Prayer for the New Year

Dear God,

May my life be of use to You this year.
May my talents and intelligence 
help heal the world.
May I remember how much I have
by remembering how much I have to give.
May I not be tempted by smaller things
but serve my larger mission of forgiveness and love.
Thus shall I be lifted, God,
and know joy this coming year and beyond.
Bless me and work through me 
to bless the entire world.
Amen

Poem: New Year

A New Year

So there I stood, on this piece of land, a new year stretched out before me, galloping fast and full. Could God's love really transform the landscape of my heart and seep into the ground here? Could love stop me in my tracks, could it hijack the dates and times and allow me to breathe in the new? I felt both the warmth of shelter and the distant chill of harsher weather. Could this man Jesus really stand between me and this incoming storm? Or become part of my intimate family treasure? How I look and wonder at the flaming colours of dawn, a dawn that breaks again and again across the face of a broken world. Can this unconditional love really cradle such a discordant and desperate globe in saving hands?

Yet at this moment, I feel the depth of ground beneath me. I stand upon words of truth, the book of life. And as I allow the Gospels, tales of Jesus of Nazareth to come alive in my mind they awaken my heart. If love really did overcome when Christ died on the cross, this piece of land is redeemed, restored and forgiven. Yes!! I can walk forward with a peaceful heart. And I do hold in my hands a piece of that land, a fragment of that legacy. Faith leaps in my heart, order reigns in my mind and hope grows in my spirit. A new year, new beginnings and new dreams, can all be made possible through God's transforming love.

"A New Year" - a prayer poem, copyright © 2014 Julie Palmer 

Orikis and their meaning

As promised in the previous post, here's my attempt at listing known Yoruba Orikis (pet names or Panegyrics) and giving their literal meanings. As much as I tried, I could not provide meaning to some of them. I'd be delighted if anyone could supply the meanings.

I hope you find a name here...

Abebi: begged for her (usually from a deity) F

Abeni: same as Abebi. F

Abefe: one who is persuaded to be loved. Unisex

Abeo: is this shortened form of Abero which would then mean "we pleaded for her to stay" ??

Abeke: one who is persuaded to be pampered. F

Abeje: we begged for her and she answered (by being born) F.

Abike: born purposefully to be pampered. F

Adigun:

Adisa:

Adubi: We all contended for her. F

Adunni: The one who is sweet to have. F

Aduke: We all contend to pamper her. F

Adufe: We jointly contend to shower her with love. F

Adugbe: We all join hands to carry/nurture her. F

Akanni: The only one we have or the first one. M

Akanbi: The first son. M

Akanke: Set aside for pampering. F

Akanmu: Specially chosen. M

Akanji: The first son/child M

Ajani: We fought to birth this one. M

Ajasa: We fought and retreated. M

Ajamu: Birthed after a struggle. M

Ajagbe: We fought to birth this one. M

Ajadi: Born of strife. M

Ajala: We struggled and conquered
M

Ajabi: We contended for him to birth him. M

Ajoke: We jointly care for/pamper her. F

Ajike: The first one to pamper/our priority. F

Apeke: Called to be cared for and pampered. F

Apinke: We take turns caring for her. F

Asani: Specially chosen to own. F

Asabi: Specially chosen to birth. F

Asake: chosen to be pampered. F

Asamu: Specially chosen to hold. M

Asape: Specially chosen to perfection. F

Arike: When se see her, we care for her (or we cherish her). F

Ariyo: Joy to behold. F

Aremu: We had to cajole him to have him. M

Anike: To have her is to pamper her. F

Alani: The first one I have. M

Alade: The first one to arrive. M

Alamu: The first one I held. M

Alao:

Amoke: To know her is to pamper her. F

Amole: When we met him our lot increased. M

Ayoni: The one who we are delighted to have. F

Ayoka:

Ayinla

Ayinde:

Ayinke: Set aside/Specially chosen for pampering. F

Atanda: Specially created

Agbeke: We carry her like an egg, pampering her. F

Aweda: Without Blemish or fault

Awero: We have had her, she's not leaving (not so sure). F

Amosa: To know him is to flee ( usually bequeathed on children whose mom or dad died when they were born). M

Ishola: Help!!! I have no clue to this one

Abedo: the one who we 
 beg/plead with/ entreat, who then harkens and stays. (Usually given to Abiku babies) F

The Forgotten Yoruba Names: Oriki

Although I'm Urhobo by my father's imprint, I've lived most of my life as a  Yoruba girl. Having only lived outside the South-West of Nigeria for about 4 years cumulatively. My first name is Yoruba and naturally I married a Yoruba angel...

So when I say I'm fascinated by Yoruba names, you know where I'm coming from. Right from when I was a teenager, I'd been picking out baby names for my unborn children.

My love for Yoruba names originated from my Oriki; Adunni. My maternal Grandmother, Maami, christened me Adunni which literally means "The one who is sweet to have" in other words, "Cherished" or "a delight". Maami rarely ever called me by any other name. The sound of Adunni from her mouth made me feel special and cherished. Just as she did have a pet name for me, she had one for all my siblings and cousins alike. Everyone in my maternal family had an oriki and till date we still answer to them with pride.

We had a whole lot of Orikis flying around while we were kids. There's Apeke (F. called to be pampered), Arike (F. To see her is to pamper/care for her), Alani (M. The first to have ; usually named to first sons), Akanji (M. Specially chosen/born), Amoke (F. To know her is to pamper/spoil her), Akanni (M. This one is more than enough), Abeni (F. We begged to have her), Abeke (F. We asked for her so we can pamper her) and so many others.

Yoruba Orikis are beautiful names with powerful meanings though they are rarely used as first names. There's this erroneous perception that orikis are 'local' and somewhat antiquated hence relegated to be used strictly as a pet name in the home. However, I am of the opinion that these names are too aesthetic and rich to not be properly utilised as first names

I named my daughter Amoke after my mother. I had fallen in love with the name and the woman who bore it so gracefully. Amoke means to know her is to cherish and pamper her. I use the name as a mark of endearment so much so that whenever I call the not so little one by the name, she knows I'm either going to give her a talk or simply hug her.

Same way my mum would call me on the phone and greet with "booni Adunni" (how are you Adunni). Or how she knows that she can ask to do anything for her just by teasingly referring to me as 'Adunni Mi'. It works, most times.

Every Yoruba family should have an Oriki culture. Orikis are an everyday way of showing affection and letting your kids know that they are special to you, loved and appreciated.

If you are not sure which to use, I will in another post attempt to list all known orikis and translate them as best as I can.

Yours,

Adunni

The Silence Breakers

When President Trump tweeted that he'd not accept being Time (magazine) Person of the year 2017, I was riled as I always am with the POTUS and his unbridled fingers and red face. I thought to myself, 'why would Time make such an awful person Person of The year'. Then I remembered Hitler was on there sometimes in the past so Person of the year doesn't always have to be people that have done great things. Idiots and immature old men could be too.

For this year's #POTY I was rooting for The Dreamers-- thousands of undocumented immigrants brought to the U.S. by their parents when they were children who faced uncertain futures if the Trump Administration follows through on plans to end the Obama-era Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. Maybe because I have family and friends in the US who would be affected or simply because I empathised with the families: their fear of separation, displacement and disruption of their lives as they knew it. Had they been named #Personoftheyear , it would have gone a great deal in putting an end to the threat that they faced.

But then, I was not disappointed when the magazine named the #metoo movement dubbed THE SILENCE BREAKERS as 2017 #personoftheyear. When I read Allysa Milano's tweet calling for women who had been sexually abused at work to reply with the hashtag #metoo , I just assumed only a few would respond given the stigma associated with disclosing abuse. Was I wrong??? Oh yeah!

Actors, Musicians and women from various fields came forward. So many named their abusers... One man Harvey Weinstein had abused so many woman in a span of about 30 years. The #Silence Breakers brought about a revolution and over 100 men were mentioned by their victims.

This is a big deal! Now, women all over the world can be certain that they'd be treated with dignity on the work place (yeah I know its quite ambitious but then a journey of a thousand miles starts with a step).

Here's to breaking patriarchal glasses all over the world and breaking the silence too!

Grief: A language with numerous dialects

So my daughter died.

Before that I had lost a few loved ones to death. My beloved father, two favourite uncles, my elder sister and a few friends. But you see, I grieved differently in each situation.

For instance, the morning my dad passed, I was on the phone with my immediate elder sister who was with him at the hospital for about two hours. She had assured me he was going to scale through. I had even thought that my old man had nine lives after all. So when she calls me a few hours later to inform me of his passing I was shocked. Yet, I didn't even shed a tear. I simply left my room and went to inform my mum that her ex-husband had died. I then packed an overnight bag and went to see his body before it was tampered with. All through the 6 hours journey, I kept reminiscing, remembering the not so many moments we shared (not enough for a father/daughter relationship anyway). Still, I didn't weep or cry. I was just numb. I would, however, cry my heart out three months later at his funeral. The trigger was the priest asking the congregation to proceed to the grave. It just hit me, at that instance, that my father was really dead! And I wept uncontrollably. And that was the last time I cried for him.

When my Uncle, Sir Kay, died in faraway Ireland, my mother died for the next two years. She just stopped living. He was not just her brother but her friend. They had lived like conjoined twins since childhood. So when he died, she just gave up. It's been 8 years, yet whenever she remembers him she would weep, the kind of weeping that is weightier than simply crying. As in, her soul would mourn as though he just passed that same day. She has never stopped grieving for him but it has gotten better.

The paths of grief are individual and often times determined by the relationship, the special bonds that ties one person to another. How can any of us measure the unique connection that may exist between a bereaved person and the one for whom they grieve? Length of time of the relationship, type of role (such as parent/child, husband/wife, sibling/sibling or friend/friend), degree of closeness, and strength of attachment (including balance of “love-hate” feelings) all enter into the equation of how long and how intensely the bereaved person will need to grieve for the departed one. The role the deceased played in the life of the bereaved is also a key factor.

There are different stages of grief. There is that initial reaction to loss, the screaming, weeping e.t.c is instinctive. We usually are unable to control this reaction, which I why we are careful when breaking bad news.  Then there is the adaptation to the death of a loved one. Where we integrate and begin to internalize the implications of the loss. Then there's that prolonged, unresolved or traumatic grief. This grief is complicated. It is the cold, hard place where the sense of loss remains persistent and intense and does not transition into integrated grief.

When my daughter, Modebare, died, the first thing I did was to refuse to let her go. I had to save her. I was convinced she wasn't dead. So I prayed, screamed, cried. When it dawned on me that I had failed to undo her death, I cried hopelessly. Then for days I felt like I was drugged. I didn't feel hunger or pain or anything
I just numbed out. I told myself nothing else mattered. Sympathizers tried to shape my response to this lift halting incident.

"Stop crying". "You will have many more children"
"It is God's will". " If she were truly your child, she would have stayed ". " Oh, she saved you future grief ". " Be thankful, what if both children died".

Over time, the spontaneous outbursts reduced. I no longer bawled whenever I had to drop off or pick up her sister from school. I was able to look in her wardrobe without having a panic attack. Yet, there were days I would read a bible verse and I would wonder how it didn't work for me, then the floodgates would open. I queried God. I would wonder aloud why he would grant me a miracle and then take her away. I began to question my sanity. I plunged into the darkest places. I began to act like all was well so as not to call attention to myself. Family and friends were getting tired of consoling me. They wanted me to get over it. They felt I was "dwelling too much" on it. "Move on, Let it go", they said.

I realized I wasn't getting over this loss like they said I would. The pain of the loss stayed fresh. It was as if she just died. There were days I wouldn't even remember her at all then I would panic that I was forgetting her and it will all come back, fresh. I would often wish to die and end it all. I neglected my family. My work suffered. My faith in God was shaken. I diagnosed myself as having post traumatic stress disorder. I was perpetually depressed.

After my self diagnosis, I sought help. I subscribed to various blogs of persons who had lost a loved one. I followed their stories and inculcated their recovery strategies. I scoured the Bible for comfort and hope. I diverted all my energy to getting out of depression. I read, prayed and wrote. I made a mental note that I didn't have to forget my dead daughter but I had to live with her death. I began to mentally adjust to my new situation.

Have I fully recovered? Oh no! But I am healing. I can look at her picture and say 'hello Mode' without feeling awful. Do I still weep for her? Yes I do. Will I ever stop grieving? I hope so.

One thing this experience has taught me is there is no one rule to grief. Grief is language with so many dialects. There is no one rule to grieving.

Authoritatively, I can assure you that it will get better. When it will depends on the dialect of grief you speak.

Lyrics: Ogo F'olorun, Alleluya

"OGO F'OLORUN ALELUYA

1. Ko le su wa lati ma ko orin ti igbani

Ogo f’olorun Aleluya

A le fi igbagbo korin na s’oke kikan

Ogo f’olorun, Aleluya!

Omo olorun ni eto lati ma bu s’ayo

Pe ona yi nye wa si,

Okan wa ns’aferi Re

Nigb’o se a o de afin Oba wa ologo,

Ogo f’olorun, Aleluya!

2. Awa mbe n’nu ibu ife t’o ra wa pada,

ogo f’olorun Aleluya!

Awa y’o fi iye goke lo s’oke orun

Ogo f’olorun, Aleluya!

3. Awa nlo si afin kan ti a fi wura ko,

ogo f’olorun Aleluya!

Nibiti a ori Oba ogo n’nu ewa Re

Ogo f’olorun, Aleluya!

4. Nibe ao korin titun t’anu t’o da wa nde

Ogo f’olorun Aleluya!

Nibe awon ayanfe yo korin ‚yin ti Krist;

Ogo f’olorun, Aleluya!. Amin

 

WE ARE NEVER WEARY OF THE GRAND OLD SONG

1.We are never never weary of the grand old song;

Glory to God, Hallelujah;

We can sing it loud as ever, with our faith more strong

Glory to God, Hallelujah;

O the children of the Lord have a right to shout and sing

For the way is growing bright, and our souls are on the wing

We are going by and by to the palace of the king;

Glory to God, Hallelujah!

2. We are lost amid the rapture of redeeming love,

Glory to God, Hallelujah

We are rising on its pinions to the hills above;

Glory to God, Hallelujah!

3. We are going to the palace that is built of gold

Glory to God Hallelujah!

Where the King in all His splendour we shall soon behold

Glory to God, Hallelujah!

4. There we’ll shout redeeming mercy in a glad new song,

Glory to God, Hallelujah!

There we’ll sing the praise of Jesus with the blood-wash’d throng,

Glory to God, Hallelujah!

**This is my all time favourite hymn**

Pregnant not Handicapped

One lady just walked past a queue of about 15 people at the bank of the masses😝
Expectedly, some people raised brows and voices. The lady turns back and says can't you see I'm pregnant.

I looked at the tummy, she couldn't have been more than 5 months gone at the max. I waited for the other folks to finish their responses and calmly told her: "you are one of those women that make other women look bad. This your pregnancy is not an excuse to be unnecessarily condescending and insensitive. You are pregnant, not disabled"

Expectedly, she gave me the "I don't blame you, you don't have children" reply. I smiled and just waved her off. I had made my point

The CS officer that she approached refused to attend to her and told her to join the queue. I then persuaded the others to let her go ahead. She did.

As she was leaving, an elderly man who had hitherto been silent called out after her "wait till your tummy is bigger before using the pregnancy as excuse to jump queue" 😂😂

___________________________________
Here's a shout out to those of us who would use our big tummies to milk sympathy here and there. No one is saying pregnancy doesn't take a toll on you, but let people be the one to offer you sympathy don't demand for it.

Pregnancy is not an handicap. If it were, you would be on permanent bed rest.

Happy Birthday Daughter

Dear BamBam,

You are six years old now. When I look back at your toddler pictures, I can’t believe how different you look. That skinny little one all chubby and grown. Some years we can see subtle changes when we line up your photos, but this year you almost look like a different girl. Your baby teeth are almost all gone; your face is looking more grown-up. But your insides are changing, too. Our relationship is evolving, and not always in the most comfortable ways.

Sometimes it is hard to be your mother.

But it’s not because I don’t love you. It’s because you are so much like me. I am so proud when I see the qualities I cherish in myself shining through you; I love that you enjoy reading, I am so proud when I hear you sing especially song that you composed spontaneously and it is so gratifying to read your creative writing. I love how compassionate you are, and your natural gift of empathy is clear to anyone who spends time with you. You are self-aware, and you are tuned into the emotional climate and responses of others. It is a gift.

There are days I simply thank God for giving you to me. Your wit, impeccable command of your verbal communication and your budding fashion prowess are stuff I blush at when I consider you are mine.

You and I- we learned together. You are still teaching me. Perhaps the first-born gets the worst deal, and certainly being a carbon copy of your mother adds to the challenge.

No matter how upset I get when you unknowingly hold up a mirror and reflect some of my least flattering attributes, no matter how annoyed I get when your sensitive temperament derails an otherwise smooth day, please know that I understand you. At your deepest, darkest part– a place you may not even be aware of yet– I know you. I see you. I will try to be a better navigator for this disposition you and I share.

And please remember- you and I are two of a kind. You will always be my first child; it was you who showed me how far my heart could stretch.
When you were much younger and could barely talk, I used to take your hand and press it to my heart, and place my own hand on your heart, repeating the words, “I love you- no matter what.” On the days when you question whether that is true, let me repeat it again once more- I love you. No matter what.

Happy birthday Amoke!

The Refiners Furnace

When we are going through the refiners furnace, it may be hot, it may not be fun, we may wonder if we are going to survive through the fire, but we will not be burned. We will not even smell like smoke.

Daniel 3:25-27

    “He answered and said, "Look! I see four men loosed and walking about in the midst of the fire without harm, and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods!" [26] Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the door of the furnace of blazing fire; he responded and said, "Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego, come out, you servants of the Most High God, and come here!" Then Shadrach, Meshach and Abed-nego came out of the midst of the fire. [27] And the satraps, the prefects, the governors and the king's high officials gathered around and saw in regard to these men that the fire had no effect on the bodies of these men nor was the hair of their head singed, nor were their trousers damaged, nor had the smell of fire even come upon them.” Hallelujah!

When we are going through the Refiners Fire, it is not because we have sinned. It is because the Lord is either molding us more into His image, or because He is using us to show off His glory. What a blessing–to actually go through suffering so that we can reflect the character of God.

We should not run from the fire, but embrace it. It actually is also a consuming fire, but instead of destroying and devastating us, it consumes the dross; and instead of scars, we look more like Jesus in His glory.

Out of the refiner’s fire can come a glorious deliverance. It can be a noble and lasting rebirth. The price to become acquainted with God will have been paid. There can come a sacred peace. There will be a reawakening of dormant, inner resources. A comfortable cloak of righteousness will be drawn around us to protect us and to keep us warm spiritually. Self-pity will vanish as our blessings are counted.