The Way of Roses

Happy New Year!!! Oh Gosh…I haven’t written in ages. Life has been just so full. I am not complaining but…


January 13, 2016

Happy New Year!!!

Oh Gosh…I haven’t written in ages. Life has been just so full. I am not complaining but I miss writing. I miss you guys and your comments. How has your year been so far? It took me a total of an hour to write this one. I don’t even know where it came from. If you haven’t read Silas Marner, you have no business on this blog. LOL

Seriously though it is a classic. i probably read it when I was like 14 and it hit me in the gut, stole the winds from my sails etcetra etcetra…

Anyway, here is Kiah signing in for 2016. Blessings and love love love to every one of you. Stay in the light. And remember to choose roses…


There were words to be said but no one to say them.

There were things to be done but no one to do them.

Billions of people, yet not one, not one person to say them, not one person to do what needs to be done to stop today from being his dying day.

The train station is empty; it is too early, even for the crowd of early morning commuters. Makinde  knows if he lingers, the first crop of them will start to filter in. He can’t afford to wait; it is either now or never.

He positions himself just right, at least he thinks it is just right. He doesn’t know any better. It is not like one tries committing suicide everyday. He is too lazy, no, scratch that; he is too drunk to drop down from the ledge and step onto the tracks itself. Besides he worries that if he lays down on the tracks, waiting, someone might see him and sound the alarm and then it would have all been for nothing.

This way he looks like he is waiting on the train and nothing else. Indeed he is waiting for the train; for the perfect moment when he can lean in just a little bit and the unstoppable combination of steel power and automotive speed can end his existence.

Five minutes till the next train, the screen in the station informs him and he feels even more listless for having known this fact. There is too much time; anything can wrong between now and then. He starts to pace, at least as much as his alcohol addled senses let him.

He is still pacing when his eye catches a movement underneath the bench nearest him. He blinks rapidly, wishing the sight away. But that is the thing about sight. It is not a horse.

The thing that has caught his eye is moving even more now and even though he knows the train will soon be here any minute now, he cannot help but be drawn towards it.

When he is close enough he gets on his knees and stares. The thing stares back, its eyes like the moon would look if it had a twin. There is a smell coming off the thing; urine, unwashed bodies and musty clothes. Makinde recognizes it easily; he himself has been the subject of such smells in recent past. He isn’t turned off by the smell. If anything, it makes his eyes water with tears, not the kind causes by fumes or smells but the type that only the heart can bring about.

They stay that way for a while. A man and a child and an oncoming train.

For a long time, Makinde won’t know why he reached out for the child that day. Why he didn’t walk away the moment he heard the toot of the  fast approaching train. Why he took her to the nearest child services department he could find. Why he didn’t leave immediately after the Child Services lady took her out of his arms, her face closed off to the terrible person he must be to be smelling like a bum at 6am in the morning. Why even when he left Social Services three hours later he had gone straight home instead of back to the train station to try his hands at death again. Why he had started up his Mac the moment he got home and accepted the many design jobs that filled his inbox. Why he had taken his first bath in the two weeks since his wife Lily filed for divorce. Why he had used his first paycheck to buy toys that he would later discover were too advanced for an eight month old child. Why he went back to Child Services everyday to ask after her. Why when the Child Services lady, whose face was no longer closed to his new improved self, had told him they were putting her in an orphanage where she would be put up for adoption, he had cried his heart out on her shoulder. Why when the woman had given him information about the orphanage the child would be in, he had kissed her till they were both breathless and then gone straight home to research the possibilities for single parent adoption. Why when he had been given temporary case of the child 6 months later, he had wept so hard the child had to offer him her blankie to wipe away his tears.

At the orphanage, they had named her Rose. Eight days after his legal adoption of her was approved, Makinde held a naming party for her. He held her while the pastor at the church he took her every Sunday announced her names to the world; Rose, Grace, Morenikejimi, Jaiyeola, Aiyedun, Ayowamiri, Omoremilekun, Makinde-Thomas.

Inspired by her father, a man who made every effort to say things that needed to be said and do things that needed to be done, Rose would grow up to be a voracious reader and writer and like all good readers, she would discover George Elliot early in life. On his 40th birthday, Rose would give her father a rare copy of Silas Marner. By that time their little family of two would have expanded to five. There would be a mother in the story, Daisy,  Rose’s former Child Services officer and 5 year old twin brothers, Kasope and Kayowa.

She would hand over the book to her father with a flourish at his birthday dinner. In the first page she would scribble

“Hephzibah and Silas; Rose and Makinde.”

You see,  a lily is an unreliable plant. It blooms early in the morning but by evening, sometimes, late afternoon, it pales and begins to die. It is used at funerals to remind us that nothing lasts forever. But this is not the way with a rose. A rose, even with its thorns, even when trampled upon, is a reminder that nothing, nothing is greater than love.


Song of the day: Jesus Culture – Rooftops

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