Desert Island Discs: Beyond losing everything

Beyond What You’ve Heard

My journey through the past episodes of Desert Island Discs on BBC Radio 4 continues, and I am just into December 2013. I once took notes on the music and choices made by people who have left footprints in the sands of time. Even some guests who appeared up to two decades ago are now centenarians; I guess I just keep looking up the people and their stories.

“Now whenever I finish something I take some photographs and say 'goodbye'. When you lose everything, you realise that the only thing you have is what's in your head.” Barbara Hulanicki

She is known for being the co-founder of the London fashion store Biba in the 1960s. A bit of trivia: Anna Wintour became an employee of Biba at the age of 15. However, the latter part of the quote resonated with me.

Amazing Spirit Power

When I lost everything, I had more than just what was in my head in terms of knowledge and experience; I had memories, but most of all, I had hope.

Hope, however, may not be sustainable when it is just in the head, a part of your mind and emotions. I believe, as a matter of faith, that I am sustained by my spirit, and that hope is enlivened by the spirit, giving life to the things you imagine.

The spirit of a man sustains him in sickness, but as for a broken spirit, who can bear it? [Bible Hub: Proverbs 18:14 (Amplified)]

I have encountered much adversity, illness, and misfortune that ordinarily I could never have endured, let alone survived. My spirit, however, like a dynamo, keeps going, giving strength to my soul and body.

That is the story I get to tell. Losing everything is not the end of living; rather, from the inner reaches of your spirit, you find the seeds of new growth: the hope and imagination that create the experience of a new life, purpose, and reasons to be thankful and full of gratitude for the gift of life and the people you get to share it with.

Thought Picnic: Comparing my encounters with cancer

Comparing cancer treatments

Fifteen years ago, I was on the receiving end of a cancer diagnosis, and it was the first day of treatment with chemotherapy. Everything was predicated on my ability to tolerate the gruelling onslaught on my body that was eventually delivered every third week on a Monday for seven sessions.

By comparison, between chemotherapy then and radiotherapy today, the latter seems more tolerable though, just as exacting on your body. Chemotherapy was then necessary because, besides the obvious cancer lesions on one sole and the emanating tumours on the other sole, there was a likelihood that cancer could be in different parts of the body.

Rather than try to determine all the localisations of the cancer, chemotherapy with its cytotoxic ability to kill cancer and some healthy cells in the body seemed the best option against radiotherapy. In the case of prostate cancer, this was still contained and localised with the prostate gland and my options were between prostatectomy or radical radiotherapy, and I opted for the latter.

Effects on the body

In terms of side effects, chemotherapy knocked me out by the beginning of the third day, there was no strength to do anything and that was also exacerbated by the inability to keep food down so I had to be given anti-emetic medication. Within the first five days after chemotherapy, I also had to be careful that no one had any contact with my bodily fluids as it was toxic to healthy people.

I was not prepared for the shock of being cordoned off in my section of the hospital ward and any nurses who needed to draw blood had to take full hazardous materials (HAZMAT) precautions when approaching me. That little piece of detail was not communicated in our pre-treatment briefing.

While I believed I would survive Kaposi’s sarcoma, I do not think I was thinking of fifteen years ahead to reencounter cancer in my prostate gland. During the preview of options for treatment, I did ask if chemotherapy could be a treatment option for the prostate and the view was except in the case of metastasis, it was not a viable option.

Experience or newness

I guess my thinking was having tolerated chemotherapy well before, a second experience would not be as bad. However, it would have left me less able to do the usual things with the need for constant care and monitoring as I had back then in the Netherlands.

I write this not to celebrate cancer but out of gratitude and thankfulness that I have been fortunate to survive cancer and tell stories of the triumph of humanity over adverse events through medical intervention and so much more, the mercy and grace of God.

References

Blog - Waiting for chemo

Blog - A life of cytostatic ostracism

Blog - A primer on cancer and chemotherapy

Caught in the process that fails to serve

In the waters of fate

I live a very grateful man, many times afflicted by the issues of life, some by commission, others by omission, and a few by sheer incompetence. Much as I hate to view myself as a victim, there is nothing as fundamentally stripping you of dignity as to be lost in the system or some convoluted process.

The apparently structured processes, dry run to the nth degree that catastrophically fails when met with reality and completely missing facility for recalibration out of example and lessons learnt to be corrected.

It is like falling into water and drowning whilst lifeguards quibble about whether to throw in a lifebuoy, a lifeline, or jump in to save me. Maybe, just maybe, they see me flailing in the water between gulps, crying out orders to them on what to do, and then it occurs to them, there is a life that needs saving.

In the effects of indecision

Yet, one cannot sit in a pity party, you press on. Heck! This is someone who has survived life-threatening circumstances and had moments or stretches of one misfortune, infirmity, incapacity or another, I need to get a grip.

It is just that many times when processes are put in place, the critical success factor which pertains to the fact that someone is affected by that process is missing. You do wonder if ever the question gets asked in the design process, is there a person affected by this process and if impacted negatively, what mitigating steps are in place to promptly ameliorate and remedy the situation without adverse consequences?

In the hope of survival

In view of that, a lifeguard has thrown in a lifebuoy but from the perspective of the drowning, it is an act of disinterest and indifference, boxes are being ticked and that is what counts in process evaluation, whether lives were saved, are not of statistical significance, only that the saved should feel undying gratitude for being noticed at all.

In all the slow progress made, patience is a virtue that I am daily equipping myself to practice and endure, I have to trust another process that is unscripted, I will not only survive but also thrive.

Chemotherapy as a journey to survival

A body for assault

No two experiences of taking chemotherapy are the same, at least that is what I think from my own situation. As I took my delayed first session of Caelyx chemotherapy (liposomal doxorubicin) on the 5^th of October 2009.

It was scheduled for 9:30 AM but postponed for 3 hours. In that time, I received a brilliant bouquet of flowers from Stockholm which brightened my outlook quite a bit.

I had been informed that I was not going to lose my hair, not that I had any to lose, and my fertility will be affected, not that I was planning to procreate nor was I in the state to make a preservation order on that account.

Taking cancer head-on

When I was wheeled to the oncology theatre, I was canulated and this red liquid in large sachet covered in aluminium foil to shield it from light was passed into my veins for a period of 45 minutes to an hour.

It felt like a homeward straight in my therapy, the fungating tumours of Kapasi’s sarcoma were going to be snuffed out. The chemotherapy being cytostatic, meaning it kills cells and stops cells from growing also meant that I was a health hazard to others who had to be careful about having any contact with any of my bodily fluids including blood.

After the first session, my bed was cordoned off in isolation and that affected me more than the bloated feeling that was a side effect of drug. I was informed of everything I could expect apart from the isolation which was removed after 2 nights.

How it all transpired

I had 7 chemotherapy sessions every third Monday until the 8^th of February 2010. In terms of side effects, it was the loss of taste, the only things I could perceptively taste were yoghurts and cassis black currant drinks. I was literally knocked and without strength for the second and third day, then by the fifth session, I could not keep my food down that I had to be given medication to manage the emesis.

By December, the cancer lesions had disappeared, new pink skin was showing up from under the necrotised skin which needed to be cut away. It is not the best experience, but if it is the only viable course of treatment, you just have to hope you pull through it, for at the same time, a close friend on chemotherapy treated by the same oncologist did not survive his third session of chemotherapy.

Just striving to live

I guess what I learnt through the process was that you were given more of the chemotherapy if you tolerated it well. When I visited the hospital for my out-patient sessions, the ward was well-equipped, the couches were fully adjustable to recline into beds, if so desired. I took my thermos flask of tea, some biscuits, and some reading material.

Apart from the staff, we were a ward of people fighting to live, from the boy who came alone, hardly a teenager to the elderly people, just hoping that the medicine gave us a lot more time than when we first heard the word cancer spoken about our condition.

This blog of reflection is one that also recognises that people with my condition at diagnosis rarely lived for another 10 years. I have been fortunate, and I am grateful for the grace of God on my life, the amazing miracle of medical science, the support of extraordinary friends and now the wonderful love in my life, Brian. I am blessed.

The UK: Protective avoidance is far better than disease survival

A careless regime

The government of Boris Johnson superintending over England as the fiefdom in which they can decide and determine action over the Coronavirus pandemic have concluded that on Monday, the 19^th of July, they will absolve themselves of any responsibility for the people’s welfare and expect that we as individuals would decide how we live with the virus.

The number of new infections exceeded 42,000 people; a figure last breached on the 15^th of January. Yet, the government is hellbent on removing all legal restrictions with the enforcements we once had, and moving to an optional free-for-all situation for anyone to act in whatever interest best serves them. [1]

A reckless principle

By making the wearing of face masks optional and just appealing to our presumably better nature to be considerate, they have lain open avenues of risk and concern for people who cannot for where they work or what they do expect protection except if the organisation, establishment, or company they represent decides to unilaterally impose safety restrictions.

The politicisation of mask-wearing as one of the presence or absence of freedom and autonomy is a most insidious poly of this government that has shepherded 128,593 souls to an early grave by their mishandling of this pandemic. Though, this does not seem to feature in their lessons learnt or avoidable mistakes, just as the third wave takes hold. [2]

Towards herd impunity

We can agree that government policy is careering towards a herd immunity strategy predicated on surviving a bout of the COVID-19 disease because the vaccinations make hospitalisation after contracting the disease quite unlikely. There are 729,701 people currently infected with 3,786 patients in hospital, of which 545, up 23 from yesterday are on medical ventilation. [1]

COVID-19 is a serious disease, of those who have survived it, some have acquired chronic conditions labelled long COVID and their stories purposefully indicate that survival is not what one should aim for, but that the virus, the symptoms, and the disease must never be contracted and totally avoided as much as is practicable regardless of your vaccine status.

For my own safety

Even though I am vaccinated and into the third month after taking both doses of the Pfizer / BioNTech vaccine, I am not throwing caution to the winds, the protocols of safety will remain stridently adhered to. I will wear a face mask in public places and have one to hand even in places where they might not be necessary, for my own safety. I will avoid crowds, crowded places, closed places, and poorly ventilated environments as much as possible.

Social distancing still matters if I have no reason to be near you, anyone can be a vector of disease, it is better to be safe than sorry. Indeed, the washing of hands, the use of sanitisers will remain a thing of habit. I will sequester myself, if I do not need to be outside and social engagements can wait. We have to outlast this pandemic by sensible measures and consideration for ourselves and others. The time for freedom will come, it is not in 4 days’ time.

References

[1] Gov.UK: Coronavirus website

[2] WorldOMeter: Coronavirus – The UK

The UK: Funny if you believed today was COVID-19 Freedom Day

The UK: Protect yourselves against Boris' recklessness

Cancer is a human experience, not a battle won or lost

In the great spirit of man

I did not know much about Chadwick Boseman or the body of work he had done. In fact, when Black Panther was a box office hit, I was still thinking of other representative films as Fences, Hidden Figures and Moonlight.

His passing at 43 after suffering stages of colon cancer diagnosed from 2016 during which he exhibited amazing acting prowess in seminal films is not only commendable but a show of stoicism and human spirit under great life-threatening affliction and infirmity. In the great spirit of man are such fortitude and immeasurable strength.

Cancer is not a battle

When I had Kaposi’s Sarcoma, a form of skin cancer as a result of HIV complications in 2009, I was 43, each time I read of people dying from cancer I find it difficult to appreciate the narrative of losing the battle to cancer.

As we live with it and sometimes live through it, it is rarely a battle, we are not at war, that some of us have survived it is one of great providence with many other factors of medicine, medical care, probably good fortune and even state of mind, but I did not cross swords with cancer and leave it vanquished.

We are given stories to tell

I will not pretend to speak for others who have survived cancer as I have, but what I know was at diagnosis, I was given 5 weeks to live, if my physiology did not respond to the treatment favourably. The consultant, however, was confident that if I did respond well, it would be fine. In just 5 weeks, I will mark the 11^th year of my first session of chemotherapy.

Cancer is a scourge on humanity, maybe even a terror and terrorist as it ravages our bodies and we are left at the mercies of many things outside our control except for our human spirit that remains a force of life until our bodies give in to find eternal rest.

For me, I have been given a story and the way I tell it is, cancer happens, it is part of life, some of us live it to the end and others come through it, but until we are gone, we are still here, to some a hope, to others a light, that it does not have to end with just that.

All experiences are gifts to medicine

Any death from cancer reveals our vulnerability even more, to such a young man, there are no easy answers but the fond memories and tributes we can offer in recognition of his life along with the support and sympathy we can offer his survivors.

In everyone’s experience is also some new knowledge for medicine to give us all new hopes for survival. That is what gave my consultant confidence at my prognosis and that is why I encourage inviting medical students to my consultations. I am a story of possibility not of triumphalism over cancer.

May the soul of Chadwick Boseman rest in peace.

Thought Picnic: Running on empty

The eyes can’t see

Almost two decades ago, I had a daring adventure that had me calling up a driving school with the aim of learning how to drive. Now, it was an unlikely prospect, but it was a demon I had to face up to. To prove to myself that I could be in control of such a vehicle which unlike a bicycle had control abstracted from direct interference.

In the back of my mind, I had another issue, I was concerned about my sight, I am short-sighted with the complication of astigmatism in one eye, which means I find it difficult to have stereo vision and by consequence, judging distance versus speed is a poorly developed skill.

I did not learn I had the astigmatic condition until I was in my 30s and it was only then that I had some corrective measures in my glasses, but the damage had been done as I learnt that this could have been corrected at childhood and it probably explains why I was so poor at tennis as a kid, I could never hit ball, because I could not anticipate as it bounced towards me.

Braking suddenly

However, the driving school tutor arrived at my door, I got in the car and we went through a few preliminary issues of concerns, intentions and safety. Critical to me was that we should not drive onto a major road, that we should only do the quiet streets of my neighbourhood. We had not driven 5 minutes when ahead of me, I saw a busy road and I slammed on the brakes.

This could have been my first accident with whiplash to boot, for unbeknownst to me, there was a fire engine behind us. I scolded the tutor for putting me in that situation and he scolded me back for stopping suddenly and endangering both of us. I was having none of it as I stepped out of the car to stop me lessons there and then.

He successfully calmed my nerves down, I got back in the car and we did another 6 days of driving, by which time, I did make it onto major roads, managed the three-point turn, but never fully mastered reversing into a parking space. I knew I could do it, but considering my limitations, I aborted that quest.

Running on empty

Now, consider one of those scenarios where you are travelling in a car on a long journey late at night and from the passenger’s seat, you notice the fuel gauge is reading to the left on E, 'Empty'. I am told it does not necessarily indicate an empty tank, there is some reserve fuel that could give you another few miles, one cannot say.

The thoughts begin to fill your mind with anxiety and trepidation, whether the car would suddenly stop in the middle of nowhere far from civilisation, maybe that light in the distance is a petrol station rather than a motel or a fast food joint, it could be that you get to the petrol station and you have no means to buy petrol, but we are getting ahead of ourselves, until then, you are running on empty.

Running on empty is a test of resilience, the demands of hope over possible disappointment coasting on despair, one is living dangerously in possibly what was an avoidable situation. We have all been there before, and if you have never had that experience ever, you probably have a perfect life, good for you.

Life after plenty

I have found myself running on empty at many stages of life, completely unaware of how much reserve fuel I have in time, in expectation, in hope and in realisation when I find, time, means and place to refill my tank and put aside the heretofore looming catastrophe.

At the time, you agonise between going at your own speed and reaching out for help, how from a life of individuality and independence do you seek assistance when you need it most? Something in the psyche fights against vulnerability defining you and in the process, you probably deny certain qualities of your humanity.

The need to show emotion, probably a moment to shed tears, finding a shoulder and readily leaning on it, meeting someone who not only listens but is able and ready to meet you at that very point of need.

For a better story

How we survive and thrive can sometimes be a mystery and there are times when people do forget that you are weak even when you seem to be strong, you have nothing much as you present a veneer of plenty, your apparent destitution will only be discovered through engagement and empathy. Running on empty is not the end of the journey even if it presages a sudden end to that journey.

I am thankful that there is some reserve, I do not know how much or for how long this journey would continue and might get to a petrol station and fill up before the car stops. Such is the feeling of a job seeker, the savings are drained, the bills pile up and privations come to the fore as you eke out subsistence from literally nothing. Running on empty is an experience in the hope it becomes a story told from a better standpoint very soon.

Decade Blogs - Saratu Abiola - On Nigeria and Why Writing Matters

Decade Blogs

If it has not yet occurred to readers of my blog, one of the reasons why I thought of this #YourBlogOnMyBlog Series commemorating my Decade of Blogging was to encourage writing. Writing our own stories, in our own way, with our own voice, the best way we can.

I am proud to say that I have a few first time writers and some relapsed writers who have since revived their dormant blogs, then I have the veterans who write either for a living or for pleasure and we are all enriched by the experience.

Blog - To Celebrate My Decade of Blogging

I have known Saratu Abiola as both a voracious reader and an incisive writer, more so a very good reviewer of books, novels, texts, award shortlists and opinions. I am always in a mad rush to see what she has put up on her blog.

Besides maintaining a blog titled Method to the Madness she tweets with the Twitter handle @saratu and is the Political Editor for Nigerians Talk that “provides a Nigerian perspective of issues, and we feature opinion and analysis with a distinctive Nigerian point of view.”

The first paragraph of her piece here is a litany of the typical Nigerian story at any point in time, but as she weaves her thoughts into a narrative, we are given a perspective of what is the Nigerian psyche, our survival instinct and what writing does to give us a clearer perspective of things. This is good reading.

On Nigeria and Why Writing Matters

Another day, another scandal. Someone stole U.S. $50 billion from the crude oil account mere months after someone bought two armoured vehicles that seem to be covered by an invisibility cloak since no one has ever seen them. Let’s not forget, of course, the many days in which schools have been closed, the number of days since the constitutional review process has been abandoned, the impending nationwide strike by doctors, the number of heists pulled that we do not yet even know about. [Reuters] [Vanguard Nigeria] [Vanguard Nigeria] [Premium Times Nigeria] [Premium Times Nigeria]

There is a lot that ails Nigeria and if one reads the news daily or even engages with one’s political environment at all it is sure to be overwhelming. So out of step are our collective reaction to our national malaise that it is tempting as someone who writes – be it fiction or on a blog – to dedicate one’s life to attempting to find the right words to shaking ourselves out of our collective national slumber. What, then, brings about the impetus to write?

There is a recurrent conversation in circles that I orbit about what exactly our responsibilities are to our country as politically-conscious, young Nigerians who want better for Nigeria in creating the country of our dreams. It is a good question, and one worth asking in a country where we are all complicit in the mess that we find ourselves in.

I’m quick to shrug off any moral and/or ethical responsibility ascribed to me, because I know I owe neither a group nor a narrative any room in shaping my life. But I do understand that when you’re in a situation as dire as Nigeria is, with a leadership void as wide and as open as the hungriest mouth, the desire to mould yourself into what is missing in your environment even if it means bending yourself well out of shape.

Writing has helped in seeking answers to this question, but it has also helped to re-centre priorities to more personal aspirations in important ways that I don’t always see. In the daily hustle and bustle of my life, as I jump from one project to another, it is easy to forget that in our pursuit for a better Nigeria, it is important to first seek a better us.

My writing allows me time and tools to process my thoughts; it is my way of keeping my brain-space tidy. I write infrequently, so the jumble of thoughts in my head is like a tornado just swept through it, so the pressure is on each piece of writing to count. Not always a good thing, as it adds undue pressure, but here I am.

Nigeria is very much like that tornado, because it is easy in the aftermath of yet another week of not having light [In Nigerianese, light and electricity supply are synonymous.] or a trip somewhere that makes you wonder why more people are not taking up arms and throwing rotten tomatoes at every government official they can find, to feel the pressure bunching up in your shoulders that must find a way to be released. For me – and I imagine it is so for many bloggers – writing is it, even if it what I’m writing about is not ostensibly about politics.

A friend said to me once: “Saratu, we are all surviving o. Even rich people! IBB [Ibrahim Babangida] and OBJ [Olusegun Obasanjo] and Otedola [Femi Otedola] and Dangote [Aliko Dangote], they are all merely surviving. Look at how we are all scrambling to get all the money we can possibly get, as if we need it to hibernate in winter! If they were sure that they would never be broke and that even if they were less rich it won’t be the worst thing in the world, they’d stop stealing. But that’s not the country we live in. Money rules all. Nothing else matters.”

In a country where we are all in survival mode, the most important relationships we have are transactional ones that help ensure our survival. But what if the urgency we feel about this need for survival was translatable into other less tangible, less capitalistic pursuits? What if we found that our hunger for relevance, for respect, for pride, could be sated in other less avaricious ways?

The urge to write always serves for me as a constant reminder of a more personally fulfilling goal that I could attain from a well within myself. Knowing that it is there and knowing what it does for me is invaluable.

Anyone got a couch?

You’ve heard it all before

It has become a refrain, the monotony of a shrill choral piece ringing in the air that the haunting sound of the wind rustling the leaves of the willow tree in the cemetery at the edge of town.

Strange beds and funny pillows, stranger faces with smiles that reshape the face but have no heart in them, a constant wandering like a nomad in the desert with no paths to follow, no known watering holes, stumbling upon oases big and small but the journey must continue due north to the place where hope becomes reality.

He has fought to live and struggled not to die, but each respite is just like the catching of breath in the swirling turbulent seas where the strength to swim and stay afloat is slowly ebbing away – he is desperately hoping for a rescue or waiting for the last time when the eyes close, the life he has lived swiftly flashes by for one last memory of the best times to depart as if fulfilled.

Please, help me

Thought Picnic: The many umbilical cords to cut

Cutting the cord means survival

The first umbilical cord by nature and for the preservation of life needs to be cut at birth; it is the time when the newly born baby has to begin a life of reflexive independence to breathe on its own and to take in food usually in form of milk to thrive.

However, that umbilical cord is the easiest to cut, there are many more that bind us to our parents or guardians, our communities, our societies, our beliefs and much else which should when the fullness of time is come be cut or the birthed will suffer a form of death – a death of freedom, a death of expression, a death of happiness, a death of ambition, a death of hope – too many deaths whilst still alive and it might breed resentment, despair, rebellion or depression – it mimics the cycle of life.

The point in time

At the point when a baby stops being a foetus, that umbilical cord is cut; just as when a child stops being a baby, when an adolescent stops being a child or when an adult stops being an adolescent – that is would be the ideal path of growing up but it is rarely the case.

The responsibility relationship between guardian and ward is dynamic, between them the cutting of the umbilical cord is a function of age, individuality, expression, responsibility and sometimes success which could determine the leeway one will give the other to be better at what they are on the way to becoming.

The last cut

The most difficult umbilical cord to cut is that where the guardian has to accept that their ward has come of age, where the parent appreciates their child has become an adult and should be given the opportunity to learn their own lessons, live their own lives and chart their own courses.

Obviously, guidance and advice is useful but instruction and diktat is unhelpful; the atmosphere in which the child has been schooled in the home will however become the foundation of the confidence, the self-esteem, the determination and the drive that child has like it did when it ventured its first breath at birth and performed the first suckling reflex to take in food.

Taking places

At a point in time, the parent or guardian will have to be put in their place, not so much to be put down but to be respectfully made to understand that certain decisions are now out of their hands and their influence is at best advisory and nothing more.

Along the line, between agreement and conflict whilst growing up we also encounter the more difficult elements of gaining our individuality. Expectations are high, criticisms are rife and praise is rare, punishment is severe sometimes to the point of brutalisation and power is wielded with deathly omnipotence that it feels easier to walk through prison walls than extricate oneself from parental overreach.

Parents do overreach and in the process attempt to blackmail their children thinking their parental responsibility required of them by society to provide the basics of protection, food, shelter, clothing, education and good example is the fullest expression of love without accounting for the deeper emotional needs of the child which will never be met with things.

Tough love facts

We did not ask to be born, but we have been born and there should be more times in our lives that we are grateful to have been born, to have the parents we have had and to have had the care and affection that they have showered on us from when we were hopefully bundles of joy at birth through when they patiently tolerated with exasperation their inability to control the child who is still under their roofs.

However, we return to the matter of umbilical cords or in other parlance apron strings. Children are not clones they are unique personalities moulded by the environments in which they grow, interact, find safety, experience abuse, feel love, witness hate, find acceptance and know rejection – we are moulds of situation and circumstance that are subject to the casts provided by those whose responsibilities we were in our formative years.

The path to acceptance

The healthiest relationships between parent and child will only find fulfilment when they all channel the Kübler-Ross model, which first studied the five stages of grief.

Denial comes with the guardian not believing that the child has come of age, there is anger that the child is not conforming to expected norms, there is bargaining as to how to regain the best control and influence over the child, then depression coming with unfulfilled promise or sadness that a situation might have become a lost cause and then finally, acceptance – accepting who the child has become; an adult with their lives, their goals, their purpose and their own decisions.

The point of acceptance is when the parent begins to respect that child and honour that child with guidance and advice rather than instruction, coercion and blackmail – the healthiest relationships will bring better communication, deeper interaction, more happiness and a glad heart for that parent as they approach their waning years.

It’s you or them

If the parent will not wise up to that necessity, then the child will at a certain point in time have to be respectfully forthright, frank, direct, honest and true – they will eventually have to find words to say, “I want to be able to live my live as a person, unique, independent, fulfilled and appreciative of you out of recognition of who you have been in my life.”

Acceptance or frank expression on the side of the either the guardian or the ward is that umbilical cord cut for the relationship to thrive. If you have not cut it yet, consider how better things can be if that realisation first dawns on you and then you make them see the light.

Thought Picnic: Straws and Ropes

Yearning to survive

It is probably a gift to know what appropriately suits the seasons though it is first of all important to know the seasons and when they change.

Thinking about this scenario one had to find ways to articulate the deep recesses of the mind and one or two analogies materialised.

The time to talk about mountain views is not when one is stuck in the valley, the perspectives are different and the state of the mind is such that all the optimism that can be mustered will not produce the refreshing blast of the mountain breeze.

Even more pertinently, if a man were drowning and clutching at straws for survival, it would seem strange if those on the banks of the river were attempting a rescue by asking the man to clutch at another straw; the man is no state to process that kind of information, no matter how advantageous, however, if those on the bank of the river threw in a rope, that situation will be compelling enough to make the man realise that it is an aid to safety.

Overwhelmed by situations crowding ones space, when you reach out it is unlikely that you have the ability to process ideas, there is a time for talk and there is another time to hug instead, if we make the mistake of not knowing the difference, you’ll be over the edge before the situation is redeemed.

I suppose it all makes sense with boxing, when the man is ready to throw in the towel, that is not the time to talk strategy about winning that match, it is already over and we just waiting for the bell.

Again, it is important for that team to know the difference because disaster looms and if that season is not recognised, that might well be the last boxing match ever.

Now one knows why it is not right for man to be alone because there are times when the ears and the tears need to be shared, just to take you out of the valley, to pull you out of the river, to calm you down in turmoil or to help you handle defeat without being totally defeated.

There is a season, know that season because it is only after you have been helped to survive that you can begin to thrive.

The First Gulder Ultimate Death II

Blaming the victim

The plot begins to thicken as the 4^th Gulder Ultimate Search took one contestant to the ultimate sacrifice - death.

My first write up on this matter was full of speculation and that was because the snippets of news we were given were far from satisfactory to allay the fears of foul play.

It now transpires that the young man died during a challenge when something of his apparently fell into the water as he was traversing it in a canoe, he tried to reclaim the object and he fell in the lake and drowned.

The story is developing a convenient means of exculpating everyone but the victim, but that would be getting off too easy.

The responsibility for safety measures

Given that the contest does require that contestant be able to swim if swimming were required, when you are in a canoe, I do not think you are prepared for swimming. In those circumstances, the occupants of the canoe should and must be wearing life jackets.

This should have been standard non-negotiable safety procedure monitored and enforced by the organisers who should have been more responsible for their wards.

It is also amazing that the organisers allowed the contestants to board the canoes with things or valuables that would have created the situation that compelled Mr. Ogadje to dive into the water to retrieve the thing that eventually lead to his loss of life.

More to this

I think there is still more to this story, but this story as it develops is building a case of criminal culpability against the organisers, if they think they will get away with drip-feeding us half truths rather than the exact chronology of events that lead to the young man becoming impossible to resuscitate, they have really got it coming.

I will not relent till I am convinced of the facts - keep talking and speaking up fast.

The First Gulder Ultimate Death

The search for reality

The problem with reality shows is they do pertain to more reality than fiction or acting out some contrived event. There is no telling that at times producers could connive to instigate a particular scene through manipulation with the intent of gaining notoriety with the consequence of higher audience figures leading to more advertisement revenue and lucrative sponsorships.

Of the many that visit our screens in Europe and are now making rounds in Africa, Big Brother and West African Idols have been received with some acclaim.

I was not however aware of one Gulder Ultimate Search run under the auspices of the Nigerian Breweries which is part of the Dutch Heineken Brewery group.

Apparently, it is some survival of the fittest kind of game where physical challenges need to be surmounted and in the process the weaker ones get eliminated.

Shere Hills and beauty

It was about to commence its fourth season and prospective contestants were taken to Shere Hills in Plateau State where they were to demonstrate their physical prowess and deftness as the case may be.

Now, I do remember Shere Hills as the site of the 1^st All African Scouts Jamboree in 1976, but before then we lived in Jos and it was in some way a place for touristy recreation.

Drowned? How?

However, the news is a contestant named Anthony Ogadje died whilst preparing for the programme.

The devil must be in the detail somewhere but I am not sure we have that detail that clearly states what happened.

Apparently, the young man drowned and died suddenly - a drowning accident - the company states, I have analysed this scenario with all sorts of permutations and cannot seem to make it compute that a man somehow got into water, drowned and died suddenly.

For instance, did he fall off something into the lake or was he swimming in the water and he encountered some difficulty that nobody noticed till it became too late?

It is quite commendable that there was an attendant medical team and lifeguards as well as his fellow contestants about to help, but it is great concern that the situation was so bad that lifeguards trained in first aid for drowning and medical staff supposedly trained in resuscitation techniques could do nothing to save this man.

Basically, I am saying the story just does not add up at all.

Survival or suffering?

This is a survival show and I would suspect a good deal of it would be about endurance, strength and the ability to withstand high thresholds of pain or other forms of deprivation better than other contestants.

What makes me even more suspicious of the event is in May in Boulder, Utah in America, a man who was on a desert survival trek was refused water and succour that in the midst of fellow contestants and guides he died of thirst - in some ways, he was the weak one, but no contest should offer so great a reward and also exact a great price as to involve the loss of life.

Not pandering to the weak obviously makes a contest look really tough, it stops other contestants thinking one is favoured over the other and certain personalities might not know the limits of their abilities or cannot afford to give up too easily for pride and price that they might do something really foolish.

Maybe ...

One would suppose that is why there is a medical team, lifeguards, umpires and adjudicators about as well as a television crew to help ensure that all matters are handled with commonsense.

The phrase drowning accident baffles me, you can have a car crash or a car accident, but I do not think you can have a crash accident except of you were organising a crash and then had an accident. At the risk of being pedantic, the drowning would have be an accident as a result of doing something probably in the water, a drowning accident however sounds like a drowning that went wrong - maybe I have had a glass of wine too many.

But really, I do not think I would be far from the truth if looking at the lake, the lifeguards and the possibility of drowning, the contest was about how long people could hold their breath under water as a kind of endurance test - the man probably held it for so long that they thought he was breaking a record when in fact his soul was breaking away from his body.

Worse still it could have been dunking where the head is forcibly immersed in water as a form of torture or in this case horseplay.

Even so, since this game is about the search for treasure, probably the said treasure was placed in a proverbial Davy Jones' Locker - the truth will out somehow and hopefully very soon and the contestants had better start speaking up.

Assessing responsibility

If that turns out to be the truth, there would have been a gross dereliction of duty of the organisers from simple team discipline if people had gone off to do their own thing unsupervised along with issues of safety, but in the end, nothing short of manslaughter charges should be filed on anyone who has a stake in that show.

That is the fact of reality shows, something really bad could happen and when it happens it could be happening to you.

The quest to win the 4^th Gulder Ultimate Search Mr. Ogadje came upon the unexpected 1^st Gulder Ultimate Death, so, so sad.