The Just Can't Wait Card Test

The Tale of Two Responses

It was eventually going to happen: a moment when I wielded my Just Can't Wait Card and was met with a Just Can't Be Bothered apathetic response. It was yesterday, just before 7:00 PM, when I alighted from the tram at Cornbrook, slightly pressed and hoping to make up the shortfall of my daily 10,000 steps.

As the breezy chill of the cold hit me, my bladder was at bursting point. I needed to go and go now. I turned into the entrance of one of the new developments and showed my card to the concierge, pleading to use a toilet on their premises.

She gave it no consideration, expressing the fear that if her manager found out a non-resident had used the toilet, she would be in trouble. Lady, the reason I came here was that I have a medical condition. I need the respite borne of your human kindness to allow me access. Surely, no manager of human provenance would think helping someone with a medical condition is so bad as to warrant a sanction. Common sense should prevail.

It fell on deaf ears; this conversation was going on as Brian was on the other end of the phone. She then said I should try the Co-op shop around the corner, to the front. The daring I once had of telling anyone who refused my entreaties that I would do whatever was pressing standing in front of them deserted me.

A Worrying Contingency

In the worst-case scenario, I would have wet myself and depended on my incontinence underwear to save my blushes in the 30-minute walk home. However, I did go to the Co-op shop and showed my Just Can't Wait Card. The lady at the till immediately summoned the store manager.

He explained that there were no customer-side toilet facilities, but he would take me into the back of the store and would have to wait outside until I had finished. The difference? Human compassion with a sense of humanity, rather than the readiness to sacrifice suffering on the altar of keeping the rules. More so, it is the presence of initiative, agency, and autonomy.

I had this large, disabled-equipped convenience to myself for as long as I wanted, and I was done in a few minutes. I thanked him profusely and made for home: relieved, succoured, and comforted by understanding human beings.

The Absence of Initiative

My earlier experience made me wonder: beyond manning the concierge desk, if any resident had suffered an emergency, would this concierge have risen to the situation to help? I would be quite doubtful, because she would be thinking her manager would upbraid her for any attempt at being human. It is best not to be distracted by the other descriptions that are present in what could be hitting below the belt.

My condition was manageable. I would not want to extrapolate on a more serious condition with someone else, who needed the presence of mind, the abundance of initiative, and just a modicum of courage, with the beating heart of humanity. How would our conscientious concierge, attending to her duties in the strict diktat of the letter of her contract of employment, have responded?

Names and Places

On getting home, I wrote to the management company of that apartment complex. I may not get a response, but what it takes to escalate this episode by averring to the press that there are certain establishments in this friendly Manchester city of ours, heartless apparatchiks are in customer-facing roles, oblivious to the charitable consideration of the disabled or those with medical conditions.

Heck, I have been in places where I had neither my card nor a Radar key, and I was allowed the use of their toilets and a place for respite before I continued on my way. The talk on this matter is not over yet. Names and places to come in due course.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Knowing pain is personal

Pain consumes you

Pain is a feeling that goes deep into your core that could be such a distraction from everything else keeping you in the discomfort that seeks to become the normal of your current existence.

Pain is the moment, it has no past or future, it is now, calling out to every nerve that has any element of response, you cannot be unaware of it being there, a dominating sadistic force of otherworldly provenance.

I once knew what pain was, the pain of cancer and yet in knowing that I am always reticent to associate my experience with that of anyone else, because we all feel pain so differently, it is individual and unique, it is personal for which the prescription, if it can be eased, is particular to that situation.

Pain refusing to go

I was on morphine but after two nights I could no longer tolerate it, I was overcome with emesis they had to try something else. Then, it was oxycontin which worked for a few hours and late at night, I would call the nurse for another pill because the pain was interfering with my sleep.

Before I left hospital, I was given a Fentanyl patch, which was supposed to last a week affixed to my skin, but the pain still seemed to announce itself in my consciousness and this was apart from the three other types of pain medication I was on addressing neuralgia, headaches, inflammation, and fevers.

When I told my oncologist, I was still feeling some pain, he doubled the dose of the Fentanyl patch having first thought the original dosage should have dealt with the pain. I did have a high pain threshold, but if you had fungating tumours in the sole of your foot it was just on another level. Then as the tumour dissipated and necrotised skin came off with fresh skin replacing the once blackened flesh, the pain from cancer remained for months afterwards.

What becomes of the pain afflicted?

At the full healing of my sole, the pain subsided but I had to wean myself off the patch by halving it and leaving it on for longer, a process that took another 3 months. It was a revelation of how opioid pain relief can become addictive.

Just over a week ago, on my Twitter timeline, a physician undergoing chemotherapy for aggressive cancer wrote of the pain she was feeling. I could relate, yet I could not find the form of words to offer comfort, I just knew that somewhere you needed some alleviation and hopefully without the incapacitation that you cannot function at all.

Pain can be arresting, what becomes those for whom nothing can ease their pain? It is of them that I hope beyond hope that relief comes that they might find comfort, peace, and rest. In my case, the consultant also had some confidence that we could see the end of it if I responded well to the treatment and that is how I find myself writing about it 12 years after.

Pain in my blogs

Blog - In hospital to kill the pain

Blog - Getting off the pain train

Blog - Generally responsive and dealing with pain

Blog - Stronger medicine and another course of chemo

Blog - Boldly tell your doctor everything

Blog - Off and back on the pain patch

Blog - Opinion: Where addiction and tragedy can confuse issues

From the gift of a cemetery

An end as a new beginning

Inexplicable is the word that came to mind when I heard the story of Ruth Coker Burks on BBC Radio 4 some nights ago during a usual bout of insomnia, and many a tear I did shed. Imagine a girl born into an abusive childhood who lost her father at 5 and whose mother suffered tuberculosis and out of a dispute with between her mother and her uncle inherited a cemetery on the passing of a mother.

You would wonder what a young adult would have to do with a cemetery until she found herself spending the last 13 hours of the life a young man with AIDS calling out for his mother that had rejected him. She found prejudice, bigotry, ostracism, homophobia and much else along the way with no place to bury the young man until it occurred to her that she had a cemetery and the first AIDS victim’s ashes she buried were scattered in the grave of her father.

Restoring faith in humanity

Here was a single mother in her twenties who out curiosity and oodles of human compassion chanced upon a person and before you knew it, she became an AIDS carer directly and indirectly to over 1,000 people and buried over 40 AIDS victims in her family cemetery.

Even quite poignantly, when AIDS was a death sentence and long before there were therapies, those she cared for seemed to have a longer life expectancy until her care that the National Institute for Health sent researchers to investigate. It just came down to giving care and hope, even in a hopeless situation.

The story I heard was of an angel of mercy, full of compassion, and whilst at risk, she put the fullness of her humanity into the end-of-life care of many young men rejected and disowned by their families, giving them dignity in death and whose story has only begun to be told. [Amazon: All the Young Men: How One Woman Risked It All to Care for the Dying]

Giving dignity and hope to strangers

There is no hopeless situation and every gift we receive might well be for a purpose we could never conceive at the point of acquisition. The many who could not find in their humanity to face the suffering of their families and relationships, she stood up to and whilst standing in with love towards all that came to her. Her kindness is a beacon restoring faith in our humanity.

What do you do with a cemetery? You give strangers the honour and the dignity of a decent burial and memorial and put others to shame.

Thought Picnic: What little to do much with

Meeting all needs regardless

The gospel reading and sermon in church today was based on Matthew 14:13-21, the well-rehearsed story of the feeding of the 5,000. It begins with Jesus withdrawing for some quiet time, but the people followed him that he abandoned his quest to minister to their needs.

Seeing the great crowd, out of compassion, he healed their sick and taught them until it was late. His disciples then urged him to let the people go because they could get food and sustenance, as they were in a deserted and remote place.

Jesus, however, was not going to let them go in their hour of immediate physical need that he told the disciples to feed them. The disciplines had somewhat determined there were 5 loaves and 2 fishes available which might have wanted to share amongst themselves.

The little we bring

That little was what Jesus needed to feed the crowd, having asked the disciples to feed the people, he then showed them how. A process of miraculous multiplication took place in his hands, a man who healed the sick and raised the dead could take so little and make much out of it. The ned of the story was not that 5,000 were fed and that was just the men, excluding the women and the children, it was that 12 baskets were gathered after everyone was fully sated.

The Dean preaching this morning emphasized on the fact that little is a lot, engagement is good consideration and beyond that, we should act. We pray for the needy and then go out and meet that need. Letting Jesus blessing whatever we have got to multiply it in provision and means to those in need.

Just a word is enough

What also made the message quite significant to me was in conversation with Brian during the week, he opined on how a somewhat insignificant word can be the source of inspiration for a blog. I have on occasion found myself writing copiously on the premise of just one word, an insignificant event, a silly idea or a dismissible observation.

Earlier in Matthew’s account of the gospel, a centurion came to Jesus asking that he heal his servant. Jesus was ready to follow to the centurion’s home to heal the servant, but the centurion gave an interesting exposition on power and authority. All the centurion required was caught in this: “Lord, I am not worthy that You should come under my roof. But only speak a word, and my servant will be healed.” [BibleHub: Matthew 8:8]

Back to my conversation with Brian, to his observation, I said, maybe the singular word before I blog is like my 5 loaves and 2 fishes of inspiration seeding a blog. Obviously, in the light of what I heard today; it only behoves me to find other areas where the little I have can become something great in the master’s hands. I leave you with another blog that came from that last sentence in a song by Danniebelle Hall.

Blog - Back to the cross with meaning to me

In the aftermath of Grenfell Tower

From that fateful night in June,
And the days that followed that conflagration,
Nary a tower block that I see,
Fills with the angst of the souls therein,
For in the other was the struggle and fight,
Against the rigid and established order,
That bullied and threatened,
Those who spoke and wrote of foreboding disaster,
The indifference of officialdom was palpable,
As the double-barrelled named,
Could hardly be bothered,
At the shrieking of the poorer,
In a borough of the stupendously rich,
To wit, they sought to beautify,
The Babel of today,
They spent pounds and saved pennies,
With cladding that offered skin-deep beauty,
Low in the building on that night,
A fire started that should not have spread,
But like tinder, the cladding lit,
And a ladder it became for the fire to climb,
To the top, the flames did race,
In the building, the victims did panic,
Many in flat and stairwells trapped,
As they succumbed to fumes and smoke,
By the time we knew what had happened,
Over four score souls had perished,
The councillors with their tin ears,
Ignored the tragedy as they had ignored the residents,
She of whom was spoken of as strong and stable,
Lacked the paps for care and compassion,
Scurrying she raced from the heart of the matter,
As selfless neighbours showed great humanity,
In it, we saw the great divide,
That had become an unbridgeable cavern,
Between the have-nots and have yachts,
Our unequal society indicted and convicted,
Which makes me constantly wonder,
When I see a tower teeming with life,
Do they all sleep in there safe and sound?
Knowing that from disaster they can flee,
If an ugly day does come like in June,
Where many in the edifice of mock-beauty,
Were cruelly and atrociously cremated alive,
Because someone somewhere did not care,
About life and livelihood that brings no profit,
To their selfish political aims,
In my city, I see many a tower,
Stripped of the panels of superfluity,
Revealing the raw underbelly,
That might well save a life or two,
As we find in many tests conducted,
All around the land and abroad,
That the safety we took for granted,
Was a standing crematorium,
We must not rest on this matter,
Until the culpable and accessory,
That conspired in this murderous enterprise,
See the sternest face of the law,
Even after that is done,
It would never really be,
Justice for the victims of Grenfell Tower.

The UK: In a country where the poor are roasted for the privileged

The ringing question

"What does it take to get the voice of the poor in this country heard?" A member of the audience at the BBC Question Time broadcast on Thursday the 16^th of June 2017.

On the 14^th of July, Grenfell Tower, an apartment block of 24 storeys was reported to be on fire around 1:00 AM, what was shocking was the rapidity with which the fire spread with resulting fatalities that could rise to over 100. [Grenfell Tower fire - Wikipedia]

What made this fire and tragedy more shocking was the fact that the tower block residents, the Grenfell Action Group had been complaining and agitating about fire safety and hazards from as far back as 2013. [Grenfell Action Group]

Money for style over safety

In recent years, a £8.7 million refit was done to the apartment block, completed in 2016, the activity included a suspected accelerant cladding that is banned in Germany and the United States of America, which might give a lie to the idea that our building safety regulations are worth the paper they are written on.

The refit which could have included fitting in a sprinkler system at the cost of £138,000 was not done, invariably putting aesthetics above the safety of human life.

It goes without saying that a whole institutional framework in the British establishment involving council apparatchiks, councillors, mayors and ministers are responsible for not learning lessons of the past, ignoring pertinent concerns, sitting on reports and recommendations that should have been expedited and implementing stringent cuts in the relentless pursuit of cutting the deficit at the expense of the human lives of the poor considered insignificant, irritant and irrelevant to their absurdly greater purpose and goals.

Mining for a forced-upon humanity

When the Prime Minister visited the scene of the tragedy yesterday, it failed to occur to her that leadership includes taking the brickbats whilst being there to offer succour, sympathy, comfort, empathy and assurances to the victims. She failed to use her humanity and the opprobrium that resulted after other leading politicians and senior royalty visited and interacted with the people has forced her to find the smidgen of compassion eked out with duress.

It goes without saying that Theresa May has lost the moral right to be the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Despite her remedially late actions, if at the first opportunity the Prime Minister of this great country could not for whatever reason meet with victims of an entirely avoidable tragedy exacerbated by some member of her cabinet, she by all terms cannot then aver that she has the authority to negotiate Brexit on our behalf.

The matter is about humanity, it is political, it is social, it is economic, it is about government, it is about caring, it is about a more equal society and for the unfortunate souls lost in the Grenfell Tower fire, it is the realisation that no one thought they mattered until the clamour for justice has forced the cossetted and comfortable political class to feign a sense of empathy with the poor who normally wield very little power and rarely have their voices heard.

The poor left to rot

In the last 7 years, the changes in society security entitlements, the outsourcing of eligibility criteria to death panels with a profit motive, the cuts to public services, the starving of the National Health Service to ready the institution for a fire sale to the moneyed classes, the dearth of buildings and accommodation for the working classes and the favouring of the rich over the poor in terms of access and policy initiatives has been a race to the bottom that has widened the chasm between the rich and the poor to an unbridgeable existence.

We have a democracy in name only that in its reality is the government of the people, by the few for the fewer still.

That is why the question at the beginning of this blog needs asking, “What does it take to get the voice of the poor in this country heard?”

Hold them criminally responsible

The blood of the innocently shed out of indifference, disinterest, the lack of consideration and concern revelling in institutional inhumanity shall be visited on the heads of all those responsible. Nothing but a criminal prosecution of the whole chain of responsibility that allowed the Grenfell Tower tragedy would be adequate justice.

Meanwhile, the need to expedite action to rehouse the victims and find means of ameliorating compensation for them must be the most urgent consideration. It is shocking that in the 5^th largest economy in the world we suffered such a display of the dereliction of duty to our poor as if we were in some lawless and chaotic Bantustan.

No, I do not think the government have nearly begun to feel the aggrieved sense of injustice and anger from the people, that they presided over this atrocity must be a blot on their records, recorded for posterity without the mercy of sophistry. These leaders who engage with soundbite are completely out of touch with our reality. Send them packing forthwith.

UK Elections 2015: This election needs a human face

Some background

In 1968, my father then training to be an accountant and working for the NHS went to a pub with some of his English colleagues whereupon he met with his local MP and an exchange ensued.

This MP was Enoch Powell and the encounter was soon after his Rivers of Blood speech, the content of which traded on the fears and insecurities of the electorate by demonising selected minorities for political advantage. Immigration!

Populist demonization

This was a populist and sometimes right-wing campaign strategy, it is not new, and today we see the same elements of demonising minorities all around the world for political capital.

Be it minors, womenfolk, the poor, the different by race, tribe, religion, custom, beliefs or sexuality, the disabled, the powerless or the voiceless, some opportunistic politician has found something to excite the basest of our instincts to garner votes.

In this general election season in the UK, the leader of the UK Independence Party in debates decided to aim the crosshairs at refugees with HIV he falsely claims costs the NHS £25,000 for treatment.

This is sensationalist bunkum, but it gave impetus to a malevolent listener to this reprehensible invective to take the picture of an innocent man and make him the face and person of Nigel Farage's rotten lies.

It’s about real people

Bisi Alimi, whose story we know as the first Nigerian to come out on national television, who suffered personal and institutional persecution then had to flee Nigeria narrowly escaping death was the target of the atrocious besmirching.

We granted refugee status to Bisi Alimi and he has been of the most exemplary conduct, contributed immensely to the cause of LGBTI minorities and many human rights issues all around the world. If he remained a refugee, he is one we want amongst us as an inspirational figure and more, but Bisi does have a British passport, he is not a refugee.

However, that is beside the point, this attack was aimed at those who have sought refuge in our country with the devilish intent of persuading us to put cost above our humanity. That has been the bottom-line of the UKIP agenda, making cost the issue at the expense of our greater humanity and tendency to compassion.

The heart of who we are

When people come to the UK seeking refuge on humanitarian grounds, we have had a tradition of welcoming them and helping them thrive in our communities and society. This has been the case for centuries and long may we continue to set the standard for compassionate relief and humanitarian consideration.

The personal attack on Bisi Alimi was not only contemptible but completely unrepresentative of who we are. Yet we must know that this campaign strategy is shocking and awful, one trading on our fears to put wedges of division and difference within our communities.

Nigel Farage is a canny politician and he knew what he was doing by sowing seeds of suspicion and anger in the hope that some amongst us might act unconscionably and irrationally, along with his intention of shoring up support for electioneering purposes. We must repudiate this kind of talk completely.

Taking the fight to Nigel

However, under the auspices of the Thanet Trade Union Action, the irrepressible Bisi Alimi is taking the fight to Nigel Farage in the constituency where he is contesting to be the local MP and you are invited to Meet Farage's Tourist.

My hope is by the time Bisi Alimi has finished speaking we would see Nigel Farage for who he is and give him and his kind of populist rhetoric the heave-ho.

Nigel Farage is not the face of our hearts and minds, I believe Bisi Alimi more represents who we are and the example we want to better be to the world - open, empathetic, considerate, helpful, fair, just and truly British.

Please attend if you can and share with your friends.

Meet Farage’s Tourist

Thursday 30 April at 19:00–21:00

Odd Fellows Hall,

142 High Street,
Ramsgate, Kent.
CT11 9TT

Thank you.

Opinion: We cannot for our comfort ignore the homeless

No woof without a roof

Having suffered the threat of homelessness a number of times, there are deep experiences that recovering from illness and adversity have brought into my life.

Blog - Homeless! My exciting life takes a new chapter

Blog - England: How Lewisham Single Homeless Intervention Prevention humiliated me

I have hoped that the lessons I learnt and continue to learn will make me a better person, a more considerate person, a caring person, a compassionate person and a more understanding person.

Critically, being a more understanding person hopefully helps you appreciate long before you are tempted to judge or be prejudiced.

More than who you see

I have seen homelessness in many cities and it is clear that most homeless people have stories and narratives that are far from the stereotypes of homelessness that we are sometimes fed by the media.

One such example of a homeless person with a story was that of Anne Naysmith whose obituary appeared in literally all the main English newspapers, locally known as the Car Lady of Chiswick, she was once concert pianist and even taught at Trinity College, London.

She lost her home and lived rough in a car for 26 years before she was moved on by the authorities, quite a tale of a life that was. It goes without saying that many others might well have tales of wonder in their past that the present attempts to place into insignificance. We must never be fooled, our humanity is much richer than what meets the eye.

Longing for a caring society

For myself, where I have had the opportunity, I have been blessed to both give and encourage, if I could do more, I would love to. For what many of the homeless need is first the understanding of others and then the opportunity to begin to have options; once those options are there, they can begin to make choices; choice indicates a sense of independence and from the budding of the very basic encouragement in word and in deed, you can watch people rise.

What I long for is, a more caring society, a more considerate humanity and a more engaging community in helping those who lack shelter, resource or opportunity.

Atrocious spikes

It is in this vein that I was utterly, utterly repulsed by the studs Selfridges in Manchester installed on the ledges of their shop window with the excuse that they were to prevent staff from smoking about and around the entrance of the store. [Mancunian Matters]

Whilst the ledge itself was probably not wide enough for people to sleep on, it represented a growing trend first seen in London when Tesco’s installed anti-homeless studs at their Regent Street store and then a luxury apartment complex in London did the same.

For all the excuses and many might be valid for installing the studs just as anti-pigeon pins are installed around public buildings, the broader society could not countenance the deliberate attempt to cleanse our inner cities of the homeless so that we can comfortably assume their being out of sight means we do not have a homelessness problem amongst us.

Our true society

I believe we need to observe the comforts and the discomforts of our communities in plain sight and if at any time the discomforts of homelessness should disappear, it should be as a result of society working to help rather than society actively ostracising and stigmatising those more unfortunate than ourselves.

It is the reason why I signed Change.Org petition started by Professor Cathy Urquhart asking Selfridges in Manchester to remove the anti-homeless spikes from outside their store and I am glad to report that after a well-publicised campaign against this odious and reprehensible conduct, the spikes have been removed.

Still unforgivable

I, however, doubt this episode will be forgiven just as I have not forgiven Tesco’s for thinking up the stinking idea. I would rather see these corporate behemoths of retail excess positively contributing to helping the homeless and the many disadvantaged, get their lives together and find opportunities to thrive in society.

That to me would be real corporate social responsibility, one where those who have been helped with have heart-warming stories of corporate showing a human face, having a human heart passionately and compassionately working for profit for the community and themselves.

Whilst I will thank Selfridges in Manchester for listening, the real truth is it should never have happened in the first place.

Please do not walk on by

Life is not fair

As I passed through Manchester Piccadilly Station the other day, I saw an advertisement poster with the message, “Don’t fund the habit, fund the charities.”

There is a message there, but I do wonder if it is the true reflection of issues to do with many of the people I have encountered who beg on the streets in the many big cities I have been to.

In my own personal life, I have had plenty and very little, I have enjoyed extravagance and after illness I was reduced to penury, needing more help than my heretofore independence was able to ask for.

Doors slammed in my face

When I did ask for help, from a system into which during the good times I had paid all my dues and more, I encountered hurdles, bottlenecks, indifference and difficulty. [It took the hospital to unclog the system.]

Blog - Hospital eases bureaucratic stress

The things I was entitled to were denied me because I did not look vulnerable enough or did not tick all the boxes of desperate privation authored by some comfortable apparatchik oblivious of the realities on the street.

Blog - England: How Lewisham Single Homeless Intervention Prevention humiliated me

I cannot vouch for anyone in terms of whether they are struggling with drug or alcohol problems, but I can say that if the so-called charities were really doing the jobs they suggest they are doing with the funds people throw into their collecting buckets or the ones that can be transferred through the simplicity of Short Message Service (SMS) text messages, I should not be seeing beggars on our streets.

Who helps these people?

Yet, step out into Manchester City centre every evening and quite every major street corner has someone begging for spare change. Then there are others who would approach you with a story, long or short, their need is immediate and it makes no allowances for the smartness of seeking the nearest entrée to officialdom to get help.

In a few recent encounters, these were people who truthfully or otherwise on a cold damp night needed a place to sleep in shelters that would demand a payment before accepting them.

Where these people have fallen through the safety net with holes big enough to let elephants through without entanglement, they simply have nothing and sometimes not even a blanket to take shelter in an open street doorway.

No way out

They are usually in a catch-22 situation, for without an address you really cannot do anything, even if someone ignorantly and naively thinks the system and the welfare state is in overdrive, on anecdotal evidence alone, I can well assume that many who need that help cannot get beyond the first hurdle to get the help they need.

Blog - Thought Picnic: Returnee Woes

I cannot ignore such people, having lived so close to the edge, the people who were once invisible to me are too visible to walk past. Having been given a second chance of life after cancer, in the little and plenty that I have, I desire to have an open hand.

Prepare to give

An open hand is one that can give and it is also open to receive, the former being more impactful. Much that we donate goes to child welfare or animal welfare in faraway lands and that is good, but we stand in rank hypocrisy if at our doorsteps there be many who are needy and we in response to those advertisements decide not to do the needful.

These people are our neighbours, the ones on the furthest spectrum of our diverse humanity who have for all sorts of reasons happened upon hard times. Times we may never and I hope many never come to experience.

However, I know what a very little gift can do for someone desperately in need, and if we challenge ourselves to address that need generously, for some, we would have become angels.

In the words of Mahatma Gandhi, “There are people in this world so hungry, that God cannot appear them except in the form of bread.”

Where charities cannot bring bread to the hungry, I will do my bit, I hope the help I offer is helpful, but I would not agonise over what is done with the help I have offered.

Thought Picnic: The Beginning Begins

Beyond access is action

Interest, inquiry, intention, invocation and intervention greeted the circumstances that presaged my arrival at my new project that began with an absence of any means but hope.

Difficult as it seemed the options one had were few and answers not forthcoming apart from some interest and some inquiry.

None of those took the issue forward and sometimes it made ones condition worse because it was fertile ground for worry that presaged stress where in fact its presence did not help matters than precipitate the apparent rut one was in.

So, for those, with as much courtesy as one could muster, one closed those lines down. Now, that is not to say one is not bothered, it is just that just productive came of it.

Beyond acquisition is acceleration

One decision however one had to avoid, in fact, it was never an option, the opportunity was to be taken and the nuclear option which could bring much hardship, the subject of many news stories by those caught in the need to do desperate things.

The seconds ticked away into hours and the time closed in, and then the help one desired came, just in the nick of time and before one set out on the journey that was a little under four hours.

We arrived to comment, comfort and compassion, composed and collected, the night passed restfully though with connections that failed.

Beyond acquaintance is acquisition

The day began refreshingly, well and expectantly, fed and helped we arrived to introductions and interactions, a long discussions of why and where framed the scope of what was expected of us.

This would be interesting and all thanks to what resulted from invocation, then one supposes part of what appears to irritate was to address the conscience and it could be uncomfortable.

The light and the night was the first day, with gratitude and more. Thank you.

Decade Blogs - Abubakar A. Musa - Challenging the humanity in us

Decade Blogs

One of the reasons why I gave everyone offering to contribute to my #YourBlogOnMyBlog Series commemorating my Decade of Blogging free rein to write on whatever issue, topic or story that they like, was it opened a window into the diversity of our human existence.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

Indeed, I have loved reading the blogs that have showered underserved praise on me, but just because I provide a platform does not mean I should take the best seat. My job here is to introduce, to curate, to edit, to schedule and to publish – I do this with a great duty of responsibility that people would trust me with their opinions, a sense of honour that people would respond to my request to write for my blog and with deep gratitude and thanks for the many who have appreciated me enough write.

I wish I could say more about Abubakar A. Musa, I cannot, apart from some exchanges we have had on Twitter, but after reading this blog, I found this is someone I would love to meet, in gain and in pain, for a person whose eyes are open to the recognise the core of our humanity is the person that can be true in all things.

We have had five Popes in my lifetime, they have over their reigns done maybe significant things, but Pope Francis seems to have reached deeper into the soul of our humanity with his touching and simple compassion, he has become the Good Samaritan example of our times.

Blog - Pope Francis taking us back to the core of our humanity

Abubakar A. Musa brings to this page, many pictures of suffering, pain and grief, the vulnerabilities and frailties of our humanity and asks that we begin to understand what people go through, how it affects them and how it affects us. Most of all he asks us to visit the sick, offering comfort and succour to them. We must become considerately responsive with humaneness and our humanity.

I completely relate to this, I have been in a situation where a visit, a word, a touch, a smile, a hand was all I needed to ease the pain, if only for a while.

Blog - Thought Picnic: What the gravely ill need

Abubakar A. Musa, once had a blog, but he sometimes contributes to Omojuwa.com and AfricanLiberty.org and his Twitter handle is @blinkingam

Challenging the humanity in us

I was just a little under ten years old, my father held my hand and walked me through the various wards of the then, Ahmadu Bello University Teaching Hospital Kaduna (now in Shika, Zaria). Ward after ward, bed after bed, lots of people lying down with relatives and love ones rendering their support and immortal comforts.

As we walked through, I saw certain family members in shatters and disarray. While some were trying to comfort others, many were in high degree tears. Poor me, my brain couldn't comprehend any bit of the actions of those people nor the ones that surrounded them. I decided not to remain silent by asking my father why those people were crying. I remember vividly, yes, I won't forget, how my dad shook his head and said to me “at this stage, you will never understand what they are going through.”

While walking through life, those words of his keep shaping my thoughts and actions. Each time I was to be taken, either as a patient or escort, to the hospital, the feeling of seeing people crying and or in pain always echoed loudly in my head. True, I've seen many others since, but being my first contact with such incidents and at my developmental stage of life, that first event was my greatest TURNING POINT.

Today, I clearly understand such feelings. Today, I know what it means to be lying on a sick bed battling for survival. Today, I totally comprehend what it means to lose a loved one, a close associate, a companion, and even an enemy. Ironically, it's today, after I can relate with such feelings and reflect on its effects upon the humanity, that such incidents are becoming more than regular to my eyes.

Every time I walk through our hospitals, public or private, the sympathy of human souls battling for existence always met my first step. From the less disturbing to the most severe ones, people screaming, others seeking comfort and some saying goodbye. At that stage, the words of my dad always reverberate in my head. But, unlike then, now I clearly understand what the sick ones are going through, and what the relatives of the recently died are also equally going through. Each time I find myself across certain wards of the hospital, the feelings aren't just frightening, but the core of my humanity is always shaken.

Going through the oncology ward, the sight of many Cancer patients will always make you weep, if only you're the strong type. Going through the special care units and special care baby units, infants that are yet to know the meaning of their existence and parents alike battling to exist against deathly ailments. Walking through the female, labour, and the obstetric/gynaecology wards are equally deeply painful and emotionally scary episodes. Mothers and primers trying to escape the sword of maternal mortality.

While some deliveries are as successful as Michael Jackson in the music industry, others end up with difficult complications leading to many kissing the world goodbye. At the anti-retroviral screening (ARS) centres, the story is less comforting. Depression upon depression, and the fear of stigmatization are well embedded on the faces of the usually many patients. Many couldn't just understand the meaning of life any longer while the few that could, end up facing the challenge of societal rejection.

Of all these, one needs a deep human perspective to understand what they and their relatives are going through. Unlike then, I do not need to ask anyone anymore, because now, I understand what they are going through. I understand their feelings and that of their love ones. I understand that life could be so cruel when you least expect it. I, now, understanding that no human soul is more important than any other. The words of my dad had made me to understand that no flesh is immune to illness much as no soul is immune to dying. But above all, my constant visitation of the sick ones has helped in shaping my positive reactionary human tendency.

Should anyone visit the above mentioned hospital wards and not feel touched to the core of their human compassion, such person should re-examine their human moral consciousness. Looking at my general looks, the healthy lifestyle I'd lived and still living, I feel much lucky as a person. In between, I'd fallen sick and might still do again, that I know. But I've every reason to be grateful for the journey so far.

If you find yourself healthy today, if you find yourself comfortable at this moment, irrespective of your past turmoil and challenges, cherish it, live it, enjoy it, and be grateful to your creator as well. But do remember, you aren't much wiser than those lying on the sick beds or those passing away every second.

It could easily be you on that sick bed, it could be you going through that pain, and it could have been you that passed away. Everyone would, at a point, go back to where we all came from. Reeling the feelings of good health today shouldn't becloud our trait of sympathy towards those being tested by nature.

We should be thankful to God for such opportunity and ensure regular hospital visitation to rewire our virtues of humanity. In the theory of relationships, there's always a point of first contact. Your visitation to hospitals today and fervent prayers could change some other person’s live. Challenge the other side of you and explore the virtue of humanity within your composite make up. This life is nothing but a test of our collective thoughts.

Pope Francis taking us back to the core of our humanity

Pope Francis (L) caresses a sick person in Saint Peter’s Square at the end of his General Audience in Vatican City, 06 November 2013.
Photo courtesy of Washington Post

A man of faith

I watched with billions of others in 2005 as Pope John Paul II slowly departed this mortal coil, frail, infirm, a body so weak, but a spirit so strong doing the service he was called to minister to the faithful.

In his death throes, we wondered about how great a man was about to depart having left deep footprints in the sands of time, difficult to obliterate from our memories because his advent changed the world.

In July that year, I visited Rome for the first time as a birthday gift to a friend and as we queued to enter the Sistine Chapel, we were really in another queue that filed past the tomb of this amazing and great man of God.

A church so solemn

I am a Protestant, school in the High-Church Anglican faith, baptised at 9-years old and confirmed at 16. I took new religion of the Evangelical to Pentecostal kind at 18 and was baptised again, this time by full immersion at 21 but the Catholic Church has always held some fascination.

In 2008, I visited Fatima in Portugal, I watched the solemnity, the stillness, the reverences, the religiousness, the humility and the awesomeness, maybe I should have taken more away from that experience before cancer struck a year later.

Churches serving as sepulchres and places of worship depict an eternity of the circle of life and death that defines our humanity. The Catholic Church is one long continuous documentation of human history, the longest existent human religious and political institution; it is significant even if many ignore it.

A church astray

Today, there are many strands of Christianity, people rising with a gospel and a teaching gathering the wild sheep of people strewn all over the world to tents of great performance and pageantry. Many other religions too bring adherents to temples and synagogues imposing conditions, some easy, some difficult; all to lay hold on some peace on earth and possibly the promise of something in the Great Beyond.

In all this, the simply message of our common humanity is lost, the pain we share, the suffering that is the story of many. The plenty that the rich avariciously aggrandise to themselves stepping on the heads on anything or anyone to fill their vaults with much more without restraint, yet, like a flower we all bloom and then wither away.

For all the riches in this world cannot yet buy immortality, the best we can get is longevity in life, providence willing and being favourable towards us.

Compassion is the message

Back to the Catholic Church, we have a new Pope, his name is Pope Francis, and he is taking us back to where the church the belongs, to where religion serves humanity, to where humility is what draws the hearts of men to a truth that is irresistible, to where compassion is the open door to everyone, and it is a good thing.

Princess Diana with one handshake in 1989 dealt a blow to the stigma of HIV/AIDS, Pope Francis is dealing bigger blows, calling us to service as Good Samaritans, lifting our humanity to the pinnacle of existence above all beliefs, race, sexuality, condition, situation and whatever part of our diversity the unconscionable exploit for gain.

Good Samaritan humanity

In embracing, kissing and blessing a much-disfigured man, the Pope retells the gospel in the letter, the spirit and the acts of Jesus Christ when he walked the streets of Jerusalem and the Galilee, comforting and healing the sick, ministering love and compassion, with unconditional access.

No other story can be told than to see the story the picture tells. We must see, reach, touch, embrace – that is Good Samaritan humanity regardless of what you believe in.

Read the story and see the pictures – here.

Thought Picnic: My Ministry

My ministry review

When I was asked this morning about my ministry, I almost felt for my dog collar, as I wondered why I was not in church earlier than that moment.

The truth is I never aspired to be a religious leader and hence do not carry either the drive or the passion of those who stand at the pulpit preaching, proclaiming, postulating or prophesying.

I do however have a ministry as I cast myself as an encounter person, ordinary because of my simplicity though made significant by the stories I have to tell by experience and by insight.

My ministry explained

My ministry is my humanity it is the heart of my being, given purpose and undergirded by principles and examples in the life of Christ.

Then again, imperfect as I am, I seek to be a Good Samaritan having the bowels of mercy and compassion equipped to minister to need with as much ease as I am blessed to offer.

More so, for the sake of circumstance and opportunity, to be engaged in conversation temporal and spiritual even if a Samaritan woman who having had five husbands is not too unworthy to be asked for a drink of water.

Yet as if possessed by Legion, constantly depressing the self-destruct button my story becomes an encounter of great testimony.

My ministry in action

My ministry is life lived in all ways and means, a never-ending tale of gratitude and thankfulness with many who have selflessly poured out of their means into my bosom.

For I have gifts, some well used and others badly wasted and as I write I seek to speak of justice, fairness, truth, compassion and hope.

My ministry is conventional, to see the least, the deprived, the different, the poor, the little, the smallest, the seeking, the asking, the anxious, the worried, the sick and many more, to love them for who they are, to accept them wholly, to appreciate them fully and to engage them as equals, talented, able and called to excellence.

My ministry of the lesser me

However, I am far from fulfilling that calling for the limitations of my humanity but I am strengthened to reach beyond myself to do things I never thought possible.

What is my ministry? To live, to tell, to voice, to care, to engage, to feel, to tell stories that with life, there are things to do and places to go.

I need no office, I need no title, I am blessed and beyond that I strive to be a blessing and that in itself takes me from day to day, through the rough and the tough, despair and hope unto the promise that each new day offers a new beginning.

The greatest ministry

We will not all be apostles, or prophets, or teachers, or pastors, or evangelists, or preachers, but we can be ordinary people, with heart, with soul, with empathy and with desire to think, to act, to help and to give succour.

In most cases that is what the other person needs, someone who is there to listen, to comfort, to encourage, to embolden, to offer a shoulder to cry on and just be human. That to me is ministry, it is the ministry we are all called to, everyday of our lives.

That is my ministry.