My last diary entry ended on a note about learning from babes…
Joe’s incident left me breathless. I found it difficult to navigate my mind away from the disaster that could have been. One of my biggest fears, living is the US, is the speed at which lawsuits and counter lawsuits are filed. The possible repercussions of this incident mortified me. In a nutshell, I managed to deprive myself of sleep that night, and ended up texting Gert. Her reply filled my soul with shame. I read her reply at least a dozen times.
“Our father will never allow sorrow consume us!”
This was the moment I knew I had to truly focus on this path, of choosing happiness. Dwelling on negative thoughts was not the way to go under any circumstance.
This same week I began writing a post I published a while ago, ‘I am because of love.’
This idea of choosing happiness or being conscious of happiness was new to me. It was somewhat foreign to my psyche—how can I choose or stay happy, when events surrounding me conspire to ensure my unhappiness?
Determined to somehow soldier on, I turned unwittingly to two young people for succor. These are my adopted kids Su’ and Bubb.
How do I best describe these two?
Su’ is twenty-five going on sixty, absolutely gorgeous with a beautiful mind. He’s a cross between Denzel Washington and Spencer, the clever one from Criminal Minds, and Colombo, the old detective from back in the day. I say Denzel ,because I’m a black woman in my forties, who else is there to choose? Hello! Okay, back to Su’, he’s all this rolled into one. Yeah…Su is a combination of smarts, looks and a wicked sense of humor. He calls me big sis and hubby, he calls, big bros. Their relationship is somewhat different, another chapter, but he is our son, period.
We met online, and the last two years feels like I birthed this young man. The unique thing about him is we interact on the same intellectual level. He knows the right thing to say when I fume, rant, panic or rage.
Then there’s Bubb, oh Bubb…she’s a cynic and optimist all at once, having a wicked sense of humor, she also has that unassuming innocence, and just when you think you have her figured out, she flips on you. Freakishly stylish, she’s a walking fashion encyclopedia; she is Vogue and Cosmo all at once. It amazes me a how twenty-two year old would do the classic Channel one day, and the next, she’s channeling Victoria Beckham. She’s a seriously talented writer—both of them are, actually. Bubb loves poetry, and writes the most erotic poetry you ever read. Wise beyond her years, with a rather high intellect and good sense of humor to match. I would not wish her to be any other way.
Of late, I began to see life through the eyes of these two. They both reside in my home country, Nigeria. Bubb, a new graduate of pharmacy and Su’ is threatening to finally get his MBA. Su’ can be found shuttling between New Karu, a small suburb in Abuja, the federal capital, and Markurdi, where he runs his rising publishing firm.
The contrast in our living environments could not be more glaring, as when we communicate—thank God for the Internet and technology, we communicate frequently—I moan about traffic from road construction, basketball practice and tutorials for the kids, and they tell me of school strikes: universities shutting down, leaving young people idle, without much to do—staying at home for months, accidents on murderous roads, which the government refuses to repair, neither are they bothered about it causing the loss of lives. I amuse them with my trivial moans. Su’ with a smile in his voice, would thank Aondo (God in his native Tiv dialect), for yet another sunrise.
Despite many reasons to be despondent, these two are an inspiration to me. Bubb lives through her writing, and makes the world better through it, by the realism she weaves and the mesmerizing prose forges with her words.
I learn from them, while also being a mother hen…yes, stuff like they must eat properly and Su’ letting up and allowing some girl into his life. He’s going to kill me for this. I know he gets into stuff; he just hides them from big sis, lol.
The big worry for Bubb, at the moment is her internship. Her parents are doing their best to help sort this out but have an extra burden, imposed by the ongoing university lecturers’ strike. For close to three months, two of her younger siblings have been stuck at home.
“Mom gets worried a lot, just like you, Dotta, but Dad hardly worries. If he does, he never shows it.” Bubb was luckier: she attended a private university— frightfully expensive. Understandably, it would be more difficult to have two more students go down this same route, considering the cost of living in Nigeria is outrageously high, even for two successful professionals. Bubb’s mom has every reason to worry: the trials of parenthood weigh on her and justifiably so.
If Bubb’s worries centers around her internship, Su’ biggest problem is time! There is not enough time in a day for Su’s schedule. A giver…of his time, money, food…you name it. If he could borrow time, just to help you, he’ll do it! How do you encourage one to stop giving? Well, sometimes I do try: especially when I know he has gone over and beyond the norm of what many would consider acceptable. I almost sound evil when I do, but that’s exactly what I tell him almost every conversation.
Returning to my worries about Joe’s accident, Su’, Bubb and Gert, each had a nugget of wisdom to share with me. Aondo’s grace was abundant, and boy did it shine through. The day after the accident was a Wednesday, and yoga class takes place Tuesdays and Thursdays. At this time, I was not an emotional mess, so yoga was still on the cards.
I went to work as usual. Later that day back home, my daughter Ken, bursts into my room grinning.
“Oh, Mom! Mom! Joe’s okay, he came to school today!
In comparison to yesterday, and feeling quite sad—coupled with the fear of being arrested—today, my Ken was ecstatic. Her news was sweet to my ears! She told me how worried Joe had been worried about her, seeing she cried so much yesterday. Joe told her his mom wanted to see me. She barely finished her story before the doorbell rang. It was Joe with a happy face.
“Hey Mrs. R, my mom’s here to see you!”
He looked perfect! I pulled him closer and gave him a hug. I asked about his mom and how was he doing. Poor kid, I think I almost smothered him, because he gasped and wriggled out of my hug, laughing. He pointed to a jeep parked across the road.
“Mom’s on the phone in the car, she’s coming.”
The jeep door opened and a woman probably in her late thirties walked across and I moved towards her. She hugged me tightly and kept whispering, thank you, thank you so much, in my ears. I was shocked. What was she thanking me for? I should be the one to thank her for coming over and for being so gracious.
After the introductions, she told me how grateful she was, for everything I did for her son. I had to stop her. I pointed out I should be thanking her, but she would not hear of it.
“Joe told me how you held his hands and cried all through. He said a nice lady held him and put pressure on the wound, and kept talking to him, preventing him from falling asleep. The doctor said the gash was quite bad and if proper care had not been taken, he would have lost consciousness and most likely needed a transfusion. They said he lost a lot of blood.”
She began to cry at this point and we both cried and hugged. Gert’s words came rushing back to me…God never allows sorrow consume his own. After they left, I called Gert recounting all that had occurred. We both thanked the Father for much grace and mercy.
Joe’s incident touched all of us, in different ways. I found it refreshing and reassuring that not everyone in America is eager to file lawsuits, or see it as the solution to every accident. Ken and Joe, displayed true courage and strength of character: Ken in admitting the truth, despite incriminating herself, and Joe, in his defense of Ken to his dad, when he was attempting to establish the events which led to his son being hurt.
- Is It More Important How You Start Or How You Finish?(coachraidbard.wordpress.com)
- I Choose Happiness: Diary Entry 1