Writing

Scottish-independence-referendum-flags A few months ago, people across the length and breadth of the nation of Scotland went to the polls to answer the question, “Should Scotland be an independent country?” At stake was the very future of the United Kingdom, and Scotland’s place in it. On one hand, the governing Scottish National Party staked its reputation on a ‘Yes’ vote, alongside the Scottish Greens and the Scottish Socialists under the aegis of Yes Scotland, whilst Scottish Labour, the Scottish Conservative Party, and the Scottish Liberal Democrats took a pro-Union Stance under the Better Together banner. ...

[ Source] Whilst rustling through my documents at the weekend - I forget what prompted the decision to take on the Sisyphean task of rummaging through drawers filled with several years’ worth of papers of varying vintage - it struck me that it was now nearly five years to the day since I dragged myself, bags in tow, off the East Coast train from Newcastle to Aberdeen to begin a new life of sorts. Ditching my Nigerian job for grad school 18 months before meant that nostalgia - and twenty-something years’ worth of memories - counted for little; pragmatism was very much the defining consideration. In a sense, Newcastle, and then Aberdeen afterwards was about tearing everything up and starting afresh from scratch, pretty much the recovery from a self-imposed apocalypse. The driver for that decision was a sense of injustice at the Nigerian work environment; five years of being unaligned (being from the minority in a minority state didn’t help), a sense of having hit a glass ceiling and the desire to prove myself on a global sense all contributing. ...

A few thoughts – with the benefit of a few months since losing H - on living and learning… Life’s lessons are neither bleeding obvious nor palatable. All we possess for sure are the moments that we share with our friends and loved ones. The challenge is to enjoy and maximise the moments, not putting off the kind word, the lingering touch, or the act of kindness we know they deserve. ...

For Mag 246: Highway A sense that Time has Stood dead still, yet hurtled by; This us, déjà vu

For Mag244 - Passing Time, Daylight drives The delightful linger Of last Night’s Dreams Down deserted streets. The memories of lost days Are all that we have left, Distorted by the Edge of Now, As it pales Into the grey haze Of accreting history Here, on the edge of Reality is a sense Of treading water, Of marking time Of trawling a parched, Bland land, Of War And peace, and silence And of Endings ...

For LK, and the Mag I wish there were no ifs Or buts, or lingering maybes - But only the delirium Of the re-memory of your face, Etched in my heart like The ravines a swollen river Carves in broken shale. I wish there was no ochre coloured space; this drizzled, empty place, stained with this ache from the itch of a thousand broken pieces Oh that there were between you and I - a half uttered invitation. I would cross seven mountains, seven valleys and seven swollen river beds too, to pour a libation at your feet, and revel in this delirium… ...

I want to cover you With words. Ink dots Jumbled together Until they blur Into a scrawl, confused Like the light From a thousand scattered beads I want to hide myself Within the haze Of my re-memory - To somehow, between life And the afterglow From my tired brain, Re-create the time and space That reality stole. But your blank, pure Whiteness mocks me, I find the things I want to say don’t come ...

Back in ‘94 when Delirious was still the house band for The Cutting Edge, a local youth event run by the Arun Community Church in Littlehampton, doing music full time didn’t look feasible, nor was the possibility of multiple Dove Awards and a Grammy nomination. In fact between leading worship at the cutting edge events and keeping up with a hectic schedule of gigs across the UK, the group that would become arguably the UK’s greatest Christian contemporary music exports had to hold down day jobs to keep things ticking. ...

In the immediate aftermath of the Woolwich murder, once that truly harrowing video had surfaced and the Nigerian connection was first mooted, I found myself cast in the unwilling role of the Nigerian ’expert’ at work. For most of the people in my corner of the world, I was the most handy Nigerian they could talk to. The odd attempt to parlay it into banter did come up, but for the most part, these were people looking to get some perspective on what was both vicious and senseless. ...