Numb

The pain echoes through me, and leaves me cowering from the force. Squirming I can’t pinpoint the source… It lifts me to the skies, ridding me of what solid ground I have; fast, far, forcefully. With the same energy, it thrusts me into the deepest sea, pulling me under. I’m drowning.

Each time I approach the surface I see your face. I reach out to you, but you turn away—can’t you feel me? I’m here and I need you. Your shoulders shake from mirth while I battle with the waves of pain drowning me. I can’t scream from fear of filling my lungs with death. It doesn’t matter now, I am pulled under. Fast, far, forcefully, and with what’s left in me I fight to find my way out. The pain, it wins.

I turn and welcome it and it destroys me. I am shattered into a billion little pieces. Parts of me swimming away, schools of flesh; as I watch myself bleed. I bleed. And bleed. And die. Die, yes, but at least, I’m numb.

It has come. It never left.

The void comes, suddenly, sometimes; builds slowly yet unnoticed other times. Either way, it snuffs out the wee flame of my hope candle. Sets my work back a few days. Breaks bridges I built to cross into other parts of my Self. Burns connections within.
The void is never happy when I’m happy and it gets energy from when I’m low. It takes advantage of the fact that my comfort levels were once grounded within it; always pulling me back with the seductive aroma of my pain past. Begging me to dwell.
It wears disguises, borrow lines from my joy and contentment. Lures me into itself, in the shape of me. And I get lost, in myself, in one of my selves; a never ending maze.
I’m looking up, out of my eyes, but I dont see. I reach out but all I touch are my vices.
Oh well. A little drinking a little smoking never hurt. Perhaps, it’s the fuel I need to kill the void and find my happy again…no matter how little.
Today it came slowly, not unnoticed yet rendered me powerless to fight it.
Guess who’s drinking now?

INKTOBER DAY 31: Future

Write your heart out, soothe your soul;
The siren call will never get old.
You heard the cry, prepared your heart,
And with courage, down the path
Of prompts you went, knowing that on the last day you shall rest.
Bare, maybe broken, but definitely better.
Healing starts—don’t fight it rather let it be.
Stay ready, for the siren will come calling again,
And your soul will yearn to answer; will yearn to be heard.
Will you then, take up your pen and fight?
For you, your selves, for your soul, for your tomorrow?
Stay ready warrior, the wait has just begun!

INKTOBER DAY 29: Injured

Tega ran. Fast!

The man was running after her and she knew she needed to hide to be safe. The road was dark and there was no car in sight, this was not how Tega wanted this life to end. Yes, she had done so many cruel things in this life but not like this please, God. Somehow Tega had time to laugh, God, really? Funny how you only say that name when you are in trouble; you honestly think they give a fuck about you now? Focus woman! Tega kept running as fast as her feet could take her, the scars on her face were itching but there was no time to stop and scratch. The only way in her sight was to dart left into the bushes and try to hide. Her attacker entered after she did from wherever he was, Tega could hear his movement. The darkness was her only cover as she decided to stop moving, she could hear him thrashing around trying to find her. He seemed to be getting closer to her so she got on her hands and knees and crawled away from his sounds slowly, using her hands to make sure nothing would give her away. When he stopped moving, she stopped moving; he was trying to find her location from her sounds just like she was doing to him. Tega prayed with all her might, called on God even though the voice in her head said it was futile; begged for a miracle. She was bleeding out from the gash on her leg from when the mad man had grabbed her and stabbed her with a blunt knife. She remembered how the pain shot up to her brain and how all she saw was white; the pain moved to second place when he crawled out and got on top of her. He didn’t know that she too, walked around armed and dangerous as she used her knife to stab him back. She recalled taking the life of her neighbour’s daughter for following her suspiciously. Right there in the street while people watched but knowing no one would dare question her; the scars on her face made her a legend of sorts and everyone stayed clear of her. She touched the scars now, images of how she got them flashing behind her lids; it was a fight she was not ready for apparently but it had to happen and her opponent clawed at her with faux metal claws that dug deep into her flesh. Her scream echoed in her head and the pain from her leg caused the one in her mind to feel real, resulting in a very audible yelp. When she realised what she had done, Tega waited to hear if he had heard her too. His sudden movements made her understand that he was closer than she thought, probably on his hands and knees as well. Refusing to die at the hands of an unknown man who probably wanted to violate her, she got up and with what was left of her strength, ran in the direction of the road. The fight, the ridicule, stabbing of the girl in red shoes, the nights she spent crying over that life, having to run away, and this night with this psycho. Lost in her thoughts, she ran blindly into the road, the impact of the car bringing her back forcefully back down to earth. She saw herself travel in the air and land on the floor; when her head made contact with the asphalt she knew that it was time. So much for not wanting to die tonight, was her last thought.

Ovo woke up with a start, rubbing her face, feeling her legs and her head—the pain was so much behind her eyes. She started to cry out loud attracting her mother’s attention. The Queen rushed into her child’s chambers, arms open and ready to console her baby. “Bad dreams again my princess?” Ovo nodded into her mother’s bosom. “Sorry my baby, it’s just a bad dream.”

INKTOBER DAY 28: Ride

Whenever he got into his car he could feel the thing take over him; like his car was a portal for the darkness that lived in him but only came alive…when he entered this car. It never bothered him; he was untraceable, had never been and will never be caught. He pulled out of his compound and got on the expressway in less than two minutes. The roads were clear, as expected for a typical evening in Abuja; here, traffic was still a minor inconvenience. With Abuja came clear roads, good power supply—if you lived in the right places, fresh air, and proximity to the powerhouse of the nation. Abuja also had an underbelly that reeked of bodies rotting from within—an odour both repulsive and intoxicating that only the truly depraved of society would enjoy. He took a deep breath and exhaled as he wound his tinted windows up. He was just the right amount of depraved and tonight was a good night for a hunt.

He drove for a long time without stopping, easing past traffic lights, fuel stations, and brightly lit streets. He uttered no words when someone drove poorly or public transport vehicles parked haphazardly, he simply drove on. No point expending energy on activities other than that which brought me out of the house. He focused on the road, only humming intermittently to the classical tunes that poured out of his speakers. The street lights and street signs became uncountable until they blurred into each other, he wasn’t sure what part of town he had ventured to neither was he in a hurry to find out. He took another bend off yet another major road where he came upon a caution sign, a parked vehicle and half a body sticking out of the bonnet. He drove up beside the car but didn’t let his window down until the person had come out from under the hood. He was a young boy maybe early 20s, his eyes were too bright to be anything older than 22—there was too much zest in them. Samuel let his window down at last, “Car troubles young man?” the young one chuckled, “Yeah, my battery has a way of packing up at the wrongest times mehn. I am far from home and in so much trouble!” Samuel wasn’t listening anymore because the darkness had pushed him to the backseat and taken over. “Oh, you are far from home? Do you need help? I can take you to where you can get help…tried calling a taxi or something?” “AH!” the young man laughed now, “Taxi to where Sir? I cannot leave this car here oh! My friends are coming to help me figure it out. Thank you but I’ll be fine. I appreciate the brief company though; I was beginning to get a little spooked being here alone.” With that, the young man answered his phone, “Yes I am STILL here…no there is a man talking to me, he wanted to help…no…where are you guys now? It’s a Jeep, why?” With that, Samuel drove away—too risky. He continued his drive.

The next street he came out of landed him on Aminu Kano Way, Wuse II—immediately he knew where he should drive to. He drove straight until he got to the Diamond lounge known for its sex worker to customer ratio to be 5:1—no one would be looking for anybody there. He parked, paid some boys to watch his car and went in. he bought a drink long enough to last him scouting around the club for someone suitable. Then he saw the young woman step out of the bathroom alone, black hair, black dress, black heels with barely any makeup on. She perched by the bar watching the room like he was, sans a drink. After waiting for a few minutes, he pulled out his dark corner, went to her, and under the guise of buying her a drink began to talk to her. He knew that he shouldn’t be seen with her for long so he had her go wait outside for him by the ATM a few buildings ahead—lying that he parked there. She didn’t question his motives, summing up his need for discretion by the presence of a wedding band on his left hand; just simply did as she was told. When he drove up to meet her, she was alone and no cars were passing on either side—he was sure no one saw her get into his car. As he settled his fears, the thing came out and spread all over the car choking him until all that was left was the darkness. She was asking questions, “Where are we headed?” “Are we going to a hotel or your house?” “What kind of music is this?” “Can you hear me?” “Please what is your problem?” When she tried to open the door he uttered a single word, “Don’t.” It was so final and so calm that the young woman knew she was resigned to whatever awaited her at the end of this trip. “We are just driving around for some time as I said in the club, I just want your company and some time to think while driving” and it seemed to work because it shut her up.

He got to his house around 2 a.m., crawled into bed at 3 a.m. after successfully scrubbing himself and his car clean. I’ll get rid of her tomorrow was his last thought before he was blissfully carted away by sleep.

INKTOBER DAY 22: Local Joke

Everyone who lived on this street knew Nnaememka and Orhomare—they were inseparable as little boys in life, and apparently in death. Orhomare attended the school that shared a fence with the hospital, with their purple shorts, white checkered shirt and brown sandals paired with white socks. Fejiro stopped attending school early because he turned out to be more ‘intelligent’ than the other children; speaking, reciting the alphabet and numbers earlier than any child had ever done before. Many parents and guardians were unhappy with the administration for allowing Emeka to remain in the same class with their children, making them look bad and slow to learn. His mother was already regarded as eccentric and different—parents feared that his ability had some connections to her ‘specialty’. They rallied to have Emeka removed from the school; the school administration caved and asked his mother to withdraw him. Emeka didn’t seem to mind because he still had a few friends he played with after school, especially Orhomare. Orhomare was a relatively quiet child until he didn’t get his way, known for his screams and tantrums that could end in a fever if not satiated quickly. He was also highly favoured by everyone but no one understood why; everywhere he went—market, school, church—vendors gave him fruits and sweets for free, even the Oracle recognized him whenever he came walking through town or for a visit to their leaders.

Emeka and Orhomare lived a few houses from each other, their friendship forcing their families to create a cordial bond. Orhomare’s mother was not comfortable with Emeka’s mother or Emeka either; his friendship with her son was a thorn in her ample flesh. She couldn’t stop the boys from playing together without looking unduly suspicious so to help protect her son, she dug up old rumours. She called Emeka’s mother a witch, seductress, and trickster, citing her frequent trips to the bush as something only a witch would do. “That woman goes there ANY hour of the day, I’m sure she even goes at NIGHT, hmmm. Was it not in the same forest she was found on the floor and later claimed mysterious pregnancy that brought Emeka? The same Emeka wey come dey talk before normal pikin suppose talk? Let us sha be careful with them oh!!! I’ve said my own.” If she got attention anywhere, she would gleefully spin her tales, filling listening ears with all sorts of stories and theories. When one fellow mother pointed out how often her son played with Emeka, she said she didn’t want to look like a wicked mother; “What a parent sees, a child doesn’t. How do I just stop them like that? I have no one to support me.” Her new friends agreed to rally around her if she was ever ready to cut the boys’ friendship.

And just like that, tales of Emeka and his mother spread like wildfire beyond their street, to neighbouring streets and even as far as the next town. It did not stop the boys from being friends however; Emeka would come to Orhomare’s house but get chased off the front step. Orhomare in turn would sneak out of the house to play but this didn’t last long as his mother’s friends started to separate them too. He would cry and scream as he was hauled or chased back home, his tantrums getting worse each time he missed a play date with Emeka. Emeka’s mother noticed that she had become a pariah in the town and with each day, she lost what few friends she had. During her pregnancy, her husband paid her no mind because she was yet to explain where the pregnancy came from; he could not bring himself to ask her again. The first and last time he tried, he had such terrifying dreams, he was scared to silence. He was sure it was the things she convened with in the forest that tormented his sleep. His actions fuelled the rumours, more questionable looks and treatment she got; with the birth of her son, she was deemed somewhat acceptable again. That was until Emeka started talking though… Barely a year old and talking…? Orhomare’s mother’s rumours were justified! It gave people the ammunition to further taunt the woman and force her into a life of seclusion. Emeka would ask his mother why he couldn’t play with anyone anymore and her response was “You are special my boy, so you can only play with me…for now. When you grow older, we will move to another place and you will have all the friends you want.”

Emeka’s mother’s former friends came to her door on a beautiful Thursday afternoon; smiles on their faces, arms filled with gifts. They came to greet her and offer support—they knew she was alone raising Emeka. They begged her to forgive them for abandoning her and letting rumours separate them and their friendship. They bought numerous toys, clothes and sweets for Emeka; foodstuffs, cooking utensils, some clothes and curtains for his mother. She was so happy to have people cast shadows on her front door once again, she gladly let them in. She ignored the voices summoning her to the forest that afternoon, forcing them to silence. She did not want to dash out of the house for hours with her eyes glazed over; she didn’t want to leave her son alone with them. NOT NOW! She shut the voices out and entertained her guests—inviting them to even spend the night to catch up on past times. They declined the offer, leaving her house as late as they could to ease Emeka’s mother.

That was the last day she knew joy because upon their departure, she found her son dead in his room. In his hand he held one of the sweets gifted him by these women. When she ran out to find them, they were nowhere to be seen. She ran into the street, her son in her hands screaming and crying and screaming. Orhomare’s mother sat in her house, a smile on her face as she listened to the pain of the woman she hated. The next day, as Emeka’s mother made her way out of the town, Orhomare had a tantrum from which he never recovered. He died in her arms mid-scream.

Mel woke up!

INKTOBER DAY 14: Myth

As a little boy growing up in the community I was born into, I didn’t get to play much with my peers. Other children were not allowed to play with me, not to mention touching me. I was stigmatised for something that happened before I was born, or connected to my birth—my mother never told me. The person who birthed me didn’t help make matters any easier, either. I loved her, I still do but sometimes I wonder…if it were some other regular woman, what would my life have been like? Would I have been classmates with Onome and Ruky? Would Mr. Ogaga have taught me agricultural science too? Which school would I have attended? I can only wonder now; that’s all I do: Wonder!
Legend has it that my parents had been struggling to conceive; when my mother fell pregnant mysteriously after a particularly long trip “to the farm to harvest waterleaf”, her husband became a stranger. No one knows why he hung around through the pregnancy, but he did. Alas, he said he would not be part of raising an abomination. All our neighbours finally had justification they needed for the strange circumstances surrounding my conception.

Looking at this one clutching the waterleaf in his mother’s forest, he knew this one will be okay. At least the body will live to a ripe age before it has to do it all again… Unlike me. No. It’s me that was good for a short life abi? 10 years old and I was done in this world, killed by the ones my mother held dear. She never went back after that, she went back to the gods that gave her her child and answered their call to service. She left all reminders of our life behind but always, always, carried me in her heart. A great woman, a loyal and dedicated priestess who could communicate with all the dead—EXCEPT ME!

Mel was already halfway there and he would finally be able to talk to his mother.
“Mama!”

INKTOBER DAY 9: Swing

Once upon a time on a chilly evening, Tega walked home briskly, shielding her face from the slight drizzle determined to attack. When she pulled her snood off the rack this morning, it was to shield her face from the inevitable unwanted attention; now it served as a flimsy barrier from the water droplets pelting her face. I don’t need this shit right now honestly, couldn’t wait till I was safely tucked in bed eh? She pulled the snood a little lower and focused on the ground ahead. It got dark quickly and she had another ten to twelve minutes of walking before her fence and gate would welcome her back to her haven. Tega was so focused on beating the rain and not falling down in the process, she failed to notice that she was being followed. The sound of a bottle rolling away caused her to glance back oh so subtly, spotting her follower in a t-shirt and bright red sneakers. Where have I seen those shoes before? she wondered as she tried to act like nothing happened. Her knife was always, always in her hand when she walked late some nights—one can never be too security conscious in this scam of a neighborhood—and this was one of such nights cleary. Suddenly, she wanted to try her knife out, test how firm her grip was and how quick she moved. She wanted a reason to put all her self-defense classes to test but the logical side of her brain reminded her that she did not know the capability of her follower; why find out if it can be avoided completely? Still, the other side was playing out multiple scenarios in her head. She got to the T-junction where she would make a left turn and round up her walk home, red sneakers made a left turn too, following still. Tega increased her pace when she felt the confirmation in her gut that she was being followed. Panic was threatening to take over but she was determined to keep a clear mind and ensure all moves made favoured her; Now is not the time to wuss out woman, FOCUS! Wait oh! Is this person following me home? A new wave of fear washed over her so quickly she was dazed for a few seconds…ahhh, that is not good oh! With a quick prayer offered up to the god of her parents, she pulled out the knife and prayed the person would walk faster. She could barely make out the sneakers now for darkness sake but the little light from windows and fences helped give her an idea of the distance between them…it wasn’t much. A quick dash and the person would have their arm around her neck; she took matters into her hands and tossing her bag to once side, put all her classes to use. She kicked out a leg to meet red sneakers shins, bringing the person down in no time. Tega didn’t stop there, no; she started screaming while the knife darted up and down, back and forth, non-stop. When she felt the liquid on her fingers, her brain did not tell her to stop—she slashed, stabbed, and slashed some more. Her screams rising into the skies.
When she had the sense to stop her attacks, that was when she realized she was soaked in places with blood. A few of her neighbours and not-so-neighbour neighbours had either come out or poked their heads out of windows watching her. She had been screaming the whole time, hers mixed with those of her follower, attracting the attention of those around. No one stopped her, no one wanted a taste of the knife or her anger, no one was in a hurry to stop her. Everyone saw her attack the now dead person who lay beneath her.
Tega dropped the knife as she looked around, seeing the bodies and heads and a few eyes that watched her. She got up slowly until she was on her feet, she bent to retrieve her knife which caused her snood to fall. Those closest to her quickly darted their eyes and scurried off, urging their fellow bystanders to do the same. “No look am, no look am! Na that girl for that house. Go your way.”
Tega sighed. She looked down at the body laying on the sidewalk, lifeless thanks to her. “Don’t follow people, fool! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE BROUGHT ON YOURSELF!!!” She screamed, causing the remaining onlookers to dissipate quickly. Then she looked at the red sneakers, the denim, the t-shirt and she went numb. There was a reason those shoes looked oddly familiar.
Then she started to scream in earnest but this time, no one came out to help.

INKTOBER DAY 7: Enchanted

“Mama! Mama! MAMA HELP ME…please”.
I could feel myself going under the line Mama calls consciousness; crossing to the side where she said my parents and ancestors go when their flesh bodies are shed. I am not ready to part with this side yet.

I was picking waterleaf in Mama’s forest for the vegetable soup she promised to prepare if I learned the spell of the day. Yesterday came with a particularly hard spell, The Summoning Spell. It’s used to summon souls—like its name clearly states—but truly mastering it means that you can summon specific souls, especially those who had moved on to their final rest. So many souls still linger, wandering from place to place trying to get the missing piece they need to pass on fully. Why else did these ignorant people build a fence for Mama? To keep these souls in but…a fence can only hinder they that still bear earth bodies. The words to the spell were very difficult for me and honestly? I only memorized them to please Mama; what is my business with dead people and their souls? So I dedicated three hours to learning the spell yesterday until I got it. Mama made me do the whole senrenre when it was time to show off; I wore my temple garb, stood in the ring of seven red candles, a white bowl with water at my feet and her precious desert rose crystal in between my palms. I was unsure as to why I had to do all this considering I was still learning; “E better make you sabi everything one time, abi no be so? If you dey go lab for school, you no go wear uniform? Oya!” was her response when I asked, which made no sense? But “Okay Mama” was all I said.
I calmed my breathing, focused on the crystal in my palms and just let the words come from my heart. I didn’t know I was casting the spell until Mama put her hand on my shoulder. Her eyes had a strange gleam in them but she’s a witch, only her gods knew what was exciting her. “Did I do it well? I don’t even recall saying anything. Ugh Mama let me try ag—” she didn’t let me finish. “My pikin! E don do, you get am. Come, off all the candles and clear the things. Tomorrow you go into the forest and pick me waterleaf for your soup”. She kissed my forehead and that familiar warmth spread through my body—I don’t know if I’ll ever be used to it. I cleared everything like she asked, we had dinner and went to bed as usual. I didn’t have any strange dreams like I’ve had every night since I started staying with Mama; I was thankful for a night’s respite from mind terrors. This morning was equally uneventful so how am I now, trapped in the waterleaf bed, losing consciousness?
“Mama! Mama please help me…”

I felt her in my heart, my mind, holding my soul close to hers. Why isn’t she helping me?
“Mama? Why?” “Your journey still far my pikin, nothing go do you. Go come, I dey wait.”
I felt the ground under me and then, I opened my eyes…to find myself with my mother and father. Pardon?

Day 14.

Mental Health and the African set up. 

I find it convenient that on the day I’m writing about mental health, I’m in one of my lows. I will do my best to talk about it extensively. I’d love to say Africa, but considering the fact that I ain’t never left my shores and experienced mental health challenges elsewhere, I’ll stick to Nigeria. Please, this does not seek to invalidate similar experiences in other African countries: I simply can’t speak confidently for these other places. 

In Nigeria, mental health has been swept under the carpet of spiritual tribulations. You feeling anxious? You’re just scared. Pray. You can’t seem to find your happy juices? Pray. You don’t feel like getting out of bed even when your life depended on it? Ah. This one is the devil’s top tier soldiers at work, fasting and deliverance is required. Yes, I’ve had my head pushed and pushed, to get me to fall under the anointing and banish the evil spirit corrupting my head. I’ve fasted and prayed, drank anointing oil and holy water, bathed with them too. Meanwhile, the only demons present are the voices in my head that I can’t seem to silence to save my life ao. 

I reckon it’s a function of the socialization our parents went through and the era they grew up in, generally. Was mental health not a thing then? Didn’t people commit suicide then? Didn’t people pass out randomly? Weren’t there behaviors that they just couldn’t und—oh wait. I forget. It was most likely a spiritual attack. Yeah. Our parents kinda got the thing wrong somewhere. 

I said I’ll be as articulate as possible but I really don’t have the desire to be eloquent and have my words tingle your vocabulary and what what. This, is a typical example of how apathy sets in when I’m having the lows. 

There are mental health institutions in Nigeria; government owned and private alike—but mental health things are still spiritual based. Aaaaaaaaand some government officials will tell you that depression is just a spirit, pray it away. (My country is one hell of a practical joke by the damn way). These mental institutions have patients that go there for treatment, unfortunately, it’s usually as a last (last-est-est-est) resort when they see that all their prayers, oil and holy water ain’t got shit to do with nothing. I have been to one of said private institutions and it’s amazing how much they put into rehabilitation of people with mental health challenges (supposed to be one of them but…). They have one on one therapy sessions, group therapy sessions, exercise equipment, in-patient facilities and so much more. It’s a suitable location, that doesn’t say what happens beyond the gate because *drum roll* NIGERIA and their understanding of mental health. Fuck around and put a sign board then come and find the place burned down or some shit. 

Once upon a time, mental health was simply spiritual manipulation; thankfully, that’s changing now. 

There’s an immense growth in awareness of how mental health challenges manifest, and how it can vary from person to person. There’s voices now reaching out to those who think they may be having these difficulties, giving them a safe space to unburden themselves. As an individual who suffers some mental health challenges, I can confidently tell you that the first step to helping someone like me, is listening. Please, I said LISTEN not HEAR; pretty sure we know the difference so I won’t go there—no time. The utilization of spiritual or religious tactics can be helpful though. How? What does belonging to a religious sect mean? It’s simply means believing in some higher power—to which we turn to for help, thanks and all those things we ask of our spiritual beings. It’s simply a belief system that serves as a source of hope and strength when it seems like there ain’t none nowhere, you know? Not saying that these beings are unreal or that my faith is invalid–nah, not saying that. However, the mere act of saying a little prayer, or meditating or working out can help clear the murkiness, and provide some kind of relief from the mind’s tinkering. 

I don’t know when it’ll be recognized and embraced fully in Nigeria, in Africa as a whole(?) or the remaining places playing catch up. Till then, we take it one step at a time. 

Which is what I’m doing to help me get through the rest of the day cuz I really wanna scream, cry and drink. Why? My day simply didn’t start out right so my productivity and happy juices didn’t pump to the right places in sufficient quantities.