The Girl Whisperer
as published in the Sunday Guardian
of September 20

The Promised Land

For many of us since the earliest days of childhood, we have dreamed of a place in our lives that we know simply as the Promised Land. We have told ourselves that if we can only attain this state of bliss, some might call it Utopia and others, El Dorado, all our troubles are over.

As children, this Whisperer inclusive, the dream was finding the fabled pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It did not matter much to us that the pot of gold was reputed to have been placed there by leprechauns or equally unappealing folk. The driving force was that if we could just reach the gold, all our troubles would be over. As a child, I would pick up the shattered remains of car wind-shields and imagine the crystal pieces as handfuls of diamonds. Yes, I had a very vivid imagination as most children had, really no different from the alchemist trying to turn stones into gold.

Age does not always bring wisdom, and as we grow older, we exchange the wild dreams of finding ten billion American dollars lying on the street waiting for us, for the more adult ones like a young girl finding instant happiness in the hands of a fellow she just met at a social function or in church. It is important that the Whisperer is not misquoted here- you may find your dream partner at a social function or in church; a night-club might be a bit more difficult to find eternal happiness in, but it is not impossible. Stranger things have been known to happen. That fellow with glazed eyes and shaky feet you collided with while he stood trying to maintain his balance by the music speakers, and as you tried to find your way down the dimly lit hallway on the way back from the night club’s bathroom, after throwing up the mix of drinks you had placed on an empty stomach, might be your knight in shining armour. Yeah, right.

So back to the night club or church or bus or public library (we do not have too many of the latter here anymore) and the accidental collision with the person who might take you to the Promised Land. You look into his eyes and you know this is the person you have been waiting all your life for. We all know that feeling, don’t we? That moment of absolute certainty as you round the corner and run into this other person; that moment of déjà vu when the whole world stands absolutely still, and you are the only ones moving in “slow motion” as you both fall to your knees, trying to help each other pick up the books scattered everywhere (assuming it is a library) or a plate of food assuming it is a social gathering. Your eyes are locked on each other’s as your hands scrabble for the dropped items. We’ve all been there, haven’t we?

That moment also is one of the greatest delusions on the face of the earth. You may round a corner and find a stranger absolutely attractive, stunning or mind-blowing or any combination of all three; and the security detail might have a hard time trying to persuade you not to follow this person home. (Brittany Murphy and Nicole Kidman would probably have that effect on me) but you need intensive therapy if you think that is how long-lasting (and healthy) relationships are built.

You do not build the foundation of relationships on the illusion that your hand tingled when you shook hands, that there was just something in the eye of this person you met, or that your heart knew you had found eternal happiness when you hugged. Relationships are built at the warfront, in terrible weather, through sludge and slit and rain and snow. You hold on to it like a soldier-in-training holds on to his or her gun as the elements batter you, and believe the Whisperer when he says the elements will batter you. You take the good times, when the sun is shining and all the music you hear tells you of the beauty of what you have, and you take the rough as well when your partner appears to be an alien from another planet.

When the Whisperer talks of the elements battering you, he is not talking of a physically abusive partner. If you are the victim of physical battering, cut and run while you can still move (and if you are so inclined, give his address to the Whisperer, and I’ll sort him out for you). There will be pain in every relationship though, no matter what they tell you. Every relationship will have a flip-side as you try to communicate and level out your differences. There have to be speed bumps as you race on to El Dorado.

Remember that if two people agree all the time, it means only one is doing the thinking. People with different backgrounds and personalities will sometimes have divergent opinions and these will cause friction. It is a mature relationship that purposes it is on to something good and will hold on no matter what comes.

The Promised Land is a long trek, across deserts, through never-before-navigated forests, waterless places and some of the most unforgiving terrain this world ever saw. It is a place filled with pain and extreme joy. And it does not happen in a flash, like gold left behind by some leprechaun with amnesia.

Every strong relationship has probably gone through some kind of fire that burnt off most of its impurities and there is no human combination that does not have its frustrations and short-comings. Along the way, people make their minds up that this is who they want to be with and also purpose to work hard at making the partnership succeed. Those who have failed at relationships are not lesser people, sometimes some combinations just do not work.

It is possible that when I finally meet Brittany Murphy, I shall discover a beautiful face does not necessarily guaranty a wonderful, warm person. Maybe. In the interim, it would be wise if you remembered that as well.

The Girl Whisperer
as published in the Sunday Guardian
of September 13

The Departure Hall

For the past half-hour or so, I have lain on my back and watched the day break through the windows. I have also placed Ibiyemi’s new single, “Don’t Leave Me” on repeat. Her rich, strong voice sings with all the pain of a girl who, in spite of the misgivings she had from the start about the fellow who came cruising into her life, starts a relationship with him. A relationship which appears enjoyable for a while, before hitting turbulence. She plaintively begs him not to leave her standing all alone. “Don’t go” she sings to this fellow who’s had enough. “Till the end of time, I will love you, don’t do this to me.”

At some point in our lives, and hopefully while we are still quite young, we all will stand in a departure lounge and be left behind, knowing as our partner walks away, he or she is never going to return to you. This is where the really young or those that are in denial are going to say “it’s never going to happen to me”. There’s very little chance of you running through an open field like the young Mayan in Mel Gibson’s “Apocalypto” and think you are going to dodge all the spears and javelins thrown at your bare back. One’s going to nick you, draw blood, cause you pain; the prayer would be for it not to impale and incapacitate you permanently.

What is it about relationships and a planet that has five billion people that makes us think the departure of a single person will bring our world crashing down? What is it that makes us sing like ‘Ibiyemi’, “When you walk out through the door, you’ll mess up my life...I won’t let this go”?

Why can’t we just shrug and say “there are many fishes (sic) in the ocean” or whatever other mundane cliché would be appropriate? It is obvious that the synchronization of one’s life with that of another human, creates something, an entity, a corporation, an existing structure, that to pull down would tear the soul apart (or at least cause that kind of pain). Instead of the business structure that requires hard-headed common sense, what you have is a structure built from love (or some similar substance) and two members of the board that are guided by their hearts.

The best way to prepare for pain, some would say, is to have it at the back of your mind that anything can happen to a combination of two people. However, if one enters a relationship with the mind-set that it is certain there will be a rainy day, isn’t the potential for immense pleasure and joy taken away from the relationship from the very beginning?

Should we, because we are afraid of heart-break, not take risks? Now if the ‘risk’ becomes one that shoots us in the face, do we walk away from it or like Ibiyemi, sing the words, “Don’t Leave Me”? Years ago, the yet-to-be Whisperer received a letter. In it, the girl he felt he had found happiness with wrote, “I love you with all my heart but you can’t give me what I want”. Somewhere along the line and before the letter came in, I had come to my senses and prepared myself for such a day as that, still it did little to temper the pain. However, the preparation made it certain that I did not plead with her to stay. Years later, as she and I laughed over it, (well, I did the laughing, she was too busy being pained by how far I’d come), I realized that sometimes it is best not to hold on to someone who is insistent on leaving or a “love corporation” that has fallen apart. If a member of the board is bent on dissolving the company and there is a stale-mate, better to yield to the person who can no longer see the vision or you will go bankrupt.

The best revenge is living well, and if like the Whisperer, you are like wine, getting better with age, the last laugh should be yours. How many of us have come across people who “dumped” us and have thought with an inward sigh of satisfaction and the words of Sunny Nneji’s song in our heads “I’m the little bird that couldn’t fly, now see me high up in the sky”. I apologise, but yes, I have had the opportunity to sing those lines in my head after a separation in the departure lounge.

People will leave you because they do not see your potential (you should let those go, they are likely to become impediments to your development) or because they think “you do not have what they need” (whatever that might be). One of my favourite people, J, was left behind at the departure lounge by some chap after she had gone ahead to start a relationship with him despite serious opposition from her friends (and they were a tight lot). He left her for someone he considered more glamorous but she, in turn, found happiness and incredible advancement elsewhere. In retrospect, it was a good thing he got out of her life; he would have cramped her style.

The well-worn saying is true in this case, “if you love something set it free. If it comes back it is yours, if it does not, it never was.” There are many reasons why we so strongly hold on to those who are in turn, desperate to get out of our lives- We wonder where we will start again, from; how we can find the strength to wake up the next morning; how we will ever be able to make the pain go away. The Whisperer thinks we should let those who want to leave, leave. “A person convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still.” We must find the strength to say goodbye, to get on with our lives and above all, to continue to add value to ourselves. It is the loss of anyone who insists on walking away. Life is too beautiful to spend it in misery because of someone who does not want you. Tell the person, “get up and get out” and make your life continue the way it should, positively.

This Whisperer likes Ibiyemi’s song for many reasons apart from its superb melody. One of these is that the lines made him think, and there are parts of it that remind him of the all-time heart-break song, Dionne Warwick’s “Walk on by”. In affairs of the heart, well, you must follow your heart but remember, don’t let another human’s actions or omissions be what give the meaning to your life.

The Girl Whisperer
published in the Sunday Guardian
of September 6, 2009

The Autobiography

I receive mail all the time from people around the country who read this column, people who have been touched in diverse ways by the things I write, and mostly in a positive manner, I would like to think. There are people with very serious situations out there and in some way, this Whisperer who has never laid claim to perfection or being anywhere near it has been of help at times. However, just a few days ago, an e-mail arrived in response to the Whisperer’s article titled “The Ugly Truth” from a lady I’ll call C.N. I found the mail quite inspiring and I thought I should share it. She wrote: “For all the subtle truths. Thank you. For all the whispered lessons. Thank you. For all the 'in your face' daring advice. Thank you. Thank you for being my true friend (even if you didn’t know me...)
You've been there for me(through the back page of ‘Life’ every week.) in good and bad times, in times of discontent and almost hopeless despair. I appreciate the fact that you know you are not perfect but you 'try'. And so I pray that you never lack for someone to share a smile with. That you never lack a true friend especially when you need one and that you will find fulfilment in the things you do.”

All the “Thank you(s) were written in capital letters and the Whisperer spent a while reading and re-reading the words. For some reason that I cannot find words for, the mail came across as a very profound one and I thank C.N. whom I have never met before, wherever she may be at this moment, and whatever she might be doing, for taking the time out to let me know the impact of my words on her. The Whisperer considers it a privilege that others allow his words into their lives and he’ll be treasuring that mail for a long while.

Many have asked, “Who is this Whisperer that talks with such boldness” and sometimes like C.N. wrote, states “in your face daring advice?” This then is the Whisperer’s autobiography as he chooses to reveal it.

The Whisperer has been there, done that and gone round the block several times. He talks from experience and scenarios he imagines (being a playwright is a great help in such matters). He has been cruel to women in times past (Is there any man who hasn’t?) as they have been cruel to him. He has learnt that life is not about cruelty, and happiness in a relationship is not just a distant and unattainable mirage as some might like us to think.

The Whisperer tells his truths as he knows them. He knows if you enter a relationship and make your life an open book; fools will write their autobiography in it. The truth is simple. You must guard your heart and be very fussy about whom you allow to leave an imprint. When you finally get to write that autobiography of yours, there are some people that should not be blips on your radar. They should not be able to say with a smirk that “I caused her pain” or “I was the subject of that amount of distress”.

I have known females who have not expected to hear me say anything that might put that gender in a bad light. In a singular case, one female I had made acquaintance with, said I hated women on account of these writings. That came from reading a column which apparently struck home in her case, but if I was giving examples of females to emulate, she would be at the bottom of the rung. The aim is to tell all parties the truth, and even if he leans in favour of the “Girls”, he will still tell it like it is. The Whisperer has always been thankful for the opportunity given to tell others of his experiences and his thoughts.

The Whisperer has never claimed his words to be a Bible or the Talmud. His word is not law, it is advice and as in all things, you must weigh the things you hear and balance it with the reality of your life. There is such a thing as commonsense however, and you do yourself a disservice when you do not do things that are sensible.

There are many people who write me privately with issues that you can tell they should know the answer immediately to. You start a letter with “He and I were together and now he is with someone else but I still love him”- You’re asking for trouble. The aim of whispering is not to rubber-stamp situations you should not get yourself entangled in. Why cause yourself further pain? If a partner falls out of love with you, walk away from this person. Don’t grovel, don’t beg. If he changes his mind out of pity, remember that “a person convinced against his will, is of the same opinion still”.

Isn’t the truth obvious in these cases? Dump the sucker and get on with your life. Life is what we make it, usually. You shouldn’t be afraid to live your life as you see it. There are many things that militate against us making decisions for ourselves- They are family, friends, loved ones, religion... the list is endless. However, if you sit and consider that the life you have to live is yours alone and that no one signed the lease for your life alongside you, you’ll grow up quickly and become an adult. There is a reason the voting age is eighteen. If your society believes you are old enough to choose who will lead your government at that age, why does it consider you brain-dead in your twenties, thirties, forties and even older when it comes to relationships? Like the song in that eternal movie, ‘The sound of music’ goes, “Your heart, little girl, is an empty page that men will want to write on”. Hold the hand of the writer before he starts to scribble, stare deep into his eyes and if you have any doubts or you meet shifty eyes, twist that thumb till the pen drops from his slack fingers.

It’s an autobiography, baby, write the chapters yourself.

The Girl Whisperer
as published by the Sunday Guardian
of 2nd August 2009

Whispering Lessons

The Whisperer is in the city of London as he writes this. A city meant to be in the middle of summer but still feeling very cold to a body that has been warmed over several decades by the African sun. He sits quietly, looking out of glass-plated windows at blood-red buses carrying people to varying destinations, people meditating on their own thoughts and he remembers some of the lessons life has taught him.

One of these is that the best revenge you can ever mete out is the revenge of living well. For everyone who has ever abandoned you in a relationship, who has ever looked at you and told you, you would never make the cut, that you would never be a success; it is your determination to prove them wrong that should be your driving ambition. It should not be you praying night after night that they stand under a crumbling skyscraper, that a speeding car runs them over or that they accidentally swallow ground glass. The best payback is the one that improves you so much that both the doubter and the rest of the world are awe-struck when they finally see you come up for air.

Another lesson goes hand in hand with this. You must always remember no one is compelled to believe in you or your dreams and aspirations. There is no one who owes you that obligation, not your mother or brother or best friend. The primary believer must be you. If you do not believe in yourself, no else can, no matter how much they pay lip service to your cause. “There will be miracles if you believe”. The power of consistency and single-minded pursuit of a cause can never be over-stated. Take the Whisperer’s word for it as he once took the word of Professor Adeoye Lambo, the renowned psychiatrist, in a quiet conversation at a dinner table years ago. Lambo said, “A cutlass has only one sharp side”. Keep cutting.

You will also learn that success has many parents but failure is forever an orphan. There are many who lay claim to having lent a hand to the supposed, perceived success of the Whisperer but this man can count and he knows those who truly believed. Guard your heart, guard your strength, and keep true friends. Nwabundo Onyeabo, I’m never letting you go.

The Whisperer has learnt that not all that is gold glitters. In searching for potential in prospective partners, the flashy are not always the best options. Often we do not look below the surface, as we are swept away by the glamour, the glitz, the trappings and the tinsel, but there are deeper things and those are the things that will last when the surface trimmings are gone. And believe the Whisperer when he says the surface trimmings will go, some sooner than later.

A lesson that must never be forgotten is that patience is a virtue and it will serve you when other things have failed. Often however, we are not prepared to wait. In a world of instant gratification, we expect results at the click of a button. One day, your ship will berth in the harbour, carrying all (or who) you want if only you can resist the urge to be hasty. I have seen things I longed for; fall in place many years after, even though not at the time I desperately sought it, and I have chosen to believe that the eventual timing is the right one. Beware of desperate steps; the darkest night lived will turn to day.

The Whisperer has learnt not to believe in stereotypes; for angels come in many forms and not all of them are pretty but they are angels all the same. The most-sound advice he ever got in academics came from a classmate on a dusty classroom corridor when he was thirteen; and help has come from unlikely sources like “area-boys” when he was stranded and at their mercy. Do not judge a book by its cover or a potential suitor by pedigree or family history. Open the book to read and then if it does not catch your attention, throw it away. Note that I did not say to take the book home when you can steal a quick glance through its pages by a busy roadside. The world is full of surprises and the book’s contents might surprise you. Everyone has a story.

I have learnt that the grass always looks greener on the other side of the fence, that for some reason, many humans are wired to believe what lies unattainable just across the iron-gate is much better than what they have in their possession. We long for the good-looking person who goes past the door every morning, thinking of how life would be a much better place if only that beautiful person existed in it. The only fault with our calculations is that we underestimate the baggage other people carry. There are a number of variables in every relationship; the mind-set of the people involved, their personal quirks… Sometimes we do not realise we are in possession of the real deal, that we hold gold in our hands as we strive for “fools gold” in other places, material that bears a semblance to the real thing but is of much less value.

I have learnt that happiness and laughter know no colour or language barriers, that you can find happiness in the company of those who are young at heart and contentment with those who are truly content. I have learnt that truly peaceful people are priceless and a person who is like “still waters” can be calming to the soul. I have learnt that a person dies on top first and the day you lose your childhood is the day you lose everything.

I have learnt you must be able to speak the language of children and have the strength to look Presidents in the face.

I have learnt you must love yourself first before you can truly love others and though others might have the ability to make you happy, there is no one who can give you joy. It is your duty to find that wellspring inside yourself.

The Girl Whisperer
as published by the Sunday Guardian
of July 26, 2009


If I were a boy

I first came across the poignant Beyonce Knowles song, “If I were a boy” one day as I sat surfing cable television channels. A good looking woman, Beyonce herself, was playing the part of a police officer who did her work well but spent time with the other officers doing what men generally do after hours; drinking, clubbing, and just “kicking it” as men have an inclination to. All this while, she had a doting boyfriend/partner at home who would watch the clock and wait for her to come home. It was a reversal of roles and gave me a lot of food for thought as the singer must have intended. Then only a few days ago, I sat talking with the Alli-Hakeem sisters, Toyin and Anike and one of them said, “If I were a boy”, and she elaborated on the things she would do and get away with, expressing pain that runs deep in women, pain inflicted by the things men do and never have to answer for.

In some ways, men are like the officers’ corps, policemen if you wish, who stand up for each other, whose ranks are closed and who will never testify against a “brother-officer” even at their own detriment. It is a rare man who tells a woman, “I saw your man with so-and-so”, or “I saw him at so-and so”. For some reason, the “esprit de corps” code among men also conjures a code of silence. Many men take relationships for granted the way the generality of women could never. Beyonce sang, “If I were a boy even just for a day, I’d roll out of bed in the morning, and throw on what I wanted and go drink beer with the guys”. As an aside, that might be the singular advantage men have over women, the ability to wear clothes without thinking if the colours suit our eyes, or whether our eye-shadow is the wrong shade of blue or whether our arms are growing bigger and we cannot get away with wearing sleeveless tops anymore. But back to our song and Beyonce. “If I were a boy, I would turn off my phone; tell everyone it’s broken so they would think I was sleeping alone.” At this point, many of the men reading should take deep breaths and think of the variations of this lie they have told. Some will say, “But the women do it too”. The Whisperer agrees but submits that this is a fallacious argument. According to philosophers,“And you too” does not work very well when you are the one accused of wrong-doing. Today, the Whisperer looks only at the men and the way they take their women for granted.

We turn off our phones and claim there is no network in a world that permits us to do whatever we want to do as long as it is not “hurting anyone else”. When the men sit to reflect, they must remember that the breaking of a human heart is probably more painful than a physical accident.

“I’d put myself first and make the rules as I go, because I know she’d be faithful, waiting for me to come home”. The Whisperer is not only in this procession of those who make the rules as they go; he is also carrying a banner. This is said without pride and shame-facedly. Men often make up the rules of engagement as they move along, much like the way children create new rules to suit themselves in games they have not mastered fully. What applied in a previous relationship will not apply in a new one. A rule set for the female partner, will not be applicable to the male. We can take long sultry looks at other females as we drive along but a glance from our woman that lasts for more than one second on a passing male is tantamount to fornication. She has sinned in her heart. The man is confident always that the woman at home is exactly where he wants her to be. She will not be going anywhere and no matter how long the pursuit took, she has been conquered and he can look to newer horizons. But do not forget that it is a strange world we live in where there are never any guaranteed fairy-tale endings and it is possible that like in the words of Mr. Ray Parker, “by the time poor Jack returned up the hill, somebody else had been loving Jill.”

Music is the closest thing we have to a time machine, able to teleport you to exact places and times when you first heard the song. With songs, the situation is created again, the same players, the entire scenario. I can never hear the Oleta Adams song, “Get here if you can” without feeling pain and Gabrielle’s “Dreams” does the same thing for me.

Madonna’s haunting “La Isla Bonita” is a victory song for this Whisperer, one that always reminds me of a day I took a major step in the right direction, and All 4 One’s ”I swear” will remind me of my father till my dying days. The reason is simple. I heard him singing the song in accompaniment one day as it played on the radio and I was brought into reality forcibly, that my father was a man first, before being a father.

The talented Ms. Knowles sang, “You don’t care how it hurts until you lose the one you wanted because you’re taking her for granted” and I agree. And the Whisperer gives advice to all men wherever they might be, and in whatever generation they might come from, even if they find this article seventy-five years from now in some dusty archive and they sit to read from yellowing, brittle pages. As they ponder on how love must have been in generations gone by as they go about their business in a world that may bear no resemblance to this one that we know; all men should remember one thing, times and seasons may change but men and women will always be. There are many pluses in being a man but it is not a sign of manliness to drag a woman in the mud behind you.

“If I were a boy...” Walk a mile in your woman’s shoes.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of June 14

The Broken Mould

We’ll start this ‘story’ properly by defining what a mould is for those who might not know. It’s what potters and people of similar professions make their casts, shapes, patterns and forms from. You make the mould then pour in the plaster, the clay, molten gold or whatever else you might use to make your shapes and it brings an exact replica of the form of the mould. In that case, you might call the mould the master-copy.

One day, a while back, Sherri, a female who stays continents away and whom I consider very pleasant, wrote of me, “they broke the mould after laspapi” and that set me thinking. What happens when we find the perfect person, that person who meets almost all of our needs and expectations in a partner and we get on like a house on fire, but then someday, for whatever reason, we have to part ways permanently with that person, road leading onto road? What happens if the perfect mould is broken?

Let’s be truthful, the world has basic types of people. Even the Whisperer has categorized women into four main groupings, the Jerry Springer, the Free Spirit, The Girl Next Door and the Thorough Bred. However, these are broad generalizations and even within groups, there is massive individuality. So you meet the perfect partner, the one who laughs at your jokes, who looks at you from across the room and you know without an exchange of words that it is time for you to leave the horrible party both of you made the mistake of attending. What happens to your world if this person leaves, if the mould is broken and cannot be replaced? One might create another mould, some would say. That might be true but it would never be the same. It might be better ...or it might be worse. The idiosyncrasies that come with one partner are rarely duplicated in another. The laughter, the friendship, the way people respond when upset or annoyed, the intimacy; all these things are peculiar to individuals and you cannot teach another to be like the one that went before. It is disrespectful , as a matter of fact, to even try. There are no two people that have the same kind of dentition, not even twins. You find someone who’s like your mould and yet, there’s something missing. Maybe laughter that goes on a bit too long or is a little bit too loud or just has a grating quality that sets your teeth on edge.

The Whisperer asks again, “what do you do when the mould is gone for whatever reason?” The separation might be your fault, the fault of the mould or circumstances beyond your control. Yes, life isn’t always fair, so get ready for the curve balls. By an accident of fate, the “perfect partner” has walked out of the door and you know, you just know with a sinking of the heart, “he ain’t coming back this time”.

In retrospect, the Whisperer believes that quite a number of his relationships were with people who looked like a master copy since long gone. It appeared it was a subconscious thing not done with any afore-thought malice. It just happened that a number of subsequent partners looked like a certain female the Whisperer once cared greatly about and who also cared about him. Some would argue that men and women have certain specifications, standards they want partners to meet, whether physical, emotional or intellectual so that might be the reason your partners seem to look the same way. It isn’t always so. It might just be because somewhere deep in your heart, you’re looking to replace the person who rocked your world, anyhow you can.

If the mould is broken, is life over? It would be foolish to set out thinking that life has ended because you cannot continue a relationship. The world as you know it might have entered a new phase but you must look on this as an opportunity to improve the prototype...if you’re lucky.

The world is full of beautiful people and you cannot lie down and die because the pain in your heart is unlike any other that you have felt. An amount of philosophical thinking is needed here and it is that if it was meant to be, it would have been. The Whisperer, once or twice, has lost out on lucrative-appearing contracts unlike any in his profession but he learnt one must have the ability to turn one’s back on these disappointments and move on. Pain paralyses and will make nonsense of your future if you do not let go.

Travel the world, take up new hobbies, and meet interesting people from the North, from Kenya, from Tibet, anywhere. Win a Grammy like Tina Turner after managing to escape from the abusive Ike, be like Cher who continues to re-invent herself generation after generation even though Sonny’s long gone, or like Halle Berry and win an Oscar after your man rejects you in public. It doesn’t matter how you do it, but like the Nike advert goes, “just do it”. Do your best to make a much better mould than what you had before and improve your art.

As an aside, I receive mail from strange men who believe the pictures that accompany the “whispering page” are pictures of the writer. The pictures of the usually attractive women (there have been a few lapses of judgement) on the page are chosen by the staff of the Guardian and not by the Whisperer. The Whisperer is male. And anyway, except you’re brain-dead, just reading a few lines would let you know it was a man writing. So here goes to the men who have offered me homes in Abuja and in Calabar; those pictures are not of the writer.

But I digress. If the mould is broken, you can make a new one, an improved one, cast in stainless steel or made with flawless titanium. The world is a beautiful place and the Whisperer has met many, many beautiful people; women with great hearts and great, great minds, and he faces the future with a huge smile on his face and a jaunty spring in his step and he tells you, as one friend to the other, that you should too.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of March 15, 2009

Hakuna Matata

In 1980, a Kenyan Hotel band, ‘Them Mushrooms’ released that very popular song, ‘Jambo Bwana’ (Hello Mister), which had the phrase, Hakuna Matata, repeated in its refrain. In 1994, the phrase was given worldwide recognition through the movie, the Lion King, and in it, two characters, Timon and Pumbaa encourage the lion cub, Simba, to forget the worries of the past and live for the future.
All over the world, in every doctrine and creed and in most major religions, there is a matching philosophy, one that says ‘Don’t worry, be happy’, sometimes misapplied by those who might possess a disconcerting lack of ambition but always used by those who believe the ugly past should stay where it is.

There are other terms, ‘no sweat’, ‘no worries’, ‘ba wahala’ which have the same meaning. Bobby McFerrin’s famous song goes, ‘Ain’t got no cash, ain’t got no style; ain’t got no girl to make you smile...don’t worry, be happy’. The public speaker, Mike Murdoch has been credited with a line that lends weight to this world view. The line- ‘Don’t let the pain of your past, poison your future’.
There are many, the walking wounded, suffering from events earlier on in their lives, and even though they are in their thirties, forties and fifties, still bear the scars of careless statements and actions made by others when they were in their teens.

My dream girl when I was about thirteen and fourteen was called Rosemary (and here’s an eye-opener for the parents in denial reading this, your thirteen year old boy is dreaming of girls). I have no idea what she looks like now but I recall then, that I had this huge crush on her and would wave shyly sometimes when she passed. I stayed in the area of Surulere in Lagos then known as Shell Club and she, in one of the red-bricked blocks of flats off Bode Thomas Street.

One day, the greatest honour I could think of was bestowed upon me. My true love (even if she didn’t know it) invited me to her party; I’ve forgotten what the occasion was. I brought out my party outfit (at that age, you had to have a party outfit) and went along with my more socially savvy friends, the brothers Ayo and Segun Idowu. So there I was in my jeans (I suspect they were bell-bottomed) and a matching jeans waistcoat). Okay, you can laugh now, the Whisperer wasn’t born perfect, perfection came over time. So we came into this party and ayo and segun dispersed, leaving me to mingle as best as I could. I tried to be cool and unobtrusive at the same time. In my mind, Rosemary had recognized the chemistry between us and we would profess our undying love to each other. And then she spotted me, and walked from across the room with a wide smile on her face. What she said then, ranks among the ten most incredible lines I have heard till this moment, decades after. This girl who was my very heartbeat said, ‘It’s good to see you. Just wait a bit, someone your own height will come in soon.’ I wasn’t very tall as a thirteen year old and like other teens who suffered that ailment; it was a serious issue for me. But hearing my Helen of Troy say it, was a blow lesser people would never have recovered from. I managed to make it out of the party a few minutes later, without my friends and a humbled man (or boy) choose what your preference is; and went home to sleep.

Thereafter, I learnt the power of Hakuna Matata. You do not have a choice in the matter. You may be knocked down by circumstances beyond your control but you choose to stay down, roll in the mud or to get up. Those who will last the whole ten rounds in the fight will themselves to get up. Sometimes, the best revenge is living well. Hakuna matata should be your clarion cry. Be like the donkey that was thrown into a pit because his owner felt there was no use for him. People would come and throw rubbish in the pit but the donkey would shake it off, stomp on it, and rise a little higher. Someday, the donkey found the rubbish thrown into the pit had become a platform which allowed him to jump out of the pit and make his own way in life. Hakuna Matata.

Everybody is somebody’s fool. Someday, and it is inevitable if it hasn’t happened to you yet, someone will make a fool of you in the issues of the heart. This person will turn you into a blubbering child. You must remember one thing; if you do not pick yourself up, no one else can. It’s essential that we all remember, ‘It’s not who you love, it’s who loves you’.

Learn to laugh at yourself and the pain will go away. There have been other girls along the way, those who didn’t believe. Oh, but they do now, how they do now. It doesn’t matter if no one else has faith in you; the most important thing is to remember the lines of the desiderata that say you have a right to exist, to be happy, and to succeed.

Today, I cast my mind back to all those who had no faith, and I smile to myself and say, ‘if only you could see me now’. As the song goes, “Hakuna Matata! It means no worry for the rest of your days, it’s our problem-free philosophy”

I would like to wish you a future that is ruled by this philosophy, a future where you learn the ability to shake off disappointments like a duck shakes water off its back. I wish you the strength to rise after painful encounters, smile a little and say, ‘that was a mistake, but I’ll get on with my life now, being careful never to walk that path again’.

It’s a beautiful world out there in many ways. Let’s have fun in it.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of March 8, 2008


DEEP THROAT

The title, Deep Throat, will bring back many memories to a lot of people, depending on your inclinations or former social habits. For those who are risqué and once walked on the ‘dark side’, it instantly brings to mind a movie that was made for adults only many years ago and simulated the senses in a manner many churches and mosques would consider quite offensive.

For the politically savvy, it recalls the fall of an American President, Richard Nixon, and the FBI deputy director who leaked his wrongdoings to the press (Nixon had been part of an enterprise that ordered recording devices be secretly placed in the offices of his political rivals and ‘Tricky Dicky’ as the more ungracious called him, had fallen when the deputy director code-named ‘Deep Throat’ clandestinely approached two writers for the Washington Post with this story of Nixon and his team’s illegal eavesdropping)

Nixon resigned and his political career went into a spiral. As an aside, forty years later, it would be impossible for a Nigerian President to be forced to hand in his resignation because he ‘listened in’ into his opponents conversations. Pause and think.

So back to the whispering. ‘Deep throat’ in this case is a spin-off and wild variation of the latter example I wrote; the hound you have a relationship with and then separate from, who tells the world real and imagined things about you, goes to places you couldn’t have envisaged and spreads wild tales, twisting some to suit his or herself. You have to be careful of this sort, for only gnarled and bent trees grow on the sun-blasted landscapes that are the minds of these kind of people.

We’ve all read stories of beauty queens who forgot their ‘first love’ and greatest supporter when ‘they ascended the throne’. Many of these scorned boyfriends who were there when the queen was still a gawky female are unable to accept their relegation to the backseats. They watch their former girlfriends hobnob with the rich and famous and then something snaps. From nowhere, boyfriend becomes a wild beast, cross-eyed with rage, decaying matter on his breath and then he loses his mind. The man develops a ‘scorched earth’ policy like some armies do, burning all vegetation that might serve as food and shelter for the former love. They tell stories; stories of forged academic results, of pregnancies, hidden children, drug addiction, wild nights, secret videos and the queen comes crashing down before the might of a deep throat.

You would think that with all the horrific examples that abound, people would learn; but no, when we ‘fall in love’, we expose every facet of our heart, and we often pay a heavy price. Let’s do some simple mathematics. How many people do you know that have found permanent love in their first relationships? How many in their second, or third? It takes a while (and there are some who go on to forty or fifty. It’s alright, you can’t shock me. I’m the Whisperer)

Now if the probability is uncertain as to whether your relationship will be a permanent one, why would you unearth issues that might affect your very life if placed in the wrong hands? There is nothing wrong with sharing your heart with your ‘love’. Just don’t share what might cripple you for life if the relationship goes sour.

Once upon a time, there was a girl who swore to a man she loved that they’d go to the ends of the earth together and he believed her. But she was very disrespectful, and the man chose to go his way. She refused to accept this and went everywhere; to his family, his office, his friends, spreading horrible tales while all he wanted was to be left alone. For many reasons, many people lack the ability to walk away with dignity and their heads held high. Another went to church to share information on another friend and would stand by the roadside when the fellow would pass and regale complete strangers with tales of his infamy. The men got them both to stop, because information sharing is a two-way thing and nothing works like an implied threat of counter-exposure from an angry ex-partner’s mouth.

The Whisperer also wishes to tell a truth. It’s not everyone you meet that is sound, mentally. Sometimes, it’s best for you to let people sort their issues before you embark on a voyage of love with only the two of you on a boat with an out-of order rudder and no land in sight.

I made the mistake of getting close to the mother of all disturbed people years ago. When I saw her for her true-self, I backed away rapidly but she pursued with ferocity of the kind only seen on the Animal Planet channel. Her stories about me were as crazy as they were wild and she went everywhere I had ever told her of. The Whisperer is notoriously quiet about himself, but this is because of these strange beings; it’s not everyone who walks on two feet that’s human. She found out she really knew nothing of me and the madness receded for want of fuel.

You must remember no one can hang you for keeping quiet. You can be loving and caring and share many intimate moments, but you must protect yourself until you know the person in your life well. People change as we do too and you might regret a moment of rashness after the dust settles.
However, there are the thoroughbreds that you need not be overly wary of. They aren’t those who tell you they’d never drag your name or reputation through the mud but those whose very natures abhor that kind of situation. There are male and female friends that I know who would die rather than subject themselves or others to behaviour so degrading but while you search out these people in your own life, be careful. Don’t go into any situation without checking out the possible costs to your person and reputation.

Only a fool tests the depths of water with both feet, is what they say. I believe.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of March 1, 2009

The Millionaires Club

There are very few people who haven’t, at some time or the other, sat to ponder on why a partner who professes to love one so much, does so. We beat ourselves around the head. “Yes, she loves me, but is it because I’m comfortable?” “What if I didn’t own this car, or live in this area of town, or have this great job?” “Would this guy be crazy about me if my father wasn’t the Ambassador to Spain? (For the sake of those who might start calling to know the Whisperer’s connection to the diplomat just mentioned, the Whisperer randomly picked a nice-sounding job. He has no idea if Shrek is the Nigerian Ambassador to that country or Rafiki of “The Lion King”)

We get used to being admired for what we have become, unable to separate this from who we are, and sometimes, uncertainty creeps in, and in quiet moments, when the sounds of the television sets are muted and the car radio is silent, we ask ourselves what people really see in us. The beauty queen who has a host of admirers and tells her partner he should thank his lucky stars he has her, lives a life that some would term superficial. The Whisperer personally thinks good-looks are accidental; there are millions of very good looking people everywhere. It takes no skill, industry or brain-work to be born good-looking. What will often separate one from the rest of the pack is the power of the human mind and its level of development. We were at a surprise birthday party for a Nigerian television show-host when the Whisperer struck up a conversation with a ravishingly beautiful ex-beauty queen (It wasn’t Agbani Darego. That female can’t put a foot wrong in my opinion)

So this beauty queen and I got talking and the long and short of it was that she expected her husband or future partner, whoever the fellow would turn out to be, to take care of all her needs. She didn’t expect to ever work (or play, if you’re a dramatist) She was taken aback when I insisted both partners in a relationship should contribute to the home no matter how imbalanced the contributions are. It was apparent she had visions of lounging on couches fanning freshly painted, manicured fingernails for the rest of her life. She’s probably found someone to meet her needs, men are like that.

That original member of the Beatles, Paul McCartney, felt he had found true love again after his first wife and best friend, Linda died. He married the ex-beauty queen, who was meant to fill up the space his first wife left, but soon after, they had a fall out, and the new Mrs McCartney went to court to ask for a very large lump of his money and a few houses of his, to boot. I have no intention of causing Mr. McCartney’s former wife or her admirers any pain, but it has probably crossed the minds of observers that Sir Paul’s money might have been an underlying reason (no matter how minor) for that marriage. Those who make prospective partners sign pre-nuptial agreements might insist they have a defence in this case.

This brings us back to our subjective definitions of love. Do our partners love us for who we are, for who we’ve become or for our potential? Do they love us for our family background or for our ability to propel them on the paths they have chosen to walk on through life? On the other hand, aren’t these external things; our potential, jobs, careers and vocations, financial clout, family pedigree an essential part of who we are? Can we separate these elements from our persons?

“Love me for who I am”, many of us like to say. Don’t love me for material gain or my ability to promote your standing in society. How do you perform this surgical operation, the separation of a man from what he has become. A father grits his teeth and with shoes and clothes practically falling apart, sends his child to one of the best schools in the world. That education becomes an integral part of the person you are, inseparable, and some people will love you for it (and for that smooth accent they have difficulty in placing when you talk)

Realists will argue that people must love you for something! They will say love cannot exist in a vacuum and they might have a good point. If people will love one person for his or her ability to sing, why can’t they love another because of that person’s ability to earn money? In this area of ‘love’, there is no black or white.

I knew of a young man once, who would shake his head from time to time and say he was glad he was not of wealthy stock because the scions from great homes and families would never be able to tell if their partners truly cared for them. The problem he had was the possibility the love shown might be based on more earthly things by the more pragmatic suitor. When I pointed out to him that his own success with the ladies might just be because he appeared to have great potential to become a financial success in the future, he was struck dumb for a short while.

At any time, people are caring for each other for a variance of reasons. There has to be something. An “I just love him” does not suffice to make a relationship. Bill Clinton told his wife at their first meeting he was going to become the President of the United States. That kind of confidence was great incentive to love the smooth-talking law student. He did become President which should make us commend Hilary Clinton’s ability to decipher nonsense from straight talk. I mean, how many people announce they are going to become President? Everyone has done that at least once.

As an aside, I’m going to build the African version of 20th Century Fox and Paramount Pictures. Love me now to avoid the rush.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of February 22, 2009

THE LIMITATIONS OF THE WHISPERER

I parked my bike at a petrol station a while back, waiting to meet up with the dulcet-toned Kaka, the female voice in D banj’s smash hit, ‘Fall in love’. It was getting late and I looked out again and again at the major road that passed in front of the station. And then my phone rang, it was her and she was already there but couldn’t see me. I looked around, saw her and waved, and she began to walk towards me.

I ride a rather large motorcycle, a Suzuki 750cc called a ‘power bike’ by the everyday man on the streets. It’s a wild beast, and when riding, you can feel it pulsing, barely restrained from tossing you into the nearest gully. In the very early days of riding (I was one of those foolhardy enough to buy a bike before learning to ride), it threw me into a couple of walls; I bruised a few ribs, injured a forearm, damaged a shin, had a few other ‘minor’ abrasions and many escapes from being maimed. I thereafter, learnt the wisdom of wearing protective gear. You know the sort that makes you think Spider Man just sped past; a proper helmet, not the paint-buckets that some commercial riders place on their heads, black leather gloves with hard plastic etched on their knuckles, a jacket with protection over the chest area, the elbows, the forearms, the shoulders, the spinal cord area; and to cap it all, shin/knee guards, just in case I had an uncontrollable urge to smash my knees into the tarmac.

That night, as I waited for Kaka, I was decked out in the full ‘combat’ gear I just described, a sight to put the fear of God into little children. Our eyes met and she began to walk towards me, smiling and waving as she came. I noticed another female walking rapidly behind her and gesticulating, trying to catch up. ‘Old school friend’, I thought, ‘and Kaka hasn’t noticed.’

Kaka reached me with a smile and said hello and right behind her was her ‘friend’. I showed Kaka the female trying to catch her attention, a female about five feet and three inches tall, dark skinned, passable in the looks department and Kaka turned but showed no recognition. “I’m Shadé”, our new acquaintance said to Kaka, “and I want to get to know you”. I watched in amazement; it was dark, a time when people were hurrying to the security of their homes, there I was, seated like the angel of death in all that gear and this female standing about two feet away, was talking to Kaka as if I was invisible. “I saw you on the road”, she said, “and I liked your hips”. I swear that was what she said. Kaka and I were struck dumb. The girl continued, “Don’t embarrass me; I just want to get to know you. All I want is your number”. Kaka finally found the words to answer, “But I don’t know you”, however our strange guest was undeterred. “It doesn’t matter, we can be friends”. Kaka said, “I’m with someone here”, pointing at me and our new friend replied, “Him?” I knew I had to be in the presence of an alien. I mean, who goes ‘Him?’ when someone points out you’re intruding on a private meeting. This girl didn’t even bat an eye-lid at what I felt was my imposing presence. She acted as if I was a part of the scenery, just an extension of the filling station’s gate or some insignificant speck.

I thought it was time to play the alpha-male part and I addressed our intruder. “Hello, you can see she’s with me.” The rabid girl looked at me and fearlessly asked, “You?” She looked again at Kaka, “Don’t embarrass me, just give me your number”. This conversation was carried out in normal tones as if she was asking what the time of day was. I didn’t know what to feel; anger, annoyance, amusement or worry. One thing I knew however was this girl couldn’t be in complete control of her senses. There had been some compulsion, a driving force that had made her continue to pursue Kaka even though she could tell that her quarry was meeting with someone else. I don’t know how many girls would cross four major lanes at night to search out someone of their own gender and then pointedly ignore the fact that their attention was unwelcome.

I knew it was time to leave so I told Kaka to ignore her. Our new friend stood, slightly embarrassed, and then made her way out of the station. We stood shell-shocked, Kaka and I, and slightly spooked, there haven’t been many moments in my life much weirder than that.

I am the Girl Whisperer, a legend in matters concerning females (let those who will bay at the moon in annoyance at that pronouncement feel free to do so) but that was the first time I would see female on female action at such close quarters. Maybe my Whispering abilities on gender-related issues is limited to those between men and women. My circuits seem to crash when a girl decides another has taken her fancy.

There have been many times I have stood beside good-looking females (Eat your hearts out, I know many of them) and members of my own gender have cast longing glances at them. These men have given looks of frank admiration, smirks, leers, winks and even lustful looks but no one has ever walked up as I stood, completely ignored me and tried to start a ‘friendship’ with the person I was with, not caring who or what the person was to me. It took a female who apparently was in heat, to give me perspective and remind me that there is another side, a side we rarely get to see but which exists nonetheless.

There’s no art to seeing the mind’s construction in the eye, Mr. Shakespeare said.

I agree.

The Girl Whisperer

as published in the Sunday Guardian

of February 15 2009

An Open Letter To Ariyike

You and I met under the strangest circumstances. There had been a strong possibility that you would not be there that day, and we would have missed each other, like ships that pass in the night. Your name would have been mentioned by your friends as an aside, and I wouldn’t have given it a second thought, not knowing the beauty that was in your heart and the graciousness of your person, never finding out that you and I were truly meant to meet.
I do not believe in coincidences, Ariyike. I do not believe it is accidental that you wake up to think of a fellow one morning, and then as you step out of your house, there he is, way down the street, walking towards you, waving. Some things are just meant to be. You and I were meant to meet and to enrich each other’s lives through the beauty of our acquaintance.
Your eyes were the first things I saw that day at dusk, warm and friendly, laughing eyes, cheerful eyes. You stood and took in the unfamiliar landmarks, and as you looked at the newness of it all, I looked at you. I stood, bemused for a few seconds after I met you, for who is it, that has ever seen true magic and not stood in awe?
And then gradually, I got to know you better and understood that there was a great heart to go with that lovely person, and that heart had been through great pain before, but had recovered, had regained strength and still dared to look life full in the face. You are a curious mix of suavity and naivety; in one moment, seeming to have great insight into the most complicated issues in the world and in another, almost childlike in your vulnerability. From the first few moments I heard you speak, I wanted to stretch my hands out, hold you close and protect you from the troubles of the world. I still hear your voice in the mornings, your eagerness to start the day, your enthusiasm and your purpose. I can still feel your charm as we set out for the day, on another journey, hoping, believing that only goodness will come out of our endeavours.
I hear the contentment in your voice in the evenings, the satisfaction you would show at having had a fulfilling day, of meeting your objectives and goals.
There are differences between us, Ariyike, for there are no two people born of women that are in perfect tandem, but even at the same time our similarities and shared outlooks are striking.
You are who you are, confident in your personality and your background, as even I am, but there is a meeting point for us both, and that place is one we found easily; a place where there is no lack of ease, where the sun shines gently on the lovely flowers in vast fields and where we can sit and talk and think and muse for hours on end, unafraid that life might throw us a curve ball. You have shown me the truth in the saying that there is beauty in this world, just by your very existence.
The world can be a complicated place, a place where terrible things happen, where there are no rules of fairness and where pain comes easily to the undeserving. This may be true but I ask you one thing. Do not forget me, Ariyike, no matter how far you go, no matter how many rivers you cross. Do not remove my thoughts from your heart no matter how many mountains you climb or hilltops you descend from. Remember the wonderful moments, the few snatched moments where you and I , both, would both sit and reflect. When you walk the sun-bleached corridors of the world, remember he whom you laughed with as you sought the shade then. And in the days when the sun will set early and you will walk on those dark, grey and lonely roads, head down to protect yourself from the biting cold and you pass the quiet streets lit with the soft yellow glow from overhead lamps, give thought to him, that laughed and sang by your side, and sometimes touched your soft hair in very quiet moments.
I will remember you no matter where fate takes me or the winds of time blow my ship’s sail towards. I will remember the beauty of your heart, the wondrous workings of your mind, your kindness and the greatness which accompanied you like a halo.
In our march through life, you will meet other people as I will. Promise me, that you will create a place for me in your heart that no one else can take. Keep a small place for me there, a place you can go to, when the dark storm clouds gather and you will be absolutely sure of shelter and safety. Promise you will remember me when the skies are grey and when the sun breaks through.
When my footsteps are heavy on the roads I must walk on here, I will bring up my sweet memories of you, smile a little to myself and walk with a much lighter step. In the bleakest situations, I will remember I have you, Ariyike, I will remember I have sat and communed with you, I will remember I have made you laugh and no one, no circumstances, will ever be able to take that from me.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of Jan 25 2009

The Butterfly Effect

This phrase refers to the idea that a butterfly’s wings might create tiny changes in the atmosphere that may ultimately alter the path of a tornado or delay, accelerate or even prevent the occurrence of a tornado in a certain location. While the butterfly does not cause the tornado, the flap of its wings is an essential part of the conditions resulting in the tornado. To put this in simple English, a butterfly flaps its wings in faraway Tibet and thereby causes a calamitous event in a little village in the Eastern region of Nigeria.

Cause and Effect. Do all our actions, no matter how insignificant, have far-reaching consequences in places we cannot even begin to imagine? Does a simple, nonchalant act have a ripple effect in the years ahead in some far-flung place? A young man has an idea one day after a conversation with a close friend of his. He will leave Kenya, the land of his birth and travel to the United States, he will seek greener pastures, try to make headway in this distant land. Things come together for him and he is able to reach the ‘promised land’. Though he faces initial hardship, he is able to father a son, who grows up, steadily, surely and by the time this son is in his forties, he has become the forty-fourth President of the United States. The tornado that tore across a mighty nation which started with a simple conversation between friends close to fifty years before, on a deserted footpath in a rural part of Kenya. Are you starting to get the picture?

You choose to take a left turn instead of a right and at the end of it; you see the result of a simple, natural act and its consequences. After my ordinary level exams, I decided to start my Advanced Level classes in the same school, Baptist Academy, and on the first day of resumption, I met a bespectacled young man, tooth slightly chipped in front, standing confidently against the wall in front of the Principal’s office. He appeared to be about my age and I later found out he was nine days younger than I was. This was the start of a major friendship, one of the most important of my life, and he played the most pivotal role in the choice of course I would study, law. I had no idea why he chose my school for his advanced levels but whatever led him there was the butterfly that flapped its wings and became the cyclone that hit my life.

While still in your late teens, you are woken by a friend one bright Saturday morning. She tells you she’s been invited to a party and because you have no set plans, decide to accompany her. At the party, you meet this smooth talking young man (and believe me, there are many smooth-talking seventeen year olds) who sweeps you off your feet and into a broom closet. A few weeks later, you suspect something is the matter with you. Your mother, who should really be named after the super-heroine, Hawk-Eye, looks closely at you and informs you with steel in her voice, that you’re pregnant. Are you starting to see the butterfly’s wing’s flapping in slow-motion now? It started with the friend who saw your picture in her photo album that day and decided it would be a good thing for you both to hang out. And then the catastrophe.

There are many simple acts we take for granted, not realising that nature abhors a vacuum and that for every act, there is a reaction, often times unseen but able to cause catastrophe if we are not careful. The student that picks up a book to swot in preparation for exams is creating a sequence that will lead him (or her) to success. The gift of a golf club to Tiger Woods at age two created a phenomenon, a golf player unlike any ever seen in this life.

Oftentimes, we cannot predict what the logical fallout of our actions will be. We have no idea if a simple hello will result in a life-changing situation many continents away but as much as possible, we should walk through life with our eyes wide open. As the Whisperer read somewhere many years ago, “He never wise and safe shall be, who shuts his eyes when he should see”

Your decision to unconditionally love a man who has made it plain you do not mean the same thing to him, is one in which you do not have to go far to see its probable results. You don’t have to be a soothsayer to realise it will only end in heartbreak and for just one of the two parties.

Often, we are a result of our childhood, our upbringing, a totality of the confidence given us by our parents and guardians when we were children or the insecurities they foisted upon us. Through the whole of life, the ripples of the past flow like the beginning of waves at sea, gathering momentum as they force their way to crash against the distant shores which will become our future.

Many of us are products of a loving gesture in our past (or a careless word). There is no word that falls flat, no deed that does not take root and become a stepping stone or an obstacle. I am the result of the many comics I read as a child and believe me when I say I read them all; Buster, Whoopee, Dandy, Tiger, Roy of The Rovers, Marvel Comics, DC Comics, , The War Picture Library, Tarzan and his son, Korak, Battle, Crunch, 2000AD and its fallout, Judge Dredd. Even the female comics, Mandy, Jinty, Tammy went through my hands. I can tell you how exactly the Fantastic Four got their powers, the episode in which Lieutenant Darkie in “Darkie’s Mob” lost his life and his last words, “You have won nothing, Nipponi”. I can tell you Nicholas Cage was no “Ghost Rider”, and Arnold Schwarzenegger no “Conan the Barbarian”. Both films were shams. Toby Maguire as Spiderman is a dubious choice and Stan lee, producer of Marvel Comics will live forever.

Now you get my meaning, the butterfly effect of all the Enid Blyton books I read led to a tornado. Femi Kuti’s life was shaped by his father’s influence. Let’s be determined to make our butterflies flap their wings properly and if by some chance, we have suffered for mistakes of the past, let’s make our minds up to turn these mistakes to our advantage. The Girl Whisperer salutes you.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of Jan 4, 2009

AN AFRICAN NEW YEAR

It’s just a few hours into this New Year and the Whisperer like the rest of the world believes it will be one that brings many beautiful things along with it. More than a decade ago, a friend, Dejo Fabolude’, wrote a poem titled an ‘An African Christmas’ and asked in it, “why dream we of Rudolph’s red nose...and fireside repose”, all the trappings of an English Christmas.

For me as a child, the Christmas season and the coming New Year were some of the nicest periods in my life. There was the quietness that pervaded at that period, the hustle and bustle of the city greatly reduced, and the goodwill you could actually ‘feel’ as you walked past or met with complete strangers. It was Christmas and the world was at peace. There were the greeting cards sent to families and friends everywhere, greeting cards with silvery glintz that caught the light and which you could feel if you rubbed a finger down the cover of the card. These things made the life of a child very pleasant. These cards held pictures of ‘Peter and Jane’ families at dinner, the dog asleep in front of the lit fireplace, snow heaped on the rooftops and on the roads, a warm glow from the street lamps with the yellow lights that drew arcs on the quiet roads, a warm glow that conditioned us to believe it was a time when nothing could go wrong. And nothing ever did. Christmas was magical for this child that would become the Whisperer. The air always smelt different at Christmas, cleaner, crisper or maybe it was just the fact that there were lesser cars in the city and the harmattan winds were at work. There were no cares and absolutely no fears, every child at that time knew he would live forever.

I have never seen a reindeer in real life, never met a white Santa Claus, never met actual elves or been to the North Pole but the peace that Christmas brings should be one encouraged to stay through the year. I am not entering into debate with those who say the Christ was actually born in September or March or some other month and therefore should not be celebrated in December. Those things mean little to me. I speak of the ‘spirit’ that flows through neighbours and strangers at that time and the hope that all have that the future will bring much better things.

However, even with all the beauty that follows the ‘greeting card’ Christmas, there is such a thing as an African side to it. The hustle and bustle that causes insensitivity is greatly lessened in this period and people once again allow their true selves to come to the surface. People are treated with compassion and the less-affluent are sought out and assisted. It’s a great time to be alive. The role of the communal spirit in the yuletide season in Africa is a very significant one, it’s a time when you may get help from the most unlikely places, when friendships are made stronger and love thrives.

What does the future hold for those in love or those who seek love? There are no sure answers to this, no time-tested methods that will guaranty life-long happiness; however, there are basic ways to avoid pitfalls. The first rule in your relationship in this New Year is not to operate under the delusion that someone else will ‘complete’ you. If you are an incomplete structure, you have no business allowing other people to inhabit your premises until you’re ‘safe’ to live in. There is no one person that can complete another human being, they can add value to your life as a person, bring great happiness to you, but your joy and sense of self-worth must come from within. The Whisperer is aware that there are people who go around, believing their next relationship will somehow transform them as persons and make their lives wonderful. There is no such thing, and all you do is prove a maxim that “It is every man’s inalienable right, the right to deceive yourself. No one can take it from you”. People who go around seeking their completion in others do disservice to themselves and the persons they end up weighing down. It is a truly developed person that should be in a serious relationship. In that case, the other party is able to benefit from the union. It’s quite simple, ‘be a radiator, not a drain’. When we go searching for the ‘missing part’ of us in others, we end up with more missing parts. A great part of life is about self-development and there is no Eastern mysticism in that statement. Develop yourself; make yourself a more attractive person, emotionally and mentally and the cards will fall in place for you.

Do not imagine also, that finding someone who’s right for you means the ‘work’ is over. As a matter of fact, that’s the point it’s just started. A relationship is a journey, not a destination and there are few things as difficult to synchronise as two people who come from different backgrounds and psychological make-ups. Even having a relationship with a night-owl if you are a ‘morning person’ can be nerve-racking and put strain on a relationship, talk little of someone you have differing issues with concerning finances, the position of the extended family in your lives and other life-threatening matters. A relationship must commence with both parties (the Whisperer is conservative and imagines there will be only two people involved) purposing they will work hard to make it right. Anyone who says relationships are a breeze hasn’t been in one yet.

Is there such a thing as the perfect mate? Is there someone so genetically modified for you that you will never be all-together until you are with this one person? I choose to think that there is no one person and the billions who have fallen in love with their perfect mates and been heart-broken can attest to this. You can find someone you are genuinely in love with, genuinely compatible with and then you can make it work. But the departure of this person will not end your life. I still haven’t met Nicole Kidman yet I think she and I will get on like a house on fire. There are different things that attract us in different people. The point is to find someone you thing you make good music with, and then hold on...very tightly. Love can be a bumpy ride.

May all your good dreams come to pass in the New Year.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of December 14

Memories of another Day

I’m sitting up in bed, lap-top open, half-watching the muted television screen showing the Sky News broadcast and my all-time favourite news caster, Eamonn Holmes,a man who seems to exude pleasantness even though I have never met him outside a television tube. Today, my thoughts drift into the distant past and how things used to be. The greatest relationships were those that had no intimacy issues, no sexual undertones, and half of the satisfaction was just being able to say with pride that a certain person was your beau.

I spent a lot of my holidays in the staff quarters of the University of Lagos when I was in my pre and early teen s and so became friends with a lot of the kids growing up there at that time. I also seemed to have massive crushes on all those lovely story-book girls that lived there, and today a smile crosses my lips as my thoughts dwell on each one.

There was Ekaetté who stayed next door to our relatives there and was my first ‘girlfriend’. The manner of our ‘love’ for this then-twelve year old was such that I would get full like a person who’d just had a large meal just from watching her walk past. There were the sisters, Yemi and lola (Yemi, I hear, lives somewhere on the island now) Yinka, Mopé who became an engineer and the lovely iféchukwu and her equally beautiful sisters. Iféchukwu’s father would answer the phone in a deep bass voice, announcing his surname in two syllables. It took a secure youth not to hang up the phone after that voice. There were the sisters, Bunmi and Taiwo, Bunmi is a corporate big-shot now according to the newspapers, the snazzy Uzo who didn’t really stay on campus but was a great friend of those who did, and Tola, the student of Queen’s College who was my ‘school mother’. I thought Tola was the most beautiful school-mother in existence. I wonder where she is now and what she’s doing.

Those were the glory days of love, friendship totally without guile and lacking any ulterior motives. For me, those friendships were genuine as were the professions of ‘love’. When I consider the subterfuge and manipulations of ‘grown-up’ love, the plotting and subversions, I long for the days when the grass smelt green and your friend really was one in word and in deed. Now, as in all other areas of life, these kids are scattered across many continents, some bracing for the harmattan winds, and others against the bitter cold of winter. Adulthood is funny, the time when you can make rational decisions for yourself, and more importantly, stand by those decisions. The environments we often create as a result of our adult decisions however are often ones that leave us in the bleak states we are forced to inhabit, states where we are forced to endure a lack of genuine love and friendship. Maybe it really is true then, that everything we needed to learn, we learnt in kindergarten. I cannot call to mind many friendships that are truer than those I found in my teens. It may be that the template is one that is developed at a very young age and as we grow older, our newer experiences make us forget we once knew the magic formula. Now I remember John Borough’s verse- ‘To his sorrow he learnt this truth, you may return to the place of your birth, you cannot return to your youth’.

I recall the problems that video cassette recorders caused by coming in two forms, VHS and Betamax tapes, and how VHS gradually won the war, bit by bit, step by step. And now with a wry smile, I remember that even these are long gone, assigned to the dusty heap of obsolete inventions, replaced by the DVD, and there is now an entire generation that never experienced the VHS.

In the corridors of my mind, I walk across the grassy lawns of the road that was known as Eni Njoku and then renamed Oritshejolomi Thomas. I stroll down the lonely, tree-lined roads that lead past the house of the quiet Orode, and come across that beautiful child known as Tayo, Yinka’s sister. There are many memories on these roads as I walk; the winged termites that would fly against the golden street lamps that illuminated the night streets, the click-clacking of the legs of crabs on tarmac as they came out of the marshy woods and marched down to some nameless destination. I remember watching the James Bond movie, ‘Diamonds are forever’ in the quiet, dark theatres of the University, and the long walk with my cousins back to their home.

One of the greatest things parents can do for their children is to help them have great childhoods through keeping friends that are true. As children, there was little or no wickedness in the things we spoke about and did. Sometimes in my mind now, when I come in contact with road rage, malice, rumour-mongering or some other form of ‘adulthood’, I make myself immune to these external onslaught by creating a shield that is woven out of memory. I remember the times we would sit by the lagoon and look out at the placid waters, and talk and make plans for a future we believed would be ours for the taking. I remember the comic books, ‘Buster’ and ‘Battle’ and ‘Crunch’, ‘Roy of the Rovers’, ‘Tiger’ and ‘2000AD’, and I know I will never stop smiling. Adults must never taint the lives of children by intruding in this period of development, where character is forged.

I may never be able to return, physically, to those great days, but I can sit and reflect and muse on the beauty of days long gone, and promise myself, that my children will have at least as much beauty as I found in my childhood and much more, if the Lord allows.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of December 7, 2008

The Bluffer’s Guide to Romance

Years ago, I came across a series of books on bluffing. There were titles like ‘Bluff your way through journalism’, ‘...through literature’, ‘...through publishing’ and a few others. It struck me then, how many people go through many aspects of life, bluffing and calling bluffs. There are many synonyms for the word, ‘bluff’. They include ‘trick’, ‘con’, ‘fake it’, ‘deceive’, ‘lie’, and ‘pass off’. For the sake of this discussion, we’ll use ‘pass off’ as our alternative to bluffing.

In the Whisperer’s ‘days of thunder’, he pursued a female we’ll call ‘Short Wave’ or SW. He would drive across half the country if she beckoned, totally devoted to all her whims and caprices. This devotion on the Whisperer’s part brought about a remarkable turn of events. SW, the object of the Whisperer’s undivided attention, wasn’t particularly grateful for all the devotion. Time after time, she showed how little weight she attached to the affection she received. Once, after a particularly blatant show of disrespect by SW in which she had been asking after another man she admired in the presence of this writer who-was-not-yet-a-Whisperer, SW turned to him and said, ‘Women don’t like men who are too enthusiastic’. And thus, a phenomenon was born. There is nothing wrong with loving a man or a woman to the death, the problem is ensuring that love and affection is not taken for granted. Thereafter, the Whisperer, a quick learner even then, learnt a life-saving skill and SW learnt from the Whisperer she wasn’t a living goddess after all.

People, as a rule, rarely appreciate what is given to them on a platter and what they do not have to fight or pay a price for. Free tickets to shows are not as well appreciated as tickets paid for. A person who rarely falls ill (the Whisperer is in this category) does not appreciate good health as much as a person who wears the smell of hospital disinfectant like some others do perfume. The person who stays slim no matter what she eats, never fully understanding the joys of this as much as she who has to fight for every kilogram she sheds.

The people you meet on the romantic level and often, in other spheres of life are in some way playing a game with you. If you’re one of those who take life as a tragedy, here’s where your ears begin to emit smoke. But a game it is, no matter how you look at it. The would-be employer who tells you you’re free to answer your ringing phone in a job interview, the boss who wants to see how you react under pressure by not reining in a rude subordinate.

At every point in your life, there are bluffers all around you. The vendor at the market who gives a fantastic price for the product you so desperately need. Your need must never be apparent. And as in all cases of calling a bluff, you must be able to walk away no matter how painful it might be for you.

In romance and love scenarios, there are few people who totally appreciate partners who are so dedicated to them or seem to have no lives outside their partners. You must love your partner, it is true, but you must never forsake building your own life and improving on the things that make you whole, because of another. You, as a person, must be as totally free of hang-ups as much as possible so you can be of benefit to others. ‘He completes me’ is not the stuff of enduring romance.

The Bluffer is the person you meet, who is totally smitten by you upon the first meeting but refuses to show anything. You might be allowed to see a bit of it, but that will just be enough to show the promise of what lies beneath, not reveal that person as one capable of becoming a blubbering idiot because you are in the same room. Bluffers win all the time in issues of romance. When the Whisperer was taking a Masters degree at the University of Lagos, a beautiful undergraduate he had long admired and whom we shall call ‘Thanks-giver’ walked up to him and in the middle of the conversation, uttered the legend, ‘I have no boyfriend’. This was as direct as anything the Whisperer had ever heard. Yet even with the direct admission and ‘green light’ as the more pedestrian like to call it, there was nothing cloying about the Thanks-giver. She was as bright as she was beautiful and she never gave room for her feelings to be abused. You must have the ability to walk away from a bluffer. Not walking away for five or ten days, but walking away for all time if you recognise your feelings are being abused.

The Whisperer totally appreciates Aesop’s fable about the fox that couldn’t reach the delicious-looking grapes on a tree and decided they had to be sour. You must be able to call a bluff, wearing the look of a player in a game of poker. Like the song goes, you must ‘know when to walk away, know when to run’. Or when to hide your thoughts. The Whisperer bought a generator off a very beautiful young woman on Victoria Island very recently, neither having met or spoken before the actual purchase. The first impression was one of startling good looks and he looked at her well (the female form is of great interest to the Whisperer), head to toe, eyebrows to forearms to calves. And then the hood came over the eyes. It must always be standard operating procedure, to bluff, or call one.

Bluffers go far, and you will too, if you don’t wear your heart on your sleeve.

The Girl Whisperer

as published by the Sunday Guardian

of Nov 30, 2008

The Time Machine

Music is the closest thing we have to time travel. Sometimes, as we walk down a quiet road and hear the soft strains of a song we once knew, we are transported to another dimension, visible to those around us, but mind, heart, spirit are gone elsewhere, to the place where we first heard that song or where it first made its impact.

For me, there are many; there’s the Boys II Men song, ‘End of the Road’, which transports me back to the end of my youth service year in Akwa Ibom State and the young nice girl, Victoria, I knew there. Daughter of a Minister (of the gospel, in this case), she was a delightful person to be friends with. ‘End Of The Road’ was a song played at the farewell party organized for our set of Corp members that were finally leaving the state, a song that played as I danced with Victoria, leaving the world behind.

Oleta Adams’ ‘Get here if you can’ provides one of my saddest memories. It is that of the girl who had to leave me, when she relocated to another continent many years ago. Gabrielle’s ‘Dreams’ reminds me of the same girl, it was a song she loved very much and more than a decade after, I would still rather not listen to these two songs.

There’s the Jim Reeves song, ‘ This world is not my home’, which reminds me of my father on quiet Saturday mornings as I grew up, as I’m sure it reminds half the world of theirs, and ‘The Jamaican Farewell’ which recalls my sister, Bande when I was still a teenager and how she would painstakingly go over every line so I could get it right.

There’s ‘walk on by’ by Dionne Warwick, an all time favourite because it reminds me of one of the most beautiful spirits I ever met, Kemi; truly a sad song, but there was nothing sad about her. I first heard the song at her home and would request for it each time I visited. Years later, I would watch a programme that would declare it the ultimate heart-break song.

Then there is Shaggy’s ‘Angel’, a song that never fails to transport me to Gypsy Hill, home of my friend and brother, Edmund, who stood by me many years ago as a stranger in a strange land.

Today, I am transported back to my first day at the university because I remember two songs, Whitney Houston’s ‘All at once’ and ‘Saving all my Love for you’. It was October, I’d been admitted to study law and resumption was meant to be the next day but I couldn’t wait any longer and boarded transportation from Lagos to ‘Great Ifè’. It was night when I got there and a fellow I met at the disembarkation point in the school informed me that ‘Angola Hall’, home to new students, wouldn’t be open till the next day. He as well as his classmates had to be in school because of their practical classes. This fourth-year student of Agricultural Science, whose name or face I can no longer recall, led me with my large suitcase through the grassy fields of the sports centre, down and out of a little valley that separated Adekunlé Fajuyi Hall from the sports centre, and to the room he and his other colleagues had been stationed in. I wondered at the marvellous architecture as we trudged on, for indeed, Great Ifè is a beautiful school. As we walked past a few people playing and watching a table tennis game, a short lad broke away and danced around me, laughing at the fact that I was new in school. It was good, clean fun and even though I was very self-conscious, I was glad I was a student of the school. I never let a year go past after that, without ambushing self-conscious new students and making fun of them. Rites of passage.

That night, I sat in the midst of my new friends, all fourth-year students and watched quietly as they went about their businesses. After a while, I stepped out onto the corridor to stretch my legs and looked up to see Bomá Iruenè, my childhood friend and next door neighbour at my father’s, walking towards me. It was wonderful to see a familiar face in such unfamiliar surroundings. He, now a 2nd year student of International relations, told me he and another childhood friend of ours, Dokun , a 2nd year Political Science student, had ‘occupied’ an empty room (student patois for breaking into a room)and would be there until they could sort out their accommodation for the new year. Along came Dokun and we laughed and talked. We hadn’t seen each other in two to three years before that but we were not strangers. I thanked the fellows that had saved me at the bus-stop and given me the free use of their room and then followed Dokun and Bomá out. They showed me the school and then we went for a meal. Those who knew the ‘new bukateria’ where one could easily get food in those days would know how thickly over-grown the bushes that surrounded it could be after the long holidays. We got lost somewhere in the dark bushes that looked like a horror-movie set; big, burly Dokun shouting, ‘Don’t panic, don’t panic’ at Bomá and then himself, taking off like a hunted buck. We finally made it back to civilization, laughing at ourselves.

That night, as I lay in the dark room on the bed Dokun and Bomá had found for me, I listened to the sounds of the school, other people murmuring as they in turn prepared to lie down, listened to the rhythmic breathing of Dokun and Boma now long asleep and heard the voice of Whitney Houston from the music box in the room, sing quietly the songs, ‘All at once’ and ‘Saving all my love’. It was a new phase in my life, a new beginning, and my first day at University, an end to so many worries, and my heart was full. I still sit quietly when I hear these songs, taken back in time to that new beginning.

I wish you new beginnings that will lift you to higher and safer ground. And I wish you songs that will bring to mind many happy times, and loving people to share those happy times with.