Mum Heath

When I was in primary school in Nigeria, I used to read a bi-monthly magazine for young christians, called “The Torch”. Another was called “Flash” and yet another “Searchlight”. These were produced in braille by the Torch Trust for the Blind, and mostly contained articles which first appeared in other print magazines. But there was always an editorial, usually by someone who called herself Mum Heath.

Much later, I discovered that this lady was called Stella Heath. When I got to England, I even got to meet her. I went with a friend to what was then called Torch House in Hallaton Hall, just outside MarketHarborough. This was in 1993 I think. Her husband Ron was still alive then, and they took some time to talk to me. I was awestruck by their simple faith. They said how they’d pray for something, and someone would just donate it. I don’t mean £100, I mean braille presses, buildings, etc. And for them, it was just natural, just quitely calling on God.

I remember spending a day in the Torch library. I love to read. I found a book which had been out for a while, telling the history of Torch. I believe the first lines were “it all started with …” and the mention of a girl. Can’t remember her name now. Apparently dad Heath was a bank manager and they lived in Sussex, where they ran a home group. There was this girl who had not yet become a Christian, but had started to attend the group. That was when they discovered there was no literature in braille for her.

And that was how Mum Heath and friends began to produce braille material for this girl. When they discovered that the whole house was full of braille, it occurred to them that they needed a bigger place. God provided Hallaton House. When I visited, they’d used up most of the house for braille production, had converted some of the sheds, etc. Even that place couldn’t hold Torch activities. It was really interesting how many people would come in as volunteers, stay in some of the rooms provided, get fed, work all day and return to their homes, feeling most fulfilled. I remember the staff taking me on walks through the village. It was for me a most wonderful time.

The purpose of the visit was to explore setting up a Torch Fellowship group in Morecambe. It happened for a few years, then stopped, but my impression of Mum and Dad Heath lasted. I believe there’s a photo of me reading a book in the old Torch House. Or maybe it’s lost now. When I was in Nigeria, all the blind people knew three British institutions: the Royal National Institute for the Blind, (or as it is now known, the Royal National Institute of Blind People), the National Library for the Blind (now merged with the RNIB), and Torch. It was only when I got to the UK that I found out about such charities as Guide Dogs for the Blind, Action for Blind People, etc. To think that one of those organisations was a specifically Christian charity. When I visited in 1993, they even had a project for transcribing Russian Bibles. They had, )and still have) projects in Malawi, and sent books all over the world. I know that from the letters in the penfriend pages, and from those who had passed their beginners Christian courses.

I write all these because I heard that last week, Mrs Stella Heath went to be with the Lord. By the time I started to visit Torch House again, she was no longer there. And things had changed too. Torch had moved to a purpose built place in the middle of MarketHarborough, all office space. Accommodation was moved somewhere else. The chief executive is now a lovely man called Dr Gordon Temple. It looked and felt more like a modern charity, and to tell the truth, I missed the old one. Indeed, I first visited the new building as a member of a project to present a programme about disability on Premier Christian Radio.

Though it faces the challenges of modern charities, it is still a Christian institution. Every morning at 9, all the staff gather in the chapel for a time of devotion. They sing from hymn books which have been transcribed in Torch House, read from a daily devotional, also produced there and commit the items on the calendar to God. The first time, it felt strange leaving the building for their guesthouse. But it’s run by a lovely couple who have been round the world on mission.

It turns out that Torch is 50 years this year. It’s amazing, it all started with a girl who did not have Christian literature in braille. Thank God for the excellent work that Torch is doing all over the world. And thank God for Stella and Ron Heath, who I still call Mum and Dad Heath, because they responded to a need and filled the life of a 7 year old in far away Nigeria, (who was in a boarding school far from home) with books about Christ. I took the decision to be a Christian much later, but those books certainly helped.

God’s watchman

I just realised that I didn’t write about last year’s conference. Actually, I haven’t written about this year’s either.

Last year, I was with the Lancaster group which organised the conference. Maybe it was the rushing about, maybe it was because I left the conference, unpacked and repacked again for my journey to Nigeria.

This year’s topic was on God’s watchman, taken from that passage in Ezekiel, where God says to us that he’s set us up as watchmen. Basically, If God sends a message through us and we don’t deliver, we’ve been disobedient. You can read more about it in chapter 3.

We had as a guest speaker Rd Moses Aransiola. I’d heard of him; in fact the blind people in Unilag talked about him in the 80s, I think he made a controversial statement.

This year’s talk was definitely provocative, if the lively debate on the homeward journey to Lancaster is a reasonable guide. His main theme seemed to be that in order to be good watchmen, we had to be well trained and well prepared soldiers, in a world where we wrestle not against flesh and blood. By the fourth day, conference delegates were ready to break any covenant that may be affecting lives, even those going back several generations.

Sometimes, I find myself watching for the attitude of delivery. I found myself listening to a man who openly confessed that he’s grown since he began ministry. He said that if he knew 10 years ago, what he knew now, his ministry would have grown much more. I found that most reassuring, for more reasons than was obvious to other listeners. But he also spoke about where he’d been in the past, and especially the great spiritual battles he had had to fight. I think his experiences have shaped his recent activities; he now seems to be a leader in prayers and intercession, both in Nigeria and other parts of the world.

At least this year, I was a lot more relaxed, and better able to participate in all events. I remember running around last year with the other Lancaster crew. It was, up till that time, the best organised conference, according to feedback. I haven’t seen the feedback for this year yet. But I still managed to get the essence of last year’s conference. The speaker was pastor Adegboye of Rhema ministries. I’d heard a lot about him. He spoke on Christ Centred living from Galatians.

I confess I’ve never met someone who can reel off scriptures like that man did last year. First, it was impressive, then it became challenging, then stunning. Even now, (and I didn’t buy the CD or DVD) I can still remember the voice, quoting one verse after another, exposing Christ’s humility and urging us to live a Christlike life. That was useful. Being part of the organisation tested all our self-control and it was very good to be reminded of how Christ handled the pressure He was under.

Pastor David Shosanya, a Baptist minister from London was the main speaker at the youth sessions last year, as he’d been for about 3 years. All the youth speak very highly of him. He came to lead a session at the prayer meeting on Sunday. In several ways, he challenged the Nigerian middle class complacency. He reminded us that violence and gun crime was not restricted to the deprived areas of London. Naivity can lead wealthier children into real trouble. One young man had just come out of a prayer meeting and entered some club. A bouncer tried to stop him and he just slapped the bouncer. If I remember the story right, the next day, the mutilated body was found somewhere, all because he slapped the wrong guy. He also pointed out that a lot of wealthy black children unwittingly keep guns, for criminals. As they appear above suspicion, the police wouldn’t check their homes. David Shosanya is organising an event called the State of Black Britain Conference on Saturday 17 October.

I also learned my own basic science lesson during last year’s conference. I confess I felt really foolish after it. I keep too many small items in my pocket. I had some batteries and couldn’t be bothered to put them in my discman. I put them in a pocket with my keys. During one of the sessions, I noticed my pocket was getting warmer, then hot hot hot. When I put my hand in my pocket, the batteries and keys were scalding hot. Someone beside me pointed out that the keys and the batteries were reacting together. Don’t ask me for the explanation, my science is shameful.

You won’t believe it though, I still sometimes catch myself with batteries and keys in the same pocket. I hope I do better with the scriptural and other spiritual messages I get from the conference.

Meeting an angel

During the August bank Holiday, several churches are combining to have a Mission to Morecambe. Unfortunately, I can’t be there, as I’ll be at the annual conference of the Overseas Fellowship of Nigerian Christians in Caefnlee, Wales. But I know about this and wish them well.

How do I know? Well, if you want to find out more, listen to my gospel show next week on Diversity FM. You’ll hear it live at 1 PM, repeated at 8 PM and the Sunday after at 10 AM. By God’s grace, I’ll be interviewing Hilson Carter, who’s leading the project.

I had the pleasure (and privilege) of speaking to him after Wednesday’s show, just to get an idea of the man. He’s a quietly spoken man, not the firy evangelist. I wonder what he’ll think of my upbeat gospel show. But don’t be fooled, he has a story that’s worth listening to.

How did he decide to do this? Well, he’s only just been in the area two years now. He was cycling with his daughter when they stopped to argue about whether she should be wearing her helmet properly. These two men approached them and asked if they were Christians. When they said yes, the conversation began, and the men told him that he should give a message to the Morecambe bay Christian Centre. OK he thought, I don’t even know who these people are, or where the Morecambe Bay Christian Centre is, but I’ll listen anyway. And then they prayed, and as they did, one of the men touched his shoulder and said “receive the fire”. Hilson tells me that a shiver went down his spine.

As the men left, he told his daughter that they’d disappear. The part they followed would lead to a bend, and then a car park. So, just to prove his point, he cycled with his daughter to follow them. He was cycling, they were walking, yet, they didn’t find the men.

This happened last year. Not too long after that, the comedian who’s now become a Christian, Bobby Ball was visiting the Brookhouse Methodist church, and he attended. There, he got a confirmatory revelation, and someone actually told him that their daughter worshipped at the Morecambe Bay Christian fellowship. But he still didn’t know exactly where that was, just where to park his car.

He did go there one Sunday, parked and prayed that God would show him what to do. Someone else pulled up with a Bible and confirmed that the centre was nearby. When Hilson delivered his message to the elders, they said that they’d had a similar word.

Oh I didn’t tell you. Hilson had been introduced to me by a great friend, Hilton. It’s great, their names are so similar. Hilton sat there, quietly listening, and it was at this point he spoke. He said he hadn’t realised that this had happened a year ago, because he’d also been to the Morecambe Bay Christian Fellowship and delivered a similar message, but it would have been after Hilson’s trip.

But there was more to come. At the end of May, An evangelist from Newcastle had visited the Brookhouse methodist church. I’d heard of this, even interviewed one of the elders of the church. I’d then been invited to the Friday evening event, but couldn’t make the rest of the weekend, as I was on my way to Middlesborough. It was a great Friday evening, and they were supposed to go to Lancaster town centre on the Saturday, inviting people for the evening and Sunday morning event. In the end, it didn’t happen; they went to Morecambe instead. I heard this from a friend. But Hilson also told me that on Sunday, Davey (that’s his name) had said he’d had a revelation that he’d be back in the area much sooner than he’d thought. It seems he’ll now be joining them in Morecambe. When Hilson told Davey about his vision, Davey agreed that it was probably the same thing, but said that God was impressing on him that it should be sooner than they’d anticipated, the August Bank Holiday.

So, now Hilson is arranging with all the churches in the area for prayer support and other help.

I asked him about his life. He said he’d been working in the Westmidlands on a project for young people. Miracles had accompanied his work. He once took 500 young people to the Blackpool Pleasure beach, and without any resources, he got the managers to give him tickets, organised their transport, etc. He also tole me he’d mostly worked from home, because he’d had problems with his feet. Apparently he’d torn his tendons and couldn’t walk properly. One day, quite recently, he’d been at an event where the speaker had talked about the simplicity of praying to God. He’d said that if anyone wanted prayer, they should come forward, row by row. It didn’t happen, everyone rushed forward. But it didn’t matter. When this speaker took hold of Hilson’s feet and started praying, Hilson closed his eyes. But the speaker said he should open it, or he’d miss the miracle. He opened it and watched in amazement as his two feet were healed. Apparently there were many witnesses at the event, but many who had walked and worked with him over the preceding 15 years can testify to what he was before. I know he walked with me into town to join his family, who were waiting for him in a car park. I was headed for the market, and after he left me, I just kept wondering about God’s power. You don’t have to be a firy evangelist or have multiple degrees. You don’t have to be anything, just willing to listen and obey.

You’ll hear more about this if you tune in to
http://www.diversityfm.co.uk
next Wednesday, or Check out Hilton’s website which has all sorts of information about Christian activities in the area
http://www.togethernet.org.uk

Amazing Grace

Ok, let’s do some background. I am a trustee of Sunbeams Music Trust, a really great charity. Apart from numerous other awards, two years ago, they were Northwest England’s charity of the year, and runner up in the national contest.
http://www.sunbeamsmusic.org

Sunbeams is a charity that provides ‘Music for Life’ to elderly and disabled people. Ok, they don’t call them disabled people and they don’t think of them as clients either, but let’s not quibble about words now. On Monday 7th September, they’re at St Martins In The Fields,for a lunchtime concert, and they asked if I’d play the piano. We have rehearsals in Kendal every Thursday, to finish at 6 PM. This way, I can get to the worship group meeting at King’s, which starts at 7:30.

It just happened that yesterday, everyone was on holiday, so there was no worship group. I was asked to stay for a meal, which I gratefully accepted. Better to eat in an Italian restaurant than face my own cooking. As I wasn’t ready to go home after that, I was asked if I’d go to the rifleman with them. Apparently, one of their members was playing and it would just be good to be there. Again, I agreed.

We got there about 8 PM, and then musicians started to appear. I spoke to one of them, and he said it was an Irish music night. It reminded me of the times I used to go to such evenings at the Yorkshire House, a pub in Lancaster. It was every Monday evening, run by one Jim Mcguire. The guy’s dead now, and the evenings folded up when he went to hospital for the last time. But they were such intimate evenings that I was sure I’d love this one. It was going to be an unplugged session.

There were fiddles, banjos, guitars, flutes, and that drum, (I’m not going to spell it here). That’s what our friend was playing. And then the music started. It’s interesting, one person picks a tune and everyone just follows. And all around you you hear the different instruments. It’s a room full of music. There is great skill in this room; you hear it as the fingers fly over the fiddle strings or as you hear intricate flute playing. Or if someone picks a song, everyone sings along. It’s so beautiful, the sound of everyone singing gently in a pub.

I was one of the few non-Irish people who went to the Pan Keltic meetings on a Monday evening at the Yorkshire House. And Jimmy would always let me sing, and everyone would accompany me. Of course I had learned several Irish folk songs at this time, but I couldn’t sing one of them, so I’d pick my own songs. And they didn’t mind at all, in fact, I believe they loved it.

Annie Mawson, who runs Sunbeams Music, wanted me to sing before catching the 10:05 back to Lancaster, so I stood up and began to sing “amazing Grace”. And as I started to sing, one, then another voice joined in, one instrument, then another found the key and the room was again filled with music and singing. I would have stopped just so I could hear everyone sing, then I realised I was the one supposed to be leading this one.

The truth is, except when I’m part of the worship group in church, I still feel nervous when I sing publicly. That is, until the first note, then I get carried away. But I’ve often wondered what it is about Amazing Grace. Last year, I sang it at a wedding and was told that several people had tears in their eyes. It is such a beautiful song. Or is it the thought of a blind man singing “I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind but now I see”.

Or maybe it’s something else. For me, the song talks about my past, my present and my future. It reminds me of the transformation that God’s amazing grace has made in my life. It was a transformation from darkness and despair to the revelation of His light and His guiding hand to show me the way. The song reveals how His grace first taught me to fear God, and then freed me from other fears and how His grace sees me through all manner of troubles, till I get home to God, where I’ll sing His praise forever more. It’s more than just the present; the story is not over when I find His grace. It’s a forever thing.

Everyone knows the words of Amazing grace. It’s no longer just a church song, as demonstrated yesterday when I sang it, holding a glass of wine in an Irish evening. And many know the history too; it was composed by a former slave dealer who found God in stormy seas and became a Christian. I hear John Newton even advised William Wilberforce, the great anti slavery campaigner and MP.

When I talk to people about singing or playing, I always say that you perform best if you first stop to consider what the song means to you. So, I’ve told you what the song means to me, but why does everyone know it so well. Is it just the simple melody? Maybe not. Maybe it’s how it reminds everyone of what they either have, or need. If you have the grace, you recognize it’s full impact, if you don’t, it reminds you of your need.

As I walked home from Lancaster train station, I walked past another pub, I think it was the Merchants. I could hear the sounds of an accordion (oh there was one in the Riflemans in Kendal) and I could hear folk music playing. But this time, I walked past. It was time to go home. If I’d stopped, maybe I’d have been drawn again into that intimate gathering. You see, we walk past many things in our lives. We never know what it would bring if we don’t step into the room and feel it. Maybe it’s the same with faith. People hear about it and have strange concepts of Christianity because they haven’t walked into it, settled down and absorbed it properly. Those who do have often said that they got it wrong when they viewed it from the outside. Jesus is the source of the amazing grace, and He brings it to all. Those who receive it will end up in some church when they’re alive, and in heaven for the forever experience. But the message is for all, just like the song speaks to all.

I had great conversation with the staff at Sunbeams yesterday. I remember spending great time and trying all my selling skills to tell them about Twitter. Their collectiv eyes just glazed over, they weren’t having it. But when I sang Amazing Grace, they all listened. So, if you’re in London, perhaps you’d like to hear the troupe sing on 7th September. There might be this keyboardist, who’s already been asked if he’ll sing a song, and as it’s a church, he might just sing Amazing Grace. Before then, on Thursday 3 September, in Workington, there’s this concert to prepare us for the big day. I’ll be missing worship group for this one, and I think it’s at the St John’s church at 7:30 PM.

Peter Adewale Ademuyiwa

On 24 April 2007, I wrote something called “Challenging Perceptions: Celebrating the Ordinary … and the special!” I’ve just checked it again. I wrote of a great friend of mine, Wale Ademuyiwa, of how I’d known him since we were at primary school, of how good he was at adding up. He even made the television in the 70s, when people would give him random 3 digit numbers to add up and he’d come up with the answer before you could blink an eye.
http://notion.wordpress.com/2007/04/24/challenging-perceptions-celebrating-the-ordinary-and-the-special/

On 8 April 2009, I was just reading my emails when I saw one entitled “Wale Peter Ademuyiwa, RIP”. I couldn’t believe it, still can’t.

The day before was one of the most miserable days I’d ever had, I’d just made a telephone call that I hated to make, I was already feeling miserable. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t write anything about my dear friend.

I’d known he’d been ill for a while. Like most blind folk in Nigeria, he’d looked for work. He’d eventually found one in the Federal ministry of transport. I know that most of that ministry had moved to Abuja, but he was in Lagos. What did he do there? Well, as far as I know, nothing. Then, he’d had an accident. That was several years ago. I kept getting the news that he wasn’t better. He’d been to Igbobi orthopaedic hospital and they couldn’t sort him out. He’d been to the Lagos University teaching hospital. What was the problem, nobody could tell me. I spoke to him too, and he didn’t seem to know. We didn’t think it would kill him though. We knew he couldn’t walk properly, in fact I heard he had no balance and might just fall. He’d stopped going to work, though as far as I know, he still had his government house and got his government salary. That didn’t trouble me much. I’d been to Nigeria once, (I think in 1999, while he was still well) and visited him at home while he was supposed to be at work.

I managed to call some people who told me that some doctor had recommended some steroids. Then, he’d felt very unwell, but thought they were just side effects. In any case, he didn’t have an appointment and apparently didn’t feel he could go to this guy without one. The night I was making the call, (probably about the same time) it was more than he could bear, his mouth was dry, etc. So, he got into a taxi. He was dead before he got to the hospital.

No longer can I say that Wale was famous for appearing on television. Very few would remember anyway. He didn’t do maths, he couldn’t because there were no real facilities to teach a blind person maths. He eventually studied politics at Calabar University. I’ve already written about his efforts to get a job.

But we remember him as such a generous soul. If you wanted straight talking down-to-earth advice, delivered with a laugh, Wale was your man. He had a high pitch voice, and his laughter was never ending. He could laugh if you said the sky was blue. One day, he came over to visit me at the University of Lagos. In Nigeria, we have roommates, even squatters. A two person room could easily house 4 or 5. Actually, I hear that these days, there are no 2 person rooms, but that’s another story, I lived in one in my days. My roommate, stayed with me throughout my studies. He was then a very clever electrical engineering student named Yemi. That day, he was reading late into the night, an assignment or something. When an old friend visits you, you talk late into the night, so I was doing the natural thing. But Wale’s laughter was unnatural. We’d say something and he’d laugh … and laugh … and laugh. Sometimes, I’d hear Yemi’s quiet but angry growl and tell Wale to cool it. He’d apologise immediately, (even between bouts of laughter), but give him another minute and he’d be off again.

A few weeks later, Yemi had the grace to laugh about the experience. In fact, we all did, but this time, it was daylight and there were no pressing assignments.

I know it’s taken me this long to write this. It wasn’t because I didn’t miss him, it wasn’t because I didn’t care. Some of it was because I couldn’t face the prospects of having lost such a guy, not with the other things that were happening at that time. In our lives, we have both the public and private characters. The public might remember the guy who could add up. Those who saw him on the streets wouldn’t know that, but they’d remember the blind guy who walked, got on the bus, or whatever. I remember Wale, from Ondo state, I met his sister once, I heard him laugh, we talked stories, even secrets. We were best friends in primary school, and when I went to KC, he was in Gregs, only a few bus stops away. In fact, the boarding facilities had been closed under the second civilian administration, but the blind students were allowed to stay in the school. So, I’d visit him on some of those outing days we got in KC, and he’d visit us whenever he could. I remember him in Unical, while I was in unilag. I remember the struggle to get work, the fights to get recognition for disabled people, the joys, questions, but most of all, the immensely loud laugh that would punctuate any conversation. Boy, I do miss you, even if we hadn’t really talked in a while.

Intruding into a family’s grief

I’ve just spent this evening in a bonding session with my niece. We made the stew together, made some rice and sat down to watch Michael Jackson’s memorial. Just an uncle and her niece.

And again, I was struck that although everyone idolised him, MJ was just a man after all. A great man, but a man.

I listened to his music and remembered that he didn’t just sing about boy meets girl. OK, he sang ’she’s out of my life’ but he also did ‘thriller’, ‘bad’, and many more. His great hits include ‘black or white’,'heal the world’ and ‘man in the mirror’.

But this was a time to focus on the person, the stories we heard less of, the Michael Jackson when he wasn’t singing or dancing. One superstar after another recounted stories of Michael, dealing with everyday human problems on a Jacksonesque scale. We learned from a fellow superstar, who’d been living the life since 11 months that at 5, Michael was a late starter. Today, we heard about the Michael who just loved to have fun, to laugh, even if that was after sneaking into Liz Taylor’s room to take a peek at her wedding dress and finding her sleeping in the room.

But we also found that his favourite song was ’smile’, not even written by him, but by Charlie Chaplain. I think it’s on the History album as well, isn’t it? And his brother Jermaine sang it with tears. This same brother had ritten the song ‘word to the bad’. You see, even superstar families quarrel; when they do, it can be so public that we forget that like families all over the world, they still love each other.

There was this black congresswoman telling us why she’d moved a motion in the federal house that MJ should be declared a national hero. MJ had been to the hospitals to see American casualties of the Iraq war. He’d talked to world leaders about HIV, helped struggling charities, hospitals, etc. In one sense, he’s probably America’s answer to Princess Diana (I’m sure some others have made the comparison, I don’t read too many newspapers these days).

Now I’m sure many would have spoken to an old woman a few weeks before her death and assured her you were praying for her, but who has the distinction of speaking to Mrs Luther King, wife of the legendary Martin, and an activist in her own right. And did you make that special call, taking time out of a musical tour as far away as the Middle East? Bernice, daughter of the Luther Kings, told us about the call, and how it brought a smile to her mother, who at that time could hardly speak, the effect of a stroke.

My niece was brilliant, describing things to me, so that I heard the music and ’saw’ what was happening. I’d been enjoying her visit so much, but I’d begun to feel I was finally getting old. She’d ask me about a singer I’d never heard about. I thought I was still up there, but she has Facebook, U-Tube, all sorts of other places, and I’m now struggling to keep up. Gone are the days when I could hold my own in any record quiz. But K girl knows Stevie Wonder and Lionel Richie, by music and by sight. When I was growing up, I too knew music two decades before I was born. I’ll have to try her on Frank Sinatra.

Well, I’m not so old as not to know Usher, and was moved by his rendition of one of my favourite Michael songs, ‘gone too soon’. It’s on the Dangerous album, was never released as a single, and was written in memory of Ryan White, a young boy who died of AIDS. It was appropriate for MJ, and K described how Usher walked up to the casket. Then, there was We are the world. I remember thinking in my own cynical way, when Michael and Lionel wrote the song that they were just cashing in on crisis. I bought the record of course and liked it too, including so many other songs on the album that nobody else played. Then, he spoiled my illusion by writing songs like ‘heal the world’ and ‘gone too soon’ and I started to think of him as someone who actually cared.

You know what that preacher and activist said? I won’t write down his name for fear of wrecking the spelling. He said “some of you came to say goodbye, I came to say thank you”. He said something else, a reference to the child abuse allegations, but I can’t exactly remember. I’ll probably edit this post after visiting U-tube.

Marlon Jackson told of the story of walking into a store and seeing a man looking old and dishevelled, picking CDs. He walked over to the man and said “Michael, what are you doing here” and Michael said “how did you know it was me”? For most of the time, I wished I could change the channel, but first, there was no other channel, and second, I couldn’t tear myself away. And as Paris, firstborn of Michael interrupted Marlon’s speech to say her two sentences, delivered in floods of tears, I heard the CNN reporters say how brave she was. What do you expect? She’s just a 12 year old missing her dad, any other 12 year old would probably do the same, but this time, she had CNN and MTV and so many people watching her. In the end, I and K girl were just one family out of millions, looking into another family’s grief.

Happy birthday Akinola

My kid brother is 40 years today. It’s wonderful. As usual, when I rang to wish him happy birthday, he asked how it must feel for me knowing I’m that much older than he is. My answer this year is that I’ve no problem with that, as Moses lived 120 years.

I think he felt like I did when I turned 40, a mixture of joy, expectation and a little sadness at what he had not yet achieved. But I suppose it’s the same for everyone. I remember trying to hide, not wanting to celebrate, but when the surprise birthday was organised, I felt very proud and grateful that I was so loved.

That’s how you should feel too Akinola. Happy birthday. And I pray you do have another 80 years to get on with catching up on your achievements.

Half the year already!

You know how you get all those messages on the first of July wishing you a great second half of the year? I’ve got some of course. I was thinking a few days ago that the first is not really half the year. 31 days in January, 28 in February, 31 in March, 30 in April, 31 in May, 30 in June makes 181 days, and half of 365 is 182 and a half. Today, there are exactly 182 days to the end of the year, and 182 days preceding. So thanks to all those who have sent an early wish for a great second half of the year. I expect them to start rolling in from midday today. Now you wouldn’t know I failed my maths would you?

I wrote down my prayer requests for this year. To tell the truth, looking through human eyes, I’m pretty far from achieving them. Last year was one of the best years I’ve ever had, but this year has been really challenging, to put it mildly. I thought things were supposed to get better and better.

Thank God, I still trust and believe in Him. Too many times, I’ve read of how things didn’t look good, but God’s power shone through, made an impossible situation totally unrecognizable. So many have said how tough times are meant to help you grow; even Jesus said, when He looked at what would happen to Him, “if only this didn’t have to happen … but not My will Lord, Yours be done.” So, if I’m supposed to grow, what have I learned?

I’ve learned that what you see depends on what you’re looking for. I’ve watch two premier league managers give two conflicting interpretations of the same facts. Well, if you look for God in anything, He’s sure to be there. My mobile phone tells me that at 3.28 PM on 6 January, I received a text which began, “this is the word of the Lord for you Ifeolu Akintunde”. What the sender didn’t know was that I was sitting down, feeling really miserable when he sent it. It didn’t look like any of those forwarded texts, so I rang him and asked why he’d sent it. He said he was just praying over things in his life and the Lord asked him to send me a text. It was such an apt text too, so I poured my heart out to him, then prayed (and still do) that God would give him the reward of a faithful messenger.

If you have nobody to turn to, turn to God. Sometimes, I’ve found myself clinging to Him because my whole life and sanity depended on it. At the beginning, I read through Genesis. I was struck by how things began, and by how many principles come out there.

Take this one. When God has said something, even your actions can’t affect His word. Someone has said that Joseph was foolish in telling his brothers about his dreams, the ones where they would all bow down and serve him. But did that affect anything? The brothers sold him into slavery, then came bowing when he’d become prime minister of Egypt. Before him, Abraham had a promise. When he and his wife had waited and waited, she came and showed him her beautiful maid and said “you know what? I’m too old to have children, maybe God’s word will be fulfilled if you have children through my maid.” Well, Abraham did just that, but did that affect Sarah’s childbearing? It affected other things, but God’s word that Abraham and Sarah would have a child stood till she was 90 and he was 100, then it happened.

I’ve learned to be careful what I listen to. I’ve been through so many experiences that when people shared their own sorrows, my immediate response was “I understand what you’re going through”. But this year, I learned that “I understand” may sometimes be the precursor to giving human counsel, “this is what I did when it happened to me, do the same and it’ll work”. I finally understood that I hadn’t been through everything, and that there might be people who hadn’t felt the individual things I’d felt. So, what I want to hear now is not just “I understand” but also “this is what the Holy Spirit is saying in this situation”.

If you’re not a Christian, it’s fine to tell me your standpoint, but then, I’ll take it as your standpoint and give it the respect I give you. I have some great nonchristian friends whom I respect and love, and trust to be very honest with me. Some have talked wisely, and sometimes even confirmed what the Holy Spirit said. I too pray I’ll be the person who knows what the Holy Spirit is saying in any situation I’m confronted with, whether it’s mine or another’s.

I’ve also learned that IOA Consults is a one man show. When the one man isn’t running the show, the show isn’t running. If you thought I was a little slower than usual, I apologise sincerely.

And, even as we come to the end of the first half of the year, I’m praying for a tremendous turnaround in the second half, for myself, and for you all. A second half that is marked by God’s presence, demonstrated in the way only He can. And I pray that each Christian may be able to walk on water, do the things they would normally consider impossible, just because they heard the call of the Lord.

I’m awake now

Like everyone else, I’m waking up to the news. I tuned into the BBC World service this morning. Usually, when someone famous has died, it’s the last item on the news. This time, not only was Michael’s death first, it took half the news programme. Next item after Michael’s death was the arguments between Ahmadinajad and Obama over the Iranian elections.

I suppose I’m just like the newshounds, lapping up all information. I’m curious, what happened here? What caused the cardiac arrest? Was he in the middle of rehearsals?

Everything in the public domain suggests that MJ was already quite frail. Someone had said that it would be unwise to book for the last of his promised 50 shows. Apparently, if the 12th show was fully booked, the advice was not to book for show 13. He hadn’t done this in a long time; he’d appeared in court on several occasions in his pajamas; he looked frail in court; we knew all that. A rabbi who was his close friend and adviser said that MJ had a lot of emotional pain, and he transferred it to physical pain.

All over the world, people are waking up, or if they haven’t slept, mourning the loss of MJ. The BBC World Service have been reporting from Mumbai, Africa and of course the States. Everyone’s talking, including Quincy Jones, who produced Off the Wall, Thriller and Bad, Madona and one of his former wives, Lisa Marie Presley. The last time I was moved to blog on an event, we were all celebrating Obama. In a sense, all the worldwide traffic of information is suggesting an international event of similar proportions.

This morning, I heard Germain Jackson speak on behalf of the family. In an emotional voice, he narrated the official account and asked journalists to respect the family’s privacy. Will this happen? I remember there was an ABC helicopter over the hospital. I remember hearing on the BBC that Latoia was seen coming into the hospital in tears. Everyone is using words like iconic and phenomenal. Somehow I’m not sure that journalists will respect privacy. Ironic that all MJ wanted was his privacy. He even sang songs about it. Remember ‘leave me alone’ from the History album?

Akin always said he loved the fans but hated the press. He would know. You wouldn’t believe that he holds down a job as a lecturer in a top US university. He’s my source of all entertainment gossip, but when it came to MJ, he talked like he had personal knowledge. He talks about passing people to the back of Wembley, after they’d fainted; about the push to get into the stadium; about watching MJ perform some incredible moves, right in front of his eyes. He even talks about shows he hadn’t been to, in Tokyo, India, etc and how the fans gather when MJ is around. He talks about MJ’s house, friends, fan club, even about friends he’s made from the fan club. When he talks about perfectionism, he talks like it’s a personal thing. He’s explained to me why it takes 4 or 5 years for Michael to release a record; how many songs are discarded in the process; how his shows are designed to achieve the spectacular.

I thought I’d give him some time before ringing him for the full low down. It would be a long conversation, and I’m sure I need some skills in consolation. I won’t be surprised if he’s designated to day as a holiday.

My niece is in Manchester. She sent me an email to say MJ’s dead. I called the family she’s staying with. They report that everyone suddenly rushed to the telly when the news broke. My niece always fancied herself as some media figure and was heard to say that she had wanted to interview Michael. She’s only 13. MJ’s greatest hits were released long before she was born.

Now, they’re playing ‘She’s out of my life’. Akin tells me that every time he performed the song, MJ would break down in tears. You can almost hear his voice shaking as he sings the ending, ’she’s out of my life’. He’s out of our lives now. Or is he?

You see, I too love to hear about celebrities. Two things strike me here; behind every public personality is a private life. Pity that MJ’s private life was so bound up in his public persona that Akin can tell me so much about it. After all is said and done, and despite the public persona, MJ is just a man. But the second thing I’ve learned is that when you really love someone, it’s warts and all. All those fans gathering and mourning have heard all the stories, but the real fanatics will defend, or at the very least justify MJ’s actions. They replayed his announcement of the 50 O2 shows. You know what he said to his fans at the end? ‘I love you’. People say it was for the money, but I think that’s not entirely true. I think that like you and me, MJ craved the love. I think he wanted to put up the perfect show, release the perfect album, etc as gratitude for the unquestioning love that people showed to him. Whenever I have come across that kind of unquestioning love, I’ve also seen the reciprocity, the gratitude, the willingness to do everything for the lover. I know that this is my own ideal too.

So, where were you …

I suppose in several decades, people will be asking, “where were you when you heard that Michael Jackson had died”, just as they still ask about Kennedy and the others.

I’d come back home from a worship group meeting and to tell the truth, I was feeling bored and rather alone. Actually, I’d been thinking how long it had been since I last blogged. Earlier on, I’d been thinking I should write something about how memories shape our lives. It would have been very easy for me to write, but I wasn’t feeling up to writing.

So, there I was, quietly dozing in front of my computer when I got a call from my friend Yinka, whose husband is, apart from the font of all entertainment knowledge, a tremendous Jackson fan. Yinka is in the UK and she was talking to her husband who’s in the States when he interrupted her to tell her that Michael Jackson had just died. To Yinka, Michael Jackson is a great musician, but you can’t be married to Akin without being a fanatic. When we were younger, he used to tell me about attending MJ concerts in Wembley. In the 80s and 90s, it was pretty much an annual event, or maybe he repeated the stories that much.

So, I woke up and turned on the radio that sits near my computer. I know I can get pretty much every station on the net, but I can’t be bothered to search, when all I need do is press the ‘on’ button. And sure enough BBC 5live had interrupted their programming. It’s the rolling news and sports station. His death hadn’t yet been confirmed, but I heard about his cardiac arrest, he wasn’t breathing, he’d been rushed to UCLA hospital, TMZ online, and even the LA times website had announced his death, etc.

So, you all know that when I heard of MJ’s death, I was sitting in front of my computer, not particularly feeling like working, or even blogging. It’s just so sad, because while everyone talked about his lifestyle, his plastic surgery and skin pigmentation, and fans like Akin talk of his dancing and his music, the truth is that MJ was just a man. Ordinary men sometimes manage extraordinary feats. The Bible talks of Elijah as a man like us who commanded rain to stop and it stopped, then he commanded rain to start … and it did. And after he became famous, he suffered a crisis, much like MJ has suffered. But he recovered and went on to even greater things.

MJ was a really gifted man, much more than I appreciate. I heard of the news stories, of all the fame and his dancing. To be honest, I liked the music very much, and it was very clearly expressive, vibrant and sometimes really moving. But he wasn’t the best musician I’d ever heard. If you add the dancing, which those who see have always considered phenomenal, then he was a really great man.

Already, radio people are speculating about the cause of death; most agree it has to do with the pressure of fame. They’ve been talking about child abuse allegations, debt, his reappearance at concerts in the UK to raise money, etc. Honestly, it’s all a bit too much to digest right now. It’s the stuff you work out later, just like you did when you first started watching wall to wall descriptions of any tragic event; the death of a celebrity, (Elvis, Lennon, Princess Di, etc).

The 5Live programme contained ‘Billy Jean’ which reminded us all of his tremendous dancing and as I heard it again, I remembered how I felt that even as he sang, he seemed to be constantly in motion. I once remember doing a Billy Jean impression at a party just to make that point. It was given for MA students at my department. We were all in dissertation mode and welcomed the chance to let our hair down. I remember feeling very embarrassed the next day, strolling round the department of politics and someone walked past me, doing my Billy Jean impression.

At the end of the programme, 5Live played ‘One day in your life’ and it seemed such a poignant song.

Maybe I should go to bed and process the information tomorrow. I can then add it to my memory collection for that blog one day when I’m up to it.