Love yourself too!

Sile was a young girl living in a small village in Africa. She came from a poor but extremely strict Christian home. Her parents were both very religious and believed in strict discipline. They would often beat her for the slightest mistake, and this had affected her self-esteem. Sile was a bright and talented girl, but her parents never appreciated her achievements. They always found fault in everything she did and never gave her the love and support she needed. As a result, Sile struggled with self-doubt and low self-esteem.

One day, Sile's teacher noticed that she was not her usual self. She was quiet and withdrawn, and her grades had started to slip. The teacher asked Sile what was wrong, and she opened up about her struggles at home. The teacher was concerned and suggested that Sile should see a therapist. At first, Sile was hesitant. She had never heard of therapy before, and she was afraid of what her parents might say. But with the encouragement of her teacher, Sile decided to give it a try. The therapist was kind and understanding, and Sile felt safe talking to her. She learned that her parents' highhandedness was not her fault, and that she was not a bad person. The therapist helped Sile to see her strengths and talents and to appreciate herself for who she was.

Over time, Sile started to change. She became more confident and assertive, and she began to stand up for herself. She started to pursue her passions and interests, and she found joy in the things she loved. 

Sile's parents noticed the change in their daughter, and they were not happy about it. They saw her newfound confidence as disobedience, and they punished her for it. But Sile was no longer afraid. She knew that she was a good person, and she refused to let her parents' negative opinions define her.

Eventually, Sile's parents came to see the error in their ways. They realized that they had been too hard on their daughter, and they asked for her forgiveness. Sile forgave them, but she also made it clear that she would no longer accept their highhandedness. Sile's journey to self-love was not an easy one, but it was worth it. She learned to love and accept herself for who she was, and she found the strength to stand up for herself. She also learned that it was okay to ask for help when she needed it, and that therapy was not something to be ashamed of.

Sile's story is a reminder that we all have the strength to overcome our struggles, no matter how difficult they may seem. With the right support and guidance, we can learn to love ourselves and live our lives to the fullest.

“NAIRA FOR NAIRA?” HOW EMBARRASSING!

“3k for 10k!” That was what the POS operator at Eleganza told me. 

“Ehn, you say?” I asked. 

“3k for 10k!” She repeated herself.

I gave her a disdainful look and walked away. While walking to get a bike simmering with anger, I said to myself, “If I give you da money, make I bend!”

Who would have thought a day would come when Nigerians would need to pay naira to get naira? 

I needed to cook and visited the bank hoping to get some money. I stood in the bank for about an hour and got only ₦2000. What exactly was I supposed to do with ₦2000? I was going to buy beef, but the meat vendor wouldn’t take a transfer, so I bought ‘eja kika’ and put it in my stew. Guess what? My stew never tasted more delicious. While I was in the bank, a senior citizen came in to request for his statement of account. Apart from withdrawal transactions, the bank had closed down other operations because of violence that was taking place within Epe and Lakowe environs. This elderly man was denied his statement of account and was asked to make use of a bank app. Of course, he did not have the app and had no idea what to do. The manager sympathised with him, but his hands were tied at that time; he had shut down things to protect his workers. I could not blame him. Hmm, I cannot even complain because some people have it worse. They cannot feed nor can they move around since they have no access to cash. The downside of this is that there are non-literate people, elderly men and women with no access to internet banking, USSD transfer, and mobile money. 

There has been a report of sprees of violence across the country. People are hurting badly due to the scarcity of cash. This situation is not funny. It is sad and embarrassing for us as a nation. I understand that CBN is trying to reduce vote buying and election malpractice as much as possible. But the little cash in circulation is being given to the same set of people that the CBN is trying to check. The masses suffer for nothing. Could things get any worse in this country? I pray and hope that by some miracle, there is relief soon.

As I sit here pondering about the situation, all I can think of is ‘3k for 10k’. “Rara, ko po!”

Foot Note 

3k for 3k’- You are to pay ₦3,000 to withdraw ₦10,000.

‘eja kika’ – Smoked fish

“Rara, ko po!” - No, it isn’t possible.

“If I give you da money, make I bend!” – I could never give you that sum of money.

POETRY

 

Dead from the inside

 I scream, I bellow, I yank, I bite, I shove, I squeeze, all in a bid to flee. But no, he is stronger! He pulls, he tears, he straddles. Alas, he wins! I lay there helpless, my heart sinking and sinking into this never-ending pit that he digs in my soul. Hot tears like molten lava flow out gently moving sideways, just like the lulling gentle waves of the ocean; only this time, they are tears of pain, hurt, and helplessness. He gets it over with, looks me in the face with a sneer, spits on me, and walks away. I can't move, I can't feel my body; I can see my soul hanging on the wall soaked in blood. I think I cry for help; I don't know. My brain is in shock mode! I can process nothing.

Then I see it. Blood! My blood! Oh, my blood!" I sob quietly, with no strength to scream. Mama must have heard me because I awaken to her soothing voice in a moving box; a bus, I guess. My thoughts are all muddled. I am in the hospital for help, for redemption, for some saving. The nurse treats me like I'm dirt, like soiled goods. Everyone looks at me with disdain written all over them, I hear the whispers. I see how the others look at me. At this point, I feel ruined. I look at mama and say in a shaky voice, "He won! My molester won. I want to die!"

Mama says if I die, I let the monster win. I don't think I understand her. The second her eyes left me, Igo ahead to slash my wrist with the 'bread knife' on the table by my hospital bed. I watch as my blood flows and I'm relieved. But fate has other plans for me. I hear mama's voice like she is an eternity away. she screams. I feel hands on my body, I see white movement and then 'blessed nothing'.

(To be continued)

Written by Amazingme

https://www.podbean.com/ea/pb-fnjnm-1233b6c

DEAR SKIN, DON'T!

Don't look like what I've been through 

Don't show where I've been

Don't display my sweat

Don't look pale in the Harmattan season making me look like a cadaver 

Don't shine weirdly after a day under the hot sun like Mama Kumi's akara

Don't wrinkle when I'm old and frail

Finally, don't ask me what I need you to look like!

HANG ON TO HOPE