Warning! My blogs might shock you

I find the words to say

My blog may not necessarily be my undoing, but it is a journal and compendium of snippets and snatches of memory, experience, and observation that if I could commit myself to the rigour of an autobiography, there is little else I might need to put in a book apart from flesh out some stories for content, context, and contemplation.

In the versatility of the use of language is the revelation of much that might elicit inquiry and confirmation, yet, what is read should be taken at face value, for there is neither obfuscation nor dissembling, just some finesse, and if one could rise to that standard, the sophistication to make the usually unspeakable readily palatable.

Too many assumptions exist that in the spectrum of believing the worst to fairy tale bliss, the truth is not so much a search for a needle in the haystack, it is in plain sight once disbelief is suspended for accepting an unconsidered reality. It is quite likely a variation on the art of storytelling.

Did you really not know?

There are discussions and difficult ones they are that have made a showing on my blog before they have become a conversation with certain close ones. Too many things to learn about me that it is surprising that the profile texts of my blog and Facebook do not seem to have had the in-depth reading and comprehension desired.

On my blog, I have a play on the meaning of my name Akin in English and any other translation or interpretation you might consider. “Essentially similar to what is known, compatible to what is expected and related to the unexpected…” It would be supercilious to consider myself enigmatic, but the ellipsis at the end is both deliberate and suggestive of much more about me that is unknown.

The Facebook profile changed some time ago because acquaintances from long ago had impressions about me in need of addressing forthwith. Adopting a broad statement was supposed to stem the tide of inquiry, even as I pruned my following to contain aggression and disapprobation. I could not be clearer than this: “I thought and concluded, do not presume you know me, this is really not a biography, it is guidance.”

Shock is the wrong reflex

Then comes the other conundrum, I write quite openly about very personal stuff that gets read by an audience beyond those I am directly in contact with. Even amongst those I know, I do not know who cares to read my blog, though the statistics suggest I have a readership in as far-flung places as Indonesia in the last week, that country taking the lead with the UK, the Netherlands, and Nigeria where I have lived coming 5^th, 7^th, and 9^th respectively. I cannot begin to fathom why the interest from these places, but something is engaging them.

This is my advice to those who read my blog; you will probably learn more than you expected to see, if you have any doubt you might want to give it the benefit of the doubt that what you have read needs no further explanation than what it has said at your first reading. Mental gymnastics are a cause for unnecessary angst, we can agree, your writer does not mince words.

The thought sometimes crosses my mind to be reserved, reticent, or dabble in a form of self-censorship, but rather than curtail, I usually prevail by finding a form of words for whatever I want to express. Finally, I ask for some open-mindedness and the need not to make a shock your first resort in the acquisition of knowledge; the world is a big place, some things might extend your worldview to places you never thought possible. That is the biggest teaching about our humanity.

The man, T. B. Joshua

No grudges held

The passing of Prophet T. B. Joshua is no doubt a tragedy and that is where I would start. There are many people who will attest to the humility, the generosity, the religiosity, the godliness, the charisma, and the powerful ministry of the man, and I am not here to question any of that.

To some, he was a mighty man of God, to some a possible charlatan, to some so absolutely above reproach and the law, unassailable, and unaccountable to anyone, the latter by reason of the building collapse that led to the death of over 100 victims of which 80 were South Africans for whom no justice has been done. Yet, I cannot blame him, I blame the Nigerian system that allowed it.

Blog: Nigeria: The Collapse of Order

Some people would have a big bone to pick with him, be it what they sought that they did not get, or what they were not sure they wanted that they received a good measure of. Between the unhealed and the traumatised may their hopes be realised and their prayers be answered.

And God willing

A few days ago, the man was planning for his birthday and released a video notice about plans towards it, he paced up and down with a sense of apparent unease, at least to my observation, I did wonder what might have made him look a bit discomfited until he held the railing at the end with the comforting words to those who might not be able to attend his birthday this year due to the pandemic having the opportunity for many more birthdays to come.

To anyone who watched that video [YouTube], we can somewhat agree that the prophet had no inkling of his pending demise. Man proposes and God disposes, we find that we need to reflect on the ephemeral nature of our humanity in all the resilience we tend to exhibit that we only have the moment in which we are, the future we do not know, and whilst anticipation and planning is necessary, we of a religious disposition might want to bookend all our schemes with ‘God Willing’.

After it all

In bidding the man farewell and sympathies to his family and to his flock the hope for a worthy shepherd to continue the ministry and legacy of the man. Prophet T. B. Joshua has written his own account in his life and his deeds and gone, what we make of it is now left to us, he cannot edit it to suit his requirements anymore.

There is probably an undiscovered prophet in the wilderness preparing the way for the needy to have their needs met in a fashion, that prophet will be found, and another chapter will begin the munificence of lofty promises, fantastic rituals, and spectacular flashes of the miraculous to the extent of believability or ridiculousness, that would keep the flock enthralled. We are who we are.

HIV Long-Term Survivors Awareness Day 2021

Coming to terms

I probably have been exposed to it long before I took up the courage to find out for myself. For years, I would go for check-ups but ask not to be informed of the results of tests I did not go there for, that was the HIV test even though I was in a high-risk category.

Between a sense of invincibility and probably mind-numbing stupidity exacerbated with denial, I continued to escape the responsibility to know, and it was not until I was living in the Netherlands for over 2 years that I decided to face the music. I also presume at that time, I belonged to a cohort who if that knowledge was acquired became an uninsurable risk especially for life insurance.

Getting to know

Anyway, it was in early September 2002 that I went for a test that I was almost entirely sure would result in the news I was now ready to hear, that I had been infected and my life was about to change in ways I am not sure I was prepared for. The first result arrived on Friday, the 13^th of September, but there was a second confirmatory test that needed to be conducted on my blood, which I received the next Friday, alone.

Returning home, I informed my pastor of the news I had already told him I was expecting and settled into contemplation about the life ahead of me. I took no immediate decisions and even avoided taking the next step to therapeutic address as prophylaxis against full-blown AIDS presenting as cancerous Kaposi’s sarcoma, 7 years later.

All in gratitude

On this day, the 5^th of June, HIV Long-Term Survivors Awareness Day, with the theme, AIDS at 40: Envisioning a Future We Never Imagined; I am in the 19^th year of knowing with episodes that have so radically changed my life in ways I never have envisaged for planned for.

For all the stories I have to tell, I am grateful for the gift of life, the efficacy of the drugs that keeps wellbeing and holds disease at bay, the amazing friendships of those who have always stood with me, the grace of God and the indescribably amazing love I found in Brian.

To many more years of purposeful living, those we lost too early out of whose experiences have grown advances in medicine and life expectancy, the continued battle against stigma and in their memories, we hope never to forget each of us touched by this plague who are no less significant in the story of our humanity.

A review of the kilo howler

Scales fall as weight rises

It is the rudest occupant in my bedroom, beckoning me on sight without proper address, not averting a gaze when I am in nuditate and indeed blurting out figures with no regard for my figure. As it considers itself modern it gossips the secrets to everyone listening and logs it in a journal as a tale of my excesses.

No, you are not allowed your own opinion or thoughts, for the facts hit you right in the face and the truth, bitter as it might be is served up right up the nose.

The scale of the damage is weighty, the pending disaster is best avoided. Yet, he goes by the name Huawei Scale 3, if you'll like to make an acquaintance.

A smartwatch I bought,
This came for free,
All escapes we sought,
Are blocked from thee,
For all that you ought,
Just count to three,
Everything we are not,
It says with glee.

Curiously another courier

Someone calling me

It could have been a case of cross-communication, I would hate to think it was one of impersonation. I was expecting a courier to pick up a parcel in the one-hour window between 11:18 and 12:18, but at 11:55, I received an SMS text message that he would arrive in 5 to 10 minutes.

30 minutes later and beyond the window, I go a call that he was outside Primark waiting for me, that seemed quite strange. Why would a courier end up about a kilometre from where he was to pick up a parcel? I could hardly keep my voice down when the person at the other end of the phone said he was not familiar with the terrain.

His apparently halting and incoherent English with incomprehensible enunciation did not help me properly identify or appreciate who I was talking to as I told the person off and proceeded to write a letter to the courier company about their unprofessional service.

Not the same person

Just over an hour beyond their proposed collection window, my doorbell rang and the courier I heard through the video intercom system then eventually chatted to outside my apartment who arrived in a van with the courier company sign on it was not the person I was talking to on the phone, earlier.

At one point, I thought the courier company had called the other greenhorn off and sent this more articulate courier in his place. I wanted to be sure, so I asked. Whoever contacted me earlier was not this courier and that left me wondering who it was. I have not received a response to my inquiry on that phone number of who was apparently arriving in 5 to 10 minutes, almost 3 hours ago.

Care and consideration

It meant I had to send an updated email to the courier cancelling my broader complaint apart from the late retrieval of my parcel that should be delivered to Wales by noon tomorrow. Rather strange and concerning, I have blocked that number, now.

I cannot account for who called me when I was expecting someone else, I could have given away my address in the process of getting this lost courier to my residence and be endangered. I definitely have to pay more attention to the kinds of messages I receive and verify with clarity who is calling, making no allowances or excuses for poor communication that might feed wrong assumptions. Phew!

I am not pleased

My letter conveying my dissatisfaction went thus (Names changed to conceal identities):

Dear Mary,

I am supposed to have had John visit my residence to collect a parcel for delivery by noon tomorrow in Swansea between 11:18 and 12:18 today.

At 11:55, I received a message that he would be with me in 5 to 10 minutes, 30 minutes later he called to say he will be with me in 5 minutes only for me to receive another call that he is waiting for me at Primark.

That bears no semblance to my address which is another location with the postcode [redacted] in Manchester. That from all appearances suggests John cannot use a satellite navigator, is completely clueless about directions, or doesn't know what he is supposed to be doing.

I paid for this service and he is supposed to be a courier, if he can't find simple addresses, he is probably in the wrong job.

I am now sat in front of my house wondering what is going to happen now, it has hardly been a professional outing for your company.

Maybe someone can contact him on this number [redacted] to determine what he is up to.

To say this is untenable as a service would be suppressing my utter displeasure.

I hope you can help.

Signed

Curbing my somnambulism

Sleepwalking in the park

There are times I just do not feel like writing at all, the flux of thoughts not giving any insight to what might be interesting for a blog. Like when I went to Platt Fields Park yesterday for my first experience of the summer sun and sat in the shade because I was already exhausted from walking in the sun.

A funfair had taken up the front of the park with people being swirled and flung around on rides for cheap thrills, their screaming and howling in excitement, distant enough not to be disturbing or noisy. I doubt I want my guts churned by the interaction of speed and gravity all depending on the direction of movement in all planes.

When I was done and ready to return home, I was walking and yet could not keep myself awake. On a few occasions, I have had that strange feeling of literally shutting down, considering the fact that I might be endangered by falling or walking into something. The smart thing was to call a cab to take me home.

Funfair in the distance at Platt Fields Park

Platt Fields Park

Platt Fields Park

Platt Fields Park

Platt Fields Park

When bowels of inconvenience afflict thee

The travails of leg movement

Today was a basically a free day and one in which I finally decided to take advantage of the summery weather that had begun to show up from the last few days of May. When I stepped out for my walk this morning, the day was already bright and warm, the sun had risen and it wasn’t yet 6:00 AM, I soon regretted not going out in a short-sleeve vest and shorts, along with wearing a run visor to keep the sun out of my eyes.

Sometimes, going out for walks of about 10 kilometres or more presents the complications of the call of nature, some that can be dealt with easily and others too difficult that you have to break the event to rush back home or on rare occasions even soil yourself and seek a private route of shame back home.

The urges of bowel movement

It is unfortunate that there is literally no public convenience in the city except those in the shopping centres or hospitality venues, none of which would be open at that time of the day. I remember being unable to use one in a shopping centre just on the outskirts of town a few weeks ago because it had been boarded off for some reason.

It makes you wonder what people are supposed to do when a pressing call of nature would not take endurance as a timesaving option until you have conveniently reached a public convenience. In London, I found the same thing. The single-occupant public convenience was inaccessible and if it was, you needed coins. I thought everything was paid for with contactless cards or NFC (near field communication) mobile devices, like seriously in 2021, they need an immediate radical update.

Human nature is just nature

Suffice it to say that halfway through my walk, I still had another 5 kilometres to go when I was on a beeline for home to address the matter for which there was nothing more I could do but accept the limitations of my human nature, it may be age too, for it is not the first time either.

I read a blog written a few years ago about a male friend of a lady who was disgusted because the female host of a party had prominently made tampons available in the bathroom. The man may not have recognised what every female does experience; periods, sudden menstrual flows, the embarrassment of visible stains as a result, and the possible absence of sanitary wares to contain the situation. My occasional inconvenience is nothing in comparison, but I will ensure having that accessory in my bathroom for guests, that’s my lesson. [UpWorthy: What I realized about feminism after my male friend was disgusted by tampons at a party]