Divine Appointment

“Thank you driver,” I spoke with a crispy tone that melted the driver’s heart and he smiled back. I lightly manoeuvre off from the bus and stampede towards the Picadilly bus station.  While  I was walking, I realised  that they were some people who were watching me and I was brought to an immediate attention of two smiling faces of two women in their late fifties. They were both familiar faces and the smiles were intended for me, to attract, to invoke my spirits and to ignite my well being. I responded equivocally as I came towards their direction. The other lady was already on her feet, her hands wide open to embrace me. Swiftly I landed on her arms and she passionately hugged me forever. The word joy was written all over our faces. We looked at each other and hugged each other again, we laughed whilst the other woman was watching at us with an inviting smile. I greeted her later. And our flow of conversation moved smoothly that I was entangled by a short phrase that frequently came out of the mouths of the two women; “This is a divine appointment” they said as they looked at each other then on to me with authentic smiles that brightened the day  Happiness was the word to describe their feelings when they saw me. Their was a continuous super-flow of laughter and excitement.

“we were talking about you, and that we haven’t seen you for ages. And also we have a God’s ministry job, lined up for you. We thought you are the right candidate,as you always preach the word of God with passionate and provoking the sleeping devils to flee away. You are the one, the chosen one to be lined up with God’s work. You are full of fire. ” she concluded.  I listened attentively as I heard hip of praises bestowed on me. I wonder  what have I done to receive these praises. I was just a mere a human being but I was wrong as these two  characters had already defined me as God’s most loved child.

I questioned them why they were here at Picadilly and where they were going? The lady who had hugged me earlier, Mrs Bonzo, not her real name, spoke fervently that they were going to Salford Royal hospital to see her daughter who was admitted the night before. “Oh,Joy is in hospital I exclaimed. “yes she is but we thank God that it ‘s not serious.” I was relieved with the message and thirty minutes later we boarded the bus to the hospital. The driver dropped us at the main entrance. We walked slowly to the hospital and there we find her surrounded and chatting with other friends. we we re ushered onto the seats whilst the patient cried out with deep emotions.She cuddled us and soon she was at comfort, chatting with us and explaining to us what the doctors had discovered and how she is going to be treated.

After a while, Mrs Pafunge, not her real name, led us into prayer. Ten minutes later we were back to our seats,and we spend another thirty minutes with the patient  and we left for home. “It  was by divine appointment that we are all here, laughing.” said Mrs Bonzo with a huge smile.

Social network lead to “anti-social behaviour”

It’s quarter past five in the evening and I was standing at Picadilly Gardens bus station in Manchester. I stood in the crowd, observing what was going on. When I looked again and again it was like someone was writing a book in my mind because the message was so strong and irresistible and I noticed  all people around busy piercing their mobile phones both with eyes and their hands. The eyes were gripped on to the messages whilst the fingers gripped into typing back. Messages were floating to and from. Their minds glued on the in coming message, no personal greetings to a person standing by. It’s individualism and the phone. It hit me hard as I saw that nine in ten were on their mobiles.

I wondered where this world was leading us to; where it lacked sense of touch,  the voice,  which all had been stripped off and replaced by non verbal communication. I saw the ipads, the iphones,  the laptops, the tablets and so many serious faces  that dwindled over  these communication electronic  gadgets which lacked the vital ingredient the human touch, the human voice that displays emotions. For the first time I felt like I was seeing aliens who alienate themselves from body to body contact and concentrate more in the world that disentangle them,conveying inauthentic expression of feeling  that projects an image they want and building an illusion of their own.

Oh, how I missed the human interaction, the warmly handshake, the face to face illustrations, which is the core of human communication, once it’s rooted,enabling to form a good friendship based on trust, to develop confidence, to motivate and to minimise misunderstandings. How I missed the smiles and the engaging conversation that sweep up instantly, I thought. It was no longer the quality but the quantity of how to become popular, how many friends do I have comparing with my friends and the list is endless. It was authenticity against superficially. Slowly the social media is crippling the art  of personal touch, personal greeting over the electronic communication gadgets causing distractions, people not checking on their surroundings as they are completely disconnected.

As I looked again, I saw that people were lost in connection. Social media and social networking diminishes understanding, thoughtfulness , lacks emotional connection, minimises interaction skills hence these are key skills for communication. I thought it was food for thought as the social network lead us into “anti-social behaviour.” How would do you reverse as ninety percent of the population are clouded with the media gadgets all around them? I love an environment where a conversation can crop up.

How to release someone from electrocution point.

Two children were playing with live cables whilst they were bare footed. They were not aware of the dangers surround them and so it happened so quick and so fast,that the second child was caught up trying to help his mate as soon as he could but unfortunately luck ran out that day. He struggled to help him and he was quickly dying. Without thinking the child took desperate measure to rescue his friend from dying. He jumped up, throwing his body with much force as he could and grabbed his friend’s hands from the cable. The moment he touched his friend’s hands he was also electrocuted. It was the other child who saw it from a distance and he ran to the nearest classroom to call a teacher. He found one and came out together, the child gasping for air whilst pointing in the direction of the accident. The teacher was shocked to see two children lives catapulted. After a quick lecture, warning the child the dangers of touching the bodies of the two would lead him to his own death. He told him to stay afar whilst he ran home to pick a wooden cooking stick.

In a short time the teacher was back with a cooking stick. He hold the cooking stick firmly and up high, then with such a force he hit the hands of the victims and their bodies came down by force falling on each other. He looked at the dead bodies in silence and shook his head in disbelief that he had taught these boys in the morning before lunch time and now all was gone, just in a fraction. He had saved his life and the other boy whom he had vehemently denied the access to touch their bodies. He was relieved when he found the boy still sitting under a huge, tall gumtree and with the tears streaming down. We are the luckiest boy, otherwise we could have been the unfortunate ones if we did not use the wooden stick.”Why the wooden stick saved you from electrocuted?” asked the small boy. The teacher  was forced to bend down and come at the same  level of the boy’s height. ” That’s a good question,”  said the teacher,  patting the boy’s shoulders. The wood is a poor conductor of electricity therefore It catches  electricity at a very slow rate unlike our bodies which naturally have some water that carries dissolved ions which are automatically good conductors of heat  and that’s why it’s easy for one to be electrocuted.  So next time when that incident occurs again you know how you can protect yourselves and others from electrocution.

The Children and I at Sainsburys

The crowd gathered outside as the camera-man put himself into his job, ready to take photos, and to permanently gathering people’s memories as the camera flashed endlessly. It had a such unquenchable appetite to restore people’s memories and so were the people, whom seemed to be floating from an endless hole. But who is at the centre of attraction? It was the famous celebrity belonging to the “dwarf family”. She drew the attention and some of the Sainsburys workers were gathered together for a photo shot, whilst their white- crimson teeth were exposed randomly enhancing the atmosphere. I was just a passers-by while I observed these scenarios as I headed inside the Sainsburys shop in Hazel Grove.

   Inside, I picked up my basket and headed to  a different assorted shelves and pinched some few groceries for the day. Having done that  I went straight to the till and paid and little did I know that I had some audience waiting for me with smiles that lit up the skies and making my day a memorable one. At the next till was a young woman in her early thirties holding affectionately her 18 months old baby. She  smiled at me; “my baby has been smiling at you since she  first saw you,” she said with a cheerful face. And there she was, the little girl,with a pretty shy smiling face, facing at me with a loving melting heart. Immediately, I was filled with compassion and I asked the woman if I could lift up her baby. “Yes.” With a big smile I was granted the permission to hold the infant; who readily came up into my hands with a widely opened embrace that clung to my neck tightly.

  Before I know, two more mothers came to me with their children, all smiling. ” Our children  are smiling at you,”they said in unison; ” you seem to connect with the children easily,” said the another mother with a face that seemed to be written : Happiness is the answer to many things. I responded equally with a huge burbling smile . “Oh, my God, she is beautiful. Isn’t she?” Oh,yes, she is,” said the crowd. I laughed with the crowd and soon I intermingled with the fathers, mothers, children, grandmothers , brothers and sisters. Children wore adorable smiles as they touched me, stroked my hair, played the hi-fives with my hands, brushed their soft skin against my cheeks and above all wanting to tell me stories of what they did, their plans for the weekend and the list was endless.

  Things were moving fast and soon I realised it was a dejavu of what I had seen earlier when the adults gathered around Silvia the celebrity. I was naturally a celebrity in my own rights, surrounded  with the children who purely loved me and played around me. I have always cherished the moments like this which leaves me with satisfaction. I left Sainsburys without the intend to do so. Here I was at home, where I am loved by children with their parents, where we all felt we have known each other for a life time.


Skeleton Under The Woollen Hat.

The day was cloudy and a few patches of blue sky were revealing. I stood leaning against the steel pole, whilst waiting for the bus to take me to my destination. I started to move about as to strengthen my legs and as usual like an eagle my eyes were alert of the surroundings, hovering and surfacing far beyond the horizon, searching for a prey and within a few seconds I had found one; the one to follow, the one to lead me into the real skeletons of lives , an old white couple in their mid sixties, sitting quietly and gazing at each other with talking eyes. The woman’s behaviour intrigued me, more than anything else. She wore a bulldog’s face ready to attack but the one to be attacked is silently subdued. He felt the need to talk before the woman spit out her venomous words. His woman looking angrily hissed out the words as if it wasn’t enough she grabbed his ears and pinched them hard and so quickly, leaving the man fuming and embarrassed. He calmly searched for spectators whether they have seen what he just gone through unfortunately there was one who mentally videoed the whole episode and he instinctively knew that I must have seen it,  he looked at me, he then pulled over his hat to cover  the now red marked ears. He felt pain and I felt for him. How could this old man live under such a stressful life with a woman who physically and emotionally abuse him? “It is love, I heard a voice in me saying that. Love endures forever.” it added. This old man I was looking, looked sad and embarrassed but still he tried to sooth his wife, I guessed; of which his luck ran out that day; the  woman quickly stood  up and walked very fast and soon the husband was on his feet following in the direction of his woman. He caught up with her but she was still in denial and she vehemently showed that there no conversation coming up to an agreement. She was just like a whirlwind, blowing everything that passes by, she nearly had an accident with the bus that was coming in her direction.She paced and tossed up her coat in stampede to flea away from her husband, the husband whom she had pinched, abused, battered and tolerated every rough hill that she made him to pass through. I watched the white couple disappearing in the nearby buildings.

Now, I understood the skeletons of wearing the hat, the hat had covered a lot of the things that are unquestionable or unanswerable by protecting his wife’s behaviour whilst he endured perpetual pain. It was there in his eyes, pain and embarrassed could have swallowed him up if I did not pretend not to have seen it. In my culture, they say: Hakuna musha usina gonzo. It literally means there is no a  community without a mouse. Difficult problems arises in each household and how you face it, is different.  A same problem may arise but the way we solve it as individuals is different that we come up with different solutions to a one problem. 

Nice legs.

One day my  friend and I had  visited some  small country villages near Knutsford.  We were walking on the high street and soon we were swallowed by a crowd of shoppers .  The atmosphere was buzzing like the bees at work . Here and there we could hear shrils of laughter.We had almost visited every shop and most of the time we were satisfying our eyes as three quarters of our time was engrossed in window shopping, we laughed as we see things that amuses us or catch our imagination.  So it happened that we met a couple who were both bulky in size, walking hand in hand, and  going opposite direction with  us.   Silently, the couple managed to draw our attention towards them. It began with my friend, “Aha…ahaa,”  he began laughing.  I looked at him with curiosity. “Whats laughious?” I asked him with my colloquial language. “Can’t you see?” he said pointing his finger in the direction of the couple. “What?” I demanded?  “Read,  read that couple’s T-shirts,” he said with emphasising tone.  I strained my eyes towards the couple. I first saw nicely scribbled words on their T-shirts . I started to read the woman’s T-shirt, it was printed in front and  it read: “Nice Legs.”  Then, when I  read the man’s T-shirt  whose words were printed at  the back. The words  scribbled at the man’s T-shirt paused a question to the woman’s statement. The words read: “What Time Are They Going To Open?” “Ahaa,aaah…aaaa,” I laughed continuously,  and my laugh was so infectious that it drew a large crowd to join, that some of the people they just laughed with me but with no clue of what I was laughing. Fortunately, my friend managed to draw their attention as his finger continuously pointing in the direction of the couple, and soon their was an explosion of laughter and even the very couple laughed with the crowd, knowingly they were the centre of the attraction.

“Aaah…ahaa. It’s you baba VaJoe, My husband”

Lizzie was a working hard woman, and always worked an extra mile to fed her family. This day she had just coming from the fields whereby, her husband, children and her have been cultivating their maize. It was nearly lunch hour, when the finally decided to call it a day,  when on a normal day they would have continued till evening time. But the husband of Lizzie had come from town the previous day. The  separation  had always made them feel hunger for each other. To satisfy the well being of their family, the two had decided the that the husband would always work in town to earn some cash whilst he wife stayed in rural areas working in the fields to sustain the family substantially. It worked and they both enjoyed the sweat of their labour as a family.

At home the wife, Lizzie, cooked food for the family. The children gathered and ate their food from one plate, whilst the parents shared their food from their own platter. Quickly after eating the wife packed up the used utensils for washing up. She asked the children to go and fetch some water on a nearby well. The woman bent down like all other African women in rural areas when washing up the plates and pots.  She was very much engrossed as she enthusiastically washed the utensils, and little did she know someone was observing her, admiring her golden revealing thighs.

It happened  so dramatically,  that her dress was lifted up, very high that it revealed the  flesh beneath. Shocked, the woman  leapt into anger. “Who..oo are you, to lift someone ‘s wife dress?”  she flared rapidly. “Don’t touch me, did you hear me? Or  I call my husband.” she glared. I said, “leave me alone,” she kicked and scratching  violently. All along, Lizzie, has shouted angrily  without looking at the person who has grabbed her. When  she finally looked at the attacker who was still holding her as a fugitive,  she was perplexed and smiled. “Aaah….ahaa, It’s you Baba va Joe, my husband,” she uttered softly and letting her head rest peacefully in her husband’s loving arms.

Nelson Mandela:” I have walked that long road to freedom. I have tried no to falter; I have made missteps along the way. But I have discovered the secret that after climbing a great hill, one only finds that there are many more hills to climb. I have taken a moment here, to look back to steal a view of the glorious vista that surrounds me, to look back on the distance I have come. But I can rest only for a moment, for with freedom come responsibilities, and I dare not linger, for my long walk is not yet ended.” From his book :LONG WALK to FREEDOM. May your soul rest in everlasting peace, the Father of all fathers and the greatest leader of all kinds.

The Pregnant Man: With The Tragedies Of The Modern Society

It’s eleven o’clock in the morning; I am striding on a wet ground. There has been a heavy torrential rainfall. Some roads are already saturated with water, whilst some waters are still making some musical sounds as they fall into the unquenchable gutters. I am walking towards the Piccadilly Bus Station, in Manchester. My mind loaded with other thoughts, and I feel the weight of my bag as I stroll towards the station. The long zigzag yellow trams are travelling in slow motion as they come to a halt, their faces facing different directions on different platforms. A sea of diversity passengers flocks in, with their light and heavy luggage, the mothers with their perambulators, as they cooed their babies. One old man smiles at me and says; “Oh, I like your smile,” “Thank you sir,” I responded back with a widened smile. Just a few yards from where I stood my eyes are absorbing the ongoing activities of a busy city life. I intermingle with people of all walks of life with their bags slinging on their shoulders, crisscrossing the roads, pedestrians negotiating with the bus and tram drivers who should go first. I look on a convoy of buses of different shapes, with some vibrant colours coming to load and unload people. The modern, old, Victorian, and Georgian buildings of different architectural designs stood high up in the crowd. The buildings are clearly distinguishable as they offer different services to the people, who proudly and eloquently move in style as they stride in with a purpose. Then like someone who was having a dream, I realise that I have been drawn so much into the ongoing activities. I started to increase my pace, heading to a nearby post office, where I want to do some little errands of my own but before I cross the road, then, my attention diverted to a group of people who are wearing high visibility yellow jackets, with their backs facing me, with a sense of inquisitiveness I invaded their space but I am not alone as the crowd start to gather.

On this account, I am caught up with the tragedies of the modern society, that there is a lot of self-denial in the area of sexuality, where people vehemently strip off themselves from their sex of their origin, with the help of advanced technology and the illustrious doctors the number of transsexual genders has soared in the a period of a shorter time. My eyes intensify, staring long on the subject of the attention, and wondering, what could be the source of the problem. Lying, on the wet ground is a man wearing layers of clothes, he looks dead, but when I look again I see a slight movement of his leg, I feel a sense of relief hence making me feel better inside me. One of the candidates wearing a high visibility jacket (the police) is having a constant conversation with the casualty. He bends forwards as he speaks to the lying victim. Finally, they both come to a conclusion that they should remove some of his layers to allow a good aeration. It is at this juncture when the layers are stripped off and I experience a shock of a lifetime. The man is pregnant, like that of a woman who is about to give birth. I wonder how this has happened. There is a murmur of shock from the crowd; we are both perplexed, people exchanging glances of disbelief. “A man with pregnancy, Oh, my God, what is happening in the world? This is pure abomination,” someone shouts from the crowd.  My mind is deeply engrossed, and mentally calculating many theories, I finally come up with the best theory that unravels the mystery behind the man’s pregnancy. My theory goes on like this; that this “man” was once a woman and she went under the knife to become a man, and he could have asked the doctor not to disturb her womb. This how “he” became pregnant. In overall If my theory is right then I could say the transsexual operation he might have gone in the past was a triumph. No doubt, everything about him is so convincingly masculine except for the odd fish that is swimmingly not in its own territories.

I move away and proceeds with my journey to a post office, after five minutes I am back on the same spot, my bus had just arrived that takes me to the University, I jump onto the bus, flashes my bus pass and I take a seat. I feel a bit unsettled, and I feel that there is still a mission to be accomplished that is to take a good photo of the causality, I had taken a photo earlier with my outdated phone and the photos are of poor quality comparing with those of the smart phones. Unfortunately I do not have my smart phone with me but I have my other digital camera, and the only major problem I encounter is that the battery is very low, hence I am pretty much anxious to get hold of a good picture. So, I manoeuvre towards the front to exist and politely I ask the bus driver to give me a minute to take a shoot of the victim. “Why? What for?” He asks with an agitating tone. I feel it very strongly that he does not like the idea that I am about to take a photo of someone who is not well. He feels that I am being more intrusive. “Well, we ‘ll talk later”, says I, as I leap out of the bus and there again my batteries let me down. Regrettably, I returned onto the bus empty-handed, but the driver is still furious. It is his tone that betrays him and I feel the vehemence in his speech. “Why did you take the photo of that person?” All of sudden I lose my patience with him, then, I thought of one good strong answer that will cool down his tempers. “ Because I am a journalist,” I loudly stressed out the word in confidence, that everyone on the bus heard me, and with that I stomp back to my seat. Just, before I sit down, my eye locks on an old man’s eyes who stares at me from the back, wearing a big smile on his face that says, “Good girl you have done him.” I turn around and speak to him. I simply justified my actions that since it’s a bus station and a public place I am bound by the laws to take any form of photos regardless of the circumstances that surrounds  me. Surprisingly the old man seems to be well acquainted with the laws of this country, he agrees with me and supports me that there was nothing of criminology that I have done that someone should feel offended.

Whilst sitting on the bus the ambulance arrives, and the pregnant man is laid on the stretcher, the bus leaves, and I am left with unanswered questions of the realisms, tragic, and the modernisms of the world we live. This is the world we live today is full of surprises and people are going to bear with a lot changes that are dramatically shaping our society and learn to live with it.


“It Does Not Represent Us”!!!

It Does Not Represent Us.

I came to understand the deeper meaning of these words after a broad daylight murder in the streets of London. The words floated in mind my for several days and reminded me of a similar incident that took place in Salford, when a 23 year old Indian student was shot dead by a white guy called Kiaran Stapleton. The Indian student and his friends were on their way for Christmas sales in the early hours of 26th December 2011.  It was a very sad episode. It sent shock waves across the nation and people were filled with anger that this young man’s life had been curtailed.

The community response was overwhelming and one of the residents left a card that reads: “I am sorry this happened to you but this does not represent us.” What does that mean? It means that yes, this happened in our community but it does not represent us as a community. It also means that the murderer as a white person, his ruthless action does not represent us the white people. It also means we as a community we disassociate ourselves from this cruel behaviour. We are all good citizens despite the horrific incident that took away your life.

The young white man who shot the Indian student his age was similarly as the two young black men who committed a murder crime in Woolwich, Michael Adebolajo and Michael Adebowale both in their 20s. The attack by the black young Muslims was described as terrorist motivated while the attack by the white guy was  described as racially motivated.  But the two young black men had committed horrendous crime in the name of the religion as to justify their horrible actions. Do their deadly actions represent their religion? Or does it represent their community they live in? Does it represent the black minority? Personally I would say no, and their deeds did not reflect the evilness of their community. The two young men followed their own barbaric ideology.

 In fact their actions orchestrated a lot of divisions among the communities, and brought more terror to the Muslim communities, as the few individuals from the white communities targeted the mosques. The petrol bombs were used to blow up the mosques and to cause mayhem in the cities. The English Defence League took actions to the street in protest of this heinous murder. All this was retaliation against the horrific death of Lee Rigby, a young white man, who served in the army, and sadly left behind, a two-year-old son and a wife. It is disheartening. No one deserves such brutality.

One black man in his forties whom I met six days after the Woolwich murder, and he told me of an incident that happened when he boarded a stagecoach bus from Leigh to Manchester, that the white people secluded him. As more white passengers flocked in, neither one of them did not want to sit next to him even though there was an empty seat just next to him. “They all decided to stand. I felt very very bad.” He said. The black man had just got a job as a home fundraiser, but he said, “I would rather drop the job because I don’t know what would happen to me when I go outside and knock-on people’s doors.” I understood how this incident had badly affected him and yet I tried to put sense in it, that probably he would withdraw his statement for leaving the job and reconsider to take it.” I said, “yes, this happened to you but it does not mean all white people are as insensitive as the other white people whom you met on the bus. I also mentioned the murder incident that happened in Woolwich it does not represent the black people or the Muslims as murderers. They are murderers out there and murderers do not classify which race.

These are some the daily challenges, which are faced by the Asians, the White and the Black communities. But some of the criminal cases always stood out than the others, depending on the nature of the crime and how it happened. The latest Woolwich murder has raised a lot of profiles as some people protested and became violent, others insensitive and implying that a certain race or religion is more evil than the other.  In my own words I would say: Think before you act because your actions may exacerbate the situation. Do not go out as an individual, as a group, or community and start to torture other innocent souls, stereotype other people based on what you have seen, or you have heard about Woolwich murder. Let us desire to live in peace and stand shoulder to shoulder to combat the evil deeds as one people.

I also feel that at many times the local media contributes to a lot of division among the communities because when an immigrant committed a crime, it is reported in a manner that people may think that the immigrants are the only people who are evil, who commit such crimes, like murder, rape, terrorist plots, thieving but yet we have many white British citizens who have committed similar crimes. I can name a few such as Ian Huntley who killed two children aged 10. Mark Bridger who recently abducted and killed a 5 year-old girl in Wales. The last is of Jimmy Savile, who allegedly abused 450 people over a 60- year period, and many of his victims were children”, stated the Metropolitan Police.

 Just remember when one or more people from different race, religion, ethnic, committed a crime it does not neither represent their race, ethnic, beliefs nor the religion. The culprits are responsible or accountable for their actions. It is not your duty to go and destroy other people’s properties and attack other people. Your actions won’t justify what other people have gone wrong. In fact with your deadly actions you are worsening the situation making other people feel vulnerable and the communities not able to trust each other.

I hope by writing this article, it has enabled you as an individual to understand, to reflect on the way we see each other, if there is a way you can change yourself and that can be beneficial to the society. Let’s not desire the evil but emulate the good thing and be of one.