Lagos, London, New York, Venice, Paris, Calais, Eastbourne, Lindos and Moscow

Once, I had a driver that was constantly going on about how he must travel to the "overseas" and leave Nigeria behind. His dreams amused me and I couldn't bring myself to burst his bubble so I'd sit at the back of the car and listen to him ramble on about all the things he'd do when he got to the "overseas". Now? He's dead. He used our pool one late night when no one was at home and drowned. May his soul rest in peace but that story is for another day. 

                                                Photo credit: www.ladybud.com

Today, after my rant in my last post about being done with Lagos, I can't help thinking about the "overseas" and the xenophobia attacks in SA. I'm thankful for the opportunities I've had to travel to some amazing places but all have led me to a nice little conclusion. 

King Solomon was right, there is nothing new under the sun. Nada. Absolutely nothing. 

Yes, when you travel, the food, the actual sights may be new to you but you've seen the problems and people (maybe with different bodies and skin colours) a thousand times. Venice was particularly eye opening. I walked past a group of people talking about how corrupt their government is and what they must do to deal with their corrupt leaders and I couldn't help but smile. Miles away from Lagos but there I was, listening to the same discussion I had heard over and over again. Only in a different language, about a different country and with gorgeous men talking. 

                                                      Photo: www.twinfinite.com

What about Moscow? Please don't even get me started. Nigeria is in a state right now but so is every other country on this earth. None of them are as sorted as they claim to be, they've just learnt to cover up their messes better than us. To an extent, yes I want to be done with Lagos, but can I ever truly be? At the end of the day, it's the only place I really have. We just have to learn to cover our messes better because if we are being completely honest, evil doesn't only triumph in Lagos, it triumphs all over the world. 

That's all. For now.

With all my love,

Dara Rhodes

Broken people. Everywhere

Hello beautiful people, 

I've been thinking. Writing Ebun's story (my last post) really did something to me that I can't even articulate yet. Thus I went to Hyde Park yesterday to get "fresh air" but somehow ended up watching people. Yes, I sat down and watched people, it's called 'people watching' apparently. Anyway, I was there for a very long time and just when I thought my mind was empty and got up to leave, surprise surprise, Ebun's story filled my head once more. And I started thinking again.

       Photo: www.amazon.com

Then I got something. Ebun's story is her story but everybody has a story like that. A dark story hidden somewhere in their lives. I tried to imagine the stories behind some of the people I saw, and as you probably guessed, I couldn't. We have perfected the art of covering our stories. Nobody on this earth hasn't been broken. Well, maybe except the children under age one and it's just a matter of time before something breaks them. When I sat and watched everyone regardless of what they were doing, I realized something. When we are all born, we are clay pots and unfortunately, none of us come in a box clearly labelled "Fragile" so life doesn't get the memo. And life is clumsy and rough. 

      Photo: www.bobvilla.com

Sooner or later, it drops the clay pot and either breaks it completely the first time or creates a crack in it. A crack that'll probably be joined by a lot more cracks as the clay pot ages. Just before I left the park to get myself a drink, I searched my mind for a solution. If we are all manhandled due to no or very little participation from us, surely there must be a remedy. There must be some sort of glue to keep the cracks from shattering the pot completely and there must be some sort of glue to put back a completely shattered pot. What is that glue and where can we find it?

I watched a mother or maybe it was a nanny or an auntie bend to kiss a little girl on her forehead in a stroller and the answer slapped me hard across my face. Then I slapped my forehead and wondered why I didn't see it since it was so obvious. One word. Love. And it is all around us. Life is the problem and love is the solution. Believe it or not, as long as you are born of man and woman, life is the problem. It just happens to you no matter how much you think you control it. Fair enough, some people ignore the cracks and put on a brave face for the world and tell us that life doesn't happen to them while other people ogle and wish they were them. Some others, are broken completely from such a young age that they spend thier whole lives trying to put back the pieces. But the honest truth is that, we all have cracks and sometimes we break.

If you ever listen to the true story of people who've been broken but are fixed or put together or mended, you'll find a common factor. And that common factor is love. The healing always begins with love.The amazing part of love being the solution is that, it is a seed. When you sow love into a person's life, and help glue the pieces together, that clay pot may not be perfect but it is whole and now has the ability to sow love into another clay pot and help fix that pot too. 

       Photo: www.heuning.co.za

There's a twist though. Because we don't realise we are all either broken or cracked, we mastered the art of hiding our brokenness. The problem with that is, because so many of us never show the cracks or broken pieces, the true healing love eludes us. As you have probably realized, human beings are busy. So, if you are not willing to expose the cracks and pieces, they walk right past you. Why is it so difficult for us to expose our cracks and broken pieces? Simple. It's painful and so many other people live like their clay pot hasn't even been scratched, so we feel alone. Well, news flash, it has. Infact it probably looks like yours and just because they cover it, doesn't mean it's whole. Incredibly, humans are willing to pour love onto broken pieces once they see it's broken. Our creator, gives us the problem, the solution and goes a step further by making the solution a reaction to exposure of the damage the problem causes (you should probably re-read this sentence). If that isn't amazing, I don't know what is.

      Photo: yvonnechase.com

I have different messages for everyone. For the ones hiding their pieces and making their clay pots look flawless, please tone it down a notch. You are human and life has manhandled you too just like the person beside you, accept it. You need to, to receive the healing love you need and to also give others the courage to reveal their flaws. For the ones still shattered and broken, drop all the ways you are trying to cover the clay pot up, it's obviously not working and expose yourself to the love around you. Before anyone says there is no love around them, there is. It's in your child's eyes or your friend's eyes, or your sister's eyes, or brother's eyes, or mother's eyes or father's eyes or even that stranger's eyes, just waiting to be sparked. The most beautiful part of this story? That love is sparked the moment you lift off everything you're covering your clay pot with. So please, I dare you to do two things today. One, expose and embrace your brokenness so you can be healed and put back together. Two, love someone like you see their shattered pieces or cracks.

Have a wonderful day! 

With all my love,

Dara Rhodes

"We are not alright" either

Hello beautiful people, 

Feyikemi (my sister) is currently doing research for a brilliant post on poverty. That is great but I want to take a minute to look at the other end of the spectrum. In comparison to Feyikemi's piece, this is probably trivia but it tugs on the heart of some, nonetheless. Today, I want to talk about privilege.

Confusion, guilt, crippling isolation and unsettling levels of shame are a few companions of many children born into wealth. Though they'd rather die than expose this secret. I was talking to one of my good friends the other day and she poured her heart out to me and said things that she didn't know often kept me awake at night. Our discussion compelled me to write this post, on a subject I didn't quite know how to approach without getting too personal before now. Trust me, we get it. People like to see the suffering and humiliation of the rich. We know, there's nothing new about that. It happens everywhere in the world, alright. Okay, we understand.

However, what we do not know or can't understand, is why people can't see past the facades. Rich people's tears are just as salty. Before you start thinking I'm writing baloney, hold up. If you absolutely cannot feel any sympathy for the rich amongst us, can you at least try to have some sympathy for their children? Yes, there are some things they will never have to worry or even think about in their lives that plague the poor daily, but there is also a great deal they will have to face that the poor cannot fathom.

Photo: winefolly.com

I was shocked that my friend was talking about such a taboo subject that all of us are too scared to talk about but she said something that intrigued me. "Dara, the truth is, maybe our long dead family members that created our name and gathered wealth couldn't complain because it was what they wanted, but I can. We can. We didn't choose to be born into our families and people often forget that. People think, they are from that family, they go to school abroad, their family did this or that, their children are alright. The bitter truth is, we are not alright." Her words stung me and I have replayed them over and over again in my head a thousand times since our lunch date. The amazing part is, this my friend is the most put together person I know. If I were to name drop, half of you wouldn't believe it.

It's very complicated. I can't go into all the details but I have a message. I know more messed up people than not messed up people. And they are all good stock, come from good families, got the best educations, blah blah blah etc. Who our families are, shouldn't determine how we are perceived but unfortunately it does. Keeping up, trying to figure out who we are, trying to deal with the guilt and deep loneliness, is doing more bad than good to innocent children. And the society isn't helping. My friend and I know it happens all over the world, because we both met numerous children from Hong Kong and Russia suffering the same fate at our different boarding schools. I'm not trying to evoke the spirit of the poor little rich girl, I just really want to speak for a small sect of people too scared to speak about a subject we are not allowed to talk about. We, they, have problems. Deep problems that maybe the average man would never understand. Untop of that, we, they, have images to protect. Images other people created for them. They are not allowed to fail, they are not allowed to hurt, they are not allowed to go through bad or difficult times and they are not allowed to cry. 

Well, my friend cried to me and it broke my heart and when I opened up and cried to her, it broke her heart. I can't write half of the things we suffer or enjoy because of who are families are in Lagos but I can tell you that it is not always pretty. The first day one girl told me that she wished she was born into my family, I stared at her for a few moments and wondered how she could see a completely different picture from what I saw. Now, when somebody says that or tells me they wish they were me, I shake my head and smile. I thought I was dressing in a way that misled people to think everything was all sunshine, so I flipped and became carefree. Most times,  even though I'm the most under dressed person in the room, the moment I say my name, it doesn't matter. Everything the people I'm talking to, think they know about my family (good and bad) takes over their minds. 

I know 27 year old men, crippled with the intense pressure to surpass their parents and grandparents, who have crumbled under the burden. They have succumbed to alcohol and drugs to deal with public expectations or to hide from their image. I know girls my age, who are desperately trying not to rock the boats by wearing all the right clothes and behaving in all the right ways, while depression eats deep away at their souls. Despite what you may think you know, my friend was right. Somehow, in the great mystery of life, the people and children that everyone else think have it best or should have it best, don't. In many ways (when you consider the added pressure of maintaining an image that wasn't even created by them) they have it worse. The offspring of the wealthy that many think are alright, are not. For reasons not known to many of us, the privilege we are born into, more often than not, ends up being a curse. Always, remember that before you gloat or wish you were someone else's child. My parting words? In real life, nobody is really better off than anybody. We are all on the same sea. In different boats maybe but the storms, tides and long nights happen to us all and they are no respecter of boats. Well, what do we know? It turns out life is very fair. 

With all my love,

Dara Rhodes