NEVER ENDING SIGHT

Should I be scared or...?

chiomasophia — Sat, 20 Jun 2015 03:56:00 GMT

I can't breath!

The air feels trapped around me.It is breathtaking,the lake is.

I feel like I am magically taken aback to 48 years ago when Ojukwu the Great War hero of the Igbo land was still active,building the bunker for his army here in Oguta lake,trying to prepare against the" enemies" of a Biafra that would never live for a long time during the Nigeria civil war.

Somehow,it seems to me like I've being here.The landscape looks so familiar and my mind keeps bringing images of war front,I see soldiers everywhere,loud shouts fills my ear and the smell of gun powder so potent it fills my nostril.The new golf course is no longer here and the pine hotel fades into a dirt filled untamed shrubs.

Then it dawned on me that I'm no longer in the lake as it is and Johnny who brought me here has suddenly vanished from my view.

I'm caught between two periods I realize and I can't remember ever having a major case of déjà vu mixed with a high dose of hallucination without any alcohol in my system.I'm scared because the images won't go away and my heart is racing fast like I've taken several shots of adrenaline.Everything is happening on slow motion.

The only thing I want to do is to escape this place and I begin to wonder where Johnny is.

My back hair is rising like someone is staring at me and then I turn around to see a young soldier who has this noticeable wound below his left rib cage, about 5'6 in height,his jaw set and the muscles around his shoulders rigid.Amidst the noise and loud chattering his gaze is fixed on me without wavering.My heart did a double skip when He looked deadly familiar.So familiar that he looked like me!

"Chioma!"that's Johnny's voice.

Whoa! I did sleep off in the bunker (which I can't remember entering)and I wonder what just happened to me.My hand automatically goes down to the spot below my left rib cage where I have a scar that my parent can't explain.

This isn't the first time of me going to the lake but with this occurrence I have the ancient understanding of facts that will never be described with words.

As tears flows down my eye this moment.I try to blot out what I just experienced but the memory of the unwavering stare of the soldier wouldn't go away.

Alone and with me - all in my heart

chiomasophia — Sat, 13 Jun 2015 20:49:00 GMT

Sitting in the bus and looking out of the window,the feeling of nostalgia hit me as I focus on my surrounding.l realized somethings as the bus moved on with a constant speed.It dawned on me that I am all grown up now and I can make journeys and decisions without my parent interference.

I was taken aback to the journey I made with my mummy one certain time when I was young and without any care for the world.Sitting in front of us was a national youth corper who I do realize now was probably posted to a state she had never been before.She stares outside the window looking uncertain and I felt her loneliness.I wondered why she would decide to travel alone when she must have had family and friends who would make the journey with her to cheer her up.I looked up into the dozing face of my mum and I said to myself within my tender heart that I would never make journeys on my own.I would never leave without my loved ones.

Not too sure of the exact years that passed after I had that conviction in my heart but here I am sitting in the bus,looking out of the window,not because I don't have someone sitting beside me but because my seatmate is a young lady whom I have never met before and she's lost in her own thought and I am making this journey alone.

My loved ones will not always make the most important travels with me but they will always be in my heart and they will always know about it and be able to relieve my experience again and again...So I pick up my pen and write about it all.

MOJO FROM" OLORUN'S" BLIND EYE

chiomasophia — Tue, 26 May 2015 03:46:37 GMT

It was meant to be a fun ride between two friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. Our lust for adventure leading us on, the weekend was ours.
We rolled the windows of his old Peugeot car down to the fullest and raised our hands in the air as we’ve seen foreign youths in many movies do which was tantamount to freedom as we approached Ile- Ife, Osun state, we felt grand.
The town has this beauty that can only be appreciated on a still life painting but it gave an odd but pleasant sense of belonging. One can see most preserved culture in the outfit worn by street traders made from local tie and die in diverse styles, the mud houses with thatched roofs and the occasional smell of definitely delicious food that wafted the air from roadside canteens.
Still admiring the town, I heard loud shouts that jerked me back to reality. The driver wasn’t aware of the little girl that was crossing the street, the screams from bystanders; it was a little too late. She was crushed. Right there before my very eyes, I was shaken as I sat in his car.
In that instant traffic caused by the accident, I got down from the vehicle, feeling suffocated and having an urge to escape my surrounding, just then, I saw it, the”IFE MUSEUM” boldly written. I had no reason to go in but my legs wouldn’t stop working towards the brick building like I was in a trance.
I went straight to one of the bronze heads, to that of “Olorun”, the god of peace, purity, humanity and justice. My Christianity was neglected at that point and I needed to feel the proximity of a supernatural being even if it was a deity in a museum.
I looked straight into the eye that was obviously blind, in my state of limbo and having the urge to scream, to know why such innocent life should be taken away. I wasn’t allowed to touch the oiled head, yet, I couldn’t stop staring into those blind eyes. Then I felt it.
I felt peace, I felt a sensation inside my heart like a sort of rebirth and I never could tell if it all happened in my head but I knew that my life was changed forever.
Looking back at the occurrence that fateful day, I knew that the museum was my temple, my lifeline and in times of fear, think it weird but the memory of me staring into the eye of “Olorun” in all its bronze glory soothes me.
If I ever go to the museum again, it would be as a tourist seeking for new discoveries on rich history and traditions. Who knows, it might also be to renew the mojo I found that fateful day staring at “Olorun’s” blind eyes.