Mary Mary Not Quite Contrary

Her name is Mary, but I call her Aunty Mary. She was born and raised in Calabar town. A jolly lady who loves to chew my ears off talking, and boy does she talk. She's always got a good story to tell - not gossip - but just gist, about food, her life, her dreams, her fears and so on.

Afang leaves sliced by her

The other thing that Mary loves to do is cook. She excitedly tells me about the different ingredients she uses to cook indigenous soups, and her own method of cooking.

I can't even remember the name of the fish

She always looks so content in the kitchen, surrounded by vegetables, and dried fish of all shapes and sizes, local spices, and the rest of the ingredients. She also derives pleasure from getting the best quality of ingredients that money can buy, and she does drive a hard bargain at the market.

I wish I could set her up nicely, so she could take her cooking to the next level, but that is not possible now. Yet, she'll be happy to render her cooking services to busy professionals, stay-at-home moms, and anyone interested in  letting their food get cooked by other hands, to be stored away in the freezer - talk about home-cooked microwave meals.

Mary is a single parent. She has a seven-year old son whom she lives for. While she was forced to stop school when she was in JSS3, she has vowed to give her son a solid education. She intends to further her studies at some point in time, but right now, it's all about her son.


If you're interested in hiring her services, you can reach her on 0818-198-3822, or via email at:maryrobertcooks@gmail.com

Mountain Climbing

As you face today, as you face the week, remember that before you get to the top of the mountain, you must pass the valley. (Even if you were going to use a chopper or plane to get to the top, it would still have to take off from the valley or bottom).

The top is yours for the taking if you do all you need to do to prepare yourself for the climb, and ain't no shame in asking for a little help along the way.

Have a SUCCESSFUL week!

One Strand Of Grey

Most times, a lot of us are prepared for puberty. We get the lectures from the time we are seven or eight years old. So it doesn't come as a surprise when things start to happen.

But I am not too sure if we were lectured about the aging process...probably because it's something that we are old enough to understand by the the time it starts happening. 

I remember plucking white hairs off my father's head or pulling out long white strands from my mother's.

However none of those experiences prepared me for the moment I saw my first grey hair. YIKES!!! It's happening to me too? Ok, so I freaked out a little. I wasn't too thrilled at the discovery. My imagination went into a little hyper drive envisioning wrinkles, sagging skin and tired muscles along with toothless gums...but that is still a long way off, God giving me the grace.

So I put out my question to you.

What was your first reaction when you saw your first grey hair?

What I Did To My Daughter's Teacher

There I was, eyes blazing red, fire coming out from my nostrils, my dreads standing with steam rising out of my head.  I had just plastered my daughter's teacher to the blackboard and was ready to make her the last lesson for the day...but alas, this was to be only in the alternative world that existed in my mind.

My daughter is in primary one, fresh out of nursery and right into primary.

School had closed almost an hour ago, but my daughter and husband were not yet home, and considering the fact that school was just a five-minute walk away from our house, I wondered what could be keeping them.

The husband comes back and explains that he had to wait with our daughter and assist her as she copied her homework from the blackboard, because between keeping up with what was written on the board and what she was writing in her book, she kept losing track.

And what does the class teacher have to say to all this? That primary one is intense, and that my daughter doesn't know how to copy from the blackboard, and that all the other children had finished and gone home. LIKE SERIOUSLY??? and you're supposed to be a teacher??????

So the husband's coolness prevails over me. (Sometimes the man is just too cool, but I respect him for it). He patiently explained to our daughter, took her through how to write from the blackboard. The lass was already feeling bad that she was the only one in class. Dad told her she wasn't the only one because there were other children in other classes facing the same dilemma of copying from the blackboard.

The next day was pretty much the same routine, but she was a little faster...she was getting the hang of it. By the third day, the teacher said she was one of the first to finish copying. MSCHEW!

Now, while we have the option to request for a change of class to a more patient, and understanding teacher perhaps, or take it up with the current teacher and let her know that all children are different and it is her job and duty to take note of that and try to help each child as much as she can, we have decided not to.

Reasoning it out, we figured that there will be many more people like my daughter's present teacher along the way, some will be classmates, random people, but people will always say things to her to bring her down, compare her with others, and what will she do then, run crying to us, always complain?

Nah, she will be confident in herself, fearless, independent, assertive, but not rude,not a crowd pleaser. We will encourage her interests academic and non-academic.

I don't need a straight-As child, I need a child who will be happy, well-balanced and not afraid to take on the world and make a positive impact.

Personally, I feel that there is undue pressure on these children who are fresh out of nursery school to primary school. The transition is too rapid and the shock to the kids is a bit too unnerving.

I don't know if it was the same for all schools, but back in the 80s, there was a class called TRANSITION, and it was in-between Nursery 2 and Primary 1. Was it just my primary school that employed that technique, or was it something that was phased out?

I also remember that the teachers would draw lines on the blackboard and write on them, as opposed to writing freely. It made it easier for us to follow and copy.

I would like to hear from other parents on the solutions they have taken when they are faced with ill-tempered, nasty, impatient teachers, who do nothing but speak negativity into your kids lives. Yes, we may make our complaints, even have the teacher fired or removed from that class, but the truth is that our children will meet people like this at different stages of their lives.

So what do you do about it?

Behold, A Cook Is Born.

Written by
Syreeta E. Akinyede

Charcolit Jollof rice. Obviously I have graduated (image:Sybil)

I don't know if I was mentally prepared by the time I started, but ideally I was supposed to have my mother with me in the kitchen on my first day, but I couldn't,

Films That Don't Allow You Eat

Written by: Syreeta E. Akinyede

Smeagol (image: http://stephengallagher.co.nz)

There I was eating a wonderful plate of rice, and then scenes with Smeagol from the film The Hobbit: An unexpected journey surfaced in my head, and all of a sudden, I just couldn't get another spoonful past my lips. I tried and tried, but it was as if I had bile in my mouth - not that I could taste bile, but I just didn't want to taste anything.

I can't remember any other film that has made me feel this way.

So please share, which films have you found not good for mealtimes? :)

From Whence My Ogi Cometh

Written by: Syreeta E. Akinyede

In the midst of the quiet early morning buzz as Surulere comes to life, I hear her voice, loud - but not annoyingly loud - and distinct. It is a voice you cannot ignore. The first few mornings when I hear it, I can't make out what she was saying, but after a few days, I notice that she has a pattern and she rarely deviates from it. 

Soon enough, her arrival becomes a means for me to tell the time, and much later, hearing her voice would mean I have less than 20 minutes to trade in my nightwear for some decent clothes and dash out to purchase my weekly ration of Ogi. Yes, Ogi, or what some of us would call pap, or to be scientifically specific, the result of fermented corn, which has been ground and sieved.

After a few years of waking up to her calls, hurriedly putting on some clothes and dashing down the stairs, I decide to learn more about her MO (Mode of Operation); so one morning, we (my talented photographer sister and I) arrange to do a little written/photo documentary on her as she goes through her routine.

Alhaja Fausat or Iya Ologi as she is generally called, is a native of Oyo state. She came to Lagos after she got married, and started her business of producing and selling Ogi to support her family. With no sophisticated technology but pure old traditional techniques that she learnt from her mother, she single handedly carries out the production process. She has two surviving children who are grown now and have their own families. The others she says, died in infancy and miscarriages.

From her home in a lower class neighbourhood in Aiyetoro, Aguda, she makes an almost one-hour trek to a middle class residential area. Rising at five in the morning, she prepares for the day and sets out at 6.30 a.m. with her silver tray on her head, laden with three different varieties of Ogi - yellow, white and brown, all wrapped neatly in pieces of transparent nylon. At this point, allow me to say that Alhaja Fausat’s Ogi is like getting fresh milk straight from the cow.

                                                                                                                                 

Today, it’s a cold harmattan morning and all she has on are her Iro and Buba, which are made of a thin material, along with a pair of flat slippers on her feet -nothing to protect her against the chilly weather. This is her usual attire, whether it is during the cold wet mornings of the rainy season where she wades in flooded streets, determined to reach her customers; or the chilly foggy mornings of the harmattan. I have bought Ogi on one of those rainy days; you know the types that discourage you from getting out of bed, even if your life depends on it.
 

She moves with such precision for a woman her age it is almost as if she is on autopilot, but given that she has been walking the same route for 32 years selling Ogi, I guess it is more or less second nature to her. 

 

At frequent intervals she raises the tray above her head, both her arms stretched upwards. She explains that she does this to provide some temporary relief from the strain of the weight of the Ogi. Sometimes, she has pains in her legs, and has to take some medicine – part of the ageing process.

 






















She is no stranger to the streets of this middle-class area as both young and old alike, new residents and old residents - families, who were the first settlers, greet her. Some of the young were still in diapers when she started her business, and now they too have families. For the elderly, sometimes a bit of friendly banter is exchanged while she makes her sale.

As we walk on, she meets another woman who has a tray of Agege bread on her head. She introduces us to the woman and tells us that she has also been selling bread for a long time – 23 years. The two women place their wares on a low wall by the side of the road and have a little tête-à-tête. After a few minutes, they continue walking together, calling out as they go along. After walking through a couple of streets, they part ways.

 

The two women have been meeting along their trade routes for over 20 years

After a two-hour walk, Alhaja Fausat begins the trek back home. Just before we leave her, we ask her to pose for a portrait. She thanks us and prays for us. 

It is clear that this is not just a means for survival for her, but a service that she is proud and happy to render.

Photography by Sybil

THE LEFTOVER COUNT

I watched them enter the compound where I live - a slim man with two little girls walking in after him. They didn't shut the gate after them, and that got me pissed, after all they met it shut didn't they?

I wasn't going to challenge them,  I just continued to watch. Looking through the glass doors of my house, I could see them , but they couldn't see me, yet, it surprised me when I realised that they were actually headed for my house.

As they stood in front of my door and knocked, I thought that perhaps they had the wrong house. I politely asked who they wanted to see.

"Please we want food," said the man. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.

"What did you say?" I asked. OK, so I figured he had asked for food, but a part of me just didn't believe that it was what I had heard. While he repeated his request, I had a look at the little girls with him. They couldn't have been more than 4 and 7, and they really did look like him - the younger one especially.

I promptly directed him to the second house in the compound. As he left, my heart knew that I ought to give them something, and I did have something to give them. My husband asked if there was anything I wanted to give them. I had made a big pot of moin-moin the night before, and I had just warmed it. I quickly put some wraps together in a plastic bag, and just after their father had locked the gate (oh yes, he shut it and even slid the bolt in), I opened it and called out to them.

The elder daughter collected it, whilst their father thanked me. It was just the simple phrase "thank you", no extras, no flurry of prayers, or gestures of undying thanks, just a simple thank you...and it was enough for me. Though I knew what I gave wasn't enough.

I wanted to ask about his wife, his living conditions, why he was out on the streets on a Saturday morning going from door to door asking for food, what did he do for a living?...but I couldn't. I knew I wouldn't be able to follow through, or provide a solution to his predicament...it was sort of a case of starting what I won't be able to finish, so I had to let it be.

I continued to peep at them for a while, as he continued his door-to-door hunt for food. Less than 15 minutes after they left, a rainstorm started - heavy winds, and then the downpour. I said a silent prayer for them, hoping they were sheltered from the storm.

I am very guilty of wasting food, (tossing my leftovers with ease into the garbage) serving up more than I should for myself and sometimes my children. Though recently, I have been trying to cut down on wastage of food, and after seeing that man and his children today, I have this terrible pang of guilt and their hungry faces still haunt me, and would probably continue to haunt me every time I decide to throw away "those few last spoons of rice", or "that part of chicken I don't like to eat".

My resolve not to waste food just reached it's climax. I consider it a crime and a sin, but hey, that's just me. If you decide to make the same resolve, there are lots of lovely recipes that are created from leftovers, when in doubt, just Google them out:)

Levels: "Do You Know Who I am?"

"Do you know who I am?" After this question, I literally tune off, "here we go again," I think to myself. Then I start to assess the whole situation.

The person who just asked that question is driving a new car - probably one of the newest models of whatever brand (I'm not too keen on brands if it's not Mercedes, BMW, or Range Rover), and there's 'poor' me - at least the person thinks that, otherwise he/she wouldn't be so arrogantly asking me that question. I'm driving my classic Mercedes 230, that has never let me down- sure we have a couple of dents here and there, but still in very good shape if I do say so myself.

I'm wearing a pair of faded jeans and a shirt with no label (or maybe the label got torn off, or something- who cares!), not sure if I ran a comb through my hair this morning- ok I probably did, but knowing the nature of my hair, it has probably coiled itself back into knots.

Yea and lest I forget, on the car is a sticker that identifies the owner as being a graduate of one of those overseas universities - so yes, maybe we are not educationally equal? Yea right, bite my head off. I mean I graduated from the Lagos State University, (I'm very proud of my alma mater) and from where I am standing, if you were to judge by listening to us talk, I should be the one with the University of ...(any fine university you know overseas would do). 

I spent my secondary education at Queens College Yaba, Lagos, and boy didn't I meet a mixture of human beings (from the daughters of governors, magnates, judges etc to the daughters of janitors) and well, quite naturally the segregation was clear in some quarters; yet there were some very humble 'rich' girls, daughters of some powerful men. I will not particularly forget this certain lady (whose name I won't mention for obvious reasons). She is the daughter of one of Nigeria's past presidents, but her humility was so divine, it was almost unbelievable.

Oh well, that's life. Quite a number of us have experienced such outbursts, where people go ahead and start asking us if they know who they are, like it matters.

Even if there are no outbursts, there is a certain aura about them that says "I'm better than you because I've got this and this and that". You know them when you see them. They walk only with their own kind, sharing jokes and making fun of the 'lesser beings'. They live by a set of criteria, sizing up anyone who wants to be in their circle, and if you don't match up, well...

I mean so what if you've got a fleet of cars at your disposal, a huge satellite on your lawn, a string of degrees (1st, Masters, Doctorate) that were not obtained on Nigerian soil, and you're related to one someone in the presidency, or one of those oil and gas moguls and yada yada yada.

Last I heard, we poop the same poop, yours isn't gold, or can be recycled to something of value, otherwise we probably wouldn't have heard the last of how much worth your s^*%t is. Truth is, you and I are going to end up the same way- as a pile of dust; and I haven't heard of it yet, but it's going to be the same dust - brown. Yours isn't going to be gold, or silver or platinum; all your wealth and assets won't follow you after you lose your physical form, so what's all the fuss about, like why do I really have to know you? So I can tremble at your feet and lick your boots?

You've got it all wrong, and the earlier you start to get it right, the more life will make much sense to you.

Sadly though, these people also pass on these false values to their kids and it just goes on and on.

I thank my parents for teaching me the value of living an honest, humble life and learning not to worry about where and how one was educated. I thank my husband for also being a constant example of those values, and for continuing to teach me.

We waste too much time on inanities and material gain. We are constantly trying to outweigh each other, indulging a race that isn't even worth running. 
Now I am not saying that wealth acquisition is bad, No! Just don't make it your priority in life and a yardstick for your interactions with others.

In the end, the preacher has said it all: "All is vanity."

For Granted

Have you thought deeply about the process of waking up? Before you go to bed, dwell on it. You're going to close your eyes, your heart rate is going to slow down, all metabolic processes will slow down too...but why won't they stop? What's keeping that heart of yours pumping? What's the guarantee that it's going to go on pumping the next couple of seconds?
Sure you've got the body of an athlete, or your work-out routine is just off the charts and, your diet is the best thing that could have happened to you and yada yada yada.
If you're reading this, then you have breath, you have life and you have hope. It means that you got back home safely, or you arrived at your destination safely. It means you have eyes to read and maybe ears to hear too.
It means you have another chance to make things right, another day to savor, to play away, to laugh, to cry, to help someone, to love someone, to make a difference.
But on the other side of the coin...someone isn't going to wake up to read this. Their eyes will be shut forever, no breath, no life. Maybe they didn't make it back home, maybe they did but never woke up. Maybe they had woken up but had their life taken away...maybe they died giving life to someone else...who knows.
Some people didn't have to dig the earth to be buried, it just opened up and swallowed them up. Some of them may have wished for a lavish funeral; golden casket, tuxedo, and blaa blaa blaa...but guess all that is gone underground now.
For some it was a sudden watery grave, swift, and overwhelming. The options are endless.
My point really is...if you're alive today(well or unwell),promise to always give God the thanks. the moment you open your eyes, just say it. Thank you God for the gift of another day.

A FRIEND

I have had quite a number of friends in my life so far- at least that's what I called them then. Often times than not, they were friends to me- they were willing to go the extra mile for me, they would always be there for me whenever I needed them. I was a top priority to them. But I wasn't a friend to them. I took them for granted. When it came to them, there was always something better to do. Perhaps the most amazing thing in all this, is the fact that I paid more attention to people who did not give me the time of day. Those were the ones I tried to please, those were the ones I went out my way to seek.

We really do some bizarre things as human beings. Today, I stand ashamed and full of remorse, and ask forgiveness from those whose friendships I'd abused in the past. Though for some its already too late, and the guilt lingers.

She was the girl next door. We had just moved to a new neighborhood. She was kind, took me around, introduced me to her friends and made me feel very welcome and comfortable. Within days of our meeting, she'd told me almost everything about herself. Her openness was amazing and warming. Soon enough, she got admitted to a university and had to travel out of state. We exchanged e-mail addresses (I never mailed her), and we exchanged phone numbers. Though she called from time to time, I never bothered calling back. I would flash once in a while- but c'mon, that's still cold.


Eventually, her family moved out of the neighborhood, but she still kept in touch. She even came to visit with her fiance whom she had met at the university. She also advised me to get serious and stop flirting around.

One evening, months after I'd seen her, she called me. After accusing me of not calling her at all- to which I laughingly apologized- she told me her wedding was in a few weeks and if I didn't call her she wasn't going to call me again- yea right! she'd said that so many times before. She was just bluffing, then why did I feel that she meant it, why did I have the constant nagging feeling to call her? I couldn't understand it.

Six weeks later, I understood. She died in a plane crash on her way back from her honeymoon. Her last words to me "I'm not going to call you again o." My reply, "I've heard." How cold, how cruel, how selfish.

She's not the first friend I've lost, but the first I've lost to death. I can never try to make it up to her, I can never apologize to her, but I can make amends to those alive.

Lets look in our hearts and assess ourselves. Are we really being true as friends? It is better to lay a friendship to rest than to leave the other person hanging. Be honest with your friend even though it may hurt, be there for your friend, be supportive. Always look out for your friend and never let communication die, even if you hear nothing from your friend in a while, it won't hurt to call just to be sure that everything is okay.

Never part with anyone on a bad note. It might just be the last word said between you two.

MAYBE IT'S ME

It seems to be a human thing to do-to blame everyone but ourselves for our failures, shortcomings, misfortunes, and even our outlook on life.

In our sight we are always right; but the funny thing is that we can never stand before ourselves-unless of course we look in the mirror. But even at that, how many of us really have the guts to look at our true reflections and say " that's a really ugly character flaw I have there, and it's causing some real damage, not only to me, but to people around me, I've got to fix it!"

It's amazing how quick we are to play the victim, to be the accuser,to shift the blame, to run away- but it's wrong, unfair and wicked.

It takes a humbling of the spirit, a selflessness that surpasses all human understanding, and a genuine fear of the Creator to turn the fingers on oneself, to be the accused, and to try to find a possibility that maybe and just maybe, the problem is you.

This is an attitude that I'm finding very hard to adopt. It's a level of selflessness that makes you a better person, and less and less of a hyprocrite.
During an arguement, I'm always to quick to run to my defence and point at the other party. All I see is what they did, I blind myself to what I did. I look at my mistakes, and reason with myself that something or someone else was responsible for them. By so doing, I'm storing up a rather large dose of bitter pills to swallow in the end.

Kind words from a kind heart. Humility and selflessness, are sure ingredients for a soup of eternal happiness, peace, and a better world!

After All Is Said and Done

There was definitely no way I was going to leave you all in the lurch, nah, not after staying with me this far.

Another year waits patiently around the corner. Another chance to right our wrongs, another chance to aim for success, another chance to make a difference, another chance to be different, another chance to forgive and be forgiven. It's an endless list of possibilities. That's the spirit we should carry on with us.

So your plans didn't exactly turn out as you expected,but that's not to say it's over- well unless of course you believe it's over. If you didn't get it right this time, that doesn't mean you'll never get it right. You will if you keep working at it and believing in it. Yes, we all have some failures to remember, but they are only part of the pathway to success.

Amidst all the merriment and jubilation, take out some time to reflect. Above all take your thoughts and plans to the Lord. Sometimes we just forget to involve Him.

Wishing you an improvement in all areas of your life and a deeper understanding of the purpose of this life.

God's blessings to y'all!

Sometime in the Future

Sometime in the future, probably sixty or more years from now with half my teeth down the drain , I want to be able to smile and thank God.





There will so much to be thankful for. For my children, my grandchildren, my great-grand children, their spouses and their spouses' families.


I may not have doctors, or lawyers or engineers or bankers in my family. but everyone would be fulfilled and happy in whatever they have chosen to do with their life.



I would thank God for blessing my life with them, and for using me to bless them as they in turn will also bless others.



I would be thankful for every argument we had, every tear that we shed, and every laugh that we shared. For memories good and bad, because they strengthen bonds and make us understand each other more.

And above all, I will be most thankful for my husband, my friend, my love, my partner, my equal, my soul mate, my pillar, my strength, my companion, and my confidante; whom I have shared my life with and whose life I have in turn shared in.

I would look at my family and say, life is certainly worth living, when you have love.

The Search and The Find

I watched with joy as one of my very good friends got married on Saturday, the 20th of October, 2007. Exactly 6 years after they got engaged. Okay so she's not the first of my friends to get married, then why the hype?

Often times, there's always a little history before a woman gets married. I'm talking about the X-factor, yes the X-boyfriend, or boyfriends as the case may be. Call me old-fashioned, call me conservative, but the truth is we(women)are better off without those "X"es.

This marriage resulted from my friend's one and only relationship. Apart from her Christian upbringing, I often wondered what made her a little more reserved towards the guys in the university. Don't get me wrong though, it wasn't that she wouldn't talk with them, but there was just a way she conducted herself around them.

This is not to say that you have to be engaged before you conduct yourself in an appropriate manner, but you should at all times.

I on the other hand thought myself a free-spirit. I'd hug all the guys, jump on them, talk nasty with them. Of course this "free-spiritedness" had its consequences,though at the time, I felt i was living life and having fun. I look back now and wish that I had calmed down and not let my excitement and eagerness to "feel among" get the better of me.

It was my dream as a young girl that whoever I dated would be the person I'd marry. Even though I didn't live that dream, I'm a strong advocate for it.

There is another detail of great importance in all this. The seal of approval from God. No matter how good you think a guy or girl is, only God can see the whole true picture. So when you think you've stumbled upon Mrs. Right or Mr. Right, take them up to the Lord in prayer for approval before going toO deep.

Congratulations to Mr&Mrs. Fabajo. God bless you and keep you. I await the naming ceremony.

Conscience rules

I believe everyone is born with a conscience; the ability to tell right from wrong.
A conscience is that red light that blinks when you’re approaching your limit. It’s the soft little voice that speaks to you from the inside, amidst the loudness and madness.
Most of the time, you deny the existence of this “true friend”, whose only interest is what’s best for you. You do this to afford yourself the luxury of doing what you want. However one truth I have come to realize is that you can suppress this inner voice but you can never kill it. It breathes as you breathe and thus lives as long as you live too. I’ve heard people talk about a bad conscience. You were created to love others, so how come you go about killing them? It’s the same thing with a conscience, it was created to prevent evil thoughts and actions, to caution and to protect, but when you ignore its call and go ahead with your evil intentions, you say it’s a bad conscience.
Sometimes, you think you know where you’re going; you think you know what’s waiting for you around the corner; you keep up your speed and ignore all the signs. You approach a sharp bend, the red light is blinking furiously now, but you still don’t stop. You think you’ve got it all under control, and then…. BANG!!! You don’t see it coming, it’s a head-on collision, the impact is deadly and all too soon you see a blinding light as your life flashes past; then a momentary pause filled with a knowing regret, “I should have stopped”, then the darkness, and all is lost.

To be or Not to Be

It’s so easy to get lost in doing something that isn’t worthwhile and so easy to remain focused doing something that has absolutely no value.

I convince myself that the reason why it's easy is because it requires little or no effort- but that's where I've got it all wrong! I'm just channeling the same energy in another direction.

I find it hard to focus on writing, I have a good story in my head, I begin to type away at it, then the next thing I remember I have this beautiful card game that I haven’t finished playing. The next thing I know I’m spending hours on it, starting and restarting and finally, Hurray! I win.

I look at the time, it’s already very late, I tell myself there’s no way I can make sense out of the story I’ve written , or rather, I tell myself that I should be too tired to think and besides tomorrow is another day, I’ll start early and remain focused.

The next day comes and what happens, I do the same thing all over again.

Who can help me out of this? The truth is I’m the only one who can get me out. This is what is called self control and just like keeping fit, I have to exercise it.

Its not enough to repeat a couple of self help lines. Total application is necessary to make the transformation complete.

I am glad to say that I have made some progress in that direction and I pray for the strength not to relent and give up.

Sometimes we are the obstacles in our path to success and greatness. We can be either one of two things; our greatest stumbling block or our greatest stepping stone.The question is which would you rather be?

Much ado about sex

Now sex comes in different forms: there's Pure sex-which is sex between married couples; Adulterated sex- which is sex between two spouses from different marriages, or one married partner and a single partner; Pre-marital sex- sex between partners who are unmarried.

Sometimes i ask myself,would the world would be a better place, if we all stuck to pure sex? Is it really possible to abstain from sex until marriage?(for both men and women), is it possible to remain loyal and faithful to your spouse till death do you part?

Apart from the risk of sexually transmitted diseases, sex in any other form but its pure form is always damaging be it psychological, emotional, spiritual or physical.

Sex is a form of bonding which should be shared with only one other person (your spouse)as long as you both live. Outside this, one can never fully experience the true fulfilment that goes along with it.

So why do we human beings deliberately close our minds to the right way of living and embrace ugliness and unhappiness, then turn around beat ourselves and cry and say that the world is a wicked place. When truly, we are responsible for evrything.