AS THE NATION SLEPT

I put on the television

As I sat on the sofa to relax

I stared unbelievably at the TV screen

The gory pictures moving me to tears

Dead bodies of fifty-nine young male students

Their school was attacked by insurgents

Teenage throats slashed with cutlasses

Evil murdered innocence

While the nation slept

It was the beginning of the end

More than two hundred girls went missing

In the middle of the night

For one month, the nation slumbered

Until cyberspace gave her a rude awakening

First came the denials

Then the blames

A committee was set up

A teary, dramatic episode on live TV went viral

The insurgents uploaded a video of the girls

Wearing hijabs, chanting Arabic

Then came the shock

Committee submits reports stating girls were actually missing

Defence Chief said they know the location of missing girls

But that they are being 'careful'

Weeks turned into months

A month turned into two, then three

The missing girls were all but forgotten

The daily bombings supplying immediate distraction

Leaders appear confused

Followers watch on helplessly

As vibrant lives go to waste

There is no civil war

Yet, there is no peace

Our collective lives hang by a thread

Soaked in the blood of the innocent

We pray for the best

But prepare for the worst

Explosions have ripped us apart

And fuelled hatred and suspicion

Like a raging fire

The nation burns

We stir and turn, then continue to snore

When will the bloodbath end?

When will our girls come home?

And how much longer shall we sleep?

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2014.

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams. For more, visit www.kelvinalaneme.blogspot.com

SMILING CLOUDS.

I remember the rose flower

We planted on Lovers' day

And your promise that no power

Will ever take you away

I remember the happy moments

All those pictures

Yes, I remember

And these memories are haunting me

I just saw a couple holding hands

Looking so brand new

And I thought what it would be like

If it were me and you

But you ruined it

Poured sand into our garri

You smothered our infant love

My feelings went up in smoke

As your jealous fire raged

You told me you love me

Love was blind, I couldn't see

I believed the words you spoke

And then my heart you broke

Now you are banging at my door

You are asking for more

But the locks have been changed

And the room you just vacated

Is now more than an empty space

I have decided to format

All our memories

I have decided to start

Afresh, bury my worries

I have decided to forget 

Everything you once told me

I have decided to break free

And embrace the new version of myself

The clouds smile as I paint the sun

On a new canvas

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2014. 

Follow on Twitter @dr_alams. For more, visit www.kelvinalaneme.blogspot.com

JUNGLE

He was once a harmless lamb

Grazing by the hillside

Scampering to safety with his siblings

As the lion's roar reverberated

He could see the terror in his mother's eyes

As she tried to keep them safe

But he was surprisingly unafraid

It was that day he saw her

The prettiest cub in the Amazon

Her confidence bewitched him

Her eyes charmed him

He left the flock, never to return

Trailing her as she moved with her siblings

She kept looking back

Soon they were walking side by side

'You look different,' she said

Her name was Dorie

His bleats made her laugh

She said it sounded like music

They became best friends

As they approached the den

He heard a familiar roar

Dorie's dad had sighted him from afar

He simply followed her lead

King lion roared again, glaring at him

He stood his ground and smiled

'He is different, Dad,' she said

And he became family

Lost the taste  for milk and grass

Blood and flesh were more satisfying

He mastered the art of hunting

Learnt to run faster than a gazelle

He grew the semblance of a mane

He could not roar, but his bleat sounded omnious

To celebrate his coming of age

He was taken by the pride to the hillside

To hunt for the main kill

He pursued an aged sheep and pounced on it

As his hoof smashed into her face

He saw that familiar terrified look

It was his mother

The pride of lions gathered chanting his name

In one swift move, she was torn into pieces

Her flesh tasted different in his mouth

Dorie found him outside the den

Staring blankly into the jungle

He had confided in her

Her response came in a soft whisper

'Eat, or be eaten'

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2014. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

ARROW

The archer  found her mark

Tearing through his left thigh

The poisoned arrowhead stuck out

Proudly decorated with pieces of flesh

His legs wobbled

As bright red blood oozed freely

From his thigh unto the sands

He glared at his adversary

His blood curdled by what he saw

The lady had reached into her quiver

Drawn another arrow

And was aiming at his head

His legs gave way

And he fell to his knees

Just in time to hear the second arrow

Whiz by above his head

He heard the girl laugh

Sweet, melodious laughter

He loved her voice

His head was spinning

He had lost too much blood

Feeling groggy

He fell flat on the ground

The sand was warm and inviting

And nearby, he smelt blood

His blood

He heard footsteps

A blow to his head jolted his departing senses

Was it the sole of a boot?

He tried to open his eyes

He could see the girl

Peering into his face, smiling satisfactorily

Her face was beautiful

But her eyes were cold and merciless

His stomach churned in anger

Summoning his last drop of strength

He pulled out the arrow from his thigh

And swiftly buried it into his adversary's neck

His body quaked in rigor

As the poison started taking effect

But his mind was calm

And he tried to smile

The dying groans of the young girl

Made pleasant music

As their bodies were ferried

Across the sands of time

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2014. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams. 

For more, visit www.kelvinalaneme.blogspot.com

THE ARMY WIFE

I feel his scars as I rub his back

Two marks from bullet wounds

Sustained in a peace-keeping mission 

He was scarcely around

But whenever he was in

The children played 'Soldier' with his boots

While I held him in my arms

Behind every strong solider

Stands a stronger woman

I wear no uniforms

But my job is as tough as it gets

I am the one always left behind

All alone during redeployments

My heart torn into twelve pieces

As I watch him march away

Loving a military man is tasking

Alone in the labour room

Consoled only by a phone call

I welcome and suckle the newborn 

While taking care of the other children 

I carry the family burden

On my fragile shoulders

Everyday as I watch the news

And read of bombs and deaths in papers

I hope and pray that he is alive

I try to stay positive 

Believing that he will be home safely

I have accepted my fate

Of perpetual uncertainty

I cherish every moment we share

I hold on to every touch

Savour every kiss 

I have memorized the feel of his skin

And the countless 'sweet nothings'

He whispers in my ears

I play it over and over in my mind

It makes my love evergreen

But here I am again

Hugging him and saying 'See you soon'

Committing him into God's hands

I cannot help but wonder

Will he come home to me?

Or...I cannot bear to contemplate

The unspeakable alternative 

So I try to stay strong

And clothe my breaking heart

With the courage of an army wife

©Frankie Agba, 2014.

Management: @dr_alams.

HADIZA

She is my northern beauty

All covered up in hijab

Draws her khimar over her bossom

Covered up in burqa when in public

Yet she radiates joy from within

She is chaste and virtuous

Face shining with purity

A reflection of dignity

Arousing reverence

She is very modest 

Different from the city girls

Soft-spoken, never raises her voice

Lowers her gaze as a sign of respect

Meek as a lamb

Innocent at heart

A maiden without blemish

A symbol of womanhood

My lady is very spiritual

Prays five times every day

She says the Fajr at dawn, Zuhr at noon

Asr in the afternoon and Maghrib at sunset

She ends the day with the Isha at night

As commanded by the prophet

She is Allah's own child

A jewel to behold

I was charmed since the day we met

I wanted a kiss

Craved for your touch

Longed for your warmth

'It is a sin against Allah,' you said

'We will burn in the fires of Jahannam'

So you declined it all

And my longings persisted

My love

I want to take you with me

And make you my woman

I want no other

I hope you will come with me

On a new, exciting adventure 

Will you marry a kafir?

Will you follow me to my people?

Will you be mine, O Hadiza?

©Frankie Agba, 2014.

Management: @dr_alams.

HER HAIR...

Long, luxurious and coffee-brown

It flowed down her neck

Wavy down to its last strand

It shimmered in the morning sun

As she hugged me, I kissed her neck

And inhaled deeply

The fragrance of exotic oils

I held it in my hands

Soft in texture, firm in consistency

I pulled a little

She squirmed

Then she laughed 

I played with it, made ponytails

Rolled the ends into a bob

I gathered it together

Fertile, brown, rich gift

Hers grow very fast and lush

It scintillates, it mesmerises

Many girls pay exorbitantly to have a taste

Of the magic inherent within

She sat in front of the mirror

I was standing behind her

'Do it,'she said, smiling

I took one glance at the treasure

Littered on the crown of her head

Then measuring off lengths with my tape

I cut

In the living room, two eager ladies

Paid for the packets she handed them

It was her hair

Now it is theirs

She smiled as she counted the money

It was enough for tuition and rent

Her new look radiated youth

She bubbled with energy as she walked

Her facial features were more prominent

And her hourglass shape stood out

I fell in love with her new hair

Short, curly and coffee-brown

Yielding obediently to the comb

Growing at the speed of light

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2014. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

BOMB.

10.20 am

The earth shook. 

The vibration from the loud blast sent Emeka crashing on the floor. He had stepped outside the hospital main gate to receive his younger brother who just arrived from the East to visit him. He could see Chinedu's smiling face as he waved at him, his traveling bag slung loosely over his right shoulder. Emeka smiled in return, weariness etched deeply in his face. He had been on call the previous night and work was hectic. It was raining lightly and his brother was  getting soaked. As he bid his brother to cross to his side of the road, he fumbled his pockets for his car keys to get his umbrella.

In that instant, hell broke loose. 

Gbiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimmmmmm!!!

10.35 am

Screams and shouts came from a distance. The wailing came closer. And the screaming louder. Emeka opened his eyes. They felt heavy. He could make Chinedu's face peering down at him. He was groggy. "Thank God you are alright," Chinedu said, helping him to his feet. Emeka looked around. The sight could have come from a horror movie. Bodies were lying on the road. From where he stood, he could see smoke emanating from the United Nation's Building. Part of the roof was collapsed. He could hear clearly the agony of the wounded. He turned to Chinedu. "What happened? " he asked, dazed. "They said a bomb just exploded," Chinedu answered, visibly shaken.

10.45 am

Ambulance sirens wailed nearby. Officials of the National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) arrived the blast site. Doctors, nurses and members of the rescue team were carrying bodies into the hospital. Emeka and Chinedu joined the rescue effort. The first person they carried was an unconscious middle-aged woman whose left leg was badly torn and hanging loosely. Emeka applied pressure to stop the bleeding artery at the back of the knee as they hurried to the Accident and Emergency. "Avulsion injury to the left lower limb with bleeding popliteal artery and hypovolemic shock," Emeka reeled out to the attending Casualty Officer who directed them where to lay the patient. 

11.00 am

The Emergency Room was a mad house. Bomb victims were brought in numbers. Some doctors were at the entrance triaging the patients. Those confirmed dead on arrival were sent straight to the morgue. Some victims had missing body parts. Others had bleeding lacerations. Crying patients were basically ignored and attention directed to the unconscious, 'silent' ones. A voice boomed in the overhead speakers. "All staff of National Hospital are needed at the Emergency Room to help with the emergency." 

Emeka was in the Orthopaedic team, stabilizing fractured limbs, suturing lacerations and arresting bleeding blood vessels. 

11.30 am

A pretty young lady was brought in, delirious with pain. Practically all her bones were shattered but internally. "Shola was working with UNICEF at the UN building. They were in a meeting at the first floor when the bomb went off," her mother told Emeka, in tears. Emeka took another look at the girl and shook his head in despair. "She has multiple compound comminuted fractures with possible internal haemorrhage. We will do our best but she will benefit more if flown outside the country."

12.00 noon

By midday, facilites at National Hospital have been overwhelmed. Outside the Accident and Emergency, some patients lay on wrappers, their wounds being tended to by health workers. Other patients being brought were referred to nearby hospitals.

The operating theatres were filled to the brim. Patients laid on the hallway, groaning in pains, doctors and nurses with bloodied theatre gowns rushing in and out of the rooms. Emeka discarded his blood-stained ward coat and gloves and changed into a theatre gown. The surgeries were endless. Sixty surgeries in all with about three hundred blood transfusions.

6.00pm

Emeka came out of the theatre physically drained. The rumblings in his stomach reminded him that he had not eaten since morning. His phone rang. It was Chinedu. "Where are you?" they asked each other simultaneously. "I am at the morgue," Chinedu started. "So far,I have counted forty-one dead bodies. Forty-one! Six persons were totally dismembered. Only few body parts assembled." His voice was shaking. "Meet me in front of the Emergency,"Emeka said. At the entrance of the Emergency, he met Shola's mum entering an ambulance. "We are flying her to France. Thanks for your help." Emeka smiled reassuringly. "It is well. She will pull through." He could hear her loud 'Amen' as the ambulance drove away.

7.00pm

Emeka switched on his television. The bombing was in the news. An Islamist group called Boko Haram claimed responsibility. Twenty persons were said to have died while sixty-eight were injured. Emeka and Chinedu exchanged surprised glances as the figures were mentioned. Chinedu shrugged and left for the kitchen. 

The United Nations Secretary General's message condemning the act was displayed as well as that of the Nigerian President. "We will do all in our power to bring the perpetrators to justice," President Jonathan said.

Chinedu returned with two plates of food but Emeka could not muster any appetite to eat. He relaxed on the sofa and closed his eyes. The events of the day kept replaying in his head. The cries. The blood. What baffled him most was the senselessness of the attack. He let out a heavy sigh. The message could not have been any clearer: The end is here.

© Kelvin Alaneme, 2014. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams

NUMB.

He started life on the streets

A tall skinny boy with an unsure gait

His eyes were bloodshot

Driven mad by hunger

He did anything just to survive

From hawking loaves of bread

To washing cars with sinewy limbs

He gazed longingly at the houses of the rich

Counted cars on the highway as they sped past

At night he will slither into a deserted motor park

And lay his head on a wooden bench

He often dreamt where he died

Lying prostrate in a cheap wooden coffin

His skin pale and ashen

He will suddenly awake to the chilly night

Goose bumps dotting his entire skin

Sometimes he thought about his mother

And wondered what she looked like

He knew only what he was told

His mother had given him up after birth

She wanted to go the University

And raising him stood in her way

He had ran away from the orphanage

And developed a strong hatred for school

He graduated into a thug

The most trusted of Chairman's boys

He sat in discussions and contract negotiations

He saw the wads of naira notes in 'Ghana must go' bags

Enter and leave the mansion

His loyalty was soon rewarded

Small contracts were tossed his way

The contracts grew bigger and his portfolio expanded

He metarmorphosed into a shrewd businessman

It was an election year

On their way back from a meeting

Chairman was shot

His gubernatorial ambition dead in the water

Before he gave up the ghost

Chairman made him promise to keep his family safe

He relocated Chairman's wife and daughter abroad

Settled them into a comfortable life

His empty left eye socket 

A constant reminder of that night

He took over the running of Chairman's business empire

Wealth multiplied exponentially

He always wore dark shades

Models scrambled for his phone number

Sprawling mansions and fleets of cars came

The frothing champagne tasted good

The gold-gilded railings of his penthouse suite felt smooth

He watched a wave break against the shore

The water scattered like a thousand pin-pricks

The gnawing emptiness he felt within

Was impossible to shake

His heart was dry, his soul parched

He has gone numb

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2014. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

BULLET...

It barely made a sound

Yet left evil in its wake

Bodies littered, congealed blood

Eyes wide open with holes on the forehead

Faces contorted in a smirk

Taunting death as it stretched its claws

It started out large

But grew smaller and more potent

Small metallic devils

To whose music, the war danced

All men succumb when it calls

Figures lying writhing in agony

The first group are hopeless

A knock on the skull

And death opens the doorknob

Those hit on the left part of the chest

Suffered a similar warped fate

Those hit in the belly

Take the long and painful road

But will eventually reach their destination

If no help arrives

Bent over and with bloodied hands

Trying in vain to stop

The oncoming rush of blood

The icy cold hand still awaits

With mixed certainty, though

Those hit on the limbs

Shattered bones, torn arteries

Delay can make the limb turn dark 

With a greyish-green, lifeless hue

The limbs is cut off

And tossed to the icy cold hand

The wounded man is safe 

A stump remains

As the machine guns continue to make music

Lifeless men piled up in mass graves

Cases containing these shiny metals

Arrive in their numbers

Many countries away

Briefcases exchange hands

The businessman counts his profits

At the war front

The General reports his progress

"We need more arms and ammunition"

His message is relayed, more cases arrive

After countless battles

The General is shouting, his voice hoarse

"When will the war end?" a weary soldier asked

"When we run out of ammunition...or men" The General answered

An ambush decimated the men

That night, with head hanging low

The General asked the voice at the other end of the line

"What is this unending war about?"

Just then a truck arrived

Bearing more cases

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2014. Follow me on Twitter @dr_alams

8 Things The World’s Most Successful People All Have In Common

By Eric Barker.

I’ve posted a lot about the strategies of very successful people: artists, scientists, business leaders…

Looking back, what patterns do we see?

 

Busy Busy

Daily Rituals: How Artists Work, examines the work habits of over 150 of the greatest writers, artists and scientists.

What did they all have in common? A relentless pace of work.

Via Daily Rituals: How Artists Work

“Sooner or later,” Pritchett writes, “the great men turn out to be all alike. They never stop working. They never lose a minute. It is very depressing.”

What did Stanford professor Jeffrey Pfeffer find when he looked at high achieverslike LBJ and Robert Moses?

60-65 hour work weeks were not uncommon.

Via Managing With Power: Politics and Influence in Organizations:

In a study of general managers in industry, John Kotter reported that many of them worked 60 to 65 hours per week–which translates into at least six 10-hour days. The ability and willingness to work grueling hours has characterized many powerful figures… Energy and strength provide many advantages to those seeking to build power.

When Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi studied geniuses for his book Creativity, he realized something fascinating about IQ.

No one who changed the world had an IQ under 130 — but the difference between 130 and 170 was negligible.

As long as you were past the 130 IQ threshold, it was all about how hard you worked.

(More on the work habits of geniuses here.)

 

Just Say No

Warren Buffett once said:

The difference between successful people and very successful people is that very successful people say “no” to almost everything.

And that’s what gives them the time to accomplish so much.

In Creativity, Csikszentmihalyi makes note of the number of high achievers who declined his request to be in the book.

Why did they say no?

They were too busy with their own projects to help him with his.

Achievement requires focus. And focus means saying “no” to a lot of distractions.

 

Know What You Are

In his classic essay Managing Oneself, Pete Drucker is very clear: ignore your weaknesses and keep improving your strengths.

In identifying opportunities for improvement, don’t waste time cultivating skill areas where you have little competence. Instead, concentrate on—and build on—your strengths.

This means knowing who you are, what you are and what you are good at.

Harvard professor Gautam Mukunda, author of Indispensable: When Leaders Really Matter, says this is key for leaders:

More than anything else, “Know thyself.” Know what your type is. …Think about your own personality… For instance, if you are a classic entrepreneur, you can’t work in an organization. Know that. 

(More on knowing your strengths here.)

 

Build Networks

Nobody at the top of the heap goes it alone. And those at the center of networks benefit the most.

Paul Erdos is the undeniable center of the mathematics world. Ever heard of “six degrees of Kevin Bacon”? Paul Erdos is the Kevin Bacon of math.

This is no exaggeration. In fact, it’s barely a metaphor — it’s just fact.

How did he become the center of the math world?

He was a giver.

I’ve posted a lot about networking and as great networkers like Adam Rifkin advise, Paul Erdos gave to others. He made those around him better.

Via The Man Who Loved Only Numbers: The Story of Paul Erdos and the Search for Mathematical Truth:

He knew better than you yourself knew what you were capable of…He gave the confidence that many of us needed to embark on mathematical research.

(More on networking here.)

 

Create Good Luck

Luck isn’t magical — there’s a science to it.

Richard Wiseman studied lucky people for his book Luck Factor, and broke down what they do right.

Certain personality types are luckier because they behave in a way that maximizes the chance for good opportunities.

By being more outgoing, open to new ideas, following hunches, and being optimistic, lucky people create possibilities.

Does applying these principles to your life actually work? Wiseman created a “luck school” to test the ideas — and it was a success.

Via Luck Factor:

In total, 80 percent of people who attended Luck School said that their luck had increased. On average, these people estimated that their luck had increased by more than 40 percent.

(More about creating luck here.)

 

Have Grit

Intelligence and creativity are great but you can’t quit when the going gets tough if you really want to accomplish anything big.

That’s grit. Perseverance. And it’s one of the best predictors of success there is.

Via Dan Pink’s excellent book Drive: The Surprising Truth About What Motivates Us.

The best predictor of success, the researchers found, was the prospective cadets’ ratings on a noncognitive, nonphysical trait known as “grit”—defined as “perseverance and passion for long-term goals.”

Researchers have found that grit exists apart from IQ and is more predictive of success than IQ in a variety of challenging environments:

Defined as perseverance and passion for long-term goals, grit accounted for an average of 4% of the variance in success outcomes, including educational attainment among 2 samples of adults (N = 1,545 and N = 690), grade point average among Ivy League undergraduates (N = 138), retention in 2 classes of United States Military Academy, West Point, cadets (N = 1,218 and N = 1,308), and ranking in the National Spelling Bee (N = 175).

Howard Gardner studied some of the greatest geniuses of all time. One quality they all had in common sounds an awful lot like grit.

Via Creating Minds: An Anatomy of Creativity Seen Through the Lives of Freud, Einstein, Picasso, Stravinsky, Eliot, Graham, and Ghandi:

…when they fail, they do not waste much time lamenting; blaming; or, at the extreme, quitting. Instead, regarding the failure as a learning experience, they try to build upon its lessons in their future endeavors. Framing is most succinctly captured in aphorism by French economist and visionary Jean Monnet: “I regard every defeat as an opportunity.”

Here’s Angela Duckworth giving a TED talk on grit:

(More on how to be “grittier” here.)

 

Make Awesome Mistakes

Failure is essential.

Losers like to hear that because it makes them feel better about their past mistakes. Winners use it to go make more mistakes they can learn from.

Always be experimenting. In his excellent book Little Bets, Peter Sims explains the system used by all the greats:

The mindset is what makes a big difference. The willingness to spend 5 to 10% of your time doing experiments will, over the long run, really open up that part of you that can be more creative and entrepreneurial, and yield, hopefully, some new opportunities that you hadn’t thought of before trying something.

You must wrestle with your ideas. Dissect, combine, add, subtract, turn them upside down and shake them. Get ideas colliding.

Via Zig Zag: The Surprising Path to Greater Creativity:

Successful creators engage in an ongoing dialogue with their work. They put what’s in their head on paper long before it’s fully formed, and they watch and listen to what they’ve recorded, zigging and zagging until the right idea emerges. 

How do you start? Do like the greats and keep a notebook.

(More on the creative process used by experts here.)

 

Find Mentors

You cannot go it alone. It can be hard to learn from books. And the internet makes it difficult to separate truth from fiction.

You need someone who has been there to show you the ropes. A Yoda. A Mister Miyagi.

Yes, 10K hours of deliberate practice can make you an expert but what makes you dedicate 10K hours to something in the first place?

As Adam Grant of Wharton explains, the answer is great mentors:

Why would somebody invest deliberate practice in something? It turns out that actually most of these world-class performers had a first coach, or a first teacher, who made the activity fun.

(More on finding the best mentor for you here.)

 

Sum Up

Eight things you can do to be like the best:

1. Stay Busy
2. Just Say No
3. Know What You Are
4. Build Networks
5. Create Good Luck
6. Have Grit
7. Make Awesome Mistakes
8. Find Mentors

© Eric Barker, 2013. www.bakadesuyo.com

BY THE SEASIDE...

The sound of the roaring wave

The wash ups from the tide

Sitting in my little cave

I watched the seaside

It was by this sea we met

Emerging from the waters

Your glistening body reflected the sunset

And your smile captured the twinkles of a million stars

The oysters brought back memories

Fragrant memories of love

Of our various victories 

And mysteries we are yet to solve

But now I’m all alone

Consoled only by your epitaph

Grief touches the marrow of my bone

And my heart is reduced to half

How could I have known

That rescuing my body from the shark

You will pay the supreme price with your own

And left on my heart your indelible mark

I remember vividly your mangled body

Just before your demise

Baby, it is you or nobody

I heard myself promise

And so I have inhabited this cave

Where our love had once abide

All in a bid to save

Our memories by the seaside

© Kelvin Alaneme. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams

TRAPPED...Part 6.

'Mummy, your phone!' Vicky entered the kitchen handing me the ringing phone. I smiled as I pressed it next to my ear. It was Dan. 

'How is your day going?' he asked. He sounded tired.

'Great, but stressful,' I replied. 'Just closed from the shop and trying to prepare food for the kids. How is work?'

'Work is good. I just returned from the hospital. I was planning on coming over this evening, let's say 7pm.'

'Okay o...How is madam?' I heard him chuckle. 'You can bring her along.'

'She is currently not in town but I will extend your regards.'

Dan and I have been good friends since I ran into him at the hospital five months ago. We had exchanged contacts that day and he came to see me after work. There was so much to catch up on. He said he had been devastated by the break-up and felt Jide snatched me from him. At a loss on what to do, he picked a JAMB form. And chose Medicine. 

'Why Medicine?' I asked.

'Because I figured six years will be long enough to forget you,' he replied, smiling. 'I channeled all my anger and frustration into study and it bore fruit. Sometimes, a break-up can be a wake up call.' 

Not for me, I mumbled. I was happy for him. At least, not everyone gets to suffer. He currently has a girlfriend whom he is planning to marry. Lucky girl. 

I put off the gas cooker and set the pot down. The jollof rice was done. 'Vicky!' I called out. She ran into the kitchen. 'Get me some plantains and the knife.' Victory was approaching four years and turning into a sweet little girl. She brought two unripe plantains. I smiled. 'These green ones are not yet ripe. Yellow ones are the ripe ones. And we fry only the yellow ripe ones,'I said, pointing to the ripe plantains lying separately beside the fridge. She returned with four ripe plantains. 'Is your brother still sleeping?' I asked. She nodded. When we finished frying the plantains, I prepared Uche's infant formula. The door bell rang. I checked my watch. 6.55pm. 'Coming!' I went to answer the door.

'Uncle Dan!' Vicky screamed, hugging him as he entered. The lights suddenly went off. 'Why did you take our light?' I asked him jokingly, as I groped in the darkness for my rechargeable lantern. It had been charging beside the television stand. I switched it on and went to lift the curtains and open the louvres of the windows to let in fresh air. ' Typical Nigeria,' Dan said, visibly frustrated. 'When will we start having constant electricity?' He sat on the sofa facing the television. 

'Constant?' I asked, amused. 'Do you know how much I spend on fuelling the generator at my shop? One thousand naira daily.That amounts to close to thirty thousand naira monthly. Only on fuelling generator!' 

Uche let out a cry. I ran to the room to fetch him. The blackout and the noise from nearby generators must have woken him. I picked his feeding bottle from the kitchen and joined Dan and Vicky in the living room. Dan was showing Vicky some pictures of animals in his phone.

'Mummy, what makes them take the light?' Vicky asked, turning to me as I fed Uche. I thought for a moment. 

'Maybe one of the workers just got bored and switched off the power to our street,' I said, smiling. Dan burst into laughter.

Just then, the lights came on. 'Up NEPA!' Vicky and I shouted. I handed over the baby to Dan. I switched on the fan, closed the windows and brought down the curtains. 'It is no longer NEPA,' he said. 'It was Power Holdings but I heard the companies have been sold.' 

'They can bear any name they like...let them just give us light,' I said, switching off the rechargeable lantern.

'What have you been feeding this baby?' he asked, holding the baby up.' He is as heavy as a year-old child.' Uche was giggling, displaying the two solitary teeth in his lower gum.

'Milk o! Infant formula,' I replied, beaming. 'This pikin sabi chop. Abeg, make I dish the food, jare,' I said, leaving for the kitchen. I returned with three plates of food in a tray and set it down on the dining table. I took Uche back to his cot and joined Dan and Vicky at the table.

After the meal, we returned to the sofa. 'How did your day go?' I asked, running my fingers through Vicky's braided hair. 'Great,' he answered. 'A very funny incident happened, though. A woman came in labour pains and we were monitoring the labour. Labour was progressing very well until the point of delivery.' 

'And?' I asked, wide-eyed. 

'The woman ran out of the labour room. She said the pain was unbearable.'

I couldn't suppress my laughter. Even Vicky was smiling.

'Was it her first baby?' I asked, still laughing.

'Surprisingly No,' Dan replied, 'It was her fifth pregnancy.'

'Fifth?' I asked, in disbelief. 'And she is just discovering that labour is painful? So what happened?'

'The matron and I pursued her down the corridor. We caught up with her at the end of the corridor and she delivered immediately. A fine baby girl. There on the corridor. It wasn't until after we delivered the placenta that we took her inside the ward.'

By now, I was reeling with laughter. 'Real drama!'

'No be small drama o! We had to send people away from the corridor to give her some form of privacy. Nothing wey person no go see for this Lagos.' 

He rose to leave. 'Thanks for the meal. It was awesome. It is probably the thing I miss most about you.' 

I was blushing. 'You are most welcome.'

I secretely wished he could stay a little longer. 'You said on the phone that you wanted to show me something.'

'Ahhh. Yes.' He brought a small box from his pocket. As he opened it, a gasp escaped my lips. At the centre of the pitch-black velvet lining the box was a diamond ring.

'What do you think?' he asked, noting the awe on my face.

'Perfect...emm...Very very beautiful,' I said, touching the rock adorning the ring.

"I was planning on giving this to Bola when she returns from her trip. Do you think she will say 'Yes'?" There was anxiety in his voice.

I placed my hand on his shoulder. "She will be the biggest fool in the world if she doesn't."

He smiled and gave me a hug. As I closed door behind him, I quickly wiped the tears coming to my eyes and tried hard to smile. Vicky was already fast asleep on the rug. I carried her into the bedroom.

As I watched the kids sleep, their expressionless faces occasionally contorting into a faint smile, it struck me how much they have made life worthwhile. Dan may have found love. But in these children, I found redemption.