Finding Dignity at Zeitz MOCAA

Finding Kindness

Having done some shopping at Woolworths in the V&A Waterfront, I walked to Silo District past the Nelson Mandela Gateway to Robben Island to hail an Uber back home. The Friday evening rush hour, combined with the impending weekend, meant it was quite busy. However, leaving from this end of the V&A Waterfront cuts out a good deal of the traffic involved in exiting Cape Town.

I did not get an Uber for eight minutes, and when a driver was found, he was ten minutes away. Then he cancelled three minutes into my waiting time. Uber began looking for another driver, just as I realised, I had chosen this location to get me home on time, before getting caught in the traffic I might encounter if I had hailed a cab from the Breakwater end of the V&A Waterfront.

A Pressing Dilemma

It became a battle in my mind: should I wait for a cab or seek the use of facilities? The nearest one was about 250 metres away, up flights of steps that I am usually supported in navigating. But I was alone in town with two heavy bags of shopping and a walking cane I could not use if I needed to balance the load.

My better judgement intervened. I cancelled the Uber and decided to try my luck at the Zeitz MOCAA, the Museum of Contemporary Art Africa, which was behind me. As a total stranger, I would not have been able to just walk into any establishment to ask to use their toilets. Or maybe I have never really had the courage to. Besides the museum, there were two hotels nearby, but we had been fully paid-up members of the museum before COVID-19 struck, and I knew where the entrance was.

Navigating the Process

The first thing was to get my Just Can't Wait card up on my mobile phone, which was running out of battery. I had to put it on Power Saving mode to ensure I could at least call an Uber before it died. I showed the card to security at the door, requesting to use the toilets, and she directed me to reception.

At the reception desk, one of the staff took a picture of my Just Can't Wait card on the phone and then gave me directions to the toilets, which were in the basement. My explanation that I needed urgent use of a toilet because of a medical condition was sufficient.

As I walked to the lifts, another security guard stopped me. I believe he checks for entry tickets, and I did not have one. I explained my situation, and he even offered to have my shopping bags deposited at the check-in desk. But I did not have the time; I needed to be at the toilets immediately. Even the lifts were slow in arriving, but I was soon where I needed to be, as relief and gratitude welled up in me.

People Over Things

My experience with this organisation reminded me of the spirit of their Executive Director and Chief Curator, Madame Koyo Kouoh, who passed away last year after a recent cancer diagnosis, even as she was about to serve as the artistic director of the 2026 Venice Biennale. In the museum's tribute to her, she was remembered for her belief: "People are more important than things," and for quoting the African proverb, "If you want to go fast, go alone. But if you want to go far, go together."

We live in communities shaped by experiences and circumstances. Some are so fleeting and yet significant in simply having empathy and understanding for invisible yet critical human vulnerabilities and responding to such encounters without question or judgement. People do not even have to have walked a long, hard mile in another's shoes. Even in South Africa, where basically no one knows of the Just Can't Wait card, a human story becomes the willingness to help rather than the fear of losing one's job.

Not that I want to remember what happened barely a month before, when I was refused the use of facilities with all the desperation written across my face, in my own Manchester, of all places. Thank you, Zeitz MOCAA, for simply being human. It meant a lot to me.

Blog - The Just Can't Wait Card Test

Zeitz MOCAA Staff Tribute to Koyo Kouoh

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

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

Suicide When Academia Forgets Its Humanity

A Life Lost to Bureaucracy

I just read of a young medical student at the University of Birmingham who took his own life after failing a resit examination. By email, he was advised that he would have to exit the course.

What seemed like a simple administrative activity delivered by email by the University of Birmingham was, in fact, the end of the road for this young soul. He saw no other options left.

The Failure of Pastoral Care

It could not have been too difficult to invite this young man into a student affairs office or a dean's office to ascertain why he struggled to pass one resit examination when his other results met the mark.

Having invested life and purpose in a medical degree programme, surely, despite whatever rules were in place, no one, especially in an academic environment, should be oblivious to the considerable mental strain of effort not being rewarded with some recognition.

As per the narrative in the news, on that alone, I would suggest the University of Birmingham has been remiss in a core responsibility for student welfare that is quite unforgivable.

The Whisper of Despair

Then, whilst I cannot ascertain the facts of what the triggers for suicide and death by misadventure could be, I know there are times I have harboured suicidal thoughts.

I lived on the seventh floor in a swanky apartment in Amsterdam. As the long tail of cancer wagged ferociously with the loss of health, status, means and wherewithal, from the full-length windows in my living room, a voice whispered: Jump!

It could have ended things suddenly, without having to live through further adversity and privation that has become part of my story. My hesitation came from the desire to tell a better story.

When Platitudes Become Cruelty

In the comments that followed the sad news, there were many statements in the theme of, "Suicide is not the answer."

Reading all that left me quite incensed, and hence this blog, because that only works when counselling those exhibiting suicide ideation. It is unfeelingly cold and wicked to suggest that after the suicide has been committed.

My prayer is that those who appear to have the answer are not met with such overwhelming circumstances that no other option is presented in their predicament except for suicide.

The Fragility of Humanity

The fragility of our humanity is sometimes not understood without a personal encounter of indeterminable consequence. Even my two encounters with life-threatening cancer do not furnish me with the audacity to question the mental state of another when met with a wall of adversity that presents no hope or respite.

In many cases, people do need a different kind of confidante, before whom no wrong would be imputed against them. They are the warm embrace of succour and comfort, shining light into the darkness to see a path in life even when failure has snatched a prospect from reach.

A Lost Opportunity

I recall a saying that has stood with me from an uncle, way back in 1980, he said, "An opportunity once lost can be regained after a temporary setback."

I'm saddened the young man saw no further opportunities. May Phil Moyo's soul rest in peace, and his family and friends be comforted by the fond memories of his remarkable life.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Fentanyl Appearing for Pain, Pills, and Policy

Within the depths of pain

In some ways, I probably have a very high pain threshold, but in late 2009, my pain tolerance was completely overwhelmed when I had cancer in my left foot, with fungating tumours and blackened skin lesions, both deadly and deathly.

Standard painkillers (paracetamol) and stronger medication (tramadol) failed to relieve the pain. It was so intense that I could not put my foot down without crying. In the hospital, I was given morphine, but that only lasted two days before I was vomiting everything.

The Search for Effective Pain Relief

Then came OxyContin, but I was not given enough of it. The nurses seemed to be rationing it even as I begged for relief. However, when I was discharged after 18 nights in the hospital, my pain medication was adjusted. Multiple types of pain relief were administered to target different aspects of the pain.

Paracetamol, oxycodone, and a fentanyl transdermal patch; all that, and pain still persisted, sometimes taking centre stage. I resorted to almost hysterical laughter to release endorphins as a form of palliative coping.

After another consultation, I told the doctor I was still experiencing pain. In his view, my medication should have been sufficient; it was not. He doubled the dose of the fentanyl patch, and only then did I achieve what might be called pain relief.

The Path to Recovery

I was on pain medication from late September 2009, and by the end of January 2010, the tumours were gone. I had fresh, pink skin on the soles of my feet, a miracle of medicine, but it involved gruelling treatment, including chemotherapy and its dreadful side effects.

The pain had gone by March, so I removed the fentanyl patch. Big mistake. I salivated excessively, spat out mouthfuls of saliva, and became severely diarrhoeic. I had to reapply the patch. From this, I learned I needed to wean myself off it gradually. I kept it on for twice as long while gradually reducing the dose by halving the patch at each change.

It took three months to fully stop using the patch, long after I no longer needed any sort of pain relief.

Understanding Fentanyl's Role

Without fentanyl for this level of pain, life would have been unbearable, almost not worth living. One day, the patch fell off. Not knowing you could cover it with a transdermal sticker or plaster to keep it in place until the new patch was ready, I was laughing deliriously. My friend thought I had lost my mind; it was a protective mechanism. If I hadn’t been laughing, I might have been dying from unbearable pain.

Today, fentanyl should only be taken under medical supervision. I also understand that not everyone has experienced the severe pain I did, nor have suffered the otherworldly pain others endure; my pain was eventually brought under control, subsided, and disappeared entirely. I consider myself extremely fortunate.

My body became so accustomed to fentanyl that I couldn’t simply stop using it. It took willpower and determination; perhaps a rare gift. We all have different physiological responses. I am not seeking praise for that.

A Broader Perspective

Beyond the need for medication for chronic pain, there are issues of susceptibility to addiction, both requiring a sensible, empathetic approach under medical guidance across a broad spectrum of related conditions.

Regarding fentanyl as a narcotic, I feel ambivalent. People don’t become addicts solely by enjoying sweets; there are complex circumstances that I believe cannot be addressed purely through criminal justice.

Labelling fentanyl as a weapon of mass destruction would be narrow-minded and lacking understanding of human suffering, especially in pain management.

Learning from Recent Experience

My perspective is personal. I am cautious with medications, aware of their addiction potential. Recently, I used codeine, which converts to morphine in the body, to manage penile and urethral pain during the fourth week of radiotherapy for prostate cancer.

Prescribed to be taken up to four times daily, I rarely exceeded two tablets a day. After three days, I only took one tablet at night. I still felt pain and discomfort, but consciously avoided the lengthy process of weaning off codeine once my body adjusted.

As long as those who truly need such pain management are not disadvantaged by misguided policies, I hope this decision by the White House does not, in pursuit of an ideal, create suffering for many who simply seek relief.

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

Blog - Knowing pain is personal

Thought Picnic: Know when to run

Charting a course

In life, we determine our paths; some are not yet clear before we begin, while in others, circumstances and situations shape our journey. Unknowingly, we become victims of fate, carried along in clouds that may be full of water, bringing rains and storms, or drifting aimlessly across the skies, bereft of purpose other than providing shade to some insignificant place.

Nevertheless, not everything lacks purpose and direction. We can dream and hold visions of things to pursue and achieve. Even in those dreams, our limits might be set by a lack of imagination, requiring input, inspiration, ideas, and insight to transcend what seems impossible and turn it, in hindsight, into something miraculous.

Either way, this remains one of humanity's great mysteries: we have the ability both to grow and to pause, to be both simultaneously, and at other times to shrink, overcome by mortal vulnerabilities that easily affect the spirit, mind, and body. That is why we must understand where we find our sustenance and how to withstand the forces that threaten our sense of purpose.

Know when to walk away

In all our endeavours, you may wonder whether you are being taken seriously, even if you don't take yourself too seriously. Such awareness calls for knowledge and wisdom to manage impostors who seek to undermine you, especially in professional contexts.

This is why responsible individuals should reflect on how everyone is prone to errors in judgement, with consequences so far-reaching that they can jeopardise the talent needed to achieve the goals that make managers relevant.

I suppose, in politics as in cards, you play what you are dealt to the best of your ability and luck. Then, as Kenny Rogers sang in "The Gambler", 'know when to walk away, know when to run.' The matadors have chosen our China shop as the Plaza de Toros to face the bull.

I’ll have that boy

No face in this race

From the moment I saw the byline in an email message, I had a feeling something was not quite right with the proposal. In fact, everything seemed wrong about it, but at the very least, I needed to humour them by sincerely reading the story before commenting.

The teen founder turning male fertility into a sport

The Hustle - Jay Fuchs

At the questionable border of sports entertainment and male fertility is Sperm Racing, a startup that recently closed a $10m seed round.

As the propinquity of perspicacity and perspective grants permission, the author of the piece in The Hustle, which is the sales blog of Hubspot, not to be confused with Hustler Magazine, could not have had a more unfortunate name, if pronounced in a certain way, in his role as the managing editor, Jay Fuchs.

Moving on, Eric Zhu is the 18-year-old entrepreneur and founder of Sperm Racing, an outfit set up to address the issue of seemingly declining male fertility in a rather novel way, while promoting a dialogue on the matter too, and everything you think it is, is probably all it is and more, from the name of the company.

The straight-faced debate

To determine the best swimmers on a microscopic racetrack with high-resolution cameras capturing the event, think of the desert camel races of the UAE with robot jockeys, but the sperm will run under their own steam.

Apparently, the viewership of these race events is in the high six-figure range, and the venture has closed a $10m seed round.

This almost Onanist leap from mobility to motility suggests many questions difficult to articulate, but I can see an end in sight, with a visit to a sperm bank or considering a competition between these depositories of human propagation for an open race to all comers.

Equipment set up for the race to save manhood and humanity, Guinness World Records adjudicators ensuring no underhand tactics, spectators jockeying for position, urging their colours forward, until one breasts the tape and she says, “I’ll have that boy.”

One artificial insemination later, if the winner has not been stripped of all dignity to learn of their secret of triumph, a stud farm, humans, horses, bulls, and chickens, and the business of reproduction becomes the survival of the fittest sperm, with happy endings following even more happy endings.

In the ideas market, let’s just agree, more is to come.

See Also

ABC 7 News: Bay Area student organises 1st-of-its-kind sperm race to raise men's health awareness

Thought Picnic: Tragedy has no favouritism

All in a day of our humanity

The past 24 hours have been filled with rather unfortunate circumstances that, as observers reflecting on the truly life-changing issues, we need to be mindful of the opinions we hold and express, so we do not fall into the irony of becoming victims of our own views. More pertinently, we must also be mindful of the company we keep.

In both cases, the unfortunate and the unintentional have come to the forefront, with consequences including loss of life and loss of position, status, and prestige. We must wonder how parts of our past can have the power to haunt us into the present, shaping our future.

We are limited by our humanity

While we, as humans, can have anticipation or foreboding, we sometimes lack the foresight to consider the consequences of our current relationships. Yet, we can be judged harshly when situations and circumstances obscure any indication or premonition of worse outcomes.

Then again, what would be the thrill of living if we knew everything beforehand? Insight, ideas, and inspiration are useful, as some guiding principles can distinguish the wise from the foolish. Accepting our past foolishness and follies while seeking to learn from them, through personal experience and reflection on others' stories, is an important part of education in life.

What we exploit can also exploit us

What I cannot shake from my mind is how some have capitalised on resentment or exploited the basest instincts of human nature to gain advantage, often at our expense. We find ourselves acting against our better interests, persuaded by lies or obfuscations that have become the accepted truth.

The standard of conversation is now measured by groupthink, with risks of ostracism; everything is polarised, leaving no middle ground or room for disagreement without becoming disagreeable. Entrenchment is preferred over engagement; everyone is talking, but few are listening, unless they are only hearing what they want to hear. Confirmation bias is trending, rather than the challenging of assumptions.

The cost of such polarisation and the othering of differing viewpoints is often dismissed as irrelevant, inconsequential, or even evil. Victims are often not the purveyors of doom themselves but those who perpetuate a narrative that rarely presents the full truth, who also fall into the same doom. Occasionally, even the hunter falls into their own snare.

Victims are not just others.

Oh! The handwringing and the condemnation of consequences that would have created other victims long before it touched them, usually those safe and insulated within their privileged cocoon, are rarely naïve and often malevolent without any sense of hypocrisy.

They delude themselves into thinking they are safe. Yet, tragedy is often dispassionate, selecting its victims indiscriminately, to include those who have been the prophets of everything that ails us with their populist oratory.

If there is anything to ponder, it is to be mindful, watchful, considerate, and humane. The past holds us, the present is a gift, and the future remains unknown. May we, in the present, create a past that paves the way for a future filled with contented happiness rather than rueful regret. So, help us, God. Amen!

World Cancer Day 2025

Understanding a cancer diagnosis

For so long, I had viewed my story through the prism of my first encounter with cancer in 2009 and the gratitude with thankfulness for not only having survived but thrived when at the time of diagnosis research studies indicated my kind of situation rarely gave survivors another ten years.

This time last year, my request for a routine blood test began another journey to a new cancer diagnosis, over four months through tests and investigations, I learnt in June by an inadvertent medical disclosure of adenocarcinoma of the prostate.

Choosing and curating the people with whom to navigate the journey through the diagnosis and the treatment of cancer is a strange thing, people generally do not understand cancer and the way you present may not essentially indicate how seriously ill you are. Maybe, experience is the best teacher, if the observer is not self-absorbed. [World Cancer Day: What Is Cancer?]

Living a cancer reality

You take each day as it comes, the process of recovery after treatment is long and you can find yourself impatient when you realise you do not have the reserve of energy that deceptively comes in bursts and then deserts you literally abruptly.

Along the way, I have had such amazing support and understanding; the theme of World Cancer Day seeks to “create a world where we look beyond the disease and see the person before the patient.” In general, I have been seen and there are times I have wrestled with the experts to be seen, this has been encapsulated in the assertion that “It’s my body first before it’s your guinea pig.”

When I think of cancer, I think of many who have not been as fortunate, who suffered in ways impossible to articulate, then of those of us who have come out at the other end with our unique stories, and the united effort of medicine aggregating the body of knowledge acquired from all experiences to battle cancer to victory for our humanity.

More importantly, I focus on faith and hope, a future better than today where cancer is caught early and treatable. The best situation would be to avoid cancer completely. My advocacy is getting more black men to talk about Men’s things honestly, freely, confidently, and proactively for our lives and those we love. Here’s to World Cancer Day 2025.

Blog - Men's things - XXII

Thought Picnic: Back on the treadmill of worthwhile relationships

Like a work of nature

Worthwhile relationships need to be cultivated; they are the product of complex dynamics in our humanity and interactions which I have learnt through experience might be difficult to understand.

This is not a zero-sum game, such that what you put into a relationship is what you get out, the transactional kind carries lofty expectations and extraordinarily little reward along with disappointment and disillusionment.

Cultivating relationships is like farming; you prepare the ground, sow the seeds, and let nature take its course; the sunshine for warmth, the rainwater for life, as the seed germinates, sprouts, grows, and thrives.

There is a concept of time and duration to it that matures relationships. We all need a personal experience and revelation of planting seeds and watching the wonder of nature, from seedtime to harvest.

The work is a cycle

Yet, it is not just about harvesting, it is a continuous cycle of life. Like a farmer, you work the land of relationships and experience the wonder of things you could never have imagined.

Certain emotions come to the fore quite unexpectedly, in how care, concern, and consideration for another create endearingly invisible and significant bonds.

These relationships can be familial, but we are all too aware that blood does not assure the best of relationships, it might be the start of something, but it goes beyond that.

It is in how we choose our partners and friends, and what we do to maintain relationships and maintain is such an inadequate word for it because it is not perfunctory.

Knowing the work that works

Yet, in the moment of vulnerability and adversity, you begin to see the quality and value of relationships, like who is still about watching out for you when there is nothing you can do for them except respond and engage.

Among those relationships that reach deep into the soul of whatever makes us human, you might have a hand and a half to count on.

I have many friends, but I only have a few friendships that are the substance of relationships to be cherished. You cannot account for how others feel about the people you choose to form these relationships with.

It is sometimes interesting to see the perspectives of others and realise how things are different. You should, however, be discerning about cultivating your relationships based on the viewpoints of others, for what is significant and valid for them might not be relevant to you.

And what works for me

As I end this rambling piece that I am not entirely sure makes all that sense, sometimes, we never really know how truly and fondly liked and loved we are by those with whom we have cultivated relationships in the main, and then others who for all sorts of reasons and issues in life might have failed to register until the point where we are sorely missed.

Just to check if I was still with it, before publishing this piece, I did a search on my blog for ‘Cultivating relationships’ and I had written one as recently as last month and then as far back as the year, 2007.

I am onto something. Then, there may be fences to mend and others to abandon, and then certain relationships are, unfortunately, not worth it. Yes, crops do fail. Such is life.

Thought Picnic: Between fight and plight

In the flight of fight

I have always been ambivalent about the idea of battling cancer, especially when it is said that someone lost their battle to cancer as if they were not fighting enough to defeat the enemy that has both violated and invaded their bodies.

On completing my treatment course of radiotherapy yesterday, I received many congratulations, and this is not because I have passed a test or navigated some difficult terrain to emerge the winner of some prize, I was taking treatment that seemed harmless, but the side effects are quite unpleasant.

Thinking back to fifteen years ago when the consultant offered the prospect of just five weeks to live or thrive if I could tolerate the treatment, I learnt something about dealing with infirmity and cancer, in particular.

All contribute to it

Advances in medical science learnt by experts taught to students, and with patients in the centre of the whole situation have contributed to the body of knowledge that informs how cancer is treated. Both those who survived and those who died in the record of their experiences redound to this compendium of knowledge that is delivered as expertise when we consult with medical experts.

In my view, there are no winners or losers, no soldiers or deserters, some like me, who have been fortunate, others not as much, and that is a sad story in the human narrative. Advances in science seek to reduce the number of the less fortunate and everything we can do to eradicate all forms of cancer by prevention or treatment must have us all in that endeavour.

I take the congratulations with gratitude because they are wishing me well. Sometimes, the fight with cancer is more one of a mindset about it, rather than of some pugilistic fight to exhaustion without rules to the bout.

Just as being fortunate

The greater fighting chance we have with cancer is to have caught it early and be presented with a menu of options for treatment leading to good outcomes without too much pain, suffering, or discomfort.

Having encountered cancer twice and been given the best medical science can offer to treat it is indeed fortunate, in the Netherlands fifteen years ago and in the United Kingdom now. Our model of social medicine which is free and accessible to everyone at the point of need, is the epitome of human civilisation that could pass for a human right.

I am fortunate to be European because anywhere else would have cost a fortune to diagnose and treat cancer, some running out of money before anything effective could be done. Sometimes, we do not realise how precious health is until it is touched by infirmity, there but for the grace of God go I.

Thought Picnic: Everybody who hurts can find healing too

R.E.M. - Everybody Hurts (Official HD Music Video)

In strength and weakness

I may have a listening ear, and to some, who are close to me, I have had outbursts. Much as I attempt every means of self-control and restraint, the dam can hold no more water and it bursts. I have to remember sometimes that I do not have the answers, the understanding, the knowledge, or the wisdom for certain situations.

Even where I appear to be wise, it is usually a gift of inspiration that I cherish a lot, how to put things in perspective, cutting out the unnecessary, the sentimental, the subjective, or just the emotional. Clinical is not always what people want to hear, but the truth is a salve better than the succour of false comfort that barely addresses the issue.

We all need somebody

Then, I wonder, what am I doing for myself? How am I healing and getting the rest I need to have the peace and comfort I desire? The quest for happiness caught in snatches of time, impeded sometimes by the insufficiency of means, yet powered by an irrepressible force of faith and hope, watered with love that thrives in all circumstances. In that alone, I feel blessed.

We bear many burdens, to many we have unlimited resources of strength in mind and character, our figurative and proverbial shoulders stretch like a mountain range, grounded in the core of the earth and found in the lofty reaches of the clouds, covered in snow to cool the heat of things upset and upturn lives in unimaginable ways. Life is not a simple story; we just make every moment count.

Everybody cries, everybody hurts, and everybody feels, all in different ways with myriad ways to express themselves in the things that affect them. The silence might be screaming so loud inside. The smiling might be weeping thunderstorms of distress and turmoil that the face hides in a veil of the indecipherable. What I hide under the finery of my appearance and apparel is a world of my own humanity and vulnerability that probably finds words of expression here.

Seeking to live the dreams

Then I want to find my own foxhole to burrow deep into to hide from the world for a while, to slip into a kind of hibernation of absence where the dreams that play are of the beauty of heaven, the joy of living well, of strength, facility, and immeasurable ability with the daring that blows the mind.

That also does not have to be just a dream, for the dream maker seeks to make those dreams come true beyond anything we have ever thought, wanted, sought, desired, seen, heard, or imagined possible.

I have always thought there is a better way, many times I scramble to find the door and fall on the way, but I will never relent in seeking to walk the path that the mighty have walked to tell better stories than those ever told before.

Homeless, not hopeless

Among us all

There are moments that you observe as you walk around your city that present you with a time to reflect on the many blessings that greet us each passing day.

The grip of adversity can rob you of every kind of agency, the belief in yourself, the appreciation of human kindness, the facility for hope, and even a desire to live.

Hurdled in corners all around my city are the homeless and the destitute whose many stories are seen through just their immediate deprivation. There is more to them than what we see. Yet, there is no magic wand to wave with either determination or the almost limp-wristed suave of a sprite from the other world to change things.

Just a little

The burden of the issue is immense, you want to walk away and pretend certain realities are too great to countenance, but I saw a man in distress, he was crying and that touched me so deeply, that I turned and went to him to ask what the problem was.

He had a catalogue of woe to drown fish in its own habitat and I asked him to give me 15 minutes, he had probably heard that too many times to care about the truth of good intentions until I returned just about 20 minutes later having been distracted by an unfortunate situation.

His surprise at seeing me again, yes, I made a promise to a total stranger, but it was not just about him trusting me but a demonstration of knowing that my own words must count for something to myself. It is hence important not to vow rashly, for in not meeting it, your words begin to lose significance to you first and then to others.

More in him

In our exchanges, I found that he was going to be 50 and about to be a grandfather, you just never know if you do not engage, interact with, and deign to see another regardless of stature. One little thing can restore hope, give a sense that there is a tomorrow and help appreciate that no man is or remains an island.

He said he would lie down and say a prayer for me, I cannot remember the number of times we hugged, but that little moment of turning tears into smiles should be the broader story of our shared humanity.

I believe in angels, and many have been sent my way, in the depths of despair there is strength that tells you a better story is just being written.

Thought Picnic: As humans, we all do fail and fall

In life and its passing

Life is a series, a series of stories that includes the living and dying, the alive and dead, the enjoying and the suffering, all of which become the mix of humanity that sometimes we seem to forget that what we see and go through is not the only or most significant issue in the broader context of the communities with which we exist.

I had a call as the weekend closed out that a mutual acquaintance slightly older than us had passed on. It was sad news and it also brought to our memories an event that is definitive and seminal to how we all viewed each other.

We all sometimes fall

Then, in our youth, he could exercise disgust and revulsion with sententious persuasion to demand stringent adjustments under the threat of exposure and banishment. I became the villain of the situation that involved passions that were attended to rather than worked against.

We went our separate ways, the picture in my mind of him captured in celluloid of that time, any updates coming through other conversations with my friend who kept contact all through, as they were classmates and to a degree, friends of a sort.

Later in life as we got established in our professions and careers, he met with challenging integrity issues wherein he was found wanting. We heard rumours but were unaware of the details until an Internet search revealed more than we expected.

For weakness and strength

We had a secret about him just as he had a secret about us, but we were not into trading these secrets to besmirch or adjure, nor did we think of standing in judgement. What we learnt from that discovery was we are all fallible, to a lesser or greater extent, we might face a different range of consequences from just personal conviction to judicial conviction. We having endured the guilt and shame of the former.

Whether that secret died with him or was shared with someone, we cannot tell. Not that we are afraid that a revelation might lead to the loss of face even as amid our regret and sorrow at his demise, the lesser of our better nature might have felt relief at one less person with a secret.

Another Internet search gave us a bit more background to the man as we reminisced about the good, the abilities, the successes, and the life of the man. For how we have been impacted and influenced by the many we encounter, we can be grateful for having others share in our stories.

May his gentle soul rest in peace.

Cancer: No journey is the same

Cancer humanises us

The news that King Charles III has been diagnosed with cancer brings a sense of shared humanity in its frailty, suffering, mortality, and survival. We are told it is not prostate cancer and it was discovered when he went in for a procedure due to an enlarged prostate. [BBC: King Charles diagnosed with cancer]

As a monarchist, a fellow human being, and a survivor of cancer, I can only wish His Majesty a full recovery and restoration to health and vigour. Yet, a cancer diagnosis can come with shock and a dire prognosis, in my experience, is not a battle to fight as only the real tools we have against cancer are faith and hope. Faith that the medicine, the miracle, or both work and the hope that there is a life after cancer.

This looks serious

I watched as what seemed like Athlete’s Foot on my left sole change from the dark blotches of discolouration into a painful weeping sore, I foolishly thought it would go away even as a little voice in me whispered this was cancer tugging at the heart of my life ready to thrust me off this mortal coil.

Eventually, I summed up the courage to go to my doctor demanding urgent attention as the pain had become otherworldly unbearable. The moment she saw my foot, she said, “This looks serious, I have to refer you.” Immediately, she was on the phone to the hospital and moving heaven and earth to get me in as soon as possible, and I got an appointment for the day after.

On observation by the consultant, he said, this is serious and is related to internal diseases, the internist would be in next week on Tuesday, it was Thursday, and I’ll be the first person he’ll see. I was given painkillers that killed nothing, a placebo would have done much better to manage the pain.

I have heard, then again, I know the pain of cancer, I was eventually on 4 different kinds of pain management, the most effective being a Fentanyl patch that I received a doubled dosage of after a few weeks because that pain just refused to fully subside.

We can treat this

Several analyses were conducted on what were fungating tumours that antibiotics did not seem to affect, having eliminated a diabetic cause, a deep biopsy of the lesions was done, and then the consultant came to my bed to give me the news on the 9^th day of my admission to the hospital.

These were his words, “We can treat this, but it depends on how your body can take the treatment, if you can tolerate it, you’ll be fine, otherwise, you probably have 5 weeks.” Two things I took away from this message, the advances in cancer treatment for Kaposi’s sarcoma were such that medicine had confidence, and the fact that mortality loomed 5 weeks away left you with a sense of the gravity of what a cancer diagnosis might mean to anyone.

At that point, I thought, I am going to survive this because I had by then navigated the Kübler-Ross Five Stages of Grief, skipping Depression and Bargaining to reach an Acceptance that I spoke within myself, “Akin, you have cancer, what next?” I was already looking beyond cancer and with that, I had my belief, my faith, and my prayers with the support of many friends and particularly neighbours.

Treating cancer, killing cells

I began my 1^st course of chemotherapy on the 5^th of October 2009, it was to be administered at 10:00 AM but delayed for 3 hours, I did not know that after the course I would be consigned to cytostatic ostracism as the cytotoxic component of pegylated liposomal doxorubicin (tradename Caelyx) meant no one should be in contact with any of my bodily fluids for up 5 days after chemotherapy. Nurses had to don personal protective equipment (PPE) to take blood or dispose of my urine. It was unpleasant, the treatment and the treatment.

As I tolerated the chemotherapy, more sessions were added, and I became more nauseous after every session three weeks apart that by the 5^th session, I was given novel anti-emetic medication to help keep my food down for the days after chemotherapy.

When I saw that a 9^th chemotherapy session was scheduled, I remonstrated to my consultant that I was planning on restarting my life from the 1^st of March 2010 when I was to have received the 8^th chemotherapy dose, they stopped with the 7^th which I took on Monday, the 8^th of February 2010 in the afternoon after I had attended the funeral service of my dear friend Dick van Galen Last who sadly did not tolerate the chemotherapy as well. We had the same oncologist.

By the 4^th chemotherapy dose, the cancer lesions had disappeared, and beneath the necrotised skin which had to be stripped off was fresh pink skin which however did not retain that colour.

What to expect

Each cancer journey is different, I count myself fortunate that the body of knowledge accrued from many who had no hope when medicine first encountered these cancers, others on whom experiments were conducted and never survived, then those for whom successes led to improvements and advancements that we further down the line took advantage of because medicine was confident and the treatments could be better managed for good outcomes.

• Do they know what you have?
• Do you understand it and how far gone is it?
• Is it treatable and what is the prognosis?
• What particular outcomes do you want, what options do you have, some might just want to go home than face gruelling cancer treatment? 
• How prepared are you in spirit, mind, and body for this journey?
• What is your source of hope in the midst of adversity?
• What support networks do you have to draw on?

Hope springs eternal, I believed and saw myself beyond the cancer and probably not much further, but each stage of progress gave the kind of assurance that there will be life after cancer and even if there was none, I would not have died in despair, hopeless, hapless, and without any sense of having lived well.

It is the most encouragement I can give to anyone facing cancer, it is a difficult process, it is part of the human story, some survive, and many do not, we are all grateful for life, but the biggest battle when faced with adversity is whether you can see yourself getting beyond it or life ending because of it.

There is no judgement in what you see, either way, your life and your story would be you lived, you loved, you touched and were touched, and the rest falls into the annals of timeless eternity, you walked this earth and will never be forgotten.

Bronson Battersby: A case of unneighbourly indifference

You live in a neighbourhood

Think about where you live and the people who live in proximity to you whether in passing or in full acknowledgement you know who they are.

Beyond those you can interact with in terms of communication, they might have children that you have noticed but are too young for your typical conversation, they might also have pets, a cat or a dog, but how would you know if you are not observant and probably curious?

Then, what constitutes your neighbourhood that you notice is out-of-place, unusual, or unexpected? A stranger you have never seen before prowling your street, a usually occupied house that seems deserted or new people have just moved in. Strange happenings that elicit that double-take and enough of that innate inquisitiveness just to assure yourself that things are the way they should be.

Beware of indifferent neighbours

That constitutes a sense of neighbourliness, a general awareness of your surroundings that is both for your safety and convenience as much as it is for your neighbours, an unwritten code of coexistence of everyone inadvertently watching out for everyone else.

What you cannot afford to be is self-centred indifferent that the inclination to be the brother’s keeper or the Good Samaritan is lost to not being bothered or concerned even when some gut feeling suggests you should exercise yourself to the stimuli of events that are not commonplace.

This is what hurts me most about the case of Bronson Battersby, a two-year-old toddler who was found beside his dead father having died of dehydration and starvation within earshot of at least someone for whom I cannot yet find the words to describe as they would be unprintable and still be an understatement. [ITV: Bronson Battersby: Neighbour 'pretty sure' she heard toddler crying days before death]

It just beggars belief

However, that is not the only failing, Bronson was under the care of social services but a lethargic lackadaisical attitude to his plight meant he was not discovered for another 7 days when a little more persistence and concern might have possibly discovered the child barely alive but with the prospect of survival.

Yet, it is the neighbour that attracts the greater wrath, in my view. The news story suggests this neighbour was ‘pretty sure’ she heard a toddler crying. Whether the quotes belong with the phrase is beside the point. If you heard a toddler crying and no doubt one in distress because there was no care for it, it had to have been for a prolonged period, perhaps a day or two, and not just in the daytime but in the nighttime too.

This indifference is evil

Nothing, it seems persuaded this neighbour to investigate and determine the source of this crying. She could not be bothered, it would soon stop, she must have thought, and it did eventually stop at the point where Bronson was totally exhausted, dehydrated, starved, weak, and unable to do anything more, he lay down beside his father who apparently had suffered a massive heart attack days before, and died.

In my heart of hearts, I pray we never have so totally indifferent people as neighbours because they are evil and lacking in any humanity. I have always made it a point of duty to be acquainted with my neighbours and to have at least one neighbour with whom I can share much more in neighbourliness, a set of keys, the occasional visit for tea or a meal and someone to just have general life conversations with. They matter.

Cultivate neighbourliness for your own safety

Neighbourliness is more than just living next door; it is knowing who is there and caring enough to check on them and know that they are okay. Especially as I live alone, the issue of neighbourliness is more acute, my neighbour would knock on my door if she has not seen me for days. When I had chest pains, the ambulance crew met me at my neighbour’s and from there I was taken to hospital, my neighbour sitting with me through the night in A&E for over 10 hours.

Elsewhere, when I was gravely ill in hospital, my neighbours attended to all issues and on returning home, did my shopping, some cooking, my laundry and every other thing I had no strength to do. When I was going away for weeks, my neighbour ensured my place was secure and looked after.

I have a relationship with my neighbour, you are brought together by circumstances you usually would not have predetermined, but you see the humanity in each other to build trust enough to know that you have their back as much as they have yours.

He need not have died

Bronson Battersby need not have died if he had good neighbours, he was crying and he was most definitely heard, it was his only means of communication, his desperate call for help, but he was ignored. However, I say, cultivate good neighbourliness and know that the people who live around you matter for both your safety and security.

Rest in peace, dear Bronson Battersby, you deserved better, much, much better.

Food in choice from supply

A rueful and grateful contemplation

There is always someone else whose situation and circumstances are worse than ours and, in the same spirit, one should always be grateful for the goodness and blessing that surround us even if issues tend to cloud our minds as to the relativeness of where we might be.

It is important that in recognising how fortunate one is, we do not go seeking to plumb the depths of destitution and adversity to ascertain the extent to which one should be grateful for being better off. Every lack needs supply, whether great or small.

Exiting the place, we all seem not to go straight home but stand somewhere to contemplate what we have just been through, a new low in a longer story that for many would be impossible to relate. A sense of embarrassment overcome by the realisation of need, a sense of shame bludgeoned through with a daring for survival, a sense of failure reducing you to the generosity and mercy of others.

Yea, I can recount many such situations that have become the broader tapestry of the joy of living, for without life, how can anyone experience the highs, the lows, the changes and consequently the opportunity to speak or write of such in your own words?

Parsnips for yams

On arrival, there was a registration before a helper took a list off me to ascertain what I might or might not need, through stifled giggles, we navigated an alien world into which we for the circumstances need to attempt to fit in for the sake of sustenance and keeping some of that hope alive.

She immediately recognised my heritage and she volunteered that her husband is Nigerian who likes his food fresh before saying one of those many issues with Nigerian men. It got to a point where I simply asked her to filter her list through the palate needs of anyone from West Africa and she immediately said, none of what we were viewing would work. However, we adapt.

Only what you need

The things that could work for me, I chose and left out those that just had no bearing on anything I would consider even in extremis. A box of sandwiches seeking those who hunger, the choices from simple to untenable, like horseradish with beef, horseradish is more than an acquired taste, you need to have been introduced to it under extreme torture for a long period of time to find your Stockholm’s Syndrome comfort in tasting it at will.

We were there because there was not enough and there were people and organisations willing and generous to give to a community effort of helping those who have a season and hopefully a short one of famine in the land. My sister will say to me, food is one essential commodity that should never be lacking in the home. Alas! We have not fallen to the temptation of turning stones to bread.

The food bank is both a humbling and an appreciation of the humanity that still throws an arm of love, consideration, and generosity around others, regardless of who they are.