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2 min readMay 10, 2025

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About holding hands.

  1. I loved this poem the first time I read it, I have been living the poem since the last two weeks and I know I’ll do even more in the months ahead. Allez Allez.
  2. When I first saw the poem, I thought it was as an aesthetic that she described phases of her becoming, starshine being a metaphor for glamor and clay being one for grime and grinding. However, I have seen and I am seeing that it’s hard. It’s hard to become anything. The starshine component is not as common as the clay I have been wading through every morning, sleeping on line of chairs, sleeping on rubber mats, sleeping on the bare floor and, eventually, depriving myself of sleep in a bid to cover the materials before me.
  3. I have loved physical touch since I had to hold my siblings to cross the road, to hold my mother when going for a big people outing as a child, to hold hands in prayers with brethren at WCF and to hold hands with a belle walking under a rainy night sky. However, none of these moments have been as consequential as me holding my own hand, clasped in front of my head in saying a prayer to my creator pleading for mercy in the travails before me, behind my back as I walk the Old Jebba Road, wondering how the [redacted] I got myself into this mess, behind my head softly mumbling that I am not in trouble, reassuring myself that there’s goodness in the future and we just have to keep our heads and do what’s necessary.
  4. I now know the poem by heart, and I have recognized the later part of it as my hope. I joy and rejoice in the fact that soon, I’ll ask all to come, to come and celebrate with me that every morning, I have had to fight bare handed, red-eyed, sleep-deprived, through exhaustion and through anhedonia, lacking joy and cheer, something that wanted my head and yet I have succeeded.
  5. May the practice of Dr. Chinyere Ama-Oji, reign till the end of days, waxing brighter as the Lord himself promised. Congratulations ahead on your induction, my Mama. Thank you for all you did for me as an undergrad and the ones you’ll do for me from the other side of the medical degree.

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Tanitoluwa?
Tanitoluwa?

Written by Tanitoluwa?

These voices need outlets. I let them out occasionally.