Ephesus

I remember

2018-07-23T13:30:00.001+01:00

I remember

Some memories don’t go well with your self-confidence and have a habit of tearing you to pieces when you do not want it. You have two choices, sink it deeper into your psyche and make a determined effort to rationalize it. It is easier to tell yourself that you are an adult now and should be able to forget all that. It becomes an issue though when you discover that the scars that you never noticed are bad enough to discolour aspects of your life. It has dammed up to a level that demands you should have an answer. At the very least, maybe I really should express myself and give myself some sort of release. I need a release from the rages. I need to come to terms with the agony of self-rejection that has made looking into the mirror an embarrassment.

I remember

There was nothing I could pinpoint, I was about maybe six, and there was talk about some horrible thing that seemed to have happened to me. My mum would stare at me and cry, hold me close to herself and sleep off from so much weeping. I never knew why. Never asked mum and she is dead now. But I have questions that were never answered. They would never be answered.

I remember

She was supposed to be my cousin, very fair skinned with really brown eyes that were so light that they looked transparent to me. I would stare at her for long minutes wondering about her skin colour and those eyes. Each time she was going to have her bath, she would call me into the tin covered shack we called a bathroom. She would then rub at my chest and the lower portion of my body for long moments making strange sounds. Then she would wash me off. She would ask me never to discuss with my mum. That it was just a little game of preparing for a bath. I didn’t like the game, but I was mesmerized by those eyes so I did not tell mum. I didn’t like the games as she called it but I did not like my body either. It was not a conscious decision. I just didn’t like looking in the mirror and seeing my body. I remember I was in elementary school then, we went back to dad and when mum finally decided she wanted to live with dad, I opted to remain with my father. I felt safer with him. I didn’t ask why.

I remember

I was now in secondary school, the civil war had started. I was coming from the village to my father’s place and there was panic as news filtered through that the Biafran soldiers had taken over Ore, a town in the south-west of the country. It was the farthest they had gotten. There was panic in Ondo town. I was in a commercial bus in the park, the panic got to the park, the driver told all of us to step out of the bus, saying there was no way he could drive to the destination because the occupied town was halfway to our destination. The passengers dispersed. I found myself in an empty garage with my suitcase. I had nowhere to run to. I didn’t know a soul. I stared around and walked to the first house opposite the motor park and knocked on the door. People had closed their doors fearing the rebel soldiers were going to descend almost immediately on the town. The occupied town of Ore was only thirty minutes drive away. A woman fearfully opened a window to my timid knocking. motherly, I guess she stared at my small frightened frame and opened the door asking me brusquely in her dialect what the problem was. I answered her in English, the only language I could speak with ease if she could allow me to sleep anywhere so I could determine what I could do the next morning. It was evening and there was no way I could get transport to return to my village or get to my father that night.

Her compassion was instant, she simply opened the door, gave me a hug and asked me if I knew how to get to my father, that the news was dire. Most villages along the route to my father had been taken over by the rebels. I replied to her that I would have to find a way to get to my father. I said he would be worried as he already is aware I am in transit. She said she had an older son who would escort me the next morning to be sure I was safe. She called a tall hefty looking fellow, told him to vacate his room for me and she took me to the room. I really could not put my thoughts together as I was still in a state of numbed shock. I simply nodded thanks and followed her to the room. The young man gave me a long look and took some things out of the room. I went in sat on the age of the hastily made up bed and tried to be calm. Gradually the excitement of the evening settled into the stillness of a night. My saviour came to see if I had eaten and I said I was too unsettled to eat but that I would be fine. I assured her that my father would be waiting for me just as anxious to know if I was safe. She assured me that a driver would be ready to make the journey to my father’s place and her son had agreed to escort me so I would be safe and she said good night.

I tried to sleep.

Almost an hour later, the son gave a soft tap on the door saying he was sorry but he forgot something and he just wanted to fetch it. I opened the door to let him in. It was his room. He came in half naked with a towel tied to his midriff. He went straight to the drawer searching for whatever he was looking for. I returned to the bed and sat on it. He then came over to sit by the bed. In some instinct, I quietly drew my mathematical set from my bag and felt for the divider but said nothing. The door opened and another young man walked in and stood silently by the door. My fear left me but I was watchful. I didn’t feel comfortable but I didn’t feel fear either. The son of the house went on to tell me, he liked me and would like to be my friend. I started but said nothing. He then sat across the bed telling me he wanted to comfort me. I told him I was okay and held the divider very firmly in my hands. The one by the door spoke to him in the dialect. There was a whispered urgency to his voice. The son stood up abruptly and dropped his towel and I was face to face with male nakedness. It was a shock and I stared stunned. He pushed me back flat and I brought up my hands up gripping the divider with sharp pointed edges towards him. To this day I am sure I don’t know where the nerve came from as I told him very carefully and calmly, that I had every intention to use the divider to punch holes into him, or failing to do that successfully, I would kill myself before he has a chance to rape me. Then rage took over the shock as I hissed that I would scream the building down and fight him every inch. The boy at the door was obviously a lookout as he suddenly hissed that somebody was coming. He ran out, the would-be rapist gave me a confused stare. I pushed him from me and made for the door not looking back, another young fellow about my age was just coming through the front door. He held me and stared at the would-be rapist. He simply pushed me through a door.

I never knew what happened but I broke down as a young woman stared at me as I was pushed through that door. She was the sister to John, the boy who had pushed me through the door. John told her that he suspected that the landlady’s son was up to his tricks again but apparently I had refused to cooperate. He had imagined that I was some girlfriend playing hard to get. It was the sister that filled him on what had happened earlier in the day. He stared at me then in pity and told me very firmly that I was safe in their room. All three of us kept vigil for the rest of the night. They were from the east, the very tribe that had become rebels.

The next morning, I got ready to leave, the landlady, did not raise an eyebrow when she learned I had spent the night elsewhere. The son simply dressed and followed me to the park, he did not protest when John suddenly offered to come along. I got to my father without any further incident.

I ran into my father’s arms and collapsed into uncontrollable tears. He held me tightly trying his best to calm me down as I poured out what happened. He went still when I told him about the attempted rape. He left me in his room and closed the door gently after me. I never knew what happened to the wretch, because my father would always say with steel in his eyes and voice, that he thanked both boys very appropriately.

Our place was occupied for months and I stayed out of school for more than a term as the rebels seemed to be making bold advances. The village became emptier. One hot sunny afternoon the rebels came to our particular section of the village and arrested my father accusing him of abandoning the cause of the rebels. My father was very light skinned with tight curly hair and looked very much like an Igbo man. He could not even speak the language but they insisted he was lying and loaded him into a truck with other rebel soldiers. As we all wept, he looked at me, smiled and said ‘You are my brightest and best, don’t give up no matter what, you never know, I might still be back, look after your younger siblings’. I nodded.

He came back three months later with the Federal troops.

There were no vehicles. Each night, we slept with the sound of guns either close by or distant. I wondered about my father. He was not just my father, he was the only person I could talk to in any sense. My father’s wives would only ask me if I had picked any news about the progress of the civil war. I listened to the radio, but apart from the mention that An Englishman and the security officer had been abducted from the village my father worked in, there was no further news.

Just like my father was abducted abruptly, he returned in just about the same manner with the Federal troops shooting into the air. I remember the total fright these troops gave us as they drove into the compound, yelling and being generally rowdy.

I stood with my younger siblings clinging to me and the father’s tall light skinned frame became clear and we all ran to him crying and laughing, joyous to see him.

We were thrilled to see him back. I guess he gave useful tips to the federal soldiers because they would come late at night to hold long talks with father. Ore the camp town along the highway became a slang word as the federal troops gradually took it back from the rebels and also the outlying villages including the village where my father worked as the chief security officer.

Father saw that I was more withdrawn than usual and would ask me if I was okay. He would tell me that he was available if I wanted to say anything. What could I tell him? That I felt doomed? I am naturally a cheerful person and read a lot. Father liked that I was always reading something. Novels, whatever came to hand. I even read the traffic books! The wife of one of his English bosses invited me for tea while she waited for news about her husband. She would tell me about her country and asked if I want to visit her there. I knew it was impossible on my father’s wages soI would smile and beg her to tell me. My imagination made up for the rest.

Father came home from work one evening and gave me a smile as he announced that we were going to make an attempt to find a way to get to another town. He knew I wanted to return to school. He said we could travel by boat to another town and he knew I could find my way to Lagos from there. I was happy. He warned that it was going to be fairly dangerous as there was no chance any other way. Father was going to be with me, I trusted him implicitly so I just smiled and hugged him.

There is something odd about me and my father. In my culture, in those days, children were seen, disciplined and never befriended until maybe they had to be married off. Everybody in my family always thought my closeness to my father was odd. We would sit for long hours together as he told me of his plans, and crazy as it sounds, my father would tell me about his affairs as well. It was okay to marry many women and I never felt it strange that he would share such confidences. His wives tolerated me because they could not tell my father anything negative. I grew up more comfortable in the company of boys. I never saw my body. It was just a body to put clothes on. I never had a crush on anyone male or female. I never saw my body as either beautiful or attractive. I just wanted to be me.

I remember

I returned to school to a very warm welcome by the principal. He called the school to the assembly hall and talked about how the civil war had been brought close to them by my experiences. I was in form three, had missed a whole term plus. When he invited me to tell the assembled students what I had experienced, the near rape flashed through me and I stood frozen in horror unable to say a word. Just trembled and stared. He excused me from speaking and I ran to the dormitory and just lay there.

I became occupied with catching up on lectures missed. I copied endless notes from my friends. I wanted to be a doctor so I did not want to miss my classes. I loved stories that had medical content. I rarely went home for holidays as the principal would claim that the roads were dangerous. So holidays, missing my father sorely, I would wander from one empty class or dormitory telling myself stories. It was strange to have one child left in the school while other children were home with their families. I was very lonely.

As my body developed and I started looking more like a female, my male classmates would tease me saying it was time I had a boyfriend. Something inside me would flash that male naked body in its frightening glory and I would shrink inside but shake my head at the boys and tell them I was waiting for the special boy.

But, Mr. Galadima our physics teacher took notice.

Mr. Galadima came in as the Physics teacher. I was a science student and actually loved the subjects. I had maintained pretty good grades and maybe that was what got the unwelcome attention of my Physics teacher. My hand would shoot up every time in class, so he took notice. I didn’t understand the looks he would shoot my way until one evening at prep when he sent for me.

I innocently responded to his invitation that he wanted me to get him something from the physics lab. I got there and kept searching for what he had asked me until a pair of hands grabbed me from behind and spun me into his arms with such force that I almost screamed in fright. He covered my mouth with his hands and held me tightly. I was terrified. Mr. Galadima tried to calm me down by running his fingers all over me and kept saying I should calm down. He kept apologizing and said he had asked me to come to the lab because he wanted to talk to me in private. He said he had fallen in love with me. I was an unformed 14-year-old.

I was tense in those masculine circle he had made with his hands and I felt my heart was going to jump right out of my body. It was beating so loudly. He kept pinching my breasts as I squirmed to get out of his reach. Then he begged me to kiss him. I had never been kissed so I gave a horrified no and tried to fight free. There was thus a silent struggle as I tried to duck from under his arms. He smelt awful and had bad breath as he roamed his face all over me. I was by now sobbing and doing everything I could to be free. I was scared that he was going to do something awful. Mercifully I heard the principal asking who was in the physics lab Quick as lightning, he pushed me under the table with a fierce whisper for me to stay still as he raised his voice, telling the principal that he had come to pick his lesson notes. He stepped out and went on the inspection with the principal.
I crept out and ran to the hostel, fetched water and scrubbed away at my painful unformed breasts. I did not go to my physics class the next day, and from then on failed my physics test. I lived in silent terror of being touched by a man because I always felt dirty.

I remember

I still had the silent horror of the near rape and now had to add this to my nightmares. I definitely didn’t want anybody paying attention to me. I struggled with my subjects since then and gradually found peace with the art subjects like Literature, drama and such subjects. I started keeping a diary. Would turn up at cultural dances and learn tribal dances. I even was asked to lead the cultural dance of the Northern tribe.

I won prizes in literary and debating, represented the school at dances and one time danced for the president. I felt I was happy. I learned to stay close to my girlfriends in school particularly during study periods. When the Physics teacher came round and wanted me to do something I would tell him I was on an errand for the English teacher Miss Tinu.

There was a tradition of having older students look after younger students and being a co-educational school, we had what was called school father and school mum. We even had school sister and the like. It was all wholesome in those days. Our school fathers took the job of being ‘parents’ seriously. I had a school father, he was called Albert. He was also a school prefect. He always looked out for me. Uncle Albert as we called him also good at singing, could act and was quite popular.

I told him about the physics teacher and one evening he simply walked into my class and sat at the back. He invited me to sit next to him. It was an open display of protection. The physics teacher never came to our class again at study times. Uncle Albert said I was going to be fine.

The following year in his first year of lower six, Uncle Albert did a surprising thing, he ran away from school to join the army. I was shocked, inconsolable. Then one weekend he sneaked back to tell me he did not want to miss being in the civil war. Said he would find ways to get in touch with me regularly. He kept his word.

Then I entered my last year in secondary school. The principal insisted I was still a science student and I still failed physics every term.

There came a new vice principal who also taught the senior classes Biology. He was young looking had a foreign surname and every girl in the school had a crush on him. I didn’t know if what I felt for him was a crush. Remember I said I loved reading. By the time I got to form five as it was called, I had read so many novels. Mr. Fellows the new vice principal found me reading a Hadley Chase and we started talking about detective series. Yes, you guessed right, he became another person in my life.

I remember

I had always imagined myself a virgin. I also had never paid any particular attention to my physical body. When Mr. Fellows said he had fallen in love with me, I was flattered. There were my seniors who hung on his every word. Apart from the fact that he had a foreign name, he had been living in the United States before coming over to Nigeria. He had lived in Ohio, went to Marietta. You can imagine I was over the moon that such a person would tell me he had fallen in love with me.

We would chat for hours. The principal tried to break it up but I paid him scant attention. After all, students knew the principal was notorious for groping girls and actually had been known to take a few willing girls to bed.

My disappointment was always that each time he held me I became instantly tense and uncomfortable. I could not relax. I would point out to him that there was something sticky in his trousers that pressed against me. I didn’t know then that what I felt as sticking into me was his arousal. So I would push him away. He bided his time I imagine.

One day, we were all giving a day out of boarding school. I went with Mr. Fellows to see his friend in town. He took me to a bedroom, I was nervous, he removed his clothes and I closed my eyes as he attempted to make love to me. I screamed that it was painful that he should stop. He said it was because it was my first time, I hurt and waited for it to be over wondering why in heaven’s name anyone would call this pain a pleasure. Later when I got to the bathroom and cleaned myself up I still felt blank.

So this is what they call lovemaking?’ I said to myself and felt betrayed by all the Denise Robins I had read. I had felt nothing at all.

It would be 12 years later and 3 years after separating from Mr. Fellows before I would have my first unassisted lovemaking.

I went home for the holidays to see my father. He had been ill and was in our hometown away from his town. We talked as usual. Father said he was going to resign from his security job and set up in Ondo town. He planned on releasing his other wives except the youngest of the wives. He had explained to the woman he had an affair with, who now had a girl for him. According to the culture, he could not claim his daughter until she attained the age of seven. Father said I was to ensure I kept a tab on the daughter. She was only three months old then. I made friends with the mother of my step sister.

Father kind of sense he would not be around for long, we talked about school. He asked me to pick up forms for whatever school I wanted to read for my ‘A’ levels. I told him about my frustration on the science subjects, particularly physics.

As I was leaving to take the bus to return to school, Father called me back and gave me more money. I looked at him in surprise and he grinned that he just noticed that I was evolving into a woman and I may have needs that I would be hesitant to tell him. I remembered laughing back and saying he took his time noticing me.

I remember

I returned to school, happy excited about getting ready for the West African school certificate exam or ‘WAEC’ as all Nigerian students knew it. There was no tension as I prepared for that exam. Then, students prepared for the independence day celebration of October first. The principal announced that boarding students could go home on Friday and return to school on Sunday.

For some reason, I felt so lonely and I sent in my own exeat form assuming that it will not be signed as usual. I was stunned when a signed exeat was given to me as well. In excitement, I told Mr. Fellows that the principal must have made a mistake for he had never signed my exeat releasing me from school. Mr. Fellows smiled and said maybe we might make the journey together as he was heading home to Rivers state to see his Mum. I took that at face value, not suspecting there was more to that.

We took a taxi together and Mr. Fellows was kind of quiet, so I asked him if there was anything on his mind. He smiled and invited me to tell him about my father. I was happy to oblige. He then gave me a strange promise. He told me that he would do everything within his power to make sure I got as much education as I might want.

I remember that I replied airily that my father had promised an education and thus there will be no need to make such a promise. I didn’t make much of the reason he gave when we got to my village and Mr. Fellows offered to see me to my father’s front door and then depart. However, he took me straight not to father’s front door where my grandmother, father’s wives, aunties had gathered to receive me. My father had passed. I stood and stared in numbed shock disbelieving and uncomprehending.

The principal had been informed and Mr. Fellows had always known, he had offered to deliver me safely to my family so they could let me know that my father had passed. I felt the most searing pain at his abrupt departure. I could not even cry. I just stared at everybody. I had a sensation of falling into a very cold dark place. It took a while before I could crawl out of that cold dark place. I never felt warm again. The heat was around me but I shivered from the loneliness. That place was never filled.

The Principal hovered over me like some strange bird. I felt nothing. I would sit for hours staring at nothing. I talked about my father like he was still alive and looked forward to going home. I prepared for my final examination in the secondary school.

We were to be allocated numbers for the exams and I was puzzled when my name was not listed as one of the students. I went to the principal’s office to inquire. I was a student enjoying the full scholarship of the school. It was on the condition that I maintain good grades. I had maintained those good grades in the five years.

My jaw dropped when the principal explained that he felt I was not going to make good grades because of my father that had passed so close to the exam period. He explained that he knew I was a very brilliant student… I did not wait to hear that, I made for the door telling him my father was going to hear about this. I was very angry. His face went funny as he grabbed me speaking with an urgency I could only sense. He kept saying he was my father now. I yelled back that he was speaking stupid, totally forgetting myself. He just held on as a teacher rushed in. I turned to the teacher and asked her to please explain to the principal, that there was nothing wrong with me. In desperation, I explained to the teacher and principal that I was fine. I promised to make very good grades. The teacher wept and very slowly what the principal said sank in. My father was dead. It was painful. My pain was intense, the tears did not seem enough to fill the hole in my heart.

It was excruciating watching students prepare for exams and me just wandering around feeling shame like I had done something awful. Sometimes unable to stand the excited chatter of my fellow students I would take long walks away from people. I wanted my father. I would hold long conversations with him. I barely remembered I had any relationship with Mr. Fellows. I had to think about my future now. Not able to graduate, I wondered how I was going to continue. I wanted to be educated.

Then I find that I was pregnant. I did not know what to do. I had received zero guides about how not to get pregnant. I was indifferent to lovemaking. Just made the right sounds from what I read in the romance books. I felt frustrated all the time but there was no one I dared to confide in. Timidly I told Mr. Fellows, he gave me a long look sighed and said I could not very well go back to my parents pregnant. He asked me to look for boys’ clothes and he would sneak me into his room at the boys’ hostel while everybody was at prep.

I did and a new life of horror, pain, and imprisonment started for me.

Why did I say that?

Mr. Fellows lived in one room at the end of the boys' hostel. When he sneaked me into his room, he brought in an iron bucket. I peed into that bucket. I could come out only in the dead of night to move my bowel into the surrounding bushes. I was pregnant but was never taken an ante-natal class for one hour never mind a day. The room was always locked, the windows locked except in the dead of night if happened to be sleeping with me. He slept with me alright. I told myself he loved me so I stayed hidden in that room.

At night I would listen to the highlife music being played some streets away. It felt mournful but I would listen. During the day, I would listen to the voices of the boys in the hostel. They would come by the door and imagine their housemaster was around and knock. I had to stay very silent so they should not think or suspect someone was in the room.

Occasionally, Mr. Fellows would take me to town and I would manage to watch a film with him, then I would return to the one room. The room had to be kept dark. It was always very hot and there was always the urine smell. I was becoming miserable as my pregnancy progressed. One time I took a whole bottle of sleeping pills. I had reason to think that Mr. Fellows was becoming interested in another girl in school. I could not do a thing. He watched me take the pills and I found him watching me very calmly the next day when I opened my eyes. I felt shame and pain. I told myself that I could not even hold the love of a man. What was the use? I read whatever book I found on his bookshelf. That gave me an outlet so gradually I started reading again.

I took a look at my old diary and started making small notes that evolved as poems. When Mr. Fellows discovered what I was writing, he laughed at me and I felt silly and stupid. Those times he shared what he wrote I would be the adoring one lapping everything up. There was no talk about education in that one dark smelly room. One day I felt real pains. It was not yet dark enough to sneak me out, so I gritted my teeth and hoped he would come home early. I was lucky, he did. He saw my pain and discomfort and told me I was about to have a baby, said there was no need to go into histrionics, that goats have babies without help. I felt slapped by those words so I kept quiet struggling not to call attention. Mercifully it got dark enough for him to take me to the clinic. I was a pale ghost because the doctor stared at me in shock. I had never been to an ante-natal so I had received no care at all.

The nurses stared at me, made me walk around the ward in that pain. They said my muscles were weak, and that I had a narrow cervix. For the first time, I wanted my father and wept. Finally, after hours of pain, I gave birth to a pale little ghost that died some two days later. Mr. Fellows had disappeared since he brought me to the hospital. When he showed up later, I informed him about the new development. He gave me a blank stare and hurried out. I never knew what was done with my little girl. Was she ever buried? Sometime, years later, I would go to the front of the hospital, I wove a fantasy that she did not die, that she was revived and stayed on in the hospital and waited for me to come back for her. I never told anyone. I never forgot her birthday either. June 4 was a special day for me, it still is, as I silently apologize to Yvette (her name) for being such a dumb idiot.

She was one of the reasons I became concerned about teaching young girls about sexuality issues. I remembered my mum and I never forgot about Yvette. I became determined that no child will cross my path and not receive as much guide as they can receive.

I had nowhere to go so I returned to Mr. Fellows. Mercifully not to the one room hell-hole, but to stay with his friend in one room of a three bedroom flat. I was traumatized enough that I rarely wanted to stay in the room.

One evening, Mr. Fellows made me an offer, if I agree to marry him, he would ensure I went to medical school and become the medical doctor I wanted to be. I jumped at the idea and told him that I would have to talk to my mum. He agreed. I returned to my village to my mum.

I remember

I felt strange returning home to people I considered strange. My mother was one. She had left my father when I was only seven. I grew up under the close protection of my father. It was a polygamous home with wives paying attention to their own children, I did not feel my mother’s input because my father filled in for me. I only got to know my mother properly when I got into secondary school. We were not close.

I was now home and asking permission to marry my teacher. She listened to me. We did not talk about love. A man had offered to allow me to finish my education if I would promise to marry him. So I talked to my mother about him. She wanted to know more. I shrugged that he was nice and I said I did not want to be dependent on a relative who might not be interested in picking up my educational fees. It did not even occur to me to discuss with her that I had had a baby who had died. I was pale white but nobody ever asked me. So I shrugged and kept my pain to myself.

My mother hesitated, not for any reason but she felt I could pretend to agree to a future marriage with the fellow, avoid getting pregnant until I had gotten my education or some other guy from the village might make such an offer. I stared at her appalled and shocked. The conversation degenerated into a shouting match with me yelling that I never suspected she was such a mercenary person, adding with some relish that I was not brought up that way and expressed my disgust at such a calculating tendency.

I believed giving my word was my bond and I had no intention of breaking my word I had given. It became a very messy situation, my mother told my grandmother, it became a general discussion. My paternal aunties and grandmother were not particularly interested one way or the other, I knew, my mother knew but she said she had to save face and pretend she was angry. That puzzled me, but she asked me to play along. She predicted that my father’s relatives would attempt to persuade her and she would then pretend to reluctantly agree, thereafter she would send for Mr. Fellows and everybody will agree. Mollified and trusting that plan I kept quiet. I searched for places to study and waited.

It was my first lesson in subterfuge. My mother had no intention of giving her permission. Mr. Fellows came bearing gifts that served as his formal introduction to my family. My mother spiked it. She changed completely. There was the constant fight. There never was talk about how I could negotiate the relationship. One day at the height of another bad fight with mother I packed my bags and returned to Lagos.

I remember

I now openly lived with Mr. Fellows. It was a strange relationship. I obeyed him as much as my nature permitted. I did not like showing my body to anyone least of all Mr. Fellows. He did not like me calling him by his first name saying that would be rude of me. I was mystified by him so I simply refused to call him anything always waiting to catch his attention. He had a habit of leaving for work but would go visiting his friend and may not return home for days on end. At first, when that happened I would make myself sick with anxiety. The promise of an education never came up again so I took myself off to the library, paid for forms to read for A level. He would laugh and mock, saying he never heard of anyone studying alone for an examination.

I ignored that. Sometimes I would arrive home from the library to find him in bed with another girl. They were sometimes girls from my old school. It was like a taunt to see how much of that I would take. I assumed that marriages were not easy things and that I just needed to survive. I started looking for a job because Mr. Fellows would give me the pittance for feeding. I had a son and that son was quickly followed by another.

He went to a sports programme outside town and my second son had an infection. I did not have money to pay for his admission and drip so by the time I could get him to a second hospital, he was a lost cause. I was wild with the pain and promised myself never ever to look to a man for my financial security ever. I have kept that promise.

When I got myself a job, things eased a bit for me because Mr. Fellows saw I was not that totally dependent on him. I even proudly bought him a few things. I now accepted that I could no longer be a doctor, there was nobody going to pay for that. I asked Mr. Fellows permission to start using his surname. He shrugged saying signing a piece of legal nonsense would not necessarily ensure his fidelity. He had told me he was divorced so I agreed he had a point.

I remember

Mr. Fellows finally moved to another country next door as it were and I joined him. This last bit almost unhinged me. Do you remember Uncle Albert? I had not seen him in years and he suddenly turns up one evening while I was sitting outside chatting with a couple of ladies. I was over the moon because it was the last place I had ever expected to see him. The next morning he came over to say hello to Mr. Fellows. He had known about him while I was at school. Everybody chatted and Uncle Albert left.

The inquisition began thereafter. Mr. Fellows wanted to know if ever I had had a crush on Uncle Albert. I said that was crazy. I explained that he was just my protector at school. But the questioning continued and there is no point continuing in that thread. I assumed one day I had in frustration tried to explain that I played with myself and it was the only way I got sexual relief. He was angry at that confession, that he would mock me and show his contempt for my being less than a woman. I was shamed to such a level that I had to act grateful if he touched me while my body cringed at being touched. It was torture. I simply hated being touched by him or any man for that matter but would groan and gasp like I was in sixth heaven. Each time I would be in an ocean of shame. Then he started sleeping with another student of his and I was so desperate to hold on to him that I I made love to the girl myself in an effort to convince myself that I was not jealous. I actually threw up in the bedroom after the very silent act. I was so sick of myself. I called the girl quietly, apologized to her and promised that it would never happen again. She held me and said she was sorry if she had given me pain but had no intention to marry Mr. Fellows. A measure of cold comfort, maybe. Years later I found out that Mr. Fellows was never really free to marry anybody. He was never divorced. Something inside me changed that night. It was time to grow up. I decided my life was mine after all. Mr. Fellows was just a man who wore trousers, cheated, and it was up to me to decide if another being should have permission to ruin my life.

One week later I packed up and returned to Nigeria. I have mended some broken parts of me. Some things will never be right. I am still fighting to look in the mirror and see my body and not cringe away in shame. My husband has done all he could to help me step over that. I did not tell him about the rages. He has experienced my rages, my distrust of men first hand himself.

I try this experiment now in the hope that writing down those things I could not talk about or even share will release me and make me laugh with me.

HELPMEET BY LOLA BABALOLA

2016-07-05T10:21:00.002+01:00

Helpmeet by Lola Babalola

The question is, are marriages made in heaven?

When you pick up the papers to read, you are fed with stories and pictures of marriages that have broken down. Some have been marries for a while, some for far much longer. It is those long marriages of twenty plus years that sadden me. A friend of mine who had been married for twenty four years walked away and I felt really bad. If you had stuck with for that long, why walk now? Then you read about the wife killing the husband, do you stick an association where mutual respect has been downgraded to zero? I know a young woman who says she really does not think marriage is meant for her, because she could not be sure the gentleman of today might not turn out a monster later. Why do people get married and picking from my guest today, what role is the woman to play? I do remember that the Lord is reputed to have said he He was creating a helpmeet for the man. HELPMEET. That was the word that struck me when I saw the book. It resonated with me. It is not a book for Christians alone but for women of all ages, creed and race. That was what I found comforting. I did not have to be of a particular faith. I could read it as a manual, a guide, letit be my friend on a lonely confused night.

One hundred and forty five pages of inspirational and intuitive sensing of the role of the woman in this wonderful creation.

The cover art was also interesting as it spokes volumes, the deep roots of life together on a journey holding hands and connecting.

It is a fairly long read, but I am sure you will not notice as I had to restrain myself from asking endless questions.

Let us meet the author Lola Babalola

Lola Babalola.. Author

1. Let’s get to know you

My name is Oluwafunmilola Babalola. I am an intercessor and the wife of Olajide Babalola, an Architect and generational reformer. We are both ordained Pastors and family counselors. We are blessed with six beautiful children. My professional background is strategic communications and I have quite a few years of experience from both the private and development sectors, so I consult across both sectors but my job title these days is Mum.

2. Is this your first book?

I have been writing for many years and have published my poetry on the world wide web. I am also the Founder of a pure play company called Feelnubia.com, where I have been writing for about 6 years. HELPMEET is however, my first published work.

3. Why did you write this book?

I must make a quick clarification. I will say I was the Editor but I cannot claim to be the Author of this book.

Back to the why:

Although I shared some of my personal testimonies in it, HELPMEET was written on the instruction and by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit to encourage women to contend for marriage of their dreams by equipping themselves with the knowledge of God's original plan for a wife in the life of her husband. That knowledge liberated me as I wrote and read over the manuscript. It continues to take me closer to God's heart for my marriage as I read it and I am blessed by the numerous testimonies of both single and married women who have read both the manuscript and the published work.

4. Do you think marriages are made in heaven?

I believe that each one of us is created as a unique expression of a multifaceted and gloriously complex God who is as real to us as we allow Him to be. If you invite Him, He will guide you through pretty much every aspect of your life the least of which is not marriage. In fact, I venture to say that marriage is the most important individual decision you will ever make in your life, second only to the decision to stop blindly driving one's own life and hand it over to the direction of the only Person competent to navigate one through life's journey. So, my answer to your question is not a simple refutation or affirmation. If you invite God into the preparation, selection and martial process, your marriage could very well be made in heaven!

5. In your view, what would be grounds to seek divorce?

This answer would depend on the worldview to which you subscribe. These days, I live my life for Jesus Christ and the Bible, which is my Standard Operating Manual (if you will) prescribes adultery as grounds for divorce. In practise however, there are many reasons why a person might seek or welcome divorce. The Bible also shows us that Jesus is big on love and forgiveness, while clearly stating that God hates divorce and for good reason too. Some of the reasons a couple might find themselves at the brink of divorce are logical outcomes of the foundation of that marriage in the first place. When we rush through our preparations and decision to marry, it is inevitable that some signs we ignored or trivialized would come back to haunt us. Furthermore, many of us do not appreciate the gravity of the covenant of marriage so these days, you hear married persons say casually: 'I will walk' over seemingly trivial issues.

Divorce can solve some problems but it is not always the magic pill that our fast-food convenience culture presents it to be. Many marital or relationship problems persist beyond the divorce, as couples that have children continue to deal with one another nonetheless. Divorce does not take away my poor decisions, immature management or reaction to a problem. It does not wipe out my own mistakes. It passes the buck somewhat but it oftentimes compounds the problem. My encouragement to anyone considering divorce is that each person should honestly examine their reasons. Is this situation remediable, forgivable? If not, why?

In HELPMEET, I was able to address some uncommon perspectives about divorce and I quote:

"There are women who have turned marital challenges and betrayals such as domestic abuse, adultery, even homosexual confessions around and built strong happy marriages out of the ruins of such calamity, while others have understandably found it impossible to navigate past those deeply difficult and painful experiences".

Also, from another section I quote:

" It Takes A Life-Time To Correct A Marital Misstep

Even after divorce, couples find that the scars of their previous marriage lingers, colouring every subsequent relationship and interaction for as long as they live. It becomes a condition many live with, learn to manage but never quite overcome. Perhaps that is why God hates divorce because it creates a wound in our spirits from which we hardly ever completely recover. Even after they are healed, these wounds tend to cause a mutation from the scarring such that we are no longer quite who we were before we got married to that person and can never return to being the person we would have been had we not been through the experience of a failed marriage. This sobering thought shshould make us unwaveringly determined to get marriage right the first and only time."

6. How would you advise a battered wife or an abandoned one?

In life, we have little control over the things that happen to us. The only part of life's experiences we control is how we react to the curve balls that might be thrown to us. Both men and women have experienced physical or emotional abuse as well as abandonment. Some abusers are psychologically handicapped and require intervention to amend their responses to stress. Some find that in different relationships or circumstances, they are not aggressive or predatory. Often times, abuse is accompanied by other behavioral problems but all marital problems have a cause and effect. The effect might be disproportional to the cause but it has a cause nonetheless.

Some abuse might be accompanied with signs apparently escalating towards resulting in or serious physical or emotional damage. If the victim seeks divorce or finds him/herself served divorce papers, the truth is that divorce (while greatly damaging) is not the unpardonable sin. With wisdom and divine guidance, people can move on from divorce beyond the conventional levels.

If you have problems in your marriage, you could choose to go it alone or turn to popular wisdom. An uncommon option is in the book HELPMEET and I quote: If you find yourself confronted with marital problems,

"...you need to return to the manufacturer and turn in your warranty. Go to the Lord, the author of marriage and... give Him a blank cheque and wait on Him for instructions, which you must follow to the letter however foolish they may sound. He is able to turn around for good what is meant for the trash cans but that wisdom and technology is not in any man’s possession. You must wait on Him though, for your own specific instructions, rather than following the instructions given to someone else who was in similar circumstances."

I must add however, that if you consider your life to be in danger, you would be best advised to first put some physical distance between you and your assailant, while you await further instructions or seek godly counsel.

Should parents help in determining the helpmeet of their children

As a parent, your influence on your children's decision about their marriage is not so much in talking them into or out of a choice but something that begins long before you the parent even get married. As soon as you become aware that you are to be married one day, you should begin to pray about your yet-to-be-unveiled spouse, your life together and your children (biological and spiritual). This perspective adds a weightiness to your own decision which will certainly not be lost on your children as you recount it over the years to come. Marriage makes or mars destinies: yours and that of your seed after you!

One piece of wisdom that I acquired through penning this book is the realization that each one of us is part of an intricate whole. Your story began long before you were born and continues long after you would have died. You are a unique, wonderfully unduplicable expression of God and the culmination of the dreams and hopes of many, many of your progenitors who came before you, as well as an ancestor to generations to come. Your decisions and choices will impact your children and their children either as examples and a blessing or lessons and a burden to them. That singular perspective will guide your children as well as it will do for you.

8. I am intrigued by your choice of the word helpmeet? Please explain.

It was not my choice, actually. Please remember that earlier on, I admitted that I wrote this book by instruction and inspiration. In that sense, I was simply the Messenger.

Having said that, I do know though that the book's title is taken from the scripture in the exact form that it is recorded in the King James' version at the point in scriptural reckoning when man's need for a wife was articulated by God. The Lord said: 'I will make [man] a help meet for him' This means a help that is apt, just right, precise and commensurate with his need. Help meet in the original text of the Bible means 'strength', which is a paradigm shift from the way women are perceived; as the weaker vessel.

I believe the title was chosen for that reason, to unveil the deeper and true meaning of a wife's identity and purpose in her husband's life. To quote from the book:

"While at first glance, the difference [between WIFE and HELPMEET] might appear to be nothing but a matter of semantics; it is actually a matter of perspective. This perspective is often what determines the failure or success of a union."

9. What is your perspective of the true role of the wife to have a blissful marriage?
It came as a surprise to me as I read the manuscript that the true role of a wife is to live for another, to be a "life laid down", laying down her strength and pouring out her life in obedience to God as a demonstration of God's unconditional, unrelenting and unselfish love for her family. To quote from the book:

"It Is Not About You

Women have been sold a lie. That lie is the idea that happiness in life is about what we can get from other people, how much they love us, value us and give us. Nothing is further from the truth. A self-centred life is a very hollow life and the stuff that misery is made of. TrTrue happiness comes from service to others. Loving THEM, giving to THEM, valuing THEM and serving THEM. ‘Except a grain falls to the ground, it yet abides alone’

No fruit ever becomes a tree by sitting pretty in the fridge. It must be eaten and its seed thrown in the dirt, covered by earth, to all intents and purposes it must die: rot and decay first, before its essence is regenerated, then it germinates and begins to grow. If it wants to remain un-un-eaten, clean, pretty and comfortable, that fruit will not amount to much by itself. It will ultimately rot and be thrown away, not even fit to be eaten anymore. Yet, within that one fruit is a seed that has the potential to become a forest, if only it would let itself be thrown in the dirt and be covered by earth. When we learn to live for others, we discover that the beauty of love is buried deep within our sacrifice."

10. Share your thoughts on the following as they affect a marriage

a) drunken husband

b) flirtatious wife

c) disrespectful children

The foundation of a marriage is a strong determinant of its outcome. The Bible tells us that "Many are the afflictions of the righteous but the Lord delivers him from them all". The effect of problems on a marriage are determined long before those problems arise. What is your philosophy of life? Where do you get your compass, your navigational tool for marriage? Will you permit problems to derail your marriage or strengthen it? That perspective is one which we tend to choose before we embark on the voyage of marriage. Did my marriage vows include the words: "...For better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness or in health..."? Did I even hear them or did I just mumble them without any consideration for what I was saying or what the words mean? Some couples now leave those words out. That already says a lot about where that marriage is going. The Scriptures tell us about two houses: one build upon sand and another built upon a rock. We learn that WHEN the storms come, the one built on the rock would stand through the storm. Please note that the scriptures did not say IF the storms come, it said WHEN. Problems are inevitable. They just present in different forms.

Marriage is a covenant, a vow, an oath between you as an individual and God. Your spouse just happens to be a beneficiary of that covenant. What excuse will you give God for not delivering on your vows, which you made with your free will?

11. Who do you intend this book for?

This book is written for women who are married or for single ladies whom marriage is a desirous estate. As it says in the preface:

" This book is written for both Christians and non-Christians alike, in response to the call of the Lord to inspire hope and faith in the hearts of women all around the world. This is a call to women to understand that God wants a wonderful life for them and marriage does not need to be excluded from that life. Marriage is not a journey for the feeble-hearted nor the double-minded, but you do not need to give up on your ideal of marriage. This book is written to give you a clear vision of God’s purpose in designing marriage and will help you to understand that purpose in order to give focus to your desires and aspirations. It will help you to contend for the marriage that God intends for you to have, one in which you are fulfilling purpose and within that purpose, you will be able to enter into peace, all round prosperity and walk in your destiny."

"More women than ever are opting to pursue [other] goals to the total exclusion of marriage. If that is you, this book might not be of any interest to you".

12. Please give us links to how we can get a copy of the book

Lola Babalola

Please search for the book on Kaymu, Amazon (Book) worldwide or Waterstones Bookshops UK, using the search parameters: HELPMEET, LOLA BABALOLA

13. Will you be interested in answering questions on a counseling basis from readers of your book?

It will be my great privilege.

14. Give us a an address where we can send such questions

Kindly email me: lola@babalola.com.

Thank you very much for honoring me and reviewing my work.

SUrvived the Journey...Memuna Barnes

2016-02-04T19:02:00.002+01:00

You all know me by now. I will do a review only after I have read the book. When the author of this book invited me to review her book, I blithely wrote back my usual style. I need to know what I am reviewing. Right? I got the book , then saw the number of pages and I desperately wondered I didn’t just allow myself to be guided by the first offer and stay close to what amazon.com had to say. But I knew one review can be different from the other and I had no choice. When I started reading however, I became very alarmed and uncomfortable. I was worried, angry at different times and unfortunately I took the story into my dreams as I became a captive of Memuna Barnes.

I was saddened at the waste of adolescent dreams, the eagerness of young souls trampled underneath by our base emotions. The innocence of Memuna and her fellow victims, hope killed by the bullet into the brains of Fuck-care. Those names , how-are-you, Pustine, C.O Base and a host of others. It was painful to read how Memuna overcame her first horror at brutality to her resigned acceptance of it. She never came to terms with it and she mirrored to us how the older generation had failed them.

Survived the Journey is the journey of an innocent, fresh- faced, pert and saucy teenage girl, forced to grow up fast and eventually traumatized by the sheer cussedness of humanity where dreams die first.. She could easily have used that as the title of her book except for this detail, Memuna Barnes is a first rate survivor, who had the grace to be stubborn, a determination to hang on to her virginity, that determined her dreams.

Memuna survived the darkened dawn so she could take her place in the sun. Read her story and be inspired. I read and then I had these questions.

Congratulations on your book but we will love you to answer a few questions

1. Please tell us a bit about yourself

A) I am Memuna Barnes in my 30s, one of nine children. I was born in Liberia to a

Sierra Leonean father and a Liberian mother. I came to New Zealand in 2000 as

part of the United Nations Refugee Resettlement Program with my father and

younger sister Mamawa.

2. You started your story straight away about the capture and your family remained most times in the shadows. Tell us a bit more about your parents.

A) Growing up both of my parents were in the workforce. My mother was a

secretary at a printing company and my father a manager at Telema Fishing

Company - Liberia's second largest fishing company. At the time my sister

We're the two kids who lived with them in Liberia. We were well provided for and if

there ever were hard times before the war.....my mother made sure my sister and

I didn't know about it. Mama was a mother who lived for her children. Very hands -

On. She never missed our school programs although Mamawa and I didn't

attend the same school. Mama would pick up the child who did not have a program

first and rush off to the school of the other child and make sure that child knew she

was in the crowd watching. I was always involved in plays or speeches at mine and

She would run to get Mamawa after work and rush to my school. She was always

there in time to give me that last minute cheer, kiss and hug to assure me she was

watching and enjoying every second. Which for me, was all that mattered.

I was a well catered for child as far as I know.

Our father worked most of the time and we only really got to see him at weekends.

My parents paid for everything we wanted.

3. What led to the RUF over running your part of the country?

A) The Revolutionary United Front (RUF) walked into Sierra Leone from Liberia via

the border and started what they dubbed "First Battalion" in Pujehun District by

capturing and recruiting young boys and girls into their rebel force. Soon after they

took Kailahun District which was dubbed "Second Battalion" giving them access to

diamond mines which were used as currency for ammunition. So those two

southern districts became rebels stronghold.

4. At the end of your journey, did you meet up with Hassan ?

A) I could have met up with Hassan as I mentioned towards the end of the book

when I bumped into How-are-you in the market. However, I was afraid he would

find me and take me again. So no I didn't.

5. Did you discover any further news about Base and Pustine?

A) I know nothing more about Base. I could find out about Pustine if I asked a few

people but I have not tried to.

6. You had quite a violent eighteen months as a captive, has it anyway affected your perception of war, politics and your old country.

A) My experience has indeed affected me a great deal. First, before this I had no

reason to think about war and I would forget really quickly soon after watching a

war movie as a child. I remember owning a toy pistol myself once. However, after

experiencing two civil wars in a space of a decade, I think it is a pointless waste of

lives, resources, infrastructure and a heinous offence to humanity. Why not just sit

and talk about issue? Why not negotiate and bargain ( this is what would have to

happen in the end anyway) and think about the citizens and the generations to

come?

I think our leaders should picture themselves as parents when they are voted into

power. They are voted out of trust and respect should always consider the people

who give them power and use that power for the people rather than against them.

Create opportunities in form of jobs, utilize national resources and subsidize the

healthcare and education system of their respective countries.

Liberia and Sierra Leone need to stand up and value their people especially when

there are so many emotionally destroyed individuals running around aimlessly. You

cannot love your country if you have no respect for human rights.

The aftermath of war, I think is almost as bad as the war itself. The country is left with traumatized individuals who are so confused and still scared: for those who

participated in the massacre - they live with the guilt (if capable of remorse) over the

lives they took, unable to fit in a functional society ( for people like Hassan, Base,

CO. Gbembo) where instead of people answering to them they now have to learn

how to have bosses and a job, some live in fear of retribution.

For those of us who witnessed the horror we live with recurring nightmares and

sorrow over our loss and we want answers but no one can offer them. For me

carrying on is something that just happens because I am alive but still sometimes

feel stuck. These memories can be triggered by the simplest event. I think about the

day we left Monrovia almost everyday as I go past the dock and see cruise ships.

Watching contemporary war movies or the sound of a car backfire gives me

nightmares of the war.

Then all the dead bodies that are left in the forests where bombs have been thrown at

people... get washed off into waterways and pollute the environment and lead to the

spread of diseases.

7. In the book, there seemed to have been a breakdown of all forms of morality and ethics, what would be your understanding of this on the younger generation particularly the child soldiers

A) Living in war where there is no one to judge or guide one apart from God in Heaven (and that is if you grew up being taught of a higher power) shows you what humans are capable of given the opportunity.

Younger children, first of all in a normal situation must always be watched and led on the right path in life as we all come into this world knowing nothing more than our basic motor skills. Then a young child who is already confused by adolescence is taken from his or her family and forced to shed blood and is conditioned to think that these atrocities are the way of life can only lead to a generation of damaged men and women who will then go on to raise another angry and confused generation if care is not taken and something is done to rehabilitate and integrate those were involved into a functional society.

8. Hassan seemed to have been portrayed as a villain but as I read further I find you trusted him more and I wonder if you hoped he would get some type of counseling too.

A) I hope Hassan would receive counselling and rehabilitation.

So many innocent youths were forced into those wars. Of course there were some who were just downright terrible human beings like those hard core criminals who were

released from prisons in every town the rebels took over. Now that these men and women have been disarmed....what now?

9. With the benefit of hindsight, what would you have done differently?

A) After asking myself this question so many times over the years I cannot think of

much I could have done. Apart from pleading with my mother not to travel that day,

that was the last time my sister Mamawa and I saw her alive.

10. Is your book going to be available in Liberia and Sierra Leone, and would it be effective in helping to heal and reconcile the victims of this war?

A) This is my prayer that this book does great things for my countries, continent and

the world. I hope I can get SURVIVED:The Journey into both Liberia and Sierra

Leona and that it is perceived and accepted it as a healing tool, that my story

encourages talk about theirs and that the government in these countries do

something to properly integrate these former rebels into society and heal the

countries, I hope it is perceived as a history lesson, as well as a possible guide to how matters could be handled for the sake of the innocent civilians.

11. Please let us know, in what ways this recollections has affected you and what advice you might give young persons who may have been affected by the book

A) Reliving my experience in order for me to write my book has helped me accept

that sometimes in life things beyond our control happen to us and we can never get

answers to the question we need answered in order for us to move on. And that

sometimes being alive and healthy is all you need to ask God to give you courage to

summon the strength to see his grace in your life. My questions were: Why? Who

gave these people the right to invade my life, disrupt my home, and tear me away

from my mother? Who said it was ok to snatch my innocence away? What makes

them so worthy? God where were you, Why were you so angry to let it happen?

To every young boy or girl who reads my book, be courageous, stand for your truth

and be yourself. No bad situation lasts forever. Have a lot of compassion for yourself

and your peers.

Every new day is a promise.

12. What group of people will you recommend to read your book?

I believe that this is a good read for people of ages 15 and up. There is a lesson in it for everyone. Our politicians too could learn a thing or two.

13. Please give us links to anyone interested in buying the book.

SURVIVED: The Journey can be purchased at www.survivedthejourney.com or amazon.com or http://amzn.com/0473246244

For comments and discussions after you have read please find me at amazon.com/author/survivedthejourney.com Also at https://www.goodreads.com/httpwwwsurvivedthejourneycom

Pedal........ Louis Lowy

2016-01-21T17:14:00.002+01:00

I call him my pirate, for he has the look , the charm and oh yes the ability to keep me riveted on a story. When I read Die Laughing, it seemed incongruous that such a warm person could write a humorous sci-fi that had me angry, horrified and impatient with the characters in the that particular book. Then I had a surprise when his second book came out. It was completely different from the first but just as compelling. Remember it is said that you are only as good as your last Louis however raised the bar with his second novel even though it was in another genre altogether.

That is what I love about writing and good authors, the ability to write in almost any genre and not be stuck in stereotyping that will ultimately stifle you.

Let’s share some comments about Louis’s book PEDAL

Pedal tells the story of Joanne Brick, a single, 49-year-old elementary school music teacher who loses her job and struggles to reclaim her life back through bicycle racing. Pedal explores how Joanne -- who lives with her bossy, older sister, and their ailing mother – deals with unemployment, loneliness and loss of self-worth.

Pedal is part sports book, part family drama and part romance, but mostly it's a journey of self-discovery and reawakening. It is based around the theme of daring to change and how ordinary people handle life’s turning points.

Pedal runs 88,000 words (301 pages) and was released in December by Assent Publishing.

I had a chance to have what you might call a small chat with Louis, please let’s read together his answers to my questions.

These are the questions I asked him.

Congratulations on your second outing albeit with another publishing house.

Why did you write Pedal? It is not the same as your first Die Laughing.

Because Pedal isn’t the same as Die Laughing is precisely the reason that I wrote it. I wanted to tell a polar opposite story. Die Laughing, which I love, was a big novel. What I mean, is that it had lots of dire exterior forces going on: shape-shifting aliens plundering the earth’s oil, refinery explosions, falling airplanes and live television broadcasts, all leading to the possible extinction of mankind.

With Pedal I wanted to write a quiet story, yet one where the protagonist had as much at stake in her world as there was in Die Laughing. The disrupting forces in Pedal are more personal, though as I said, just as dire for her. My protagonist has to overcome her own self to save her world, which she lost when the one thing that defined her—her career as an elementary school music teacher—was taken away. I also chose a female protagonist because Die Laughing had had a male protagonist. Whew! That turned out to be quite a challenge.

Share with us your experience at the last book reading of Pedal.

In one word: incredible. I was fortunate enough to have the wonderful author, John Dufresne introduce me. The audience was larger than I expected, attentive. They reacted to the passages I read in the way that I hoped they would, and then later asked thoughtful questions. For this author, it doesn’t get any better than that. And oh, yeah, they purchased lots of books.

Will you say you are a romantic person?

I would like to think I am, but my wife may dispute that point. I’m not one who wears their heart on their sleeve, that’s for sure, but I do tend to be a bit nostalgic and reflective. As that pertains to my protagonists, though each are different, I do like to embed in them the potential to be romantic. They may or may not reach that state, but the opportunity is there.

You seem to have moved away almost completely from sci-fi or am I mistaken?

Though I can see why you think that, the answer is no. My next novel To Dream, is the first of a two book series titled the Anatomy of a Humachine (IFWG Publishing). It’s an epic science fiction drama scheduled for release in mid-2016. I’m very excited about it.

From the pictures, Pedal seems to have been a roaring success yes?

The reading was held at the wonderful Books & Books in my home town of South Florida, so I was anticipating a good crowd, but when that greatly exceeded my expectations, I was humbled.

I love your theme of loneliness, unemployment and the terrible effects of that on one's self confidence, Johanne seems to be an archetypal old Miss. Why did you pick such a person?

I picked someone like that because I wanted Joanne to be the type of person who had the most to lose when her life-defining career was taken from her. This may sound cruel, but I wanted her to suffer. To have to struggle like she’s never struggled before. To fight for her life, so to speak. That’s what defines a person. She may or may not succeed, but whatever happens I want her to have given it her best shot. I see her as a wilted flower who—if she can overcome her obstacles—will blossom into the woman she wants to be, but never was.

What wins over on a cold winter night, a thrilling sci-fi or a teary sob romantic novel?

A thrilling sci-fi with a touch of teary romance.

What has been the response to your second book?

I’m very grateful that people enjoy Pedal and that the Kindle edition is an Amazon Bestseller in Religious & Inspirational Fiction: Women's Fiction and Inspirational. I worked hard on the story and for it to finally get in the reader’s hands and have them tell you how much they like it is a wonderful feeling.

Any work in progress now?

Oh, yes. I’m always working ahead. I’m polishing up a fantasy story about a dying gambler who is given an opportunity to redeem himself, and a turn of the 19^th century horror novel. Though I have an outline, I also have to write Book II of Anatomy of a Humachine. Next, I’ll try my hand at a detective novel – of course that’s a ways down the road.

Please share with us the links to your books.

Louis K Lowy books on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=louis+k.+lowy

Pedal/Assent Publishing: http://assentpublishing.com/Books.aspx#1052

Die Laughing/IFWG Publishing: http://ifwgpublishing.com/store-item-die-laughing/

In general, check out my website: http://www.louisklowy.com/

Twitter: @louisklowy

Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/Louis-on-Facebook

Feel free to contact me. I love to speak with fans.

Thank you for sharing time with us.

Thank you, Biola, for the opportunity to speak with you about my work. It’s been a pleasure.

To the Survivors..A revisit

2015-12-15T13:20:00.000+01:00

As the year closes, I thought, I should share some of those things that have left an impact on me. One of the things I have learnt over time is books I review tend to stay with me and some of the authors tend to become my friends. One of such authors is Bobby Uttaro.

It could be in the style of writing or the contents, Bobby’s book, “To the Survivors” has stayed with me and in a way has become a kind of comfort book for me. I live in a country where rape and rape victims are on the peripheral vision of the country. I am sure there had been reports of rape before I read the book, but my senses became real sharpened enough to take particular notice and that became depressing.

How do I mean? I came across cases of rape, from infants to elderly women for different reasons. It appears women have been under siege in my country for longer that I imagined and we don’t seem to be doing anything concrete. I am not about to start another article on this but I want to thank Bobby for at least making me know about one of the dirty secrets of humanity.

Rape is not exclusive to a particular nation nor is it alien to any society, I guess rape has existed amongst us from the time of the cave men, but it is the oldest shame that man has on its collective soul.

I am thus repeating my interview with Bobby today, with the hope that somehow, we will be reminded of the road we still need to follow to achieve that which we are seeking. For as long as we deny the woman the right to refuse a sexual advance, I think we are diminished by that violence.

Please enjoy

To the Survivors…..

I opened page one and was sucked in.I raged, cried, was angry and kicked but Bobby had me by the short hairs and dragged me through me, through the minds of every breathing human being making me look at a crime, issue that for us in my corner of the world we have been unable to define properly let alone classify and give it a name.

The innocent girl on her first wedding night to a man old enough to be her father as she is dragged to matrimonial bed and raped by her elderly husband . Her terrified screams and flailing arms applauded by all. She is welcomed into matrimony through the red mist of her violent entry. That was the story. In my corner of the universe, that is how you marry. In my time and age.,I learnt about this during my first visit to my hometown in the south west when I came to my family for the first time. I stood in shock as I heard the wild screams. Rape.. a word that young bride never heard of but has been made to experience as a received standard response to sexual activity. The women watched the men, resentment in their heart, hate to the mate who is brought in and polygamy grows hand in hand with hate and resentment. People of my mother’s age and some of mine. This is a hard book for me and anyone who has ever empathized with rape, assault, and even molestation and I passionately ask you to pick up a copy for yourself. It is a must in libraries and schools. In fact any public place.

I am not telling you my story, but the subject of Bobby’s book and the very painful reactions he has made me go through. I want you to meet Bobby and I hope his answers will help us.

1. Welcome Bobby to Ephesus.

Bobby Uttaro...Author

Thank you for having me. It’s a blessing and honor to speak with you.

2. Can you define rape in all its ramifications as you understand it?

In my opinion, rape, especially child rape, is the worst crime human beings commit against each other as it causes the most damage to a person’s mind, heart, and soul over significant periods of time. People who are raped have their power and control taken from them. Some believe they will die during a rape and others want to die after. Think about how terrifying and sad this is. The pain and suffering that rape survivors experience can often last many years to a lifetime. But the damage caused does not just hurt the survivor; it hurts that person’s family and friends as well. Significant others are often devastated, sometimes more so than the survivor. I know of a man who was so broken after he learned that his girlfriend was raped years before. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to process it. It was as if nothing in life made sense anymore.

There are so many ramifications of rape, probably too many to list now. In my experiences, I have yet to see a crime that causes so much shame. If one feels shame, one will inevitably have serious health problems. Many, if not all rape survivors at one point in their lifetime, possibly even for years, have suffered deep shame. This is so incredibly sad because on top of being raped, a person most likely lives with shame for years. Shame is crippling and paralyzing. Think of the suffering people who have this undeserved shame live with and how it affects their lives and the lives of those around them.

The ramifications of rape are vast, but I will mention a few. Rape is linked to shame, anger/rage, depression, insecurity, anxiety, fear, suicidal thoughts and suicide, eating disorders, and other health issues. It causes low to no self-esteem. It can alter people's perceptions of themselves and the world around them. Many rape survivors live in fear. Many rape survivors are physically and spiritually shackled. Rape can shatter the soul. And on top of all of these horrific effects and sufferings, many rape survivors blame themselves. But I want everyone to know that it is not their fault and that they can regain control back. Their lives can be happier and healthier if they are unhappy and suffering. The soul can be strengthened and healed.

Lastly, there are many societal and financial ramifications from rape. Rape can be linked to drug addiction, prostitution, organized crime, and our prison populations, to name a few. For example, I had a meeting at a women’s prison in hopes of getting the book To the Survivors to the inmates. At the time of my meeting there were approximately 100 women incarcerated inside. The Director of Women’s Programming told me roughly 75% of the women had been raped. Also, the Director of Mental Health Services told me 99% of the women had been raped. Why were they incarcerated? The majority were incarcerated due to drugs and prostitution. There is a clear correlation between our female prison population, prostitution, drug addiction and rape. This is also true for some of our male inmates as well.

Ultimately, rape causes more damaging ramifications than I can answer in your question, but hopefully this is a good starting point and answers some of it.

3. Is Sexual assault, rape or sexual violence graded?

Some people grade different levels, but I don’t think that it is necessary to do. I don’t think we should. Every sexual assault, molestation, or rape, is a crime that causes suffering. We should help anyone affected and not grade their experiences.

4. Rape is not gender sensitive and is prevalent in every society on the earth, what can be done to stop it?

The prevalence of rape can decrease if more people make changes within their own hearts. I believe that we can stop and prevent some acts of rape, but I do not believe we will stop rape entirely. I believe rape will exist as long as human beings live on this earth. This is not meant to sound hopeless. I am very hopeful of what can be done and I know more people can heal. I would not keep doing this work and be speaking with you if I did not see real human and spiritual growth within people. But I do believe it is important to be realistic about the world we live in and the evil atrocities that will continue to exist.

Rape is the most prevalent and least reported violent crime throughout the world. The majority of people do not even speak about it, let alone get active and help people affected. Minimal rape crisis centers exist worldwide and too many people don’t want to deal with the realities.

It is believed by some that the second most lucrative illegal business in the world is human trafficking. Billions of dollars are made every year off the sale of human beings who are forced into sexual slavery. In addition, little boys and girls are raped in homes by relatives. People are raped by their spouses. And we know that even some individuals who work in the most trusted public service positions – from law enforcement to religious clergy - rape. How will this stop? I don’t believe it will ever stop, but we can help people in their healing process and we can raise awareness through education.

Education and people intervening if they see something inappropriate is necessary for the prevention of sexual violence. Sadly, many people don’t see the signs of a rape or sexual assault before they occur. If we educate people on some of the signs, we may be able to prevent some crimes. For example, there were many signs of early troubling or inappropriate conduct in the lives of Jim and Chris, who are speakers with individual chapters in To the Survivors. If people around them were educated on the signs and empowered through that education to act, those innocent boys may not have been sexually abused. However, no one noticed, or some noticed but did not intervene, and these boys suffered.

I don’t believe we will ever eradicate rape on this earth, but I believe that we can help people in their healing process and live healthy and productive lives. We can listen to each other, show each other compassion, and empower each other. Too many survivors suffer in silence alone. But I want to tell people that they do not have to suffer in silence. They can heal and they can also help others if they choose to. Our voices are incredibly important and valuable. We can make a real difference in the lives of those who are struggling and suffering. I hope and pray for more of us do that.

Ultimately, rape can stop if human beings stop raping. It is a choice. Sadly, it is a choice that people will continue to commit and many others will continue to not speak of.

5. Would it be right to say that as much as the assaulted is counseled, the aggressor also needs assessment and managing?

So many acts of sexual violence are hidden from others. This, of course, makes assessing and managing a perpetrator exceptionally difficult. How do you assess and manage a person abusing another person when no one knows or speaks about it? This happens too often. The majority of rapists are not arrested, let alone convicted and then sent to prison. And even those who are sent to prison, how long is their prison term? The majority of those convicted come back into our society. Should more be done to manage them? Yes. But the majority of rapists freely walk this earth and commit vile crimes.

I do believe the aggressor needs counseling, but only if the aggressor wants counseling. Sadly, some people commit these crimes with no remorse. I believe remorse and redemption exist for those who want it, but not everyone wants it. If you read all of To the Survivors, you will see that none of the perpetrators showed any true remorse for their crimes.

In order for people to change, they must first make a change in their own heart.

6. Is the rapist mentally deficient and may be classified as disabled?

No. I do not believe we should call rapists disabled. People in wheelchairs are disabled. People with autism who can’t adequately communicate to others are disabled. Rapists choose to commit a crime. Some doctors, teachers, lawyers, police officers, politicians and religious leaders, to name a few, commit rape. Do we look at those professions as disabled?

7. In your book you are neither a rapist nor a victim so why did you write about it?

God. I did not consider myself a writer and never once tried to write a book until the experience of an intensely vivid dream one morning changed my life. I woke up from this dream and said, “I have to write a book.” I interpreted this dream as a vision from God. I prayed to God, moved from the bed to the computer, opened up Microsoft Word, and continued to pray. That is how To the Survivors began. To the Survivors would not be helping the amount of people it has helped if it weren’t for God. I would not be speaking with you now if it weren’t for God. There are too many people suffering, and I know this book can help with that suffering.

8. Some cultures really do not believe in marital rape as rape as they argue it is a male right to enforce their conjugal rights, what do you think?

I think this is horrible. Words cannot fully describe how awful this belief is. This absurd belief and reasoning allows for women to get raped. This kind of thinking accepts rape and too many people suffer as a result. Where does this ludicrous belief come from? Rape is rape. It is an evil crime. I believe it is a demonic and satanic crime. It does not matter if you are married or not; no spouse should rape or endure being raped. No one should be raped. What makes men inherently superior to women? Nothing. Why should a man have the right to rape his wife? He shouldn’t. There is no logical or rational explanation for this and it should not be condoned. Unfortunately, it is.

You say that some cultures do not believe in marital rape as they argue it is a male’s right to enforce his conjugal rights. I know it is hard to believe, but some women do rape men. Should women rape their husbands? Of course not. So why should a man be allowed to commit an evil crime against his wife? Why would he even want to? The belief that men can rape their wives due to their “conjugal rights” is wrong and it sanctions rape. Marriage is supposed to be about love, not rape, and complete dominance of one over another.

9. The first thing that happens to a person that has been sexually assaulted, molested or harassed is to hide, keep quiet or feel shame and they go into hiding the event, how do you identify that to help?

It is not for me to tell people how to act. It is solely up to the survivor to do what he or she wants to do. Personally, I would like more and more people to open up to a trusted individual in their lives, but I cannot make a survivor do that. Rape and sexual assault are so incredibly hard to talk about. But I believe we have to be there for each other and let others know that we will sit and listen to them if they ever need anything. I pray that more people create loving and safe environments in which people can disclose their stories and pain if they choose to. More people will come forward as more people come forward.

10. Your THP sounds wonderful, have they thought of extending their great work to other countries? Through affiliations, overseas training to create awareness to communities?

No, but I will. I try my best to get this book and these messages to countries throughout the world and will continue to do so. You are a big part of that Abiola. God bless you. Thank you for this connection and opportunity.

11. Do you have any plans to make your book available to Africa and Nigeria?

Absolutely. One way to make the book available in Nigeria and Africa is by talking to other people, posting on social media sites and through this great interview. This interview will raise awareness of the book’s existence to people in Nigeria, and I thank you for that. To the Survivors can be found online at amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com, kobo.com, smashwords.com, goodreads.com, and other online retailers. The e-book can also be found on my website for free at www.robertuttaro.com if people cannot afford the book. I want anyone to be able to get a copy of To the Survivors should they have an interest. People can contact me directly through my website if for some reason they cannot obtain a copy. Lastly, I would love to travel to Nigeria or anywhere else if anyone ever wants me to speak about these issues.

12. Share your thoughts on what you hope your book might achieve?

I have many hopes for what the book might achieve in the lives of others, probably too many to list here. I will try to answer as best as I can:

I hope people keep breathing and do not choose to kill him or herself.

I hope people will not feel shame for being raped or sexually assaulted.

I hope people will not blame themselves for being raped or sexually assaulted.

I hope people understand that they are not alone.

I hope people connect on some level with at least one person in To the Survivors.

I hope people understand that they can grow and heal from any pain they experience.

I hope people who have not been raped or sexually assaulted become more educated on how to respond to incidences of sexual violence and the suffering of survivors.

I hope people stop raping and assaulting.

I hope people understand that God loves them more than they can even fathom, even if they do not believe in God.

I hope people talk to God and listen to God.

These are some of my many hopes.

Will you be willing to answer questions on your book after this time, if you will please tell us how we may do that.

Yes. People can email me at info@robertuttaro.com if they want to ask me anything.

Thank you being on Ephesus.

Thank you for having me. It’s been a true blessing. God bless you, Abiola.

A MARRIAGE OF THE GODS AWAITS - Rose of Numen

2015-11-28T20:07:00.004+01:00

“A beautiful narrative of our world and the connections with the finer world. In my opinion, this work is a depiction of the imagery of events that shall(will) NOW usher in the New Age of all our cultures. Consciously we will welcome New leaders and kings amongst us. I raise my ancient spear in salute to the author - Biola Olatunde. We all need to read it, fiction or nonfiction - the imagery that makes the new must flow!!" - Odjegberen Oghenechovwen 'Keyan Ugen. Prince-Priest of the Ancient Ughievwen Kingdom.

These words gave me a sense of doing something worthwhile. Rose of Numen which is book two of the Numen series started something in me. It was meant as fiction but I had based quite a lot of what I wrote on the people around me. My village and her customs played a significant role in making me conscious of my roots. I had listened to my grandmother talk to me about gods and goddesses and they were not evil blood sucking leeches as my civilization had portrayed to me. Do I believe in this traditional form of worship? I am not sure but I find I was not willing to push things under the carpet as my friends and colleagues tend to do. I am Nigerian, specifically a Yoruba woman and was not prepared to call everything black magic. I am not into dark arts. Most of the practices puzzle me but I gradually learnt that by whatever name we call religion or even the lack of it, humanity needs to understand it. When we have an urgent need to feel that there is a purpose to our existence.

When I was writing the television series for the United Nations Population fund, I remember wanting to talk to traditional chiefs what they thought of female genital mutilation. I did not want to just dismiss it as evil but I wanted to learn why we started the practice in the first place and I asked myself where we missed the point even as I tried to rationalize the reasons for it. When I finally wrote against it, it was because I finally had a conviction of why it was wrong.

Couple of my friends are wondering if I had become a traditionalist after they had read Rose Of Numen. I sensed their restraint and was at first puzzled then as recognition dawned that they wondered about me, I felt pity for them. Our civilization has not done much for us. A large portion of our convictions is dependent on miracles, prosperity and the ability to weed out witches and wizards. We sometimes pay lip service to a religion because it is expected of us. I hate talking or writing about religion because it is divisive so don’t run away to another blog just yet will you?

My question has always been, if we recognize that Man lives at three levels of consciousness, what makes us accept that there were only particular races that had evolved on all three levels? Man acts, speaks and thinks on a very gross material level. In finer consciousness he is evolved enough to wonder about the cosmos, things beyond his ethereal consciousness and he wonders about a Creator.

My conversation is kind of heavy right? I guess it is, because the world right now is a puzzling place to be in. We are faced with the imminent realization to accept that humanity is at war with itself. An ideological war that brooks no compromises from the protagonists and antagonists whichever side you seem to find yourself. It is a question about a right to existence based on an idea, that goes to the very root of man’s concept of existence and the rationale for it.

Is there a meeting point? I remember Nostradamus warned that if humanity fails to resolve this, the next war will be fought with sticks and stones. A lot of things don’t make sense to me anymore so you could say I am a very confused old woman these days. I have tried to put all the killings into a perspective and I have failed to understand. There is a heavy sadness in me . I know I am not Atlas and it is a road that leads nowhere wondering how we have suddenly become a murderous bunch that kill without reason.

Where did we miss the point I ask myself. In my tradition, we would have gone to the gods and asked to know who had committed an abomination on the land and then we would look for ways to expiate it. Sadly we stopped listening to the cries of the gods that there is silence now in the market place just the rattle of the old bones is echoed by the eerie silence.

There is a dance in the forest of masquerades, who are afraid to come to the market because the drums they hear are the drums of war. We could fly a flag but only one flag will do, the flag of humanity and we do not even know what colour that should be.

Rose of Numen.. official review

2015-10-24T10:48:00.004+01:00

I am continuing today with Rose of Numen but actually want to share the official review of the book as rendered by the chairman Association of Nigerian Authors.

A REVIEW OF BIOLA OLATUNDE’S ROSE OF NUMEN

Rose of Numen is a 188 page fascinating novel published by IFNG Publishing Inc. Melbourne, Australia, 2015 by Biola Olatunde.

Rose of Numen is a sequel to Numen Yeye. It therefore continues Ife’s tale. Ife channels still the spirit of Numen Yeye, a princess from the kingdom of Light. Her mission, her purpose in life is now crystal clear and the extra-ordinary in her is still intact.

Rose of Numen begins in the prologue. The reader is afforded a glimpse into the past and into the metaphysical world of Rose of Numen, Ife herself. Princess Numen is prepared to embark once again on a journey to another world, the earth, which, however, is inextricably linked to hers. Her purpose, her mission is enunciated, and then the reader is jolted into the present.

Ife gets a scholarship from her old principal to study medicine at the University teaching hospital in a Nigerian city, Ibadan, and her life becomes “professionally fulfilling” afterwards, to borrow a phrase from the blurb, but that is not the end point. She must act out her predestined role on the planet earth.

Ife plunges headlong into her purpose, her mission, releasing the extra-ordinary locked up in her and effectively using the knowledge of her extra-terrestrial connection in the process. She begins with a gathering of a mini festival held at certain periods of the year for women of childbearing age by Yeye, the priestess. She focuses her lens on the culture and tradition of her people, wounding and healing at the same time. But she is not the only one in Rose of Numen whose fate has been predetermined. Babatunde her soul mate, has also been saddled with the responsibility of ruling and protecting his people, not as the chief medicine man nor as part of the inner circle of Ifa, but as a king. Not until towards the end, both the reader and Babatunde remain obvious of this truth. Just as Rose of Numen, Ife, immerses herself in her mission to humanity, stripping people of superstitious beliefs, pointing iconoclastic finger at the practice of human sacrifice, reuniting broken homes and restoring to them the cocoon of family love and care, opening the key to the riddle that dribbles many, with regards to whether reincarnation is a myth or fact, exhorting the woman to see themselves as carrying “a secret flame the man needs to grope his way through life, so also does Babatunde, the young lion preoccupies himself with the kinship issue.

Babatunde is a necessary part of the inner circle of Ifa priests. Based on this knowledge, Adewumi, one of the princes, and whose status is in doubt, approaches Babatunde, with the intent of bribing his way onto the throne, but he is disappointed. Following the latest in a spate of prince Adewumi’s futile efforts to bribe his way through; Ifa’s declaration of a missing prince and Babatunde’s firm refusal to be dissuaded, Babatunde is framed, accused of fraud and thereby suspended. A lawyer and close friend of Ife, Yomi, however shows up like a knight in shining armor and consequently, Babatunde is rescued.

Ifa, in the first attempt at selecting a king, declares that a prince is missing. The tale of the missing prince and potential king resounds around the village, even rending its air. Consequent upon this, prince Adejare, on the one hand, who had shown sign of promise decides and backs out of the kinship tussle. Prince Adewumi, on the other hand, seeks redress in a law court. The selection procedure is called to question. Babatunde, the young lion and an upholder of tradition however becomes victorious in the long run, but that is also not the end. The State Ministry of Chieftaincy Affairs requests for a fresh nomination and instructs that a representative of the ministry shall be asked to witness the selection process in order to give fairness a chance. At this point, the reader sees tradition and sacred secrecy coming face to face, clashing with civilization and openness. While still puzzled by the mystery of the missing prince, Babatunde dramatically encounters an old man through which he gains a fascinating insight into the tale of the first king and his missing son, and the two women who, before they could do anything were warded off by the roar of a lion. The day comes. The ceremony begins for the selection of the king. The procedure is simple: each prince is to step forward, mention his lineage and the spirit of the king his forbear will be called forth. Adewumi is the first to be called forth. He is asked probing questions. Answers fail him. The mask falls and it becomes patently obvious that his claim is false. He turns out to be a product of his mother’s shameless and senseless escapade with a farmer.

However, to the utter dismay of everyone, Babatunde turns out to be the missing prince during his first earthly journey. He has reincarnated as Babatunde. He has the symbol of kingship, a pointer to the identity of the sought-after prince and king.

While dissociating herself from the crops of feminists, who believe that the woman has been long conditioned in the environment of masculine dominance, hence the need to liberate her from the shackles and hands of male dominance, Olatune in Rose of Numen gives the woman a new focus. The woman carries a secret flame that she must light in man. Among others, she revisits culture contact, bribery and corruption, predestination, the link between the spiritual and the physical world (a theme which the farmland of African writers have ploughed appreciably), and dwell more on incarnation and reincarnation. She presents us in this work of fiction, with two interconnected and interrelated world, and with the characters we go many a time on foray from this earthly plain into the world beyond.

Numen Yeye is an intriguing and captivating novel that is laced in flowery language, garnished with local idioms. Biola Olatunde indeed rises to the challenges of originality and creativity.

Like a meandering gentle rivulet, the well-etched words flow smoothly as it takes on issues of global concern that borders on emotions: pains, loss, joy and love, with a force. Also, we hear the resonance of love as it permeates through the thickest of hearts to produce a relationship that cannot be forgotten in time.

Book Reviewer:

Sola Owonibi, PhD: Chair, Department of English Studies, Adekunle Ajasin University, Akungba Akoko, Nigeria. An award-winning poet and play-wright, he is the Chairman, Association of Nigerian Authors (ANA), Ondo State Branch.

I am really grateful for that review because for me , writing at the international level has been a learning process and I am sure I have not scratched the surface yet. I look forward to your comments and suggestions.

You can always get a copy of any of my books from ifwgpublishing.com as well as on amazon.com

Chat soon.

Numen Yeye Series

2015-10-07T12:04:00.000+01:00

It is my new year. On the first Saturday of this month I turned 65. Nothing new in that as one day looks very much like another eh? For me though, birthdays are markers and I have a habit of looking forward to them. You know, do reviews and previews of my the past months and years sometimes. It was special for me this year because I had a chance to formally unveil to my own circle of friends my book two of the Numen Yeye series. Rose of Numen had been releases a couple of weeks before then.

I am using the instrument of fiction and facts to tell my people a story, and it is with a longing that we will dispense with the false façade we give the world. We are Nigerians, and I know that deeply ingrained in every Nigerian is a search for the Truth.

Why did I start these Numen series?

I spent my early years in the Northern part of my great country. I was used to walking wide open spaces in the blistering sun , the wild windy storms that will stop as abruptly as it had started.. We lived in Kaduna and I spoke the Hausa language instinctively with family and friends. I listened to tales of the dark south as I heard tales of rituals, dark medicine and held the southern peoples specifically my Yoruba homeland in dread.

When my policeman father was transferred South, we thought we had received a veritable death sentence. I had a sense of being closed in. Then I met my maternal grandmother and heard a story that opened a love for my tribe, a questioning of the very things that had kept me frightened. She was a priestess, a love and mystic that in the very simplicity of her life showed I had nothing to be afraid of. She told me about the pantheon of the gods of my ancestors and how it is I could find the same in any particular religion in any particular part of the planet Earth. Above all, these gods in a single thread led straight to Olodumare, the Supreme One.

So I wrote the Numen Yeye series first as a play, in the same trilogy as I later did in prose.

Last Saturday, I presented to my own community of friends and fellow authors, the second in the series…ROSE OF NUMEN.

Let me share one of the comments of Lloyd Weaver an African-American, when I gave him the book to read before coming to the presentation:

Lloyd Weaver presnting Rose of Numen

” I am totally stunned. There is nothing more to be said. I thank the Mother of All.. You have put your soul on the line and rendered your life sacred.” Quite heavy words for me but I understood what he meant for Lloyd is an Ifa priest of a reputation that earned him a chieftaincy title from the accepted cradle of Yoruba land, Ile Ife. I felt excited when he came to the launching and spoke glowingly about the book. His comments underlined the comments of the book reviewer, a head of the department of literature, Dr. Sola Owonibi.

Dr. Owonibi, the book reviewer

In the words of Dr. Owonibi, “I am a teacher of Literature, I should know about Literature and with all sense of responsibility, the book Rose of Numen, is a great work of Literature. It is a great work of literature, a book that I am proud to recommend to anyone. I congratulate the author on a well written book and the publishers for a great cover and layout.”

I felt like I was floating on a cloud and listening to accolades for someone else.

I will continue next week . I hope you will order for your own copy.

You can buy a copy from ifwgpublishing.com

Or at amazon.com

When you look at it

2015-08-23T11:43:00.002+01:00

When you look at it, learning is a continuous experience. No I am not about to share any momentous discovery. Wish I can tell you about some great discovery or the key to riches or even longevity. Nah! I want to share some of my experiences in the last couple of months. It has given me some kind of strange sensing. How did it start really? First I was living on the edge of some anxiety. My publisher Gerry Huntman of IFWG could pass for the typical British, you know he could be very close mouthed about things.

When I sent in the sequel to Numen Yeye, he didn’t let on about his assessment of the book. I took that in my stride because I assumed he was sympathetic about the fright I got when I had a few chapters left of the book. I had told him the book was about ready to be submitted and I had a chapter or two left. Then Numen went for a walk and simply disappeared from the computer! I almost died. Gerry gave me all types of suggestions, friends did, my IT friend stared for long hours at the darn computer Numen was not there. I cried for two nights wondering where I was going to start. Third morning, I went back to the computer and put it on, looking patiently at the files, my mind blank and came across one that the computer had named ‘temp’. Puzzled I clicked on it and there was…Numen!. I stared, and almost gingerly scrolled to the last page of ‘temp’. She had shed weight, not much but I whispered softly to her, asking her if she had missed home that much. I could continue and I could finish. I respectfully invited Numen to continue. When my husband walked into the sitting room he saw me in intense concentration, my head cocked to one side as I listened inwardly and told the story as I heard it. Numen had assumed an imperious tone and I had to catch up fast.

You might think I am crazy as I tell you this, but for me, writing is always an emotional thing. I tend to feel the characters are personal because you see after introducing them to you, they tend to follow me around until they have finished their story. Some never really finish as they assume I am always there to listen.

Numen just asked me if I have actually told you the specifics of what I have been talking about. I apologize. The sequel of Numen Yeye is now available to be purchased. Rose of Numen the sequel to Numen Yeye is now in print and published.

You can get a copy at most online stores but particularly at amazon.com

You can also get all my books at ifwgpublishing.com

I will tell you some more very soon about why I wrote the trilogy. The third book in the series will come out sometime next year.

I want to leave you with this question, is the concept of God meant for only ‘civilized’ parts of the world?

Rituals, sacrifices and such ‘barbaric’ practices have been defined by civilized countries as being the prerogative of the Dark race of Africa, but from Historical records, is that really true?

I am having a headache just thinking of it. I have a friend, he is British, a very good writer and he writes about the most brutal things. After reading his first book, I have been afraid to open another page of another book of his to read. He never gave mine a chance saying it was too exotic and yes..barbaric. There was no ritual nor anything to give you sleepless night. He just wrote me off the map. Kind of sad.

Numen Yeye is African fantasy on spiritualism, everyday concept of our myths and confusion between our traditional religion and the Western imports.

Rose of Numen continues where Numen yeye stopped. It is a trilogy that I am sure you will love to read.

Take my loving dare and buy the two or anyone copy.

Talk soon’

To the survivors

2015-07-26T13:32:00.000+01:00

I love reading. It is an opportunity to escape into another world and be somebody else for a change and for me it is an education. Well, this piece is about an education that I will not be flippant about. I review books because it helps me learn about concepts. I enjoy the books and also sometimes I get to make friends. I also have certain self imposed guideline I have given myself. I simply read as the intended reader and share how the book stands with me as a person.

Now that is off my chest, couple of months ago, I got books to read and review. Great I said to myself and read the first two and loved them. Quickly sent the authors questions I wanted them to answer. I like staying in touch with them. I have known authors who did not bother with me again after I had reviewed their books. Suits me fine.

In one of those batches of books I received was a book that I was horrified to learn I had missed for weeks as it sat in my computer overlooked. Couple of weeks later a guy sends me an email asking if I had read his book? What? I apologized, assumed it was one the books that I did not enjoy and told the fellow I had no understanding of the subject matter, so I wrote a nice email back that I could not get a handle on the book and explained my reasons. He gave me a nice reply and wondered what I could not understand about rape. I was shocked. Did he write about rape somewhere in that book? I stared at his name again really puzzled.

I went backtracking my emails on books to read, it was not on my downloads. I was getting ready to email back that he must have sent it to someone else but I wanted to be sure so I started checking my back emails…and there it was. I stared at it in shock. Downloaded and there was the name Robert Uttaro.. To the Survivors..blimey! I started to read.

To the Survivors…..

I opened page one and was sucked in. I raged, cried, was angry and Bobby had me.He took me through the minds of people that made me look at a crime, that for us in my corner of the world we have been unable to define properly let alone classify and give it a name. Bobby’s book is about rape. It is a tough subject for a woman to treat, either personally or even to read. I had a tough book on my hands. I HAD to read, felt it, cried over it and was raw with a myriad of emotions for days..

Thank you Bobby, I almost didn’t like you but I do love you and I will like every human being to read this book. It is not fiction, when you read it, you will half wish you can dismiss it as fiction. Bobby’s confusion, and compassion glows through and also his sincerity and honesty.

I want you to meet Bobby and I hope his answers will help us.

Bobby Uttaro