Planting the seeds of a memoir - I

Blueprints for my story

“It’s, it’s Bola.” Yes, my stutter that became the in joke, a source of embarrassment and blushes, probably the first words that anyone relayed back to me from my earliest childhood.

Bola was 3 months older and probably a bit of a feisty girl, the first child and daughter of one of my dad’s best friends, he now deceased. I would think we were brought together at small social gatherings or for a baby sitting, I cannot say. I was a late developer, born premature at just six and a half months, I quick to speaking but late to walking.

Our playful episodes were definitely plagued by some disagreement and discomfiture which resulted in my crying back to our adult supervision. “It’s, it’s Bola.”

Yet, out of the recollection of events log ago, includes observations, secrets, intrigue and scandal. Much discovered though unspoken, the speculations and allegations might remain unproven but never fully discounted. For instance, the discovery of a letter in a book in our library that suggesting an affair between Bola’s mother and dad. Contents committed to memory but questions never asked.

Of my early memories of my mother’s addiction to religion was Bola’s father presiding as white garment priest in clandestine meetings my mum and I attended in the dark Walsall nights, a woman desperately trying to save many things including herself.

Blog - My own #Moonlight story is not a movie

I do not know how much I can gloss over the first few years of my life in England in both its ordinariness and enchantments, I will have to retrieve a few pictures from storage to flesh out the seminal moments. However, I can say, I was born a miracle could not reproduce some 40 years on.

Blog - Ìrírí - How our brotherly love could have blossomed

This or a variant of it would appear in the first chapter of my life story.

Thought Picnic: Knowing I have a life to live

A change I could not avoid

Five years ago, on the 30^th of April 2012, I finalised the sale of my apartment in Amsterdam and handed the keys over to a young couple hardly 30, who had expectations and a future ahead of them, my sadness at that time, however, did not take away from the very best wishes I had towards them.

My illness and the global credit crisis coincided in one perfect storm that I could no longer afford to keep the place in which I lived and had owned for ten and half years.

Yet, it is not their story that inspires me or spurs me on, the couple I bought my apartment from in 2001 were in their mid to late 70s, they had lived in Eindhoven in the south of the Netherlands for 25 years, in the lives of others like them, they should have been coasting to a quiet life of retirement and waiting for God, but they were a different breed.

Youth in the chances you take

She was already 70 and her husband, a few years older when they decided to buy an apartment off the plan in a new development in bustling Amsterdam, they completed the purchase and moved up to Amsterdam for three years where she became the chairperson of the residents and owners’ association of the apartment block that had 69 apartments in all.

After three years of a racy life in Amsterdam, they sold the apartment to me at a healthy profit to themselves and moved to an exclusive hospice-like residence on the banks of the River Rijn in Arnhem, what came across to me in what they did was a youthful exuberance and zest to live life to the full and embark on adventure many younger than them won’t even dare contemplate.

I have had to refresh my mind about this because it matters a lot about how I craft my outlook, future and prospects. Now, I am neither unaware of my vulnerability and mortality, both are ever present because of the afflictions of the past, but they must not define my daily quest in the pursuit of happiness and relevance to self and my close community.

Reality and expectation

Many times, I have thought of my eventual death and in some ways, I wonder why I am at all bothered about where and how I am going to be buried, yet, it is an issue that appears to concern me a bit that it would be prudent to have plans in place to settle that matter and take it completely off my mind. I have a life to live and until I am dead, I really cannot afford to start dying for my death.

Then, there is a cloud that comes around in a strange weather of my existence that inches me towards closing the books and shutting down as if death is imminent, some sort of premonition that needs attention, but I really cannot do anything once I am gone, that is left to those who feel I have been hopefully useful in their own lives, if I predecease them.

The drudgery in the background

I find that I have to boot myself out of that brooding situation and refuse to be overwhelmed by the exigencies of living, the search for fruitful engagement, the paying of the bills, the meeting of all sorts of responsibilities and the hope for a bit extra to have an open hand to others as well as having that much more for the pleasures of life.

I appreciate certain limitations, I enjoy good medical care, my medication is fully subsidised, my consultants have a good history of my situation they can be responsive and promptly attendant to issues than if I were to move elsewhere, that is always part of my consideration for long term plans, but with a bit of planning and consideration, all can be properly conveyed to other hands with no loss of efficiency or expertise.

Living for a better life still

Then again, there are probably some places I should completely cross off my list for emigration and chief amongst those would be the United States of America, it is no place for the vulnerable in whatever way and no place to seek the humanity of consideration from policymakers. Under Donald Trump, those who voted for him in hope of a positive change in their lives predicated on a campaign of fear and loathing would soon realise they came to dinner with the devil without wielding a long spoon.

There are things to attend to, the joy of living, the pursuit of happiness, the search for fulfilment, the attainment of new goals, the exploration of new and interesting places, the meeting of exciting people and when that day comes, a smile of my face having lived a life like no other.

That is what keeps me going, I am grafter in ways I have not entirely agreed I am, but I love the things I do and long may the pleasure continue. By the way, the young couple that bought my apartment in 2012 sold it in late 2015 for a hefty 25% profit, the sheer luck, I still live for a better life.

Back to the original evacuation

In the eye of the bounty,
For the desire of hungered,
Walked the morsel into a cavern,
The workshop of white chargers,
Four short of three dozen,
Cantering in dressage on two red hills,
Equally divided to the task.

The morsel mangled,
Masticated and crushed to pulp,
Moved deeper into the cavern,
And down a peristaltic tunnel,
Into the factory of acids and fluids,
The work of sustenance was at play,
Strength to the bones and life it gave.

Through tubes and bigger tubes,
In channels that define the living,
For activity yet misunderstood,
But necessary at all times,
Then all discomfort came a-belly,
Ascending the contraption of Thomas Crapper,
He settled to the evacuation.

Homelessness: Make June the end of May - #EndMayInJune

Signs of bad times

As I walked to work this morning and then walked back to my hotel to collect my stowed baggage for the station in preparation for my journey back home, I could not help but notice the number of young people sat on the ground, their backs to the walls of shops or offices building signifying some need.

Need, not wants, here were the youth in the 5^th largest economy in the world without a prospect, opportunity, promise or hope. The only thing occupying their minds was the means to take shelter compounded with one sign that broke my heart, the young man’s sign said he had not eaten for days.

Now, I do not care if that is anything but the truth, I would hope that cynicism and suspicion would not rob me of sympathy, maybe empathy, a sense of compassion and the ability to be touched by the hardship of another.

Great needs with little supply

Besides, I know privation, not to that extent, but I have gone hungry in the midst of lack and when I would have been rendered homeless, I was fortunate to find support from people who covered my nakedness, shame and misfortune. To them, I am grateful probably not to the extent that I can repay them, but that when I see another in a situation that I have once experienced, I will not ignore them and walk on by if I am opportuned to do something, no matter how little.

Then, there was another thing on the signs that struck me, at least were asking for £16 to be able to spend a night in a home shelter. What the home shelter would probably provide is a bed, a shower, hot drinks and some safety from the elements and menace. I would not know if they also provide food.

Homelessness is a thief of the future

However, for someone who has nothing and has not eaten for days, how on earth would the shelter take priority over food, the little that comes from alms might only cover just one meal and so they are still out on the streets day after day in the hope that someone would just pour our God and love upon them that they would not only smile but cry the tears of joy bearing hope.

I have said before, homelessness is debilitating to the extent that it almost impossible to see how steals the future away from the present which becomes an enduring and harrowing existence. Without a home address, you probably can’t take on the most basic jobs, talk less of open a bank account or make any headway in life beyond being caught in the rut.

The charity of no clarity

Then I have my gripe with homeless charities, I am not convinced they are doing enough if anything, I see signs that I should give to charities rather than the homeless. I have this to say, if the charities were really seen to be helping the homeless, there would not be so many homeless and somewhat helpless people on our streets.

The other side of this argument is we probably would be persuaded to give to the charities and readily walk the homeless to the nearest point of help just as the Good Samaritan of old committed time and resources to the wounded stranger.

In this electioneering season in the UK, I have even bigger concerns; Theresa May boasts of offering strong and stable leadership, but I have no time for leadership that has no heart. Our social services are cut to the bone, that people cannot get by. The thought that British nurses are resorting to food banks in full employment is a disgrace I cannot find the words to express. [The Independent]

Make June the end of May

Theresa May said there are many complex reasons why people use food banks, I’m sorry, the reason is not complex, it is simple, they are not being paid enough and the cost of living is rising far beyond their means.

The system is completely messed up and I do not believe Theresa May as a bloody difficult woman has the wherewithal to bring the necessary humanity and compassion to bear to change things for the better for those who suffer homelessness, who use food banks or have to rely on the system to get by. That people in full employment should live from hand to mouth is utterly contemptible, an atrocity of the magnitude that has no mitigation or acceptable excuse.

This is not the United Kingdom that should be happy to have remain like this, things must change, the homeless and the hungry nurses are neither thinking Brexit nor strong leadership, they are hoping against hope for respite, food for their hunger, shelter for their heads and a future that gives them a chance for a different life.

Theresa May is not that person and I’m afraid, no such one is in the Tory Party to do that too.

Opinion: Trumpcare is Trump cares nothing about you

A son’s promise

“I remember my mother. She was 52 years old when she died of ovarian cancer, and you know what she was thinking about in the last months of her life? She wasn't thinking about getting well. She wasn't thinking about coming to terms with her own mortality. She had been diagnosed just as she was transitioning between jobs. And she wasn't sure whether insurance was going to cover the medical expenses because they might consider this a pre-existing condition. I remember just being heartbroken, seeing her struggle through the paperwork and the medical bills and the insurance forms. So, I have seen what it's like when somebody you love is suffering because of a broken health care system. And it's wrong. It's not who we are as a people.” Barack Obama [Wikipedia]

The quote above was the personal life story that inspired what we all know as Obamacare, the heartfelt promise of a son to anyone whose mother, relation or themselves might be faced with the onslaught of illness that they do not have to worry about the bills and forms.

This is the human story

Just imagine, faced with a life-threatening illness and all you can think about is whether you have enough to meet the payments to keep you alive. “She wasn't thinking about getting well. She wasn't thinking about coming to terms with her own mortality.” Yes, Stanley Ann Dunham was struck down with cancer and she was dead within a year of the diagnosis.

When she died in 1995 just 23 days short of her 53^rd birthday, Barack Obama had not even begun his political career, he was only married 3 years and she never got to see her grandchildren, they came much later. In what might well be the conspiracy of fate, his grandmother died just two days short of the historic election victory of 2008.

The decline in my health

However, let us leave politics aside and touch on the human stories. By the time, I had finished my contract in April 2009, which was the peak of my career in earnings along with the attendant signs that my health was beginning to deteriorate, I paid no particular heed to the danger ahead.

In the third week of June, I had guests visiting from London and Hong Kong; on Sunday, the 23^rd of June, we went to Kinderdijk to see the World Heritage Site of windmills and on our way back, literally, all strength ebbed out of me as we walked from Rotterdam Harbour to the station. When my guests who stayed for a week left on Tuesday morning, I went back to bed and woke up with blisters down my left arm, I had come down with shingles.

That did not stop me travelling to Berlin the next day for the CSD celebrations, but by the time I was ready to return five days later, I was too weak to handle my own luggage, the airline check-in clerk had to come round to place my luggage on the scales, I was taken by wheelchair to the lounge and then by airside vehicle to the plane.

In Amsterdam, staff were on hand to assist me and ensure I just about crawled into my home, exhausted to the point of expiry. Alarm bells were ringing, but I could not hear them. The shingles disappeared within two weeks.

The salvation of insurance

Within 3 months of that, I was admitted to hospital with full-blown AIDS, a culture of self-medication, blind stoicism, religion and just soldiering on had brought me to the very gates of death. Meanwhile, I was earning nothing and chomping through my savings completely oblivious of the entitlements I had earned over almost a decade of working in the Netherlands, what was I to do?

In 2006, the Netherlands introduced compulsory health insurance, a sort of mandated single-payer requirement that was generally affordable. I had the basic cover, but when I fell ill, that basic cover went the whole way to pay for everything needed to get me well again.

As part of my treatment, there was an 18-night stay in the hospital, full-board, 7 sessions of chemotherapy, each chemotherapy dose at today’s prices is 8,735 euros, my pills were about 2,500 euros a month for the first 6 months and insurance took care of everything.

Everyone for the few

That is the mystery of insurance – “a practice or arrangement by which a company or government agency provides a guarantee of compensation for specified loss, damage, illness, or death in return for payment of a premium.”

The idea is that not everyone would need to resort to it, but if the need comes, it is there to bear the burden. Without it, I would have died in 2009. That I have taken out of the health insurance pool more than I have put into it is just a matter of providence and regulatory processes put in by the government that everyone has equal assess to treatment at the point of need rather than with a bag of means.

Everyone who owns a car pays car insurance, not everyone would have an accident, buildings all have insurance, not every building burns down or collapses. The many in caters for the few mishaps. No one balks at the car or building insurance and health insurance is such an unthinkable thing? Really?

It is about a shared humanity, not socialism

There are different implementations of health insurance in the West, but America fares the worst in the provision of such. Some see the idea of health insurance as provided in Europe as the pinnacle of socialism, industry and profits must thrive in the provision of health and healthcare without the dead hand of government directing it and therein is the animosity against Obamacare from the conservatives.

The brother’s keeper concept has been lost, the heart of understanding human privation has been lost to ideology and politics. The politicians themselves are fully catered for health-wise, it is the people who have been seduced by the rhetoric that would suffer, people who would never have the deep pockets to meet the costs if illness strikes.

You can be down, but never out.

Unlike Stanley Ann Dunham, I did not have to worry about any insurance costs, I kept up with my affordable insurance premiums and soon learnt many months after of my social security entitlements that could cover most of my bills. However, that was not before I had suffered other privations pertaining to sustenance. I was back to work just under 7 months after my diagnosis.

Blog - Thought Picnic: No pills for the bills

Health insurance saved me and that is one of the great successes of the European social model that is under threat of being ripped apart in the UK with the way our NHS is being badly run by the Conservative government.

When I was down, insurance and welfare held the fort until I was able to get back up on my feet. If I all I could do was face bills and fill in forms without the space to think either about getting well or prepare for my eventual demise, a ‘luxury’ never afforded Stanley Ann Dunham, I probably would not be here writing this.

This is evil and greed at work

The desire to repeal and replace Obamacare is manifestly evil, it is borne of rabid ideological extremism to feather the bulging nest eggs of the already stupendously filthy rich whose greed for more wealth at the expense of a more equal humanity can never be sated.

It has not been costed, it has not been risk-assessed, it has not been studied, it has just been voted through to claim a legislative victory without a single care for those who would be most affected. [BBC News]

To quote a headline “The GOP's health care bill is officially a gigantic tax cut for the rich. (USNews)” This is was President Donald Trump is heralding, there is much else to say apart from that fact that the human story of affordable healthcare has been lost to the Shylocks of the 21^st Century, they don’t just want a pound of flesh, they want your heart whilst it still beats cooked for breakfast and if you’re still breathing, your brains for dinner.

Trumpcare is Trump cares nothing about you.

Acceptance takes you beyond coping

Broadening perspectives

One morning not long after the witching hours I found myself in an interesting discussion about sexuality and the issues around understanding the concept from which I gained some insight.

I never majored in humanities, but I have a keen sense of my humanity, this is not to belabour a point, rather it is to suggest that the broadening of perspective is an essential quality of a teachable spirit. It is as if I process too much in my interactions that listening informs and enlightens in ways I cannot properly describe.

I would attend interviews and just through the conversation I find many of the questions I am expected to ask already answered, I cannot then persuade myself to give voice to confirm what I have elicited from the conversation, though expectations following routine almost always demands a pattern for interviews. I digressed.

Limiting perceptions

In that conversation, I found myself drawing a clear distinction between perception and reality. Perception is a limitation acquired from a narrow spectrum of observation and reality is covers the whole spectrum of things, too many of which have never been considered.

For instance, the subject was on coping and it would normally be phrased in a variety of ways, but not far off from, ‘How do you cope with your situation?’

Cope, in this context is a verb, it involves activity. The Free Dictionary offers a number of definitions for this particular context.

To contend or strive, especially on even terms or with success.

To contend with difficulties and act to overcome them.

The many stages of cope

Whilst I will not provide an exegesis on this topic, people have degrees of 'coping' from not coping at all to coping very well, maybe too well, sometimes. Yet, I see others who have reached another level beyond the contending and the striving, those who are no more in doubt or concern, those who have negotiated the Kübler-Ross model to a state of bliss.

Situations excite all sorts of emotions and reactions, from denial, through anger, bargaining, and depression, waves of guilt and inadequacies, low self-esteem, addiction and self-harm, worry and anxiety causing stress or worse. Coping is finding ways to manage these myriad expressions without being toppled into blank hopelessness.

Then channelling the Kübler-Ross model, having either negotiated or escaped the travails of striving to make sense of or find purpose, acceptance becomes a portal. The freedom that comes with acceptance is in my view beyond having coped.

Acceptance begetting release

For instance, and I wrote about this when I was in the hospital, the moment I moved beyond just coping with the pain with no respite from the agony to the point where I said to myself, “Akin, you’ve got cancer, what are we going to do about it?”

Blog - Getting off the pain train

It did not stop the pain, I hadn’t even begun any significant treatment to manage either the onslaught of AIDS or the fungating tumours. The treatment for the former started a day later and I went on my first session of chemotherapy six days later. I was already in the hospital a week.

However, once my state of mind had occupied the sanctuary of acceptance, I knew I was going to survive. Invariably, whilst I cannot create a parallel universe of my own reality, I can suggest that with the state of mind, it is unlikely I would have been prepared to tolerate the aggressive treatment that followed for 5 months of chemotherapy and all the attendant side effects.

Forgive yourself more

Maybe, I had found a coping mechanism of sorts, but it is very likely that without having accepted my situation and then used that as a springboard to an uncertain but very possible future, I might well have expired in the five weeks that was the original prognosis for my rather debilitating situation and health in September 2009.

We cope, then we begin to understand our reality, accept our reality, embrace ourselves, forgive ourselves, love ourselves and by so doing, we advance from striving and break through the portal of acceptance into thriving. It is a process, for some, it is a lifetime, to others there is grace that shortens the journey.

That I have been that fortunate is a blessing, not that one is perfect, but that energies are not dissipated in the want for recognising who I am despite the angsts and struggles of the past. I feel that I have been redeemed for the joy of living and the pursuit of happiness. It is a good place to be.

 

Down the wire to the fire

The ringing was quite shrill,
And it wasn’t for a fire drill,
So we gathered one until,
The numbers inside got to nil.

Maybe the wardens had skill,
It was not on the bill,
Getting out was uphill,
Enough for flames to make a kill.

Hobbling as I will,
Looking out on the window sill,
I could not fathom still,
We were to fill.

To act is to instil,
Every form of goodwill,
No one should need a gill,
If a fire grows to thrill.

Stepping beyond the grill,
The muster point far in Brazil,
We came to a standstill,
With nothing to fulfil.

Later on the rumour mill,
As the scheme went downhill,
After catching a little chill,
We reentered the ville.