Codenamed: The Phoenix dies.

Have you ever had the impression that maybe, just maybe, Blogsville isn’t what it is said to be?
Has the thought ever occurred to you that perhaps there is something behind all this?
Like the scenario in the opening minutes of the movie Matrix. Do you ever suspect that the seemingly free and autonomous site you visit, riddled with limitless online journals for your perusal, isn’t as free or as unplanned as it might appear?
Well if you’ve thought all these things. Then you’re right.

Welcome.
Blogville isn’t what you’ve all thought.
Yes. Yes.
Surprise. Surprise.
Do close your mouth.
True, people share their day to day activities amongst strangers, but that’s not the real reason why this site is here.
No it’s not dating either.
This site called Blogville is secretly the meeting place for the association known as the “REDEMPTION OF ENSLAVED CITIZENS FROM THE TYRANNY OF K”.
I see you all frown in puzzlement. You’re all wondering. What silly society is this?

Well first of;
We are not a silly society. We’ll forgive you your ignorance this once. Henceforth we’d rather you used the term Nobly great when addressing our esteemed association.
Secondly, this Nobly great society of ours is not as insignificant as you might think.

Naturally I don’t expect you to simply just take my word for our greatness. If you lend me a couple of minutes I will attempt to prove my point as to our greatness.
Believe me, I make no idle boasts, this society works hard behind the scenes protecting you from the tyranny of K.
We are responsible for so many great achievements in the world.

For instance we are responsible for the smooth transition of the yell “Yeepa!” to a simple “Yeiy”.
We are also responsible for the exit of Punk and Mohawks as hairdos, substituting the craze instead for the low shaven cut that is currently the rave.
You probably have not noticed that these days more and more men are leaning towards wearing boxers as their choice of underwear apparel. Thirty years ago pants where more the way to go. Why even Superman, that most famous of aliens was forced to wear pants upon his arrival, albeit wrongfully placed, and in shocking bright red too. No more of that. Thanks to us Boxers are now the preferred choice of wear.
We were vital in the abolishment of the idea to shoot a sequel to the movie Nigerian Bachelor in Russia 4, wisely pointing out that a fifth installment would hardly make any sense.
Still haven’t heard of us?

Well, another thing we are responsible for is the invention and smooth transition of the dance “YAHOOZE” into the Nigerian populace. We seek to completely wipe out the following dance moves Running man and Crazy Leg before the year 2010. We plan to reinstate the sensual dance of Patra called the Butterfly back into night clubs in time for the New Yam festival.
See our head site for vision plan.

We are often ascribed credit for the idea of feeding goats chocolates shortly before they are killed in other to make the avante garde dish Chocolate flavored goat intestine pepper soup. Sadly this is not one of our many bright accomplishments.
That is the work of our rival group called the

“REDEMPTION OF ENSLAVED CITIZENS FROM THE TYRANNY OF THE GROUP CALLED “REDEMPTION OF ENSLAVED CITIZENS FROM THE TYRANNY OF K”.

We are however considering encouraging advances into the study of enhancing the taste of chickens into that of eggs. A lot of people have wisely pointed out that it is unfair that an egg should taste different when it grows up. A baby cow and an adult cow all taste the same. Why should eggs taste any different from chickens?
Have no fear we are considering all this.
With breakthroughs in our science field happening everyday. (I.e. we are now certain that gravity is a pull and not a push) we are confident in our capabilities.

Which brings me to the issue of why we are here?
All of you, yes al of you, have been chosen for your very special talents. From The Doctors in your midst (Naapali for instance.) to the stockbrokers amongst you. (Hello Fantasy queen.). You have all been specially selected for the important mission we have ahead.
There is no need to stare in shock everyone. How do we know your secret identities and real professions.
Well.
It is evident that you have not been listening.
We are a secret society.
The reason why we are called a secret society is because we know secrets.

Now...
Unto the main issue.
After the briefing you will all be sent your secret badges. Naturally I expect you all to act normal thereafter. There is no point in announcing to the world that you have been admitted into the the Nobly great society of K. You would not be believed and we would deny you.
Ask Oprah.
Why have you all been gathered here today?
I shall tell you.

Today I shall reveal the society’s great plan to once and for all curb the menace of those idiots in power. I am of course referring to the Power Holding Company of Nigeria. Now known as PHCN formerly known as NEPA and heretofore to be known and referred to as Target PHEPA. Aka Project Down with the Phoenix.
Too many people have suffered at the unjust dealing of their arm. We are tired of having to wait for three weeks for power only to finally have it come three minutes after our electrical lines have been cut for unpaid bills. Even more annoyingly is the fact that it is taken four minutes after we have finally paid our overstated bills. This madness must stop.

Time there was when this great nation of ours had constant power and the only generator on record was a prototype in the National Museum built by a fulani for his Final year project ,which involved arguments for and concerning the sustenance of possible life at the Artic.
The year was 1938.
Although it would probably be a good idea to set a century as a fitting date to mark the same reoccurrence we have decided to speed up our plans and strike this blow once and for all now.
Have you ever missed a football match because of Target PHEPA?
Have you ever stupidly tried committing suicide with an electric iron only for Target PHEPA to take power?
Have you ever tried making love in the middle of a hot afternoon with no source of cooling?
Have you ever tried making love with another person in the middle of a hot afternoon with no source of cooling?
Well then you know what I’m talking about.
The Madness must stop.
And it starts here…

This brings me to why you are all here.
A grand plan has been drawn up to fix this problem.
You, every one of you who is reading this has been chosen to participate in enacting the solution.
Indeed you are lucky, you have absolutely noting to worry or fear. The brains behind this project this are the masterminds of the highest repute

They are the lords of Chaos theory. They refine subtlety to an art. The faintest flutters of their butterfly wings result in storms across the globe. Nothing can fail when they put their very brilliant minds to it. They are the E in expert. The put the B in the Very damn Best. There is no Hiccup in this plan of ours that hasn’t been foreseen and planned for. Like the geniuses they are they have accounted for every possible failure. Henceforth we shall have nothing but smooth sailing till the triumph of out plans. Nothing can shock us. Nothing unforeseen can occur. Every wrinkle has been accounted for with ready solutions. They are the very best. The very damn best.
Nothing can surprise..

*****
**********
************

Blogsville Communiqué to reader.
Error in communicating with Host 908675 aka CarlwithaC.
Unable to contact host site.
Suspected Power failure.

Do you wish to hold?

Hello Blogsville.
I have a secret to share.

I see your eyes light with interest. What news could he be about to release?

In our world, where members darkest fears are online perusals for others, secrets fall into the blockbusting category of Blogsville events. I must warn you though. I might not shatter the records with my disclosure. Don’t get me wrong. I do have a secret to tell. I’m just not sure if you’ll believe me.

You see, my friend is a super hero.

Special powers. Special abilities. Double identity.
I know what being a super Hero entails…
He’s got it all.
Consider.

He suffers from Sickle cell anemia. That most annoying of afflictions due to the finality of its diagnosis. Once you’ve got it you’re stuck with it.

It’s like walking to class naked in your final year in University with the words “Micheal Jackson is the sexiest guy I know!” hanging around your neck. You never live it down. You just have to live with it.
Same thing with sickle cell. There’s no escaping it.
My friend T? He must not have read the book on living with sickle cell. He doesn’t just live with it. He gives it life.

I was with him last week. That’s what friends do.

We visit each other. We spent the whole day clowning around. Laughing at our past silliness, planning new ones.

Our days where long roller coaster ride of infinite possibilities on the fun track, anything could happen. If it was happening elsewhere we sought it out. If it wasn’t happening we made it. The days where good most of the time. Other times they where fantastic.
And the nights..
Well for me. It was.
Not for T though.

You see T doesn’t just have Sickle cell Anemia. He also suffers from a leg ulcer that is common with sickle cell patient. Whilst Sickle cell patient are prone to occasional attacks of pain ( they call em crisis) leg ulcers are annoying side attraction. Too make it worse.They’re always there. They never leave and they always have to remind you of their prescence. It’s an annoying sore on his leg that refuses to go. It almost has a life of its own. Sometimes the sore closes to just a slight scratch on the skin, teasing us with the possibilities of its departure. Just when we are convinced that this time, just maybe this time, it’s going to final leave, the sore laughs at us and opens up into a wound that looks like the result of a gunshot.
Gunshot wound or screen crack. The sore is always there.

And it never stops hurting.
Never.

I’m not talking the slight dull ache that hitting your head against the wall can give you. I’m talking the pain that a surgery patient would experience if they suddenly ran out of anesthesia mid operation and then kicked him out. The sore that T is afflicted is one of respectful proportions. When I say pain. I mean real pain. Like the tale of the little mermaid , (not Disney’s romantic version, the real one) every time he takes a step he is hit by nerves reminding him that they are here to make his life hell. It is like he is literally working on broken shards of glass. The leg hurts like hell. The pain is so bad that most of the time his body is covered with sweat as he struggles to come to grips with it.
Sickle cell. Leg ulcer. Unending pain.
Sometimes you wonder why the gods don’t just pay less attention to Somalia.

I woke up one night last week to meet him sitting in a chair.

The room was dark and his was a shadowy hunched silhouette against the background.

He couldn’t even talk when I asked him if the leg was hurting. It was almost a silly question.

The leg always was hurt. It just sometimes hurt more than other periods. This time it was having a blast cranking out the pain. He just nodded his head weakly. He was hurting and couldn’t do anything about it. I was his friend and there was nothing else I could do. True there where drugs he could take. But the pain killers he used where pretty strong stuff. They where way up there with cocaine in the addiction monsters. It was really easy to get addicted to the drugs because of its soothing effect. My friend T had heard the stories of people suffering from addiction to the drugs he was using.

He was worried.

He was not going to add junky to his glowing resume of woe.
A brave decision perhaps.
Certainly, a painful one.

He might have been noble but I wasn’t.

Despite his murmurs on the contrary, I tore his room apart looking for the vial that would bring him relief. I eventually found it. He didn’t wince as I gave him the injection. He just lay there groaning softly.
Eventually the drugs kicked in and a dreamy look came to his eyes. He made his way to the bed to pass out. I watched him as he slept a drugged sleep and I wondered. Last year I had two tummy aches. Both instances had left me rolling on the floor gasping for help whilst I swore out my oaths to the cooks responsible for my gastronomical dysfunction.
I could not handle pain for one night and yet here was a person, my friend, who could, and who had, for the last 5 years.

It’s a wonder how much I have taken for granted in my life.
Things I do for fun he is unable too. He is, for instance, unable to drink coke. Not because sipping the sugary elixir will kill him but because he has been told that too much sugar in his blood does not help the wound. He cannot drink alcohol because 2 years ago his liver complained after a night of mindless boozing (vodka anyone?)whilst we celebrated our continued existence.

An even simple thing like dating is not so simple where he is concerned.
Cursed with the tinge of an SS blood group he is wary dating anyone with an AS tag.

Not because he is afraid he is contagious but because he fears that like, Damocles sword swinging over his head ,the knowledge that the relationship cannot go anywhere will ruin whatever little pleasure he might have derived.

That no matter how deeply he is in love with her they cannot be eventually wed. He plans on having children this friend of mine and he plans on having good ones. It is sad watching him meet a girl he likes only to watch him slink away when he finds that she does not possess that elusive AA blood type. There is no point to it he mutters when I insist that he just continues for the fun of it.
He doesn’t see my point.

Why persist in the endeavor when someone might get hurt?
In a world clouded by his survival of pain. He has made it his mission not to be responsible for others.

Last year I walked into his room and saw him surfing the web.

He wasn’t checking out the latest Shakira pictures or trying to track down J-lo’s number.

No.

What my dear friend was doing was checking for a prosthetic limb. He was so frustrated with his own leg. He was prepared to cut it off. That was how bad the pain was making him think.
He blogs as well as I. Given my infrequent forays here I’d say he browses more often than I do. It is an outlet for him to complain and yell. At least it started out that way. But lately he has become more cheerful about the Blogsville environment speaking more about his life and les about his pain.
That is my friend.
Half full never half empty.
Sometimes we seat and ponder about the people behind the names on Blogsville.
We are united in our perception of you all.
You’re all a delightful crazy bunch.

There is hope to be sure. There must be.
There just isn’t any in this country.
He plans on leaving at the end of this year. The only reason that he hasn’t is because of his studies. He requires at least a year of proper rest and treatment for the successful healing of the sore. We want it gone and we want it gone for good. He need s a year. The Nigerian school calendar is not inclined to give it to him.
When two elephants fight. The ground suffers.

And so we wait for the end of the year when he shall be done with his exams. We joke about his last day in school. I tell him I shall personally drive him to the airport and see him into the plane.
I shall stand on the runway and watch his chariot streak across the sky.
Thereafter for a year I shall loose a dear friend.
I console myself with the theory that with him away the girls will get to notice me more.
Sometimes it works.

As I sat there watching him sleep, noticing with sadness that even his sleeping position had been forced to change since his leg developed a sore 5 years ago( he holds his leg protectively in the fetal postion), I marveled at the strength in my friend. He goes through life everyday with pain mocking him in the background. But like Paul in the bible he doesn’t let a simple thing like unending pain stop him from his duties. He is the best friend a guy could have.

Fun, charming and very easy to push around.

Someday he is going to make a lady extremely happy but till then he is ours. He never lets his affliction get in the way of his relationship with people. He doesn’t let it affect his ambition to become so rich he doesn’t have to work for the rest of his life. He doesn’t let it affect him.

He is who he is. Without the pain. And so much more because of it.

It has been a week since then and we still go about our affairs.
But I watched him differently. There is no way I can know what it takes to live a life like he does. But I am convinced it is not easy. Living with pain and not showing it. Being brave in the face of you demons. Never allowing the pain to get you down.
It is the stuff of legendary stories.
I have found myself another hero.
My friend T.

I wish there was more I could do for him. I wish in a lot of ways I could make the pain go away, but I can’t. All I can be is a good friend and be there for him. And maybe ,one day, I’ll write a story about it. About my life with the great man T. And what is what like living with a person who re-taught me what bravery, fear honor and nobility was all about.
Till then I do the best I can. Waking every day with the knowledge that I hold dear.
My best friend is a super hero.

Hello Blogsville.
I have a secret to share.

A tale of a Hero

Hello Blogsville.
I have a secret to share.

I see your eyes light with interest. What news could he be about to release? In our world, where members darkest fears are online perusals for others, secrets fall into that blockbusting category of Blogsville events. I must warn you though. I might not shatter the records with my disclosure. Don’t get me wrong. I do have a secret to tell. I’m just not sure if you’ll believe me.

You see, my friend is a super hero.

Special powers. Special abilities. Double identity.
I know what being a super Hero entails…
He’s got it all.
Consider.

He suffers from Sickle cell anemia. That most annoying of afflictions due to the finality of its diagnosis. Once you’ve got it you’re stuck with it. It’s like walking to class naked in your final year in University with the words “Micheal Jackson is the sexiest guy I know!” hanging around your neck. You never live it down. You just have to live with it.
Same thing with sickle cell. There’s no escaping it.
My friend T? He must not have read the book on living with sickle cell. He doesn’t just live with it. He gives it life.

I was with him last week. That’s what friends do. We visit each other. We spent the whole day clowning around. Laughing at our past silliness, planning new ones. Our days where long roller coaster ride of infinite possibilities on the fun track, anything could happen. If it was happening elsewhere we sought it out. If it wasn’t happening we made it. The days where good most of the time. Other times they where fantastic.
And the nights..
Well for me. It was.
Not for T though.

You see T doesn’t just have Sickle cell Anemia. He also suffers from a leg ulcer that is common with sickle cell patient. Whilst Sickle cell patient are prone to occasional attacks of pain ( they call em crisis) leg ulcers are annoying side attraction. Too make it worse.They’re always there. They never leave and they always have to remind you of their prescence.

It’s an annoying sore on his leg that refuses to go. It almost has a life of its own. Sometimes the sore closes to just a slight scratch on the skin, teasing us with the possibilities of its departure. Just when we are convinced that this time, just maybe this time, it’s going to final leave, the sore laughs at us and opens up into a wound that looks like the result of a gunshot.
Gunshot wound or screen crack. The sore is always there. And it never stops hurting.
Never.

I’m not talking the slight dull ache that hitting your head against the wall can give you. I’m talking the pain that a surgery patient would experience if they suddenly ran out of anesthesia mid operation and then kicked him out. The sore that T is afflicted is one of respectful proportions. When I say pain. I mean real pain. Like the Piers tale of the little mermaid , (not Disney’s romantic version, the real one) every time he takes a step he is hit by nerves reminding him that they are here to make his life hell. It is like he is literally working on broken shards of glass. The leg hurts like hell. The pain is so bad that most of the time his body is covered with sweat as he struggles to come to grips with it.
Sickle cell. Leg ulcer. Unending pain.
Sometimes you wonder why the gods don’t just pay more attention on Somalia.

I woke up one night last week to meet him sitting in a chair.

The room was dark and his was a shadowy hunched silhouette against the background.

He couldn’t even talk when I asked him if the leg was hurting. It was almost a silly question. The leg always was hurt. It just sometimes hurt more than other periods. This time it was having a blast cranking out the pain. He just nodded his head weakly. He was hurting and couldn’t do anything about it. I was his friend and there was nothing else I could do.

True there where drugs he could take. But the pain killers he used where pretty strong stuff. They where way up there with cocaine in the addiction monsters. It was really easy to get addicted to the drugs because of its soothing effect. My friend T had heard the stories of people suffering from addiction to the drugs he was using. He was worried. He was not going to add junky to his glowing resume of woe.

A brave decision perhaps.
Certainly, a painful one.

He might have been noble but I wasn’t.

Despite his murmurs on the contrary, I tore his room apart looking for the vial that would bring him relief. I eventually found it. He didn’t wince as I gave him the injection. He just lay there groaning softly.
Eventually the drugs kicked in and a dreamy look came to his eyes. He made his way to the bed to pass out. I watched him as he slept a drugged sleep and I wondered. Last year I had two tummy aches. Both instances had left me rolling on the floor gasping for help whilst I swore out my oaths to the cooks responsible for my gastronomical dysfunction.
I could not handle pain for one night and yet here was a person, my friend, who could, and who had, for the last 5 years.

It’s a wonder how much I have taken for granted in my life.
Things I do for fun he is unable too.

He is, for instance, unable to drink coke. Not because sipping the sugary elixir will kill him but because he has been told that too much sugar in his blood does not help the wound. He cannot drink alcohol because 2 years ago his liver complained after a night of mindless boozing (vodka anyone?)whilst we celebrated our continued existence.
An even simple thing like dating is not so simple where he is concerned.
Cursed with the tinge of an SS blood group he is wary dating anyone with an AS tag. Not because he is afraid he is contagious but because he fears that like, Damocles sword swinging over his head ,the knowledge that the relationship cannot go anywhere will ruin whatever little pleasure he might have derived..That no matter how deeply he is in love with her they cannot be eventually wed. He plans on having children this friend of mine and he plans on having good ones. It is sad watching him meet a girl he likes only to watch him slink away when he finds that she does not possess that elusive AA blood type. There is no point to it he mutters when I insist that he just continues for the fun of it.
He doesn’t see my point.

Why persist in the endeavor when someone might get hurt?
In a world clouded by his survival of pain. He has made it his mission not to be responsible for others.

Last year I walked into his room and saw him surfing the web.

wasn’t checking out the latest Shakira pictures or trying to track down J-lo’s number. No. What my dear friend was doing was checking for a prosthetic limb. He was so frustrated with his own leg. He was prepared to cut it off. That was how bad the pain was making him think.

blogs as well as I do. Given my infrequent forays here I’d say he browses more often. It is an outlet for him to complain and yell. At least it started out that way. But lately he has become more cheerful about the Blogsville environment speaking more about his life and les about his pain.
That is my friend.
Half full never half empty.
Sometimes we seat and ponder about the people behind the names on Blogsville.
We are united in our perception of you all.
You’re all a delightful crazy bunch.

There is hope to be sure.
There just isn’t any in this country.
He plans on leaving at the end of this year. The only reason that he hasn’t is because of his studies. He requires at least a year of proper rest and treatment for the successful healing of the sore. We want it gone and we want it gone for good. He need a year. The Nigerian school calendar is not inclined to give it to him.
When two elephants fight. The ground suffers.

And so we wait for the end of the year when he shall be done with his exams. We joke about his last day in school. I tell him I shall personally drive him to the airport and see him into the plane.
I shall stand on the runway and watch his chariot streak across the sky.
Thereafter for a year I shall loose a dear friend..
I console myself with the theory that with him away the girls will get to notice me more.
Sometimes it works.

As I sat there watching him sleep, noticing with sadness that even his sleeping position had been forced to change since his leg developed a sore 5 years ago( he holds his leg protectively in the fetal postion), I marveled at the strength in my friend.

He goes through life everyday with pain mocking him in the background. But like Paul in the bible he doesn’t let a simple thing like unending pain stop him from his duties.

He is the best friend a guy could have. Fun, charming and very easy to push around. Someday he is going to make a lady extremely happy but till then he is ours. He never lets his affliction get in the way of his relationship with people. He doesn’t let it affect his ambition to become so rich he doesn’t have to work for the rest of his life. He doesn’t let it affect him. He is who he is. Without the pain. And so much more because of it.

It has been a week since then and we still go about our affairs.
But I watched him differently. There is no way I can know what it takes to live a life like he does. But I am convinced it is not easy. Living with pain and not showing it. Being brave in the face of you demons. Never allowing the pain to get you down.
It is the stuff of legendary stories.
I have found myself another hero.
My friend T.

I wish there was more I could do for him. I wish in a lot of ways I could make the pain go away, but I can’t. All I can be is a good friend and be there for him. And maybe ,one day, I’ll write a story about it. About my life with the great man T. And what is what like living with a person who re-taught me what bravery, fear honor and nobility was all about.
Till then I do the best I can. Waking every day with the knowledge that I hold dear.
My best friend is a super hero.

Hello Blogsville.
I have a secret to share.