DeepWaters

Dark woods, flying shadows, ghostly voices, mysterious paths, swirling wind. Flipping books, mixed chapters. Lonely roads, gloomy spirit, loud silence. Killer deal, bit by bit, hundred voices, saying 'kill'. None but self. Don't listen. Like birdbox, don't look. Speak light, blind darkness. Defeat them, the shadows, flipping thoughts, flying shadows, scary voices. Defeat them, the mysterious paths, swirling winds. Yes you can. Defeat them.

They left him for dead in the woods. Changing rays of sunshine, with dry wind of the north. It is the way of heartless men. He fought with a bear, not just injuries for a reward, but the claws to present his bravery, and the coat of fur to fight the cold. Pawnees adorned with porcupine roaches, trading stolen pelts for horses. French men with bad business, defeated by the Cherokees. Written in the stony blood pump, the laws of vengeance. Written in the palm, the wrath of swords and guns.

It was about 18 years ago, when we moved into a developing community. Beyond our house was nothing but a thick forest. We learnt the sounds of woodpeckers foraging for insects. Some days, we would get to see an African parrot perching on the electric pole. We were careful for snakes and scorpions, strange lizards and other kinds of creatures. As scary as it were  but exciting because we didn't experience such adventure while we were living in the heart of the city. One morning, some neighbors woke up to find their livestocks dead. While others woke up to find their palm fruits (Banga) missing or partially eaten. What could have happened? No one knew. This kept on happening night after night.  It was like a plague. It seemed weird because the livestocks were taken out of the cage without it being broken. Some of the indigenes  believed they must have offended the gods and they must offer sacrifices to appease the gods. One afternoon, while playing outside with my...

Hear the rumbles from chains falling never to rise again. See through the mind of the chain-breaking abolitionist. This is our spirit reflecting strength and courage. No more escaping to dens. The rhythms of Africa is the sound of nature. Hear the Ouds  of Algeria or the talking drums of the sub-saharan. The polyrhythms of the Mbira and Kalimba, which the likes of Arthur Jones could not resist. You can tell of our heritage from flying flags. Where shades of green  tell tales of growth and plenty. Gold tells the stories of love,  courage and compassion. Red tells no tales but truth of fallen heroes of a distinct past.

Once upon a cell, tells the story of a survivor. Over a dozen stages, through pain and fervor. Once upon an exit, from darkness and solitude to a new life, to light and aptitude. Once upon a creep, once upon a first step, once upon a leap, so the story goes. A one way journey, with more than a zillion words. Challenged but brawny, to touch a zillion souls. With help from above, to live out a purpose. To love and be true love, in any way possible.                                                                                                                            

        I just couldnt step out of the house without having my make-up done.  I found those colors irresistible and I wished to use all of it if need be.   It got to a point where I'd clean and wipe and wipe and re-do and yet I wasn't satisfied.  Still felt like I wasn't beautiful enough.   I would start all over again and before I knew it,  I'd spent over 30 minutes trying to get it right.   It so happened that those mornings where I had to go on errands early enough before having my bath,  I usually get complements from unknown guys.  This don't usually happen when I have my make-up on.  It got me puzzled.   I began having mixed feelings about the use of makeup and one morning after struggling to get it right,  it got me really upset.  And I said to myself,  I can't do this anymore.  I think it is hypnotic.  I must have been hypnotized.   Why can't I go out without having ...