Radio silence as good therapy

The Value of Relationships

The past two years, with all their trials, have offered a profound lesson in the importance of relationships; those that endure and those that falter. Relationships exist along a spectrum, from those that nurture our innermost selves to those that deplete us.

Against this backdrop, I have begun to treasure those rare connections where vulnerability is met with empathy, and where the bond transcends circumstance or convenience.

At the other end of the spectrum are exploitative and self-serving relationships, built purely on transaction. They thrive when needs are met but diminish rapidly when expectations go unmet, leaving little room for understanding or compassion.

No showing they care

Sadly, I find few examples of truly healthy family relationships. Expressions of care are often superficial, their evidence weak or absent. That realisation has prompted a deliberate withdrawal, a choice to preserve space for safety, clarity, and renewal.

As September unfolded, following months of chaos and emotional upheaval, I decided to impose complete radio silence on all communication from Nigeria. Messages remained unread, calls unanswered, and I extricated myself from group chats.

While part of me was unsettled by the choice, another part found unexpected peace in it. After thirty-five years away, much of what happens there no longer requires my attention. Most interactions involve people I have never met and could hardly recognise in passing.

Distance became both shield and salve. It allowed me to detach from the drama, rumours, and constant reinterpretations of events that once held power over my emotions. Too often, such narratives are presented as truth yet serve only to unsettle, casting doubt on where fiction ends and reality begins.

Nurture the profitable

This uncertainty highlights the fragile nature of some relationships, as they exhibit little evidence of trust or goodwill, with corrosive elements overshadowing any kind of beneficial aspects.

By carrying this silence into October, I found calm. The reward was a steady quiet, being neither perturbed nor disturbed. It allowed me to engage, when necessary, on my own terms, or more often, to refrain from engaging altogether.

We should constantly review the quality and viability of our relationships, regardless of what has hitherto made them significant, for they might have fallen into disrepair and become unprofitable.

If I sustain this until year's end, keeping close those who truly matter whilst maintaining distance from those absent in my darker hours, I believe I will emerge stronger and healthier. That, at least, is my conviction.

Withstand the narrative

What They Are Saying

The immigration debate, if there ever was a decent one where polite conversation with a frank exchange of ideas was possible, is becoming so coarse that it is difficult to appreciate whether the utterances have been seriously thought through, or whether this is a race to the bottom in a quest to gain the populist crown.

One Tory MP deemed to be a future party leader suggested at the weekend that legally settled families be deported to make the UK "culturally coherent". Apparently, those with a legal right to stay in the UK might have their status revoked to force them to "go home". [The Guardian: Tory MP criticised after demanding legally settled families be deported]

I am neither shocked nor alarmed; we have heard many variations of the same theme going back to the time of Enoch Powell, whom my father withstood in a Wolverhampton pub soon after his "Rivers of Blood" speech. [Wikipedia: Rivers of Blood speech]

What is evident is that people with influence and a prospective handle on power are putting their thoughts into words, for the record, that we can now read, quote, and choose not to forget. I hope we do not just wring our hands in disgust but work against this narrative as a seed that could become the rallying cry of the unwittingly led to endorse odious views inimical to social cohesion and progress.

What We Must Withstand

The perilous trajectory of these words aims to undermine and erode the foundations of fairness, justice, human rights, and the rule of law in society and the community. We must hold firm to the spirit, the letter, and the defence of the quote often attributed to many great men of the past: "What is morally wrong can never be politically right."

Condemning the viewpoint should just be the beginning, even if the person apologises for their choice of words that convey intent rather than action. The impetus is on us to challenge these narratives with data, facts, the truth, and better-argued points that engage our better nature, rather than appealing to our basest instincts.

We all have the capacity for intelligent conversation; we should resist the inclination of the malevolent to drag it to the gutter of humanity.

Dreamscape: Truancy presages abject failure

Why I was a truant

It is becoming like a haunting of my dreams, for in times past, I played truant. My absence from class could never be properly understood. When one school report included the word "truant," my mother, a secondary school principal at the time, took such offence that I had to check if we were sharing the same meaning of the word.

In secondary school, my truancy was borne of boredom: boring teachers, even more boring subjects, and a total lack of engagement. In my English class, for instance, the whole activity was pedestrian. I was probably not helped by the fact that English is my mother tongue, as opposed to a second language, even though it was the official language of Nigeria.

Later in life, I came to understand that while I naturally understood the language, I did not understand the mechanics of it. I knew why a sentence had to be a certain way, but not how the elements of language were arranged to make it so. This became evident when a Dutch teacher of English used my intuition as a native speaker to review his notes. I found myself learning about the scaffolding that gives English its structure and grammar.

The unpleasantness of bad English

Elsewhere, my disinterest was compounded by distraction. In certain classes, I was so clueless about what was going on that I drew a total blank. It would have been so helpful to have had a student affairs department that addressed emotional, mental, and psychological health; I might have been saved a lot of misery.

The worst culprit, however, was a lecturer in electrical materials. His teaching style rankled to the point of irritation, and how he ever became a lecturer in a tertiary institution baffles me to this day. If he had used sign language, I might have been more engaged. Nearly every sentence of more than two words contained a malapropism or a grammatical flaw, and I felt such an urge to correct him that I could barely listen.

I remember in primary school, a new pupil came to our class and announced, "Teacher told me to come to class." We all laughed, as it sounded different, strange, and odd. He ended up in another class, but we soon became good family friends.

Always found wanting in Maths class

The haunting that has invaded my dreams for a long time now is finding myself in an advanced Mathematics class with no idea of what is going on. The lecturer walks in expecting the submission of some homework and then continues a topic I cannot seem to grasp, with the final examinations only a couple of weeks away. It is never a comfortable place to be; in that dreamy world, you are left wondering how to avert the looming prospect of failure.

I do, however, remember one final Mathematics examination. On the Friday before, I was not convinced I had the wherewithal to tackle the subject to the best of my ability. I found a primary school blackboard and worked through each of the topics to fix the gaps in my understanding. By Sunday evening, I was sharing better proofs of equations and theorems with others. I got an 'A' in that subject.

Between the dreamland that occupies the present and the reality of old, where I got it all together, I think of copying my friend's notes to pay off the knowledge deficit. Yet, a niggling thought suggests that I will not be able to pull it off.

The dream never goes beyond the lecture class, but the foreboding of failure lingers. What is it in my life that is showing up as a parable of omission and unpreparedness in my dreams? That is the mystery, something to pray for insight about.

Losing my religion in this reformation split

A Rift Turns into a Schism

On Thursday, the Global Fellowship of Confessing Anglicans (GAFCON) announced a plan to reform the Anglican Communion into the Global Anglican Communion. This development appeared to be intensified by the nomination of a woman for the role of the Archbishop of Canterbury. [GAFCON: Communique: The Future Has Arrived]

However, GAFCON's rejection of the Instruments of Communion; namely the Archbishop of Canterbury, the Lambeth Conference, the Anglican Consultative Council (ACC), and the Primates Meeting, has led to a schism. Some deny that this split aims to reconstitute the Global Anglican Communion as a majority representation of about 75% of its previous reach. It is a major development when what is left in the Anglican Communion is a rump of the original whole.

The core issues that have brought matters to a head revolve mainly around sexuality, as some GAFCON provinces ordain women into the diaconate, priesthood, and bishopric. Yet, we must be careful not to assume that only ‘conservatives’ or those ‘stuck in patriarchy’ are concerned or impacted by the appointment of a female Archbishop of Canterbury.

Refocusing on the Word

As an Anglican communicant, I am encouraged by the warmth and humanity of the congregations I attend in Manchester and Cape Town. There are wider community issues that many grapple with; conservatives, progressives, and all believers alike earnestly contend for the faith once delivered unto the saints. [Bible Gateway: Jude 3 (KJV)]

The focus must remain on the resurrected Christ, the guidance of the Holy Spirit, and adherence to the inerrant Word of God. My beliefs are shaped by a Pentecostal inclination; I am equally comfortable anywhere God is glorified and the Word is preached with purpose, according to the level of revelation given to the preacher. My spirit and understanding allow me to agree, disagree, or seek further study after hearing.

While I am saddened by developments within the Anglican Communion, no one should be surprised that a new reformation is underway, as the Global South Fellowship of Anglican Churches (GSFA) and GAFCON affirm only one foundation of communion, namely, the Holy Bible, “translated, read, preached, taught and obeyed in its plain and canonical sense, respectful of the church’s historic and consensual reading.”

Breaking religion, affirming faith

In response, the letter from The Rt Reverend and Rt Honourable Dame Sarah Mullally DBE, the Archbishop of Canterbury designate, appears to be written from a position of weakness; the people she hopes to engage with are unlikely to attend the Anglican Consultative Council in Belfast next year. [Anglican Ink: Letter from Bishop Sarah Mullally on LLF, GAFCON and abuse]

This news coincides with King Charles III, the head of the Anglican Church, meeting with Pope Leo, marking the first occasion in about 500 years that a British monarch has prayed with the Pope. [BBC News: King to be first British monarch to pray with Pope in at least 500 years]

How this affects the King’s role in the Anglican Communion or the new Global Anglican Communion remains uncertain. Many moving parts are at play as we all try to understand the issues involved, some of which I have not directly addressed here. I find myself asking whether I am losing my religion, or if my religion is losing me?

My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary. [Hymnal.net: My faith looks up to Thee]

Blog - England: We have a new Archbishop of Canterbury, she's a woman

GSFA Statement on the Appointment of the Rt Revd Dame Sarah Mullally, Bishop of London, as the Archbishop of Canterbury

GAFCON: Communique: Canterbury Appointment Abandons Anglicans

I’ll have that boy

No face in this race

From the moment I saw the byline in an email message, I had a feeling something was not quite right with the proposal. In fact, everything seemed wrong about it, but at the very least, I needed to humour them by sincerely reading the story before commenting.

The teen founder turning male fertility into a sport

The Hustle - Jay Fuchs

At the questionable border of sports entertainment and male fertility is Sperm Racing, a startup that recently closed a $10m seed round.

As the propinquity of perspicacity and perspective grants permission, the author of the piece in The Hustle, which is the sales blog of Hubspot, not to be confused with Hustler Magazine, could not have had a more unfortunate name, if pronounced in a certain way, in his role as the managing editor, Jay Fuchs.

Moving on, Eric Zhu is the 18-year-old entrepreneur and founder of Sperm Racing, an outfit set up to address the issue of seemingly declining male fertility in a rather novel way, while promoting a dialogue on the matter too, and everything you think it is, is probably all it is and more, from the name of the company.

The straight-faced debate

To determine the best swimmers on a microscopic racetrack with high-resolution cameras capturing the event, think of the desert camel races of the UAE with robot jockeys, but the sperm will run under their own steam.

Apparently, the viewership of these race events is in the high six-figure range, and the venture has closed a $10m seed round.

This almost Onanist leap from mobility to motility suggests many questions difficult to articulate, but I can see an end in sight, with a visit to a sperm bank or considering a competition between these depositories of human propagation for an open race to all comers.

Equipment set up for the race to save manhood and humanity, Guinness World Records adjudicators ensuring no underhand tactics, spectators jockeying for position, urging their colours forward, until one breasts the tape and she says, “I’ll have that boy.”

One artificial insemination later, if the winner has not been stripped of all dignity to learn of their secret of triumph, a stud farm, humans, horses, bulls, and chickens, and the business of reproduction becomes the survival of the fittest sperm, with happy endings following even more happy endings.

In the ideas market, let’s just agree, more is to come.

See Also

ABC 7 News: Bay Area student organises 1st-of-its-kind sperm race to raise men's health awareness

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.

All that jazz around Cape Town

Reminiscing and Remembering

I returned from a short holiday in Cape Town just over five weeks ago, where Brian and I had a wonderful seaside apartment in Bloubergstrand with amazing views of Table Mountain and Robben Island.

The last time we were in this area was probably about six years ago, when we boarded a tour bus to visit wine estates in Paarl and Franschhoek. Bloubergstrand presents one of the best views of Table Mountain; you see the table as it is, which is why an area of Bloubergstrand is called Table View.

On one of the beautiful long walks on the beach, I did get sunburnt on my lips, the front edges of my hands on the side of my thumbs and forefingers, and the tips of my big toes. I could not believe that at barely 19° Celsius, as winter was coming to an end, I could be that susceptible, but there I was.

All That Jazz

Cape Town city centre is about 15 kilometres from Bloubergstrand. We could have ventured onto the MyCiTi buses but stuck with Uber rides. For church, we found a multicultural, international Pentecostal church that was both welcoming and exciting. The coffee makers exhibited skills on a par with, or even better than, Starbucks quality.

One of the many highlights of our time together was discovering that Chicago, the musical, was playing at ArtScape. We booked tickets and attended, where we were feted for our dressing and some patrons asked to take pictures either of us or with us.

During the performance, a gay couple behind us were the better part of a nuisance, singing along to the songs to the point of irritation. We did not complain, but at the end, they both came to say hello, apologised for being noisy, and then gave us their programmes on noticing we had not bought one. You never know what comes from keeping your cool.