Four drops.

It was only four drops of holy water that touched me during the asperges on holy Saturday night, the night before Easter Sunday.

The venue was St. Mary's in College Station, Texas and the vigil was heartfelt and beautiful. It was the same with vigils I have been to through the years. The bare tabernacle, the solemnity, the readings, the procession, the renewal of vows... The favorite part for me, apart from the choir's glorious alleluia, apart from the soothing fragrance of burning incense, was the service of light, when all the lights are out and the church is dark for a while, before a new lamp is lit and blessed, and we all hold up white candles, lit and burning, taken from the paschal light. It is always a majestic sight.

On Sunday mornings before mass begins, the priests stay humbly by the church entrance, with huge smiles and outstretched hands, welcoming people in. After mass they return to their positions, waving goodbyes. But it was really surprising that holy Saturday night, that only two small bowls of water was sanctified and such was used to serve a church that large. It was vigil, many more people came, so seats were filled, and what, only two bowls? And my fair share was four drops, two tiny drops on my left arm and two larger drops on my chin. This was during the liturgy of baptism and we had renewed our promises. The choir was singing a hymn while the priest walked calmly down the aisle, bowl in one hand and an aspergillum in the other, sprinkling gingerly.

I had to blink twice. Was that an aspergillum? I was used to the generous flow of holy water, water being splashed across an excited and receiving congregation from large bowls and wide mouthed buckets. Water raining from palm fronds and drums. I was used to getting drenched in vigils, using shower caps beneath black scarves to preserve the weaves, going home shuddering from cold.

Maybe we just like to do things like this, in an assertive and theatrical manner, that it rolls right into church rites.  We are an interesting people. Four drops can never be enough back home, no. We would want more. People would go back for more. We always want more because of the depth of lack. Food is never enough, water too. So anything we can have in excess, we grab in excess. Maybe if we understood that the water is holy, and a drop would do just what a drum would do or that the sick amongst the brethren do not need the cold bathing, or that using an aspergillum would do for evenly distributed drops and graces, then we would be content and faithful, even if we get one drop or two.


p.s. Our help is in the name of the lord..

God's America.

Loveth's California.

I cannot easily tell, by looks alone, who is African American and who is African. Black is a wide range of differing identities you know..

So when she came up to me, all chatty and cheery, admiring my weave, and asking where I bought it, I didn't at first know she was Nigerian. She started out in a fast flowing American accent. And I replied likewise, in a matching American accent..

Down the line, when we said our names to each other, we both had that pleasantly surprised expression on our faces, which broke into broad smiles, before we laughed it out, and immediately switched back to home accents. You are my sister, you know, you are my sister..

Kedu? Baoni?

We talk about Nigeria, and many other things. One news after the other. Did you hear about the recent bombings? Which one, the one in Kano or Nyanya? No, Jos. Did you see the pictures?  How many people died this time? The missing children from Chibok? Oh, the stolen children? What about the collapsed building in Lagos? The fire incident somewhere on the island? There was another last night. The child that was raped by the pastor? The man who murdered his girlfriend? The man who strangled his wife? The ritualist caught in Ibadan? No, another was caught in Ijebu, with eight human skulls. Eight..Jesus! Whose skulls? I don't know. The grave thieves? The flying witches? The one in the gutter or the one in the van? Why are the witches always falling? I don't know, maybe hunger? I think all crafts should be allowed to fly in peace. We laugh, then stop. What about that Igbo man who shot his wife in Houston? Coward-man, he would have shot himself first. Why are we bad news everywhere? Why are we bad people..

We should pray. We should pray, everyday, for Nigeria. Pray? Yes, we should fast too. Well you know, we've been praying a long time. We've been praying a long long time. There are camps and churches? There are prophecies and deliverances. And things are worse. The demons have not all been cast out. Maybe there are many of them. So many prayers, so much evil, dwelling together, siamesed. There won't be no magic for us, this is our mess to fix..

Do you think we should break up? It's not my thinking to do. Do you think we would break up? Do you think that maybe, a breakup is that magical solution to our misery and contempt for one another? How many peaceful parts shall we break into? Two? Six? Thirty-six? Shall we invite the west to chaperone the break up, as they did the joining hundred years ago? Shall we? I don't know, I don't know. I'm afraid, I don't want war. But we are already at war. Tell me, what could be worse than this? Don't you see, this is war..

I would be going back in summer. Lagos is safe? Not really - no bombs, but there are many daytime robbers now. They snatch phones and wallets in seconds. They carry guns and death. They break glasses while the cops watch. They tour streets, unmasked. Mother told me, but Mother needs me. Be careful, sister, be careful..

 A dark gloom of uncertainty hovered over us, clouding our thoughts of home. We mourned silently, mourning a nation in ruin. At that moment, the future of a country once great, once beloved, seemed broken. It was grieving, so broken, far and in danger. Slowly we walked along the green trees lining southwest parkway, the well mowed lawns, breathing in the beautiful parts of God's world, summer's heat, God's America, sighing that our home country may never be like this- peaceful, organized- healthy dogs, pattering cats, afraid that if by tomorrow's tomorrow it becomes so, we may never be there to see it..

Above us, fifty stars shone on a red blue flag.



P.S. picture: a view of downtown California by Loveth Nwozor.

This is our War.

The voice of a child wailing in the dark
Alone, afraid and running through trees
The voices of children crying in the night
Our children were taken in the night
The newborns are screaming in horror
Our country is bleeding, bleeding life
Nigeria is bleeding, bleeding blood
These goons have come to raze
They announced war unbidden
On children, on us, on children
The soldiers are fallen
New owls are nesting
History is watching
This is our war


Bring back our girls safely home
Don't stay there wandering lost
On creeks that have no water
On hearths that have no fire
This is the tale of our times
That terror has called for war
Charring bodies, weeping camps
Crying corpses, hovering spirits
Shattered limbs and creaking bones
Child down, soldier down
Blood upon blood and earth upon earth
What have you done, you dumb haggard hawks
Snatching buds before they could bloom
breaking blameless souls in battle
Swallowing dreams on drying lakes
Where have you kept our children


The voice of a child in fright and in pain
Sleeping land, war has come upon you
The guns are striking the people
Your masquerades are soundless
The goons have murdered sleep
Now nights are filled with terror
Come nigh and sound the cannon
Launch on hills of the savannah
Go on and bring back our honor
For the people who cast for you
Don't stay here giving speeches
Bring back home to Nigeria
The warriors are fallen
Brown owls re smirking
This is our war
To fight..

(This was written during  bringbackourgirls)