Grab a Pen

I remember Adaure, the village princess who fought so hard to be the most preferred maiden in our village. She fought through life with the urgency of a daughter desperate to make her father proud, leaving no potential unfulfilled.

Adaure, the village chief's daughter, who lacked the ease and grace expected of a princess, was my school mate at the town school. Unlike her fellow princesses of the six neighboring villages who attended Sir Churchill school, she was the only one who went to a public school.

Even at school, the maidens didn't strive to be her friend, or associate with her as expected of royalty. The girls didn't bother because there was no special privileges. Like every other maiden, she fetched water from the stream, fetched firewood from the bushes, and fetched the attention of uninterested men. The only difference between Adaure and me, is that Adaure had a bodyguard who is not her brother, whereas I have a bodyguard that is my brother.

When time came for the Onwa Ofor dance, Adaure turned up like every other maiden at the village square to dance. Though I wished her Mgbájí spoke of royalty, I knew immediately where she bought hers: the same place I purchased mine, at the market square.

Adaure's father, Ezenadimbu, was also present. It was rumoured that due to the sins from his past life, the gods had punished him by giving him only one child, no matter how many wives he took. Okoronta, the village drunk, had also said that Ezenadimbu had offended Ulu, the goddess of fertility who ensured the only child he fathered was ugly.

Yes, I forgot to mention. Not only was Adaure a commoner in deeds; she was extremely ugly. Ugly for seven men. Which is why her father never takes her to inter-village meetings. He doesn't want to bring shame on his village so he hides his daughter.

During the Onwa Ofor festival, we were surprised as Adaure out-danced every one of us. It was as if what she lacked in beauty, she compensated for in her moves. Though it was just a festival, we were surprised when the prince from the neighboring village asked to see the winner of the competition.

When Adaure came forward, and stood at close range, the prince's disappointment was evident. Ezenadimbu, being forward, asked the prince to take her as his wife without a dowry. The prince agreed and Adaure had to follow him. She had no time to say goodbye or pack her belongings. Neither was there an es**rt or dancing to accompany her. She left with this prince. We later learnt that where the prince came from is across seven hills and seven seas where no human lives. That was the last we heard of Adaure, the supposed princess.

When Michael Angelo Asked Me Out

There is this girl in my neighborhood, Adaeke, even a native fowl has more fear than her. She walks as if she bought the world at an auction sale and all other humans are her minions. I don't like the way she walks, even though the other ladies say she walks elegantly. But her feet ought to touch the ground completely, and her buttocks ought to stop flapping.

Adaeke's hair annoys me the most. It is too dark, too thick, and those red coral beads her mother beautifies her hair with are too heavy. Her akwa ocha shines no brighter than a tainted dress, yet her confidence pours forth like my neighbour's daughter's bath water.

I hear she has opened a store in the market square and sells things only kings can afford. Ahia oma o! Truly, I am not envious of her. Her curvy shape does not remind me of the spaces in my body where a few curves could help. The fluency of her native tongue does not wrap me in shame or make me long for intelligence. Rather, I think of what could have been if only she were more humble.

Akwaeke, the stream gossip, who always speaks loudly about what she isn't sure of, said on our way to the stream that Michael Angelo—the famous Italian sculptor, is coming to our village. I am bemused at this news because Teacher Okoronta, the history teacher, had mentioned that Michael Angelo died in 1564. Yet Adaeke, the village tuza queen, said Michael Angelo had seen her yesterday and asked her out on her way to fetch firewood from her mother's farm. Is she now speaking to ghosts? Let me believe her before rumour starts spreading that I opposed Adaeke again, for the fifth time in Onwa Alom Chi.

I don't have a problem with her marrying a foreigner or even the most eligible bachelor in our village. After all, she can marry only one man, she can't marry them all. But since Michael Angelo is coming to our village, I will dust the golden sculpture I crafted to impress him. I will tell him of all the books I have read; Lord of the Flies, Lambs Tales from Shakespeare and anything that has Margaret Atwood scribbling on it.

I will also impress him with the memoirs I have written, and the genealogy of my ancestry, which I have compiled in detail. I will tell him, through my achievements, that I am more than a village girl— unlike Adaeke.

And if he refuses my advances, I will show him what a hot body can do. I will swerve and sway, just like Adaeke, or perhaps cook some nkwobi for him, and offer him fresh palmwine from my father's keg— the one with palm fronds as its lid, to see if he will prefer me. And if he still declines, I will remind him that he is dust, a mere imagination of village maidens, Adaeke's bragging object.

My Love for Defeat

Unlike many people, I am motivated by defeat. Of course, not the regular kind of defeat, but the one that springs from my bed each morning, reminding me how wasteful I have been with my creative prowess. The kind of defeat that shows up in my dreams, showing me what I could become if only I put away the excuse of time and tiredness.

We all are tired, from work, from family commitments, but these don't stop the 1% percent from fulfilling their purpose. The 1% whom I aspire to emulate, long to be like, and crave their successes. Like a rugby ball, I hit at this aspiration daily, though not through actions, but only in my mind. I moan about things I could have become, what I could have achieved if only I had extra time, forgetting that I already have all the time I need.

I forget I have time to scribble five hundred words in my book, time to text my friend “hello,” yet not linger around my phone for a response. I have time to get in bed, so I can replenish the strength my job has drained, enough time to tune into my creative energy. Instead, I misuse the time available to me.

Like an addictive habit, I now hope for the future while I abhor the present, a future that is not guaranteed. These days, I console myself with dreams of what could be, rather than using what I have now. I convince myself that I’m not doing badly, that I’m doing more than the 99%, forgetting that the journey does not include them. The journey is between who I am and who I must become before the trumpet calls.

Oh, how exhausted I am, from my own nagging. Each day, when the sun rises, instead of offering gratitude, I swindle myself into believing I have another twenty-four hours to “become”. At night, curled up in bed, I romanticise my regrets about what I could have accomplished during the day. How impressive.

Meanwhile, as I sink back to my chair and sip another cocktail of ‘coulda-woulda-shoulda’, permit me to encourage you, never be like me. Make hay when the sun shines, and even if the moon is up, still make hay. It will do you a lot of good, especially with the numbered days we have on earth.

Don’t be lazy, don't be over-determined, just be you. If that is good enough for your purpose.

Lately, I have been writing literary criticism and editing books, and I must say, it is the best feeling next to being on vacation.

The moment your book leaves your hand to the publisher's store, then to the reader's palms. It is no longer yours. It is theirs to decide how good your work is.

There are certain books you read and it forever reads you.

These books aren't just novels, they shaped my mind.

Add your unforgettable reads to the comment section. I am searching for new novels to add to the list.

1. 🌊Efuru- Flora Nwapa
2. 👩🏾‍❤️‍👨🏾Stay With me -
3. 👬🏽Nearly All the Men in Lagos Are Mad-
4. 🤱🏽Joys of Motherhood- Buchi Emechata
5. 💔Loving Through Cracks-
6. ⛪️Purple Hibiscus-

The Problem Is That I Do Too Much

Some may call it anxiety, especially the zealous ones, but my mind is always on the move. Always creating. Always searching. Very upbeat.

It is often said that nature abhors a vacuum. I believe it now, not from science, but from the workings of my own mind. Never a dull moment. Never a chilled one. Always chasing a project or birthing a new idea.

Perhaps that’s why I found myself in one of the busiest, most physically demanding professions. So demanding that I often find myself gasping for air, pause to breathe, only to rise and chase again.

But I don’t see this as a curse. No. I see it as a divine spark, a call to be a co-creator. Sometimes it pushes me to write, just to quiet my mind for a moment. A psychologist might label it differently. But to me, it’s the same holy dissatisfaction placed in every human, the one that whispers, “Be more.”

How did I come to this conclusion? Because this “disease” knows when I am truly tired. It lets me rest when I need it. It gives me space when life is heavy. But once I am restored, it awakens. In fact, it stilled the storm in my mind the moment I started writing this. But it will rise again the moment I close this tab and start scrolling on Instagram.

It knows when I’m sleeping. It knows when I’m playing.

And I know I’m not the only one it plagues.

I’ve heard it tugs at the collars of entrepreneurs, disturbing their peace. I hear it lingers in those inventors' dreams and makes unmerited relaxation feel distasteful. Yes, misery may love company, but this “disease”:productivity loves it even more.

This same divine discontent made me an author. It pushed me to pursue knowledge—yes, the kind that calls out in the streets for the simple and young. That same knowledge calls me "a fool" whenever I let a day pass without creating. It nudges me, tugs at my collar, and whispers “you slothful man” until I do what is expected of me.

They say to whom much is given, much is expected. But I dare say, expect much only from he who is disciplined.

To show you just how slothful I can be, I bought a book titled "The Discipline of Getting Things Done". I have not opened a page. Apparently, discipline doesn't come automatically by purchasing the book. Maybe I will read it after editing this piece. Hopefully, I will be done editing before the year runs out. How hardworking of me!

But let’s be real, am I the only lazy one here?

Don’t you snooze your alarm for that Coursera course? Don’t you keep putting off reading that book until “you’re free”? Aha! I got you! We are in this together. Procrastination loves company.

But then, there are those who listen when this "disease" calls. Who rise at the tug of their collar. Who create towering empires from what looks like a faint shade of entrepreneurship. Who turn their 2am nagging thoughts into global solutions. Those who give in to this restlessness and bring forth the inventions we now enjoy.

Do you belong to this elite mind tribe?

You will say "yes", after all, company loves success.

So now, let me go back to sleep. I think the disease is far away now. But when she comes again, I’ll follow. Because this is a good kind of disease. The kind that births greatness. The kind that nudges us to dominate the earth we were made to rule. I don’t know a better driver than her.

So heed her voice.

Except, of course… slothfulness loves company.

Go to the ants and learn!

Life is like writing. Some pages don’t make sense, but you have to keep going. The only difference is—while you can tear out a page and start over in writing, in life, you can’t. You can only turn the page and begin a new chapter.

The Creative Brilliance of Cornrows

The fingers weaving my scalp gently brought a bout of nostalgia to my veins. Each parting stroke reminded me of what I had been missing. The constant "sorry" and delicate palm creasing my exposed scalp with oil reminds me of what therapy cornrows bring.

The children around, learning by watching my hair stylist as she weaved my thick elastic hair into a three-patterned-twist, stirred my mind to how it all began, how learning and creativity starts with attention, just like writing.

I envisioned the finished work, how my forehead, as usual, would protrude and glow. A new hairstyle always does that, it accentuates my facial features, reminding me whose image I'm created in. I smiled in self-content.

My hairstyle wasn't my main focus, the talent behind it mattered more. Human's innate ability to produce designs and create things they were never taught, though enhanced with practice. Something we unconventionally call "Onatarachi".

I am among those humans, who were never taught this craft, but were not oblivious to the need for practice and training to professionalism.

I began writing when I came to cognisance of my being. I am happy the rocks of life didn't s***f out the yearning for the talent to grow. And now, what began as sketches and scribbles have finally taken shape; Loving Through Cracks.

"Loving Through Cracks", a book born from this childhood habit of writing. Laced with the experiences garnered through living on this wild earth. It is available in soft copy and hard copy on Selar, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Everand and others. Also available in Nigeria and the United States (the ebook is available globally).

The link on my bio can give you access to the book.

Creating Digital Boundaries and Overcoming Phone Addiction

My phone has always been on silent mode for the past few months. I envision a period where I don't own a mobile phone, just a landline phone that only receives important calls. The advantages of this switch can range from an uninterrupted life to a more productive lifestyle.

While the disadvantages of not having a mobile phone can be argued, the benefits of digital detox if viewed in this light, far outweighs them.

Firstly, you wouldn’t open your door at 7a.m to an unexpected crowd, so why do it through your phone? Secondly, humans can't listen to two people at once so why have an ongoing audio playing while engaging in real-life conversations?

Shall we delve into the administrative and management downsides of digital communication? One Instagram reel can derail a consolidated 12-minute reading session especially if the reel is not educational or enlightening.

We often use the excuse of “learning through digital methods” but do we apply discipline to follow through those courses? What corrective measures do you take to minimize your screen time and to avoid turning a supposed study time into an aimless scroll on Instagram? Do you have any accountability system in place or is each day another mindless stroll through the streets of social media?

Of course, the benefits of digital communication can be classified as one of the modern wonders of the world. But keep in mind: wherever regulation is lacking, abuse thrives.

Strategies to Overcome Digital Distractions and Minimize Phone Addiction

To ensure your phone is not taking over you, you need to:

1. Map out time for social media:

Allocating a specific time for social media helps curb the random scrolls that can disrupt your day. Concentrating your smartphone usage into a set period gives your routine a structure. It also improves your focus and productivity.

2. Remove social media apps from your home screen:

Easy access to social media platforms invites constant checking. Instead, feature your top 3 productivity apps on your home screen. Personally, I have the Bible app, Note and PlayBook on my home screen.

3. Take off the notifications:

Unless your business depends on your mobile phone, whenever notification pops, your curiosity will steal your attention. Minimizing digital distractions will help you stay focused.

4. Consider keeping your phone on silent mode:

As mentioned earlier, if your work doesn't require constant accessibility, or you have a personal assistant, having your phone on silent mode can lift off the burden of digital interruptions and improve your concentration.

5. Keep your phone out of sight:

It’s easier than you think. Recall a day when you forgot your phone in another room or left it at home. Remember how creatively you connected with the world around you? You are likely more productive without your phone constantly nearby.

You don't need to apply all these tips for digital well-being at once. Like any new habit, gradual introduction is key. Overloading yourself with too many changes at once can lead to frustration and abandonment. However, keep these tips in mind, they may guide you in the right direction.

Why is Digital Detox Important for Your Mental Health and Productivity?

* Every notification you attend breaks your focus by an average of 23 minutes 15 seconds.

* Chain app interaction derails cognitive development, especially in the morning.

* While staying in touch with family is vital, the ability for bad news to reach you is doubled as well as anything that can steal your peace.

* A 2016 CareerBuilder Survey identified mobile phones as the biggest productivity killer at work by 55%.

* Heavy social media use accounts for a 15-25% reduction in attention span.

In conclusion, having a mobile phone can be either a great tool or a major distraction. Without intentional regulation and accountability, digital communication could rob you of your productivity in 2025.