What Happened To Baby Steps? 


With the fast pace at which society is moving, we might end up rushing toward nothing more than the illusion of success. 

Years ago, I took pride in every single achievement, every write-up, every poem, every innovative thought. Every small success felt like a big win. It didn’t matter how much better others were or how many more steps I had to take to reach perfection—or rather, the illusion of it. 

Recently, I realized I was constantly under pressure to do more, achieve more, and be more. If I didn’t see the results I envisioned, it became a problem. I would often feel discouraged. At one point, I started piling up drafts of my poems, thinking they weren’t good enough to post. Every day, I would go online, watch award-winning poets, and feel like my work wasn’t there yet, forgetting that these poets had spent years honing their craft. They were once like me too. 

I realized I’m not the only one affected by the pressures of social media. There’s a constant rush to achieve greatness as quickly as possible. But we often forget that everything in life follows a process. Nothing happens overnight. A baby doesn’t start walking the day they are born. Today’s professors were once nursery school students learning the basics of writing. 

We must not underestimate the power of small wins because they are the foundation of great success stories. 

A better way to navigate the internet positively is to embrace growth with an open mind. Over time, the small lessons we learn and apply consistently will shape our success stories. 

Embrace baby steps and stay consistent. 
We’re getting there, fam! 🫶🏽😊 

IS A NORTHERN GIRL ANY LESS?


I grew up within the four walls of Maiduguri, Borno State, where the girl child faces countless struggles, many of which she cannot even share. 

Welcome to Maiduguri, where the gender of the unborn child determines how eagerly society awaits their birth. In this city, I have observed that boys are valued far more than girls. It is heartbreaking that, for the average girl, the essentials that make childhood meaningful are often missing. 

During my primary school years, there was a group of girls in my neighborhood, about my age, who went out every morning to hawk goods. On my way to school, with my fancy backpack, I see these little girls shouting, “Siya pure water!” I can’t help but wonder: Is this where there future ends? 

Every evening, they would wait by our gate, hoping for leftovers from my meal. Their parents? Unbothered by the fact that their daughters wandered the streets of Maiduguri, exposed and vulnerable. 

And as soon as these girls began to show even the slightest signs of physical maturity, they were married off, for a price. I was only in JSS 1 when I heard that they had all been given away in marriage. 

For years, I have asked myself: How do these girls feel? How do these experiences shape their mindset?

For them, growing up meant hustling on the streets, until they were eventually married off. 

An excerpt from a feature article written by Hannah Lubba of HumAngle Media.

I was recently shocked by a story I read on HumAngle Media about an 11-year-old girl who was forced into marriage, where she endured both physical and emotional abuse. 

Despite numerous laws and public debate on this issue, it still lingers.
This made me think: “I have never heard of an underaged boy being married off”, at least, not as commonly as child marriage happens to girls.  And these are just a few of the many untold stories of injustice that girls face. 

So, I am left wondering… 
Is a Northern Girl Any Less?

I Rise To Fall no more

I really couldn’t see myself standing once more
Couldn’t see any light in the dark, no strength, I couldn’t see past the struggles, the tears, the worries, I worried for too long. I gave into my fears. I was like a little bird in search of a place to call home, I hoped to find a home. Home in chaos, prolonged chaos.
I really didn’t see myself standing once again.
But I heard don’t worry, that though weeping endures for the night, joy comes in the morning. Indeed joy came in the morning. And like the beauty of sunrise I saw myself rise once more, I rose against the struggles, rose against the worries, the tears, I rose against my fears. Indeed joy came in the morning. And now, I rise to fall no more.

Let the show begin 🤭

Poetry To Me

poetry to me
I never really understood the concept of poetry.
never took classes, master the process or guidelines or learn “the art”. i would always write what I wanted, and fall back on poetic license.
poetry was never a planned journey for me. it was finding out my habitat, it was discovering my world and the freedom I had to color it with words that my heart would spit out. raw, unfiltered words.
See my definition of poetry isn’t something you’d find in books. you could even look in-between the lines and I’m sure you wouldn’t see it like I do.

poetry to me is home in a house , it is finding a subtle definition to every expression I pen down. it is taking my emotions and weaving it into something special, something coded and if you could decipher, poetry to me is letting you into my world, it is walking you through every word, every breath, every measure i took to measure how much I spilled, how much i poured out without holding back. poetry to me is an escape. an immediate jail Break from every prison cell reality seems to trap me in. from the hands of pain without realization poetry is my solace, my peaceful abode. the only soft spot to land back on after a rough ride. poetry is my reality, my lifestyle. it is holding back when you should let go, it is believing without evidence. poetry is finding what bemuses my muse, picking up clues, breaking out from my blues, cleaning up my bruises and choosing not to give up.
poetry is the story line of my life long before discovery. with events unfolding like the lines of a perfectly crafted piece, one with suspense at the expense of an intense plot twist. poetry is the unpredicted outcome of a thriller. and when you didn’t see it coming poetry is saying “i don’t give up”. poetry is picking up my pen, finding my muse and amusing amazingly.
poetry is the multi colors in me that I use to paint my world.

The Giant of Africa

In the heart of the continent, where the savannah’s whispers dance with the winds, there resides a colossus veiled in mystique and resilience—the Giant of Africa. Its essence stretches beyond mere borders, echoing through the tapestry of time.

On its rugged terrain, stories as ancient as the Baobab trees intertwine with whispers of forgotten kingdoms and untold legends. From the bustling markets of Lagos to the serene waters of the Niger Delta, a symphony of cultures weaves the fabric of its identity.

Yet, beneath its vast expanse lies a paradox—a tale of triumph and turmoil, of hope and heartache. For every stride towards progress, shadows of adversity linger, reminding its children of the delicate balance between dream and despair.

In the dance of democracy, it waltzes with uncertainty, a pendulum swinging between promise and peril. Through the corridors of history, it bears the scars of struggle, etched in the souls of its people like ancient hieroglyphs.

But amidst the chaos, a spirit undeterred rises—a phoenix from the ashes of adversity. It roars with the fervor of a lion, refusing to be bound by the shackles of circumstance. From the vibrant streets of Accra to the bustling boulevards of Nairobi, its heartbeat echoes—a symphony of resilience, a testament to the human spirit.

For within the Giant of Africa, hope springs eternal—a beacon of possibility, a canvas of endless dreams. It is a land where the sun kisses the earth with golden hues, where laughter dances upon the lips of children, and where the rhythm of life pulses with an indomitable vitality.

In the tapestry of nations, it stands as a titan—a guardian of dreams, a custodian of hope. For in its embrace, the echoes of greatness resound—a legacy woven in the threads of time, a testament to the enduring spirit of the Giant of Africa.

The pain and the cure


If I had to be the reason you get hurt
if I had to be the reason you shed a tear
if I had to be the reason your fears turn into reality.
if I had to be the reason you have sleepless nights, the reason you feel remorse, and an entangled feelings of both wishes and pain
if I had to be the reason you “want to” but “can’t”
if I had to be the reason you don’t feel peace or ur heat gets troubled
if I had to be the reason you so much want to agree I’m the bad guy but still cannot
if i had to be the one to inflict pain and yet still be the cure countless times then i……
speechless, cause words can’t defend me, neither can I try to cover up.
as plain as it could be, I have to draw a picture that could at least help me explain the abstract reasons to you…. like a tree with blue leaves, or how your shadows have to go solo on the sidewalk as I fade into reality’s permanence.
maybe i could use written words to draw a mental picture of how this residence is stamped permanent, of how the other version could be much better, of how i plan to repay every hurt with the deepest kind of happiness and laughter.
let me use my words to paint that picture and tell you that I’ll always add color, even when everything seems grey.
and I know we’re the black and white lovers but I’ll open up our eyes to colors that would cover up that grey spots… and just as a rainbow comes after the storm, let me go hunting for colours that would make up your rainbow. i promise that this version won’t expire, no need for updates because I’ll place us on premium subscription. i know I’m the pain and cure.
if it had to be this way then let me be the cure in a whole different dimension. only then will i completely forgive myself.

“SHEEPS AS WOLVES”

In the hidden depths of the woods, a thought lingers:
“If wolves can disguise in sheep’s clothing, could sheep wear the wolf’s guise?”

In the tangled maze of secrets, where truth blurs,
Do gentle sheep cloak themselves in the wolf’s shadow?
Or does only the wolf, in its solitary prowls,
Embrace the sheep’s guise, to set the prey in a deceitful array?

Oh, inquirer of mysteries, amidst the predators howls lies the prey in disguise.
Reflect upon this notion, where the dreadful seems harmless.
wolves among the fold? Or Sheep as wolves
In the enigma of life, stories untold.

Hey there! it’s me again…

Hey! It’s really been a while I posted here, few ups and downs and a patched up emotional and mental health… I’ve been pretty much stagnant with my social life, especially with pursuing my goals as a writer/poet for reasons i can’t exactly place my fingers on… Don’t worry guys, most of your posts are being emailed to me and each time i read them it leaves a renewing smile on me face. Funny how i connect with people i haven’t even met on such a level that i look forward to mail updates from them. And though I was stagnant it was most delightful to see notifications from people i follow and have gotten so used their blog posts ….. @yourplateormine, @c’est la vee, @Elancharan, @kaushal kishore, @mental notes, @ witty words, @keep it alive amongst many. Y’all have been a great part of my day. Thank you 😊 and please keep being YOU!. I really don’t know much about this blogging stuff, just a young girl from Africa, Nigeria who discovered a way she could share her thoughts and poems internationally and have the opportunity to be heard and thought… Why not? But i tell you it has been such a great experience even with my inconsistency. It meant so much for me to see foreigners visit my site, read, like and even drop a comment. It’s almost 2 years now and I’m glad to say that everyone that has came across my site without even participating have put a smile on my face, with the fact that visitors that were non-Nigerian even out numbered the Nigerians… I just can’t help but be excited about how much my little adventure turned out.

This year, I’m looking forward to being more consistent and sharing more about my environment and it’s happenings to share more awareness about my country and our culture. Stories will definitely be told, not forgetting poetry as well 🤭 after all i am an amazing upcoming poet or as a very good friend of mine would always say -“not aspiring, you are already a poet”. I guess others always believed in me more than I believed in myself…well that I need to work on.

And to begin with, let me quickly go change my bio from; ‘an aspiring writer/poet’ to ‘ a writer and a poet’😊. Bye for now fam, I love you all❤️.

Literally

What’s your favorite word?

Literally is literally my favorite word because literally it is so useful.

Peace From My Prince Of Peace

I was lost, broken, without hope
a heavy heart with no escape route
Those nights I cried myself to sleep
screamed out in prayers, until it sounded like a rebel
I was in an ocean sinking in my tears
lost the will to live
voices in my head I couldn’t decipher
I was walking on a stormy path
a path that stole my sanity
but I willingly staggered along, hoping to find a resting place
my sight always blury from the constant tears in my eyes
I couldn’t see clearly…funny how I Saw The light on the other side but I embrace the darkness hoping there was a brighter light at the end of the tunnel. But I realised that the “tunnel” soon turned into a dungeon, a dark dark dungeon…
robbed me of my peace, sanity and true happiness I turned back and still Saw The light at the other side calling me to a realm of renewed hope
but I was trapped in my own chaos
In brutal pain…
but HE sent out an army to rescue me
HE has given me a chance to smile from the deepest part of my heart again
HE has given me peace
HE has given me hope
indeed I’ve got peace that makes no sense….
from my PRINCE OF PEACE.

PAINFUL GRATITUDE

Dear society,
you’ve crippled my words, tied down my speech, and burnt down my license.
you’ve slapped my dignity, questioned my honesty, and drowned my happiness in a pool of tears and anxiety.
Dear society… I’m surprised…
my jaws dropped down in shock,
cold hands, cold feets in fear,
my smile, my laughter unreal,
dark nights I faced, silent screams i heard in echoes.
Dear society,
yes, you broke me, but thankfully, left pieces, hoping i would decrease, but those were bridges, a treatment to my bruises.
so dear society…. thank you…..
For building a stronger version of me.

From Nowhere

At this point, I’m not sure what to write about anymore. I’ve been battered, shattered, scattered… Life has been rough, tough, cruel with no fuel to carry me on.

My dreams, my passion, my zeal all lost to the the hands of inconsistency but this non-chalancy isn’t derived from the lack of will, not from the lack of inspiration, cause every experience comes with a dozen paragraphs package painted with pain prescribed to every word printed out, to every drop of ink flowing out from the pen that never runs dry….. Or so I said…..

This pen harbours stories wanting to be told so badly but lacks an initiating point, a prologue to sentences crafted from sincerity. So it stays pregnant with thousands of untold stories until it can’t contain no more, so i start from nowhere, hoping to get to somewhere, hoping to be heard, hoping you would decipher…..

H.M.B.P


With each step i take, i hope to get to the finish line to this dark tunnel of paranoia…
But each step seems to take me a mile backwards.
A magnetic pain I can’t seem to distance from.
lost confidence, plot twists i fail to understand.
I love happy endings, but this story’s “in media res” technique makes it look more like an advanced tragedy.
My pen wonders if its abandoned…
but the truth is i don’t wanna burn papers with brutality.
sorrounded by people but pain seems like my only home.
if time heals tell me why my clock is at a stand still.
healing never ends so I’ve learnt to find comfort and make a home in my brutal pain.


BAD INFLUENCE


I’m not myself and I know it
I’m invaded, subconsciously being controlled
willingly obsessed, little voices in my head, silent nights, deep thoughts, drowning hallucinations, wild imaginations….
bad bad type of influence……
self denial, in-between the lines of indecision, draining, dying, tired, sad that i can’t decipher
i got the bad type of butterflies
and it’s bad influence to my soul.


“THE TRIO”


I am “me”, my mind and my heart
“me” in two voices
my mind and me
my heart and me
it’s always a struggle
which should I listen to??
my mind thinks straight, cuz obviously……..
my heart thinks deep……
i need to loose one to have “me”
loose my mind or my heart
“me” is confused
i want to listen to my heart, but i hate listening to my mind say “i warned you” Everytime i come crying back.
i don’t wanna go from ” me” to an foreign island of crowded emotions.
my heart always entices me, scoring points, breaking
“me” to pieces at the end.
i hate the fact that my heart is always right
my mind thinks straight.
my heart thinks deep.
it’s “me”, my mind, and my heart
and it’s still a struggle…….


“I AM”


I am a little girl with a big God, a big dream and a big thirst for a grand future.
you can pin me down, cage me behind those walls of hatred but still like a roaring lion i break through, ruling like a queen in her jungle I am unstoppable.
I am boldness in human form.
The envy you can’t get over
The fake lies and hate speech that falls on deaf ears because I am a sensation of Elegance.
It hurts you cuz the hatred burns yet lightens up my shine, my glow, my sparkle.
That scowl on your face can’t dim this soul’s light.
The stumbling blocks you throw at me trying to bring me down, but I leap, I keep steady, go deep, take a peep at the heap of success that awaits me at the peak.
I am that pen that never stops writing.
Igniting the fire within, I keep fighting, rewriting, and sighting the greater end that awaits.
I am a body of United words speaking truth yet seeking to be heard
A smile next a cry yet I rise.
From the ashes of Burnt dreams reincarnated and formed to a stronger and more determined version of vision I have.
I am that purpose without a timeline.
I align with the baseline of a structured dream of greatness indescribable.
I self-prescribe an inevitable success exclusively meant for me.
I am the next headline with the caption “record broken”, “unraveled mystery”, “history written” with the power of my pen.
I am writing my way to history cuz I’m telling HIS story and everywhere that I go I shine in HIS glory because I am ROYALTY.

“GREY LAVA”

Time heals they say…
but memories remind and scars remain
difficult to move on with a smile,
ignorance and denial to the heart,
walking through life after an eruption and putting on an act of strength and neutrality when deep down a hole dug and hot lava spilling out…
but Time they say heals…
the liquid within cooling down as the clock ticks, and poetry giving remedy to the soul.
This creates a chance for hope, a chance to smile genuinely again.
A chance to step on “grey lava”

“BLANK PAGES”


life is a book.
a book that tells of a journey of thousand miles on a rough, sometimes smooth road.
a journey of experience and consecutive events unfolding.
a journey with an apocalyptic end.
and the snippets are the constancy of passion that drives you on that road.
The “ultimate source” gives us strength to carry on.
and though sometimes we get a conniption of the twist, its always a habitual mystery.
we pay tributes to the ones done with their journey successfully…….and then we fill the “blank pages” of ours with stories worth telling a thousand times.
we write down the story of this journey we are on. and each event that unfolds. either creates a climax or an anticlimax.
summing up to a story that was written down basically by our decisions.
we choose what we write down on this “blank pages”.
day by day designing our decisive destiny with doggedness.
This journey is a story written on the ” blank pages” of life.

“CHRIST IS BORN!”


once upon a time a king was born in Bethlehem
in a manger he laid pure clean sinless and innocent
the savior of the world he is yet came through a common Man…..born by a Virgin
he is of the holy spirit but came as a mortal man
what a perfect disguise, wrapped in swaddling clothes, like a lamb laid in a manger, the most high God came in the most humble way.
an ever reigning celebrity yet humble as a servant.
like fire the news of his birth spread through…..
Wise Men from the East came to offer their gifts of royalty worship and mortality.
shepherds came to sing praises for a Savior was born
born to save mortal men from doom…..
he is and forever will be the most trending celebrity because his fame never dies
and once again this day we sing……
Christ is born in Bethlehem!!


LOST DREAMS


If only things could be more clearer.
a broad explanation to these tears.
cause this time even my fears have been dethroned to a Lower tier of my pain.
betraying every last statement written down on this hearts manifesto.
with this mind working under a government overtaken by a coup, its a dictatorship, such a conundrum.
breathing, but just not living…
dating back to the uncivilized days before sir lord lugard freed us from the shackles of shattered dreams.
yet till this day i still can’t put together the pieces.
its like a puzzle, only that the pieces of mine seems to be lost in an ocean of apathetic passion.

GLIMPSE FROM GUTS


The light visible at the end of each shadowed pipe.
The ending that seems unreal but takes reality on an unusual surprise.
The confidence you think is void but suddenly shows up.
The hope that comes with the desire to fight. The desire to hang tight and not give up.
The rage and anger that results in a fight against ugly situations that seem to cripple and cut short the beautiful smiles.
The positive “maybe” and “hopefully” that stands in front of each sentences spreading toxic fumes that neutralizes the fear within. dark shadows in darkness.
who dares for a smile?
prohibited words…. joy
atrocity? no! i dare
This is glimpse from guts.


I WRITE, I WISH I ACT


i write…..
they say with passion
with words that comes alive within each line with words that roar out truth
with twisted feelings, retwisted but still understood within those unseen lines.
I write….
they say with raw words
unfiltered and so much relatable
with words surprisingly consoling your bottled feelings
I write…….
words I wish would console my own bottled feelings
I write, I wish I act
touching terms torturing souls triggering pain
I wish I could be at the receiving end absorb and be consoled
I write to mend your soul not necessarily mine
I mend, I wish, I self console
I write, I wish I act


FEEL


I feel the deepest of regrets in the most memorable way
I feel the deepest of sadness in the most pleasurable way…
foresight becoming memorable insights.
never forgotten, never erased.
aftermaths of a bleeding love, painful pleasure…..
perfect play played perfectly…
when reality comes knocking,
fantasies become impossible occurrences blown into the wind.
I feel grief in love from a bleeding heart.
sanity threatening reality from a bleeding soul.
regrets worth experiencing one more time and maybe again……
I feel tortured love
this is reality worth escaping from……


THINGS UNSAID


if only I could put everything This Heart of mine feels into words,
but the little unsaid details are never determined by inabilities or reluctancy
but by the overdose of certainty and the power of few, unfiltered words that produces unseen lines between visible paragraphs
the unseen words that gets sensed so strong and obviously
the unsaid but familiar lines that forms a formidable and undiluted consent for pondering
things unsaid yet more vividly real.