Efadel's Musings

(I have hurriedly put this together because I want you to see it before you vote. I have had a crazy two weeks, but my mind wouldn't let me rest until I penned this down. Bear with any errors, please.) I used to scorn those who sold their votes for sachets of rice, noodles, and some change, until I realized that everyone sells their votes, consciously or subconsciously. Whether it is for rice, noodles, five hundred naira, five thousand naira, family peace, juicy contracts, ministerial positions, improved health care, or restructuring, elections are transactional. Everyone has a price. We debate passionately with family, friends, and even strangers about our preferred candidates, not because we just love them and want to see them realize their ambitions, but because of what is in it for us. We all sell our votes. The real question is, what is your vote worth? What is your price? Are you selling your vote for profit or for loss? Consider the amount of investment and the cost price

Photo by KaLisa Veer on Unsplash Some of my fondest memories of my childhood Decembers include Brenda and I designing and making greeting cards and house decorations. Thanks to our parents’ generosity, we would buy cardboard papers in assorted colours, pencils, poster colours, markers, and glue, and we would make the loveliest cards you could ever imagine, pen the most imaginative blessings and greetings, and send them to our loved ones. It didn’t matter whether we used “Season’s Greetings” or “Merry Xmas.” Those types of debates were unthinkable at the time, and those alternate greetings did not in any way minimize our understanding that Christmas was a commemoration of the birth of Jesus Christ the Saviour of the world. As we grew older, our family transitioned from Western Orthodox congregations to Pentecostal ones, and we started to hear, “Every day is Christmas.” The Pentecostal churches threw the baby out with the bath water (and eventually dirtied their new bath, but that'

  I am excited about my 35 th birthday. I have been looking forward to this day since November 2021, when I started writing this, during one of the most difficult times of my life. By the time this is published, I would have lived for 420 months, 1820 weeks, 12,740 days, 305,760 hours, 18,345,600 minutes, and 1,100,736,000 seconds. That is a lot of numbers, and I am thankful to God for every second of these 35 years. On April 5 this year, I read from Psalm 138 , it resonated then and now, and it’s my Scripture and Psalm for today. I praise the L ORD with all my heart. I praise the L ORD, for unfailing love and faithfulness, for answering me when I call and for greatly emboldening me. I praise the L ORD who will vindicate me, whose love endures forever. Thirty-five is a big deal. Did you know that the life expectancy for females in Nigeria is about 63 years and globally, it is about 74 years? Life expectancy is based on the average age at death of people in the category. The Bibl

  Another piece from the past. I referred to it in my article " Against Time ". No edits, except maybe a few typos corrected.  Every year, for the past 5 years, I write something to share with my friends and family on my birthday anniversary. This year, I have chosen what might be considered as a morbid topic, but it is what has been on my mind for a while now. Yes, I am preparing to die. I have slowly come to realize the truth: I am not immortal! It is definitely going to be either one of two things for me – it is either that I die someday, or Jesus comes to take his own. The same is true for you too. I came to terms with being unmarried, long before the pressures started mounting, and I have peace with it, and have been able to thrive when some of my peers are burdened with worry and fear. Now, I am coming to terms with my mortality. Realizing that every moment gets me closer to the moment when I die got me thinking. I had to ask myself the BIG question: Am I ready to d

  I went back to the past to retrieve this note I shared on Facebook before my 24th birthday. This is the piece I wrote about the birthday I referred to in my article " Against Time ." No edits, save for a few typos. I want you to read it the way I wrote it those many years ago. It is seven+ hours to another birthday, and for the first time since I can remember, I am not ready for my birthday. For the first time, I am not celebrating. For the first time, I don't care about my usual birthday rituals and traditions. For the first time, I am scared! For some people, twenty-four is young, and a small thing. But for me, it is a big thing. I don't know if I am ready to get older chronologically not because I am scared of big numbers, but because of the changes that creep in slowly as the clock ticks. By the time it's completely 365 days since last year's birthday, I would have lived for 8760 days, 210240 hours, 12614400 minutes, and 756864000 seconds. When you l

  Photo by Taylor Wright on Unsplash What is a woman's highest calling? Marriage or motherhood?  Our biological make-up reminds us that we are responsible for bearing children. It is as if we were made for this. Our physiology and anatomy are designed for childbearing. We are physically less dominant than men because we have more oestrogen instead of more progesterone. This limits our participation in a few physical activities, hence women have sporting competitions separately from men. Our breasts form differently from men’s breasts, reminding us of babies suckling, and while it gives us a different form of beauty, it comes with its stress, like finding the perfect bra to package it, especially for easier movement and to protect from injuries during exercises. Our hips too are shaped differently from men’s, to support childbearing, and push babies out of the womb. Then there is the worst for many women – our wombs. Every month, for most women, from teenage years until their mid