My Party, along with Harry and Meghan’s Wedding

I’m not likely to watch the forthcoming royal wedding between Prince Harry and Meghan Markle, this weekend as I’ll be celebrating my birthday with a party. For once, I’ll be away from the TV, preparing my speech, ironing out the creases from my special dress, satisfied that friends and family have all been notified and will turn up. My husband is responsible for the organising so I’m confident he will have everything down to a tee.

But given what I’m reading in the press about this wedding, do I want to watch this event slowly unfold into a fiasco? With step-sister Samantha Grant really laying her bitterness into Meghan, stating she (Grant) cannot be censored and refuses to be censored; Meghan’s step brother Thomas, in this statements say how Meghan is ‘conceited’ and ‘jaded’.

There are other estranged members who believe Meghan owes them and therefore deserve to be invited to the wedding. But then, there’s the father, Mr Markle. He has been accused of faking photos of himself being measured up for suits, constantly running to the media outlet TMZ saying he will walk his daughter down the aisle, then changing his mind, then changing his mind again. The latest now is that he is scheduled for a heart operation meaning that he will not be able to attend to his daughter’s wedding. The whole thing is turning into a more than tacky reality show.

The Queen is said to be angry and you can’t blame her. Although according to the feminist Germaine Greer, the royals do not want Mr Markle to be there, hoping he will be so overwhelmed by the mere idea of walking down the aisle with over a billion people watching, that he’ll pull out.  But she doesn’t say why the royals may not want Mr. Markle to attend.

The journalist and interviewer Piers Morgan wonders why the palace has not sent someone to Mr Markle to speak to him about procedures and protocol, or invite Markle to the UK where he can take part in rehearsals enabling him to feel confident on the day. I feel bad for Meghan. She must be totally mortified and pressurised under her new family’s watchful eye.

I’m confident that my day will go well, that friends and family will turn up and that on this occasion where I can celebrate reaching a milestone, it will be a day to remember. For as long as I can remember, royal weddings have always been a treasure to watch.  They are meticulously planned, with incredible music, the bride and bridegroom dressed to perfection. I really hope that Harry and Meghan have their day, uninterrupted.

Your Pastor – is it necessary for you to like him?

I was thinking of my Pastor the other day; thinking of how I found it difficult to reconcile the inconsistency of his spreading the Gospel and what I consider to be his disdain for his flock.  When I’m in church, I look around the congregation at the faces to see if they see what I see, but it’s either they are oblivious or believe it’s just typical human behavior.

It bothered me, this. My mind churning, telling me that it’s wrong to judge and depersonalise, it goes against the reason I go to church in the first place, but there are strong factors getting in the way that counters that.

It all started when I found the problems of my son were becoming too much. With a husband/father, who was abroad, it wasn’t always easy when a problem arose. My husband and I would Skype each other, but that would be several times a week. He could not do more as he was busy. So a member of the church, and a friend suggested that I should see the Pastor, Pastor John.  I went to see him and told him that for some time, my son has been experiencing depression; a talented writer, a polite person and for reasons unbeknown to me, dropped out of his final year at University. My mind picked all over to see what I had done wrong.

Pastor John listened and watched, as I held my head trying to understand.  The Pastor talked of how he saw my son walking ‘up and down’ the high street, which suggested his behaviour was odd considering the ‘good family he came from’.  It was not something he expected. Then he recounted how he led his own son from an episode of apathy towards his studies, where he ended up getting a good degree.  I looked up at his face, only to be met with a smile which tried not to be smug. Great, I thought, for his son but failed to see how this helped me with mine. Then I said to him something which quickly popped into my head, how my mother would always tell me that God does not always give you everything. He holds back on some things just so that you don’t forget what he has done for you. When a problem presents itself, you have to find a way of dealing with it.  I wondered why this comment did not enter my head before.  I raised my head and looked at the pastor; the look he gave was one of astonishment. Didn’t he think my mother was capable of meaningful statements? Our time was brought to an end and the pastor prayed about all that had taken place, and for my son.

I left the office, forlorn and worse than when I went in. all of a sudden, my vulnerability was apparent. I felt as though there was a glitch in my family leaving me with no choice but to feel embarrassed.

It was time to flag this experience as I reminded myself that I had experienced something like this before but dismissed it. About a year ago, I attended a bible studies group; there were five of us, plus the pastor.  After the meeting, we raised a sensitive subject about the progress of the church. I say ‘sensitive’ because the Pastor took it personally when you criticized the church. I said how the church has always been humble, something  I was proud to be a part of, but a few things needed to be changed. The Pastor smiled briefly, and then asked what I meant by ‘humble’. I had to stop and do a quick inventory. Did I say something offensive? No I did not, I told myself.

The church was built seventy years ago; it has a small congregation made up of predominantly elderly people who seemed to be at a place in their lives where the mortgage has more or less being paid, where visits to the Doctor are frequent, they see their grandchildren and hopefully they get a holiday once per year. I should add that in the years they have attended, they go with their partners but in the last three years, quite a few have lost their partners to ill-health.  For the widows and widowers, single parent families, the church plays an important role. If you go to the church, say, on a Tuesday morning, you can see them enjoying their game of cards or dominoes, keenly waiting for the tea break along with the sandwiches.

I also say ‘humble’ because unlike many other church services which uses PowerPoint to support the sermon and has a resident band, this church struggles. The church assistant struggling with the projector to find the hymn the same time the congregation is about to sing or, the music (The Music!!) is meagrely supplied by a sole musician, a pianist, struggling to make up for every instrument that is not there!  The choir which struggles to sing in unison rather than four point harmony. Perhaps I’m asking for too much but the point is no one complains, the congregation is happy with this. So yes, ‘humble’ it is, but I feel that it could do with some changes.

He said he was confused with the word ‘humble’. As far as he was concerned it was progressing, and up to date. But I added that perhaps the reason why the church failed to attract new people, young people was that it was just too…serious. I realised that it was superficial for a church to have technology in order to present itself as professional, but the church had reached a position that it did not want to leave, sort of trapped in its comfort zone. The other members looked on, thinking I had said too much. Pastor John shook his head wearily and made a frown. He said he would think about it and that we’d have another meeting to discuss the matter. As I said, this was a year ago.

Leaving the Pastor to get ready for the evening session, another thing that came to mind. A few people talked of when he or they are outside the church, say shopping or on the local bus, he has tendency to ignore them. I’ve not experienced this but then I realise I would not because my husband is a lecturer and he respects this. As I head towards my car, I pause and inhale this new revelation. I should have realised. When he subtly drops the hint of wanting to visit us, I always say, ‘Yes! Come around. I’m home most evenings.’ But he never does as he wants to be invited, and I’m not formal like that. I get into the car, start the engine, allowing the engine to run as I marinate these new thoughts.

I like my church, despite its humbleness. I like the people; some of whom I have known since school or they have lived in the area for some time. So I’m not looking to leave even though some people will probably feel that is my best option. But I go to church for a good reason: to hear the Word, to hear God’s message. Something that will help me to cope with the new, up and coming week or some ongoing problem.  Sometimes I win the jackpot where the sermon delivered hits it right on the nail i.e. I hear my message or answer. But there are other times, I go and I leave, empty.

As I find parking space just outside the house, I learn that what has become problematic, is seeing a side of the Pastor that I feel, should not be there. I hate that I’m aware of it to the point that I fail to realise he has been ‘sent’ to do a job; and I hate the fact that it is likely to get in the way of receiving the good Word.

It would make life a lot easier if I liked and respected him. But still quoting my mother: people are people are people. They may not be perfect but they were meant to strive, be good and to auto-correct themselves as they progress. I guess there is still a lot for me to do.

 

7th July ’05 to be remembered

Yesterday, I watched on Sky News the service of those who lost their lives on 7th July ’05. 52 people died and over 700 people were injured.  The survivors and relatives of victims were at a simple ceremony at Hyde Park.  It was very moving and inspirational to listen to loved ones speak of how they have coped with loss. They were very similar to the families of the massacred African-Americans who lost their lives in the Charleston church shooting on 17th June.  Their sentiments, their strength and their forgiveness for those who carried out these atrocious acts.

I was in London when it happened but a friend of mine whose cousin’s son lost their life in the  London Underground explosion was present at today’s ceremony; and although at the time it happened, the son’s mother spoke very powerfully but today she sat, dignified and in quiet repose.  I am sorry for their loss and totally admire them for their courage and pray that the Almighty Father continues to give them strength.

Is Humour a one-sided affair: The Paris bombing.

As stated in other blogs I was born in London of West Indian parentage.  I now live in Nigeria and have done so for a number of years.  When I lived in London, amongst friends and family members, I would make jokes and people would laugh.  This did not make me a stand-up comedian but I knew I had a quick wit, a sense of humour and a sense of timing, and was able to make a joke out of a situation. I guess as a result of living in the UK and being exposed to the humour that I saw daily on TV, especially the ‘put down’ variety, was something I had gotten used to and therefore did not question.  I felt it was normal to use this same kind of humour when making jokes. But when I got to Nigeria I realised my humour was not seen as funny. My ‘jokes’ were considered acidic and unkind. I eventually got the message when I was at a function; getting carried away telling one anecdote after the other, when the couple at my table got up and sat elsewhere. On another occasion, someone who was a friend actually stopped talking to me because she couldn’t stand my ‘jokes’.  I was surprised.je suis

I had to take two steps back and realise that ‘humour’ can be a one sided affair.  After all, how can a joke be funny and inclusive if people did not get it?  And really, I should know better, that is, not getting the joke or more to the point, when a joke is mocking me.  If I dig into my past and relive some of those toe-cringing experiences, it would be similar to going to a theatre house, where I am the only black person seated amongst a white audience, and on walks the comedian say, Jim Davidson or Bernard Manning, where a large chunk of their material is making jokes about black people etc. I laugh, but with some element of shame at the fact that I am the butt of their jokes! The rest of the audience is satisfied that I ‘see’ the joke but when everything comes to an end and I’m left with my thoughts; I feel humiliated, demeaned, disarmed and powerless followed by the emotion of anger. I’m not, as I said, a comedian nor satirist; I don’t have key contacts or belong to any institutions that can support or protect me. Of course, I can take refuge with family and friends, who gives me the needed support but at the end of the day, they are just as disarmed and powerless as I am.

To make it worse, when I complain to my white friends, they fob me off as suffering from the classic case of ‘chip on my shoulder’ syndrome.  So therein my resentment remains firm, simmering and waiting until a time comes when I can express myself. I understand that the role of humour is to let off steam, release tension.  Laughing at something that deep down is found to be threatening, humour can be the antidote that removes the sting out the bite. For those who find the whole business about immigrants/immigration threatening, humour perhaps, can give them some space between what they feel and the reality of the situation.

What happened in Paris is absolutely tragic. I feel for the journalists who were killed in the bombing and my sympathies goes out to their loved ones.  My understanding is that the magazine where the journalists worked – Charlie Hebdo – was satirical in its content and was well renowned throughout the country.  But I wonder if they went too far, in putting out their brand of humour?  Yes, freedom of speech is at the heart of democracy, but upon seeing a few of the cartoons I can understand why Muslims would be offended. However, I’m relieved that they found it abhorrent that extreme violence was used as a way of ‘correcting’ the problem. They realise, as we all realise, that no amount of provocation can ever warrant or justify violence.

I implore France to do what is right and not allow the histrionics of the Far Right to dictate the fate of the country and not see what has happened as a ‘clash of civilizations’. The New Year has just begun, but it is clear we are living in dangerous times, (as I write this, a bomb exploded killing a number of people in Baga, North East of Nigeria) we should all court tolerance and strive towards unity, if we hope to make it!

Readers visiting my blog about Scotland – for the wrong reasons!!

Wow! I’m getting so many ‘reads’ on my Experiences: Moving to Scotland which I wrote some years ago. I guess readers are not just visiting because of the referendum that is taking place as I write this but I’ve received a number of visits as readers (in the past and present) are keen to see if my article is about the business of meeting black women in Scotland. A dating site? hmm! I don’t think so! But I’m sure as they read the blog or when they have finished reading, they realise that my article has nothing do with ‘dating’ but just as the title of my site states, it’s about my experiences of life, generally.  The blog is about the time when my family and I lived in Cambuslang in South Lanarkshire, just outside Glasgow.

We didn’t spend a long time there as I had a longing for London.  However, I was impressed with how friendly the Scots were and the embarrassing thing was I went there with the notion of not expecting anything, dare I say, of a standard ie., at the back of my mind, Glasgow would look ‘inferior’ to London but it did not.  Living there was a great experience but it still did not match my London.

And while talking about Scotland, I wish them all the best, especially, if it’s a Yes.  If it’s No, then I guess Alex Salmond has to go back to drawing board because I don’t believe he will give up.

 

Ask, and you will receive: Synchronicity

When I was in London, I went to see my life coach, Pat.  She has clairvoyant abilities but does not believe in telling you the future, so to speak; as she believes that by integrating her coaching methods and intuition, that it is a more practical way of helping you with your problems.

We chatted about our families and she talked about how she’d successfully landed a role in a production in the West End, plus she had written a play that was seriously being considered by one of the popular TV networks. As Pat talked, I glanced over to her loaded bookshelf and noticed a particular book. It was the only one that was standing with its back against the shelf and title in full view, whilst the other books lay flat, leaving you to wonder what their stories were. The other thing was its colour. It was a striking, deep purple and its title was in a large font dressed in silver. It said: Ask and it is Given by Esther and Jerry Hicks. My attention was taken by Pat who suddenly stopped talking about herself and began to ask me about my problems.

‘You know…’ I said to her, ‘…it’s the same ole, same ole.  Am I on track, what is my purpose?’

‘You know I don’t tell fortunes…’ Pat scolded politely, ‘…but all you have to do is ask! Ask for what is your purpose. Ask if you are on track. Your problem is that you don’t ask!’  She said with emphasis.

‘Ask? But I do!’ I responded, hoping that it didn’t seem like we were having an argument. ‘I meditate and pray constantly and with that I ask but…I don’t know.’

She lowered her head in thought then looked up at me. ‘Have you heard of synchronicity?’

‘Synchrowhat?’  I gushed.  Something to do with swimming I thought but did not dare say it.

Pat smiled and gave me an explanation. She ended by saying that I should believe when I pray and mentally state some affirmations towards the end of my meditation. My time was up but as I left, she told me not to worry.  It will all work out. Hmm, I thought.

About an hour later in another part of London, I was in a bookshop, looking for a book on Physics for my daughter.  Walking towards where the science books were kept, I abruptly stopped as there was a book staring right at me from the spiritual section titled Ask and it is Given.  I went and picked up a copy, opened to the intro, read two or three paragraphs and said yes, I must get this!

I’m half way through the book and clearly, I understand synchronicity and realize this is how the Almighty/the Universe communicates.  Synchronicity is when either, ‘a single event or chain of events’ produces a ‘meaningful coincidence’. An example of this is early this year, I found myself constantly thinking about an old school friend, someone I used to move around with in the early 90s. A month later, as I was driving to the supermarket, I spotted her ex-boyfriend, who also I had not seen in a while. I quickly stopped and parked the car, and chased after him. Wheezing out of breath when I caught up, he instantly recognized me, stretched out his arms and gave me a hug. About ten minutes into our conversation, I asked him about our mutual friend. He removed his mobile from his back pocket, scrolled through the names and when he had found her number, he gave it to me.  That evening I called her and we agreed to meet at her house the next weekend.

You ‘ask’ for something and you receive answers in a manner that you do not expect. It could be in the form of an ad in a magazine, or the ad on a bus, a bill board or a comment from an actor in a movie, a sentence in an article or a conclusion in a documentary.  Likewise, seeing the book on Pat’s shelf and then seeing it again in the bookshop, it’s clear that this book ‘came’ to me, making me to realize that I will find my answers there.

Now, for those of you who read my piece on Debbie Ford’s book (The Dark Side of the Light Chasers) will say I’ve spoken about this before, so what’s the big deal?  But please, spare me. How was I to know that this was synchronicity? The point is, I’m learning.  Again within a few chapters I’ve realised that ‘asking’ is not only just believing or placing a pair of hands together to pray. But I have to ‘desire’ it, believe that I’ve already received it and to act as if ‘it’ is already in my life. In the case of my long-lost friend, my thinking or constant thoughts of her, wanting to see her played a part in me actually reuniting with her.

Negativity does not play any part in this. In fact, if I ‘desire’ something but in the next second fill my head with a lot of doubt by saying ‘Nah! It’s not for me. I can’t have this’ then the thing is now cancelled as instead of being eager for ‘it’, I’m asking for the lack of it, which is exactly what I’ll will receive, if you get my meaning. If you want to know more about this, then please get yourself a copy of this book to get a deep simplified explanation.

As I said, I’m halfway through. The first part I’m reading gives a thorough explanation of how it works. Some reviewers complain that there is a lot of repetition. Perhaps there is. But how I look at it is that sometimes to make a point loud and clear, you have to keep hammering it home.  The second half, I’ve not looked at but it is composed of exercises which I can’t wait to do. I will keep you posted.

 

If you can imagine it, you can create it.  If you dream it, you can become it. 

William Arthur Ward

 

 

 

Al Fayed & The Royals: Are we talking about racism here, or not?

            As someone who used to work for Harrods, I remember Mr. Al Fayed coming to the shop floor, always to greet the assistants, most mornings in the week.  But after I’d left, years later, I was dismayed when I learned that quite a few black people (and other people from different racial backgrounds) were taking Harrods to the race relations board because of discrimination, and how Al Fayed was so contemptuous of their complaints. I wasn’t able to understand his behaviour especially as his origins was Egyptian, and therefore African. This maybe me being naïve, but one would expect some kind of bond with your fellow brother.  But it looks as if he now understands, at a painful cost that other people can also decide whether or not, they bond with you.

 

I’m referring to his success last week of overturning the decision made by Baroness Butler-Sloss to hear the inquests on her own; and then later on, when Al Fayed is being interviewed by Sky News, he refers to certain members of the Royal family as “Nazi’s”, “bastards” and “donkey’s”. It makes me wonder if the inquiry is not just about Princess Diana and Dodi’s tragic death but also about being discriminated against and being rejected, which he’s not handling too well.  Although I am sorry for Mr. Al Fayed’s loss I can’t help but feel that through his naivety he thought that owning Harrods Ltd would have given him unlimited access to the inner sanctum of the Aristocracy and more importantly, that his millions somehow made him white! 

 

I hope for Al Fayed’s sake, that he is doing what he is doing for the right reasons, and not because he couldn’t make it into the right social circles.