LICENSED TO KILL-a story of abuse

Hi!

My name is Jerry. I never thought i would be telling my own story. Like every normal child, I had dreams and fantasies; big ones, really big ones. I thought i will be big and mighty and admired and that one day i would die, then people would write about me, about how great i was, how powerful, how handsome, how...okay, maybe i should stop ranting. I am native American. I am that child who never had a normal upbringing. I grew up in an abusive home. While growing up, i had read in books that a man was the head of the home. This seemed not to be the case in  my family because my dad was scared of my mom. She wielded such force that my dad literally shivered on sighting her. I had learnt about a perfect family in  school, but i returned home everyday to see just the opposite of what i was taught at school. Several times, my mom would hit my dad with hurtful objects and dad just wailed like a baby. I was angered by the goings on in our home. I swore that i would become the man my father wasn't.

I had grown up in an abusive home, and i didn't want to breed the same kind of family i grew up in. Times past, then i met my heart throb. She was everything to me, the classic romantic. I had grown in love with this girl, and i thought that was the best gift life could give me; a girl to love. i would go any distance to meet with her. We went on long walks and picnics. Life could not have been any better. After months of heightened emotions, i proposed to Lina. It is not the proposal i remember, it was her response that stuck like a glue to my brain. she said, " i am tender, and soft, easily hurt and prone. I am naive and not sure about the future. i am not thinking right mow, but i don't need to think, my heart knows that i wanna spend the rest of my life with you. yes, i will marry you because i trust that you will protect my weakness and strengthen my courage. I will, I WILL, YES, YES!!!

We had just had our third child and we were celebrating our ninth year anniversary. We held a big party and we had friends come from all over the place. Old school mates of ours laughed hysterically over old boring jokes. My wife had had a very busy day cooking and preparing to receive our many visitors. After the long day, she was really tired and exhausted. Did i mention that for the nine years of my marriage, i had lived in fear that the demon that was in my mother would suddenly come up in my wife. As time went by in our marriage, i took steps to ensuring that i was never bullied by my wife, even mentally. I always ensured i won the arguments because i never wanted her to think that she was in anyway smarter than i was. I lived in constant fear that she would get a higher paying job than i had. I ensured i outdid her in the Gym because i never wanted her to believe she had more stamina than i had. I just never wanted to be bullied in anyway. Back to the story...After a very long anniversary dinner and dance, all our visitors left us. Our anniversary nights were those nights when we had out of the ordinary sex. The kind busy couples never have time to get involved in. I had looked forward to this night for a while, only to be disappointed by these words, "darling, i have had a very hectic day and i am not sure i can do this tonight. We could do something else, i mean, something less stressful, maybe kiss for instance".
\WHAT!!! KISS??? I had waited this long for something beyond the 5 minute-missionary style-lights out kind of sex, and all you have to say is kiss? Okay, why not kiss my palms. With those angry words, i raised my hand and slapped my wife. An eternity passed after that. I wasn't sure what had happened. I don't remember who cried louder, my wife or I? Sooner, my wife became my boxing bag. I went in and out of anger control therapy. After several attempts, i gave up. I was tired of the remorse that i felt after beating my wife. Was this a defense mechanism? Was i trying to be the first to bully my wife? Had i been unconsciously licensed to kill by my mother? I had hurt my wife several times too many and this time the police would make a case out of it. My second year in prison for attempted murder, i was taught to take the blame for my mistakes, but i have this deep feeling that i had unconsciously absorbed this bad attitude from my abusive home. I have no guns, no weapons of mass destruction, but i have been trained in the terrorist camp of my family and have been equipped with the weapon of anger and abuse. I am scared that my children will absorb this same attitude from me, and it will be a cycle in my family. A cycle of abuse, licensing more and more people to kill. 

One Dark Night

I had a really long day. One of those days when I thought I would pass out on the job. I am a stock broker by profession. Needless to say, a lover of my job and its attending risks. An astute investor and a lover of my son. A typical day for me starts at 5am and ends at 11pm. I'm the strong black woman who believes that there's no greater honour than to work and reap the fruit of your hard work. I wouldn't beg, I'd rather work hard. I have a sense of self-worth, what some folks call ego.
 
On this same day, every self worth was robbed away from me. I described it as the worst 30minutes of my life. My son was away, he went to be with his dad. I had just made dinner. This time, it was different. it felt like I'd lost my tongue. The food was neither bad nor delectable. For sure, I couldn't evaluate how the food tasted. I managed to get the food down my belly. Everything felt really weird that night, for reasons that I couldn't fathom. I slipped under the duvet hoping that I'd get out of the bad mood by the next day. If only I knew.

At midnight, my eyes popped open and my ears stood as if they heard something. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my palm hoping it was only a dream. "I must be hearing things", i said. I put my head down on my pillow and dozed off again. After what seemed like five minutes, i was awoken by a really gravelly voice. This time, I knew I wasn't hearing things. I leaped from my bed and yes! it was him, my neigbhour.

Kunle was the kind of guy that I wouldn't pay the slightest attention to. He was the wrongest man for a woman to look at not to talk of building a romantic relationship with. Quite a short man he was, with a really gravelly voice. He would often pass irritating comments such as "oh!baby, what's that you've got at your back. Your mama left you a good legacy". who says that kind of stuff if not a really dumb person. He smoked all there was in the world to smoke, did drugs, drank to "idiotism". He had tried several times to chat me up, but my woman pride wouldn't let me descend so low.

"You look really pretty when you sleep". Those words brought me back to the room with the devil standing in front of me. Uhm, uhm, i stammered. He put his dirty hands on me and tried so hard to kiss me. He finally fought his way through to my lips. when he kissed me, I got immediately nauseated, and  threw up. You wouldn't understand, but this guy repulsed me. I hated the very fabric of his being. He got really angered by my attitudethat he pushed me on the floor. I began screaming really hard. Piece by piece, he tore my night gown with his hands. He really was very strong. I made to run away naked, but he pushed me and threatened me with the little bread knife I left on my table. There I was on the bed, crying and afraid of what I knew would happen next. I will describe the event with one word...surreality. It was bizzare how he entered me like I was a piece of nothing. He had so much anger in him, and he would stop at nothing to gratify his desires and fulfill his fantasies through me.

When he was done, I whispered under my breath, "i'm HIV postive".

The diary of a player

Dear reader,
I'm writing this with deep emotions that seem to want to tear my heart muscles apart. Sitting all alone in the darkness of my odyssey, my arms are heavy and tears have not ceased to flow. I just returned from seeing my doctor,where he gave me what seemed like a death sentence.
Eight years ago, I was a single lady trying to catch all the fun there was in this world. I was dating several guys, doing drugs, clubbing, drinking to mention but a few. Don't judge me, I'm sure you can relate to this. Sexual expeditions were a common thing. I particularly remember one night, when I took on two guys in two different houses. Of course, neither of them was aware. That was the night that changed everything as I became pregnant, but for who? I couldn't tell. Niran and Shola, the two guys who satisfied my sexual urge that night were two very different people. Niran was an angry man, very violent whenever he got angry. He once pushed me against his car for telling him that he had no respect for women and that I wondered if that was how he treated his mother. He could be nice, really  nice, but he had some anger management issues. Ironically, i seemed to like him more. On the other hand, Shola was gentle, too-caring. Too-caring to a fault. oh please, I didn't need another baby-sitter in my life.
When I got to know that I had become pregnant, I accused Niran of being responsible. After a few arguments, he accepted the responsibility. We got married 7years ago, and have lived together with this child till now.Seven years down the road, this child has grown and has looked more and more like, no, not his father, but Shola! oh my Gosh! what have I done? Surely, Shola is his dad. five months ago, Niran, my husband, informed me that he had entered into business partnership with this guy called Shola and that he had invited him over for dinner. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be my Shola?
At dinner, I frequented the bathroom, as I couldn't bear Shola sit just across the table. He laughed with my husband who seemed to like him very much. At that time, my son walked in from our neighbour's, and the look on Shola's face changed. He stared continuously like he had seen a beautiful damsel. After what seemed like forever, he stood up, excused himself, and that ended dinner. I convinced my husband that our son must have reminded Shola of someone he lost.
Two months ago, my husband travelled out of the country. It was going to be a long stay. Shola visited me very often, making threats to take his son away from me. Then one of those days, Shola walked into my house, we began talking about good old days, I got really emotional, and then we started making out. Before I caught control of myself, we were done, yes, we had sex. How sad!
Shola still wants his baby back, he's threatening to talk to my husband. I went to see the doctor today, and he said, I'm two months gone. My husband is going to return from his trip, really soon and I have a baby in my womb and a seven year old in my hand that don't belong to him.
Dear reader, i'll see you in the other life, and i'm sure you'll judge me and tell me how stupid I was. I hear God will punish me in eternity, but I wish that He would give me the strength to face Niran. Niran is a mad dog, he'll kill me. Tell my son that I love him very much, but please don't tell him the kind of coward that I was.
Yours in despair
Bisi

I had an exciting time at Church today. While I sat in God's presence, a song played in my mind and I decided I was gonna share it.

Words and Music by Ray Boltz
The service is nearing an end
The choir is singing "Just As I Am"
And now as the old song is played
People at the altar
Are kneeling down to pray
Some are finding mercy
Forgiveness for their sin
Some are fighting battles
And they're struggling to win
The time has come
To give them to the Lord
That's what the altar is for
CHORUS:
That's what this altar is for
You don't have to carry
Those burdens anymore
There's a light in the darkness
There's a love that's true
And Jesus is waiting
He is waiting here for you
Go quickly now
Before they close the door
That's what the altar is for
A father is praying with his son
A mother kneels beside them
Thanking God they've come
An old man
Is standing there in tears
Giving up a part of him
That he's held back for years
Hearts are being broken
Lives are being changed
And those who call upon Him
Will never be the same
The time has come
To give in to the Lord
That's what this altar is for
CHORUS (repeat)
Go quickly now
Before they close the door
And you can give your burdens
To the Lord
That's what this altar is for


More lyrics: http://www.lyricsmode.com/lyrics/r/ray_boltz/#share

god or greed?

A story was told of a village, very many years ago, when young men were honest and girls were virgins.

The village was blessed with fertile land, lustrous green fields, and a stream that cut the beautiful landscape into the Northern and the Southern parts. It was supposed that the god of this village had blessed them with many natural resources and beautiful girls. They had just the perfect climate and were  predominantly farmers. This village became the resting spot for travellers on very long journeys. They weren't extremely wealthy, but they had just enough food for each day. The hospitality of these villagers was definitely worthy of note. They were deeply spiritual and followed the dictates of their god through his high priest to the letter. One of these dictates was that whenever they went out to war, they would destroy all of what was in the enemy territory, and will not covet their property. Failure to do so would anger this god and according to the prophesy, he would destroy their farmlands, and divide the village along the stream, causing the southerners to fight the northerners. Peace would elude them and prosperity will be a vague story. There would be wailing and crying in every home because of the death of children. Wow! what  bad news! These villagers had a history replete with conquest and victories. The story has it that it was because of their strict adherence to the dictates of their god that they won these battles. As a matter of principle, the chief warrior hailed from the Northern part of the village while his assistant hailed from the south.
A day came when these villagers went out to war as they had always done. They had chanted their war songs and mentally psyched up themselves. Of course, they won. However, just when the battle was declared over and the soldiers were about to retreat to the village, the chief warrior walked into the room of a missionary from a foreign land. He paced across the room floor then walked slowly as if he had seen something. At the table over looking the small window to the east of the room, he saw a cup, but this was different. he definitely was oblivious of what the glass cup was. such ignorance! It was a tumbler. "what's this mysterious object", he thought to himself. "This must have fallen from the gods". he took a peek outside the hut to be sure no one was coming. Almost immediately, the chief warrior snatched this "mystery gift" and made to walk away. Just then, his assistant bumped into him., "what's that in your hand? no!don't tell me. did you? yes you did". those were the senseless rantings of the assistant. "you know what our god said about this". Just then, the chief brought out the tumbler from under his skin bag. His assistant was profoundly amazed by such beauty.

An argument then ensued..."I'll share it with you"said the assistant. "No, you shall do no such thing" said the chief. back and forth, back and forth went the argument. Push came to shove, and the soldiers gathered around their chiefs. The assistant over powered his chief and snatched the tumbler out of his hands shouting "we must share it equally". He gave vent to his anger and smashed the tumbler against a wall, it shattered. the chief was horrified. The beauty had gone! he drew out a knife and stabbed his assistant. the assistant warrior was dead with a knife in his heart. The southerners took this as an assault on their ancestry and began reprisal attacks. back and forth, the daggers went. Arrows flew swiftly. Certain  soldiers ran to the village and assaulted the women and children from either side of the stream. The village was in confusion, An inter-village war had turned to  an intra-village war. Blood flowed down the mountains, children cried in horror as they watched their own deaths. Women were raped! lustrous green fields were a horrific sight of dead bodies and a nauseating stench of decaying bodies. This village had become a horror movie. years will not erode the memories of this bloodshed.
The week after, the high priest stood on the rock that emerged from the middle of the stream and shouted with his might..."who divided us? a prophecy or our anger,our greed or our god?"
YOU DECIDE

My love story

For those of you who don't know me, my name is Smith. I'm that guy in your neighbourhood that you never knew existed till today. I'm the loner. I have a few friends, mostly girls. I'm good-looking and measure up to the social status tagged "shy". I've experienced a lot in life. The only experience I've not had is a love experience. I've never really had a love story....okay, until recently.
She had grown from being my classmate to being my friend. I had heard that the most dangerous place for a girl  to put you is in the friend zone. Don't ask where I heard that from. Overtime, I grew emotions for this girl, Tina. Really uncontrollable emotions! I spent more time with her than I did with anyone else. Funny enough, she seemed to enjoy every bit of it. Strangely, though, whenever we came back from an outing she would re-iterate how glad she was that she had me as a friend. "FRIEND??? don't I just hate the friend zone? I couldn't get myself to tell her that her childhood friend had fallen in love with her. Everyday, I woke up and faced the mirror, rehearsing love lines. If Tina lived in my mirror, she would wake up to my incessant rantings and ravings about how my world changed since the day I first met her. If Tina were my mirror, she would sleep to the melodious love songs I played on my laptop. I recall a day when I had rehearsed for about 30 mins, I got angry with myself and decided to take that "leap of faith". I walked over to her house, stormed the door and shouted "Tina, there's something i've been ... she swiftly interrupted me,"hey! Smith, I was just thinking about u. come over here, will u?" "which of these dresses would u love to see me appear in?". She unpacked a few dresses and the discussions and debates about the dresses continued. Finally, I asked why she was so particular about her dress. Her reply "lets just say that I have a business meeting with this guy called Adetayo Sogunle". "okay..." I retorted. I think I whispered aloud after that, but i'm not quite sure of what I said any more.It didn't matter
Let's cut this story short, shall we? 
On this lazy Saturday, I roamed about in the shopping mall, filling my eyes with the vanity of men. I remember saying to myself,"uh oh! who can afford these?" Right from the second floor, I looked down and YES, it was Tina. sure as ever, I ran down the stairs, all the while thinking to myself, "this is your last chance boy, don't mess this up". It seemed like ages before I got down to the ground floor. On arrival, my eyes pierced through the crowd as though they would literally pull out of their sockets to aid in the search for Tina. At this moment, all my lines had been eroded by the adrenaline pumping in my body."what will I  say, how will I say it? Damn it! I had all these figured out just a moment ago. where did they all go" Yes! there was Tina, she was....she was...was in an embrace with this dark and huge guy. The kind of embrace I had always wanted from her. she seemed to be lost there, and was finding it hard getting out of that embrace. I shrugged and walked over to her back, tapped her on the shoulder and said, "Hi". She turned around and with this gracious smile said, "Hey!Smith, meet my fiancé, Adetayo Sogunle"
I woke up on the hospital bed, with Adetayo by my side. He said in a very calm voice, " I understand, but I'll like us to be friends.
I woke up again on the hospital  bed..."FRIENDS? U GOTTA BE KIDDING ME

For Soji I crave, with Niran I weep

A whimper in the empty room . . .

It’s mine.

I raise my head to stare in the mirror and I step back some at the horrific image I see.

Blurred kajal in my darkened eyes, runny mascara, flowing foundation, smudged brown powder; all these join together to make up the bride-of-Frankenstein look I now wear. And worse, the tears that have caused this make-up mayhem are still running loose, down my cheeks in rivulets, and past lips parted to grasp some breath of air to soothe my aching throat.

Soothe my heavy heart, if they can.

And they flow on, ignorant of my inability to understand why they flow now or what has caused my lachrymatory glands to release the early April rain at a time when I should be happy, rejoicing, celebrating.

My fists clench at the thought.

I am six weeks along, pregnant with my first child, by my wonderful husband. He is the love of my life, the joy of my existence, the wind beneath my sails, the wings of my love; he’s all these and more. He’s loving and caring and thoughtful and generous and kind and, he’s a great guy, with a great sense of humour and a long chiming laugh that makes my breath catch in my throat.

And it catches now, like always, as air clogs my trachea and threatens to choke me, the tears welling in my eyes again, pulling at my arteries, threatening to burst my capillaries and kill me with this pain. I sob uncontrollably, head falling forward onto weak arms now supported by the bathroom sink I'm standing before.

I’ve got all I ever wanted. So why this pain?

“Honey, are you okay?” I hear my husband ask gently as he comes up behind me, one tenderly placed hand resting on my shoulder.

“I’m fine,” I mutter, unbelieving of how strong and different I sound. “I’m okay.”

“Are you crying?” he asks now, his other hand now resting on my other shoulder. “Come on, baby; talk to me. I'm here for you.”

I sniffle loudly and lift my head slowly to meet his eyes in the mirror. His look of concern is so great, I begin crying again.

“Awwwww, darling; come to me.” He turns me around quickly and holds me to himself, my head against his chest, my ear listening distractedly to his heartbeat. “Let me hold you,” he whispers quietly.

And he mutters sweet nothings to me; he tells me he loves me and he cherishes me. He goes on and on, muttering, stroking my head. I hear him, like a voice from deep down in a tunnel, far away, some echo fading to nothing on my mind’s mists.

Until: “It’s just your hormones, baby. You’ll be fine.”

And the tears begin again; because now, I know just why this April rain has come in spring.

And I wish it was just the hormones.

But it’s not them.

It’s me.

And it’s him.

It should not be him telling me this. It should be Soji, whispering in my ears, telling me he loves me, holding me, kissing my forehead so softly, slowly, here, with me, having this baby with me, building this family with me, standing with me and . . .

But it’s not him. It’s Niran, standing with me, holding me, that I'm having this baby with, that’s whispering in my hair how much he loves me, kissing my forehead, gently, slowly.

And it’s Niran I hold on to tightly, weeping for the love I lost in the winter of ’78 and the love I'm losing to its hovering memory.

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