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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
I plucked these words in a room full of powerful women and men this week. It works. A single dose.
Like a tree with a million roots. A simple word, is the shortest distance between minds. It works. A single dose.
The truth of today. Ripe for tomorrow. For an eternity of dreams. Like seeds for change that begin with moments rooted in now. Built in a love, rich in harvests uprooted for now. It works.
So no need hiding behind a tabernacle of words, no need hiding behind never ending rules, no need generating anymore noise so easily swept off. Not when all we need to repeat are these words over and over again. It works.
So we are calling a spade a spade. Flipping every thing over with words simple and clear. Like those we owe to tomorrow. The truth of today nestled in a single dose. Like rain that belongs to everyone, like the skies that open for everyone, like the air in this space touching everyone, and the wisdom of hearts who know love’s labor is never lost for anyone. When we all say together, all close the gap together too, with words simple and clear. It works. A single dose.
And so we owe it to every dreamer and every leader, to all those along margins and out of place, we owe to girls out of school and to those in school. We owe it communities across Nigeria or Bangladesh, Ethiopia or the Americas. This promised hope, we shall reach, not standing still, not hiding what we know, not ignoring what to do, until we reach, every girl, everywhere, as we say it loud to everyone, these simple words in a single dose. It works.
I was asked to share my experience and thoughts around HPV to a group that was new to me this week. I felt out of place. I wondered why I was invited as many of the thoughts shared were not similar to what we do in academia these days as least with research on implementation science. So I listened and barely spoke. Something unusual for me. I still listened. There is so much to learn when we step outside spaces that are not familiar to us. I have not been in such a space in a long time. I left grateful for the opportunity to simply learn. This space way of fostering active learning though is one I’m taking back to academic spaces. It rocked. I am also calling a spade a spade. No need mincing words too with HPV vaccines when the lives of so many girls are on the line. It works. A single dose of HPV vaccine and every girl, everywhere deserve it now. Thank you to those who made this week a very active learning one. I’m grateful.
The thoughts above were inspired by Niyi Osundare “Calling a Spade!”
A friend once said, eyes are how we begin conversations, begin to deeply speak, a friend whose deepest wish was to connect, whose highest dream was community, their voices vividly clear, yet many ignore the thing passing in the sky, thick clouds gathering in sky, eyes blind see nothing, people who claim to fight for community, those that demand they participate, they all see the clouds, see the skies, but begin to speak to my friend, blind.
Community voices are like this puzzle. Just because you see it, you see them participating, doesn’t mean you have heard from them. Until you do, in their own voice.
If you asked me whether voice and participation were the same thing, I would argue until it clear they are not. Hart’s ladder of participation exists for a reason. That people participate in anything doesn’t mean they have voice. Take for example, a meeting of like minded people, we are all sitting in the room so we expect everyone is participating. But still there will be many in the room who never speak, who never say a word. They may all agree and maybe even nod their head. The fact that they participated doesn’t mean their voices were heard until you hear their voices. It’d for this reason why working in communities is never as easy as it seems. That they participate and fill out your surveys doesn’t mean you got to their from them, their voices, experiences. It’s like this Mende proverb that inspired the above note “there is a thing passing in the sky, thick clouds gather, the uninitiated or those blind, see nothing.” When we gather in the name of community, ensure their voices are heard.
If I was to listen to all the voices within from all the places that I don’t know where, if I were to share all the lessons keeping words have taught me, as I crossed the 1000 notes threshold yesterday, the word felicity would come to mind. Yes, because I just finished reading Mary Oliver’s book of poetry entitled Felicity. But more so for the poem below, she wrote about a “voice from I don’t know where.”
Couple of weeks ago, I shared how stories I wrote were rejected recently because they read like a stream of consciousness. What they didn’t know is that I have been delving into what that means for myself and the world of Mary Oliver helps to clarify this deeply for me.
If I was to rewrite the poem for myself here, it would go like this (and thank you Mary Oliver for being a teacher).
So now that you have posted something to keep 1000 times, it seems you love to keep anything very much.
Yes, yes I do. My days are full of beautiful lessons.
And you don’t mind, the mind that keeps you writing all the time, with its gloom and glow musings?
Nope, I love the hope and impediments each day brings.
And you don’t mind keeping things that are joyful and things hard, like how academic spaces force you to dream things heavy.
I mean dreams have to be vivid with unusual clarity, even when they teach the point of a struggle.
And you have people in your life whose hands you would like hold.
Yes, I do, six I call my own personal people, plus many that are like legions to me and one with legs instead of hands.
It must surely then be happy now that you crossed 1000 notes on what to keep.
It is. My heart is full of joy, in a state of felicity for what it means to keep, keep words, your way, your way.
From “Felicity” by Mary Oliver
Felicity means a quality and state of being happy. To live through something that causes a state of happiness, a pleasing manner in art and language. There is a certain fittingness to moments that lead to felicity. Beyond things right and wrong, the middle where you meet, like a day with something in it forever, regardless of any hopes or impediments you may have encountered, that space where you touch yourself for yourself with the words and stories you tell yourself is to live in a state of being happy, felicity.
Yesterday, unknown to myself, I crossed the 1000 word thresholds of writing something every day for as much as I can. I didn’t know the power of words, my own, my way, until I started to keep them for myself. To do so right before Earth day is a reminder always, to love your words, love the world too, however you see, whether dark or bright, and all the in between. The strangeness and wonder of keeping words every day is a gift I will forever treasure. I hope you join and help me spread the warmth of words, the warmth of joy that comes when you keep words for you, no matter how small, this Earth day and beyond.
My heart lingers in a place where the skies are grey. My head lingers in a space where the skies are grey. The days are grey. The people I meet are grey. I live through days with people who wear masks and the skies are grey.
Come, come see my heart. Some may wonder, is it grey, like my head. Is it grey too, like my days. Are my days with people, one where I too wear mask. The place and space still has skies that are grey.
Honestly, my heart may lay in this place where the skies are grey. My head too may rest in this space. I know that I will meet days and people who wear masks. They will see my own too.
But still, I plan to tread softly, tread quietly too, knowing the skies, the days, and all the people I meet are grey. Still, I know there are places, and spaces full of days with people where the skies are blue. Me as I am, I am looking up and look out for those people, looking forward to those places and spaces where the skies are blue and a dog named Simba runs around you…
This note is about looking up to blue skies (part 2 soon). But before that, never forget the grey skies you encounter at work and with people…
I am intrigued by all the ways people explain the work world. The other day, I listened to a lecture where cartoons were used to show how women do more than lean in at work. Lately, I have thinking about how to compile all the many little nuggets I share here. You will never work hard unless you work for yourself. So these days, I find myself working for myself first. Doing the things I love like writing about the lecture I listened to that intrigued me. What if I complied all my notes here from the work world. What would I say. How would I say it and why. The past 11 years of academic work has been an experience. I have seen many people come and go and still see many people come and go. But perhaps no experience stands out more than that one that happened last August, last year in fact. This year too. I am learning every year, every moment has something to teach and many will be lessons worthy of being kept for tomorrow. If I have been tough on people, I was wearing a mask. We had to be tough. We still do and I am still wearing mask. You would too if you know what I went through last year and with people who also wore masks for themselves too. That is the lesson. The skies are grey and people wear mask. The key is to let them in slowly and tread softly. Let people go. I repeat if you see a sign, trust it and let people and places go. Perhaps that is one great lesson as the skies are still grey and so are the people.
One last thing that inspired all this, I rarely share my transition experience from my prior place. I did so the other day and I was surprised that there is so much I have repressed about the event given my number one priority was securing the funding to the new space. Do your worst was all I kept saying but never mess with an Igbo woman from Onicha Ugbo with ancestors who were farmers and market people. It’s like they all came to the battle with me. My mind was on my money in the words of Ayra Starr. The kind money we dey talk about would make anyone focus. So I focused and didn’t let what was happening faze me. Then we arrived and to find that I had something worse than Ogbange within my team was another thing that let me suppress so much about the past couple of months.
So last week, I found myself for the first time releasing how I felt about the past couple of months in a long time. Not from a place of defeat or struggle but what it means to go a journey to survive places grey and with people who wear masks. I call it a journey because the skies are still grey. The people are grey and we are all wearing masks. How this chapter will unfold is yet to be told. We still have to prune so many people, and things out and the process has begun. Trust. I don’t trust people. That’s what such an experience will do. And the circle, yea, it’s small and will only get smaller. If I’m ending things, it’s not you, it’s me. Change is hard but necessary with this next phase. I am still residing in a place where the skies are grey, I expect days still and people to still wear masks and for now, read between the lines.
These days, when I look up for myself, the skies are blue. I see the people around and they are themselves. I am loving this phase where I get to spend time with boys who run around a dog named Simba. Your people, as in those for you, well what I am learning is that they don’t wear masks. And when I look up, when you look up, the skies are blue. We are staying here ooh…(To be continued, my note on places where the skies are blue)
They say there are no finer tree with roots firmly planted, with evergreen needles and pinecone, and the praise of wild birds and wild air, like the Eastern pinecone, with it stillness and clarity like the passing wind. Hope is in its pinecone, wild like air, wild like birds gliding across the skies.
We went running today. The last time was March 30th. My mind and mood have been off for awhile and nothing like running to reset things back in motion. While running, I came across the Eastern pinecones below. They were perfect by design. Nothing seemed out of place. Not its crown or its pinecones, everything was still, in a sort of quiet trust, wild like the air, considering how they rustled as the wind blew, that it dawned on me, be still and know you are covered by the love of the one who started this journey. Nothing will be out of place when you stay in him. So we are finding rest. Finding clarity in quietness and trust. I told myself it’s time to take a back seat and be still. I don’t intend to move again from his presence. The journey didn’t start today. He knows the plans. I have been wrestling on my own for too long, moving as if on my own but things are coming around and in place. So I will be still. To see us soar above the storms that last year brought, soar above people too that this year used, is to never forget how it all began.
So we are letting go. I expect some to let go too. We are beginning afresh in stillness and quietness. We made two new additions to our team last week. Three if you really ask me but one is just coming back. I sat back and watched how the week unfolded. For once I wasn’t rushed, wasn’t choosing or begging people to join. The ones coming along, seem to fit like a glove. What they didn’t know was that I was meditating. Deep one during the process and I asked and asked for signs with each breath (lessons from the midnight event that the other place taught with love and grace from my village). I saw signs in ways that my soul found rest. He is all I need this time around. I know his power. His love too in quietness and trust. The pinecones I saw today showed me how to continue tobe still and soar. Nothing will be out of place when you begin with him. We are being still, being wild too like these pinecones, with all its needles in place.
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