan.

As I was driving and ruminating on how the GPS works, I realised God was speaking. He was teaching me about how He leads. The fact that He is silent does not mean He is not guiding. If you are on the right track and you do not need to turn to the right or to the left, He won’t say anything in that line. God’s guidance is one step at a time, one day at a time. We just have to trust Him that He will surely guide us to that beautiful end. Definitely He will speak at every junction, He will tell us where to turn to. He has promised that our teachers will no longer be hidden and that we will hear a voice from them at every crossroad to turn to the right or to the left (Isaiah 30:20b). Note that those teachers might be people God has placed around you to guide you aright in a difficult time.

I am learning to trust God one day at a time, to trust that He is guiding me even when it seems like He is silent. I know He is pleased with me and that it delights Him to lead me aright always. But you know, it is sometimes difficult to be still and just trust Him. I sometimes work myself up for nothing.

©2016, Ayobami Temitope Kehinde

Image Credit: http://electronics.toptenreviews.com/use-a-gps-to-talk-safely-while-driving.html

WEATHER TALKS

When folks do not know what to say to you and they really want to say something, they talk about the weather.
 

I was returning from my mailbox this evening and met one of my neighbours at the front of his apartment which is beside mine. Head clad in helmet, he was with another guy and they were tending to a bike. I hey-ed at them and they hey-ed back. As I held out my key to open the door, he asked a question about the weather. He asked if I knew whether the bad weather would end soon. In my head, I was thinking that the weather was not bad and that I did not watch the TV today and so had no idea of what the weather would be like the next day. I honestly did not know the right response to give him. Finally, I replied.

"I don't really know.... But I do hope it gets better soon."

"I hope so too, I really do." He said, with a chuckle.

As I walked in through my door, I remembered reading in books of how people talk about weather, then the whole scenario made sense. I simultaneously recollected how another young man, a worker in a hotel I was once lodged in, always mentioned the weather every morning he greeted me.
 

Ogun Ago. Ago War.

I remember. June 16 in 2005. It was a terribly bad day, a day that the devil collected water to drink. We were at the department and were waiting to receive a lecture when we sighted though the window a crowd of students, there was an unrest. Before we knew it, SUG excos were addressing us on the podium. Our lecturers had to send us home.

What happened? A student was reading in a class within the premises of a primary school at the same time some OPC (Odua People's Congress) members were having a meeting. I can't remember exactly what transpired between them and the student, but they started attacking the guy until they killed him. A riot ensued. Students filed to the king's palace in protest, but the king was on his people's side and even mobilised them to attack protesting students.

It was a tough battle between students and indigenes. Indigenes were going from house to house to drag out students to kill. Blood flowed. That Thursday evening, in my own hall, Bobagunwa, we all gathered together, confounded and scared stiff. I think we managed to pray. We heard gunshots from different angles. Later, we concluded we would all escape to the mini campus since indigenes were slaughtering students from house to house. But our landlord, Baba Ile Bobagunwa (pronounce it in Ijebu accent), bless his heart, pleaded with us not to go, that he would not let anyone enter the compound to attack us. The man was crying and praying. A few of my hall mates still went to the mini campus, though, but most of us stayed back at home. All along, we were in Tolulope​'s and Tosin's room. We afterwards dispersed to our different rooms.

That night, I closed my room's window. I usually left it open, but I was not going to take chances. Strangely, I slept peacefully without a single stir throughout the night and woke up at 7 in the morning I even cooked concoction and ate. When I stepped out of my room, some of my house folks were telling me they could neither sleep nor eat. That morning, I called home. It was funny they hadn't heard the news yet. We were three in my hall from our house in Abeokuta, our landlord's daughter and niece and myself. They also called home and their dad came to pick us.

When we were being driven home, we had to take the longer route. It actually was a route you don't usually take when going from Ago Iwoye to Abeokuta, but the usual route was besieged by the indigenes and we heard they were attacking anyone that passed that way. That day, I had an idea of what a war is like. Come and see students trekking enmasse from Ago Iwoye to Ijebu Ode. This is something you would never dream of doing on a normal day, trek from Ago to Ijebu Ode. We saw like four to five students with load on a motor-bike, not exaggerating, it was very bad. We all had to escape for our dear lives.

Several students died. Many parents lost their children to this war, some, all their children. A colleague who was my senior by a year in Geology was hacked to death. The school was closed for like three months before we resumed again.

 In all, I thank God for preserving our lives through the mayhem. Someone else will have a different story, I only shared my own experience.

YESTERDAY MORNING

Yesterday morning when I finished my shift, I had to arrange for an Uber cab online to get back home to the staff house. I normally trek ’cause the house is like 15-20 minutes from the office, but it was dripping and the thunders were raging. My cab arrived and I hopped in.

“Why do you look like my daughter? Are you my daughter?” went the driver.

I was amused; of course I knew he was joking. I replied I was not his daughter. Simultaneously he told his wife who he was on phone with that he had a passenger in his car that looks like Nwakaego. I could hear the woman’s voice from the loudspeaker. The name, Nwakaego, confirmed my suspicion that he was Nigerian. When I saw his name on the cab request page, I couldn’t be sure he was Nigerian because he bears Livinus, but when I entered his car and he spoke the first sentence, I knew he was my Naija broda and on mentioning Nwakaego, every doubt flew off. He asked if I was on night shift to which I replied yes. He asked which part of Nigeria I am from, I told him I’m Yoruba. He asked another question which was ambiguous. I could make from it that he wanted to know what I work as in my company or what I studied. I told him I studied Geology. Dazed, he looked back from the steering wheel.

“You, you don finish Geology?”

I smiled. “Sure. Since 2008, so I am not even a recent graduate.”

“Yeeh, and here I am thinking you’re like 21.” I smiled again. It’s so sweet to get people deceived with this cute baby look. At this point he had missed the turning to the staff house. I let him know and he blamed it on his garrulousness. He promised not to talk again when he drives. Anyway, it wasn’t too late as we found a way to connect back to the house through a parking a lot.

“Ngozi, wonders will never end. See the girl I told you look like Nwakaego, she was just telling me that she is a Geology graduate and I was thinking she is about 21….” Well, I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation as it was time for me to drop. I bade him farewell and entered the compound. I did enjoy his petty talks, especially his surprised look when he learnt I am not a fresh graduate.

Moments later in the house, I started looking for my second phone. I recalled I dropped it in my bag when I entered the cab. I knew I entered the cab with it and didn’t drop it. I rummaged through my backpack, brought out everything in there, even searched through the wrong places. I went back to the kitchen where I was cooking, searched and searched, searched through the closet, through the bathroom, everywhere, every unlikely place. No phone.

“What happened to my phone? I dropped it in my bag now.” I whimpered.

I searched through all the places I already searched through again. No phone. It’s just like my people will say, ‘Iwakuwa la n wa nnkan to sonu’. It means you look for lost things in the most unlikely places e.g. looking for a full bag under a mattress.

I tried calling it twice from my other phone. It rang. But then I remembered I had it set to silent. The only place I could trace it to was Mr. Livinus’ car, maybe it dropped on the car’s floor when I thought I was putting it in the bag. So, I contacted Uber’s customer care and they supplied me his number. I called him. He oohed and aahed that he had picked a few passengers since he dropped me and hoped no one picked it. He asked the passengers in the car at the time to check the seat and the floor if the there was any phone there. No phone. He promised to get across to me if he found it later. I thanked him and hung up.

I was distraught but kept telling myself it was not lost and I would find it, for even though this phone does ‘skon skon’ occasionally, it is still good, and then I had important stuff on it. I decided to switch to worship, as if I was not looking for any phone. As I worshipped, I’d stir out of bed once in a while and go back to the places I had searched. Then it occurred to me it might have dropped at the door when I was entering the house. I was by this time in my pajamas, but I couldn’t bother to change. I just criss-crossed my sleep-cover-cloth over it and went to the door. No phone still. I took a step farther to check the gate area. No phone. Then I decided to open the gate and look towards the direction where the car dropped me as the car didn’t enter the compound, I told Mr Livinus it was okay to drop me at the gate. All this while I was wondering how much of a sight I was in my sleeping clothes and cover cloth.

So I glanced towards the direction where I stepped out of the cab, and lo, there was my phone lying faceup. I quickly went over to pick it. It was there, no one had stepped on it, no car had crushed it, it only had drops of rain on it.

“Thank you sweet Holy Spirit. Thank you so much.” I chorused repeatedly. To say I was glad was an understatement. I was (and I am still) grateful.

He Who Began A Good Work In You

“AY, I heard a test will be conducted in a company tomorrow,” Uche, a friend, informed me. I asked for the name of the company, but he couldn’t get to pronounce the name properly. He tried describing where it is located, but it was no use, for though Trans Amadi was my regular route as a corper, yet I really never noticed any of the companies strung along its layout. I was always focused on getting to wherever I was going anytime I was in buses or taxis.

I had my compulsory national service in Port Harcourt, Nigeria. (In Nigeria, it is compulsory to serve the nation under the paramilitary body called National Youth Service Corps (NYSC) after graduating from the university or polytechnic. Fresh graduates are cross-posted all over the country to work wherever they will be assigned to for a year during which they get paid by the government and sometimes by the institution they are serving under.)

After passing out as a member of the corps in February 2010, I stayed back in Port Harcourt. I lived at the NCCF (Nigeria Christian Corpers Fellowship) Family House during service and since there is a provision for senior friends to put up at the family house after NYSC, I continued to live there after service. I had a hunch ever before I knew I would be serving in Rivers State that I would most likely stay back wherever I would serve. For this reason, I endeavoured to do all I could do to serve in my home church in Abeokuta between the time I graduated and the time I left home for youth service. I did not want to have any reason to look back and wish I had done more. The hunch was confirmed during my service year….

So, my friend, Uche, told me about the test and added that another friend who is a geofellow (we geologists call ourselves geofellows) had more information about the test. With time, my geofellow friend got back home and he gave me the full details. We were going to gatecrash the next day. That night, I picked a textbook I borrowed from another geofellow in the house, but couldn’t concentrate; you know that kind of preparation for a test that you will write the next day. I had no idea what sort of questions would be asked and could not even grasp anything, so I gave up. By the way, I never seriously looked into GMAT for once, because my plan was to start some stuff for myself and work for no one. Another funny thing was that my CV was not very ready. I was taking my time with the CV because I had thought I wouldn’t have to work for anybody, thus early in the morning before going for the test, I quickly went to Mother Cat to have the CV printed and then headed for the company’s base.

We were four that went from the family house. One of us had earlier dropped his CV with the security guys at the gate, so he was somehow eligible for the test, but the rest of us were gatecrashers. They already had the names of the test candidates in a sheet of paper and soon started calling them in. My people and I stayed on, hoping for the best. I went to stay at the very front, with the hope that God could use someone to open the gate for me. There were a lot of people and being a brief person with a giant of a guy behind me, I was constantly pressed against the gate. The noise was too much, the pressing continued, but I stayed put at the front. Then one of the security guards noticed the way I was being pressed and exclaimed in pidgin, “Make una no kill this girl for me na!” “Oga, abeg, tell them o” was my reply. But it wasn’t a problem for me; after all it was supposed to be the survival of the fittest. Everyone there wanted the job.

 Later, I saw the guard pointing in my direction as he spoke to another guard. A few minutes after that, he came to ask me where I was standing if I had my CV already submitted, I replied in the negative stating that would be my first time there. He went and returned, asking if I had my name already with them, I gave the same answer. Not too long after this, he called for me at the main gate, holding out a scrap, not a sheet, of paper for me to fill in my name. All this while, we had been at the front of the security cubicle. They let in the applicants from there. When he called me through the main gate, it wasn’t that he opened the main gate for me, he only handed the paper to me through that space between the gate’s hinge and the pillar supporting it. I wrote my name, wrote for my fellows from the house and for some others who begged me to. But I knew the man was particular about me. He collected the paper and left. By this time I had lost my position at the forefront, so I had to stand at the back trying at the same time to monitor what was going on. In little or no time, my new friend, the security guy, came calling for me again through the main gate. He told me to add my course. I did so and did for others too. But still, I knew this man was particular about me as he was hurrying me up when I was writing for others. He came back the third time and asked me to include my phone number. I did that, did for others and returned the paper to him.

“Where is that girl?” It was the guard calling from the security cubicle. I quickly found my way close to the front and when he saw me, he opened the gate wide for me, in full view of everyone, and let me enter. No one else was allowed in except one other guy. It was like a dream. When I entered the compound, I thought, “Lord, the way I entered this place today, it’s like You have given me the job already.” The test came in two batches with ten candidates in each batch. I was in the second batch and we were twelve. The other guy that the guard let in and I made the group twelve. We had to wait under close supervision in a room for the first batch to finish their test before we would take over and write ours. I learnt later they had had the test conducted two previous Thursdays in the same manner—two batches and ten applicants in each batch.

While waiting for our test, it was like the other guy that the security man allowed in kept going out and coming in. At a point, he did not close the door properly when he left the room. The security man, not my friend, in charge of us got mad and asked him to leave the premises. Na so bros start dey beg, oga security no gree o. He asked him who let him in, they went to meet his colleague together, that was the last we saw of our bros. My heart was in my mouth all along, because I was an extra too. But the Lord favoured me, the guard did not bother me at all.

Fast forward, it was our turn to write the test. Contrary to my expectation, the test was set on five subjects—Geology, Physics, Electricity, Chemistry and Mathematics. I did what I could and left the rest. I had the opportunity to cheat, because the lady that was supposed to invigilate us did not care at all, but I was able to resist the temptation. Basically, I wouldn’t ask anything from anybody, but the urge to help my fellow candidates was great as they kept calling my name. I would just look at them, smile and shake my head to pass my message across that I could not help them. Afterwards, I had to apologise to one of them that it was against my principle, he was not offended, he understood.

On my way home, I was pondering on all that had transpired and about two blocks away from the family house, this song, “He Who Began A Good Work In You” coursed through my mind and I nodded to the Lord.

“AY, I heard you guys went for a test today and you were singled out and favoured.” That was Musa, another friend, he was serving with Batch B. The news had gone ahead of me to the family house.

“Congratulations!” He added. I smiled and recounted the story to him, adding that everything still depended on if God would let me have the job or not. But he insisted that God had given me the job already.

Barely two weeks after the test, I was called for interview. The interview was like a chat. It wasn’t like that from the beginning, though. In fact, I would have been excused if not for a lady that peeped in to deliver a message. That changed the tune of the interview as one of my interviewers asked me what was my view on paying taxes. I replied paying taxes is the right thing to do.

“Even when NEPA is not giving you power and the roads are bad?” My answer was still the same.

“Are you giving me these answers because you are in an interview and this is what you’re expected to say?”

“No sir, it’s one of the principles I live by.”

Other questions followed. Could I stay on the sea for six months and not be homesick? My naïve answer to that was yes. In reality, it is a no-no, but I had no idea what having to stay on a rig was like then and was enthusiastic. They told me there would be caterers on the rig, different kinds of food and a lot of cakes.

At the mention of cakes, I burst out, “Oh, I love cakes!”

“Oh, you do?” they replied laughing.

“Do you bake cakes also?” One of them (who was going to be my boss, but I didn’t know then) asked.

I replied yes. He asked if I would not leave the company after three years to start a catering company. I laughed and said no, that I could always manage that with my job. The interview ended and I went home.

While I was recounting how it all went to my “baby”, the person I handed over to in NCCF as Chief Usher, who is also my friend, there was a musical break on a TBN programme we were viewing on TV and the same song that crossed my mind the day I wrote the test was the song played during the break. I still put everything in the Lord’s hands. In the evening I went to visit a beloved family in another part of Port Harcourt, I spent the night there. That night in my dream, a very tall veiled man came to attack me in my dream with a razor blade which he held in his hand. I was very small beside him but I overpowered him in the name of Jesus and commanded him to go to sleep. He couldn’t hurt me with his weapon.

Sometimes in the morning, I received a call from the company to come for my medicals. That was when the dream I had made sense to me. When I didn’t know that I would be called the next day, the enemy had known and had tried to come before time to contaminate my system, but the Lord my God fought for me. This reminded me again of another dream I had before I was ever called for the interview. I was in our former house at home. We used to have a long bench in the passage under which we kept different things ranging from yams to slippers. I was squatting beside the bench when a hag approached me demanding that I sold her plantains. I told her I had no plantains to sell, and actually I didn’t know I had any plantain. She bent down and dragged out from under the bench a bunch of big plantains, most of which were already ripe. She gave me a very dirty and worn 100 naira note and went away. When I awoke, I didn’t remember the dream immediately, but when I did, the Lord gave me the understanding and I knew that she came to shortchange me of some ripe harvests. I started praying immediately collecting back my plantains. I did not stop praying until I was sure in my spirit I had recovered what she took and gave her stupid money back to her. Definitely, the plantains she took was the job and I probably would never have been called at all if I had taken the dream for granted.

I discovered after I resumed work that out of the ten people called for the interview, only three of us were chosen and I was the only lady. I resumed work on April 2^nd because April 1^st was Easter Monday that year. This was barely two months after my passing out parade from NYSC.

It was all like a dream to me. I kept asking myself, “Is this how levels change, just like that?” I need to add that my first airport and airplane experience was on my job and all my journeys outside the shores of Nigeria have been via work assignments and trainings.

************************************************

When I entered into the year 2012, I had no idea I would be leaving the country before the year’s end. But I remember I asked after some female colleagues from another company on the rig and was told they were on short term assignments outside the country. One was sent to Morocco, another to the US and the third to another country. I missed them and at the same time I wished for such an opportunity to be on assignment outside the country for a few months. I’d been travelling out of the country for trainings before then, though, but our trainings last for a maximum of one month. I only wished, I didn’t pray, because it sounded like something too big to pray about and forgot it all. In April, my boss called me and asked if I would like to join a programme in my company at the head office in France, the implication was that I would be living in France while the programme lasted and by the nature of the programme, I would only be allowed to come home after being away for a stretch of six months. He added that I should think about it as he did not want me to cry on his neck later about missing home. I prayed-thought about it and I gave him my affirmative response. That was how the processing started. I travelled to France in November, 2012.

Today I am in the US, with the same company and I didn’t lobby for being here either, God did it Himself, that’s a story for another day. Incidentally, I came to the US at about the same time my former boss in Nigeria got transferred to the US as the ops manager. I must say this that it is not that everything has been perfect and smooth, of course there have been a lot of tough times, but the Lord has been my succour through it all.

I know that where I am is a place to pass through, so I am enjoying it while it lasts, I have a bigger picture which will definitely come to pass by God's grace.

I AM BEAUTIFUL

There was a time in my life it was difficult for me to accept that I was beautiful. In my heart of heart I knew I was, but I longed to hear people tell me so. People said so sometimes, but I was not satisfied. You know how it is that people don’t care to pamper you all around again because you are no longer a small girl that they would be singing ‘Fine girl’ for every now and then. I remember how I asked my younger sister one evening if I was beautiful, she said yes (I am laughing now at the memory, it wasn’t funny then), but I still had difficulty accepting that truth. Those days I would look into the mirror and rebuke my reflection, ‘Stop looking at me! You’re not even beautiful.’ Oh my God, I cringe at those actions now; I can’t imagine I actually said those mean things to myself.

Not believing that I was beautiful was not enough; it was difficult for me to see beauty in others. A lot of times when I saw another lady for the first time, the thought that would ring in my mind was, ‘She is not fine.’ But it got to a point that the Lord brought my wrong to my face and I realised I had been in error thinking others were not beautiful. I also realised through God’s word that I was fearfully and wonderfully made and that when the Lord made me, He said I was good. So I started confessing positively. I would look into the mirror and consciously reverse all the horrible things I used to say to myself. I would talk about how beautiful I was and also use the word of God. Sometimes I would feel like bursting into tears but I did not give up.

Those days, it was a common phenomenon for mirrors, especially car mirrors and windows, to ‘abuse’ me. It was either my head was too big, too small or my eyes were looking somehow. I didn’t like looking into car mirrors because I was sure I would behold a horrible reflection. It was also difficult for me to accept a picture of myself was nice until days after I initially collected it from the photographer. But when I realised the enemy had been playing with my mind by bringing those self-depreciating thoughts and making them look like mine, I would ensure I looked at the mirror/window of every vehicle I passed by and would tell myself loudly how beautiful I was even if what I saw staring back at me was not encouraging. I would add that the image in the mirror just appeared that way and that it was not a true representation of my face. At the same time, I would allow myself to agree that a new picture was fine even when my mind was screaming no. I also started to consciously think beautiful of everyone I had been seeing as unbeautiful and every new person I met. Sometimes, I would be fighting verbally debunking the lies of the devil about anyone he tried to tell me was not fair to behold. I would tell him that even if the person did not have much good looks, all I know is that she was beautiful, final.

With time I stopped seeing warped images of myself in car mirrors and windows. So who was I seeing before? It was a psychological thing. I was seeing what I was seeing in my mind. Even though my face was beautiful, I couldn’t see the beauty (or wasn’t certain of it) until I worked on my mind and let go of those wicked thoughts. (Yes they are wicked, there is nothing kind about thinking of yourself as not beautiful. Some people ended up committing suicide because of struggles as these). Also, I started seeing beauty in everyone I met. Till today it is difficult for me to assert that someone is not beautiful or handsome. I try to find beauty in everyone and even if I cannot really see good looks in a person I overlook it and still see the person as beautiful. And yes, I am beautiful. I don’t need people to tell me the way I craved for it then. It is enough that I know what God my Father says about that, so if people don’t say so, ba wahala, no problem. The truth is people will not be telling you everyday how beautiful you are, so if you don’t get to a point where you know and are sure that you are beautiful, you will be frustrated because people don’t tell you so everytime. By the way, how many people have you yourself taken time to compliment on their looks?

To you my reader, you are beautiful too. If you are battling with accepting yourself as beautiful/handsome, I recommend the method I used for you, it doesn’t fail. Of course it will take a process of time. Find out from the Bible what God says about you. His words boost confidence more than any inspirational quote can because they are spirit and they are life.

I am not ashamed at all to share about some struggles I once had. I know a lot of people had these struggles and many still find it difficult to see themselves as beautiful.

Cheers!

Ayobami (PreciousAY)

Blessed Assurance

I was a bit indisposed this past week, menstrual cramps palaver. Thankfully, we were not drilling at the time and my absence would not be a problem, so I was excused from work. It was not easy because I had to roll to and fro on my narrow cabin bed trying different postures, while I groaned holding my tummy, that would help minimise the naughty pain. My colleague told the medic for me and he came with some pain relief drugs and a heating pad for my tummy. Pain is not good o, I still trust God for a pain free menstrual cycle and will not give up. (When I was finally okay, I was glad I could sleep anyhow I want without having to assume any special posture).
So on Saturday, I managed to work for six hours, but my colleague excused me when she saw I was still contorting my face. On landing on my bed, I worried. I worried because it was Saturday,  our emergency drill day. We hold emergency drills at 9 o' clock either in the morning or in the evening on Saturdays. I had no idea if it was scheduled for 9am that day. But then, I was calmed by His peace because I reasoned that God knew I would be in that state and would prefer to be lying down to rest because of the pain, as such He would have ensured ahead of time that the drill was fixed for the evening. And that even if it was to hold that morning, it would be delayed till evening time. With this in mind, I went to sleep. I didn't decree or declare anything, I knew it was a settled case. And that was it, my rest was not disturbed because the drill held in the evening when I was already strong.
Thinking upon this, I could relate it to a bigger matter like marriage. If God could go ahead of me to ensure that the schedule for a weekly drill on a drilling rig favoured me, how much more would He perfect everything that concerns my marriage. Although I am done from the school of worry on this matter of marriage, but this was a good analogy for me and I am much more at rest and encouraged in the Lord my God.
I hope someone else is encouraged too.

A Good Neighbour

A few minutes ago, I heard a knock on my door. I hurried downstairs to see who it was. It must be the pest control people that I learnt will be coming every second Monday and Tuesday of the month, I thought in my head. On opening the door, I saw a middle-aged man with a big shoulder bag, smiling and pointing his finger. I still thought he came for pest control until he spoke up, his finger towards my door.

"Your key."

My gaze shifted immediately to my door and there was my key, in the lock. My right palm flew to my mouth as I exclaimed, "Jesus! Oh my God!"

I was so grateful and thanked him profusely. He told me he always tries to look out for other people and went away smiling.

And to think the key slept there in the lock all night and till this afternoon when that good neighbour noticed it. I'm thankful no evil person saw it.

MYLES MUNROE

"Thank you for giving to the Lord
I am a life that was changed
Thank you for giving to the Lord
I am so glad you gave"--Ray Boltz

Adieu Myles and Ruth Munroe.

I was shocked to the bones when I saw a friend's update on my Facebook homepage a few minutes ago stating Myles and Ruth Munroe's death. I later learnt their daughter was in the aircraft too.

The first time I encountered Myles Munroe was in 2006 as an undergraduate who was newly elected as an executive member in her fellowship on campus. It was basically my first experience of serious leadership. I read a psychological book on leadership and the ideas I got from there were not helpful at all in leading my unit members. I was frustrated.

Then, there was this long strike and I went home. I explained my frustrations to my sister and she gave me Myles' book, Becoming a Leader,to read. I prayerfully digested the book and set principles for myself. By the time the strike ended and I got back to school, I was a different unit coordinator. My members knew I was never going to take a no for answer anymore.

Myles Munroe taught me that leadership in the house of God is theocracy and not democracy. It now depends on the leader to carry his/her members along and ensure everything done is according to the dictates of God. Since then I had been reading his books and had learnt much more. He taught me, that as a multi-talented person, I can make the full use of each of my gifts and excel at them. He taught me that you could be highly prosperous and still love and fear God with all your heart. It always awed me how he got that wisdom and knowledge for almost all areas of life.

I had hoped I would meet him before I get home, but God understands. Your legacies speak on. I can't ever forget you. No one who had read you, listened to you, or meet you in person would ever do.

A TALE OF MY PHONES

I got my first phone in 2005 from my mum. It was an LG flip phone. I loved it so much that I was wearing it around on my neck everywhere. It wasn’t a camera phone, but it had a lot of effizies (An English word invented in Nigeria meaning ‘special effects’). You could set it such that everytime you flipped it open you heard some beautiful sound. I used it for two or three years after which it started to misbehave. So my mum got a Nokia torch phone for me instead and I gave the old LG phone to my younger brother. In my house, we have a way of pampering phones, that LG phone was wearing a jacket almost all the time it was with me and by the time I had to let it go, it was still looking new except for its issues.

My second phone—the torch phone—though without special effects, was a blessing too and I pampered it also. It did serve me well until I went to the NYSC orientation camp in Rivers State. One day, I went out of my dormitory and I left it on the bed. It was gone by the time I came back. No one owned up to taking it. I suspected two of the ladies on nearby bunks, although we were all looking for the phone together. It was painful as I had many precious contacts on it, some of which I could never get again. I thought I would find the phone before the end of the camp, but the thief’s heart was hardened, she refused to release it.

At the end of the orientation camp, we all dispersed to our different places of primary assignment, mine was in the state capital. We had to go to the NYSC office in our local government areas as fresh otondos after camp. One of the first few days after camp, on my way to my local NYSC office, I saw one of my bunk neighbours on camp. We were glad to see again and we exchanged pleasantries. It was a tough day at the office as there were a lot of people, so it was tiring. Anyway, I finished what I went for and returned home. At home, I had to rummage my bag in search for something when my hand touched a flat object. I brought it out and it was my Glo SIM card, the one that was in the stolen phone. Was I dreaming? How did the SIM card enter into a bag I didn’t take with me to the orientation camp? I arrived at the NCCF family house a night before I went to the orientation camp, so I took with me to the camp only what I would need. Definitely, the thief saw me in town that day and stylishly dropped the SIM card in my bag. So who was the thief? Then, I remembered the lady I met in the bus (she was my chief suspect when the phone was stolen).

All this while, I was still phoneless. One evening, a brother gave me an old Nokia camera phone at the family house. He told me I could use it till I could get another phone. I was very grateful. Even though the phone was really old and had some issues, it was an answer to my prayer. Sometimes later, another person gave me his old Motorola phone, making two. The second phone too had a few hiccups, but I could use it. Later, I was able to save three thousand five hundred naira (I served when corpers were earning nine thousand seven hundred and seventy five naira) and I gave it to three of my exco brothers who were going to the Computer Village beside Oil Mill in Port Harcourt to get a good phone for me. (I was a member of NCCF’s state executive council and we refer to ourselves as brothers and sisters, hence the usage of ‘my brothers’). I reasoned they would be able to buy better phones since they were guys. These three young men came back with a nice looking phone, a Sony Ericson camera phone. I was glad. But my gladness was short-lived because after three days, the phone started to act funny. Afterwards, one of my exco sisters gave me another phone, that one too was not wholesome. I had four phones in all, but all of them were not equal to one.  Sometimes I had to hit them hard to get what I wanted from them.

We eventually passed out as corpers and God gave me a job barely after two months of passing out. After a while, I bought a blue Nokia camera phone, Express Music. I loved this phone and I was satisfied with it. After using it for a while, friends started pressing me to get a blackberry phone, but I wouldn’t.  Blackberry was in vogue then and it was like a class thing. I hated that, and by the way, my Express Music was giving me everything I wanted. I remember telling a friend then I would never buy a blackberry if I didn’t see the need for it. In November 2011, pickpockets picked the phone from my backpack in Ibadan. I bought another Express Music, same colour.

The following year on the rig, I mistakenly left my precious phone in my coverall and sent it to the laundry. I rushed down to the laundry room immediately I realised this. Gosh! The coverall was already in the machine. The laundry man pulled it out and dug out my phone from one of its pocket and he advised I dismember it and sun-dry the components. I did that. I placed the components on one of the sills of my work cabin. There was a puddle a few inches away on the floor, but it was safe on the metallic sill. I went for lunch and I returned to a blank sill. My colleagues didn’t pack it for me. I was afraid it was wind-blown into the sea. A few days after, one of my colleagues heard an announcement made at the safety meeting he attended about a phone found in a puddle. He made enquiries for me about who it was with. Unfortunately, the person was on his time off. So I had to wait till the person was back on the rig. When he returned, I was back in town, so my Columbian colleague collected it for me, hoping to drop it at our base in Port Harcourt before he would travel to Columbia for his time-off. He forgot to drop the phone. The phone went to Columbia, came back after a month and then I got my phone.

I had that phone till I changed my mind about blackberries last year. I now have three phones and each is equal to one phone in its own right. Lest I forget, two of them are wearing armours and the one lacking looks well kept.

PASTOR TAIWO IREDELE ODUBIYI

I love this woman of God! I first met her in 2002 in my pre-degree days. My friend Oluwatoyin was reading 'Love Fever', one of her books, which she got from someone, and she lent it to me to read. I enjoyed the book and learnt a lot from it. I remember Toyin and I making commentaries on the book, on how Tosin was stubborn and how her husband did not help matters either because he was insensitive. To me, it was unforgivable that Ladi forgot Tosin's birthday. We oohed and aahed about how Tosin narrowly escaped being dashed HIV by Joe and were glad everything ended well after the turbulence.

Anyway, that was the first book that taught me that it is not only men that have fall into extra-marital affairs, women do too. Now I am talking about a Christian marriage that has its foundation on Christ Jesus. I have understood from books and shared experiences that many genuine children of God who fall into adultery in marriages do not set  out to cheat on their darling spouses, it always start with innocent gestures.... So, I learnt not only to pray ahead against strange women in my marriage but also against strange men....

I have read several of Pastor Taiwo's books since then and I was never disappointed. She is a Christian relationship/marriage minister and her books are mostly romance fictions. They are stories that feature different scenerios in relationships--especially courtships and marriages. Those stories teach you all you need to know about godly relationships, how you behave in courtships and marriages, what to do when you find yourself in a particular shoe. They are excellently written in good and simple English and apart from learning godly principles from them, they are enjoyable stories as well.

I recommend Pastor Iredele's books, you won't regret reading anyone of them. God bless her more.

TINY ME

“You’re so tiny!”

I have heard those words in different forms and paraphrases all my life. As a kid, I used to protest vehemently, telling whoever said them I was not that little and that (s)he was just a few inches taller than me. I remember a classmate in JSS3 (Junior Secondary School Three), she would look at me, mischief lacing her eyes and would exclaim, “Ayo, you should be in Primary Two” followed with a peal of naughty laughter. I would flick my fingers and forbid it. Ayobola!

This informed why when I went for my medicals in my pre-degree days and I stepped on the balance the doctor was surprised. He said, “Is this your weight?! You should be eating ten times a day!”

A lot of times I have had to trim clothes to my size (to be fair, I still get my size in the market, just that I will have to walk around a lot to get it) and I would always pout and ask why some designers do not consider people like me when they are designing their products. Thank God for my younger sister who learnt to sew, she had made a lot of fitting wears for me. I think that’s actually the best for me, having someone to design my wears for me. I still shop for clothes and every time I see a wee size that I love, I grab it with immediate alacrity.

And I don’t think my size is because I don’t eat. I will not say I eat a lot, but my appetites are better now compared to the way they were earlier this year and a few years back.  I used to eat a lot on campus and it never showed. My friend, Tope, would tease me and ask if the food was going to my head. Someone even suggested deworming. (I do not regularly deworm. The last time I actively dewormed was before mom died. But I do not have worms, I know.) So, I heeded the advice and used the drugs, well, there were no worms. I guess that’s just me, delicate and dainty.

When I was at the NYSC orientation camp, people would ask if the hairstyle I had on was all my hair—I had single twists on. I would reply yes and they would say, “It’s what you should use to add weight that your hair is using.”

However, I have noticed a trend in my life. I have always found myself doing/handling things ‘bigger’ and ‘stronger’ than me. I studied geology, a course ‘stronger’ than my frame. I was graphics coordinator in my fellowship back on campus. Being a graphics coordinator in my fellowship was not beans, it was very tasking and considering the fact that I am small, it appeared ‘bigger’ than me. As a Jesus Corper, I was State Chief Usher/Landlady. That was another tasking assignment. And eventually I became a rig worker. It is quite unusual to find a person of my size on the rig. Some guys had asked me before if my mama and papa knew if I was working on the rig. Poor guys, my size fooled them. There was a time on a rig when the company man remarked on seeing me and another female colleague that he wasn’t running a kindergarten on the rig (that was my fault though).
 
Sometimes last year at training, I was chatting with my colleagues and I mentioned something about when I was small. One of them looked at me, amused, and said, “You’re still small!” =D . Two hitches away while at the heliport, I already had my weight taken, but I was called back again after a while to confirm my weight which was 90 pounds then. And this last hitch, I was weighing 92. The woman that took my weight lowered her voice in a whisper and told me she weighed 92 pounds twenty years ago when she got married. She was trying to get back to that size, she said, as she had lost about 90 pounds (if I remember correctly).

But this size was instrumental in getting me my job. I went to gatecrash with some other brethren from the NCCF family house and it was my size that made the security guard who allowed me in to my company base to write the test notice me. Sometimes last year though, I was supposed to work in Canada for six months on a short term assignment, but the assignment ended up being a vacation of one month and five days. Why? Because in Canada, they fly on choppers with flight suits and not life jackets, but there was no flight jacket small enough for me and the process of getting a customized one would take more than six months. Anyway, I never saw my weight/size as a disadvantage still, even though it wasn’t easy on me at that time. I will always know that my size is not a disadvantage and that God uses the weak things of this world to shame the strong.

I am adding little by little, but I must not over-add. I am not tall, so I do not want to become a bottle. I have a target weight which I told God I don’t want to exceed, except if I get to that point and I realize I could do with a few more pounds. I still want to be able to jump and skip around, I love doing those.  I am Ayobami Temitope with a high metabolism rate and I love being me. I am beautiful, delicately and intricately made by the Greatest Artist.

“For You created my inmost being;

You knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

Your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.” Psalm 139:13-15

PROPHECIES

In December 2010, I was at a weeklong convention with a dear friend. We were divided into groups for a specific session of the convention and my friend and I joined the singles’ group. During one of our singles’ group meetings, the minister asked us to write down by faith our wedding dates on a sheet of paper each. He stated that he understood some people did that before but they shouldn’t give up, they should write it again. So, I wrote and my friend wrote. If I can remember very well, I filled in July 2011. I did this because I frown at short courtships, for me a courtship should not be less than six months at least. I met some other ladies there and they wrote down their wedding dates too. We were all excited because we were cocksure 2011 was our year, we knew the Lord would honour our faith. None of us was engaged then, but we were sure the Lord would settle us somehow.
Fast forward to now, I am not yet married neither is my friend. I lost contact with the other ladies we were together at the camp except for one and she got married in 2012 or sometimes last year. What am I driving at? It is the fact that a prophecy spoken by a servant of God at a particular point in time is not meant for everybody under him at that time. It might be for just one person. Shout and jump all you can, if it is not for you, it is not for you. I’m sure that wedding-date-writing exercise was meant for some people that day and they would have been married on the exact dates they specified in their papers. Does that mean my friend and I did not have enough faith? Yes, we did have faith; we didn’t doubt that we would be married in 2011. I’m certain it wasn’t just our time (as much as we didn’t want to see it that way).

Another thing I’ve learnt is that when you log on to a particular prophecy, if you are not careful, you might get a fake fulfilment before the real fulfilment comes. (Note that I do not claim all prophecies. If a prophecy doesn’t correlate with the soundness of the Scriptures, I ignore it and there are some prophecies I know are not for me.) I claimed a prophecy under a programme during my last few days on campus. It was about getting a marriage proposal before the month ended. I claimed it with so much faith and a few days later I had a very STUPID proposal from an acquaintance I was trying to lead to the Lord then. I would have fallen into the trap of a wrong relationship if I didn’t have the understanding that there are some men you don’t even pray about when it comes to marriage. For someone else, it would have been the ‘fulfilment’ of the prophecy, for me it was a manipulation from the pit of hell.

I never doubted the authenticity of those ministers because I understand that God has a time for everybody and prophecies spoken forth during a service or programme are not for everybody.  I was under another programme just after NYSC and there was a prophecy that someone would get a turnaround before the end of the first quarter of that year. I claimed that prophecy with the same enthusiastic faith I’d always used to claim prophecies. I finished my national service in February that year and I got a cream job before the end of March. But there were other people under the programme that evening that didn’t experience a ‘spectacular’ turnaround that season. God is still God and is yet for them. We only have to understand that no matter how many prophecies we key in to, God will do what He will do when it is beautiful in His eyes.

So, fellow yoke-bearers, I want to encourage you with the same encouragement I have been encouraged with. When you get a seeming answer to a prophecy you are holding on to, test it with the word of God and pray about it. Do not just rush for it as a fulfilment to the prophecy, it might not be. Of course, you have to pray prophecies forth into physical manifestation, but if after you have done all it doesn’t come at the expected time, hold on for His time. Rest on the Lord and trust Him. His plans and purposes will be realised in your life.

You should also know the Lord for yourself, as such, you can discern prophecies that are for you or not. Why, because prophecies are meant to confirm what you have received from the Lord yourself. And do not forget that all His beautiful promises are hinged on only one condition—pleasing Him. Is your life pleasing to Him? Are you sure He is pleased with you? I am writing to fellow yoke-bearers, to fellow little christs, to fellow Christians. Know that pleasing Him is not by power, He works in you to will and to do according to His good purpose. Tell Him to help you live a life that gives Him smiles. MARANATHA!

PS: You can join us to bear the yoke too. Sign up today through our Lord Jesus Christ. His yoke is easy and His burden is light. (Matthew 11:28). Jesus loves you, He came to save you from your sins, to give you eternal life (salvation from eternal damnation) and to help you live an abundant life through thick and thin while on earth.

DADDY

This had been in my head since I awoke, but I had a busy day, so I couldn’t type it. By the way, it’s still Fathers’ Day here, so it’s not too late.
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When I was a five-year-old in Primary One, I didn’t know how to read properly. My father let me play during that session. But the long vacation between Primary 1 and Primary 2, he really coached me in those few months so that I learnt to read well both in English and Yoruba before resuming into Primary Two. While in Primary One, my classmates used to call me ‘olodo’ (‘olodo’ means a dullard), but in Primary 2, I became their boss in academics and they all curried my favour. I remember telling some of them when they would beg me for answers to some questions, “You people are now coming to me abi, sebi you tagged me ‘olodo’ in Primary 1?”

That was my dad’s efforts in manifestation. My dad was our (my siblings and I) first teacher. You dared not go to play when you were yet to finish the assignment he gave you. Who born monkey? He really drilled us. He taught my us to read both in English and Yoruba. He ensured we treated every exercise in all the Arithmetics, Mathematics and English textbooks we had at home. He monitored us through reading and answering questions in ‘First Aid In English’ and ‘Way To Success’ to solving problems in ‘Lacombe’. It wasn’t easy on us those days because we thought he was too harsh (though he was really too harsh at times). He made sure we read every night before we went to sleep. You couldn’t go to bed until nine, at least.

It always amuses me how some children these days take as final what their aunties or uncles (teacher) say, even when those teachers are wrong and their parents are correcting them. For me, it was the opposite. My dad always checked our notes everyday we returned from school.

One day in Primary 3, I missed some answers in an exercise. But there was a mistake in the correction my teacher put up on board, I didn’t know and copied it like that. My dad who always checked our notes after school saw the mistake and asked me to correct it. He was sure my teacher wasn’t aware of it. My mum saw the error too and confirmed it. The next day my teacher was not happy when she checked my note and she saw the alteration I made. I tried to explain to her that there was a mistake and my dad discovered it at home and asked me to correct it. She wouldn’t understand and reported me to my mum, who was a teacher in the same school. My mum tried to explain to her too. Well, whether she was satisfied or not, I knew my dad was right, and that she was wrong.

Another case was when my Primary Five class teacher marked a mathematical calculation wrong for me because I didn’t use the method she taught others during her extra-mural classes. (My dad thought it unreasonable for us to wait for lessons after school hours, so I wasn’t part of those classes. In actual fact, she didn’t teach us that topic in class, but I still answered the question and got the answer correctly because I was taught at home ahead of time by my father.) I went to show her my calculations in tears how I arrived at my answer imploring her to check my calculations, but she insisted I didn’t use the right formula. It hurt, but I let it go. I knew I was right, and that she was wrong.