Lever whatever forever

Some broken hearts do mend

Sometimes, I am caught in introspection and think about what makes a day significant that I might not recall. As I stepped out of the bath this morning, after my shower, two things came to the fore.

The passage of a week and what might have been a 51^st birthday but sadly a posthumous one, and almost 15 years since he passed. You are reminded that there are people who for the time they were in your life, for good or bad, and no matter the length of time, you cannot forget.

Whilst I rarely now think of Christopher Clark and less so of what could have been, for the time that I knew him and the headiness of silly that I acquired in my dealings with him, I know how just the chemistry between people can disarm, that any reasonableness is lost to deep emotional connection.

Let yourself be human

On reflection, I wonder how I got caught out, yet I am glad I allowed myself to be vulnerable, to be a fool in love, to understand that sometimes I need to break away and protect my heart as some dealings reveal the depth of your fragility. You learn tough lessons about relationships and even think you will never let go again.

Never is a funny reaction, it is for that moment most of the time than forever. I rarely ever think in the never, because, if ever something else presents, what you sever out of never is not usually the lever to whatever happens in the ever beyond the present. Putting things behind you for the possibility of being surprised and offered the opportunity to do something new must be one amazing pleasure of life.

With life there must be a readiness to enjoy, to find and understand love, to have that fragile heart handled by such caring hands and to embrace the wonderful that many miss or never see. Any other questions and there are many that course through your mind like dodgem cars in an amusement park, you’ll find the answers to, along the way.

Yesterday remembered today

Of days remembered

I probably have a knack for remembering dates and events, though I cannot say I have total recall of everything. Sometimes, things are not remembered at all, or the memory is a bit fuzzy. Much as I had many encounters with diaries growing up, I never saw anyone journalling anything, the most a diary was used for was appointments and at a stretch, a calendar.

Having a blog going back 20 years has offered key points of journalling, though not in the strict sense, I still find myself noticing and making notes in blogs that I can reference as an aide-mémoire.

Yesterday, all my troubles

I thought about writing this yesterday but here I am reflecting on the significance of yesterday today. The 8^th of February; when I joined Twitter, I buried a friend, and it turned out to be my last session of chemotherapy.

Interestingly, the former happened in 2009 in the week that the 13^th fell on a Friday and I joined the bandwagon of those caught in the grip of paraskavedekatriaphobia on what appeared to be the coldest day in the office because someone thought that would be our contribution to helping stem the problems with climate change. We were to wrap up warm rather than enjoy the ambiance of a comfortable office. My first tweet? See below:

I am now a twit on twitter ...

— Akin Akíntáyọ̀ 🏳️‍🌈 #European (@forakin) February 8, 2009

Blog - Caught between Paraskavedekatriaphobia and Cryophobia

A sad tragedy, it was

Then in 2010, my friend Dick van Galen Last died on the 2^nd of February, 8 days short of his 58th birthday, and hardly 2 weeks after he defended his PhD thesis, an event I could not attend as I was experiencing the most debilitating effects of chemotherapy two days after, I was so weak and for the first time, I had anti-emetic medication that worked a treat.

I had planned on calling Dick to ask about his defense as he had informed me in late December that he was having his PhD viva voce and I had made my excuses that I might be unable to attend. It was then that he told me he was undergoing treatment for lymphoma, I cannot remember if it was Hodgkins or non-Hodgkins. I quipped; we might meet for tea in the treatment room as we shared the same oncologist.

When my phone ranged on Wednesday the 3^rd of February, the number ID came up as Dick’s phone number, but it was Ousman on the phone who was Dick’s lodger and he regularly came to clean my apartment, the news he had on the phone was that Dick had passed on, but he had refused to have Dick taken away, Dick was lain in his bed for his friends to come and pay their respects until the day of his buried. I cried all the way to Dick’s place.

Blog - Dick: As he lay

A man, a celebration

The morning of the 8^th of February was a dreadfully cold winter morning, I got on my bicycle and rode to the St Barbara Cemetery where we all assembled in the chapel to give Dick a rousing and celebratory send-off, the crowd, especially of the youth that attended with the eclectic mix of different cultures and personalities was a testament to the person he was. The music as pallbearers carried him to the burial plot could not have been out of place at a carnival.

Blog - Seeing Dick Off

However, I could not wait to see him buried as I had another appointment, the 7^th session of chemotherapy, with the 8^th and what I had hoped would be the last scheduled for the 1^st of March. When I arrived at the hospital, the nurses who also knew Dick were quite sad at his passing, one even indicating there was nothing to suggest Dick was at risk of death, he did not have the kind of prognosis I was given at my diagnosis.

It became the last one

Not a vein could be found around my hands up my wrist to insert a cannula for chemotherapy even after warming my hands in hot water than the insertion was further up the arm near where phlebotomists took blood.

Blog - Almost in vain for a vein

I did not know that session would be my last chemotherapy dose until a checkup over a week later in conversation with my consultant that they agreed that the focus should be on recovering my immune system and the chemotherapy had done its job fully as predicted by the consultant in September that the cancer could be treated if I tolerated the treatment.

I could have made much of yesterday and yesterday is a narrative that gives the past a telling different from when you are living in the present. Thank you for the past we can remember in words of triumphal living against all adversity.

Remembering Uncle Cash

First amongst men

I cannot say how or what, there would have been months of preparation and a different message written. When I last sent birthday greetings, I said, “You have been one of the greatest and consequential influences in my life, for the good, the better, and the best.” I meant every word of that and to my knowledge, all who have influenced me, you come first amongst men.

At the celebration of your 65^th when we gathered to give thanks at your church, even I wonder how that was the very first time I had set barefoot as is the tradition in the citadel of Celestial Church, it speaks to the kind of man you always were to me, accommodating and understanding, never imposing and frequently counselling.

An irreplaceable loss

Much as I looked forward then to the jubilation that would have greeted your 70^th birthday today, it has become your first posthumous birthday. There are times I scroll through the many WhatsApp messages we exchanged through the years and before that, the distinct sound of your voice in my head that gregariously salutes me with one of the many monikers from 'Ọmọ ìlú Òyìnbó' through Kakaakin to the slip that allowed 'Ọmọ Fish & Chips', therein was an irreplaceable loss.

In some instances, it feels like a canopy with the embrace of appreciation and encouragement that was that light to the eye as a long weary walk through the night offered a fillip to press on to a beckoning hospitality disappeared; snuffed out by circumstances impossible to anticipate, yet one must not despair.

Your example guides

I believe you would have wanted us to be the better examples of your mentoring, your industry, your zest for life, your broadmindedness, your engagement, your kindness, and your unconditional expression of love and grace. There are many lessons to cherish and more to revisit to learn anew purpose, direction, and determination.

I commend your exemplary life and that we do not get to celebrate another birthday would not take away from the footprints which we follow in the path of excellence you exemplified. Uncle Omo Uncle missed but never forgotten.

Brilliantly Remembering Inspiring Amorous Necking - VIII

A wordplay for effect

Early today, I thought about the past week, all that I wrote on falling in love. I would not know if anyone noticed a characteristic of the blog titles. When I started, I was not sure I would find enough inspiration to complete the task.

As it happened, I did get the words to carry the context of the blogs into the titles using BRIAN as an acronym. Words beginning with N to fit the context are not easy to come by, it is a good thing, this brainwave did not come to be as a countdown of 30 days to his birthday or worse, a count up to his youthful age.

We relive and believe

However, as we share messages in the morning and find time for one or more video calls later in the day until bedtime. We get to talk about many things and that is how I was proposed to on Saturday night. Everything on our minds now points to the next opportunity to meet up in Cape Town where indeed we would get married and begin charting the course of our new life together.

It goes without saying, that our memories are tinged with the moments we had together and the expectation of even better times ahead. It is exactly 6 months ago that we parted company in Johannesburg. Our thoughts are almost overwhelmed with feeling, but we must temper our anxiety with patience and constant reassurance. We are a beautiful work in progress and if no one can see the love, the smiles, the good, the story, well. I hope they can be happy for themselves if they cannot be happy for others.

We bear no ill; we are living our own lives and hope others can get to live freely in the beauty of their dreams coming true. So there.

The 7 days of falling in love with Brian

Blog - Birthday Renewal Invitation Anniversary Nativity - VII

Blog - Beaus Residing in Accommodating Nirvana - VI

Blog - Beautiful Romantic Intimacy Attractive Nascent - V

Blog - Brian Really Is Adorably Nice - IV

Blog - Bashful Reticent Introverted Amusing Naughty - III

Blog - Beginning Reaction Indication Affinity Notable - II

Blog - Belief Review Interest Anticipation New - I

Dick van Galen Last - A Decade On

In the circle of life

A week ago, I sank into sudden indisposition that resulted in hospitalisation, I am now back home in recovery and regaining my strength back.

In that short week, a lot has happened and much of it forgettable, but that is one subject I want to cover. It was exactly a decade ago that my phone rang with the Caller-ID of my friend, who I was unable to chat for a couple of weeks and too incapacitated to attend his PhD viva voce due to the effects of chemotherapy.

However, he was not the one on the line, but his lodger Ousmane Ndoye, who for the past decade then made a fortnightly visit to my apartment to clean it up and set things right. I was left reeling at the news he had to share. Dick and I had spoken just after Christmas of his non-Hodgkin lymphoma diagnosis, we shared the same consultant and oncologist. I remember saying to him, we might meet up at a chemotherapy session at the hospital.

In the presence of death

Alas, it never happened. The next time I saw Dick after that conversation was in his bed, dressed up and lying there mostly at the insistence of Ousmane that Dick had spent enough time in hospitals. Dick’s many friends had the unique opportunity to visit him in his room to pay respects before he was interred 5 days later.

Dick van Galen Last died on the 2^nd of February 2010 just 8 days short of his 58^th birthday. I had known him for 14 years, we met in Paris in 1996 and when I moved to the Netherlands in 2010, he was the one who welcomed me and gave me board for the first month before I settled in and found my own place.

In hope and remembrance

Dick was many things to many people; on the 8^th of February 2010 when he was interred at the St Barbara Cemetery, there were over 300 attendees who came to celebrate his life and send him off. I could not wait until he was committed to earth because it had to attend what became my last session of chemotherapy.

We last met for a few hours at my place on the 16^th of October 2009, just a week after my 18-day stay in hospital when I was diagnosed with cancer. To many, he was a friend, a helper, a raconteur, a polyglot, and an academic, the legacy of some of his research was republished with editing in Black Shame (2016).

Even after a decade, for this great and true friend, confidante, ever full of life and encouragement, outgoing, benevolent and always generous with his time and means, are the fondest memories.

Dick, rest in peace, always – you’re never forgotten.

World AIDS Day 2017

It’s strange, I’m in a different place,
As if I had run a really hard race,
In all the sweat and toil, I found grace,
No plans I made could ever retrace,
The steps that brought me to this place.

In the days and times of great pain,
Before my eyes, it laid so plain,
That the things I had worked hard to gain,
Were nothing if this scourge left me slain,
I learnt many lessons on the power of pain.

We who live as it courses through our veins,
And stand as beacons to hope that reigns,
With our HIV we run knowledge campaigns,
That AIDS and stigma won’t keep us in chains,
To know for sure, do take a prick to the veins.

With condoms maybe you’re protected,
Without it, know the risk of getting infected,
I take my ARVs as the doctor intended,
By PrEP or that, we know life is extended,
On being undetectable, we’re all protected.

The story that weaves a curtain of loss,
It was a death sentence not giving a toss,
Our knowns and holds beyond it cross,
Every World AIDS Day is not a gloss,
But one to give meaning and purpose to our loss.

Thought Picnic: Never underestimate the memory of a child

The danger of remembering

Sometimes, I consider myself a dangerous man, not because I am violent and ready to do any person any harm, but because I have dangerously keen memory.

I can observe and recall, experience and relate, participate and remember such ideas, events, places, things I saw or hear, what was or not done in such detail as to find myself somewhere on the autism spectrum.

How far bad my memory goes, I cannot tell to an exact time, I do not remember the trauma of my premature birth nor the months of incubation and I probably do not want to, it serves no particular purpose, though I have been informed of certain circumstances around my nativity and consequent development, probably grist for a possible life story.

Remembering from long ago

However, there are memories from around the age of three that I can recall, not only that, some do playback as vividly as if I were watching a film, all in my mind. Those almost flashbacks seem to be readily accessible and very useful, disarmingly useful indeed.

With a memory like that, it also means I do not forget, or it is not easy for me to forget what has been committed to memory with all the accompanying activities that make that memory within recall. A sound, maybe of music, perceiving a smell of something, seeing something that looks familiar, or thoughts that churn like delving into a lucky dip basket to retrieve a moment or moments.

Long ago a child did see

Then envision the scenario where a child is neither oblivious of or unperceptive of their environment, the tension in the home, the things adults attempt to conceal from our view that we see and understand too clearly but are given no voice to express. Like I said to an uncle something ago, we the children see all these things, do not be deluded into thinking we are blind or that the passage of time would bring a blurring of the memory into forgetfulness.

Yet, people forget, they ask questions they should not ask and get answers they never expect. They raise ghosts of the past and I built out the cities in which those ghosts once lived amongst us. The instigate issues today forgetting that every comet has a long tail, just as significant as the comet itself. Indeed, if there is a backstory, it is probably going to come to the fore.

See that you never forget

Maybe, it is a gift, or it is a burden, I cannot deny it exists and I am not shy to bring it out, my silence should never be taken for the absence of context, depth, reason and attribution. The things left unsaid have probably not ripened enough for that time and place.

Yet, people forget, they stir the still waters, plumb the depths of mysteries and miseries seeking some justification which when given a construct and a provenance might well change the outcomes. I do not want to be feared and I do not want to be taken granted, I will speak to the present and speak to the memory.

Never underestimate the mind that has little capacity to forget, all the good comes with gratitude, let us not talk of the other.

Thought Picnic: A Brunch of Long Memories

The seat of the mind

My life is full of memories of people, of places and of events. I find myself sitting just beside Georges Pompidou Centre at Café Beaubourg like I have many times before done when in Paris.

Strangely, for the many times I have come to this café for brunch, I have never visited or entered the famous centre, rather, I have just sat at the window on the first floor and watched life and lives in motion below and ahead of me.

I have once had sat for a caricature portrait of myself in front of the centre accentuating my oval-shaped head pointed at the top in its balding glory and my glasses all atop a finger-thick neck and even skinnier body. In my many moves, I think I might have lost it.

Sadly, Café Beaubourg in all its trendy setting has failed to keep up with the times with the absence of wireless internet connectivity that is standard fare for literally any café worth its salt.

Dick

This is also quite poignant because I am reminded of when just over 10 years ago we were here to celebrate Dick’s 50^th birthday, my treat to him was a sumptuous brunch at the café.

I met Dick in Paris over 14 years ago, we were tourists in Paris, he from Amsterdam and I from London and we maintained a friendship after that meeting that he lodged me for the first month of my move to Amsterdam just over 12 years ago.

Now, I hold in my heart, the loss of many so caring and dear for we lost Dick in February 2010 but I know that the dead are never dead if they are fondly remembered by those they touched.

More profoundly, the biggest lesson of all is to live life well, touching people and affecting them in every good way for you will be assured a more enduring epitaph before a stone told in memories, dreams, stories and smiles that follow a thought of that thing you did that made others laugh.

To Dick.

Nigeria: Old Dishonest Generals Praise Abacha

Speaking lies of the dead

I can understand the sentiment that one should not speak ill of the dead, probably from the premise that the dead cannot defend themselves when something untoward has been said about them – in some circles it is just good manners.

However, just because one should not speak ill of the dead, it does not confer the opportunity to blatantly lie about the dead in some revisionist poise towards the past.

I am getting worried about how memorial or remembrance events in Nigeria provide a forum for partying, but the speech givers then provide a slant of history that would almost always be too far from the truth to be credible.

In March 2008, a gathering of “elder statesmen” and I use that moniker liberally because there are only a few for the memorial of the elder brother of our current President left us breathless with incredulity as the speakers chose the occasion to castigate each other.

Memorial curses on Abacha

So, this weekend, remembrance prayers were said for General Sani Abacha celebrating – if that could ever be right – 10 years of his death, which occurred marking the culmination of his rule of 5 years in 1998.

I think it is common knowledge that Abacha’s reign was probably the worst ever leader inflicted on Nigeria and basically he was a despot of the most maligned order.

As these occasions go, some ex-leaders were invited to these prayers that included General Muhammadu Buhari and General Ibrahim Babangida – rather than say their prayers and move on, they went to on suggest that General Sani Abacha never looted the national treasury.

Lies, blatant lies

General Babangida had this to say about Abacha as a “courageous, loyal and honest military head of state who stood for the unity and development of the country during his years in government; it is not true that he looted public treasury. I knew who Abacha was because I was close to him”.

Repeating himself to make the point even more clearly, he said, “Abacha was a courageous person who stood firmly in handling the affairs of the country during his regime. There is no doubt, during his administration as head of state, Abacha contributed his best to the nation’s economy which we are still enjoying”.

General Babangida must be suffering the first indications of dementia with the possibility that amnesia has set in because as the news report indicates, he had a different view of Abacha in 2000.

Unfortunately, General Buhari also suggested that the idea that Abacha looted the treasury was baseless, with which he has suddenly lost any credibility he ever had.

The man who took over from Abacha, General Abdulsalami Abubakar who first had the task of cleaning out the Abacha Aegean Stables now contends the Vision 2020 initiative draws inspiration from Abacha’s Vision 2010.

Are these all lies?

I would not propound any further theories about this apart from asking these men, about the following:

The millions returned by ministers in Abacha’s government, this happened under his watch. (BBC).

The return of $500 million by the Swiss banks all related to Abacha, his family and his associates. (Swissinfo.ch)

The press briefing in 2005 with the World Bank President, Mr. Paul Wolfowitz and the then Finance Minister, Dr. Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, on the repatriation of Abacha funds. (The World Bank)

The questions raised by President Olusegun Obasanjo where he opined that the Abacha family cannot have legitimately worked to earn $100 million of disputed funds. (Global Policy Forum)

The way London might have been implicated in the possible transfer of more than $4 billion by the Abacha regime which named 15 London banks. (BBC)

One cannot list the many other sources but these should be authoritative enough to indicate that General Sani Abacha was implicated, involved and instrumental to a number of deals that took money out of Nigeria illegally.

Exterminate this vermin, forthwith

I would suppose the three Generals would contend that General Abacha was keeping all this in trust for Nigeria in high-interest numbered Swiss accounts.

These generals must think Nigerians are fools who have no recollection of the past or of the facts.

It saddens me that we still have this ilk of people able to say things like this and get away with it and it makes me regret that we did not have a Nigerian Jerry Rawlings to rid us of atrocious military generals who have squandered every good thing about Nigeria for their own ends.

Ghana does not have an old Acheampong, Afrifa or Akuffo to revise history with dishonest intent, it is time we did not have a Shagari, Buhari, Babangida, Abubakar or Obasanjo coming out of the woodwork to mess up Nigerian history well after they had messed up Nigeria during their tenures in government, I would spare General Yakubu Gowon.

If these people cannot retire and keep quiet then it is probably time to make them forcibly depart their mortal coils, Nigeria cannot continue to countenance this sort of thing.

3,000 memorials to what?

Where? The memorial

Years from now, were a monument were to be erected in memory of those, now 3,000 US soldiers who have paid the ultimate price in defending, I don’t know what; because it is not clear if this war in Iraq is about defending America, regardless of the spin that might be put on this issue.

Many memorials tell about liberation and bringing peace, if the highlight of this memorial reads the deposition of the Iraqi tyrant, one called Saddam Hussein, would it have been for a cause well fought for?

It cannot be said that this memorial would find a home on the soil of Iraq as we have in other lands that were liberated in the Second World War; France, Belgium and the Netherlands has swathes of land where fallen foreign soldiers are interred with dignity and remembered with reverence.

One general once said the purpose of war is not to die for your country but to get the other man to die for his country, because dead men do not win wars, those who triumph are those who walked or limped away having defeated and incapacitated their enemies that the enemy is forced to surrender.

Innocent blood should speak

The blood of the innocent must be requited of those who have caused that blood to be shed, the justice that was meted out to Saddam Hussein only dealt with one of the minor crimes he is accused of, those who refused to allow justice to be sought when they had opportunity; for Halabja, for Iran, for Kuwait must surely now have blood on their hands.

In the end, it would take a man of words beyond reproach to write the epitaph to the death and misery of the US Army in Iraq, none of the leaders we have now, come close to appreciating the sorrow they have visited on many in their thirst for revenge on the wrong man.

Once again, never have some many been sacrificed to a cause so suspect, executed on a plan so flawed and given the impression that it is of value when it is on fact simply settling scores.

For once, the memorial to the Unknown Soldier would not suffice, they have names, they have families and they will not be left unsung.

11th of September 2006

In remembrance of those whose lives were changed irrevocably by the events of that callous attack on America.

Those in whose name, goodwill has been squandered, wars are being fought, liberties are being eroded, democracies are being stifled, freedoms are being lost and lies are being told.

In the memory of those who we would like to contemplate in silence, but that tranquillity is blotted out of our minds by the bombs that go off daily in Iraq.

Who, if they were to be resurrected would most likely forsake life and fatherland, this time, for a hegemony has been built in the quest for vengeance in their name, one they would barely recognise.

In empathy with those who lost, them who grieve, many who weep, ones who cry, day and night, because once our peace was shattered they who could have brought us succour brought more blood, more sorrow, and more bodies from lands of them with a strange tongue.

Yes, the world has changed, but if they that we lost could speak to our hearts and talk to our minds, would they justify this change that we have acquiesced to, as the War on Terror masquerading as the Great War for Democracy wages on?

If you would have forgiven, then we would be remiss of our actions, if we were to seek vengeance, have we excelled?

In all, you might have departed in such destruction but have entered into your rest, may we in your memory find rest from all the turmoil that surrounds us.