Not by Gain, but by Loss

We measure life not by gain, but by loss; not by the wine drunk but by the wine poured forth.

This saying has been with me all through my life; probably not all through, but since secondary school at least. And since then, life has been much more easier. I handle disappointments very well. I take failure in my strides. I ride on the backs of setbacks. I never let anything put me down; everything is a stepping stone on my path to self-discovery and adventure. I am always happy. It is rare to see me sad. True, I might be angry at times, disappointed, frustrated, but sad? Definitely not.

I attended Mayflower School, Ikenne, and for me it is the best secondary school in the world. I couldn’t have imagined myself attending any other school, be it in this country or in the desirable lands of the foreigners. We were taught not only about books and school work, but also about life and the funny cards it sometimes dealt. We were taught self-preservation and self-reliance. Atewolara. The founder, Tai Solarin, was a man who believed in pragmatic principles. He was a simple man who took on life as it came, and he passed that down to us, his students. His death was a tragic incident that struck most of us painful blows. But in his humble and pragmatic way, sometimes to the point of ridicule, he asked to be buried in the pepper plantation. And why? So that his body could provide manure and fertilization for his beloved peppers. His wishes were carried out to the letter by his equally practical wife, Sheila.

Tai didn’t believe in God. He believed in men; in men’s ability to become what they choose to be. He believed in humanity, in the brotherliness that existed between strangers who treated each other as jolly friends. We sang songs not from hymn books but from a book we called The Merry Mayflower. It is the greatest book of songs I know of in the whole wide world. And I’m not kidding. Songs like Out of the Night rang out the rebellion that must be used upon oppression. Out of the night that covers me/ Black as the pit from pole to pole/ I thank whatever gods maybe/ For my unconquerable soul.

The soul is unconquerable. It lives beyond the oppression of man. It outlasts tyranny. In God Give Us Men, we had lines like God give us men a time like this demands/ Strong minds, great hearts, true faith and ready hands. We were told that we were the captains of the ships of our lives. We could direct them wherever we wished. I am the master of my fate/ I am the captain of my soul. On our walls were written quotations which we called The Mayflower Catechism. “Be ambitious: he who shoots at the sky aims higher than he who shoots at the tree.” “If you cannot be the sun, be the moon. If you cannot be the moon, be the star. If you cannot be the star, be the very best you can.” We sang ballads; we sang odes. We sang songs of life and learnt from them.

We were taught that no man is indispensable. We sang it in songs: Some times when you are feeling important/ some times when your ego is in bloom/ some times when you take it for granted/ that you’re the best qualified man in the room… At those times, we were told to follow a simply instruction, and see how it humbled our souls. Take a bucket, fill it with water up to the brim. Dip your hands in, up to your wrist. Pull them out and the hole that remains is the measure of how you would be missed. Truth is: nobody would miss you too much. No one is indispensable.

These lessons I learnt from Mayflower have taught me that I can withstand any situation, and so can you. You wouldn’t die if your boss sacks you. You wouldn’t die if you have no money in your pocket. You wouldn’t die if no one believes in you. But you would die when you no longer believe in yourself. You would die when you believe that you cannot survive without working in that office you’ve just been fired from. And above all, you’d die when you believe that you cannot be self reliant.

Change has been labelled the only constant thing in life. It’s an irony, I know, but is change itself really constant, in that ironical way? Perhaps I go too deep? All I mean is that we should take charge of change positively. We should ride on its back to our freedom. We don’t need to be afraid of change, we should gladly embrace it.

Our lives are measured by the losses we incur, not by the gains we amass. We should not measure people by the amount of wealth they have but by what they lost on their way to achieving wealth. We should not be too happy on our birthdays either. The question is: have we gained a year or have we lost one? Are we a step closer to death or a step further away from birth? It’s left to you to decide.

As for me, I would not measure my life by my gains but by my losses. And the only way those losses would count is if I use them well to my advantage.

We measure life not by gain, but by loss; not by the wine drunk but by the wine poured forth.

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Lie and Live

Still on The Crucible…

Well, I finally finished the movie on my laptop. The Crucible was based on a witch-hunt that happened in a certain village called Salem in Massachusetts. It had as lead characters a fellow called John Proctor and a young girl, Abigail Williams. Abby and some other girls, led by a lady from Barbados, Tituba, went into the woods to playfully cast charms that would make the boys of their dreams fall in love with them. (Interesting!) Of course, they had no true powers; they were just fooling around! This play however turned into something serious when the Priest of the village snuck up on them. The girls fled, not wanting to be seen, but two of the youngest of them went into shock, such that they were unconscious, or as the villagers later called it, “couldn’t wake.” All the girls were frightened, thinking that it was their “devil religion” that had caused it. Soon the villagers had the word “witchcraft” on their lips. The priest tried to quench that suggestion because Abby was his niece and so was one of the girls in shock. However, they soon sent for a witch-hunter and that was where the whole problem began.

After some pressure, the girls confessed to the witch hunter that they had been in the forest casting spells. The punishment for witchcraft then was death, but a witch that confessed and “came back to Jesus” was set free. But another pre-requisite to being free was to mention someone you had “seen with the devil” when he came to you. So, began the madness. Led by Abby, all the girls started mentioning the names of their rivals and enemies, including the wives of the men they wanted to fall in love with them.

So, this is where the dilemma comes in again: accused witches had the option of denying being a witch and been hanged, or confessing to being a witch and tainting their image, and being set free. So what would you have done: lied against yourself to save your life, or remain with the truth and hang?

Many times in our lives we come across situations similar to this. At great cost, we are compelled to either tell a lie to escape some consequence, or stick with the truth and face that consequence. And such things are usually life changing. It happened to a friend of mine, George, some years ago while he was in Primary Three, barely ten years old.

During a class on rainy morning, a messenger from the headmaster came into the class and announced that George was needed by the headmaster. Summons by the headmaster only meant one thing: trouble. Big trouble. His trouble was even bigger than he had imagined. The headmaster took him straight, without saying a word, to the school proprietor’s office. His heart quaked as much as his legs shook.

When he entered the office, he saw his mother. What was she doing here, he asked himself. He had left her at home just some few hours before. Seated on the other chair was another woman whose back was stiff in her chair. She glanced at him, and the look in her eyes was so stony that he wondered if he had ever offended her. The proprietor was quite grim; his spectacles rested on his nose and he avoided looking directly at him, only at a spot on his chest. In the middle of the room stood a little girl, a little shorter than he was. She was wearing the same school uniform and evidently a student of his school. He had never seen her before though.

The principal closed the door and took his place, standing. Nobody spoke for a long while. The proprietor broke the silence.

Well, not to lengthen a traumatizing short story, the mother narrated how she was washing her daughter’s panties the night before, only to discover blood on it. She pressed on the girl and demanded to know what had happened to her. Immediately, she started screaming, “It was George! It was George.” George couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had never even seen this girl before. To clarify, the headmaster asked her to point at the George she was talking about. She pointed firmly at George and said, “It’s him.” George denied it vehemently. His mum asked him to tell the truth and still he maintained his “I didn’t do it!” The proprietor made the last move to find the truth. He told the headmaster to fetch George’s file, that he was going to be expelled unless he told the truth. The mentioning of expulsion kicked something inside George. He remembered his father and how he was going to kill him if he got expelled. He imagined the shame of everyone hearing that George was expelled for so-and-so reason. When the headmaster returned with George’s file and George saw it, he broke down. And he lied. Against himself. He said he had used his finger, the middle one. The file went back. His mom pleaded with the other mother with tears in her eyes, and it was all forgotten. George didn’t go back to class that day; he went home with his mom for the worst punishment he had ever had. It was even more painful because he hadn’t done it.

Yet, he lied and saved himself. And the lie has remained with him. Eventually, in The Crucible, John Proctor’s wife was accused by Abby. Abby was in love with John and wanted his wife out of the way. The wife maintained her innocence. John himself was later called the devil’s man, and accused of witchcraft, when he angrily pronounced, “God is dead.”

John Proctor, an innocent man, was hanged because he did not lie against himself to save himself. All he would have done was just to say that he was ready to repent, and he would go free. Yet he maintained his integrity. George was not as brave. He lied to save himself.

What would you have done?

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Just an Ordinary Day

Today is -- or was-- my birthday. It didn't feel special or anything. Just a day, an ordinary day.

12.05am The first SMS came in. It was from Taiwo, the first girl I ever had a crush on. Primary 4 then. My God!

12.07am My sister calls. Birthday wishes. I wish she'd just go to sleep.

12.08am It's Az now. I'm surprised. (She's a girl I've been "eyeing" recently. Pretty thing.) Good sign though.

12.14am I sleep... Hope I wake up.

07:35am I do wake up. But with a headache and a slight fever. I had slept off on the couch. Ouch! Five messages on my phone. Seven missed calls. My eldest sister, Lizzy, and some strange numbers. Well wishers, I hope.

08.30am Chi calls. I don't want to pick up but I do. We broke up a week ago. She won't let go easily though. I try to be nice. I am, surprisingly. Would the other ex-girlfriends call? I wonder...

09.00am I get ready for church. I haven't been to church in a month. My Pastor has been asking after me. Today, I have to go. I can't afford not to be grateful to God for another birthday. I get to church late as usual. But, better late than...

12.28pm LL calls while I'm in church. I wished to talk to her. Her voice is like a lullaby, gentle and velvety. I enjoy hearing it. I have a very very soft spot for her. Yes, I know.

01.15pm Church is over. We head home. Jollof rice and chicken awaits.

01.25pm I get a call from Arigbs that I have to see the CORA people for an update on their website which I happen to be designing. 2pm, the meeting is. Too short a notice. Can I make it? I wonder... There and then, I decide not to. It's my birthday after all. I'm entitled to some rest. After today, I can start working like a donkey again.

02.05pm I start watching a movie -- The Crucible. Crazy movie. Disk skips at the most interesting point! Gawd! Freaking Alaba boys!

02.29pm LL calls. I'm happy. I don't know why...

02.45pm Pack my stuff. On my way back to my apartment in Surulere. My family doesn't want me to go. Too bad. Work starts tomorrow again.

03.16pm On the bus. I'm getting depressed. My fever is peaking. My head is splitting. I taste nothing on my tongue. A thought crosses my mind. I shiver. It won't be fun to die on one's birthday...

04.01pm Sino calls to ask if I am at Surulere. She wants to come over with a friend. Good.

04.15pm I try Arigbs's number. Can't get through. Want to inform him I won't be able to cover the bukARTeria show by the Crown Troupe today. Again, I can't be on duty on my birthday. Come on!

04.45pm I'm getting worse. My body is hot all over. I pick my phone to call LL. I stop. I lie down. I stand up. I try to do something. I wash my dirty plates. I play a game on my computer. I'm losing my mind.

05.15pm I start re-reading Purple Hibiscus.

06.30pm Sino comes with her friend. They bring me a cake. Brilliant! The only gift this poor boy has received today. I serve them some rice. NEPA brings light. We watch Desperate Housewives and a little bit of The Crucible. Disk skips again. Bastard!

08:15pm They leave. I'm alone all again. But not really. I connect to the net. Eghosa is online. Great! We start a chat session. It's smooth and good. I read Uche Nworah's post on Binyavanga. I'm mad. I post a comment on his blog and yab the guy small.

10:50pm Eghosa starts to say something about an Asaba Massacre. Part of the civil war. National troops line up about 700 Ibos. They shoot them to death. I go mad. These things happened in the same country? Why was everyone keeping quiet about it? Complicity. I can't take it. I search the internet and I'm shocked. Everyone was mad during the war. Everyone was freaking mad. Half of a Yellow Sun begins to make more sense.

11.15pm Eghosa goes offline without warning. I'm left alone with Cool FM and some rice. I get moody again. I reflect.

The exes didn't call. I expected T to, after all I called her on her birthday. Pity. Y didn't call either. She must have forgotten. E didn't too. Not surprised. She never cared anyway. Lots of my friends didn't even remember that it was my birthday. Pity. A guy who loves a lot of people, who lots of people only care about on the surface. Pity.

Maybe I'd make some changes to my life today. Care less about some friends. Care more about my spiritual growth. Care more about my fellow humans. Start writing a movie script on the war. Revive a blog that has been lying fallow for over a year. Re-think my opinion about life.

What's in a birthday? Another year gained or another year lost? Another step further away or a step closer? A testament of life or a testimony of death? Time to feel happy or time to feel depressed?

I really don't know... I hope I'd be better tomorrow.

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