The Sunday Evening That Changed My Life…

My life will never be the same again. This evening, I was privileged to watch the Watoto Children Choir minister and it has changed my outlook on life entirely. These are children between the ages of 0-17 who have been orphanedUnity way too early courtesy of  war, HIV/AIDS and poverty.
A good number of them were child soldiers who were trained to kill but have all been rescued and saved thanks to the loving, restorative power of Jesus, and the valiant efforts of the Watoto family in Uganda. Before this evening, I was not aware that over 14 million children in Africa were orphans! Little children with no one to care for and love them. It’s a heart breaking fact and it has greatly weighed me down.

The amazing thing about these kids is the sheer joy visible in them. While they sang and danced and worshiped, you could see that they genuinely believed in the Father’s love for them, and it showed in their stances. They are no longer broken and I firmly believe that they are the generation that Africa has been waiting for. These children have made me realize how ungrateful I have been to God for the life that I have. All the things I take for granted, a roof over my head, a warm bed and blanket, a family that loves me and even shoes for my feet. A lot of these kids go without all these and more everyday.

All through the service, a lot of us broke down and cried, because our minds couldn’t begin to comprehend the suffering these children, and other children all over the world have had to endure. Their stories were so heartbreaking and all I could do was weep.

Crying isn’t enough though and that’s why we have to help. You can find out how here:

14 million is an overwhelming number, but you can start with one child, I plan to!

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When I was A Little Girl…

When I was a little girl, I thought I had a lot of problems. There were so many things I wanted to do and my mum just didn’t let me. She wouldn’t let me wear certain hairstyles and clothes, wouldn’t let me paint my nails or wear any makeup. I was so mad at her and I did not understand why she did not want me to look “cool”. Every time I brought it up, she would always tell me, :”Amara, there is time for everything. You will one day get tired of all these things you so desperately want.”  I’d roll my eyes at her and sulk away, telling myself that she knew not what she was saying.

Fast forward many years later, I have found that every thing my mum said was the truth. All the “grown up” things I so wanted to wear, and see and do have become so trivial, its hard to believe I once begged for the freedom to do them. The clothes and the shoes and the hairdos and the makeup have become the least of my worries these days. There are responsibilities in their stead now. There are bills to pay, grades to keep up, and a thousand of other things that I took for granted while I was a teenager.

I appreciate my mum and all the other grown ups in my life now more than ever, because for the life of me I cannot imagine how they juggle it all and stay sane.

My mother… she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.
Jodi Picoult

The “Oyinbo” Man and His Egusi Soup…

My people, what can I say? I know I have been away for a long time and I am sorry. I shall explain myself soon and allow you all to decide what do with me, but until then I think you really want to know what went down with this egusi soup.

So on this day, I was minding my business at work, willing time to move faster so I could get home and watch Empire, when a couple of people walked into the restaurant, a Nigerian and an American. I greeted them both and sat them at their respective tables. I handed the Nigerian a menu and as I was about to hand one to the American he smiled and said “no, I know what I want.” I was intrigued and I raised my pen prepared to write down an order of maybe curried chicken with some sautéed collard greens and all those things they like to eat, but to my utmost surprise, the man said he would like pounded yam, egusi soup and goat meat. I did not do a good job of hiding my expression of shock because he noticed and explained to me that he liked okra and ogbono as well, but he was in the mood for some spicy  egusi. Now, it is important to note that this guy, even with his accent pronounced egusi and ogbono to the best of his ability. I turned his order in and proceeded to the Nigerian.

When I got to the Nigerian, she was on the phone so I took a couple of steps backwards to give her some privacy but I could hear her conversation. “nnaa forget that man, oche na mu na ya bu ogbo?” were some of the key phrases I could catch. Eventually she finished with her call and I walked back over. She kept flipping the menu and asking me what was good on the it. It became a struggle for me not to laugh because her accent was a like a big bowl of soup. It had some Igbo in there, smithereens of old Britain and an American accent as well. She got to the list of soups and almost bit her tongue trying to not to pronounce the soups properly. Her: ogbo, ogb…, me: oh!, you mean ogbono soup? Yes we have it. I helped her stumble through the soups until she finally decided on jollof rice. It was with sheer self control that I made it to the kitchen before bursting out in to laughter. Why do Nigerians in the diaspora like to form? Anyway the egusi was ready and it was with joy that I watched this Oyinbo man wash his hands, and consume his food without leaving a scrap behind.

He commended the chef on the lovely meal, tipped generously and told me that he would be back. My Nigerian sister on the other hand, eventually gave up the struggle to use her fork and knife to eat her rice, and switched back to the spoon with which she was raised. She barely finished her meal, didn’t tip and sauntered away in her six inches.

What struck me and keeps striking me since I have been here is this. some of the Nigerians I meet,work so hard to leave their culture behind, to shed anything that associates them with home and act as though they have been Americans all their lives. I have even met a couple of them that have sworn never to return to the mother land again, even in death. Meanwhile some of these Americans are sincerely intrigued by our culture and want to know about us. When they come to eat, it’s almost lecture time because they want to know what tribe certain foods originated from, how we plant etc.

Nigeria will always be my home, its the root from where I sprouted, I don’t know why some of us are so eager to forget. Then again to each man his own.

“You need a village, if only for the pleasure of leaving it. A village means that you are not alone, knowing that in the people, the trees, the earth, there is something that belongs to you, waiting for you when you are not there.” –Casare Pavese