Do not get married, if… [A storified extraction] By ‘Lanre Bucknor

Books and social media have over the years form a part of my getaway from the physical world plan. The book part, I have toned down on, to a lazy stage, well, I have always been lazy.ย 

But on one of my forays into my social media getaway, I stumbled upon a series of tweets on Twitter, the one referred to as thread and so, I found it very instructive and decided to share. Of course, with the implied permission of the tweeter: “Flower – @missdimples_21.”

The lessons were broken into bullets and comes in ten parts but for the purpose of blogging, I have broken them into two parts. 5 bullet points for each blogpost.

Don’t get married;

1. If youโ€™re not ready to delay gratification when your are angry. To hold your tongue, lower your voice and sometimes wait till the appropriate time, to deal with an issue thoroughly.

Immaturity is the inability to delay gratification.ย 

Marriage is for the mature!

 

2. If you are not ready to leave center stage and allow someone else to become your focus, your study, your muses – donโ€™t get married.

Selfish people make very bad spouses. In marriage you donโ€™t lose yourself but your heart has to be big enough to gain someone else.

 

3. If you are not ready to stand up and calmly deal with meddling in-laws as a united front: The opinionated sister, the insensitive uncle, the domineering father, the mannerless brother, the nosy aunt

 

4. If you are not ready to pay bills. LOVE DOES NOT PAY BILLS
Electricity companies will not give a waiver because your love is so strong and your gazes at each other are so romantic.

 

5. If you are not ready to let go of your opposite sex โ€œbest friends” and invest that into your spouse.

To like, to laugh, to play, to be silly and to enjoy life with them, above anyone else.

Most times Affairs happen because people did not marry their best friends. Someone else holds their heart. Someone else gets them better. Someone else inspires them more. Marry your best friend and cultivate your friendship so that you remain best friends.

To be continued……

The second and concluding part drops in a bit.

‘Lanre Bucknor writes from Lagos and he is not yet married. Read again, not yet married but will do so one day so soon for he is hungry to.

 

Please, do not ask him when he will marry, for he and everyone knows that the only day he will marry is on his wedding day which apparently isn’t here yet.

 

‘Lanre can be found on twitter and Instagram via @lordrooz handle.

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This Poet and the Prophets [Rhymes and Reasons] by ‘Lanre Bucknor

This poet is a prophet 

Calling the Atlantic’s natural reset 

With arsenal doing the Lacazette 

And good things coming with being patient


This poet is a prophet 

Preaching good with a divine content

 Ruing  the death of idlemindset 

And calling shots with future mindset 

~~
This poet is a prophet 

Embracing light from engulfing darkness

 Ignoring the  spoon in devil’s buffet 

And making light of ugly concept 

~~~
This poet is a growing prophet 

Like the apple papa Adam once ate 

We humans will err and always defect 

But like him, we must quickly repent 

~~~
This poet is an awesome prophet 

Like Fela, whose message is so potent 

And his loads of intelligence quotient 

Like Mandela, his reasons are so cogent 

~~~
This poet is a noble prophet 

Preaching how Islam loathe insurgence 

also, hypocritical pretence 

And calling HIS names without reverence

~~~~

The prophet was a beautiful poet

 Delivering lines with Allah’s intent 

Through the angel who is most eminent 

With the Hira serving as his comfy tent

Lanre Bucknor writes from Lagos and is neither a prophet nor a poet. ‘Lanre just does his thing and right here, leaves you with Pa Socrates above.

Also instructive is Q4:69.

‘Lanre can be further engaged on twitter and Instagram via @lordrooz

I didn’t cry when my Dad died by ‘Lanre Bucknor

Q14:41

“1955 was a very great year”

That was the caption on the most beautiful birthday card I have ever seen in my entire life!

The card came in 3 folds and there were descriptions and animated illustrations of great events that happened that year and then, the closing line to cap it all off was:

“And then, you were born!”

The card was one of the many gifts my dad’s friends, they fondly called themselves ‘Friendship circle of Nigeria’, presented him on his 40th birthday. This day was 23rd of june, 1995.

I didn’t cry when my dad died.

My dad attended an adult class to learn a bit of fiqh and how to read the Qur’an, he told a story of how a few months to his class’ graduation, he couldn’t read a word of the Glorious Qur’an, he couldn’t cope, he wasn’t able to move with his peers, how he was lagging while his classmates were flying, he was struck out of the class graduation list and then just when the whole world thought he wasn’t going to graduate with his class, the miracle started unfolding before everyone’s eyes. My dad started catching up and on the 11th of November, when the ‘pupils’ of Dawah intensive weekend arabic course class of ’94 had their graduation, a certain man with the brightest smile in the world was seen filing out with the graduands: the man was my dad!

Less than a month from this day, precisely 4th of december, he was seen standing with his wife and his first son receiving the certificate of Qur’an graduation for his first son too.

But I didn’t cry when the man died.

I was a brilliant boy, I used to top class in my elementary school days. My parents were used to seeing me at the top of the log, I was a local champ and my immediate environment was used to it too. But when in 1997, the local champ found himself 3rd on the log in first year in high school, my dad was metaphorically shocked such that he took out time and visited Ansar Ud deen college to see for himself little Mr Inegbese Philip and Awolusi Taiwo, the man smiled, patted both lads on the back and moved on.

But I didn’t cry when he died.

One night in the same year, I asked my dad what Bucknor meant, he told a story very intelligently which I now think is probably a myth of how greatest grandpa Bucknor was a nomadic sailor who had sweet tongue and gets any woman he wishes, he went on saying ancestor Bucknor was actually a Portuguese who had wives every where he went on the west African coast and so, that explains why we had relatives all over the coast of west Africa!

Later that year, My dad and I took a road trip to Agouรจ, a very beautiful little village in the people’s republic of Benin where a kind of family reunion was held, that was my first time off the border of Nigeria and it was just the two of us!

But I didn’t cry when he died!

June 1998, my dad fell Ill and was admitted at Mount Sinai hospital. We visited him, for the illness really knocked him out. He was a strong man beyond life itself and when he was bed ridden, it was an eye opener for everyone. Two days later from when my dad fell ill, I was admitted too, I had fallen ill!

My dad was certified fit days later but the man didn’t Leave the hospital. On the day Nigeria was to play Bulgaria at France ’98 world cup, a very ill me insisted I had to see the game, there was no TV in my ward, my dad practically carried me to the reception, I am sure I didn’t see up to 10 minutes of the game before I drifted off.

Next I opened my eyes the next morning, I was back on my ward bed. Legend said my dad carried me back there. I looked to my right, the man was smiling back at me, patted my head and relaxed his back on the bed next to me which had no sheet.

Apparently, he had been told to go home but he chose to stay – with me! We left the hospital together on the same day, although he had been certified fit and discharged days earlier.

But I didn’t cry when he died!

I would have probably cried if I was half the man my dad was. The man was fearless and was practically living more for others than for himself. My dad will make sure everyone around him fared well even if he had so little, he would even give out of the little he had to friends, families and even strangers.

My dad will take time out to cook a meal for the home, he was a great cook too and he cooked delicacies, usually not your everyday meal. I initially find it hard knowing the hand he uses, for he stirs soup from the pot with his left. I suspect he was initially a left handed fellow before Alhaja reset his hand usage orientation.

My dad aided this skill I seem to have, my dad enhanced my reading skill and writing leanings, my dad influenced my never give up attitude, the service to others inclination, my dad inspired me beyond measures.

But my dad wasn’t born a saint!

My dad was your usual Lagos island boy, your proper isale eko guy who did all ‘omoboy’ stuffs except indulging in crime but my dad turned out a very good man such that he was said to have whispered the Shaadah as his last breath!

And so I believed, even if i wasn’t there, for once when he couldn’t talk and was struggling with his speech during his last days, he was given zam zam water and my dad’s first statement was; Allahu Akbar (God is Great) repeatedly. And so, because my dad was said to have whispered the shaadah and because I was the weakest human in the world at that point, I shut out the wailings around me and his life and struggles flashed before my eyes and I couldn’t cry.

I didn’t cry when he died but I went in where he was laid to rest and sobbed gently on his lifeless heart! I didn’t cry when my dad died but I wailed uncontrollably when he was lowered into mother earth.

I didn’t cry when my dad died but I have cried at intervals in the last 16 years and sobbed when penning this piece.

I have everything he did in my head, I remember the kind of man my dad was, I wish I could be half the man he was, I wish I could possess half the heart he had but I can’t tell all. I can’t go on, for I’d become a bore and I’d probably shed bucket full of tears.

I didn’t cry when my dad died but now, I am in tears!

‘Lanre Bucknor writes from Lagos and would have named this 1955 but then, what would have happened to 2001? For, every man have two sure days; the good and the bad days as well as the day he was born and the day he dies.

But then, glorious Qur’an already told us something very instructive in Q2:156.

‘Lanre can be further engaged on twitter and instagram via @lordrooz

Of tiny bits, life and fulfilment by ‘Lanre Bucknor

For a bit, 

Respond to your goodness impulse

Forget that thing that puts funds in-purse

***
For a little bit

Forget that thing that puts food on your table

Reflect! on how you are more than able

***
For a bit, 

Do that thing that put smiles on people’s faces

And up your sleeves, you’d find you hold the aces

***

For one little bit

Do that thing that brings no fund but gives you joy

Forget the thorns, its nothing but a ploy

****

For that little bit

You’d discover that you have lived

Differently from those who are bereaved
***

For that little bit

You’d feel the movement of your pulse

the impulse to do more

And urge to live more

***

For that tiny bit

the throb of your heart will beat

Steadily to uber – melodious beats

***

Of life 

And of optimal fulfilment!

For whatever you want from life, you have to give it out first.

Lanre Bucknor writes from Lagos and have learnt that, living is more of being of service to humans without expecting something in return, rather expect reward from the Almighty. A cue is taken from the Glorious Qur’an 2:58 and 2:62

Goodness shouldn’t be done for a selected few who could reciprocate rather Goodness should be done regardless of who is at the receiving end.

‘Lanre can be further engaged on twitter and Instagram via @lordrooz.

Freedom: Little mercies we take for granted by ‘Lanre Bucknor

This article was first published on the 16th of August 2013 on a certain Toyin Fabunmi’s blog and can be found here. This is just a refix of the original article as published on the blog by yours truly. Enjoy and ponder.—–

————————-

โ€œAlaye, je kin ma ba e lo ago e yen loโ€ (hommie, please hand down your wristwatch)

โ€œWhere I sabi you sef, look me well chief, you no remember my face?โ€

โ€œChairman, anything you have, just help your guyโ€

Freedom, is one virtue most human take for granted. Freedom is a thing we hardly ever give God the Glory for.

On so many occasions, one have been in prisons and you would be amazed at the lowest forms of life a human could be subjected to.

I am one of those that have this โ€˜resentmentโ€™ or phobia for enclosed space hence, I am always very uncomfortable making those visits. I have once been to Ikoyi prisons on humanitarian visit some two years back and I was not only very depressed but also saw that it could just be anyone behind those high walls and metal bars. Youโ€™d hear stories that could melt heart etched out of stone.

I was part of a Muslim gathering of youth hence our trip did not afford us to go beyond the prison mosque. I actually was half expecting chains everywhere but No, not at all, the chains were more of psychological than physical, I see lines drawn with paints and nothing more to control the movement of grown men, a life of same routine with no cause for choice.

The prison mosque was well equipped for a standard mosque, clean water supply, tiled floor and ablution base, functional public address system and even a television set to boot. The mosque, although small is well lit and ventilated.

While we got seated, โ€˜theyโ€™ started arriving in droves and you would wonder how in the world some of those faces got into an โ€˜inmateโ€™ situation; more handsome folks than one, well stocked young men and you would have nothing to do but wonder.

Most of them look directly into your eyes and you would be touched beyond measures.

As shy as I sometimes am, I rarely lose the โ€˜gaze warโ€™ but on that occasion, I never won. Itโ€™s too much for one to hold.

Then, it was the turn of their leaders to address us and you would be like; what is such a knowledgeable bunch doing here? How do these ones get here? Flawless English diction, well constructed sentences and references from the holy Qurโ€™an and citations from the hadith; and I was dumbfounded beyond measure.

While observing my one year compulsory national service in Bida, Niger state, I have had cause to visit the prisons on a weekly basis, I had initially shelved the idea of going with the MCAN brothers but was left with no choice when saddled with the responsibilities of being the associationโ€™s zonal spokesperson. Whenever we get into that facility, you can almost feel the jubilant mood in the air, the chants of โ€˜Mallam Yazo’ (brothers/scholars have arrived) rents the air and as faint as it might seem, you would see tingly glow in those eyes. Most of them do not understand English but we always have someone on hand who could speak Hausa or Nupe which they understand.

We give sermons and admonition, listen to the challenges they are facing with views to address same, teach how to read Arabic, the language the holy Qurโ€™an was delivered in and we always leave with a promise to return the following week.

You would be surprised, some of those folks have no one who drops by but live only to see strangers bring succor to them.

This year again, a day after the Eid-il-fitr celebrations, I was with the same gathering of Muslim youths (TEMY) on a visitation to the Ikoyi prisons once again. Some of those faces I saw on my first visit were still there, in those two years, I have graduated from college and concluded my national service.

I discovered the โ€˜mission boardโ€™โ€™ (the imam and the other scholars running the affairs of the mosque) I have not seen before and I still wonder how some of those folks got in there. Delivery of their speeches, knowledge of the holy Qurโ€™an and hadith was sky high. And their carriage if broken, was well managed.

This yearโ€™s visitation was less emotional for me, probably because they didnโ€™t share stories that brought some of them in and partly because, its no more my first time in such facility.

While we were about leaving, some inmates that didnโ€™t make it to the mosque cluster around us some yards away soliciting for one thing or the other. A brother handed down his wristwatch and one wondered what an inmate wanted a wristwatch for. Some other brothers gave some other articles.

Almost all of us checked the little tag our freedom was tied to for the umpteenth time as we were about โ€˜regaining our freedomโ€™.

Our bus driver in his benevolence handed out a couple of N500 notes to some inmates. He threw a N200 note a yard beside him and I saw three grown men scamper and almost got themselves injured. 

There and then, I appreciated freedom to operate my near empty bank accounts, the usefulness of a wristwatch, the meaning of psychological boundary, actual value of โ€˜changeโ€™ in my wallet left in the bus and the liberty to pen this piece on my bed in the little corner of my room.

Alhamdulillah Rabbil al ameen.

โ€˜Lanre Bucknor wrote this and writes from Lagos. ‘Lanre will forever be grateful for all the mercies and takes a cue from the glorious Qur’an 37:159.

‘Lanre is a learner and grateful man, on twitter and instagram as @lordrooz.

To an audience of self By ‘Lanre Bucknor

You’ve been too hard on yourself

Way too hard

Sometimes

Once a while

You need to give yourself a pat

On the back.

Look into the mirror

Smile,

Fake one 

Even if you can’t muster one

Squint those eyes 

And see how beautiful 

You are

Its not as bad as it seem

It’s never as terrible as you feel

You not as messed up as you think

*
You are beautiful

Life is beautiful

And because you still breath

A lot can be done

A lot will still be done

Today,

Tomorrow,

And the next

*

Be thankful

For what you have 

And what you are yet to have

For when you get it

That thing you want

That you crave so badly

You’d surely want more

*

Because, you see

Everyone you meet

Is on a mission

Everyone you see

Is fighting a war

*

And so,

Yours isn’t exclusive

It is only exclusive to you

*
Take a step back

Backtrack a bit

And see the silver lining

Or just maybe 

in the horizon

A rain of gold dust

Lanre Bucknor writes from Lagos and talks first to self before anyone else. ‘Lanre believes we human overwork ourselves on stuffs we have little power over such that we overlook the beautiful life that we have but then, that’s who we humans are and will continue to be. But in all things, we should take time to reflect and really, we’d be appreciative of who we are,what we have and what we’ll become.

‘Lanre can be further engaged on twitter and Instagram via @lordrooz.

To Umm’ Ikhlas, with love [poetry of hypothesis] by ‘Lanre Bucknor

I miss you

Despite the fact that,

I haven’t yet met you


I wanted badly

So badly, to be an artist

So I could paint you the world

**
I could be Shah Jahan

Gifting you the Taj Mahal 

For you’d be the crown of my heart

**

I wanted to be a soldier

Fighting all forces

To protect thy beautiful smile

**

I wanted badly to sing you a song

For life, 

moments and for eternity

**
Oh! I should be a doctor

To heal the aching soul

And whatever is left of broken hearts

**
I wanna be Diotsalvi

The tower of  Pisa is yours

My rib that’d never be straightened

**
Should I not be a poet

Scribbling lines and stanzas

To touch thy mind with gifts of words?

I’d love to be a clergy

I could Speak heavenly life 

into thy noble soul

**

Should I be an architect?

Translating our dreams

To a working reality

**

Or I could just be Sauvestre

Placing the Eiffel in your palms

Signalling our love, strength and creativity

**

Maybe I could be a potter

Redefining the fine lines 

Of thy awesome figure
**
But in the end
**

I chose to be me

Hoping these mediocre lines 

Gives you the smile you deserve;


The Cheshire cat smile

Lanre Bucknor writes from Lagos and here, on world poetry day, writes to and for his hypothetical life partner and the mother of his kid(s). ‘Lanre does not even know if he has met or know her yet but feels he will write something grand when he finally does. But while we wait, Q25: 74 moists the tongue.

And the heart.

Umm’ means mother and Ikhlas means Sincerity in Arabic language.

‘Lanre can be further engaged on twitter and Instagram via @lordrooz