Yarinya!
Born into a life which gave you little or no choices.
Your basket of options had only oranges for sale and a tray to balance on your head.
Yarinya!
Your small feet tread the path baked hot by the mean African sun.
Yarinya!
Working to cater for the adult mouths of those who forged you.
Yarinya!
Life has so much to offer you but how your arms are deprived their right to reaching out
because they  support the tray on your head.

Yarinya!
The rags you wear shall not mark you out for shame.
Yarinya!
Your kind have shaped the world for the better.
Yarinya!
I heard about another of your kind who once sold bread on the streets of Lagos.
They say she unconsciously walked into a picture
and for her, that was the beginning of a new story.
Yarinya!
The tray on your head shall not suppress the intellect hidden in your head.

Yarinya!
Until I find you, hold on to that tray and sell the best oranges you can find.
Until I find you, bear the blisters on your feet for lack of shoes.
Until I find you, keep your story alive on your lips.
When I find you, we'll sell your story, "Yarinya Mai Talle."
And the world will know that her children
deserve much more than just clean water and UNICEF endorsements
or a tray of hawker's items and a society dead to its conscience.

Yarinya!
Where ever you are,
On the streets of Italy or under the bridge in Lagos,
Under the "dogon yaro" tree in Kano or in your father's house in Brazil
Until I find you,
God keep you from those seeking to marry you at five
so they can wife you at eight.

*Yarinya-means "young female"

#DiariesOfAnAfricanChild #ChildMarriage #ModernSlavery #ChildProstitution #AwakenYourConscience #IfIWereYourChild #PhotosByOlumideOresugun #Liferadio101 #Energie

Who are you to determine who is ugly and who is pretty?
We are all beautiful and handsome.
It's how we carry ourselves as people
and what we choose to put out into the world that should matter.


There is a group on Facebook that I was added to called "No Ugly People Allowed." I denied the invitation because I think it's wrong to judge people based on how they look.

Shall I compare thee to a summer's eve?
Tell you to cleave even though I know your name's not Steve?
Your eyes so white, a future with you so real.
Waiting for you like a parched farmland wait for the rains,
promises yet unspoken hoping you'll redeem.
The sun sets over the horizon, another day draws to a close.
As I hope in this love story, in the end I won't lose.
Reaching through the darkness, hoping to grasp a little of the unknown.
Love eludes me, like peace taken off the streets of Borno.
How shall these things be??
Like that garden valentine's story, I want to be your Eve.
But before you, there was one.
He has managed my heart like you've never had.
He sees right through me into you.
"Do you love me"? I ask Him.
And His reply makes yours seem like a child's play.
I understand that until you love Him, you cannot love me.
And until you love Him, I cannot love you.
Until we love Him, Valentine's day would be nothing more than shades of red and blue.
So before you give her that red rose, do you know the Lilly of the valleys?
Girl, before you melt under that candle light
Do you know light Himself?
Before your skirt rides up to your waist
And those hands skim over skin
Before she unbuttons your shirt
Before you forge out of "love"
What you are supposed to give birth to in love...
This triangular love story
Him, me and whoever is willing to complete it.
Before you come bearing promises wrapped in circles of gold
Put a ring on this triangle
Else me and you can only keep being parallel friends.
Journeying to nowhere

The mirror lies broken with fragments littered on the floor
Rectangular little pieces and square shaped remnants
Scattered images of me embedded in star-shaped glasses
Like yoghurt left in the open, this love has gone sour.
Tick-tock, tick-tock the clock counts each hour
As I wait to hear from one whose mouth now seem duct taped.
A thousand pieces of me cut into shreds by just one pieced you.
A thousand pieces...
Sitted on the floor, oblivious to the giggles and happy sounds of laughter
Or the different sounds the evening meals make
As people go about their business like my pain does not exist.
"Come and eat", one of them calls out to me.
Can't she see that my heart's hunger cannot be satisfied
By meals high in protein or fibre contents?
Like a child suffering from malnutrition, my heart lies
Somewhere where it belongs, nestled on a network of arteries
A masterpiece of heart bathed in red yet craving for something.
One heart, one story, one me.
I pick a broom to sweep the little pieces of me and I saw her
Eyes on one piece, ears on another piece
I can't help but smile, even a broken mirror wants to dramatically tell of how scattered this life is.
Like a yoghurt left in the open, love well deserved gone sour.
You wear your emotions like a three -pieced suit
The pefect gentleman, heart enclosed in a castle like fortress
One piece you, a hundred pieces of me at your heels.
Or so I thought.
But then I met this guy while I was picking up pieces of me you had left behind.
He knelt beside me, wrists bleeding as He picked each broken piece
And handed me back to myself.
When I cried, His tears flowed too, it was like we shared organs.
Love mysterious exuded out of Him
Silently He handed each piece but not before He cleaned it up
And when He was done I was holding me in my hands
But yet I was one and the same person.
Then He turned and started walking away
Wait! I called out. "Who are you?"
"What do you want from me?"
He turned and for the first time I saw His face
Love!
They say they found me talking to myself
I know I was talking to Love.
They say Love made me mad
How do you love Love Himself?
I know He said so
He left one piece of Him for me
He said He was the only piece I needed.
One Christ, One Lord, One Love
Three pieces wrapped in one.
This zig-zag love story now triangular
Me, my Love and whoever is willing to complete it

I saw your heart before I knew its colour.
You remind me of Cadbury's dark chocolate
The one that always calls out to customers
Even when they pretend it's not there.

Brown eyes..the colour of brown sand
Dark yet soft, closed  yet looking at me
Sleepy circles of brown.
Your eyes called out to me
And like one in love with chocolates
I answered.
Now brown is my favourite colour.

Dub-tub, dub-tub
Dub-dub-tub, dub-tub
The sound of some heart which got too close to another heart.
Peaceful sleep so far from the bed
Hanging by the window, ready to fly
The minute she tries to close her eyes.

No broken windscreen or shattered glasses
The sounds of an injured heart are very silent.
Slowly her legs hit the floor
The morning after he said good bye.

Twenty-four hours is still a day and the sun will still rise and set.
Oceans will roar and babies will be born
Creation will still speak of the Majestic God.
A broken heart she was never supposed to have
For heart was not made of glass.
Now she knows so her heart has turned elastic...