Writing with Juliet Iwelunmor

There is this believe that all stories are true. Some have magic to their name and can do wonders to transport you from this realm to another. There are some stories portrayed as the best. We are assured in the praise songs that they are indeed the best. They can open up worlds from which we rise like a spell, and fall like a sunset, until we are oblivious to time and our presence. Still, with stories, I am reminded often of the word presence, whose lives are present and whose are missing. This word presence leapt into my world recently, insisting that I reflect a bit on what it means to me.

As a black mother, a worker, a wife, a sibling, a daughter too, and a friend, I can see why the word insists that I ponder a bit on what it means to me. We are defined by that word, and all the ways it shapes our lives. There is an intentional presence too that insists on being known. It’s the type often not reflected in the stories told. The type too reflected in the Igbo proverb: Nke onye, a-so-a, whatever one owns, one cherishes. If there is an absence of my experience, then it’s up to me to tell a different story. The energy for ignoring all the ways life is present on its own accord is fast running out. The void to cannot give us what we need, not when it’s very form, has ignored lives for so long.

At least, one thing is clear, even the stories told are not as innocent as they seem. Hence the need for access to the lives unknown, in a form that may draw praise or attack. Those black like me, have done so for too long. Denied space in the world of storytelling, we told our own stories. Fashioned a space for ourselves that was true to ourselves, spaces that urged us to be more present, to take our lives seriously, to dare to dream dreams bigger than oneself and if we fall, to begin again daring still to refuse others from thinking, talking or ignoring us. If our lives are going to be meaningful, if we are going to do so differently, then we might as well push ourselves further, showing all the range of all the stories we can tell. Afterall, we are all we are. We owe it to ourselves to be present.