Check That Bulb Girl! (As posted on Femmelounge)

Hi People, 

Please click the link below to read my piece on Femmelounge today. It's all about Inspiration!

  Check That Bulb Girl!

She Found Something Better...

Hi! Phew! I haven't blogged in a while. *covering my eyes* It's been everything, plus a little more. I have so much discovering to do and my mind is hyperactive these days. But you wouldn't know it by looking at me. It's all on the inside. Hoping to share some of my experiences soon. I'm learning a lot! at the center of it all is who I am and what I'm about.
Thank you to everyone who has peppered me with questions about why I haven't been here in a while. Hugs and kisses...

+ I was at FemmeLounge last week. Please click here to read my post and leave a comment. Thanks.

Okay, on to today's post.

Cheers!


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gppopc.org

She had started going to the river after her epiphany and not even the promise of a full day’s sales could keep her away. She loved the freedom of being amongst these women. Yes, she had mingled with the high and mighty; the Ephesian women who traveled past Philippi on their way to inner city Macedonia; the wives of Roman officials who were her loyal customers with an attachment to rich fine fabric. She had made a name amongst them by being a trusted supplier of these finery; but their company only drained her of life and vigour.  She didn’t know why but after every busy week of moving from one Roman and Ephesian home to another, selling her wares or dealing with buyers in her chambers, she had to take a full day off. She always felt physically drained. But here, with these women who had a peace she couldn’t explain, whose limited resources never kept them from having a smile and a good word for everyone, she had found a home.

It was with these women that she heard of the God of the heaven and the earth for the first time. Such a concept was shocking. Why, a one true God? What with all the gods and idols that people worshipped in these parts? But slowly she had come to understand and believe in this God. And here, on those rocks and beside the gurgling river she had found a way to connect with Him, this God that could not be seen.

Today was no different; she had come with her servant girls to the river. They all needed to take a break. There was talking and camaraderie. Some women were laundering, while others sat around with their babies. But the small group of women she had befriended was also there. They had heard of the visit of Paul and Silas, men who went through the cities preaching and teaching about Jesus of Nazareth who was raised from the dead; hard words to receive but she had decided to keep an open mind. These men were respected and revered. Hadn’t they been responsible for Elymas, the popular sorcerer, going blind? and now there we coming to Philippi. She would relax at the river for a while then head to wherever they would be teaching.

She was still thinking about it when women started talking all at once, getting up and looking towards the city gate. Curious she got up to look and there they were! Paul and Silas, headed toward the river! They found the company of women and decided to spend some time. Everyone gathered round to hear them speak.

Her heart felt lighter with each word that Paul spoke. They sounded familiar, like she had heard them before. But she had never heard anyone speak of Jesus of Nazareth in such glowing yet sincere terms. The words didn’t seek to force or deceitfully convince or even threaten, they were real. She could feel the passion with which he spoke. He spoke of living for Jesus, doing His will. Casting all aside to know and understand his truth; and at that very moment she knew what she must do. She thought of her chambers, large and lush, the money and all she possessed. Of what use were they really? So many years of no peace, no joy, just the constant draining she felt every time she threw herself into work.

Today she would be baptized, she and all her servants. Much more than that she will open up her home, provide shelter and succour to others, and wait, what better way to start than with these men who had brought such good news and hope? Yes, she would walk up to them after the baptisms and she knew just what she would say. She mulled the words over and over in her mind, certain she would not be turned down. “My name is Lydia. I live in this town. Please come over to my house to refresh yourselves and rest. If you consider me a sister in the Lord, I will be much obliged to cater to you.”

She smiled at her thoughts. Yes, she would provide a place to rest, food and some victuals for their journey.

Satisfied with her plan, she got in line with those waiting to be baptized, then bowed her head and prayed, thanking Jesus of Nazareth for opening her eyes to the truth; His truth.

Acts 16:12-15

* Lydia was described as a dealer in Purple Fabric, in other words she was well to do and influential. But she learnt to give her wealth to the service of the One she found to be worthy of all glory. This for me is a lesson in Humility and True service. 
Picture the Image above: The purple cloth draped on the cross...




Roy.

Win a free Copy of the Naijastories Anthology on Royspace!

Hi People,

So the Naijastories Anthology is still on sale, have you got a copy? If you haven’t here’s your chance.

I will be giving out three free copies of the anthology here. All you have to do is answer any of the questions below:

         Name twenty-five of the thirty authors who make up the anthology J

                                                  OR

       State the title of my story and write a short love story of your own below 150 words. Be sure to use Tobi and Chibuzo as the main characters just like in my story. J

Send your answers to leroy7.18@gmail.com

This little contest closes on Saturday the 14^th of April.

I’m excited about the Anthology really and I’m particularly grateful to God for Myne Whitman, a true trailblazer and wonderful boss! Thanks Myne, I appreciate the leader in you!

Thanks for being a part of my space people and I hope you win a free copy!

Cheers!

Roy

Naijastories Anthology: A review 2

The First Volume of the Naijastories Anthology, of tears and kisses, heroes and villains, launches today March 27th, 2012.
Here's another review by Tolu Oloruntoba, Publisher of Klorofyl Magazine.
Enjoy!

The NS Anthology: Of tears, kisses, heroes and villains, and might I add, empathy.

Why do we love Nigerian stories? Those tales of the improbable, the fantastic, the quotidian? These fountains of dramatic justice bubbling with every emotion known to man? Nigerians are born raconteurs, you see? We'll dip you into it, willing or not.

What makes a good story? We forget ourselves in the instant. We abandon decorum. Clapping and cheering for the dramatis personae. Shrieks of horror, or delight may escape us. We laugh, cry and sniffle, sometimes in spite of ourselves. We're at the edge of our seat, at times. We let out the occasional involuntary chuckle.
A good story is like the unrehearsed banter of a mischievous friend, the earnest storyteller. And like most Nigerian stories, has a moral- an agenda, if you will. And surprises aplenty. Most Nigerian stories abandon the fluff and reach directly for the good stuff: our heart strings. I suspect, too, that this is why Nollywood is so loved, world over. It interacts with the basic motivations of us story-loving humans.

This is not to suggest that the offerings in the anthology are basic.Far from it. The first volume of  Naija Stories contains stories, as the rider goes, "of tears, kisses, heroes and villains", is nuanced with the contradictions, unseen difficulties, and surprising turns in the road that we have found life in Nigeria replete with. The anthology of 30 stories will be launched on the 27th of March, 2012, although digital copies can be procured already.

It is true to life, examining issues, horrors and concerns of the day, and our national lives: Militancy in the Niger Delta, murder and armed robbery, corruption, sexual abuse, cultism, child marriage, (unsafe) abortion, prostitution, mortalities from AIDS, and sectarian violence. It also, however, speaks of bereavement; love, lust and adultery; family; peer pressure and rivalry; long distance relationships; over-salted food, and the kindness of strangers. It's not all gore. We still recognise our country.

The authors live in Lagos, Abuja, Ilorin, Kaduna, Port Harcourt, and Niger State, but also Canada, London, The US and the Netherlands. Theirs are voices of the new, cosmopolitan Nigerian youth.
We recognise, too, the dialogue, and settings. Very congruent with our authentic, emotive patterns of speech, and which manage, in several instances, not to look contrived. We recognise these voices. We are the ones speaking.

The anthology is a snapshot of that most elemental of artistic forms: the Nigerian story. Rising above the fray, however, are several pieces I will highlight, which I found striking and unforgettable for several reasons.
The anthology begins with A Glimpse In The Mirror. Yejide Kilanko's touching tale of a young coffin-maker moistened my eyes at some point (I could be a softy, I know J). Other striking stories were, Mother Of Darkness, by Rayo Abe, a supernatural tale of teenage 'experimentation' with the occult; Blame It On A Yellow Dress, by Uche Okonkwo, which approximates the innocence and violation of a little girl at home, from the viewpoint of the child; and Damilola Ashaolu's poetic cadences of illicit love in Nothing Good, which are nothing, if not good (you'll excuse the pun).

Others include Adiba Obubo's Visiting Admiral John Bull, which explores the armed insurgency in the Niger Delta, a lawyer's disillusionment with peaceful dialogue, and the fallout from hideous acts of the 1999 Odi Massacre. What Theophilus Did, by Gboyega Otolorin is an immersive story, with particularly enjoyable dialogue. In Illusions Of Hope, Ola Awonubi reads, true, the pulse of a populace gripped by uncertainty and insecurity, and the editor of the volume, Myne Whitman, writes of an essential kind of courage, in A Kind Of Bravery.
Two Straws In A Bottle, Remi-Roy Oyeyemi's mellow romantic tale, ends with quite a flourish; Wiping Halima's Tears is simple, yet poignant; and in Meena Adekoya's story of a vengeful Abiku in Catalyst, you'll likely find an interesting read.

My absolute best of these stories, however were Tola Odejayi's Co-operate!, of a midnight encounter with armed robbers that unfolds, and ends in unexpected fashion, for everyone; Lulufa Vongtau's short, pithy and cheeky Jesus Of Sports Hall, an adolescent story that still ends up being a grave indictment of our society at large; and Rachel's Hero by Henry Onyema, an action story complete with grenades, Uzis, masked men, and one desperado Bruce Willis type, is a hackle-raising tale of heroism, and maniacal terrorists besieging a school.

The volume ends with a heart-pounding thriller/horror story– by Raymond Elenwoke- The Devil's Barter, which leaves us like we were at the end of tales by moonlight, the Nigerian Stories we grew up on- excited, and wondering, probably, when the next will come.

The longest of these stories come in at about 13 pages, while the shortest average about 2 to 3. The disparity is somewhat worrying, though. There doesn't seem to be a followed convention on length, and there are several pieces that could work just as well, or better, at a third of their current length. Segmentation across themes, or better navigation across stories, particularly with a more coherent contents page, or perhaps numbering the stories or introducing them with a synopsis in the contents, would also have served the layout of the book better. One may not be interested in reading back to back, but maybe I'm just speaking for myself.

I may not have been crazy about the cover design and was irked by the odd typo, several instances of worn expressions, and the occasional dead-end story, but I found gems, and pleasant surprises, as you will, too. Very often, the stream of the narrative rises to very admirable heights, and the one thing you cannot say, is that these stories were told without heart. It's a fairly accurate portraiture of the lives of Nigerians, as they are currently lived, and a reasonably enjoyable aggregation of our stories. And, find it palatable, agreeable, or not, you cannot deny that it speaks truth. Could a greater compliment be paid?

Tolu Oloruntoba is a physician, prosist and the publisher of Klorofyl Magazine.

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Naijastories Anthology: A review 1

The First Volume of the Naijastories Anthology, Of Tears and Kisses, Heroes and Villains, launches today March 27th, 2012.

Below is a review by Abayomi Ogunwale.
Enjoy!

THE NS ANTHOLOGY: A SHORT REVIEW

Short stories are truly one of life’s understated gifts; and a well spun tale in the hand of a skilled writer has within it enough power to amaze and transfom us. But stories -good stories- are also like desperate suitors; they turn you in, out, and around with their advances. Compiling a perfect anthology is therefore a difficult undertaking, akin to the task of designing a hostel where all a woman’s suitors can comfortably co-habit, and allow her to transit, unhurt. It is difficult, the task. In two hundred and forty-eight pages, the NS Anthology made it look all so easy.

From the moment I stepped into Durosinmi’s coffin- making workshop in Yejide Kilanko’s ‘‘a glimpse in the mirror’’, I knew I was in for a delightful journey. And even though you feel a little offended and betrayed by Kilanko’s skillful arrangement of Durosinmi’s final plunge, you feel the need to forgive her only because her voice leads you into the arms of another guide: Salatu Sule. ‘‘If tears could speak’’, they would surely fail to match Sule’s eloquently executed coup de grâce. He delivered a sad story in a language that makes you happy. That must be illegal, the execution maybe.

The socially instructive message in Seun Odukoya’s ‘‘Can I please Kill you’’ was well balanced out by the equally well delivered, though lighter prose of Uko Bendi Uko in ‘‘One Sunday morning in Atlanta’’. Such is the authority of the writing that, you feel a certain kinship with Okon; and his words seem to proceed from a part of you.

Rayo Abe Delivered. Her story ‘‘the mother of darkness’’ takes you right back to secondary school. There is something beautiful and even enviable in that ability to capture and sequester all the emotions of a life-phase into one story. The mother of darkness will scare you a bit. But not when you are reading it. The fear comes after you leave the story.

Babatunde Olaifa’s ‘‘Showdown at Rowe Park ’’ is a short read. What it lacks in lenght is adequately compensated for in the vivid and hilarious language of its delivery.

‘‘Blame it on a yellow dress’’ is a story of loss; the loss of innocence. The frail looking Uche Okonkwo writes in a language that belies her phizog. She indicts too; she calls us to more vigilance.

Time would not allow me to tell of the healing humor of Bankole Banjo’s ‘‘the writer’s cinema’’, or of the amorous leanings of Ugoji’s ‘‘seeing off kisses’’, or even of the sobering message in Odeshilo’s ‘‘too late’’. Obudo will compel you along in ‘‘visiting Admiral John Bull’’, and the dark politics of the Niger-Delta Oil Struggle. Otolorin and Vongtau both command admiration, but in different ways: one, in a short Hilarious story, and the other in a more serious but tight prose. Iruene and Lawal will also make you laugh, while Ezenwaka and Awonubi explored more challenging genres with amazing craftiness.

Whitman and Oyeyemi remind you of their quality, with two mature deliveries: ‘‘a kind of Bravery, and ‘‘Two straws in a bottle’’. I stand, hands facing one another; I applaud.

Unfortunately, I do not have the required space and words to comment sufficiently on Ashaolu’s, Osinowo’s, Adekoya’s,Onyema’s, Ilevbare’s, Chukwubuike’s, Turtoe’s, Osi’s, and Elenwoke’s deliveries; a honor that their talent undoubtedly deserve, and which the reader of the NS Anthology will realize at first glance.

The NS Anthology is not perfect; there is no perfect anthology anywhere, no perfect collage in the world. But it is good. Sitting here and typing this review, I know how it feels to read through and summarize a very good book: content, excited and honored. That summarizes the emotions I wish to convey to the fortunate reader who will get a copy of the book. I wish I could, in Oyeyemi’s words ‘‘now to find the words to seal the deal!’’

***

Abayomi Ogunwale is a writer, medical doctor, poet and social commentator. His articles have appeared in the Sentinel Literary quarterly, Subjective Substance, Firsteditions and the Sun Newspaper amongst others. He is currently studying in Texas, USA and working on his anthology of short stories.

Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

Naijastories Anthology and My Favourite Things To Watch!

Hi People!

How you doing out there? I have good news. The Naijastories Anthology has been released! Click on the NS ebook on the right to read more. Will post more reviews and stuff before MARCH 27th the official launch date.

For now though, just wanted to share some of my favourite things to watch with you.
Enjoy!

Jamie Grace, she's really young  and I like her voice.

I originally wanted to post Francesca Batistelli's Beautiful, Beautiful Video, but I found it hard, so this is Free to be me; just as great as this young woman after God's heart.

Courageous!! Please watch this movie. Thanks to my boss I didn't watch a pirated copy *tongue out*

But seriously, everyone should watch it. It's great, inspiring and totally awesome!

Okay! I have watched this movie gazillion times already and it never fails to make me laugh and cry and laugh some more. I totally love it. It's not new though, but please see it if you haven't.

That's all folks.

Enjoy!

Roy.

As Much As You Can Take!

She hugged herself as she trudged home from the prophets’. What he asked seemed simple enough but she knew it would sound strange to everyone else. She was determined nonetheless; something had to give. She cast her mind back to the day her husband died. Nothing had prepared her for such shock and tragedy. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she never thought such a thing could happen to them. He was a prophet after all; privy to God’s own mind at all times. How could he not know it was coming? How could she not know? What about the debt? What had gone wrong? They lived modestly, never spent more than they could afford, so how could they have gotten into such a huge debt? She shook her head sadly at the barrage of questions assaulting her heart. No, this was not the time or the place to rehash the past. Moreover the only person who could answer her questions was not available. She quickened her steps and hurried home.

Her sons were huddled up on the bed sleeping when she stepped into the room. She woke them gently and told them of the prophet’s instructions. She said she believed the best was about to happen. They had been struggling to survive but that was about to change. Jehovah had not left them after all. She was so sure. Her sons were skeptical.

“But it’s harvest time, everyone will have use for their jars, won’t they?” her eldest son asked. The younger one only nodded in agreement.

“Well, we will beg them if we have to; we need those jars. So now you and Asur go down the road that leads to the shambles. Knock on every door and ask for a jar. Tell them I will return it by nightfall tomorrow. I will take the other road and do the same. Carry as many jars as you can and bring them here then lock up and go back again.  I’ll let you know when we’re ready.”

And so they began, knocking on doors and borrowing jars. Her sons carried two jars each, on five trips in all. She carried three pieces on seven trips in all. They gathered all the jars in their house, locked the doors and windows and set to work.

“Bring me the little oil left…”

joy-at-home.hubpages.com

She prayed and set to work, pouring the contents of the jar into the empty ones. The oil kept flowing. She set each full jar aside, smiling. She swayed form side to side humming a tune as she poured into another jar.  She had almost ten full jars now. She couldn’t believe there was so much oil. Where had it come from? The feeling was surreal but she wasn’t ready to analyse it now. She had to keep pouring. Her sons worked diligently, setting each jar aside and bringing empty ones. After what seemed like hours she stretched her hand to receive another jar but Asur’s gentle voice sailed through the still air.

“No more jars left mother. That was the last one.”

And the oil stopped flowing.

***

That night after her sons were in bed, she kept walking through the house unable to sleep. Excitement bubbled through her as she thought of it all. What would she do with so much oil? She had enough to last for months if not years. She would go to the prophet the next day.

She had promised to return the jars by nightfall and she intended to keep her promise. She wouldn’t want to deprive anyone the use of their jars. But could she offload all the oil in one day?  Probably not; she might have to ask for more time. 

She finally lay down on the bed but kept tossing and turning. Why had she been afraid those days after she learnt of the debt that would rob her of her sons? Those were the worst two weeks of her life. Why had she almost blamed Jehovah in her heart for taking away her husband who only lived to serve him when He must have had this plan brewing in the background all the while? He had this planned all along! Why did she fret? Oh, the things that had run through her mind! How her sons would be slaves in the hands of cruel masters. How they could be sold to merchants in a far country! Never again. Never will she doubt the power of Jehovah! What an awesome God! The helper of the helpless. The father of the fatherless!

Yes, she still missed her husband but she was awed at the way Jehovah had blessed them. It could have been worse but things were different now. She smiled as she closed her eyes. It took a few more hours but she finally slept. A peaceful, stress free rest.

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