Responsibility

My eyes were glued to the disturbing scene even as I watched from my seat beside the window. I watched as the angry mob in fury, descended on the innocent looking boy for an act he had just perpetuated few minutes ago. He begged and cried for mercy, pleading that it was his first time and actually blamed the devil for leading him into the act, yet the blows and punches kept on landing on him like heavy balls of snow. What was his crime! He snatched an old woman’s phone. I was moved to tears as I watched the angry mob transfer their age-long frustration on him, and believe me, I was already alighting from the bus to see if I could dissuade some members of the mob from causing more harm. Luckily for him, some concerned onlookers beat me to it and started pleading on his behalf. Few drops of tears escaped my eyelids as I thought about what must have pushed this young man who was barely 20years old to be a pick pocket. I wonder whose fault it was, who was to blame for him being on the streets. As I thought about all these, my worry took a different turn.

They say we are who we are today because of the choices we made yesterday; but I ask, who influences this choice most?

The family is the first unit/institution responsible for a child’s upbringing and not the school, but as I write this, I can’t vouch that the ‘family sector’ has been up to task in this present dispensation. We watch our parents fight in front of us, exchange blows as if we aren’t even there, we watch as our fathers come home drunk and spent; as our mothers insult the living daylights out of our fathers in the street. We bear the brunt, the heat at home whenever there’s a friction between our parents. We are now pressured and cajoled into being productive as our peers who flaunt their latest collection of clothes, accessories and rides around the neighbourhood. While trying to sort out their own differences, our parents most times pay less attention to how we go about this struggle. The society expects us to be productive and responsible, but like I said, little attention is paid to how we do that.

Walking through the streets in the night, I see different girls or would I call them ladies standing by posts and piers whistling at passer-by with the intention of marketing/selling their wares, and this leaves me wondering, how did it get this bad? Were our mothers too busy in the kitchen that they forgot to keep an eye on their daughters? What were they doing when these daughters left the house for the life on the streets? Or was there no longer a “house” a “home” to shield them? Or was it the only choice left?

I also observe the movement of some boys/men whose eyes continue to dart around parks and shady corners of the street looking for their next victim; so I get myself thinking, is this the way forward to been better fathers of tomorrow? You know, fathers have refused to man up, to take up the responsibility of making better sons; mothers have refused to take the bull by the horns squarely and make better ladies out of their daughters and keep them off the street; sons have refused to take the hustle slow, but the fastest and shortest way off the street, daughters have gone hay-wire trying to keep up with the latest trend such that they’ve forgotten they were made to be mothers. At this crossroad, I’m asking a question that is begging for an answer: “who are we to blame”? If we blame our parents for today, when tomorrow comes, and we start having issues with absent fatherhood and overbearing motherhood, who do we blame then?

#ThoughtForTodayFoodForTomorrow

#IChooseToBeResponsible

TAKE THE WHEEL

 

I’ve been driving my life like a race car on the highways of life like I don’t care; I’ve made decisions like I’m the master of myself. The speed at which I ride my life, one may ask if there’s actually a tomorrow.

            I’ve got my own challenges and battles, but my pride thinks I can fight it alone. I’ve got some life threatening puzzles to solve, but I feel I can maneuver them. My life speedometer is blinking “you need help! you need help!”, yet my pride won’t let me ask for one. I know I’m falling, I know I’m losing control, I know that I’m far from being where I’m supposed to be, yet, my heart still seem hardened. Each day of my life, as I cruise my life through the highways, I see signposts and landmarks telling me to slow down, that I’m wasting my ride (life), that I’m on the wrong course, that I’ll come short of fuel if I continue on this course, that I need to hand over the wheels to someone better at this game, to someone who has been watching and calling me and has been there each turn I make in my life; yet, I think it might be late already.

            I’m riding blindly with no direction in mind and I’m giving up on hope, I know it’s almost over for me and I’ll be lost to oblivion, unless someone takes the wheels from my hands and ride me to safety and give me a new course; this is what I know, and I’m ready for the last time to let another person direct me. So, Jesus can you take the wheels, and save me from this mess, give me second chance, a reason to smile again and give my life a meaning; I’ve done all I know and things aren’t getting any better. So I’m through trying to fix things by myself. I turn it completely over to you. I don’t know how you’re going to handle it, but I know you love and want only what’s best for me. So here it is, JESUS TAKE WHEELS.

The Race Against Time

And it dawned on me, as if I had just woken up from a deep slumber, that many had fallen back, many who started the race even before I thought I would become a runner in this race and many who started the same time I did. I looked around, and all I saw, was few people running. The few running, 45% of them were running outside their track, and while the remaining 55% were sweating and fighting hard to remain on their tracks. I saw many ahead of me, and also many still running along side with me. I caught up with many who had begun the race before I did, whose momentum for the race had declined. but the most painful and heartbreaking view was to see those who started with the same zeal and gusto as I did, at the rear or not even in the race any longer. Still pondering on what would have made these ones relent this way; some whom we’ve been looking up to, who in the actual sense of hierarchy were way up ahead of us; came running back. As I concentrated my gaze, I saw disappointment, discouragement and despair written on many’s face. Some said they no longer had any reason to remain in their tracks, to keep up with the race. I saw many falling under the weight of the stress of life, and some who wanted to enjoy the cheering and applauds from the crowd, stood aside to enjoy the fleeting fantasy; and were soon overtaken by others. While being carried away by the cheers from the crowd, many lost their batons and were pushed aside, a pity some of them didn’t survive to get back to the race. I still didn’t grab it all, so I decided to look further; and what I saw ahead baffled me. I saw men and women who had long began the race before I did still running; and along side them were discouragement, despair, disappointment, persecution, from family, friends and the society, beating and tackling them, yet they smiled more. Looking at the finish line and seeing the first runners who begun on this race, waiting with prices for each runner, they were able to outrun those challenges. Many were struck down as they ran and scaled the hurdles, yet they still rose and continued with more determination. As baffled as I was, how this men and women persevered, I looked behind and saw many entering the race and many leaving too. Some who were behind, who saw others exiting the race, gave up too, thinking there was no hope for them too. I looked around and saw many batons on the tracks; tears filled my eyes and rolled down my cheeks in torrents. I asked myself WHY? But all I heard was tick tock, tick tock, tick tock. As I looked around to see where the sound was coming from, I saw a big wall clock, ticking; but the time was almost up. It remained only few seconds because it had already passed the 11^th hour and the umpire was about calling off the race. I got thinking, what would become of those who had left the race and the batons on the ground. It dawned on me that they were casualties of war (as the military would say).

I just realized there are those who haven’t even thought of entering the race, who it hasn’t even occurred to, that there is a race to run and a price to be won. Even as I read this, there are runners who are at the brink of dropping the baton; there are men and women who are loosing it. So to you, I say, just hold on, keep fighting, keep running, there is strength and grace where and when you think it doesn’t exist.

Many have asked me why I bear the name General; and this is the answer: We’re Last day’s soldiers, fighting the last day’s battle, and we don’t want to be caught in the cross fire. No negotiation with the enemy. We are not seasonal soldiers; we don’t fight and go for break. We fight in and out of seasons, praying, preaching, teaching and giving our way through. So hold your ground, keep running coz He lives in you….

THE DUTY

The society we live in today is full of so many irregularities and abnormalities; so many ills and odds that would last us a lifetime, yet we cannot stop complaining about them. Each time you take a ride or walk through the streets, there’s always a reason to sigh, yet we can’t deny the fact that out of these elements on the streets, several good ones have emerged. When I was a kid, my dad made it a point of duty to always remind, me how less fortunate those on the streets are, to have the kind of meals I have, the kind of clothes I wear and the kind of education I’m getting. This brought me to the early realization that I’m not much different from those on the street, from those we brand the ‘despicable elements of the society’, from those we conclude, are a nuisance and menace to the society and should be sequestered to an improvised institution where they won’t be a threat to anybody, or better still, set up a settlement for them somewhere on the outskirts of our cities.

Nevertheless, the truth be told, we are so much in a hurry to brand problems than we are, to proffer solutions. If we would be truthful to ourselves, we would come to reconcile with the fact that these ones we brand as menace, abnormal and odds of the society are so, not because it is the role the society has given them to play and are happy playing it; rather, because there’s no other choice; to them, you are either branded as menace or die in the dungeon of penury. Choice is only possible when there are two or multiple options available, an alternative to choose from.

If these ones have only one option, and it is to survive amidst all odds, and they go out in their respective ways to do so, which at the end of the day affects the society in one way or the other; then we who are in our right mind and are the ‘responsible’ ones in the society, have a sacred duty to perform. If we could get an x-ray to tell us how these ones, the so-called ‘despicable of the society’ feel about us; we would see that they not only envy us, but also are jealous of the lifestyle we lead. They watch the news, they read the papers, the watch movies too, and definitely, they know the trend. They know that there are better places to live in than the gutters and slums they have known all their lives; they know that there are better clothes to put on than the rags they’ve been used to; they know that there is more to what life has to offer than the meager stipends they’ve been used to; they know that there are better cars to drive than the commuter buses they lord over in ‘tout-ship’, ‘agbero-ship’ and ‘alaye-ship’. Therefore, would want to covet such good things. Though the economists and capitalists might argue that there is a need to have this class of people, to maintain a virtual balance between the rich, average and the poor; a balance between the wanted and the unwanted, the liked and the despicable in the society; but I tell you, nobody can tell you the pains of a wounded soldier more than the soldier himself; you might make a good effort at attempting, but you can’t paint a clear picture of the pain.

If we take a closer look at ‘ourselves’, we would realize that we are living our lives, based on the ethics, morals, examples and footmarks of our fore runners, those who ran ahead of us. ‘We’ have legacies to copy from. However, what have ‘they’? Therefore, here comes the sacred task. Enough of complains and branding, become part of the solution; enough of being a critic of problems and start becoming a creator of opportunities. These ones are looking for someone to teach them the ropes, someone to show them the way to what we call civilization, someone to take the lead and they would follow, someone to give them another option than they’ve been used to, someone to re-orient them and tell them what to do, someone who would give their lives a meaning and not exploit them as tools or prawns of violence and sexual gratification. That person could be you reading this. So why don’t you take the lead and become an example for others to follow today?

That’s the DUTY.

#BeTheChangeYouWantToSee

#Gen. Sam

You’re GOOD ENOUGH

Well I have a confession to make. When I was younger, I used to literarily clamour for acceptance. Acceptance into circles I thought that mattered. I always felt I had to be good enough to be some people’s friend, I had to be good enough to walk with some people. Though I wasn’t bugged by the inferiority complex syndrome, I still sought for public acceptance secretly even when I failed to admit it to myself.

That you don’t wear beautiful clothes as her doesn’t mean you’re not good enough to walk with her; that you ain’t from a so called polished background as him, doesn’t mean you have to stoop so low to be accepted; that doesn’t mean you have to doubt yourself and feel as if he/she is doing you a favour by allowing you be his/her friend. You’re in a relationship, and you think he’s too handsome, too good for you, you think you’re very lucky to be with him; you don’t see yourself as someone good enough to walk in his status. So when he tells you nonsense, you accept because you’re scared he might leave you. You’re scared he’ll leave you for another person if you say NO to his wishes; let me tell you this: YOU’RE GOOD ENOUGH.

You’re always stalking in her shadows because you believe she’s got so much that you don’t and you don’t see yourself ever been good enough for her, you doubt yourself more than you ever doubt anyone else, well let me say this to you too, YOU’RE GOOD ENOUGH.

No matter how beautiful, smart, handsome, bold, tall, outspoken you think he/she is, and you can’t measure up; well the truth of the matter is that you’re GOOD ENOUGH too.

Don’t let any one tell you otherwise, don’t let anyone white wash you into believing you’re not worth it. You’ve got something every other person doesn’t have; you’ve got something that sets you apart; so when that thought comes, and all you want to do is crave for public acceptance, silently beat your chest and say: I’M GOOD ENOUGH.

#I’mGoodEnough

#IknowWhoIAm

#Gen. Sam

The LOOMING storm

Even in the looming storm, when I could hear my heart beat in my ears; when I was scared to bunkers that I couldn’t make it; when I didn’t know how He was going to fix it; I still heard Him, in His calm voice, say to me, peace, be still. Now I’ve got a new song on my lips.
‪#‎singing‬: God is, a miracle worker, God is a glorious God#