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Imagine being on the shoreline, crucial and alone. Imagine doing so to open a world rigidly closed. Imagine instigating unlearning, as you stimulate learning with words turned radical in the practice for freedom. The past one year I have been on a journey that I never could have imagined for myself. Two years ago, I walked away from a mentoring group that helped me grow. I walked away unsure of a future without the steady wisdom I had grown accustomed to. The hurt, the pain, made me wish I never instigate the hurt and pain I know I caused as well. My mouth often speaks in ways that end relationships and so even as I walked away from that group, I secretly wished that things would have been different for us. Leaving though, meant I was now a bird ready to fly on my own with wings unsteady, but ready to fly. We flew and landed straight on our face. We never lowered our gaze. Rather we got up and faced our fears. It was in that moment I turned to grant writing for the freedom it had offered to me. I knew some of the rules. The regulations were also inconsistent and I was determined to succeed or fail on my own terms. So I started blogging. While this blog was an attempt to keep something about my work and life as a black woman in academia, it offered opportunities to turn language into life or dreams, the highest point of my life. These days grants are an offering of dreams which means each attempt at dreaming for the public is all online.

I have been instigating trouble in my summer program. You will if your remember that you are the ones we have all been waiting for. The ones who live at the shoreline, standing upon the constant edges of decision, crucial and alone. I gift you the power of grant-writing as poetry. These words came out of my mouth unprovoked but led by the spirit. My intentions were to equate grants to stories. Most of my lectures and discussions often describe grant writing as storytelling. But when asked to describe grant writing in one word, I watched my lips utter the word poetry. I didn’t know how to take it back so I let the spirit say things like a litany for survival as only Ms Audre Lorde would or even our souls, solar and soldering as if Amanda Gorman was me and I was her. The idea of grants as poetry has never ever crossed my mind but it did as I lectured about funding your dreams and now I get to live at a shoreline knowing and remembering I was never meant to survive. Yet I will on my own grant writing terms.

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We saw the limits of everything, for cicadas, saw them delicate like old skin, shedding their innermost being. They would give anything, it seems, as they suckle on the trunk of trees, to live. Now I see why rest, even if for 13 years, is the beginning of everything. I pray nothing, not even the limits of this life, wake us while we rest.

We are outside watching and learning about life from cicadas all around Saint Louis!

Those who go through life thinking they don’t need anyone, those who forget how a day begins, those who feel they have arrived simply because they have, should take time to see how cicadas inhabit the earth. They are all over Saint Louis now, reminding us why change is cleansing and to live, to rest, you made need to shed dead skin. Keep the lessons of cicadas.

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I see the tide clearly. I know the edge of understanding too. Both have carried me out, beyond fear, through right paths and in a darkness so deep. We have been kissed, like a morning star and the wind has turned. We find ourselves near pools of fresh water. We are certain that water loves us, so too a shepherds rod and staff born out of fire. Our eyes are open, to our understanding, our new strength, to Lucifer’s voice, to water gushing from our sides, those that framed our being, those that moved us beyond our innocence, all the ways we continue to soar from that moment to this.

The book from my forever muse Lucille Clifton, came in today. Or at least, we picked it up from the mail today. Of course I turned to blessing the boat and let the words speak to my soul as the word of God from Psalm 23. Onyelo said there will be moments like this. We are born for moments like today. We who are the offspring’s of the one birthed by Nne Mmiri. We salute you today for the reminder of our name: Onyelo.

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These thoughts came to me this evening. They are unfolding but for now, happen you tell the dreams that outlive you. Those that cause your blood to surge, those that form countries of their own. Motherhood is like a country, with powerful roots that take shape on their own, discovering the point of light, the need for sea, and all things deep and black that the innermost depths of a sea. I have been there once, being to core, like womb, where all life begins. I’m in a space where motherhood is a site of resistance to me, a summation of all dreams that forces us to adjust our steps to the steps of its being. Keep these thoughts.

Still thankful for love that framed me yesterday in a flower pot and hand made plate with everlasting cookies of my own.

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I remember sometimes, the moment it began, on an avenue in Paris, rue Garibaldi, I believe, next to metro 6 line, a laboratory, all next to UNESCO, the place I once called work. The announcement was swift against a former life slowly dissolving. You are with child, in French, was all I heard, with new life shimmering with joy. In the shards of the evening sun, the words were so swift, so brief. You. You are. Those headaches, those weird feelings, all of them gave rise to the day, I first became a mother. On days, like today, I recall the first moment, still underneath a blazing sun, still with the one we call Belle, still being thankful for being my first, still so grateful that the joy of today begins first with the one named Beautiful, then the gift from God, then the one named God and of course the one we give back to God. They make life full. Happy Mother’s Day to all…

With the one named Belle, the one who ushered me to motherhood. Happy Mother’s Day to all…

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The second paper I authored as I began my academic journey highlighted the need to focus on the role of mothers with health. It’s the first paper that centers the primacy of mothers for health and life. It’s also began my journey into understanding the full spectrum of mothers, how we are not only birth givers but live givers. This quote in the paper exemplifies this for me: “First, what is most unstated about motherhood is that it is a lifelong commitment—one remains a child to one’s mother regardless of one’s age. Mothers play a crucial role not only as birth givers but also as life givers, as one needs one’s mother at every turn in life.”

In the middle of the pandemic, I began this blog to pay attention to the full spectrum of motherhood as my academic productivity and parenting were inseparable at that time more than ever. I felt the need to bring it to the front so people know that it isn’t an either or for me but all of me. This experience would lead to the second paper on motherhood I wrote now as a book chapter of a book I co-edited with my mentor and so many astounding scholars. There too I noted how motherhood is supreme and we are nothing without mothers pointing and leading the way.

All this talk on motherhood is finally culminating to why I love this space so much, these narratives of the multiple selves, that make up the full spectrum of motherhood for me these days. It’s also a reminder to keep all our stories. The good, the bad, all. So a little over 2 years ago, I watched in horror as my daughter experienced what I do not wish on any young child. To say 4th grade was hard is an understatement and we witnessed first hand how deeply entrenched these issues of racism can begin even with children who hear about it passively at home. I turned to writing to find healing from our experience both for her and for myself and in the process wrote, birthed and well produced what is now my first foray into children’s book writing, called Bright Star. As a mother, as a life giver, I wanted my daughter and any other child to know first and foremost that they are simply amazing like the children of stars. No one can ever take that from them. And who better to remind her than me in a story now more powerful than the experience itself. Again, our way of narrating our multiple selves for ourselves first and as the stars we are.

So why this weekend and why even speak of all these experience. Well tomorrow, I am doing something different, something bold and with value. I will begin my journey into taking the stories of motherhood as scarves as stories too, to the world. It has been a long journey, one where I remain inspired by my own mother and her own mother and all three of us have this fascinating love for scarves and stories. I have too many stories as can be seen on this blog. They do too. I also have too many scarves. My mother has more and her own mother had so many. They now inspire what is the newest adventure in my life, using scarves and stories to remind the world of why motherhood remains supreme and perhaps a crucial part of healing for so many.

So on this eve of Mother’s Day weekend, we are launching a collection of scarves, hand dyed by local artisans that my own mothers works with in Lagos Nigeria. I have known them since I was in college and I remember sitting in a class they taught that led to my very first experience with hand dye clothing using indigo dye (more on the indigo process soon). What started out of curiosity as a student wanting to learn how clothes are dyed has come full circle now to the scarves I will present to the world tomorrow. They are inspired by a generation of mothers (my own) whose love for life is supreme. No two scarves are alike just as no two mothers are. We are also soft-launching “Bright Star.” I am proud of this book and how we turned that chapter of our lives into something we can be proud of for generations to come. This to me is the power of motherhood, one where we are not just birth givers but life givers, not just scarf lovers but storytellers too, and our parenting and productivity are like the stars, simply Bright. Join us here.

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We are writing grants again. We began on Monday to prep for what maybe the start of a journey toward returning home. For the past 15 years all my grants have been global, focused on my birth country Nigeria. Lately, and because home is really Saint Louis, really the US, as I have spent most of my life here, the journey towards grants for the US is on. I expect the road to be bumpy. I have tried to write grants to continue my work in the US and they failed. But I am forever inspired by home and perhaps maybe, finally, the timing is right. So we are writing again. I am also learning I love writing with a group. It seems to nurture and nourish the process. So as any teacher would, I devised a week-long course for the next grant, brought some people along to write their own grants, and began the journey again.

Our course began on Monday. I was supposed to be the teacher, but somehow, I am a student listening in to how this teacher begins her grants again and again. The closest thing to describe this is watching how flowers unfold and bloom on their own. Grants are like flowers.

This time though things are different. It’s only the start of day 3 and grants are like flowers to me. Unfolding all on their own. I found myself letting go so others lead while I opened up my process. In others words, the course I thought was designed to teach others how to write grants, is teaching me how I write grants. I am both a teacher and student, learning and listening, listening and learning to what may be my most vulnerable time when all the ideas begin.

The realization that I don’t know what is expected is clear. The careful way I read and read every single line in the RFA is evident. I am teaching and learning my own process that the past two days feels like a flower unfolding into its own. We began with dreams, talked about what we wanted to do, acknowledged that we may fail, but dreamed anyways, holding on to our dreams as Langston Hughes would want us too. These dreams began touching everything even as the course ended. We also closed with Lucile Clifton’s dreams are like smoke, hanging and touching everything. The next day, I called a friend that I knew I wanted her to come along for the journey and these dreams kept dreaming but this time in connection to her own dreams that I was speechless at first but kept dreaming out loud with her.

The call ended and I went into day 2 of teaching the course and once again, the energy was right. We dreamed out loud, made clear connections with our dreams that I felt the need to live this here. It’s been 2 days, as in 2 days of writing our dreams and they are so vivid, with unusual clarity that all I can say is be like flowers with every grant you write. The process is very slow, always hidden, totally subconscious, but with the right people, you will bloom is colors that are absolutely divine. Whether this grant gets funded or not, at least I have flowers that are simply amazing. Flowers that bloom like the stars we are or in the words of Ben Okri, are like children who know they are stars. When it’s time, we will amaze. I look forward to how this week continues to unfold.

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My daughter writes. Not things simple, like “How are you,” but things complex like “I am well and I hope the same for you given these moments we find ourselves in.” Everything she writes is like an epiphany of sorts, of what can happen when you teach the love for writing early. Each sentence, each story, each essay she writes is like raindrops falling on a hot summer day. The drops keep falling. It’s not heavy and it’s not light. And for children like her who write, they see everything, know many things too. So I keep calm hoping that the road be far for her journey through life so long as no troubles are encountered.

We cleaned out our closet this evening and my sixth grade daughter came across a series of stories written in the 4th grade. This was perhaps one of our toughest grade with bullying and being a semi-new student following the pandemic and like any researcher, I taught my daughter the power of expressive writing as an evidence-based intervention to withstand all the troubles that 4th grade may bring.

Last week I shared with a couple of colleagues how I prefer teaching the gift of writing to my children than extra curricular activities like sports. I was never a sports child so I can’t really relate to all the practice and never ending activities. But writing was my thing and my father nurtured it as best as he could that today I see myself continuing where my father left off. Writing will be tough but it’s one skill that every child will need past their childhood. So why not nurture the love for it now. She is still writing and these days it’s a hero essay about her dad or a series of short stories about a fictitious street inspired by Gwendolyn Brooks. The ‘by’ or the naming of the author of the book with their name gets me. I love how it teaches that they too matter and can begin their contribution to the in between of life now. We are already born, Toni Morrison once said. We will die. So do something interesting you respect in between. For me, it’s this love of writing that I see in my daughter, that I still use with my own life’s work with grant writing. Keep it.

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I have been thinking lately about how we listen and learn from communities. Couple of weeks ago, I was in a room full of experts who noted that young people as a group do not have the right to speak for themselves about things that matter to them like their health. Imagine, in 2024, we are still debating if young people are expert of their own health. Thankfully yesterday’s post helped to validate my arguments that young people have a voice that we cannot ignore when it comes to their health. Then while scrolling down X, I came across another series of post, from a commentary that was rejected that simply noted how “we do not deserve to be called global health” here. Their argument, “the ones who benefit for the field are us, and with our apathetic stance, we conduct our trials, advance our careers” and ultimately remain silent in the face of inhumanity. Then as if on cue, I went to my email and saw a post from the Healthiest GoldFish which reminded us here that “a community should always be a place where no one ever feels like they cannot speak because they may have an opinion that falls outside the majority.”

After reading all this, I left wondering, who then is left listening and learning from communities. Tempers are currently high and flaring high across many universities as we slowly come to the end of this school term. Many are speaking and feeling as if no one is listening. My two cents, we owe it to everyone to listen. We also need to know and in the words of Audre Lorde, that “our silence will never protect us.” We are humanity’s best kept beauty. All the beauty in world belongs first to us if only we take the time to see, listen and learn from each other.

I ended the day gardening, something I have not done in awhile. To open up earth, one dig at a time, see the worms nourishing the soil, then lay down seeds or roots and cover it with manure, is to take the time to listen and learn from communities. When you do, you will open up things comfortable, dig up things uncomfortable. You will pour out your own wisdom, see and hear theirs too and perhaps with grace, both you and the community will nourish each other like a manure for newly planted things. That to me is the essence of listening and learning from communities, we begin again anew, like seeds becoming one with earth, one with each other when we learn from each other. In these moments, we owe it to each other to listen and listen and learn and learn again.

How we plant, how we dig into the soil, see worms that nourish the soil, then lay down seeds or roots within the soil, then cover with manure and water is how we should take the time to listen and learn from communities!
Peonies from our garden!
How gardens bloom should guide how we listen and learn from communities.

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Young people do not need adult-centric rules. They need you to see them in all their diversity. To listen and learn from them to. Not as afterthought. Not with limited voices. But with wisdom and grace for the lives they lead. I have always known young people to be creative, resourceful, with informed ideas that can lead to change. If you are lost, find a young person. If you don’t know, a young person will. And if all you do is leave when it ends, then try try and build the capacity of a young person. They will keep things moving all on their own. Their participation in any research is vital. But participation will never be enough if it doesn’t come with genuine, tailored support. Will you fail? Yes. You will fail with getting this right the first time. But at least you are there and if you take the time to listen to them, the odds of getting it right the next time increases.

This piece above by Zvandiri youth advocates inspired my thoughts for today. I am in a phase where I plan to get so many things right this time around. As great as the first phase was, it occurred with minimal support from an institution who preyed on my naiveness and a heavy dose of exhaustion. To think that things would have been different if the institution actually knew our worth. But I digress and am so grateful for change. But the old phase, also meant that we didn’t do enough listening and learning as young people genuinely need and deserve. But this time around, with support and grace, we plan to get things right. Will we still fail. Certainly, but we commit to listening and learning and getting out of the way so young people lead in the health decisions that affect their lives. I look forward to this next phase with zeal.

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Do not lose sight of those who dream, those who begin, next to coconut trees they drink at their will. Pain they already know, joy they know too, yet still they begin even if with their dreams again. Some mornings they will begin with a dance, those full of pride for the day, those in praise for the month of May, those that provoke like the sun and its rays, those that challenge what it means to begin again, those that teach how to close a door in the end. They know themselves, and those they know more dearly, those they see too more clearly like raindrops that gather and spill fresh streams at their feet. It’s a new day, they say, for those who dream every day, and life even in the end, better get out of their way.

And so we begin to close our I-TEST project with those who know what it means to close a door ever so gently.

I’m inspired by how things end. The end of everything including life is inevitable. So I am inspired by how things end. The journey towards becoming Innovative Tools to Expand HIV Testing in Nigeria, also known as the 4 youth by youth project, began after so many strings of failure for me.

A little over 10 years ago, I was writing and writing everything I could think of to address HIV prevention interventions in Nigeria, from a sustainable way and nearly all my ideas failed. Actually with the exception of a clear focus on sustainability though for another condition, every single grant I wrote on HIV prevention in Nigeria failed. But we pressed on and met Professor Ezechi thanks to an introduction by Professor Ogedegbe and also met Professor Tucker, thanks to an introduction to Professor Conserve. I share this to say, nothing in this thing called research is by accident. The most crucial thing you would need are people and like family you better know who is for you and not for you.

This journey started with so many who signed on to the bandwagon, signed on and maybe even lost themselves even as we made sense of ourselves. But those who stand at the end of the journey, those who remain are the true heirs of what it means to preserve even if nothing makes sense. What began as introductions, ends now as a family and we know our people clearly as night is as distinct from day.

I will never ever stand in people’s ways. That is probably the one thing few know about me. The space we were in was suffocating. That is the few things many will know about the story of how we got to the end. Yet even at this moment, the good water we will all drink, like my mother’s says all the time, will never pass you by and I see that clearly now.

So here is to the end of a journey where we begin to close our what is perhaps the greatest joy of my research productivity. What began as an impossible dream, now comes to an end thanks to the tireless efforts of so many standing at this crucial end. It’s never how a journey begins they say, never who comes or leaves as the journey moves along, but those who stand next to you as the journey comes to an end.

I have been processing what it means to let things go. Processing too how to let people go. The circle has to be small in this next phase, has to be intentional and purposeful too. If I am not reaching out. It’s not you but me. If I am and you are still unchanged, then it’s you not me. The journey ahead is still long. Nkiruka like the Igbos would say and we are pressing on towards what we know is greater for our future. Until it all makes sense, we are keeping this here to say, in the end, close the door gently. All things must end. It’s never how you begin, but how you end and I am so grateful that this door has finally closed as gently as the raindrops I see outside my window. And those who remain, all of you that never lost sight of the fight that remains, are the true MVPs of what it means to be united as one like any family you meet. Are we perfect. Far from it. I would rather take our imperfections than deceit or false pretense. That perhaps is the great lessons of all. Know your people well. I am learning and this time the strength that resides with the few I call my own, is as deep as any passing thunder. Don’t come for us and do close the door gently when you leave.

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The joy of so many days by the ocean, have burrowed deeply within my soul. And my heart is so full of grace and gratitude, so full of blaze, so full of grace and gratitude, for dreams, so deeply fought, so dazzling in display, are like these days by the ocean.

I have been staring at this ocean for the past couple of days. Looking deeply and reflecting on where we were this time last year. The days, systems and people nearly crushed me, but one year later, we are still here with an ocean view for days. Keeping this for he alone and I mean he alone knows the plans for those he call his own. Stay within him and he will abide in you.

Ooh plus I gave the talk of my life today. There it’s an Igbo saying that when you wake up, that moment is your morning. We are wide awake and writing what maybe the beginning of a true morning in this space he gifted to me. Keeping all the joy of this moment to say a big thank you for your love for me is too much, truly as wide and deep as eyes can greet this ocean.