DIG DEEP

DIG DEEP

DIG DEEP

As the Christmas bells rang with euphoria in the valleys of Arizona, the whole city was agog with the celebration.  The squawking chickens were slaughtered without mercy as they were roasted for meals. It was time for all and sundry to feast on their favorite meals.

Despite the wild celebrations in the city, the house of the Williams was drenched in utter gloom as the Father of the house,  Dr. Drake Williams was lying seriously ill, close to the point of death on his sick bed. It was dead into the night on the Boxing Day,  the room of Drake was well lit with the incandescent bulb hanging above and the refreshing breeze flooded the room from the windows.

 

Keep digging!

Keep digging!

 

Sitting at the bedside of Drake was his only son, Dennis. Dennis held on to his father with all his being since he had lost his mother to cervical cancer at the age of ten. The only memory of his mother left with him were the fragments of care and kindness she offered him while she was alive.

At this time when Dennis was about to get married to his beautiful fiancee, Yvonne, these were really trying times for him. He was really hoping for the support of his father as regards his wedding. All his father could boast of was a bungalow built on a plot of land with a beautiful garden at the backyard. Dr. Drake had spent most of his time working on the garden during his lifetime especially after his compulsory retirement.

The searing pain which came from the fangs of death gripped Drake as he gasped for air.  Dennis’ face was red and swollen after sleepless nights full of crying. Dennis knew that this was the time for his Father to leave for the great beyond. As Dr. Drake was about to breath his last he kept pointing towards his brown velvet suit hanging in a corner, he pointed like one who wanted to say something. All of a sudden,  Drake was gone as his heart stopped. Grief and weariness overcame Dennis but he managed to get to the suit.

He searched all the pockets of the suit like one searching for a precious pearl. He found a small paper folded as a pocket square. He unwrapped it and exposed what was written in it.  It was in big bold capital letters: “CULTIVATE THE GARDEN”.

After the funeral rites,  Dennis started tilling the garden with his energy and vigor. After weeks of cultivating the garden,  he was getting frustrated. Two weeks to his wedding, on this fateful day; Dennis was tilling the soil and his hoe struck something strange, he struck a sack of sand. He brought it out,  opened it and lo and behold, there were stacks of MONEY!!!

Dennis was wowed and that was the beginning of an overturn of his fortunes. He later became one of the richest men of Arizona and was happily married to Yvonne as they raised a happy family.

P.S.: This purely fictional and the creative thoughts of the writer. Please note that TREASURES ARE KEPT IN CHESTS,
GOLD DEPOSITS ARE FOUND IN THE  DEPTHS,
VALUABLE MATERIALS ARE KEPT IN SECRET CHAMBERS,
DIG DEEP INTO YOURSELF AND DISCOVER WHO YOU ARE.

© 2015 Osho Samuel Adetunji

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a great thinker, creative and dexterous young man who does not only believe in excellence but also extols the tenets of discipline, hard work and effectiveness.

He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.He is an inspirational young man who is addicted to going an extra mile in all facets of life. He is also a lover of football, tennis and boxing. You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.

FREEDOM

FREEDOM

FREEDOM

I had barely entered the huge gate when his large eyes pointed in my direction like the nozzle of a gun in search of its target, his gaze fastened to my figure like the canine of a lion holding its prey. As his eyes pierced through my whole being, I managed to returned the gaze and there was a divorce between his married lips and his gap-toothed dentition was revealed.

His reddish-brown colored teeth were glazed with plague and edges of the crown worn out like a blunt knife. As I walked in his direction, I could see his wrinkles like columns of ridges as they covered the smiles like a blanket. Midway into the walk for a handshake with him, the stench of his mouth almost dragged my legs backwards. I managed to let out a wry smile instead of a smirk as I stretched my hand to shake him. The furrows in his callused hand almost sapped strength from my tender skin as he held on to it like a trophy.

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How much do you treasure your freedom?

He was a tall man in his late seventies with a sagged potbelly which looked like a deflated tyre. He was scantily dressed with just a red towel around his neck and a black faded boxer shorts. As we took a stroll, I could see his back with a nicely drawn map of scars spotted with flakes of eczema. I tried to steady my gaze looking into his eyes and I saw compassion plugged into the sockets of the eyeballs. He often scratched his bald head which looked like a valley of water surrounded by white ferns.

He was highly respected among his clan as they all gathered to look at me like a circus show. Some grinned while others beamed with smiles but all was from a considerable distance. As we approached the Chapel for a fellowship meeting, his deep weakened voice cried out to others, “It is time for fellowship, let us gather here for prayers”, he said. At the sound of his voice, they all gathered to arrange the Chapel for a fellowship meeting. While they were putting things in order, he took me aside to have a word with me,
“I have been here for the past 25 years, I am a lifer* and only what brought me here was an act of anger which went out of hand”.

He cleared his throat and continued,
“I caught my wife red-handed sleeping with my best friend, and without thinking twice, I strangulated my best friend and the fight paralyzed my wife till today”, he said.

My hands shuddered, my eyes blinked and my heart bled like a thumb in the midst of thorns as it raced faster than a FERRARI.

“My humble submission is that whenever you are angry, just pause for ten seconds before you take the next action and do something great with the freedom you have”. He advised with his gentle fierce look.

*Lifer: a prisoner sentenced to life in prison.

***Purely fictional and creative thoughts of the writer.

© 2015 by Osho Samuel

About the Author

Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a great thinker, creative and dexterous young man who does not only believe in excellence but also extols the tenets of discipline, hard work and effectiveness. He is an award-winning individual who is multifaceted and consistently measures success by effective impact.

He is a writer per excellence with articles published on VAVANE AFRICA, THE SCOOPNG, KONNECT AFRICA, Paarapo and Home zone media. He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.He is an inspirational young man who is addicted to going an extra mile in all facets of life. He is also a lover of football, tennis and boxing. You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.

THE COSTLY PRICE OF PRIDE

THE COSTLY PRICE OF PRIDE

THE COSTLY PRICE OF PRIDE

The gentle breeze from the ocean whistled past the shores after the waves pushed ripples of water to hit the bank, the whooshing sound of the waves, the honking of the ships and yelling of the sailors planning for their next trip permeated the atmosphere. The port of Rotterdam is one of the largest ports in the world, always busy with different kinds of activities. Several licensed companies generated income from the port; one of them is Jeffrey’s Marina which provided shelter for tens of thousands of small fishing boats used by the local fishermen and tourists for occasional fishing.

Exhausted from the haste to meet up with the early morning schedule, legs heavy as lead and thighs stiff as a board, Ruth Van Bowen trudged and panted for air as she entered the gates of the Rotterdam Port. She has got 15 minutes more to make it to office as the early morning briefing starts by 8:00am prompt. Ruth, a conscientious twenty-five year old lady was known by her superiors as one of the brilliant heads running Jeffrey’s Marina; outspoken, bold, brainy all masked by a beautiful face. She had little or no respect for her subordinates or anyone considered to be a dullard, only individuals of her caste kept up with her as friends.

At 7:52am, she was just some few metres away from her Marina when she heard screams
“Help!!!!!! ”

She snapped her head back as she turned to look for the person in need. As her deep blue eyes scanned the area, she spotted a tearful bald-headed man trapped in a building gutted by flames. She was shocked and bewildered wondering how a stranger could have the guts to scream to her for help. The man was on the second floor of the three-storey building as he pointed towards the garage door on the ground floor amidst his hysterical screams for help. Dressed in his under wears as he had used his suit and trousers as a coat of protection through the sweltering flames and his fair-complexioned skin was darkened by the black soot from the flames. Ruth dressed impeccably in a white trouser suit, a red Italian hand bag and a pair of red high-heel shoes looked at him without an iota of pity. Pointed at the man with her finger and pointed also at her wrist watch meaning there is no luxury of time for such help. The irritating clicking of the high-heeled shoes as they hit the kerb signalled the majestic catwalk of Ruth as she headed for her office. She is a stickler for ostentatious gestures to display her pride. Barely a month ago, her closest friend, Jane told her about her obvious pride and disregard for the common-looking folks only to answer her in a rude way:
“I know that I am proud, I love it because I do get results and it gives me attention. I love the attention!!! ” she blurted out.
She however made it to the office by 7:58am and the click of her card in the identity recognition panel at the entrance granted her access into the building.

Pride!

Pride!

Two weeks later

The colorful ceremony which rocked Rotterdam hosted people from different walks of life, it was the unveiling of the new board members of Jeffrey’s Marina. A new board after a decade was drenched in wild celebrations. Due to her excellent communication skills,  Ruth was beckoned up by the Planning Committee to anchor the programme alongside one of her admirers, Smith Campbell. As the programme dragged to its beautiful end, it was time for the annual awards.

The New CEO of Jeffrey’s Marina, Dr. Sonck Van Gogh dressed in his cream-colored Tuxedo walked majestically to the podium. This is the first time in the history of the company that the position of the CEO was advertised externally and produced a CEO who is new to the system. The time everyone had being waiting painstakingly for finally came.

“The award of the best staff of the year goes to no other person than an efficient, humble, hardworking and compassionate fellow who had not only discharged his duties properly but also represented this company well to the outside world. Give it up for Mr. Frederick Douglas.” Sonck gladly announced.

With heads swinging and faces lost in awe, Fred, a rookie and one of the most unlikely guys to land an award in his first year marched to meet Van Gogh in the middle of the hall amidst resounding roar of applause. As he made his way back to his seat, Sonck’s voice filled the air:

“The motto of Jeffrey’s Marina is? ” he asked.
“Service and humility” the mammoth crowd responded.

“This young man bagged the award for saving my life and that of my three beautiful daughters two weeks ago from a building lost in a gust of flames. It was a show of love, bravery, humility and service to humanity. The company’s name was mentioned honorably in the media because one of our employees saved a stranger in dire need of help. Funny enough the alien has now found his to the top of the company.”

Obsessed with the dreams of winning the award for the past three weeks, doom finally struck as her shoulders sagged and head plunged down surveying the glistening tiles of the floor. With the award gone and Van Gogh as the new CEO,  this was definitely the end…..

© 2015 by Osho Samuel Adetunji

A HEART OF WORSHIP

A heart of worship

I see holy hands,
Numerous as the seashore sand,
Responding to a worship band,
Yet expecting miracles from a magic wand,

Desperate voices scream for fame,
All muttering Jesus name,
Gambling with Christ as if in a game,
Making the church so lame,

Ecclesia stooped so low,
Obstructing the spirit’s flow,
Cringing at the sight of the Devil’s blow,
Licking wounds inflicted by the Accuser’s arrow,

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As the strings and the trumpets peep,
Thousands weep,
Like Jonah in a fishy Jeep,
But their spirit is in a deep sleep,

Sunday is a day for the Halleluyah song,
Danced all week to the Devil’s gong,
Tossed and oppressed like a ping pong,
In need of a coal from heaven’s tong,

Beautiful to the eyes,
Like a stack of cherry pies,
Rotten on the inside with lies,
A meal fit for a swarm of flies,

Worship is not singing with strife,
After fighting with your wife,
Threatening to stab her with a knife,
Worship is living a holy life,

Not the swaying of hip,
Not the mumblings of the lip,
Not the hopping of men chased by Masquerade’s whip,
But honoring God’s love with a heart of true worship.

© 2015 by OSHO SAMUEL Adetunji

About the Author

Osho Samuel Adetunji is a graduate of Mechanical Engineering from Nigeria’s premier University, University of Ibadan. He is a poet, a blogger, a Public Speaker, an on air personality with a knack for short stories, inspirational articles and poems. He is a great thinker, creative and dexterous young man who does not only believe in excellence but also extols the tenets of discipline, hard work and effectiveness. He is an award-winning individual who is multifaceted and consistently measures success by effective impact.

He is a writer per excellence with articles published on VAVANE AFRICA, THE SCOOPNG, KONNECT AFRICA, Paarapo and Home zone media. He co-founded THE COURTROOM in 2012 with Tijani Mayowa. He is the founder of KREATIVE DIADEM, a new initiative which kicked off on March 1, 2015.
You can follow him on Twitter with the handle: @inisamosho.

INTERVIEW WITH TADE IPADEOLA (WINNER OF 2013 NIGERIA PRIZE FOR LITERATURE)

INTERVIEW WITH TADE IPADEOLA (WINNER OF 2013 NIGERIA PRIZE FOR LITERATURE)

EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH TADE IPADEOLA

To start the “Celebrate a legend” segment of Kreative Diadem. Our very first guest is no other person than the winner of Africa’s biggest literature prize, 2013 Nigeria Prize for Literature ($100,000 sponsored by NLNG) and the current President of PEN Nigeria, Tade Ipadeola.

The interview sheds lucidity on his journey in the world of poetry, the uniqueness of the award-winning, Sahara Testaments and his advice to the emerging generation of young poets and writers.

Enjoy the educative interview as Tade Ipadeola opens up on his sojourn.

  1. Who is Tade Ipadeola?

Answer: Tade Ipadeola is a human being who learnt to write and who enjoys the art of writing perhaps more than any other thing on earth. Along the way, I also studied to become a lawyer, a librarian and a small press publisher. I don’t suppose that the definition of my identity is anywhere near complete, but, midlife now, I can hazard a guess that who Tade Ipadeola really is, by now, is clear to most people.

 

  1. Can you please share about your childhood memories?

Answer: My parents were schoolteachers who really had a love and a passion for education. My mother is alive though very old now but my father died in 2014. I have fond memories of childhood in Fiditi where my grandmother lived with us. There were a lot of cousins and nieces in the house, growing up and a lot of books. My parents invested a fortune in books.

As a child in the seventies, life was simpler. We didn’t have a television in the house until 1977, about the time that FESTAC was on air. I remember tense times too. The Dimka coup, for instance, and how it cast a pall on the country at the time. But, for the most part, childhood was pleasant enough.

 

  1. Will you consider yourself as a poet or a lawyer?

Answer: I am both a poet and a lawyer. It is a mode of life which makes different demands on the mind. I don’t think I can quite tell just how much being a lawyer influences my poetry but lately I have been thinking about it. Being a poet also influences my practice as a lawyer. I tend to seek answers beyond the letter of the law, I want to sound out the spirit of legislation.

 

  1. What initiated your entry into the league of poets?

Answer: My earliest influences were my grandmother and my mother. My grandmother, Apinke Ipadeola, had a beautiful facility for language and conversation. She was a great conversationalist in Yoruba. My mother taught me my first nursery rhymes, naturally. She taught them to me in both Yoruba and English but never in Yorubanglish as some people tend to do nowadays. My late father taught literature in English and made me read poets like J.P Clark and Wole Soyinka. It was in university that I discovered poets like Niyi Osundare and later, Odia Ofeimun.

 

Ayantade Ipadeola

Ayantade Ipadeola

  1. Which did you start with Yoruba or English poems? Which one is your favorite?

Answer: My first written poems were in English but I have written a couple of poems in Yoruba and I have translated some of my own poems into Yoruba from English.

 

  1. In the school of poetry, who are your mentors and role models?

Answer: To list all my influences will take forever. But starting with J.P Clark, Soyinka, Okigbo, Niyi Osundare, Femi Osofisan, Harry Garuba, W.B Yeats, Keats, Pound, Eliot, Muldoon, and Ofeimun, I found exemplars. I have also been reading contemporaries like Ian Duhig and American poets like Auden and Langston Hughes.

 

  1. What inspires your writing of poems?

Answer: Feeling one’s way towards substance, emotionally and intellectually, I guess, is the touchstone for poetry.

 

  1. What are the things you will advise all poets to keep doing to put their muse intact?

Answer: Read poetry, and essays, and good fiction. Read collections of poetry, novels, the occasional biography and autobiography, short story collections and books of essays all interest me. Presently I am reading J.P Clark’s Still Full Tide, his collected works. A phenomenal collection for range and an example of what a committed poet should aim at accomplishing within a lifetime. I find myself wondering how he found the time to also write the plays. I read drama too but I’d rather go to the theatre for that than read the book. If the playwright is long dead and the play isn’t part of the repertoire of any theatre company around, then I’d read the play in a book. Say Aeschylus for example, or Sophocles. I wrestle with scholarly books from time to time, I’ve been reading Akin Adesokan’s Post Colonial Artists and Global Aesthetics recently, it is a rare accomplishment and I think every serious writer should engage the ideas in the book.

Decorated in 2009 by Delphic Laurel in Poetry for his Yoruba poem “Songbird” at the Delphic Games in Jeju, South Korea.

Decorated in 2009 by Delphic Laurel in Poetry for his Yoruba poem “Songbird” at the Delphic Games in Jeju, South Korea.

 

  1. How were you able to balance your poetry engagements and work?

Answer: I don’t think I have ever made that kind of distinction in my conscious or unconscious life. Poetry is work. Very hard work, and lawyering is work as well. It would be absurd for me to see either as play. I take pleasure in my work.

 

10 Amidst your published works, which one do you consider to be the best? And why?

Answer: This is like asking a parent to choose a favourite among his children. I do think my work deserves equal affection from me.

 

  1. Asides poetry, which other genre of literature appeals to you?

Answer: I like the essay form, then fiction, then plays. I think I like them in that order.

 

  1. Can you share the memories of your most memorable day as a poet?

Answer: I have had many memorable days, with poetry. But the one I cannot ever forget was the day when I wrote, in chalk, a poem on the wall of my father’s house. As he was returning from the orchard at the backyard, he saw the poem. And then he asked me if I had written it. I told him it was my original composition. I thought I saw the shadow of a smile on his face then. This is perhaps one of those private moments I really enjoyed, my father was very good at telling good work from bad work.

 

  1. Majority believe that poets and generally writers are not appreciated in Nigeria, what is your take on this?

Answer: All over the world, poets are in danger of being taken for granted. In Nigeria, this is especially true. It is a mistake for any culture not to appreciate the poets because poets keep the language in vigorous health.

 

  1. Can you tell us about the uniqueness of the award-winning; “Sahara Testaments”?

Answer: It is my longest volume of poetry so far. It really tasked me. I think it tasks the audience too. I hope the audience is challenged in a good way.

 

  1. What is your main drive as a poet?

Answer: I want to keep saying the kinds of things that provoke thought and reflection in my readers. I want to create beauty and grace on the page and off the page.

 

Award-winning poet, Ayantade Ipadeola

Award-winning poet, Ayantade Ipadeola

  1. What is your advice to young poets?

Answer: Try to read as widely as you can. Make a list. Then, try to read these authors: J.P Clark, Soyinka, Okigbo, Amos Tutuola, Franz Fanon, Oswald Mtshali, Jared Angira, Ousmane Sembene, Ayi Kwei Armah, Femi Osofisan, Odia Ofeimun, Tony Marinho, Afam Akeh, Harry Garuba, Akin Adesokan, Daniel Fagunwa, Akinwumi Isola, Ebenezar Obadare, Kgositsile, Marquez, Kunene, Lisa Combrinck, Andre Brink, Ngugi wa Thiongo, Sefi Atta, Wale Adebanwi, Ogaga Ifowodo, Niran Okewole, Emmanuel Iduma, Olubunmi Familoni, Chuma Nwokolo, Chijioke Amu-Nnadi, Benson Eluma, Rotimi Babatunde, Molara Wood, Ike Okonta, Amatoritsero Ede, Jumoke Verissimo, Toyin Adewale-Gabriel, Chika Unigwe, Uche Nduka, Rethabile Masilo, Yomi Ogunsanya and Sam Ogabidu. Yes, read Leopold Sedar Senghor especially. From around the world: Derek Walcott, Seamus Heaney, Czeslaw Milosz, Jose Saramago, Pablo Neruda, W.H Auden, Paul Muldoon, Le Clezio, C.L.R James, Salman Rushdie, Amitav Ghosh, Primo Levi, Michael Ondaatje, Rohinton Mistry, George Elliot Clarke, Alice Munro, George Lamming, Kamau Brathwaite, Kenzaburo Oe, Tomas Transtromer, Aravind Adiga, Ibsen, Joel Toledo, Gen Asenjo, Ankur Betageri and a really exciting young writer called Joel Dicker. I don’t think it is possible to make a list of every author who has ever moved me profoundly. Several essayists I really like are not on this list but it doesn’t mean their works are not deep. I like works that challenge the intellect and the imagination. These should fire up a young writer.

 

  1. What do you think about KREATIVE Diadem? And do you have any word for our readers?

Answer: I hope that one day, this medium will grow and become as original and essential as The Paris Review, for example. Keep giving your readers unique stuff and they will support you to the ends of the earth.

 

 

 

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