Thought Picnic: Escaping bubbles to create experiences

The beauty of having bubbles

I remember a conversation with a friend, a father of mixed-race children being raised in a progressive northern European country. He said he would bring them up in the bubble they have for as long as possible, so when they meet the world outside, they would do so with the assurance and confidence of knowing where they come from, without any fear of what they might face.

There is a rawness in humanity that growing up in a bubble shields us from. It provides protections that allow us to grow and develop the mental strength to handle both ourselves and situations, before we are exposed to what might shock, traumatise, disgust, or simply irritate us. This is a sometimes poorly understood aspect of a good upbringing.

I was raised in a bubble of sorts, in middle-class privilege with some trappings of wealth but never excess. Having what we needed, we exuded confidence without the need to keep up with the Joneses. Though my parents had risen from diminished circumstances and established their position in society through education and achievement, we were and are different from our parents.

A different kind of bubble

I was born in England, cocooned from the forms of racism and challenges faced by many foreigners in the 1960s, which greatly coloured their view of living in England. The primary schools I attended in Nigeria had most foreign pupils. It is amusing to think that most of our white schoolmates were Nigerian-born, with typical mixed Nigerian accents, while most of us black children were born abroad, speaking with foreign and usually English accents.

We lived in bubbles of privilege and access, but as we grew older, we were exposed to a different world, sometimes to the more privileged and sometimes to those less fortunate. Not to look down on others or feel superior, but to appreciate our good fortune along with respecting others, and where opportunity does allow, we lift them up.

Bubbles as anchors aweigh

For a bubble to exist, it needs an atmosphere. It moves within that atmosphere for a while, then bursts to merge with the surroundings. Yet every sight of a bubble in the air excites, especially children. There’s colour, there’s floating, and a longing for it to last before it bursts. Then, new bubbles are formed.

I recognise the bubble of society I come from; it has given me a sense of adventure and curiosity that has served me well in many places. I am comfortable in my own skin, speak and express myself with confidence, and I rarely feel out of place wherever I find myself. In terms of dress, I might not be as inconspicuous as I would like, but I have no issue with that.

My bubble to the world

How it has helped me navigate systems and structures is interesting. How to communicate and set the terms by which I expect to be treated with respect, courtesy, and dignity, without being aloof. I aim to be approachable, just as I am not wary of approach. I respect people without any sense of obsequiousness towards wealth or status; you need two heads to really scare me.

It’s those qualities my childhood bubble gave me: a combination of fieriness and finesse that taught me to seek rather than sequester, to experience rather than shield, to wonder and understand difference instead of settling into indolence and ignorance of others. I venture where others draw back; there is much to learn from escaping the bubble rather than seeking to be hermetically sealed in an echo chamber.

My fear is not of others, but of not being better. Life’s experiences leave me grateful and thankful for everything. There is much to do and many things to see beyond ourselves; only a few seize those opportunities for growth and renewal. You can have your bubble, but you must also exist in the world around it.

Nigeria, some hail thee

Nigeria, off my mind

On the first of October, Nigeria celebrated its 65th year of independence; however, in my mind, I let the day slip away with a sense of the uneventful.

As the thought crossed my mind, I realised that, despite the heritage, childhood experiences, memories, and influences, these are all vital parts of my being, though my affinity for Nigeria has diminished to the phrase, ‘my parents are Nigerian’.

Thirty-five years after I left Nigeria for the final time, I have no desire to visit or revisit any part of the seemingly privileged, idyllic childhood I once experienced there.

Even so, I am as estranged as anyone can be from any of the relations and relationships that once contributed to what might be called a sense of identity. It was a place; it was never home.

Relating to Nigeria

The independence days of yore, when Nigeria was still a young nation, were celebrated under a series of murderous military juntas, whose many names and roles I still recall. How we endured the sweltering heat on parade grounds, ready to march before military governors taking the salute on a dais.

One cannot forget how the Nigerian anthem of that era, written in 1959 but replaced by socialist-themed lyrics in 1978, remained etched in the mind as more representative of Nigeria’s story, until it was readopted in 2024. Although I have not personally sung it again, it felt like a Nigeria I could relate to.

Belonging elsewhere

My sense of belonging today is to the land of my birth and a land of my dreams, along with a land of desire from where I found a love beyond compare, England, South Africa, and Zimbabwe.

Nigeria is a place I view from 10,000 metres when travelling at a land speed of 960 kilometres per hour. The moving map on the aeroplane shows cities as we traverse from the middle of the north through to the southeast into Cameroon.

As I get less encumbered by detachment, I appreciate Nigeria’s contribution without acceding to any concept of being possessed by it. It was a place I was taken to, a place where I never truly belonged.

The hole relationships leave

Just the way things are

On my return from South Africa in early September, two things were clear. I did not worry about the state of my home, and something I had left on the counter intended for the freezer was still there, growing mould and displaying every sign of culture that should not be inhaled.

This was because, for the first time in about eight years, I did not have a house sitter, a friend with unrestricted access to my apartment at any time for his convenience rather than mine.

While I always appreciated his presence, he had a peculiar habit of rearranging the place to such an extent that, on my return from holidays, I could scarcely recognise my own home.

An untenable situation

The final straw was when I returned from sick leave in December, after being away for seven weeks. Following a 14-hour journey, I had to run a vacuum around my home before I could sit down and catch my breath. Meanwhile, he was there packing a bag, even though he knew I was returning that day.

It was never required of him, but he was always helpful around the house: doing basic cleaning, taking out rubbish, or managing recycling. Besides, as people living away from close family, seeing each other often meant anyone could ask the other about their well-being, knowing they had current information.

However, I had had enough. I asked for the keys to my place, and since then, it seemed the true bond between us was access to my apartment rather than a nearly decade-long friendship. Even when I email to ask after his well-being, he rarely responds; no one truly knows the other anymore. We have entered a state of indifference bordering on obsolescence.

The hole relationships leave

Looking at the state of my living room this morning, I felt a hole that had widened into a chasm after my friend's withdrawal. I only took the keys from him; I did not end our friendship.

Yet, how anyone perceives the other in any relationship can be an inscrutable mental process, revealed only when circumstances push us to confront who we really are.

All relationships introduce something into our lives: the good, the bad, the ugly, or the simply nonchalant. When the relationships fade, we lose something, regardless of its size. Our friends are warts and all; much is tolerated, forgiven, and given leeway until limits are crossed and irreconcilable differences emerge.

Then, for me, it is time to get my act together and look after myself better, for my health, my mind, my relationships, my apartment, my environment, and every other aspect that fosters a sense of contentment and fulfilment. C’est la vie.

Men's things XXV: Prostate cancer under control

Gathering my thoughts

There are many things to be grateful for: life, health, relationships, friendships, hope, faith, and the love that conquers all.

It's now been over a year ago that I began the twenty sessions of hypofractionated external beam radiotherapy for prostate cancer, the aftermath of which includes an extended time of monitoring and care. [NHS England: Hypofractionated external beam radiotherapy in the treatment of localised prostate cancer (PDF) 25 pages.]

After meeting with the multidisciplinary team in March, in conversation, I was to be seen again in 4 months, but the letter to my doctor indicated 5 months. But I received no appointments, so I had to consult the oncology department secretary about it.

It took her just over three weeks to respond. That was after I placed a phone call to her number and left a message that got a nurse to call and plan to be seen within three weeks.

Reviewing the process

Any appointment would have required first doing a serum prostate-specific antigen (PSA) test and getting the results before the appointment, and the secretary gave me just 6 working days to my next appointment to get that done.

Thankfully, for my Monday appointment, my GP surgery invited me on Thursday to provide a blood sample, and I was able to access the result on the NHS app last night.

I was concerned because the PSA results from February 2024 and the 5 test results altogether have fluctuated in ways that if I had not taken decisive action to act on the possible presence of prostate cancer by urging my doctor to be engaged, responsive, and proactive, the malignancy would have continued untouched to a seriously life-threatening situation.

This is because, in early February 2024, the PSA was borderline high at 3.5, then 7 weeks later at the end of March 2024, it had risen to 4.0 and needing further investigation, that started with a Digital Rectal Examination (DRE), through a multiparametric MRI (mpMRI) scan in April 2024, an ultrasound-guided transperineal biopsy of the prostate gland in May 2024, and a stage-2 prostate cancer diagnosis in June 2024 with the recommendation that I undergo active treatment.

Making your decisions towards the best outcomes

In July 2024, I made the choice between a radical prostatectomy and radical radiotherapy, opting for the latter, though on seeking a helpful opinion from Prostate Cancer UK, the nurse thought it was better to opt for active surveillance or watchful waiting.

I was not going to wait to watch what a clear diagnosis of cancer was going to do in my body, and worry myself silly about what I could have done on the back end of having this knowledge. That was the last time I called Prostate Cancer UK, because having come this far, I needed encouragement and support, not dissuasion.

As I prepared for radiotherapy, we had another PSA test at the end of August 2024, and it had fallen to 2.0. That sneaky thing could have been a dangerous signal to abandon treatment, as the reading had fallen below the danger zone into the normal range. However, that did not mean the cancer had suddenly disappeared. Either way, I was going through with the radiotherapy.

This began on the 12^th of September 2024 for every weekday until the 9^th of October 2024, and I worked through it, even as the side effects of chronic fatigue and bladder issues took hold. A month after treatment, I took an extended sick leave that lasted just under 2 months, spending most of that time with Brian, caring for me in Cape Town.

After treatment monitoring and beyond

When I went for my first post-treatment checkup in early April 2025, the PSA test I took, the previous week at the end of March, read 2.6 and this was the cause of my concern and it led me to question the reliability of the PSA test as an indicator of reduced prostate agitation, especially after radiotherapy, but then I also realised that the period of recuperation could be long, as exemplified in my strength, and voice.

My reckoning was that if the PSA result did not fall at my next appointment, I would request a second mpMRI scan. I am glad to say that on my receipt of the results last night, that might not be necessary as the PSA has fallen to 1.3 micrograms per litre (µg/L).

However, for my meeting on Monday, I am on alpha blockers since that regulates prostate function, since October last year, and I might be on that for some time, and I have had two episodes of epididymitis in May and August. We might have to discuss the hows and whys of that.

Apart from the occasional insomnia, the fluctuations in my voice, irregular occurrences of fatigue, and some restlessness that besets me at various times, I am doing quite well and happy with the improvements, grateful for the support from many people who have helped me through interesting times.

When I am presented with the opportunity, I talk about men’s things, the need for us to be conscious of the health of our bladders, bowels, prostates, testicles, and sexual organs. These things matter, and catching anything going awry early is of the utmost importance.

Here’s to life and living. Thank you.

References

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - A year from starting radiotherapy

Blog - A prostate cancer diagnosis, one year on

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - XVIV - I Just Can't Wait

Blog - Men's things - XXIV - A presentation

Blog - Men's things - Prostate Cancer blogs

It's bad speech winning over free speech

It’s a bad speech issue

There are so many facets to the free speech debate but one thing I am convinced about is there is no limitation to the freedom of speech. What has really happened from viewing the quality of speech of many people with platforms especially in the political arena is expression had given up finesse for crudeness.

One could attribute this to lassitude in many areas, especially in reading, the reading of the classics, of philosophy, poetry, ideas, stories, and the forms of debate that mine the seams of the richness of language that challenge our thinking or excite our humour.

Weak forms from lazy

For instance, the kind of language and expression that the American president uses might appeal to the broad masses and make him an adept communicator, however, apart from the cachet of his powerful office that attracts all sorts of patronage, there is little to inspire from his speeches that elevates the quality of conversation.

The excessive use of comparatives and superlatives reveals a standard of mental indolence poorly served by lack of reading material that allows a broadening of the discussion, giving some flow to how words interact to persuade, even speechwriters will struggle to give those lips the kind of conviction that matches both personality and position.

Even the art of oratory, which is the skilful and effective public speaking is being lost, there are presently very few leaders of the world that could attend the United Nations and command the world stage with the quality of expression that would yield quotes surviving headlines of the next day. The pulpit shakers with their training in homiletics and hermeneutics barely make the standard of this is worth listening to again.

Do more reading

My argument is if people were well read, they would always find the form of expression to convey whatever thoughts they have elegantly without being misunderstood.

Giving thought to what you have to say before you speak needs a resource of usages and misuses studied before. Then we have the matter of a rich vocabulary, from books, novels, journals, and magazines rather than from cramming a dictionary, because context always matters in the use of words.

Then again, one does not need an elite education, just some curiosity and inquisitiveness, a willingness to learn and explore, because that opens the world of expression that unleashes freedom of expression.

I posit the issue has never really been an attack on freedom speech in the UK, people have just forgotten how to say nicely the bad things they are thinking. In the process, they have been caught out and to that, I’ll say, more fool you, or get smarter.

Photons on the Prostate - A year from starting radiotherapy

Some reflections

What a year it has been since I received the first of twenty doses of hypofractionated radiotherapy at the Christie Hospital. The story isn’t just about the treatment, but also about how the side effects have altered or softened my way of living and expressing myself.

Internally, I experienced fatigue and bladder issues, along with the occasional bowel discomfort, and for the insomnia, I couldn’t entirely blame the radiotherapy. The most noticeable change was in my voice, which sounds close to normal now, but it still sometimes holds that weariness or tiredness.

It wasn’t until mid-August that I felt confident enough to present myself for a bible reading at the cathedral. I had given up my place in May because my voice was still quite squeaky. I am encouraged, thankful, and grateful for the progress so far.

Two episodes of epididymitis in May and August have been worrying; probably some sort of urinary reflux around the pipes in that area, causing considerable discomfort and inflammation. I guess this keeps me vigilant for small changes and creeping symptoms.

My partner, Brian, has been an incredible support and anchor during these challenging times; his care and love have strengthened me, even when I outwardly appear to be doing well. With my friends and the fantastic support from work, I have made significant progress. I am thankful to God for everything.

I enjoy living, and I love thriving. There are even better stories ahead. Thank you.

Blog - A prostate cancer diagnosis, one year on

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - XVIV - I Just Can't Wait

Blog - Men's things - XXIV - A presentation

Blog - Men's things - Prostate Cancer blogs

Thought Picnic: Tragedy has no favouritism

All in a day of our humanity

The past 24 hours have been filled with rather unfortunate circumstances that, as observers reflecting on the truly life-changing issues, we need to be mindful of the opinions we hold and express, so we do not fall into the irony of becoming victims of our own views. More pertinently, we must also be mindful of the company we keep.

In both cases, the unfortunate and the unintentional have come to the forefront, with consequences including loss of life and loss of position, status, and prestige. We must wonder how parts of our past can have the power to haunt us into the present, shaping our future.

We are limited by our humanity

While we, as humans, can have anticipation or foreboding, we sometimes lack the foresight to consider the consequences of our current relationships. Yet, we can be judged harshly when situations and circumstances obscure any indication or premonition of worse outcomes.

Then again, what would be the thrill of living if we knew everything beforehand? Insight, ideas, and inspiration are useful, as some guiding principles can distinguish the wise from the foolish. Accepting our past foolishness and follies while seeking to learn from them, through personal experience and reflection on others' stories, is an important part of education in life.

What we exploit can also exploit us

What I cannot shake from my mind is how some have capitalised on resentment or exploited the basest instincts of human nature to gain advantage, often at our expense. We find ourselves acting against our better interests, persuaded by lies or obfuscations that have become the accepted truth.

The standard of conversation is now measured by groupthink, with risks of ostracism; everything is polarised, leaving no middle ground or room for disagreement without becoming disagreeable. Entrenchment is preferred over engagement; everyone is talking, but few are listening, unless they are only hearing what they want to hear. Confirmation bias is trending, rather than the challenging of assumptions.

The cost of such polarisation and the othering of differing viewpoints is often dismissed as irrelevant, inconsequential, or even evil. Victims are often not the purveyors of doom themselves but those who perpetuate a narrative that rarely presents the full truth, who also fall into the same doom. Occasionally, even the hunter falls into their own snare.

Victims are not just others.

Oh! The handwringing and the condemnation of consequences that would have created other victims long before it touched them, usually those safe and insulated within their privileged cocoon, are rarely naïve and often malevolent without any sense of hypocrisy.

They delude themselves into thinking they are safe. Yet, tragedy is often dispassionate, selecting its victims indiscriminately, to include those who have been the prophets of everything that ails us with their populist oratory.

If there is anything to ponder, it is to be mindful, watchful, considerate, and humane. The past holds us, the present is a gift, and the future remains unknown. May we, in the present, create a past that paves the way for a future filled with contented happiness rather than rueful regret. So, help us, God. Amen!