Dear Love,
This open letter is for posterity and not really for friends of The Culture Newspaper; who we all know, are creative people. I have been told that a time is coming when mere ‘thoughts’ shall take on form and address (or redress) people either for their use or abuse of words. So dear love, the English and other western civilizations, made you out as a verb that does something to people, but I think they should just let you be a noun instead. To make it more complex they use the expression ‘fall in love’ as if you are a hole or something like that. The other expression able-bodied men and women use is ‘love is blind’ meaning those in love should set aside their sense of sight and pay more attention to the music from their hearts. I still do not know which of the professionals in the medical field should help fix the blindness of love. I am willing to offer support for contact lenses to aid the visual acuity of love should it ever come to that.
In all my life, I have had to relate to you (brother/sister Love) as a long road where I can walk and not stumble, even when I fumble you help keep me out of trouble. To understand you is never to be in lust or in want of the unattainable. The road called love can be brutal to the sole (or to the soul) and many come off with bruises and sores. I know you are that mythical steed on whose back many emotions can ride into the zone of reality and back into the cave of illusions. As those in love branch off that long road of affection and begin to seek undue attention, they lose direction and their internal GPS is temporarily turned off.
Dear love, is it true that you have your origin in the hearts of humans before you face the judge. I mean the one ever on duty in the brains of human Beings? I am warned that the day in which sight transforms into thoughts and reality gets dressed in over-sized attires of imagination, is when a birth is experienced. How does love grow into lust and how does calamity become the alarm that needs to be under control, no one has offered any acceptable explanation to poor me.
One day, ‘love’ and I shall meet face-to-face and have a man-to-man dialogue. For now, I have heard too many stories of what love is and how sweet it is to have you for keeps. Let me go with the twists in my head and the turns in my life, hopefully those who found you in the hole would speak up about what pushed them into the pit of love where cuddles, kisses and giant responsibilities welcome them like a first marital night.
From me to me to Love …..
Bobo’s love letters …
It is true I love letters especially when the letters combine to form seductive words. Broda Batiwi was the first adult who showed me how to compose words that drip with emotions. He showed me a dog-eared copy he wrote to Sister Toyin Money when she was still a student at Lagos Anglican Girls Grammar School, Gbagada. Oh, what a shame that memory fails me now and I cannot paint a good picture of Sister Toyin but from the words of brother Batiwi, I can deduce that she must be one of those tall (Fulani-like) beauties who smile and make your heart miss a few beats. Who when they talk you just feel the heat in places not to be mentioned publicly.
Broda Batiwi worked many years as an Engineer after his training in one of the older generation universities based in the Northern part of the country. His love for mathematics could be compared to the love of the Obẹlẹ Ọdan bombers for the round leather game. His eyes always lit up like a flame on a windowsill enjoying the gentle caress of the wind. He was my mentor and from him I learned lessons not usually taught in schools. He was not a crook but he taught me how to spot female crooks a mile away. Do not give your affection to a woman who has no passion for life or to any woman who is afraid to drink at night. Of course, I did the opposite and I still love women for who they say they are. I have grown to oppose all Broda Batiwi taught me and I am enjoying my life with all human beings without fear.
However, that day, he went into his room and brought out a dust-covered file and after what looked like an eternity, he found the very letter he was looking for. His was a carbon copy of the original I presume. In those days, most people wrote to their loved one in structured calligraphy, they were a joy to look at. The part of the letter I still recall are these lines “My life is one long mathematical equation and I am trying to find the best formula to solve the easiest problem of what am I doing here without you? Since we met I had resolved that our almighty formula must constantly solve all and any challenges we may encounter…”
If my face were a book, Broda Batiwi could read the message from my eyes; I wanted him to tell me if he received a response from Sister Toyin Money and what the response said. God bless Broda Batiwi, he preserved the privacy of his heartthrob that day and by that issue me with my license to imagine a response. In my version the letter was all over the place but let me share a little of what I worked on before other cares of the world took over my attention.
My dear B for Brilliant, I started “It is the beginning of our sail at sea, to see our inner selves in communication with other parts; we need to get ready to float and remain buoyant in our association with others who may not support our growing love for each other. The seed of those many weeks of hide and speak in public payphones are yielding fruits soon to be ready for our hands to pluck. The bond between us will not be broken neither would it be a token in a transaction of self knows self. It is a matter of faith and the full faith in matters essential. I have passed the cross-road and it is no longer a decision of which one I should take or the lake of love that calls my body to swim in refreshing affection. Yours words took over me and I have given more than a passing thought to how to solve our new equation and I can assure you that ‘why and X’ would not live in our heads at the same time….. Batiwi my love….
This was my first attempt but as the years grew, I became a master of writing love letters to very special women. Those of you who are regular readers of this Diary are not unaware of the lady who married Wale Badmus. I am looking for the files of responses I got from her when the going was good and our good was like the groovy train. I promise to share the holes in truth and nothing but the ruse with you as soon as I can rescue my muse from the gridlock of the past weeks. Have a nice weekend jare
(From the Diary of a Lagos Bobo and Kole Odutola)
