Writing a miracle story

An odyssey at close

Ten years ago, I left the Netherlands to return to the UK with nothing more than a suitcase and a bag of hope. It was the end of my 13-year odyssey, everything I had enjoyed in life and means – a memory; as I had reached a turning point, to start all over again.

In the three years before my departure, my whole life had taken a big hit, what looked like Athlete’s foot in early 2009 was in fact, AIDS-defining cancer, Kaposi’s sarcoma which at the complete diagnosis presented a dilemma of truth my consultant frankly shared, that if I did not respond to the treatment they knew worked, I only had 5 weeks left.

In the aftermath of what I call the long tail of cancer, for those who have a story after surviving it, everything I owned, I had lost, including my home of ten and a half years which I sold at a loss. All attempts to restart my life in the Netherlands fell through, I was in a prodigal spiral in need of a change.

A trial of the times

Making the decision to return to the UK, which to me was my home country was met with opposition and against other counsel, I knew for my own sake, it was time to close that chapter. I wrote to six of my closest friends who I envisioned in my mind would be my pallbearers, I just did not know what time I had left.

In the last paragraph, I wrote, “I am hopeful that things will turn however without intending to sound morbid, if anything does happen to me by reason of the circumstances I have encountered, I will want to be seen by friends and be rested in the land of my birth.” I was not giving up; I was being as realistic as I could be without making assumptions about my future. [My eyes welled up as I read that letter again, I have come a long way, indeed.]

Writing a miracle story

I have been exceedingly blessed because goodness, mercy, and favour followed me. I got a UK mobile number, updated my CV, and started looking for jobs. Within 6 days of my return to the UK, I had secured a contract and a rate hike during negotiations to travel around Europe as an implementation lead. It was to last 6 months, but due to issues with the company in the US, it was canned within 6 weeks, maybe a misfortune of sorts, but I was getting back in my stride.

Looking back 10 years, I have lived a miracle, for with the condition I had, apparently, some medical studies suggested survivors did not live beyond a decade after the disease and we are in the baker’s dozen years, I am here, doing well, keeping well, living well, full of hope and prospects, truly, deeply, and madly in love with the most extraordinary man who swept into my life in December 2018, Brian is my joy.

There is so much to write about, but I want to celebrate life, the power of hope, the showers of blessing, the mercy of God, the love of the heart, the pursuit of happiness, the support and candour of friends, my wonderful parents who have travelled incredibly unimaginable journeys of my experiences, my siblings, siblings (nieces and nephews), and cousins, sadly departed uncles and friends, and the spirit that never gives up.

Thank you all for being part of my story.

Let there be teeth

I cannot smile

I carry with me a deformity that I have accommodated for long, but it is quite concerning still. My upper front teeth that I lost to a childhood prank and for every dental activity performed has left me with some regret at ever considering some remediation, though, something needs to be done.

Blog: Childhood: Defanged by Misadventure

Now, Ian Paisley, later Baron Bannside was a Northern Ireland politician and more notably a firebrand preacher, of the fire and brimstone kind, fundamentalist to the core and extremist was as comfortable for any congregant who felt they needed to be shaken to core about the expectations of the afterlife.

The matter of teeth

In one instance, the preacher railed from the pulpit with fiery vehemence, “Ye are all bound for damnation.” He said, and continued with, “There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” We all probably can find all sorts of opportunities to cry and weep, it is a composite of our nature.

However, we cannot all keep our teeth, some are lost to decay and caries, others lost to misadventure or even worse. There are some that have no teeth at all and lo, even in the sphere of faith healing, the lame walk, the blind sees, the mute speak, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, but I cannot recall any instance of a miracle of dental restoration. Surely, that is just as important to wholesome living.

A miracle for hell

There, in a pew sat an old woman who asked what might happen to those who have no teeth, for, and I agree, the “weeping and gnashing of teeth” experience will be incomplete without the teeth, leading some to question the irrefutability of Scripture. To which the Reverend Ian Paisley responded, “Teeth will be provided.” And there we have it, in damnation, we can expect one last miracle, 32 white gnashers horsing around on the red hills of healthy gums, ready to clatter in the wailing abandonment of perdition.

I guess this suggests that even in hell, the human experience will be full, whole, and complete. What a prospect, what a scary prospect, indeed.

Thought Picnic: What little to do much with

Meeting all needs regardless

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

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

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

The little we bring

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

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

Just a word is enough

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

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

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

Blog - Back to the cross with meaning to me

Of things that make you go, Wow!

The gift of a good story

The unexplainable becoming a story of good fortune, in that one cannot trace or determine the circumstances in which something has come to pass, is the stuff of miracles.

Whether you believe in miracles or not, there are times when you realise there is nothing in your own power you could have done to bring about the results that are laid before you as a gift and a blessing. That is when you look up as there is nothing to look around to and give thanks for providence has come with a bounty to put warmth in the heart and rouge on the cheeks that scaffold your smile.

The summary of a pleasant day

Today began so ordinarily and even quite slowly too, then time in the majesty of eternal motion took up speed, things that did have any prospect of happening soon were happening next, before you could catch your breath, another thing was bearing swiftly to you a distant future to within a present with reach.

Once again, I am given a story, brought from the brink of the prodigal into the embrace of the benevolent, that I can only be thankful and full of gratitude. The morning and the evening is another day, yet, a day that the Lord has made. Say a word of thanks on my behalf and may we all receive unexpectedly, a story better than we could ever have contemplated or imagined.

World AIDS Day: From a person with AIDS to just living with HIV

The result

One morning thirteen years ago on the 13^th, he walked into the clinic almost sure that the news he did not want to accept might be the truth, will be the news he will hear.

For years, he took the test but always asked that he never be informed of the result, the burdens of many enforced and reinforced beliefs militating against the workings of a rational mind until a time he could not escape the truth of what it might be.

That first result was yet tentative, like the first urine sample of a doping test is, he had to wait another week for the confirmation of what had been learnt. On the 20^th of the month, a day that seems to have gained a coincidence of significances in a lifetime, it was crunch time.

The power of hope

When his pastor asked of what might be going through his mind, he averred that he was ready for what the result might be, life had to go on from knowing the truth about the present.

The nurse holding the paper of the confirmation was distraught and literally crying, it was hard enough that he was there to receive news that they usually advice be received in the company of friends or confidant, he was alone, absorbing the news and comforting the nurse.

As he left the clinic, he was handed a pamphlet that was to identify with those who had that result, the covered the emotions of anger, despair, denial, depression, pity and much else, but it did not include the word that would have mattered the most to anyone with such a diagnosis – Hope!

Without hope, there can never have been another day, yet he put it behind him and continued life as if it mattered little. He returned to university, embarked on new journeys, made new friends, even found love, the love of a sort that was trouble and fun, crazy and really crazy, but love it was.

Daringly stupid

Years passed and he fell into the delusion of being inviolable and beyond vulnerable, yet coursing in his veins was a sentence of death, one that was coming and that which others began to see. He, however, lived in denial and his health began to deteriorate and rapidly so.

Soon, he sought succour in alternative medicine and the possibility of a miracle, he was seeking a health jackpot to spring him out of the grip of death. He became desperate and grasping, as pain took a hold that was indescribable.

Then like a slap in the face, his reality dawned and he when to see his doctor, she did not give the signs a second look, before a referral, then another referral and by the third within a week, he was in hospital a very sick man given just five weeks to live if the medicine did not take.

From PWA to PLWHIV anew

At that point, he was a Person With AIDS, his immune system so seriously compromised, it was the miracle of medicine that brought him back from the brink, the same manifestation of complications due to HIV that killed Fela Anikulapo-Kuti some 12 years before.

He recovered and recovered well to tell the tale of facing death square in the face and returning to dance in the land of the living.

Many lessons learnt:

• ·         Always go for check-ups.
• ·         Take the results of your check-ups seriously if you must go on treatment, do it as soon as it is recommended.
• ·         Own your condition, your situation and your decisions.
• ·         Medicine knows a lot more about these things, avail yourself of the science and the knowledge fully.
• ·         Never stop your medication without medical advice, you are not cured until medicine gives the final verdict – your pastor is NOT your doctor.
• ·         The medicine contains the virus and allows your immune system to recover so that you are not beaten by opportunistic infections.
• ·         There is always help for your condition, social, emotional, obviously medical and much else, despite the stigma that associates with being a Person Living With HIV.
• ·         Seek therapy at any opportunity, it works.
• ·         Things might be difficult after an HIV diagnosis, but it is not the end of life, see it as the beginning of a new life, knowing your vulnerabilities and gaining new strengths.
• ·         Your friends are closer than you think they are.

And finally, until you’re dead, you’re still living and if you are still living, you’re here to say once again – Happy World Aids Day!

Opinion: Tackling the Culture of Blacks Handling Disease

The taboos we must break

I found myself nodding in agreement to literally every line I read in this article published in The Body magazine – The Complete HIV/AIDS Resource – titled Breaking Through: HIV and African Americans.

If we removed HIV and replaced it with cancer, diabetes, hypertension, or misfortune, we would have subconsciously listed a sliding scale in terms in growing confidence to talk about how certain issues affect us.

Someone dying of the complications of HIV might only be able to accept that they are dying of cancer, the visible signs and sometimes along with diabetes means, we never attempt to ask more probing questions.

Our false stories

As I read the article, the writer informed that he had lost three relations, presumably African American to AIDS; two women, including his aunt and a man who insisted he was a heroin user when it was quite possible he was gay.

We have never been able to approach the reality of our diseases for the so many factors raised in that article. It is not just an African American thing; it is particularly African and probably broadly affects all non-Western cultures.

When I write blogs like this, I am wont to excerpting generous portions of the source material to make my points. However, I have decided we need to get the courage to begin to face the many issues that plague our communities as we suffer in silence, perpetuate the stigma and look at disease as the otherness that will never approach our steads.

We shock to numbness

We cannot deny that HIV/AIDS and cancer cuts a swathe through our communities like a wild forest fire that we treat as if it is insignificant, as our silence becomes a coping mechanism of convenience.

This means we fail to access health options and healthcare early enough for radical and timely intervention until it becomes an emergency exceeding effective medical treatment leaving us with just one option of palliative end-of-life care.

The story then becomes one of hospital visits, close family in shock at the apparently sudden deterioration in health of their relation as life slowly ebbs away no one the wiser about the truth until a nurse pulls one of the most affected relatives aside to say exactly what the diagnosis was. AIDS? Cancer? Usually not enemies scheming in the backyard, held at bay with Psalm 35.

There and then, the world collapses around every loved one and the questions start to flood the mind with prefixed inquisitive phrases of how long, how bad, how did, what can, how much – we have experienced this many times and yet we willingly hop on the vicious cycle of the culture of blacks handling disease badly.

The signs we ignore

We ignore the warning signs in the cause of the worry about the loss of our livelihood and the economic distress that accompanies a disease. Then visit our temples hoping and wishing for miracles with mountain-moving faith that had moves nothing more than the air that comes out of our mouths in fervent prayer, because we are in the mortal grip of fear; we rapidly approach an avoidable expiry date.

We listen to stories and conspiracies, we search for Shamanist cures in grottos that have defied the onslaught of civilisation and logic, imbibing awful concoctions too rotten for a recipe list and yet the temporary relief presages a catastrophic relapse before it is passed off in an obituary as a brief illness or a sudden death.

No fairy tale

These are the facts, Fela Anikulapo-Kuti, the “Nigerian multi-instrumentalist musician and composer, pioneer of Afrobeat music, human rights activist, and political maverick” died of Karposi’s sarcoma, and it is a form of skin cancer usually brought on by AIDS.

His brother, a prominent AIDS activist and former minister of Health could only talk about AIDS affecting his family after the man had died. Nelson Mandela’s son also died of AIDS, but we only learnt of that after the fact.

As a cancer survivor, I know how much I have revealed about my condition and the secrets that I still keep for the fears, the shame, the stigma and many other attendant issues that dog our cultural outlook to disease.

Yet, as the article states, and this I will excerpt, “Magic Johnson has not been cured by some medicine being kept from us.”

Ignoring our possibility

We can expect better medical outcomes if we talk, if we act or react immediately and seek professional advice when things are changing in our bodies that we cannot account for in our daily routine.

Karposi’s sarcoma as a result of HIV/AIDS complications was already treatable in the 1990s, and anti-retroviral (ARV) drugs manage HIV to the extent that people living with HIV can live very productive lives.

We cannot ignore our way round reality, nor can we bargain away disease with the false comfort of vows and the sudden laying on of hands; we need to accept first by understanding what we have* and that will inform the kinds of interventions that medicine or therapy can help us with, in a timely fashion.

[*This includes, HIV/AIDS, cancer, diabetes, hypertension, depression, mental illness, misfortune – tag anything you want to the list.]

Medicine is not evil and churches are not hospitals, but the beginning of dealing with the problem that plagues our community with the poison of silence is to read an article in a HIV/AIDS magazine about respected black women in the family dying of AIDS in today's America.

Finally, go for that test, it is about your life and keeping it.

Click on the link and read - The Body - Breaking Through: HIV and African Americans

Thought Picnic: No Parable of the Prodigal Friend

The Prodigal Friend

I wondered why Jesus never told a parable of the prodigal friend, He did tell one of a prodigal son and the redeeming power of fatherly love despite the failings of that son who justifiably should have been consigned to the scrapheap.

The story of realisation and reconciliation is both profound and deep; it is however amazing how that could easily be seen in real life.

As I thought on this, I realised there was no need for a parable of the prodigal friend because friends have a particularly practical significance that is either of clear dedication or sad betrayal.

The involved friends

The practical example of this friendship was demonstrated at a meeting Jesus had in a house where he was teaching, the house was so crowded full of the Pharisees and scribes that no one else could have access.

A lame man had four of his friends help him to that venue, no doubt with the view to having the miraculous power of Jesus heal him. When they could not get into the house, they climbed on the roof, removed the roofing tiles and let their friend down into the midst of the crowd in the presence of Jesus.

As the story goes, Jesus saw their faith and with that he told the lame man his sins were forgiven and he should pick up his bed and walk, which he promptly did to the marvel all present to see the miracle and the consternation of those who debated the issue of forgiveness of sins.

What was clear was what the friends did to contribute to the lame man’s access to healing, most importantly, they wanted him fit and able as themselves than for him to be limited in his interaction with them – a prodigal friend of sorts.

The Prodigal Brother

Conversely, what is said of the brother of the prodigal son is interesting that I am inclined to call him the prodigal brother by reason of the fact that he had status, opportunity and privilege but failed to realise any of that until when he noticed the merciful and loving expression of his father to his brother.

What he always had with his father but never deigned to live in the fullness of, led to his nursing resentment, anger and offence at what was so avoidable if he had availed himself of the standing and the reality of who he was.

Friends can stick closer than a brother, a friend showed such great love that he laid down his life for his friends. It is a matter of character and personality to find friends who are ready to bear you down in your bed into the presence of the biggest miracle of your life – friends are experience and much more but we need discernment to determine true friends from fair-weather friends or just mere acquaintances.

For those who have felt betrayed by those they call friends, have mercy and keep the ones that do really care. For there comes a time when friends do matter, because then, we are totally helpless and needful of them.

Note: The first publication of this blog was full of errors, I probably should have left writing it until the morrow, but I was determined to get it out. In any case, my friend @zebbook on Twitter noticed the poor editing and discreetly informed me of the poor copy. I hope I have repaired the damage; else, I’ll have another look when the daze of my pills wears off. Thanks Bukola.

Thought Picnic: God's Grand Plan of Fixing my Slashed Tyre

The plans I made

Despite all I have seen, if I had to be told I live a wonderful life and not realise it myself, I would have failed to count the many blessings, small and large that waylay me at every turn and bring me such happiness, fun, joy and encouragement.

I planned to attend prayer meeting at church this evening and had arranged to meet up with a friend two stations further on to journey together to church.

Usually, I cut it fine with just enough time to ride my bicycle to the station, lock it up and catch the train, but I also needed to get tickets so I made much more allowances for that and just some time.

The plans overturned

I got ready, unchained my bicycle and one look at the front tyre showed that someone had found the bizarrely twisted pleasure to dig in the tyre and slashed the inner tube – that this should happen in front of my house was just cutting, I had never in my 12 years of living in the Netherlands and many times of securing my bicycle outside had my tyres slashed and it is only in my first year that I ever and only once had my bicycle stolen.

I reported the event on Twitter, got sympathy and I never thought it could ever have been a hate crime; my street does have quite an international feel to it.

New plans working fine

Putting my cane together, I walked up to the bus stop informing my friend that I might not catch the pre-arranged train, but I was just in time for the bus, to get my ticket and catch the train. The clouds were looming ready to belch their store of rain and I did not think I was that prepared but my trusty umbrella was in my bag. We met up and travelled to church, my umbrella saving us from getting drenched to the skin.

We were on time to help set up the meeting room and the meeting started as I thought about how to get the bicycle to the repair shop just about 2 kilometres away and how long it would take to repair the bicycle before I could use it again – all sorts of permutations of solutions tried to take away my concentration but I persevered in prayer all the same. The prayer sessions were exciting, different and really edifying before we had a break.

My friend returned home and then I asked another friend residing in my city if I could have a lift back home. That was arranged when I saw that my neighbour arrive for the leadership and volunteers training session.

Altering the plan

After the session, I asked if I could have a ride back home and he obliged, I cancelled the other arrangement, we got in the car where I told him the tale of my slashed bicycle tyre.

He just about encouraged me enough to get my hands dirty after he shared with me how he learnt to be a handyman having known nothing about maintaining and repairing motorbikes just two years before.

I was not sure but I was willing to try, I really did not have to wheel my bicycle to the repair shop or remove the wheel and hump that by bus to the repair shop, I just needed to find out what size of tube I needed, get that from the shop, remove the old tube, take out the wheel, put in the new tube in the tyre, let in some air to set it on the wheel, then put the tyre back on, fix the wheel and then pump the tyre to the right pressure.

The part about letting some air into the tube was quite useful information borne from experience; I was somewhat ready to try something very different.

An unexpected plan

When we got home, I showed him my bicycle as he concluded it was a slashing rather than a mere puncture. He read the measurements for the tyre and then it suddenly occurred to him that he might have a spare tube in his car.

Apparently, a few weeks before, he bought two different sizes of inner tube for his bicycle being unsure of which size will fit and on fitting the right one he had lost the receipt he needed to return the other tube for a refund.

That tube just happened to be the right size for my tyre as I planned that I would fit it on the morrow only wondering about where I might have put my bicycle pump. The lights were down and the dark of the night had come as he offered that we do it there and then.

So I wheeled the bicycle into his backyard and he set up the lights, got out his tool box and disconnecting the brakes, he got out the old tube, loosened the wheel and put in the new tube, applied manly grease to the nuts and threading and basically put my bicycle back together again.

You cannot make up such as story if you wanted to, Buddy who might not have known for sure why he obtained two tubes and that he will have a passenger in his car on his ride back home, but he was the answer to the incongruous, the improbable and literally uncanny – maybe God does move in mysterious ways His wonders to perform, but at the end, it all came together in a grand plan none of us could have contrived.

Don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?

I know that I was distraught, probably annoyed and at a time confused as to why anyone would find any pleasure in the wilful destruction of another man’s property but I was never bitter. There was going to be a solution eventually but it never went according to my plan and it was solved long before the day was over without me having to worry much and spend anything apart from the wheeling of the bicycle to the backyard and lifting the wheel ignorantly off the frame before checking where the washers were.

My friend, Buddy was a God-send beyond anything I could have imagined and I was grinning from ear-to-ear after it was all done with care, consideration, charity and kindness in an expression of unconditional love. "Buddy, you've been a great buddy," I said. Yes, that is his wonderful name lived out to reality.

In the last two months, goodness, mercy, kindness, favour and goodwill has chased me down and overtaken me so many times, as a man of faith, I can only say God has my back and has my concerns to mind – it is just amazing that God had already set in motion the plan to fix my slashed tyres long before it happened and it is a wonder how many times we have missed latching onto the good things He has planned for us long before we reached the difficult paths, situations and circumstances we come up against in our daily lives. 

Nigeria: Angels in road construction

Worldwide wrestling

I dare say that this borders on what I will call the superfluity of spirituality but it is probably par for the course in Nigeria where frustration, exasperation, delay, inertia, bureaucracy and corruption militates against getting things done.

With ease, when things are so muddled up, such man-made and man-caused circumstances can for those in the know be classified under categories that the Bible so clearly enunciates and is known by heart to many a praying Christian.

In Ephesians 6:12 - For we wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against spiritual wickedness in high places. (KJV)

In 17^th Century English, I might have lost my readers so maybe the Message in contemporary English might enlighten us “This is no afternoon athletic contest that we'll walk away from and forget about in a couple of hours. This is for keeps, a life-or-death fight to the finish against the Devil and all his angels.” Ephesians 6:12 (The Message)

A road in ruin

I do not think I am any the wiser with this attempt but it serves as the lead in to an issue in Nigeria with regards to the first toll road called the Lagos-Ibadan Expressway.

It is 105 kilometres long and it opened to traffic in 1978, though I remember people bribing military officers who stood guard at the main toll areas of the road to use it in late 1977.

In any case, it has fallen into abject disrepair from usage and neglect that the federal government adopted a novel way [1] of getting it repaired. In what is a Build, Operate and Transfer (BOT) contract that will span 25 years, the concessionaire will repair the road, add two lanes on either side and install gas lighting – gas lighting? Well, Dusk to dawn gas lighting down the length of the expressway with the lien to levy tolls and seek other revenue through advertisements.

The concessionaire is the Bi-Courtney Group and the project will cost upwards of NGN 90 billion ($600 million) which is quite an outlay for a local company that hopes to recoup its cost over 25 years.

An Amen waiting for a prayer

The Chairman of Bi-Courtney Highways Services Limited paid a courtesy call [2] on the General Overseer of the Redeemed Christian Church of God whose Redemption City religious meeting place and residential area is sited along the road where it became evident that the concessionaire might have bitten off more than it can chew because banking services in Nigeria do not as a matter of course provide loan terms of that kind of duration and this is hampering the necessary activity of the repairs of the road.

The widening of the road has created a whole series of legal challenges from those affected who might find their properties subject to compulsory purchase orders (Eminent Domain - US), all this from the foolishness of the concessionaire, through their hope of getting financing and the legal minefields of compulsory purchase will constitute the categories listed above as the weight of immovability might well be unearthly and beyond the work horse requirements of construction equipment put at full throttle.

It is in that context that one is left to holler the loudest Amen to the prayer of the General Overseer as the news headline indicates, “God will subdue forces against completion,” and I believe he means the completion of the project.

An unfathomable situation

Now, at face value, the Chairman, Dr Wale Babalakin (SAN) [3] is no doubt a smart lawyer having obtained both his LLM and PhD from the University of Cambridge and he has a commendable legal record, however, this project smacks of a level of Nigerian braggadocio that leaves you breathless; none of the well-heeled banks for all the legal sophistry he can muster in Nigeria seem to be ready to form a consortium to bankroll this project.

How the Bi-Courtney Group could not have had serious backers for this job before securing the concession is just beyond belief, then the 55 legal cases which all can drag on at snail’s pace in Nigeria’s sometimes soporific judicial system you begin to realise that you need the hand of God and angels in their thousands of thousands all with trumpets and heavenly strains of praise that would make the earth tremble and melt to get things done.

Impossible human doers

The Redemption City can host over 1 million adherents at monthly religious events which somewhat makes one wonder how they have endured the decrepit state of the road with equanimity, docility and possibly resignation except for their resort to the mountain moving power of prayer.

On a human level, with the resources we have on earth to observe, to agitate, to persuade, to protest, to require and to obtain; one would have expected a pressure group of the 1 million adherents and the other plaintiffs at risk of losing their land to set forth a court action to remove the concessionaire and have the concession renegotiated to necessitate the easier financing of this project on different terms and probably by another contractor.

A miracle like no other

I for one expect a miracle, one that definitely defies every human explanation that Redemption City had better be ready to host the billion, a road all paved in gold like we were told in Sunday School of heavenly paradise, this gold being so durable and perfect, it cannot be chipped or removed, yet will survive all weather and traffic putting the autobahns of Germany in the shade.

People may use the road, it will be safe no matter how careless the driver is and those who cannot ply the road for the gleaming sensation of the gold can just look at the road with every consumption of greed and frustration until they are exhausted at the foretaste of heaven that they move on there anyhow.

Since the road is a gift of God and the answer to the prayers of the faithful, the Redemption City could charge a nominal fee for its usage whilst extolling the greatness of their mission to earth.

Judgement so sweet

As for the concessionaire; an earthquake awaits any of its representatives that dare claim anything for that road, the earth will open up like a trapdoor and swallow them in Mosaic dread.

All forces subdued, prayers answer, congregation multiplied, souls saved and God praised – there can be no better place in the world than Nigeria where even for our tourist brochures we can safely say our streets are paved with gold.

Sources

[1] At Last, Work Begins On Lagos-Ibadan Expressway | P.M. NEWS Nigeria

[2] The Nation - Lagos-Ibadan Expressway: God will subdue forces against completion, says Adeboye

[3] Babalakin & Co. Legal Practitioners - People - Bolanle Olawale Babalakin SAN

Do you need a miracle?

Untrammelled between trams

And I thought as I got on the tram as it wended its way towards a destination close to home, I could be on that other tram going for meal.

Indeed, I could as I was sitting; would I then end up in the other tram sat in a space nudging away whoever was occupying the seat or suddenly find myself standing erect in the aisle then search for a free seat?

It got me thinking about the need for powers and the consequences of having the power to upset the general course of nature.

Appearing to startle

With all the selfish ability to translate myself from one tram to another, I wondered if I had to scout for a place before I left the tram I was in for the other and what state I would be in as I negotiated the possibilities and the consequences.

Maybe, I could in fact be translated but there was the other issue of its effect on my community, the bystanders going about their business trying not to witness anything so stressful after a long day at work.

If I suddenly appeared, how would I have prepared the other passengers for my appearance without startling everyone and scaring them off the tram such that I would have drawn unnecessary attention to myself and ended up being a great sensation but never getting to where I had intended in the first place.

The miracle of contemplation

That thoughtfulness lead me to one conclusion, the need for miracles in most cases can be obviated with adequate contemplation and planning. If minutes before, I had already decided what I wanted to do, I could easily have boarded the other tram naturally without causing distress to either myself or anyone else.

In fact, I do not need a miracle for something I could have properly planned for and anticipated using my God-given intellect and abilities, I could achieve what needs to be achieved without upsetting the laws of nature and creating unnecessary commotion as I ingratiate myself with powers that could have been better utilised in the pursuit of more altruistic goals.

Do you need a miracle?

Suffice it to say that we mostly seek miracles for the trivial, to correct mistakes we have made and to absolve ourselves from the responsibilities we could have shouldered if we dared to be half the geniuses we were born to be.

Whereas, miracles are in essence supposed to be for the impossible, the insurmountable, the overwhelmed – not the difficult but manageable circumstances that at many times were under our control but we refused to assume the responsibility to take control until it became too late to manage in any way.

Would this account for many unanswered prayers? Seeking miracles where basic commonsense should have sufficed – I do wonder what I really would have done if I had the power to be translated from on tram to another or a one fast moving train to another moving in the opposite direction.

On reflection, I really do not need that power or rather the greatest power you can have equal or greater than the miracle you seek is to have contemplated, planned and executed to achieve what you aim for.

Amilia against all odds

A dearly beloved soul mate

The miracle baby they call her as her parents arrived to collect her from hospital today, but she is to be kept back for a few more days. [1][2]

A kindred spirit with myself when 41 years ago, auspiciously today, my parents also arrived to pick me up, I came in at 26 ½ weeks, she came in at just over 21 weeks, usually not an age at which doctors expect the baby to thrive.

Well, something medicine and people are yet to understand is the fact that the will to live is a highly developed desire and determination to stay alive against all odds.

Fighter indeed she is

Baby Amilia - meaning fighter and hardworker - is a survivor born to upset the apple cart of convention and bring us to rethink any number of issues about the medical survival of the foetus.

With time we have learnt that babies born at progressively decreasing gestation periods down to about 23 weeks have the possibility of thriving, though there is concern about longer term development - in my case, I started walking quite late at over 18 months and then there minor problems with my sight.

We have also learnt that the foetus can feel pain at an earlier age than the 29 weeks that doctors thought possible.

I was expected March the 19^th 1966 at the earliest for a full term baby, I was delivered of my claustrophic recluse on the 21^st of December the year before, she was born on the 24^th of October 2006.

Outlaw abortion over 20 weeks

Another thing is the issue of abortion, whilst I am liberally of the view that this decision should be between the woman, her doctor and her God, conscience or conviction, aborting a foetus at over 20 weeks borders on the sacrilegious.

How is it after carrying the baby for at least 10 weeks and noticing the differences to the body and mind a decision is left in abeyance until well into the fifth month of gestation, just over half the gestation period?

In other affairs of life, it is unlikely that people spend that much time making decisions of medical importance, if an operation is scheduled as critical; you go in and sort it out pronto.

If a pregnancy is inimical to your health and well-being, you get it sorted before the baby begins to develop form, character and poise, especially with the advances in ultrasound.

We, the early ones have rights to live

And so for those unborn who like me arrived a lot earlier than expected, having hardly fitted into the palm of the hand and were more survivors dependent on the will to live and answered prayer than the grudging confidence of medical science; abortion at over 20 weeks might as well be murder, more proof is developing to the fact that this is patently unacceptable.

Baby Amilia, you are welcome and we all born premature but now maturing in strength, wealth, knowledge, wisdom and purpose in life wish you the best of good health, great strength and magnificent success beyond just being the joy of your parents but a worthy contributor to the earth that needs to see more miracles that defy science and popularly accepted opinion.

[1] Miracle baby homecoming delayed

[2] Premature baby to stay for checks

Time to learn to feel our pain - April 2006

Obituaries for the living

Prognostication of news

With great interest I note the number of times the media has published the obituaries of persons still living as rumour defeats the patience to apply meticulous methods to the gathering of news.

Only too recently, we had the episode of the West Virginia mine disaster where reports of death and life were confused on the numbers of who was dead or alive.

So, it is with poignancy that I heard the admonition of the director of the Hadassah Hospital to act responsibly in the dissemination of news concerning Ariel Sharon and his condition; stating that any changes to his status would be announced promptly by the hospital only.

This was done in disputing the fact that rumour was already pervading the air of the demise of Ariel Sharon, however, he lives; as he tethers at the portal of the great beyond as those who really have their prayers answered pray for a miracle of restoration.

Miracles or debacles

From what one has observed, miracles mean many things to diverse people and the majority opinion lies with the desperation of a situation beyond which there is no hope, whilst the other lies with the expectation of change where hope and faith in God drives the powers of nature to restore strength to what was considered impossible.

Many get their miracles, either by being overwhelmed with helplessness that submits to despair or by being overjoyed with realisation that prayer is really meant to work or else it is useless.

What comes around…?

Just about 14 months ago, as Yasser Arafat was being transported to Paris for treatment, the Israeli cognoscenti predicted he would not return, I observed also the placards in Lebanese Palestinians that called out “Death to Sharon”.

No love lost amongst the children of Abraham, it seems; what a world of compassion we live in, where to be magnanimous is to be foolish and to be bitter is to be human. As a race, we humans have still got a long way to go.

One is not against the preparedness that greets the expectation of a great man’s passing as obituaries are drafted, edited, refined and primed for publication. The news network death vigil that accompanied the passing of Pope John Paul II over 4 days in March/April 2005 gives one pause for thought.

It was like the networks were the ECG machine connected to the dear Pope’s vital systems which were to trigger the outpouring of waves of news analysis and death tributes just as the last breath was about the depart the nostrils even if the heart still had one last beat to pound.

Publish and be mocked

Despite the mistakes of the media in the poor reporting of events, one can almost bet that Ariel Sharon would probably be declared dead long before he has departed just as news networks can call elections for a candidate long before the numbers are properly tallied. American Election 2000, for instance.

No doubt, the mouse is primed to click on the publish button as soon as truth or rumour pervades the atmosphere; that it would be so gratifying to really see Mr Sharon shame all those writers as he rises like Lazarus to take his people to the promised peace that has so far eluded the promised land.

If this mistake does get repeated, one might just advocate a news certification and verification standards body that would eliminate the unpleasant competition for publication in anticipation of consequent fulfilment.

I now know, I do not really want to be the first to know.