Heroism

There have been two school shootings in America in the last few months. During the Florida shooting, a student who is now being hailed as one of the heroes of that fateful day, JROTC Peter Wang, helped other students escape and died doing so. Anthony Borges, 15, used his body to shield his classmates from the shooters bullets, and was shot five times in the back and legs in the process. He is still recuperating from surgeries.

These two scenarios are striking for me because they happened recently and the people involved are young people. What makes people go out of their way in this manner? What stimulates empathy that moves one to act in this manner?

I am deeply introspective. When things happen, I find myself thinking 'extra' about the whys. I admired deeply the fine sense of heroism of these young people. I kept asking if I could do that, if I could put the possibility of a future on this earth to ensure two, three, four other people got that chance.

Can you? Can you do this? Is it a special gift, a way people are raised, values imparted, examples shown ? 
Do you only have to save lives or avert disasters to bear the tag of a hero?

Yesterday, at Lekki 3rd roundabout, I saw a taxi driver wrestling to extinguish a fire that threatened to engulf his cab. Everyone swerved to the right and  left of him and sped along. I thought of my fire extinguisher in my boot and attempted to stop and hand it to him, until I saw some fellow cab drivers hurrying up to hand him theirs and put out the fire. Why did these people stop? Why did others drive along? 

Heroism nudgdings comes in bursts too, I guess. There are moments when I am filled with great indignation driving along the express and have physically confronted one questionable official who was chasing a young hawker down a busy expressway.  There are other moments when I put up my glass window, blast my music; unseeing, unhearing to injustices around me.

Can I be a true, consistent, hero? Can you be? 
Literature suggests that people carry out acts, big and small, of heroism daily. Certain characteristics including compassion, empathy, a strong sense of responsibility, justice and integrity are common in the making of heroes. 
The nature vs nurture question beckons too. Are heroes born or made?

Projects like the Heroic Imagination Project have made a fine art of training people to be everyday heroes. This San Francisco not- for-profit develops and implements research, education and corporate and public initiatives to inspire and encourage everyday heroism. One interesting mantra they have is that the opposite of a hero is not an evil person, but a bystander. 
This is very similar to the saying we know that;  the opposite of love is indifference. Not necessarily, hate!
I would talk more about this in coming posts, as I'm so fascinated about this issue. But for starters, I want to know what heroic acts you have performed in the past and also the things that keep you from being heroic. Is there a Nigerian factor somewhere? Is gender standing in the way? Social standing ?

Talk to me.

Bless.

♥

Baby Steps

Hi,
How are you?
I haven't blogged in 7 years. Yes, it's been that long. I can't believe it, but the internet doesn't lie☺.
I want to start again.
I have missed writing and in my recent quest for things that make me happy, I remembered this.

The next thing, is what I'll write about. 8 years ago, I wrote short stories, newspaper articles and so on. This time around, I think I'll be less structured and just write about what my opinion is on any matter I find interesting.

Why should you read?
Well, you read before, that's one.☺
You also might learn a thing or two to help you in your life's journey. I have had quite a bit of stuff that has happened to me in the last 8 eight years. Amazing things and not so amazing things.  I met someone in church last Sunday who told me that Africans lose out on learning lessons from the lives of other Africans because we don't like sharing our lives. That rang true.  So I'm going to be more open cos , hey, who knows?

I'll blog tomorrow again. But , before I go, I'll say this. You are unique, diferent!  Yes! Cliche, right?
No! You know that feeling of emptiness you have when you wonder what your life should be about and why you're not 'making' it like other people? It's a deception. The very thing that makes you 'make' it is the  unique gift bag you received from the Creator when you were born. A gift bag much like a hamper contains an assortment of goods; and this can be likened to the blend of  personality, talents, idiosyncracies  that you are made up of. They hold the key to your destiny and the purpose you are to fulfill here on earth. The knowledge of this has been so liberating for me and I can't help but share this with you. 

You are different. You have something your siblings, parents, co workers,  friends need. It is not regular, not common, not random. It is unique to you. You probably already know this and are doing it, but do it more purposefully, cheerfully and liberally and watch yourself blossom. 

Tomorrow, then. ♥

Revival for Dummies - Dr. Ogunwale Abayomi

Hey!! Merry Christmas to you all! I hope you have been well. I have been on a blogging break for about 3 months; a break necessitated by a change of focus. It has been an interesting September- December and I'm glad to say I’ve learnt many important things. I would start a new blogging season again in January, but until then, I want to share with you something a dear friend of mine wrote on Facebook recently.

This is particularly important as we are starting a new year in 8 days and you know as the name implies, "new"... the plan is to make all things new. Read this and be made new even as the year become new.

Love.

Akan

It's Berry FeistyPen's birthday and that of her pen too!!

It’s my birthday today. I feel very grateful to God for his grace and mercy in the past year.

All the afflictions and disappointments the devil intended for evil, the Lord turned around for good and for his purpose.

Interestingly also, this is the period Feisty Pen was conceived, although the first set of blog posts were put up around October last year and I've gone on to write over 70 pieces. 

I look forward to a better year, increased creativity and more feistiness in my writing. Thank you to all who have encouraged through this writing journey; even complete strangers. I am grateful.

I’ll just like to add that life is richer when there’s a sense of purpose.

Bless!

My Juvenile muse - Potty training

Hi everyone, I've been away for a few weeks and I did miss you all. I missed writing here. So I wrote this. Read and tell me what you think. It is creative non fiction inspired by my potty training experience. Of course I am the trainer. Not the trainee. ;) 

18 months is a good time to want to be environmentally conscious. Americans tell me that I should try  not to clog up land fills with non biodegradable diapers. Potty train the little man and let the poop go down into the toilet, flushed down into a dark abyss inhabited by Excreta Anonymous.

Humor In My Bible; The Feisty Pen of God

Hello all,

I haven’t written in over 2 weeks. Please bear with me. There is a book I read and enjoy so much. It is the Bible. Apart from the fact that I draw the inspiration for my daily living from it, it excites me to see and know that God is the creator of humor and utilizes it to bring us closer to him. You know the Bible was written by men of God who wrote as they were moved by the Holy Spirit, which is why it is called the word of God.

Just yesterday, I remembered that in Proverbs 19: 24 the Bible said, “the slothful (lazy man) buries his hand in his dish and will not so much as bring it to his mouth again”.

I read it and laughed hard. Do you realize the degree of laziness it will take someone to not be able to complete the task of feeding himself, short circuiting it at the return leg of bringing his hand back to mouth? Extreme laziness, I tell you. I decided then  to jump up and complete the tasks I have procrastinated so that I would not be like this man who cannot even lift his hand back to his mouth.

Another funny thing I saw, and because I’m a parent, it resonated with me.

In Prov 22: 15 it says, “Foolishness is bound in the heart of a child, but the rod of correction will drive it far from him.”

Notice the use of the word ‘bound’. If you studied Chemistry you would know that binding between elements occurs as a result of a chemical affinity, so Sodium (Na) binds with Chlorine(Cl) because Na has an extra electron in its outer shell and Cl needs one and so they bind. In short they are in love and they form NaCl (common salt)

So that would mean, that the heart of a child has an affinity for foolishness so the only thing to do is to break the bond (Doesn’t all this just sound funny) 

 So just maybe it’s saying that before you get to the point where you begin to bind and cast to rid your teenage or adult children of perceived demonic manipulation evident by their foolish ways, it’s best to apply the rod of correction early so that the demon (foolishness) will go far from them and keep applying the rod so that the demon stays at a safe distance, eh... J

Tell me if these Scriptures make you laugh or smile in the least, and do you as a matter of habit enjoy the feisty pen of God?  Watch this space for more of these.

10 things Nollywood has taught me

Today, Nollywoodhastaughtme is trending worldwide on Twitter. It was No 4 thirty minutes ago. Here are 10 lessons that Nollywoodhastaughtme. Add yours in the comments and follow me on Twitter @chocberry.

1. Nollywoodhastaughtme that it is unfair to discriminate against the blind, if you can’t see there’s no reason why you can’t watch via the sound track.

Beauty Is In The Eyes Of The Beholder

You walk into Beauty Is In The Eyes Of The Beholder Salon down the Road with high hopes and aspirations of a harvest of compliments all week long. It is Saturday and your upkeep day. After walking a few kilometres, you happen on to the salon because it is the only one that has a generator. A group of girls mill around the front. They are all busy. But you know salons always have space to take one more. You appraise quickly and see Madam in a corner. You know her because she is different. Her hair is well done and she is smiling. You smile back, hoping she has time for you. But someone shows up from behind before you have a chance to speak. The first thing you notice is her bad hair.

Twitter Hall

I tried to write a short illustration of what happens on Twitter using Whizy, Teman and Blaze as major characters. They are birds, mind you and they tweet constantly. I hope you'll read it and give me your thoughts.

The Politics of the Nigerian Blog Awards

While on my blog rounds one morning three weeks ago, I got a message on Facebook from a fellow nominee that Feisty Pen had received 7 blog nominations at the Nigerian Blog Awards. The tone of that message set the pace for my perceptions towards the ensuing campaign.

Nigerian Blog Awards 2011



I am very grateful. This is a very special award because it is what I am about. Thank you.

Creative Planker Award; In the Lagos Flood

Planking; [verb] To lie down flat with arms to the side mimicking a wooden plank and usually in unusual locations. Activity not completed until picture posted on the internet and friends ooh and aah or hiss! (Feistionary)

All month long, it has clogged my news feeds; Twitter and Facebook (follow me on Twitter if you aren’t @chocberry). I’ve seen all sorts of pictures.

Like Funke Akindele’s suliaish pose

What I would do if I was deployed to Borno or Bauchi

Find out what Berry would do if she were deployed as a youth corper to these regions.

The Lagos Hawker; An Ode to Smelly Armpits

I am hungry. I’m in traffic on my way back from work. The cars crawl; every car has to brake at a certain water puddle in front. Causes a chain reaction. Traffic stretches for miles. My thoughts on traffic mechanics are interrupted by noises from my stomach. Then I sight him. He is carrying a carton of Gala. UAC’s Gala is faded glory but I will make do. I stretch out my hand and signal to him.

What's on your mind? Tell the Truth!!

Facebook asks you what’s on your mind. You type the first thing that comes to mind, but forget what is truly filling you up. Like you’re planning to kill your wife or you plan to cruise the United States with boarding passes that are not yours.

A few days ago, it was reported that a man, Arowolo Akande murdered his wife in cold blood and cut up her body, attempted to flee but was rounded up by the police. Everyone eventually looked him up on Facebook and gleaned all they could from his profile. They said his page was full of Bible Scriptures. I didn’t check because by the time I got to it, the page had been taken down.

Why I Blog

Hey,

How do you feel today? I have been wrapped up in the euphoria of the blog nominations but  snapped out of it when I realized that it is posting truly interesting and inspiring blogs that got me here in the first place.

I took up blogging in Oct 2010 amidst calls from my friends on Face book. I had written my first flash memoir on my birthday 23 rd Sept and some people thought they heard a voice there needing to reach the world. I've gone on to write these amongst many others.

Short Stories

Cold Feet,
Cock Crow At Dawn,
For The Love Of BlackBerry,
Kini,
ButterFlies In My Stomach,
Familiarly Pushy,
Small Pikin, 
My Three Patients,
Living, 
Mad World, 
Choir Blues (1)

 non fiction pieces

How Not To Be A Rat In My House
Dear N
Of Legacies And Remembrances
You Need Me To Feel Good
The Fragility Of The Artistic Ego
Humor's Limit
Association of Witches and Wizards... Seriously??
Correspondence Between Berry Feisty Pen and Mr Aliyu Umar
This Is Some Bizarre Stuff; Like Seriously?
The Perfect Church; How Perfect?

Pilgrim Progress on Ynaija.com

How Not To Be Spirit Filled
Will You Really Walk Past?
Who Do Men Say I Am
Let's Paint This Town Red
The Fourth Man In This Furnace
Too Young For A Legacy?
My Mess, My Growth
New Beginnings; Starting All Over Again
Thou Shall Not Compare

Opinion Pieces

Our Apathy, Our Undoing(Sahara Reporters, Bella Naija)
What Exactly Is Your Colour (234 Next)
Madam, Your Hair Is Due (234 Next)
Fela, Not Without Honour ( Bella Naija)
Lives; Not Federal, Not State (234 Next)

I blog to

Keep my creative juices flowing- It is incredibly difficult to keep getting better at writing if you don’t write. I mean, it’s really that simple and I owe whatever more I know about writing to the blogging experience.

Find an outlet to encourage and inspire- Sometimes, there are just words in my head that I feel I shouldn’t be the only one hearing so I blog to let out the voice.

I do not blog:

For popularity- I am not moved by the number of followers, the comments etc and certainly not blog nominations. Encouraged by it, but not driven by it. I simply love to write.

To belong to a certain clique or group- I actually cringe at the thought of being herded into some kind of clique. The group effect never quite got me. I am a professional writer and take what I do very seriously.

For financial reward- When I write my novel and get it published, then I would expect people to buy it and of course earn money as a result but this blog is sacred; like a scrap book of sorts and a repository of all I’ve ever written that makes sense. I will not blog just anything to get a certain number of hits or reduce quality so that the Google ads can be clicked on.

The 7 nominations are well deserved in my opinion. I would have felt like a fraud any way else.

Read this blog and then VOTE if you think Feisty Pen deserves this

I love you for free sugars

Vote FeistyPen for the Nigerian Blog Awards

Hi,

How are you doing today? Voting for The Nigerian Blog Awards has started. Feisty pen had 7 nominations!! *Drum Roll Please* Thanks to you lovely people out there who nominated me. The categories are

3. Best Blog by a Nigerian Based Blogger

4. Best Book, Poetry or Writing Blog

14. Best New Blog

26. Most Humorous Blog

28. Most Inspiring Blog

29. Most Unique Voice in  a Blog

30. Nigerian Blog of the Year

All you do is enter your name and your email adress (a valid one) and click beside Feisty Pen to vote in each of these categories.

They will send a confimation link to your email adress so that you can confirm that it is indeed you sending the vote. Thank you guys as you vote for me.

Here is the

VOTING PAGE

Please drop a comment if you have any problems with this process. Please and please vote and vote and vote and tell your friends and family.  I am very grateful.
Bless!

Lives; Not Federal, Not State

The recent road accident involving the deaths and injury of school children along the Lagos Ajah-Epe Expressway is a failure of government, especially at the local and state level.

The driver of the Corner Stone school bus was said to have been speeding while trying to negotiate a bend, thereby running into vehicles coming at breakneck speed from the opposing lane.

Parents have lost their heirs; one woman lost the two children she had after waiting for years to conceive. Wait or no wait, they were her babies.

The Ajah-Epe Expressway is no stranger to accidents. Just two days after the school bus incident, a mangled saloon car was seen at the side of the road, along with a bus and another saloon in different states of ruin. The fate of its occupants are unknown. God help them if they were rushed to the chronically inept health facilities that line the corridor.

The government of Lagos State has failed the users of this expressway in many ways.

Actually the use of the word express is an oxymoron. Expresses exist out of town, where they link metropolis to metropolis, and are usually not located in heavily-populated areas.

The Epe Expressway was once an express. It no longer is. Many people now live on either side of the road. From the Ajah but stop to Epe, houses, businesses and churches line the aisle, with citizens, including small children, walking unguarded along the road.

When you then consider the speed at which drivers (who are still of the illusion that they are driving on an expressway) use, it is not hard to imagine why there are so many accidents.

The government and its relevant parastatals have not carried out any public awareness campaigns concerning the speed limits that should be obeyed on this road. Mobile accident units like those available on the Third Mainland Bridge are visibly absent. The road is being treated as a no man's land, when it is actually home to thousands of Lagos' nouveau riche.

Another major contributor to the incessant accidents is the large number of trailers and tankers that ply this route. They carry the materials for use in constructing the many buildings sprouting up in areas along the corridor. From Sangotedo to Awoyaya to Lakwe, the trailers and tankers zoom past, despite being heavily laden with materials. One tanker driver once confessed that after working back and forth, day and night, he gets so exhausted that he places a large rock on the accelerator, so that his leg can get some rest.

What time will this man have to awaken from his stupor to kick that rock out of the way when he is seconds away from a head-on collision with a bus filled with school children?

By now, the Fashola-led government of Lagos State should have threatened these trailer and tanker drivers with a ban from plying this route if they fail to comply with simple common sense safety measures when driving on this ‘express'.

The driver must be of a certain age, chosen as an indicator of maturity, must not drink alcohol, must be of even temper and must be able to drive!

Hidden dangers

On my way back from work the other night, our cab driver suddenly let out a loud yelp. A form had just whizzed past the front of the cab, which had been moving ‘expressly'.

We missed the man by a hair's breadth. He was wearing black and looked no different from the area around him. There are no street lights. Of course, this is not a Lekki-Epe problem alone, but it is a problem and it is costing lives. One may argue that the street lights can not be put up now, because the Hi-Tech construction workers are advancing the work towards the area and may eventually pull out any light poles when road expansion begins.

But, something must still be done before a large number of citizens for whom the road is being made die from invisibility related accidents.

Floodlights, reflectors and speed breakers and are some of many short-term interventions that may be used by the government to ensure that drivers can notice things and persons on the road. Encouraging people to wear brightly-coloured clothes when walking on the road shoulders at night is a public safety strategy which the locals must be made aware.

The construction of the road also needs to be hastened because of the importance of the proposed extra lanes where the vehicles turning into the other lanes can signal and wait without causing accidents and traffic.

It is interesting to note that when all the noise was on about the presidential elections, I held it close to my chest that the local and state government elections of the executive and the legislature were more important because they affect the daily lives of the citizenry much more than the government at the centre. And the argument that the road is a federal Road, and should not be part of the state's burden does not hold any water. Our lives are lives. Not federal or state lives.

Hi guys, this opinion of mine was published in the Next Newspapers print and online edition in May 15 2011. It didn't get much coverage because I only knew it had been published a week after. But I would like you to read this and tell me a few things. I have written and published no less than 7 opinion pieces since I began serious writing in 2010. I have always favoured the humorous, conversational style. I would like you to read this and offer your opinion not only on the content but also on the style and if you found it engaging. Gotta know if I should be publishing any more opinions.

Thanks much.

Berry

Choir Blues (1)

You might want to read this first: SMALL PIKIN

Mrs Effiong last sang in the choir in Secondary School. When she moved with her parents and siblings to Lagos in 1989, she was quickly enrolled into Form 2 and when the school choir needed a replacement for the Carol Service, she was called on to try.

She had done well at the time. Her singing voice had proven to have the texture and pitch absent in her speaking voice. So when her husband, Udoh Effiong suggested to her that she pick a department in the church where she might serve the Lord, she replied, with a cheerful certainty- Choir.

They were sitting in the parlour after they returned from church. Nsese was on the floor, playing with her rag doll. The windows were open, the curtains pulled to the side; there was no power.

Mrs Effiong threw down her head tie revealing her hair net under which her bob was wrapped.

“I enjoyed the preaching today, she said. I bought the tape for you. They were doing buy- one- get one- free, so I bought you today’s and last week’s. Very cheap, just 100 naira, she said.

“But I gave you 200 naira apart from Nse’s offering, why didn’t you buy all four for the past month? he asked.

“How many can you listen to at a time, next week I’ll buy jo, no use tying down money”.

Udoh didn’t bother replying. He could never win. So he changed the subject and landed on the issue  of what department to join.

Since Nsese’s birth a year and a half ago and throughout the ten months of the pregnancy, Mrs Effiong had been in what Udoh and his Presbyterian leaders would call  ‘visitor in God’s house’ mode.

The Pastor had once preached a message: They that dwell and they that visit. The punch line of the sermon to which several of the congregants all chorused ‘Preach it’ was that people who dwell in homes have the responsibility to clean and take care of it but visitors were exempt as they were going to leave soon after they came.

So, it was understood that the message was an allegory castigating those who didn’t do anything to help in the church but were obviously not visitors. Mrs Effiong was one of them, so while her husband taught the Sunday School children, she became wracked with guilt and dredged out of her memory her choir singing days in Greater Heights Secondary.

“So you will attend the rehearsals on Tuesday, Mr Effiong said.

"Yes", she replied dragging Nsese to the bedroom to change her soiled diapers.

Presbyterian Church was located on the intersection between  Salvation Army street and Macaulay way on the Mainland Bypass. As Mrs Effiong alighted from the bus and crossed the street, she couldn’t help admiring the tall glass building stained with gold and bright green hues. She thought it was beautiful even though slightly outrageous but the church had loved the final creation after what seemed like years and years of sowing and sacrificing.

She met Ijeoma outside alighting from the bike that had brought her. Ijeoma was an extremely light skinned lady who sang lead especially in songs that required a knowledge of Igbo and when she saw Mrs Effiong, she cut her speech to the quick. ‘Are you mad?’ and other such questions were on her lips to ask of the bike man who had just splashed brown, muddy water on her skirt. But as a lead singer, she figured it would be bad example to a young worker.

Mrs Effiong smiled. A look of understanding passed between them. These guys can really be mad, her eyes seemed to be reassuring.

They greeted and walked in together. A man was at the piano at the far side of the hall and a group of men and women were seated along rows of chairs at the front. Mrs Effiong could see a woman slapping at her weave so hard, her head bobbed from side to side.

Although she was already known by most people  because of her husband, she still needed to stand up and say her name and what part she intended to sing. After the introductions came voice training. The choir master who introduced himself as Mr Ben said that she needed to justify her claim by singing the alto part to a popular chorus.

It was to be call and response. When Mrs Effiong sang it exactly how he had sang it; straight melody and without the barest hint of a harmony,  someone at the back sniggered. Mrs Effiong raised her eyebrows. You must not know ‘bout me!

We'll continue tomorrow. Did you enjoy how this started? Tell me in your comments.

Bless! :)

Father's Day: What My Father Taught Me

Yesterday was Father’s day. I dropped a line for my father on Facebook (amazing isn’t it), because he was out of town and I couldn’t reach him by phone.

I started to think about what having him as my father meant to me.

I remember being six in the 80’s and attending Christ Chapel meetings with him.  Tunde Joda’s baritone and the sharp punk he sported are my earliest memories of my Christian faith. My father got an earlier start on the evangelical, way before my mum and introduced me to a world of speaking in tongues, a ferocious appetite for Bible reading and a love for singing husky alto/tenor hymn parts.

He taught me to read and to love language. My mother (of sweet, blessed memory) was always the one who taught me Maths, and my father got the part as English teacher. He helped me construct those English essays, and with his characteristic cursive flourish, he would scribble the biggest words my seven year old mind could appreciate at the time.

He taught me hard work and diligence. Growing up, I watched him like clockwork, up at 4, on the road by 5.30 for that Government job that helped pay our bills.

He taught me laughter and I know that this is where I got my love for humour. He would regale my siblings and I with tales of the same ‘Fatima’ story, and each time with a different punch line. He would repeat the jokes his father had told him in that unique way an Ibibio man gurgles his words.

He sowed the seed for journaling. I remember that he scribbled everything. The diaries that came in each new year were his best presents. I once stumbled on a page where he wrote all the years up until 2020 and how old his children would  be and what he hoped they would have accomplished. He kept all our report cards and school fees invoices (yep you read right) from Nursery School till High School. Of course you know that means he had all the Nepa bills and receipts.

As I grew older and began to romanticise my childhood less, I began to see my father as the man that he was and not the godlike figure I had earlier on adored. It changed me. In more ways than one. But a deeper change superseded all others. And that was a deep, abiding love and appreciation for the human that he is. Strenghts and weaknesses and all. So Instead of waiting until his funeral (which is still far, far off, I hope) I chose today to celebrate my father, my sire, my friend. And in realizing that it took the unique qualities of two people to make me, I chose to celebrate the man as I have celebrated the woman.

To you, daddy, Happy Father’s day, you did better than most.

P.S Take your time today to celebrate the one you choose to call Father. Don’t wait much longer.