They say it comes in 3s…Masquerade, malaria, mortality.

If we have learnt anything at all from this Covid era, it is that nothing at all should be taken for granted. So many freedoms, rhymes and rhythms of our lives have been disrupted, upended and in some cases, entirely denied.

Yet when things change in a severe way within a matter of hours, I believe the human nature worldwide is that of a state of shock…..

Last weekend of February 2021, I found myself with plans being changed, amended, and returned to. Leading me to be an attendee of the Lagos Yacht Club 88th anniversary dinner dance. However, with all the back n forth, it seems I missed the obvious play on words from the invite, and found myself as the only member wearing a ‘real’ mask, whilst everyone else (until they reached their bubbles), wore their face masks with ease.

Anyway, it turned out that this was the least of my concerns.

Some hours after leaving, it was noted that my body was absolutely burning hot – my skin felt like lava to touch. Yet I was lying there feeling utterly freezing, like I had been trapped inside an ice cave….

As the weekend continued, my temperature soared and soared, my energy went down and down, and my ability to move even my fingertips disappeared. Every single bone in my body felt like it was broken; such pain that I have no words to describe it. I was sweating whilst uncontrollably shaking. I was unable to walk yet very much needed to get to the bathroom regularly. Lifting my water bottle felt akin to the power needed as a heavy weight lifter. I was utterly and entirely poleaxed.

By Sunday, I knew I was in a bad way. I had also eaten nothing since Friday. My clinic is closed at weekends and I really didn’t feel able to manage the main hospital in the state I was in, plus with the added worry of covid concerns. So I put my faith in the universe and medicated myself to get through the night and into the early hours of Monday morning. Upon arrival at the clinic, the fears rose. Though so did my level of illness, so in fact I began to lose my sense of conscious awareness and just writhed in pain and vomit instead (not the best experience of my life, violent sickness whilst still wearing a face mask, followed by being on my knees and head deep in the doctor’s refuse bin). My blood pressure was dangerously low and I felt like I no longer had control over any part of my communicative abilities nor my body. Everything hurt, my head span, my body shook like a leaf, and I was totally out of it.

I was told I had severe malaria, sepsis throughout my entire blood system, and suspected appencitis. That I very much needed to be admitted and that the hospital was waiting for me. I made the decision to get there by my own means of transport, as I have been in ambulances here before and it takes an eternity to get through the congested traffic whilst in one. However, I felt mortified when, as we drove across the islands, I vomited out of the window, down the side of the car, and into the onwards traffic. (Sorry motor cyclists and pedestrians).

The next 4 days feel like a total blur, aside from one particularly torturous day when the vomiting could not be stemmed, nor my fever, and despite only having an intake of water, it basically didn’t stop for over 12 hours. My throat became scratched, my chest very sore, my whole system entirely drained and empty. I felt like death warmed up.

I was in a 3 bed room, wherein one of the other patients had no less than 12 visitors, all of whom stayed the entire night and opted to talk at their top of their voices throughout. Needless to say, it wasn’t the restoration tonic needed.

By Thursday, (I think), I was able to move to a private room. Visitors began rolling in and I continued to be deathly ill, though more and more soothed by the incredible acts of love given. I received a hanging plant, bouquets of flowers, get well soon cards, books, chocolates, biscuits, shea butter, people’s time and love, and a tremendous amount of comfort.

That said, I still wasnt’ really comprehending how very sick I was, in the sense of recovery rate and risk factors (for example, Sepsis (also known as blood poisoning) is the immune system’s overreaction to an infection or injury. Normally our immune system fights infection – but sometimes, for reasons we don’t yet understand, it attacks our body’s own organs and tissues. If not treated immediately, sepsis can result in organ failure and death. Not only that, 5 people die with sepsis every hour in the UK. I AM BEYOND THANKFUL, GRATEFUL, OVERAWED, DEEPLY APPRECIATIVE….AND ON AND ON. I did not know any of this until after the fact, and I thank the heavens for this.

All of the loved ones that kept coming, knowing that I could barely hold my phone let alone take calls or reply to messages, kept me from ever realising this. As well as how severe the malaria was too of course, with the added complexity that I definitely had appendicitis and with my health status, surgery had to wait.

It was on my 7th day that this was able to happen, though still not without some additional drama. As I was wheeled down to the operating area, I became in the middle of an argument between the ward and theatre staff, all the whilst acting as if I wasn’t there and was both deaf and blind to what was happening. The context was that they hadn’t yet sent for me and who do you think you are….bla bla bla. My incredibly low heart rate and blood pressure couldn’t take it well. I began feeling violated, dizzy, fully out of control and very, very scared. By the time a nurse returned to wheel me in, I found adrenaline-fuelled strength, seemingly levitating out of the wheelchair, and I carried myself back to the ward. Shouting back at them at the same time asking if they were mad? If this was their normal protocol, to make a very ill patient who was about to undergo strong anaethesia, (I was having an epidural), to feel the entire works of full body and mind stress and anxiety? In no uncertain terms, I made it very clear they were not cutting me up under that risk level.

The surgeon came into my room shortly after, wherein I politely but undeniably firmly, requested him to leave me alone. He was clearly shocked and affronted. And I was in a total state. Perhaps I have never felt so scared before.

After speaking with the head of the hospital and some loved ones, I was able to find resolve and calmness once again, though I felt even more like I had been hit by a truck. There really did not feel like I had much left in me.

I was wheeled down once again for the operation and I experienced the highly uncomfortable and painful application of the epidural. I was awake for the whole procedure, but I feel I astral-travelled after some time as I have little to no memory of the passing of time.

I ended up having another 7 days in hospital post surgery, after developing further infections and having issues with an low red blood count (for me it should be between 4000-11000 and mine was 2000). It seemed to go on and on. Happily they granted me an additional 24 hours of epidural cocktail, as this new pain was amplifying everything. Plus the position of the epidural prongs felt like sharp nails in my back. To sit up, I felt like I would be disembowelled and it took more strength than I could muster. I was unable to access the bathroom for personal care for some days, and I felt one hundred percent at the mercy of others. This would have been an easier cross to bear had there been consistency amongst the bedside manners of the staff. Some nights, there would be big arguments between them, one night a patient next door seemed to lose his mind (around 4am) and was making many threats, including towards me, the white woman. The confidence and capability of applying a canulla was also highly varible, resulting in the wearing of 19 different ones over the course of 13 days, yet in total, there were 27 attempts. My veins had all but collapsed by the time that I was discharged. I was bruised everywhere and I felt like a pin cushion.

For each day that I was determined to feel better and get myself home to my refuge, it seemed like something else was testing me. Day 4 post surgery, when I no longer had the epidural, saw me in incredible pain once again, whilst all of my ailments combined together in force. I was given a strong drug via the line and even whilst the flush was taking place, I felt everything go underwater, including the image of the two staff in front of me. My speech slurred, my eyes rolled and I was lost, yet again. I opted not to say anything immediately as I realised I hadn’t eaten yet. And figured that wooziness was just due to that. I ate, (courtesy of a dear friend who had sent in food that I was just about able to stomach at that point) and things got worse. Therefore I buzzed for the nurses and asked for the doctor to be called for. I was denied. So I buzzed and asked again. (There really is nothing like the intensity of being totally at the mercy of others and my mental state has taken some time to recover from a lot of these experiences, let alone the severity of the illness and when I later realised how critical I had actually been). I managed to finally see a doctor who told me I should just sleep it off. I had to press her so hard to get acknowledged and eventually I was given a steroid injection to halt the effects from worsening. By that point however, my left arm had filled with red, hot, sore lines, I felt nauseous beyond belief, and every time I closed my eyes (I kid you not), I became a witness to about 6 video cameo screens of all of the experiences of my life. I saw myself as a 9 year old eating dinner with my grandparents, I saw myself in lessons in secondary school, I saw different relationships, I saw me as a young child falling over. I saw everything all at once and my world turned upside down. I felt like I had sleep paralysis as it was so very hard to re-open my eyes and when I finally managed, I felt seasick and totally out of balance, then my focus would return. But within moments, my eyelids fell and I began seeing everything all over again.

This hallucinogenic trip lasted approximately 3 hours and took me into the early hours of the morning. I felt exhausted from it.

The entire experience started on March 1st and I was finally allowed a discharge 13 days later. However, I still had ongoing infections and I took away with me a true pick n mix of mediation. Since returning home, I have lost 8kg and I have been mostly at home on serious bed rest.

It has to be cited as the most terrifying yet exquisite experience of my life. Never before have I felt two such strong sensations at once – to be so so out of control and under the decisions of other people, and to be so so held by the universe and amazing people from all around the world.

I never ever want to see a hospital again. I never even want to sneeze again. But now, some time after all of this, I am shining. I am released, I am relieved, and I am deeply humbled. Oh, and for now I am also entirely petrified of mosquitos!

Corona Canal Chronicles #5

As August approached, so did the end of my Masters thesis. Hours and days, weeks and months of pure tension in my mind and body were on the precipice of being released. With this, there was the chance to jump overboard for a few days, to enjoy full-time electricity, some kitty love, and access to a hot bath; all of which enabled me to scramble (crawl) over that last hurdle. [Well, almost]. I was delegated cat-sitter, so that I could have the total silence to push through to the final post, whilst my family embarked on a coastal holiday in Anglesey, Wales. Admittedly, I remained confined to the corner of the kitchen as I tip-tapped away on the laptop, so in all sense and purpose I had become accustomed to boat-space and was a fish out of water in the house!

With the luxury of this opportunity, came the luck that I felt able to join for the last few days of the beach trip; such a wonderful thing amidst so much distance and separation with my sister and her family over this time, and when considering all the hardships that people around the world had been facing since the impact of the pandemic.

I had the great fun of taking each of my boys out on the StandUp Paddle board, with my eldest quickly mastering the technique and swiftly paddling off without me! (Particularly pleasing to me rather than him, as I had already begun to turn into an ice-block; will I ever stomach cold shores again?). I also had the chance to go on scooter rides (a first for me, and I admit – I loved it!), climb hills, and have lots of fun hanging out with my beloveds. What a relief from the constant drill I had put myself under during this entire lockdown.

Wales really is a spectacular country and to have time there roaming around felt like a freedom I had not had in quite some time. Typically the weather was changeable, as is known across all of the UK, but this is what helps to make the countries so luscious and vibrant.

Alas, it was just less than 72 hours’ worth of holiday for me, yet worth it’s weight in gold.

Upon returning to the boat, we then had to up the ante on our cruise control. Time was now ticking rapidly for my mum and stepdad, in order for them to make it on time for their pending departure to New Zealand, and there was a lot of water to cross. (A song comes to mind….but I’m going off on a tangent, haha). We now had a matter of weeks to get from Staffordshire to Leicestershire. No easy feat when internet was still required most days, and when we met upon various escapades (as had become the norm), such as conducting a motor boat rescue for a quirky couple on their way down to Evesham! Here and there, we snuck off the boat for a cheeky pint of ale, lavishing the taste that I had missed for so long when back in Lagos.

We passed through gorgeous villages, some sporting UK icons of old (spot the phone box), and scenery to truly take your breath away. It was hard to remember at times, that the entire world was going through a hugely turbulent time, hospitals still over-flowing, people still not knowing when their children could go back to school, or when their work would recommence. Perhaps this is one of the key take-aways from why people such as my mum/stepdad seem to get younger with each day that they live on the canals – you can go looking for the highly populated areas and get wrapped up in all that brings for you (good as well as bad), or you can simplify and discover what was hiding beyond the horizon, (again this isn’t always easy, as reduced social contact and transport opportunities come with their own challenges). However, having some extra time to be able to get involved with cruising, to look out to the sights, to sup up some tasty drinks, and to become a lot more aware of the life I had found myself within…well, it was the right tonic for me. Naturally, often accompanied by the home-brew gin of course hehehe.

Passing across the country also meant being that bit closer to one of my oldest and dearest friends, so I practically jumped for joy when she devised a means to get to us during one of our overnight stops. The boys had visited my folks previously, so they were excited to come on board again, albeit whilst we did our best to socially distance. Their favourite part of it all however, was not quite as appealing to us adults! (They discovered the boat phone, allowing the captain to call down to those in the other end of the boat….needless to say there was a LOT of calls made that afternoon).

We were lucky enough to moor up in one final spot (just about) in reach of my sister, and they happily came and stayed on board with us. The boys simply adore being aboard, and who wouldn’t at their age! I got convinced (coerced?) as always to be the one to go into the river with them, so that they could do more SUP and simply enjoy the country pleasures of swimming in fresh waters. In all honesty, if it hadn’t have been for the squelchy ground and the long reeds, I would even go so far as to say I enjoyed it too…. (but let’s not get carried away).

And then, in the blink of an eye, the journey was complete. We were in full lockdown no more, our movement was over, and we found ourselves moored up, preparing to ‘move into’ Debdale Wharf marina.

To be continued….

Corona Canal Chronicles #1

Much time has passed and life has continued with many uncertainties and adaptations to the new norm…I have now been living on the canals for almost 23 weeks! So over the course of the next few blogs, I thought I would give some recaps from life with the Corona Canal Club, aka myself, my mum, and my stepdad.

To follow on from the last blog, I had settled into a routine of online working, continued research and analysis for my Masters, camp fires in our canal garden, daily fun with Brock the dog, and a growing kinship between a cute family of ducks and myself. They would ‘call on me’ in the mornings if I hadn’t yet sighted them, and after some time, they began to eat from my hand. Brock got jealous for the divide in my attention, and at times it was hard to know if he understood he wasn’t a duck himself (He came to love eating the birdseed I was keeping in constant supply for Sparky and his siblings!).

There were some beautiful sunny warm days, but I was mostly sat attached to the laptop, feeling like I was slowly going insane with square-eyes, screen time, and little exposure to the outside world. Days rolled into one, as we manoeuvred our way around each other for internet signal, use of the bathroom, sharing meals, music and film tastes, playing cards, and ways to see my sister and her boys, whilst maintaining appropriate social distancing.

Meanwhile, life had become ultra simplistic, with no traffic to fight against, limited time in supermarkets, no social meetups, less and less time on the phone, as I was getting frequent headaches from Zoom etc, and we moved the boat only for our water refills, pumpouts, and food collections. Small things turned into big adventures, such as the access to a canalside shop during one such cruise, leading to the only case of Corona any of us have experienced during this whole period…

However, with the announcement of the eased lockdown, it was time to make our farewells, not only to my beloved Sparky and kin, and of course beautiful Brock, but to our lockdown friends, who had been in the Hurleston junction with us.

And then, the next chapter began, with an ‘almost’ return to normal, as we began movement along the canals once more. Although not before we had refilled on our delicious free-range eggs from the local farm, and after getting back into the swing of things with the locks on our way.

More updates to follow, in Corona Canal Chronicles #2!

Fire, friends and fortune.

The last month has been quite the experience for many people here in Nigeria, as well as for me personally. Some major troubles and some lovely ups.

Tragically there have been some horrific fires, wherein many homes and businesses have been lost. Including for that of a kind-hearted elderly colleague of mine, who lost his entire home and family belongings in the space of an afternoon. There have been video clips sent around of desperate people trying to dampen the outrageous fires with a single water bucket, as they put their lives at risk walking along the rooftop beams, as well as clips illustrating people so caught out by the panic and fear that they were simply standing in crowds aside to the fire and screaming, rather than running for their own safety.

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Happily, in the case of my colleague, I am to report positive outcomes, at least of sorts. My work has rallied around to collect monies for him, and due to my wide-ranging business network, I have been able to grace him with an abundance of donations (clothes, shoes, household goods). Interestingly, when another colleague greeted him and gave her condolences, he in fact shrugged with his friend who looked back at her and said – it is just that, it is not bad. We later discussed this, wondering if we would be able to feel the same way…. Would you?

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Amidst the devastating fires, I also co-hosted a 5th November bonfire for my students. It was a delight to see them so enthralled by it, yet knowing another fire nearby was destroying livelihoods, I had an eery feeling inside.

There have also continued to be numerous reports of tankers falling in the road, causing extreme traffic issues and again, major loss of earnings for the people involved. In other areas, drivers have chosen to purposely block major roads, due to the fact that their contracts have not been paid. One evening, I found myself caught up in such a road block, and not less than two hours had passed before we moved 100 yards. It quite literally took the best part of the night to get home. Days like these are exhausting. And for many Nigerians, it is part of their daily experience. Often getting up at 4am in order to begin travel and ensure they arrive to work on time. Colleagues of mine will often report of not arriving home again until 9/10pm each night. It really is a wonder anyone can be productive in this situation, let alone get any sort of rest or quality time with loved ones.

Along one such road, (the one I had been stuck on for so long), there later came a report of a man having kept a lion in his home (unbelievably since February!). Questions have naturally been raised as to how this could have gone unnoticed or how he was able to bring the rather large feline into the country in the first place. To me, it really begs the question – how far can you take corruption…. And does it ever serve a positive purpose….

Meanwhile, it is becoming the festive season and with that, it is my busiest time at work. Lectures, meetings, reports, assessments, therapy sessions….these have all taken their toll on my energy. There’s only so many plates one can spin at once! However, I can say with a thankful heart that the month has been utterly filled with joy, through new friends, beach time, playful cats, and spending time alone too. (And the odd exquisite kiss too…not just from the cat!)

I have been part of a catwalk team to raise money for charity; I have enjoyed a Hawaiian beach party (admittedly whilst also studying and marking books); I have played table football (badly-im far too gentle) and lapped up delicious meals (Lebanese, Spanish, Italian). I have supported the wonderful Kinabuti team through clothes purchases (including the most exquisite silk dress that feels like it is part of my skin) and I have managed to squeeze in a couple of games of darts. I’ve also sung on stage, both making a fool of myself with the others as we sang some random bird song amounting to us sqwarking and tweeting in front of a hall full of people, as well harmonizing beautifully to a delightful Yoruba song “Ire Ire”Ire.

Each day that I’m here, I marvel at the experience. Sometimes I do find myself taking a huge inhale, in order to really grasp that I’m living in Africa as it can be easy to just get caught up in the whirlwind of the place and not really appreciate it all. I’m so thankful for all that I have created in my life. And how much I would still have, if my house were to burn down too. Each day I see extreme suffering around me, yet I am in a bubble of wonderful experiences. It can truly be hard to stay grounded sometimes.

I have worked hard to embed this country into my heart and to invest into my life here. And I feel assured that I have achieved this, when I consider how easily I could raise the donations for my colleague, or how the children I teach, talk to each other, mirroring my words and actions.

I am now a moderator for the British Business Group, which keeps me on my toes. It also gives me insights into the use and abuse of social media; how easily things can be misinterpreted when non-verbal cues are missed and the vernacular not always shared. It takes some brain power for sure, but I enjoy the role, considering different perspectives and arguments.

I have also had the great opportunity recently to become involved with a new friendship group. When my best girl and best guy departed, I was sure I would find myself lost at times ahead. Meditation, reflection and my own heart song however, led me to trust this would not be so. And this is the case. I’ve had my heart filled with more love in the last month than I remember feeling, perhaps even ever. I have been asked to be the course rep for my Masters due to my community spirit. And I feel like I am receiving gifts of love in such a plethora of ways, that I would not know where to begin. There may even be glimmers of a love story. At least for a moment in time, which is all we ever really have anyhow.

My biggest struggle with my own life here, is not the here but the what. Having traveled all my life, and often solo, I am used to comings and goings. New friends, new love. New homes, new cultures. Recently I became very sick. My nephew called me and asked – could you just be allergic to Africa? This is not the case, by any means. But I do adore having my people around. And I am getting to a stage where I’d like to invest more of me with another. And I am also turning into a bit of a mad cat lady, filling my phone’s storage with cat escapades rather than my own!!

A beloved friend of mine recently gave birth and I happily spent hours with the baby Buddha, as she wriggled and jiggled herself in my lap, moving my supportive arms out of the way in order to sprawl out as much as she could. Unlike me, I was very broody. And funnily enough, lots of people later told me how much it suited me….

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The kids I teach right now, are absolutely ones who stole my heart and will keep it forever. I taught them for their first year of school and I am now fortunate to teach them again for their third year. I am not a mother, and it has been a long time since I have had cause to consider being one. But my heart is full of love and I admit, some things are stirring in my mind. Instead of getting so caught up in the humdrum of work, I am slowly slowly allowing other things into life instead.

Different tragedies have beset people around me here (including the devastating news that another friend of mine lost her newborn) and I don’t want to be so busy making a life, that I forget to live it. Times they are a’changing…

Living life as a marathon or a sprint…

Lagos life is becoming reminiscent of my old London life; fast-paced, not enough ‘end’ in my week, long journey times to reach nearby destinations, and opportunities to do so much, that I couldn’t even write it all into my diary let alone fit it in.

Rainy season this time around has been like no other I have known, for this time of year. Having returned to Nigeria at the end of August, it seems like not a single week has passed when the skies haven’t darkened, day has somehow turned into night skies, and plans have been set aside due to heavy downpours. Even yesterday, as I traveled to the beach hoping to get some ‘fresh’ sea air into my lungs for a reprieve, we found ourselves amidst a full canvas of rains, leading us to be wetter than if we had simply jumped from the boat and immersed ourselves within the lagoon. Arriving at the beach house, shivering and having the sensation of being a drowned rat, my simple choice was to submerge myself under the pool’s water. Despite it generally giving me an initial chill to the bone upon entry, I found myself warmed and soothed. Better under the water than it crashing down upon me.

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Making a personalized Irish coffee, to warm me through the rains,

There is so much of this place that I love. Yet I am working all hours that I can manage, still I find I am behind in almost every deadline that I face, and thereby of course, I feel like I don’t see much of these loves….

I have more invitations that I can keep up with, even in memory let alone in action, and I have missed some fabulous creative events, that generally make my life here all that richer. I missed the Lagos Photo festival,Lagos Photo festival, the Lagos Fashion week, many operas, meals with friends, dates with potential new relationships, the incredible Art X exhibition, jazz nights, embracing the spectacular Felabration, enjoying the incredible Ake Arts and Book festival held at the newly built Alliance Francaise that is no less than five minutes walk from my house.

Continue reading “Living life as a marathon or a sprint…”

Mauritius, myself and I

So, I have now been here for two weeks and have just arrived in my third and final hotel. The weather has not been as good as anticipated; though I knew it was winter here, that had meant for me some very cool evenings but mostly fine days. Instead there has been a lot more rain within this than expected. Yet I admit, I have no reason to complain. I have been off from work, in beautiful surroundings and the wet weather has given me more chance to study.

I would like some more sun rays now though, for my last week here! That said, I have been delighted with stunning sunsets, and glorious rainbows.

It is indeed romance-central across the island, and though I had been pre-warned that much of the island’s draw as a tourist are the spectacular 5 star hotels it boasts, I could never have imagined this until I saw them with my own eyes. (My drive up the East coast yesterday opened my eyes to hotel complexes I have never imagined could exist). Meanwhile, I have now spent time in both the North and South of the island, and thanks to having hired a little car, I have also circumnavigated the whole perimeter of the island and feel I have a good semblance of how it varies from region to region.

I can certainly state that it isn’t an easy place to meet people as a solo traveler, as this seems to be quite unheard of here. And I would most definitely recommend getting a car if you are coming here, whether solo or with others. It takes a lot longer to get to places than I expected given the size of the place, and though the beaches and the hotels are the main draw, you cannot easily get to one from another without transport. Also, in times of inclement weather it is useful to reach another quarter of the island, as chances are where the rainbow ends, the sun will be shining.

Continue reading “Mauritius, myself and I”

Goodbye is not forever

This expat life is not the one I ever saw myself taking. I got on that plane years ago, because I wanted to live in Africa. I wanted to wake beneath the African sun, hear the songs of the African sky, and sleep beneath the African stars. Uganda was to be my forever home.

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And then it was no more.

It has been a few years now since I have lived in Lagos, Nigeria, and at times it is hard for me to ever imagine living elsewhere, least of all the UK.

It has it’s ups and downs, of that I can be very sure! And often I wonder why I am still living there when it has caused much separation from loved ones and favored foods and places. Yet ultimately I land back upon the same conclusion. Africa continues to live in me. I do not fully know what the magnetism is for me, but it remains. And for now, this pole is centred within Nigeria.

Continue reading “Goodbye is not forever”

Bouncing in and out of Benin; la voyage est la destination

Time is faster than many of us would like and much of it is spent working in order to be able to afford the homes we live in, the clothes we wear, the activities we enjoy doing in those snippets of time when we are no longer at work. There is an adage that many of us are working so that we can reach death, whilst not having the chance to experience life.

This is not the way I want to be.

Osho Quotes on Life and Death

Taking Sannyasin many years ago was not an easy choice for me. I can get overwhelmed by anxiety within my own mind and I can feel reproachful and guilty for things that have long since been said and done. Most likely forgotten by others, but remnants that stay in my mind and heart. However, as part of my dedication to self-love and also a life of service, I consciously chose to ascribe to Osho’s teachings, practice and guidance. To be accountable for my choices and actions always, but not to be laden down by what has gone before. To grasp life in each breath, to continually make the best choice I can, in that very moment, and to trust that this may not be the same choice I make again, even in the next five minutes, let alone years later. To come from my heart always, and to live, fully, in every breath. Conscious choices, loving mind, practices of kindness, service and honesty. I am often heard repeating my personal mantra –

I will only die once, and in that I will most likely have little say. But I can live every moment, and in that I have all the say in the world.

Continue reading “Bouncing in and out of Benin; la voyage est la destination”

It’s all in the way that you feel.

“I live here, I may as well like it”, I retorted as I discussed the chaos that can be life in Lagos, to my newly-found friend who was visiting me from my beloved Uganda. And herein opened the can of worms that my mind and body has been keeping a rather large lid on.

I haven’t actually been liking it at all. Not inside. Not in my heart. Not in my inspiration.

Was it the fault of Lagos? Was it the fault of the artificiality  I feel from ex-pat lifestyle? Was it the fault of my continued chronic pain? Or was it just not “there”, wherever that happens to be?

Perhaps in fact, it was the fault of the intensive physio program I was ensuring I followed, due to my determination to be fully fit, flexible and mobile, so that I could get my life back…

Continue reading “It’s all in the way that you feel.”