Brick on Brick, Without a Plan

The Art of Communication

The art of communication is one that should never be left without nurture. It is a skill I have honed since childhood, when making myself heard, and hopefully understood, mattered.

I know the many times in my working life when being articulate, honest, truthful, clear, and detailed about ideas, events, or situations has been the difference between staying put and being walked out of the door with alacrity.

Conflict and the Power of Words

Conflict leers around the office or the workplace, where genuine engagement can easily slide into belittlement and being patronised. Both could be mistaken for compliments, only to be turned into something backhanded or used to upbraid you.

Besides that, there are the power plays and egos, where choosing your words carefully can significantly change the tone of an exchange. Drawing on a wealth of vocabulary with studied deployment is hardly putting the quality of your education to waste.

Finding the Right Analogy

When the going gets tough, and it usually does, finding the correct analogy to depict a situation becomes the best tool to deploy.

Consider a scenario where a user expected us to exhaust every avenue to determine why his anticipated long-running script terminated after two hours, even though nothing on the system had changed.

I posited that when a washing machine does not complete a wash cycle, you explore issues with the device, the water supply, or the connection to the mains; you do not ask for a building inspection.

That thought came to me as I finished taking a shower.

A Managerial and Political Issue

This afternoon, I was met with a complex managerial and political issue. For all my protestations about the guidelines, framework, and structure needed to govern a process that I felt left us exposed, all management wanted was for us to do something, anything, first, before addressing concerns that would fill reams of paper dating back to July last year.

After I had answered a series of questions, the activity was cherry-picked out of a larger case for correct procedure and directed towards a decision to be enforced.

In what I could only term a dare to challenge authority and face the consequences of stepping out of line, the manager, now assuming control where earlier they had failed to provide support, asked on the Microsoft Teams group chat:

The Challenge on Teams

"Everyone, anyone here unhappy with the approach?"

He might as well have said, "Anyone up for a fight? I'm here to bludgeon you."

I was dissatisfied, but this required tact, and there came the inspiration for another analogy.

The Bricklayer Analogy

"To put it another way, we are the bricklayers, and you want a house for which no architect has been engaged to design and no structural engineer has assessed. We are just putting brick on brick and hoping we end up with a shelter everyone can use."

As bricklayers, we know what houses should look like, but without a plan, a lot can go wrong. My job is to paint the picture; how you appreciate that work of art is beyond my ability to dictate, but the work has been done.

It will sink in somehow, and the message will not be lost in the morass of politicking and power plays.

Eloquence as Construction, Not Evasion

Let me be clear about one thing: eloquence here is not a tool of evasiveness. It is the means by which I explain and construct a clear narrative of the risk profile of an activity, one that could lead to penalties, the loss of professional reputation, or a negative impact on business operations and the user community.

Knowledge shared through such communication exposes the blind spots and pitfalls that are usually not taken into consideration.

Nor is this a matter of perfecting a process. There is no process. What we have is a range of assumptions that have not been properly tested or validated, yet are forced into implementation by expediency.

There is a further purpose to all this. By communicating in this way, one is also documenting the issues, so that when the matter of responsibility for any action arises, the points made earlier will show that management was informed and chose to act against the identified risks they had been asked to appreciate.

Experience Speaks for Itself

Many of us might hold junior roles in the multilayered hierarchy of the organisation, but never confuse our positions with a lack of maturity.

After 40 years in this business, where this is probably one of the least significant roles I have held in 30 years, I think I know a fair amount about management, and about being managed, and about getting a point across without equivocation.

We didn't just start at this yesterday.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

Held in Tension: Sexuality and Spirituality

Navigating Sexuality and Faith in Religious Spaces

There's a conversation I had recently that keeps replaying in my mind. It started with a Facebook post about the conflicts between sexuality and spirituality in Christian communities, and before I knew it, I was in a deep exchange with someone facing what they called a "horrifying" internal conflict. They were an aspiring Anglican priest in Nigeria, caught between their calling to ministry and their authentic self.

This isn't just their story. It's the story of countless individuals sitting in pews, leading worship, teaching Sunday school, or aspiring to ministry, whilst carrying a weight that feels unbearable. The conflict between sexuality and spirituality in religious settings is real, raw, and deeply personal.

The Weight of Worthiness

What struck me most in our conversation was how quickly we default to the language of worthiness and condemnation. My response to them came from years of wrestling with these same questions: Jesus died for us regardless. Grace teaches us godliness. These aren't just theological platitudes; they're lifelines for those drowning in guilt.

The fundamental question isn't whether God loves us despite who we are, but whether we can accept that God loves us because of who we are: fully, authentically, completely. When we understand that the Father sees us through what Christ did for us, not through what we do ourselves, it changes everything. Or at least, it should.

The Complexity of Conflict

As our conversation deepened, I found myself laying out the layers of conflict that many face. It's never just one thing. There's the matter of attraction itself: acknowledging it, understanding it, accepting it.

Then there's the question of what to do with that attraction. Do you seek companionship? Commit to celibacy? Try to change? Each path comes with its own set of challenges and consequences.

For those called to ministry, like my conversation partner, the stakes feel even higher. In conservative religious environments, particularly in places like Nigeria where the Anglican Church takes strongly traditional stances, the choice can feel impossible: your calling or your truth, your ministry or your authenticity.

The Geography of Grace

I mentioned Reverend Jide Macaulay to them: a gay Anglo-Nigerian Anglican priest who founded The House of Rainbow and now ministers in the UK. His story illustrates something crucial. Sometimes finding peace means finding new spaces. Not everyone can or should leave their religious community, but knowing that affirming spaces exist can be lifesaving.

The geographic and denominational differences in how churches handle these issues are stark. What's considered grounds for exclusion in one congregation might be celebrated in another. This isn't about church shopping for convenience; it's about finding communities where you can worship authentically and serve fully.

Compartmentalisation versus Integration

Near the end of our exchange, I suggested something that might sound counterintuitive: sometimes we need to compartmentalise to gain liberty from our conflicts. This isn't about living a double life or hiding parts of yourself. It's about recognising that different aspects of our identity might need different kinds of attention and space to develop.

You can be deeply spiritual and sexually aware. You can be called to ministry and attracted to the same sex. You can love God and struggle with church doctrine. These aren't contradictions to be resolved but tensions to be held with grace.

Moving Forward

What I've learnt from conversations like these is that there's no one-size-fits-all solution to navigating sexuality and faith. For some, the answer is finding affirming religious communities. For others, it's reinterpreting scripture through a more inclusive lens. Still others find peace in celibacy or in stepping away from organised religion whilst maintaining their spirituality.

The key is this: the conflict doesn't have to be horrifying. It can be transformative. It can lead to a deeper, more authentic faith, one that doesn't require you to leave parts of yourself at the church door.

To those facing these struggles, know that you're not alone. There are communities, resources, and people who have walked this path before you. The journey towards integrating your sexuality and spirituality might be challenging, but it doesn't have to be a journey of condemnation. It can be a journey towards wholeness, towards a faith that embraces all of who you are.

Because at the end of the day, any God worth worshipping is big enough to handle our complexity, our questions, and our authentic selves. The real question isn't whether God accepts us. It's whether we're brave enough to accept ourselves.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

On keeping and appreciating the value of my diamond

Working on relationships

There are times I want to believe I have the best of relationships and others where I am doubtful about the strength of what we might have going. The doubts are not about the relationship itself but how to navigate the emotional elements that constitute the relationship to ensure needs and requirements are satisfied.

If there were a rulebook for relationships with 10 Steps to Perfect Relationships, maybe 10 steps would be a bit much, if the whole concept could be condensed to 3 steps or how Jesus paraphrased the 10 Commandments into two of loving God and loving your neighbour as yourself, maybe, just maybe there can be a modicum of assured success.

The demands are demanding

However, human beings are too complex to be subject to the simple mechanisation of rules. The elements that make for a good relationship with anyone are myriad and varied, the commonalities and differences that engender satisfaction for partners would rarely be similar between all sorts of people.

As much as I strive to make relationships work, we all have expectations, some fully and completely met and others quite less so, as to be unsatisfactory. We work at what we have, to make the bad good, and hope to make the good even better or perfect, but there is work involved and communication is key to that.

Making provision for the sulk

Then again, allowances need to be made to vent frustration, anger, or some other emotion in the scheme of things. A quiet spell of being sent to Coventry is probably one of the easier messages to send in the expression of disagreement or more. It is prerogative that members of a partnership are free to exercise at will without the need to answer to anyone.

Not that it makes for any good feeling for the affected party, but these are things that we as human beings need to negotiate even as the burden of disquiet exacerbates stress and unfortunate discomfort.

Seeking a more perfect union

As the old saying, Love is blind, marriage or relationships are the eye opener. My eyes are constantly opened to my inadequacies in satisfying what might be required of me, in as much as they are opened to how people in relationships are flawed people seeking to augment each other to make a more complete union and whole, some of that is in bonding as glue for joinery and at times it is brutal clash of iron sharpening iron with all the sparks that come from the friction.

I guess what matters most is lots of patience and much more endurance to stay the course whatever happens, to prove daily and maybe hourly that the person you have chosen matters more than you have the capacity to express and in the same vein, more than they would ever know. The rest you leave to fate and fortitude, you can never relent in giving your best, the test is whether they trust you enough to accept it as good enough.

When I look back into history, a man was a diamond to a damsel, sadly, the diamond lost its glitter, the amazing gem had lost the colour, the clarity, the cut, and the carat weight that gave it inestimable value, rancour and animosity bedevils that once blessed matrimony. It is a narrative one must prevent from repeating itself.

Love Thy Neighbour - II

Neighbours always matter

Early this morning, I found myself answering a question posed on Twitter that garnered a lot of interest and it stated, “Single people who live alone, who takes care of you when you’re ill?”

Much as I do not follow the original poster on Twitter, as it had come up on my timeline, I felt there was a need to answer the question from my own experience. This became even more pertinent when I read some responses, many of which suggested people just took care of themselves, though I guess ill to them was probably mild or just being indisposed, as in slightly unwell.

If ill were to involve having to be admitted to hospital or incapacitation due to serious or terminal disease where agency and ability are severely limited, you would hardly be doing things yourself because you just cannot. That is where I have a story that I have written about in a few blogs that will be referenced below this piece.

My answer was: “Neighbours and friends, that's when I realised loving my neighbour as myself was for my safety, not an inconvenience. I had cancer, I was in the hospital for 18 days and when I returned home, I had literally no strength for anything, my neighbours came to help with everything.” [Twitter]

Blog - Love Thy Neighbour (October 2009)

Cultivate neighbourliness

I went on to develop the context of my response about cultivating neighbourliness because when something happens to you, it is probably your neighbours who will need to attend to you first and then contact others that need to know about your situation.

“Cultivate neighbourliness, put the effort in knowing the people living around you, make conversation and further, socialise, invite them for tea or dinner. There are times when having your neighbour check on you might be the only help you have before family and friends know.” [Twitter]

Another thing I wanted to stress about neighbours was that there might be no similarities or commonalities between you and your neighbours, but just the proximity of living spaces. You have to be ready to embrace their humanity in all its difference and diversity just as the Good Samaritan to the stranger.

I could imagine the surprise of some when I said my closest neighbour that did my laundry, some cooking, collected my medication from the pharmacy and did some shopping amongst other things were a Dutch and French-German couple.

Neighbours are your safety

We had cultivated our relationship for years, they were always on the lookout for me, when they first moved in, I welcomed them, they could use my parking space, I celebrated the birth of their children, and if I was in town, we would spend New Year's Eve together into the early hours of the New Year. I was frequently invited for dinner, they were family. A decade after I left the Netherlands, we are still in contact, and I will forever owe a debt of gratitude to them.

Without trying to rewrite blogs that I have written before as this is just to reiterate the usefulness of neighbourliness, I conclude with a saying that became my guide for every place that I have lived. “Love thy neighbour as thyself is not an inconvenience, it is for your safety.”

Blog - Love thy neighbour and bike off

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A time for healing

Part I: Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A town of pain

An appreciation of Baba Cole

Joel Adebambo Idowu popularly known as Baba Cole, that was his nickname and I never met him, he died 4 years before I was born, he was my maternal grandfather. I have only recently begun to hear much about him. There are many ways we are supposed alike, he was an anglophile and an archivist, some sort of encyclopaedia of knowledge.

From what I have learnt and there is much more I need to flesh out, he was a literal man, of considerable influence, a prince of the town and a member of the ruling council of the town. He had three daughters, my mother being the middle one, there is a rumour that there might have been a brother, but no one has confirmed that to me.

Standing true for justice

Much as he respected traditions and conventions, he was not ready to sacrifice people for those causes and for that, he paid the ultimate price. As it transpired, an emissary was sent to our town from the neighbouring town just at the time when certain fetish practices required a stranger to be sacrificed to the town’s deities.

My grandfather made the case that an emissary from the neighbouring town who was to deliver a message and return with a response could not just disappear somewhere between the towns separated by 5 miles of forest and lands, it would be incomprehensible and incredulous. He won the argument, and the stranger was spared to return home.

Sacrificed for integrity

However, some traditionalists took umbrage at his intervention and through a combination of mystical and malevolent acts, my grandfather took on a sudden fit of involuntary body reactions and died. I inferred the rational and the irrational becoming a narrative and that has become the story of my grandfather, he was sacrificed to the malevolent forces in Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú when he stood in defence of an innocent person against the system.

That is how at around the age of 19, my mother lost her father and strangely at 19 I also had this break from the concept of Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú that grew to epitomise my reticence to visiting Nigeria. If I were to create a narrative, I embody the spirit of my maternal grandfather who is owed more than an apology for the wickedness meted out to him when he rationalised against the irrationality of traditions that should have gone into abeyance.

Beyond redress to healing

I cannot say if one needs to ask for an apology from Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú for what happened to my grandfather, much as I am not asking for an apology for what I have experienced with my father. Some things we cannot change, but there is much we can work towards reconciling that we might have the courage to do the greater thing, the boldness to write better stories, and an acknowledgement that we can find some healing after all the real and perceive hurt.

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú has been a spectre, a haunting, a looming danger, sometimes a fearsome place that suggests a mountain of the strangest beings seething with malevolence and evil, or we have just allowed our imaginations to get the better of us and our rationality. It is a process calling for progress. I think my journey has begun.

Narratives matter and they have consequential significance even if they might seem trivial to others. I have had experiences dismissed when what I heard and saw changed me into a completely different person. Much as there are perspectives to have, the more important thing is to seek the good rather than foster the bad. Beyond my introspection and the times, I have had people counsel me, I hope I am amenable to guidance and instruction. One should never be in a position where the only resort is for God to send an ass to talk to you. [Bible Gateway: Balaam, the Donkey and the Angel]

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A town of pain

A cause for appreciation

Waking up this morning from a dream that left me thinking I could do better with courses and causes, and I meant the kinds of courses of choice to travel and the causes that should be supported, the focus came back to myself.

When I spoke to Brian yesterday, I found every excuse I could, not to call my father on Father’s Day, I even checked as we were speaking if it was really Father’s Day in Nigeria, and then I got two Father’s Day messages from my brothers. Meanwhile, everyone online was celebrating Father’s Day and more poignant were those who shared memories of their fathers who had passed on, either recently or a long time ago.

In my wakefulness, I realised there was a lack of appreciation for the fact that I still have both my parents and they are thankfully doing well apart from the vagaries of old age. However, there are issues that I need to address about relationships that I only began to review as I stepped out for my walking exercise.

The town of my parents

I have a consequently very useful and good relationship with my mother, I cannot say that much about my father, and I think I know where that stems from, it goes way back to one event that seems to have defined so many things. It is the confluence of the irrational and the rational in what we call our experience that becomes the narrative whether it is plausible or not, makes no difference to the existential relevance of that perspective to the person involved.

My father, our little town of Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú with its big history, my maternal grandfather, some aspects of numerology which could just be coincidental, but one cannot ignore patterns of a sort.

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú or Òdo Àyányẹlú in Ogun State is not to be confused with Ìjẹ̀bú-Ìjẹ̀shà in Osun State exists with a history that could hair-raising as much as it is intriguing, that it leaves people from there either quite passionate about the place or seriously averse to being there. We all have been touched by an enduring aspect of that town that even my mother would pass through the town on her way to a consultation without stopping to see anyone.

It is the retirement home of my father and many of his peers, yet you can mistake the place for a stairway to heaven, but like my paternal grandmother who lived to over a hundred years old, longevity has blessed many even as tragedy has befallen some.

Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú became a project and a dream, its children, many of whom from my parents’ generation travelled abroad for studies returned with aspirations to build their village, give the upcoming generations better opportunities, and infest their children with the same enthusiasm. We all seemed to play along, as it was where we met with cousins, developed new friendships, and had amazing conversations with lively elderly people. We looked forward to visiting, but the novelty began to wear off.

The schism and falling away

In my case, it was sometime in the middle of 1985, we had gone to Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú for some event and then some of my friends invited me to party in another town. I went to ask my dad and he might have had his reasons, but he did not grant the permission for me to go, and I shamefacedly passed my regrets to my friends who from what I learnt had a very good time.

Much as I was a difficult teenager, I was not given to vices or the kind of criminality that would involve the law, I can say in many ways, I was quite restrained and more so with my religious inclinations, but between my father and I, there has always been this simmering conflict that by the end of that year, I left home and did not see my father for probably another 18 months after.

For that refusal of permission to go to that party, I swore to myself that if I ever were to return to Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú, it would be in a box. I have not returned for 37 years and in that time, I missed many significant events that would have required my presence there or thereabouts.

On reflection and possibility

Then maybe as I thought about this morning, there is an undercurrent of fear that if I do venture, that might be the case, I do not know, and I have not attempted to test out the premise. It has become a kind of handicap, and this is the first time I am sharing this information, for what it has done in terms of our relationship is my seeking to define myself so differently from my father as much as possible without totally succeeding in being that different.

However, with that recessed in my memory commanding my inclinations, great import has been that distance has helped avoidance along with other explanations that could be summoned to protect the situation I have created for myself.

After a morning of introspection, I did give my father a call, I might even see a path to visiting Nigeria after 31 years, I don’t know if I will see Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú again, but I can understand how a complete breakdown in communication and relationships can instigate lifelong consequences. Gosh, I have nieces and nephews I have only met online, I am known of, but who knows me?

Postscript: My father launched a book about the history of Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú in April this year, there is much to learn about who we are, where we are from and what defines us. I saw the draft and my copy is wending its way to me, he is a formidable and quite accomplished gentleman.

Part II: Ìjẹ̀shà-Ìjẹ̀bú: A time for healing

Thought Picnic: Through the glass darkly

Limited perspectives to work with

Sometimes, I have to be aware of the fact that regardless of how I am involved or invited into a situation that I do not have the full oversight of, I am quite limited in the quality of information I have to make decisions, draw conclusions, act wisely, or have judgements.

Yet, I realise that should not because of the foregoing and the limitations totally exclude me from having and stating a perspective based on the information one already has. Pertinently, you work with what you have got whilst seeking to improve on and gain more perspective and insight.

Invariably, certain judgements will be made whereupon additional evidence would lead to a review and reassessment of a previous position.

The fundamentals remain so

Then again, this should not abrogate the fundamentals and there are always fundamentals as the basis of the intricate situations we find ourselves in, that of cultivating and building of relationships. These self-same things matter, the de-escalation of conflict, an understanding of how far engagements can bear upon a situation to achieve either the expected or unfortunately the unattainable outcomes.

This is another serious component, the need to get counsel before radical personal decisions ensuring one has tested a premise against logic, reason, and reasonableness whilst reducing the danger of being left adrift and ostracised.

Reviewing standpoints on new insight

I reflect on a situation where what I thought I had observed was wrong after further enquiry, beyond which what I also learnt afterwards left me dissatisfied as to the findings, in discussions with the protagonist, their case was quite poorly made, at least to me.

Is it any wonder that on being intimated with a second-hand narrative, there was a better appreciation of the circumstances, not so much to excuse, even if there was enough to tolerate?

Whilst this does not make the conflict any easier to resolve, the de facto patriarch is essentially of limited means and scope to address certain issues that it is of a necessity to defer to me. Sadly, that point may not be entirely understood and entreaties to the patriarch would well exacerbate rather than ameliorate. My role is to find ways and means to address both immediacy and remoteness, hopefully with alacrity where provision exists, or it is deferred whilst noted.

In family matters, the complexities demand wisdom and a better sense of who can do what when met with difficulties. It behoves all to attain awareness for the reduction of conflict and the cohesion of familial ties.

Thought Picnic: No fighting with my parents

My parents are stars

There is one amazing gift of life that I probably do not appreciate as much as I should, the fact that I do still have my parents well into my golden jubilee years, they are both active and contributing to their communities, probably less agile by reason of age, but so totally with their faculties to participate in many things and dispense wisdom at no urging, besides the stories they can tell about life.

Even so, I am enamoured by their sense of adventure and willingness to try new things, like for instance, my mother went on a pilgrimage to the holy lands late last year, the trip sponsored by a class from the school where she was the pioneer principal.

Over Easter, my father launched a book he authored about the history of our hometown, Ijesha-Ijebu in Ogun State, not to be confused with Ijebu-Ijesha in Osun State. The well-attended event offered the opportunity for us to showcase the achievements of our patriarch.

Duly turning up

There is a likelihood that all of us would have attended if we were in the country because the occasion is more about him than us, it is one of those settings where we get to celebrate him amongst peers, in the community, and to the whole world.

I was left a bit disappointed by the fact that a certain one did not avail themselves of the opportunity to grace the occasion out of umbrage which would most definitely presage outrage. Their absence was noted and journaled, consequences would ensue but that is not for me to indicate.

However, I do remember that 40 years ago, on the birth of my baby sister, now of blessed memory, I absented myself from her naming ceremony having caused grievance to my parents the week before. It felt convenient for me, but my absence did not go unnoticed, everyone who could remember me from that precocious kid asked after me and my parents did not have the easiest excuse to render for someone who was also in the same city, hardly an hour away.

Wrath comes swiftly

I had stored up wrath for myself that when I next visited home, I faced severe and retributive justice from not just embarrassing my parents, but from not appreciating that there are things I am dutybound to perform as part of the family even if roles are not clearly defined, you step up and engage, you make yourself present and contribute, especially if you are at that time not of independent means.

There are expectations whether you choose to fulfil them or not, but what you cannot afford is to have your absence reckoned as a slight and disrespect to the family to which you belong. Strangely, for all the liberal views we might have, we are quite conservative on the matters of the composition of our family and show up mostly by being compelled even if the courtesy of politely asking in the remit of the patriarch. The many times, I have tried to make the point that he cannot order people around like he used to.

I suppose what stunned me in my father’s reaction to my not attending my sister’s naming ceremony was he headbutted me, I stumbled and fell backwards, literally dazed. Of all the means of discipline at his disposal, that was the strangest one and totally unforgettable.

Example for learning

Now, I do not expect an 82-year-old to go around headbutting his younger sons, much as I sometimes envy the musculature of his age and bearing, I fear for what might ensue for which I have not yet found the construct of admonition and advice to address the matter to the concerned. The attitude is not out of character, rather, it has been overlooked and essentially not imputed even as narratives and experiences would have dictated, because we are of better breeding than the pettiness things like this would entail.

Our parents provide examples, but an example is not a call to imitation, rather the study of example should allow us to follow the good and discard the bad, learn lessons, determine not to repeat their mistakes and end the vicious cycle of confrontation, conflict, and irritation.

We need to find accommodations of acceptance, agreement, and engagement for there is little we can demand of them than guidance and prayers, as essential responsibilities begin to devolve to those of us in our prime. We now have to take up the mantel, make the appearances for the family, find the means to attend to needs, wants, and provision, keep the family arrangements in good order and we do this with a sense of duty and humanity that it requires.

Play for the good

When I speak to either my father or my mother, I am regaled with prayers and blessings, their happy voices warming my heart and for all the trouble I was through my teenage years into early adulthood, I may not have made all the amends, but I am grateful that they appreciate me, just as they appreciate my other siblings.

At this juncture in their lives, it is just totally unnecessary to find oneself at the wrong end of their tongues. Indeed, we do disagree and respectfully so, but not to the extent of disagreeableness, they are in the twilight of their years and whatever would bring them comfort and joy stays paramount on our minds. We unite to fight against, not divide to fight amongst, a distinction that might be lost on the psyche of those poorly schooled on non-nuclear family constructs.

Choose good example

For all the conflict that has existed between my parents in their marriage and there is much to review, I have resolved never to take sides, be influenced, or persuaded by either party, to each I have a working and productive relationship and it has served me better than to allow either conscribe me into their battles.

They have their faults and that is for them to resolve not for me to accentuate and project for either, it is a principle of relationships some fail to learn and suffer much not understanding and differentiating between learning from example and repeating bad example.

Down to the heart of desire

Knowing myself as me

I think about nature and nurture, the knowledge of desire and the things that make us who we are even if we are different and we are different in many ways, but we get along, all the same.

Speaking of desire, I have never thought differently about who I am even if I have questioned why I am who I am. I remember being asked when reviewing the issue of my sexuality with my religious leaders and sometimes with my managers at work whether I have ever been attracted to females, the truth is I have never had that desire, not in the slightest.

Misunderstanding the impossible

I cannot answer the whys or wherefores, but I know that the desire to rid myself of a desire I always had for one I never had was just a recipe for a totally miserable life. That is the complexity of sexuality and the absurdity of conversion therapy.

The idea that you can get someone to totally displace themselves from a desire they have for one they have never had is quite bonkers if not madness. Yet, many attempt to turn people from one thing to another, just because they think they can.

Acceptance is a journey

I guess the bigger struggle is the one of acceptance, first the one of accepting oneself, then the one about others accepting who you are, if they have the wherewithal to. At the end of the day, you are who you are and whether accepted by others or not.

Then at the same time, I observe the conflicts, the confusion, or the conflation of desire, even the fear or shame of the same desire that keeps people from being true to themselves first and then to others. The consequence being a double-life with the opportunities for exploitation and blackmail that makes for a secretive, paranoid, and unhappy existence. Many of us know about this.

Caught between desires

Along the way, there is the cohort that cannot extricate themselves from ambivalence, straddling different aspects of satisfaction of their desires that it becomes fetishized. Maybe I was a bit terse when someone asked if I like stockings and suspenders to which I responded without skipping a beat that I only do it with men.

In fact, I have been asked to dress up and nothing annoys me as much as anyone who expects me to pretend to be someone else for them to get their kicks. At the same time, I have to recognise that it is each to their own and move on. What I cannot completely put out of my mind and memory are times when I have been invited to meet someone casually only to see that in the absence of their spouse and kids, these men are playing the field with ‘taboo’ activities unbeknownst to their wives or girlfriends.

Here I was in a matrimonial home, in their bed, a cot with kid’s toys strewn around the house and well, there is life as you know it and desire as we seek to find it and satisfy it. It is a funny world and the journey to acceptance and being openly happy with it is still a tough one for many to begin, talk less of complete. C’est la vie!

Thought Picnic: Beyond conscientious objection to fighting needless wars

The summary of my views

I was asked what my position was about the Russia and Ukraine crisis by a mentor of mine, and it allowed me to find the opportunity to transcribe from the notes I took down in anger on Friday night but was unsure of how to convey in a blog.

My answer was “We need to get to a point in human civilisation when young men can refuse to battle for recalcitrant old men who cannot settle their scores with some maturity. I hope Ukraine survives the onslaught.”

Before my viewpoint was taken as uncommitted to apparent indifference, I went on to say, “In fact, my stand is it is an unnecessary war for which Vladimir Putin who has a warped idea of national sovereignty and areas of influence should be taught an unforgettable lesson.” Obviously, it goes without saying that, If Ukraine has no self-determination on what alliances it can have, is it a sovereign state or a satellite of Russia?”

Between sacrifice and slaughter

Having spent 4 years in secondary boarding school, the prospect of a regimented life has never since appealed to me. There is indeed a high calling to serve and the discipline that it entails along with the purpose that defines it, but where do you draw the line between being ready to take the sacrifice and being sent to the slaughter?

In January 1983, in a conversation with my father, he said these words, “There was a time Nigeria was worth dying for, that time has passed.” It so happens my parents were in the UK during the Nigerian Civil War and once it was over, they could not wait to get back to Nigeria to contribute to rebuilding the nation.

To my mind, all war is at its heart totally unreasonable, the inability of leaders and / or older and apparently mature men to have a meeting of minds that they are ready to send the sons of others to battlefields whilst they play war games in genteel surroundings totally oblivious of the depth of suffering on the populace is an atrocity at best.

Keeping our men from bad men

The result of this is we are called upon to honour the war dead as some greater cause of humanity has been achieved and unstoppable progress has been bequeathed to civilisation never to go to war again. It is a lie, for lives are needlessly wasted as cannon fodder with war ending at exhaustion of will, men, or ammunition. We are in terms the most uncivilised in war, like animals you have only found more sophisticated ways to kill each other to a standstill.

I would hope we would reach a point where the men who disagree should sort it amongst themselves and the young men whose blood, they are ready to exsanguinate in the remote battlefields, should say no. This is not conscientious objection but a call to common sense or order, exhaust diplomacy and continue to talk to any agreement that you can reach without having to shed blood.

Beyond conscientious objection

For I desire a time when they, the valiant and strong would say, no, we are not going to fight your dirty, senseless, needless, and unnecessary wars. Our lives matter more than to become sacrificial lambs on the altars of your maniacal devilish egos.

Keep your medals, we do not need the glory, stuff your patriotic rhetoric, your folded national flags, and grand memorials to soldiers unknown. With no men going to war, what would men do given no other option than to talk and resolve things?

Too many men have with the power to send others to their deaths not exhausted the possibilities that the maturation of human civilisation and discourse can offer. Maybe something of the idealist and pacifist in me has taken a long trek from realism, it is however not to be wished away as impossible.

Of dreams and battles in other tongues

I dream active dreams

Vivid dreams find a landscape in my sleep, and I cannot account for when they occur apart from when there is too much fat in my food close to when I take my pills, that the interaction between the chemicals allows for that side effect.

At other times, it is a busy day that leaves me so utterly exhausted, once I fall asleep, there is a kind of incapacitation that helps my relaxation, but I get any sleep I can whenever I can, for there is a tendency to insomnia that I try to arrest before it takes hold.

One apparent sleep disorder I have endured is parasomnia, where undesirable and physical events occur in my sleep that I am punching out or kicking out, at other times, I am talking in my sleep and rarely in typical conversation but in serious confrontation with people or situations that occasion possible or imminent harm.

Winning in all fights

From deep within my psyche, I find myself engaged in some sort of spiritual warfare, speaking out against assailants to the scheme of the Acts of Apostles. Fundamentally, I am a man of intense spiritual persuasion and belief that some realms in which I dwell are multidimensional and needing of presence in attention, observation, assertion, understanding, engagement, and conflict where you should triumph.

One other peculiarity is whilst English is my mother tongue and Yoruba is a learned language, my dream language is usually strongly Yoruba than English, I seem to be more assertive and sure of myself and what I determine to do in that language with a lot more clarity and forcefulness. I marvel at the power of dreams and what many victories I have been conferred with when met with an attack.

On my own terms with my own story

In the quest for self-respect

One morning 4 years ago, I exited a telephone conference that was not going well and walked out a job of three years at Barclays Bank. Things came to a head out of a growingly irretrievable relationship with my manager who was appointed to head the team I was in just 6 months before.

I could not put my finger on it, but in attitude, tone, demeanour, and much else including microaggressions, matters had deteriorated for reasons he only could say for his lack of respect, or courtesy towards me. The many times decisions for which my input was required got to me through indirect, if not unintended means.

Too many times, I tried to have meetings to discuss issues that he would not commit to. As I tried to engage his peers to intervene, not much traction was gained. My role progressively reduced in significance to the point that I was a mere box-shifter called in to firefight where my knowledge was material but with no acknowledgement of my contribution.

I was done with it

Much as it seemed a cushy job, it was also soul-destroying and that conference where it came down to being asked whether I was going to do it or not. A mundane task precipitated by a colleague who had walked the boards from a junior to his position and probably would never get that status in any other organisation.

I looked for the most senior person around, handed in my badge, my laptop, and my phone, whilst being asked if I was sure of what I was doing. I was more than sure; I was done with it. I left without a notice period, called the taxi company, and returned home.

I told my own story

Later, I called the agency to inform them of my decision and then wrote a comprehensive notice of my abrupt resignation which was copied to the other managers I had served during my time there. Sadly, in a response from one of the managers who I had reported to for almost two years, he said, there are two sides to the story.

I thanked him for his consideration which was in reality a dispassionate view of my situation. My ex-manager himself never had the courtesy to respond to my letter, not once. It was disturbing, but not too surprising. He eventually was let go of a few months after I left. I can’t even remember his surname; he is that forgettable.

Out of this came other opportunities, even one where a consultant I was working with recommended me for work with his company and this presented a thriving development as I completed a 30-year career. When I think about it, this was my story, whether I was believed, or anyone needed to hear the other side did not make any difference to what I experienced and how I told it. I am grateful for my life; it is mine and no one else’s.

Understanding the power of communication matters

It is Babel out there

It would usually happen, technologies that overlap, strong expertise in the separate technologies that seep into egotistical posturing, then exacerbated by a very political setting that engenders silos of indifference whilst all working for the same organisation.

What you get is a tinderbox of conflict and reverberation played out in emails with escalating intransigence as more and more people who already have enough trouble to deal with are drawn into it with the hope that one would prevail and other is vanquished.

Yet, I do not indulge in these power plays and that is what it sometimes demonstrates to gain any particular benefit than to see that what in my reasonable professional opinion gets done. This is where communication, clarity, persuasion, courtesy, and evidence matter. I will not propose without the supporting documentation and references to buttress the point.

The compelling urge to respond

Then, I rely on the reasonableness of my argument to eventually persuade those who can engage to facilitate the necessary. After a number of exchanges, a response came back that left me quite exasperated. Having conceded that the viewpoint was acceptable the rest bordered on infantile invective.

I could have immediately replied, but I could see no further need to conduct that conversation, I left it to my managers to take to the next level and that is what I asked them to do. Generally, I am no fan of needless meetings that yield no progress. I would rather just give my managers the information they need to thrash out the essential compromises and we can get on with what we need to do.

Just let it work

As the email cooled off for a few days and over the weekend, I had begun to craft an adequate response in my head that I began to write on Tuesday, I was not convinced of the need to send it, so, it lay in my Drafts folder.

A meeting scheduled for yesterday was postponed to today and it was my intention to maintain silence until when prompted. I could not have anticipated the developments when concessions were fully made with even more support than we anticipated. All this arrived at on the review of their systems and realising that our request was as reasonable as it could ever be.

At their behest we now have ample opportunity that probably would never have been possible without instigation, that first went completely contrary and sour to cooperation and acquiescence. That’s why I do what I do, I am a geek of sorts but it takes a different kind of political communication strategy to get radical change to a point where it gets the full support of competing interests and eventual implementation.

Thought Picnic: On the price of a marriage contracted to make you straight

Preamble: The timeframe of the origin of this blog was, in fact, the 8^th of February, the day after he came out, but an abrupt conversation with a friend put this in the cooler until today. Then, in a blog I wrote earlier, I referred to work I was doing on this blog. It would appear, I have been able to conclude the piece and publish it with as close as possible to the fervour that inspired it over a month ago.

Blog - Thought Picnic: My life really does include my partner

Doors falling off the rattled closet

When news broke last month of Philip Schofield’s revelation that he was gay in the midst of a 27-year marriage, I was ready to applaud him for coming out, but I could not completely commit myself to any celebration of the news without consideration of the others besides him involved.

Much was made of the love and support of his wife and two adult daughters to this coming out moment and as is always the case, people contributed messages of support for his courage, his bravery, and his decision to be true to himself.

Yet, I am still here thinking not so much of Philip, but of Stephanie Lowe, his wife of 27 years and everyone else who for all their open-mindedness to the sexuality of others might well be considerably affected by it much closer to home.

Always think of the partners

Now, I cannot speak to the quality of the relationship between Philip, Stephanie, and their daughters, but as the developing news begins to generate other perspectives, one of the headlines does say she was ‘absolutely devastated’ to learn her husband is gay. That she has had the time and space to process the information will not make it any easier for her.

There was a scene in the film, Body of Evidence which starred Madonna where in court she was asked about what she did when she discovered her husband was in a homosexual relationship. She said, “I couldn’t compete.”

It is a fundamental psychological break when your spouse directs their sexual affections to a same-sex liaison. What you can put up to fight for the affectations of your spouse in situations where the object of their affections is the same sex as you is lost in the battle with the opposite sex.

Blog - Opinion: Now, a thought for Kenny Badmus' wife

Knowing is usually a process

However, by the way, I appreciate that sexuality conflict and the point at which one is ready to accept wholeheartedly that they are one way or the other is a complex process of development. It is quite possible that people do not realise who they are until when they are completely committed to a heteronormative path and in it find dissatisfaction and discontent in the relationship they forged in the hope that it would make them whole.

I believe there is a discussion to be had when such issues arise. In my own case, whilst my very first sexual experience was at 7 with a female much older than I, I cannot say that I had a primary sexual attraction to the female. It never developed beyond the appreciation of beauty, intellect, and personality.

From about the age of 7, I do know that something about men made them more attractive to me than I could understand. That attraction was taken advantage of by some people employed to care for us as kids. The little threat here or there to force compliance made me a willing catamite to a few trusted people all into my teens.

Accepting yourself is deep self-discovery

After the age of accountability, I agonised about who and what I was, consumed with guilt especially the religious kind, I sought ways to rid myself of this thing when at the same time, I could not forgo my predilection for same-sex liaisons. With time, I found there were others like me, and we were not evil even if maligned.

At the time I was about to leave Nigeria, I was being blackmailed, I refused to pay up and challenged my blackmailer that when he tells whoever he decides to tell, he should be ready to explain how we both got together without any coercion for the many months of whatever we did. I guess, that put paid to that.

As I arrived in The UK, I was ready to come to terms which who I was, I sought out and found people boldly expressing themselves without fear. In the midst of such confident people, I gained the confidence to accept my own sexuality and to a direct question about it, I gave a clear answer, for I was of the view that if you asked, you just wanted a confirmation rather than a denial.

Peeling the onion of coming out

To my parents, siblings, and relations, I was a bit more circumspect and discreet, it took much longer to broach the subject. In the case of my parents, they were in the UK in The 1960s when the worst thing you could call anyone was a ‘bugger’.

It came with all sorts of connotations of homosexuality, paedophilia, bestiality, and murder, I felt I should save them from such an association, though it did not stop me from having same-sex relationships completely away from the scrutiny of those I didn’t want to know. I had compartmentalised my life.

Blog - Thought Picnic: The onion of truths

With time, the pressure, and the expectation to get married became a constant refrain in conversations with home, I batted away the direct questions and prevaricated on other requirements.

I was offered arranged marriages by many who thought I was the most eligible bachelor around. This all to satisfy the needs of culture and become as it were ‘responsible’, I could easily have contracted a marriage of convenience, even gone along to have children. There were many offers that just required I ask, but I did not step up to any of those opportunities.

In a series of tweets yesterday, whilst using the news as a reference point, I put a perspective to things which are probably not the broadest in terms of issues of sexuality and marriage, I hope it contributes to the discussion.

I decided long ago

It was a clear decision I made in my own life that despite the expectations and pressure, I could not with the complicated issue of my sexuality enter into a lavender marriage, and there were many unbeknownst to them ready to walk up the aisle with me, if I dared ask. /1

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ 🏳️‍🌈 #FBPE (@forakin) February 7, 2020

My life and the issue of sexuality was complicated enough I swore to myself not to embroil anyone else in that situation, it was hard enough to be in the closet, live a false life with the risk of being exposed leading to scandalising a broader relationship tree beyond the close family ties.

If I alone had to deal with the issue, it was contained without compelling anyone else to play to a script they never signed up for in the beginning. In another way, I was not successfully praying away the gay, rather, I was getting more affirmation of who I was towards the maturation of accepting who I am.

Other extenuating factors came to bear, the issue of offspring or heirs, the concept diminished with time as I began to make peace with myself with the likelihood, it might never happen. I did not consign myself to default to the findings that many prematurely born didn’t go on to sire children.

However, I felt after a certain age, it did not matter any more and then post-chemotherapy the natural ability to procreate was lost and I was not going to expend any energy in the quest to regain what rarely was a goal in life.

Be yourself, not another person

Then I concluded that contracting marriage was not a panacea, an antidote, or proven conversion therapy for personal or imposed sexuality conflict. Some people might have found adaptations with this distraction, sexuality variance was not a change of clothes, it is more ingrained than that.

It has now transpired that Philip Schofield’s hand was forced, besides the view that his sexuality was already known in closed circles and certain liaisons were about to be made public that he might lose control of the narrative of his private life, some unscrupulous tabloid editor that gotten hold of the story and was ready to go the press. In view of that, he had no other alternative, but to come clean. [Byline Investigates]

I feel vindicated that I was not immediately celebrating the event and still feel that whilst he might now freely live his truth alone with the support of his wife and daughters, he suspected his sexuality before he contracted the marriage, he could not shake off the urges of his primal sexuality and regardless of the public front presented, lives have been more radically affected than the façade we see. [The Guardian]

Coexisting with generational shifts by adaptation

Inspired from Facebook

On the usual scans of my Facebook timeline, I came across a post by a good friend of mine about the issue of developing emotional attachments between generations. Much of what he had to say I could very well agree with, but I also had an additional viewpoint which I have extracted from my comment into this blog. [Facebook]

I started with this, “Much as I can agree with you, this part I have thought about for a long time.”

Time and environment

I needed to address this particular statement, “You young people need to be kinder to your parents. They are the products of their time and environment.”

It is a good getaway clause, but in my 50s I have learnt I can't use generational exculpation to excuse myself from the responsibilities of emotional engagement with relations across the full spectrum of existence.

I have my generation and the times in which I grew up along with the environments that have helped cultivate my outlook and worldview, yet, I have to coexist with those before me; from when I was a child had parents, grandparents and a great-grandmother along with extended family and other relations,  and those after me; two generations now, of nieces and nephews and their children, along with the extended family that has grown out of the relationships they have cultivated, not only to be relevant but to also have a sense of belonging.

Generational shifts we belong in

My parents have by fate or fortune had to deal with issues they would never have countenanced in their core generation, from the 1960s into the 1980s, but have had to find accommodations for in the three growing generations after them, of children, of grandchildren and possibly great-grandchildren. My father was 80 on Saturday.

We have had our differences, we still do, but slowly he began to recognise that he can't always have his way as the opinions of his middle-aged children begin to dominate and determine the direction of issues. It was hard-won, but education on all sides. I have to learn that difference does not have to exacerbate conflict. Where I am infuriated, I need to find the necessary communication of persuasion, amelioration and compromise, to an extent.

Have a voice that can be heard

Yes, we probably should do more to engender better communion with our parents who are still with us, but if we fail to use our voices at the critical and crucial times, where there are many occasions for it, we would never have a say when it really matters, or when we do, they would be too deaf to hear or heed. Then, it becomes impossible and differences would become irreconcilable. Sadly, the end of this is regret for could have, should have or would have been done give a new opportunity.

We all must coexist with generations, we met here and those we would eventually leave behind, that is the process of our growth it was the process of growth from time immemorial, no one gets excuses to be an island of immunity and impunity, parent, child or grandchild alike. That we must seize the moments and find ways to cherish them would matter for a lifetime.

Make love, not war

My friend ends with this useful, thoughtful and necessary advice, “Your parents wanting an emotional connection may be coming late, but it is what you always wanted, so embrace it now. Seize the moment. Make new memories. Make love, not war. And do not forget to take lots of selfies. Sooner or later, they will be gone.”

I guess we need to decide on what memories we want to have of our parents when there is a reckoning of the lives we have shared.