Every disadvantage has an advantage...or so they say..

Ok, so sometime last week, I saw an email from the Commonwealth writers in my inbox and my heartbeat rate quadrupled. I knew it had something to do with the short story I'd entered into their 2015 competition. I wasn't really expecting to go far when I entered it, but I was still bummed to see the words "We regret that your story has not been successful on this occasion..."
Anyways, I've been thinking, and I think I'm going to self publish that particular short story. That might just be what will get me to get started on the sequel seeing as I've not written a single sentence since I entered the story in November last year....To whet your appetites, I'm going to post the first few paragraphs (or more appropriately, pages) as my next post to see if anyone will be interested enough to want to read on.
I'm really hoping everyone reading will be excited enough to buy the book when I share the link....No worries, it will be very affordable ;)
Oh, and please note this is a totally random post. I had no plans to put up a post today neither did I have any plans to share part of the story when I started this post. That idea popped up as I typed :D
Let's pray I don't change my mind!

on being nappy haired

A few days ago, I walked into a certain high commission's offices to submit a visa application. The receptionist took my passport, looked at my data page, raised her head up to look me in the face and this (to the best of my recollection) was what ensued:

Receptionist (R): Is that your own hair? (pointing to my picture in the passport)
Me: Yes
R: Are you sure?
Me: Yes.
R: You looked nicer like this (pointing to my picture in the passport) than now.
I must say at this point that now was me in a natural haired pony.
I only smiled and willed her to go on with the reason why I was standing in front of her. She got the hint and got on with her job - which was to review my documents ( why does that have to be the job of the receptionist though?) but it seemed like my present looks were haunting her and she couldn't hold it in any more. So the dialogue restarted.

R: I'm sure other people have told you same.
Me: Told me what?
R: That you looked nicer with your hair like this ( referring to picture in passport)
Me: No, no one has. ( I still managed to have a genuine smile on my face)
R: Why? Have you gone to join some church? (implying that I was wearing my hair in it's natural state as a result of religious compulsion)
Me: No I haven't.

This was when she resolved to get back to her work.
When all was said and done, she handed my documents back to me and repeated something along the lines of
"You looked nicer with your hair permed"
I replied "I wish I had the time to show you all the pictures of  me in my natural hair for you to decide yourself", thanked her and walked away.

The  week before this encounter, I had another natural hair dilemma. I was to be a bridesmaid for a very dear friend. When she told me that she wanted us (the bridesmaids) to wear a certain kind of hair weave, I told her NOTHING was going to make me wear a weave and that I intend to wear my hair natural. She accepted my decision. My interaction with one of the other bridesmaids however confirmed my suspicion - that they were all worried I was going to "spoil" the day with my hair. No,  she didn't say this in plain words but she was making snide remarks like "Madam NATURAL Hair" "So what are we going to do to our NATURAL Hair for the wedding?"

All this just made me ask myself - when are we going to accept ourselves as we were made? I have said it and I'll say it again, that  I have no issues with perming one's hair or wearing weaves. I wore my hair in perms for 5 years and I've worn weaves a few times and will wear if I FEEL LIKE wearing. That means I'm not a natural hair nazi. But when I have permed hair and weave nazis acting all superior, then I feel like tutoring them on self acceptance. I do not need straight hair to look and feel beautiful!!!!
In fact, I'm going to attach a picture of me in my natural hair to this post :p ...make that 2!

Anyone who thinks I'm not beautiful enough wearing my  natural hair can go burn the Atlantic for all I care :p

Devoted things...

I know anyone who's looking forward to a post from me will be expecting me to finish "Bill's Story" and get it done and over with...sorry to disappoint.
Sometime in December last year, I was having my quiet time and I decided to share my journal post for that day. After typing it up, I changed my mind. I just came across it this morning and I feel like sharing it so here goes :)

This post is me sharing my quiet time. I’m using the 2014 Our Daily Bread. I  was reading today’s Bible reading which was taken from Joshua 7:1-13 and before I got to the end of the reading, I knew I had to share my thoughts on it.

As I read, I asked myself, “what are the devoted things?” since they are what caused the Lord to be very angry with the Israelites. I didn’t really stop to research around what they consisted of, but when I got to  verse 4, a light bulb went off in my head, and I started to relate some things in my life as being equal to taking stuff which should have been devoted to God and turning around just like the Israelites did when things went wrong as a result of this to ask God “why?”.

 How many times have we not as Christians gone before God to ask him “Why?” just like Joshua did? He went before God, and asked him “Why?”.  I mean, God is sovereign. He knows everything and Joshua just didn’t get it! Why will this sovereign God allow his people to be defeated and to run away from their enemies? I cannot even begin to recount the number of times I’ve asked God “Why?” questions. My journal will be a testimony to that fact...but reading this today, I realised that just like the Israelites, I took stuff I should have devoted to God, made them mine and when things weren’t going as planned, I began to question God.

Sin is not only about the big things. Sin also consists of me refusing to completely hand over the reins to God. Choosing what I devote to him and what I do all by myself without his involvement....and choosing to bring him in later.

God’s reply to Joshua is so telling! He said they have devoted themselves to destruction! I don’t know if it was a play on words, but it’s poignant to note that taking God’s devoted things amounts to devoting myself for destruction. When instead of devoting my time to loving my Heavenly Father, I devote it to pleasing myself, I am devoting myself for destruction. I know it sounds so basic, but there is so much truth behind those words. The solution was for the Israelites to take away the devoted things from amongst them. God said they could not face their enemies until they did that. Father, my prayer is for your Holy Spirit to open my eyes to the things in my life that make it impossible for me to face the enemy so that I can take them away.

Forgiveness

This is an apology from the depths of my heart to everyone who's been waiting on me to finish Bill's Story.

Life got busy as usual. But in the midst of it all, I managed to convince myself to enter a story into a short story competition which closes tomorrow!

As I type, I'm yet to enter the story I've spent time writing over the last few weeks. The logical side of me is telling me there's no way I'll so much as get shortlisted. But there's this "you never know" side which is what is going to get me to upload that story and hit the enter button.

I let in on this because I know it'll help in the forgiveness process.

I sign out of this post knowing I've been forgiven.

Thanks Guys :)

Bill's Story 7.5

Let's call this "Bill's Story 7.5, not 8 as it is shorter than usual. I figured posting whatever I have written is better than waiting for it to get longer. I hope I wasn't wrong.

And pleaaaasssse I want feedback! I need to know if I'm boring you to death or not. I don't want niceties...just facts and constructive criticism. I know you're reading cos I check my hits :)

“What do you mean by “knowing Berth”?

“Oh, she was my roommate back in uni.”

I looked at her with disbelief, wondering whether or not to believe her. She had this look on her face. It was halfway between mischief and excitement. Before I could find the right words to express my surprise, she went on,

“I’d always pictured the woman you intended to marry as a church girl. But no, I was wrong!” Who would have thought Berth would make the cut for you who thinks kissing someone who’s not your girlfriend is a crime?”

“What are you going on about Amy? You’re not making sense to me.” My understanding of her words was that Berth had a side I didn’t know about.

She rolled her eyes and only said, “Bill, not wanting to believe what you’re hearing is not the same as not understanding it.”

“Ok, so are you saying that my Berth has a side I don’t know about?”

She only clapped and gave me a thumbs up. I was curious to know what more she had to say, but I only heard myself say,

“We’ve all got history. What’s more important is what we are now - the present. Now, do you want me to finish that massage or what?” I didn’t know why, but I was beginning to get angry. I sat on the bed, and not being one to give up, she placed her feet on me and said, “Yes please. I need it.”

I continued from where I left off in silence, thinking about whatever it was Berth had in her history books.

“Look Bill,” she broke the silence. “I’m not saying Berth has done anything in particular. For all I know, she’s born again.”

“What at all did she do that makes you sound like she is not the same person you knew? How long have you known me to even be in a position to be judging me and my girlfriend?” I pushed her legs off me and got up so I could glare down at her as I asked.

Her mouth dropped open at my outburst.

“How did I judge you?”

“You judged me by assuming my Berth has a past I know nothing about.”

“But you were the same person who said we’ve all got history a few minutes ago, Bill.”

“And how does that prove that I don’t know about whatever it is that Berth has done in the past?” I countered.

“Bill dear,” she got up, walked to me, cupped my face in her palms and continued, “You know deep down that you want to know what I know about Berth. The truth hurts. Are you really ready to know?”

I pushed her hands off my face “I asked what makes you think I do not know whatever it is that you know about her? I didn’t ask you to tell me anything.” I felt I had to stand up for my woman.

“I do not think Bill, I know that you do not know. You wouldn’t be with her if you did.”

She found her shoes, angrily wore them, reached for her bag and without a backward glance at me, stepped out. I was fuming at this point.

I reached for my phone and called Kwadwo. His groggy voice reminded me I was 5 hours behind Ghana.

“Sorry for disturbing your sleep, but we need to talk.”

"What is it mate?" I mentally pictured him sitting up as he sensed the urgency in my voice.

Bill's Story 7

Looks like I had a relapse....lol But thank God for recovery. Life got extra busy after my last post, but I managed to make time to continue with the story. Apologies for keeping you waiting....and please don't give up on me :) I promise to get better at writing and posting regularly.

“I don’t know what it is you’ve been inhaling since your arrival, but you definitely are hallucinating”

So, the logical explanation to this was that I was the one hallucinating huh?

“What do you mean by that? I’ve given you my timeline. How does hallucination play into this?”

I was looking at her waiting for an answer. I think something I said gave her an idea because she jumped to her feet, and raised her hands to her puckered lips, signalling me to keep quiet.

 “For starters,” she began, “You mentioned that you’d been asleep for 30 minutes. I think you should make that 24 hours and 30 minutes because today is Monday!”

She asked for my phone and showed me the time. It really was Monday.

I let out a sigh of relief, reached for the desk chair and sat down shaking my head, surprised at what I’d just put myself through.

“Is it medically possible to sleep for 24 continuous hours?”

“You mean 24 hours and 30 minutes?” She asked with cocked eyebrows. “Even if it wasn’t, you’ve just proven it is.”

She got up from the bed and walked towards me, beckoning with her index finger. “Now, get up and give me that hug. You can’t say you are not excited to see me.”

Truth was, I did not even know how I felt about her presence. I had a foreboding about it.  I still walked into her open arms and gave her a hug.

“So, tell me what you are doing here. Where is Ralph?” I sat on the bed and she sat by me.

Instead of answering me, she scooted away from me, propped the pillow against the wall, leaned against it and said,

“My legs are killing me. Mr. Daniels did not try at all! Aaaba!”

I didn’t see the connection between my question and her statement. I did not even see the connection between her two statements!

“What has Mr. Daniels got to do with your legs Amy? And how does that answer my questions about why you’re here instead of Ralph?”

If she heard me, then she showed no sign she did. She lifted her feet off the floor, placed them on my thighs and with a dramatic wince, requested of me,

“Bill dear, could you please massage my feet for me? They are killing me.”

I wanted to protest, but it looked like such a harmless request and she seemed to be in genuine pain. I only wondered how she managed to walk in with no limp in those 6 inches if her feet were really killing her as badly as her pained face implied. I figured some things could only be understood by women.

I felt obliged to apologise for my poor massaging skills before I even touched her feet.

“I’m really sorry for the torture I’m about to subject your feet to in the name of a massage.”

She cooed at my touch, “oooo, this torture is going to be heavenly”.

I laughed not because I found it funny, but because I was beginning to feel tense and I had to find a way of letting it out. I felt I really should not be doing this. The “ooo” and “aaaa” sounds she was making with each stroke of my fingers was disconcerting. Sending my mind places I’d rather not have it go. On remembering I had some deep heat in my bag, I began to gently set her feet aside to go for it.

“Are you done already?” She did not hide her surprise. Her eyeballs looked like they were going to fall out of their sockets.

“No, I’m just picking something to help me in my job as a masseuse.”

“Alright then.” She lifted her feet off herself. I noticed there was no wince of pain this time.

“My massage seems to have already started working”, I teased as I headed towards the wardrobe to search for what I needed from my bag. I heard my phone ring as I searched. It was Berth’s ringtone. I stopped searching and turned around to go answer it but Amy had already picked the phone from the bed and was just staring at the screen, I figured she was “admiring” Berth’s picture. She didn’t notice me at the foot of the bed waiting for her to hand over the phone to me. With her eyes still fixed on the screen, she called out a little too loudly,

“Bill! Berth is calling!”

“Stop screaming Amy, I’m right here.”, I whispered to prove to her she really was screaming.

“Oh, my bad.”

 She seemed to have taken offence. She handed the phone which had stopped ringing by this time to me and made her way to the bathroom. I knew it was an attempt to give me privacy to talk. This time, she walked with an exaggerated limp with each step accompanied with a groan. I waited for Berth to call back and was greeted with,

“What took you so long to answer? I was beginning to get worried,”

There was no way I was going to answer that question. I replied with my own question,

“Why are you now calling? I was beginning to get worried too but didn’t have enough credit to call you!”

“Well, you asked me not to waste my credit calling because you were going to get a call card and call me from the hotel landline. Have you forgotten already? Ei, who have you used up all the credit on?” I knew she was only joking so I only laughed in reply.

“Well, the MTN lady has just given me my warning! Can you imagine I bought 5 cedis worth of credit and i’m being told this after less than 2 minutes of talking? She didn’t wait for me to respond. I’m going to ta-“

The line went off and I knew her credits had run out. I called her back.

“Ei, I thought you said you did not have enough credit to call me Bill”

Oh no! What was i supposed to say to this? Fact is I had credit but did not call her earlier as promised because I had company, but I knew better than to tell her that.

“I’ve some credit on my phone. I was going to use the call card so we could talk for long. I only called back to let you know I’m in a short meeting with my colleague going through our presentation for tomorrow and I’ll call back after that.”

“Oh, that’s fine then. I was going to ask if Ralph was able to make it. Let’s talk later then. Love you”

“Same here”, I replied. “Let’s talk later.”

As if on cue that I was done talking, Amy stepped out, took her position on the bed and said,

“Next time, feel free to reply “I love you too” in my presence. Knowing Berth, she’s going to pick up on why you said “same here” instead of that.”

I was confused. What did she mean by "knowing Berth?" Where did she know her from?

Bill's Story - 6

Looks like I'm winning this battle against "writing laziness". Here goes part 6...and please don't get tired. It'll soon be brought to an end ;)

For a recap, click on the links below

Bill's Story - 1

Bill's Story - 2

Bill's Story - 3

Bill's story - 4

Bill's Story - 5

I had an uneventful journey. Uneventful in the sense that for once in my air travel history, I did not find myself seated by a chatterbox who would not shut up for a second or a weirdo who repeats every single action I make. Prior to the trip, I helped Berth move her stuff to her end before she dropped me off at the airport. She was being uncharacteristically emotional about the whole moving out and my travelling thing, I almost asked her why she was doing it if she didn’t want to do it. I stopped myself because I knew it was only going to result in a lengthy talk about “this situation” in which she’s found herself. I let it pass.

I’d checked in, ordered my lunch through room service and was ready to sleep my jet lag off by 5pm after I’d called Berth to let her know I’d arrived safely. The meeting was planned to start on Tuesday. Enough time for me to get over this trans-atlantic flight. I jumped into bed ready to catch up on my missed hours of sleep.

I was woken up by a knock on the door. I groggily reached for my wristwatch from beside my pillow to check the time. It was 5:30pm. “That’s not possible”, I muttered to myself as I dragged myself towards the door, making a mental note to have the battery changed.

“Who’s there?” I looked through the peephole but only saw a mass of dark hair. Whoever it was had her back facing the door. She most likely thought she was knocking on the right door and was just waiting to be let in. I considered ignoring the knock and heading back to bed because I was expecting no visitors. I had not even informed my Yankee friends I was coming to town, and none of the people I know lived in Seattle. I went ahead and cracked the door open and the neck bearing the mass of dark hair turned around with a smile, waiting for me to let her in. I blinked and screamed my heart out.

“Noooooo!!!!” This could not be! I slammed the door shut and backed away from it. The knocks started again. This time, accompanied with mentions of my name.

“Bill, Bill, Bill?”

I remained silent, seated on my bed and staring at the door in disbelief.

 “Bill, are you not going to let me in?”

“Go away. I do not communicate with the dead.”

 I had heard so many stories of the dead appearing to people who were not yet aware of their passing. I had never for a second stopped to think if these stories were true or not. No one told me she was dead. That was just an assumption I was making. But going by all logic, that had to be the only explanation for how she could turn up in front of my hotel room when she was supposed to be in Ghana. How did she even know the hotel I was to be lodging in and my room number? She must be a ghost.

She snorted with laughter.

“Okay, Bill, I was looking forward to your surprise at seeing me turn up at your door, but I was not expecting this!”

I was not going to communicate with a dead person. No way. I remained silent.

“It’s been one long flight. I’m heading over to my room to rest. I’m in room 27, up on the next floor. See you later.”

I did not hear her retreating footsteps so I knew she was still waiting to see if I would change my mind. I remained silent and seated on the bed, still staring at the door when I sensed she’d turned to leave. That was when I called for her to wait while I tentatively headed to the door. My heart was racing with every step I took, and I didn’t know I’d been shaking until I touched the door knob. When I opened it, she looked straight into my eyes and asked with flames darting from her eyes,

“Do I look like a ghost?”

I was very confused. She did not look like a ghost. I did not even know what ghosts are supposed to look like.

“No”, I said with a vigorous shake of my head.

“So what was all that about?” The anger in her eyes gave way to concern. I was still rooted in position. She reached out for the door, opening it wider and making enough room for her to let herself in.

I closed the door, turned and watched her drop her handbag on the desk, kick off her shoes and make herself comfortable on my bed. All this while, she held my gaze, waiting for an answer.

“I’m confused.”

“Why?”

“I am confused because you’re not supposed to be here. I am confused because I only got in a few hours ago, had a late lunch and fell asleep for about thirty minutes and here you are in front of me when I know very well you were in Ghana when I was leaving. And you don’t expect me to be confused?” I was incredulous!

She only laughed, patted a spot by her side on the bed and beckoned for me to come take a seat. I shook my head and opted for the desk chair which only made her laugh harder.

“So now, I’m a ghost and you’re afraid to sit by me. I’m not a ghost.”

She got up and did a twirl as if that was to disprove her being a ghost. Whatever fears I'd had of her being a ghost had subsided at this point. I knew there had to be a logical explanation for this.