I have just read Alawonde's “These 18 Years: The Chronicles Of Theophilus Femi Alawonde" and I feel the same thrill I felt when I advanced the ladder of my teenage years. Every wrung on that ladder was a delightful upward accession until my 18th and subsequent years when my birthdays became days to curl into myself, take inventory of my scars and spend a lot of time alone; looking myself over in the mirror of silence.
In life, we learn as we go that living is the courage to be passed from the warm hands of smiles to the cold arms of sorrow. Immediately after childhood, life does not take long before he shows us his true color- the color of pain, of death, of tears, of losses, etc. Alawonde’s little book mirrors this reality with catchy non-fictional stories from which he sieves out lessons that are worth learning for a person who wants a good life.
Worthy of note is “Tales From Pharmacy”. This is the first time I have seen a song break into a dispatched group of escorts to see a little boy through a thick, quiet forest. And to learn that the whole idea was the brainchild of a busy mother, makes me want to say that there is a lot a person can do with a mother beside him/her. And as this is only one out of countless mentions of his mother (mama) in his collection, Alawonde has succeeded in painting another portrait of a mother’s love, one that we all have to hang on the walls of our mind; stare long and hard at it, until we have learnt to regard our mothers- however unsophisticated they maybe.
As I read “12.09.2012”, (the day the writer lost a sibling), I could not but think that someday, memories might be the only treasures a person is left with. I suppose Alawonde still talks about the demise of his sister in the very last piece in the collection (“This Adulthood is Not New”), when he said “…there is a scar in my heart, six years and counting, whose wound has failed to close…” He subtly tells us to make out time for family and loved ones, we won’t always have them here.
Even though the nitpicker in me thinks that these stories should have been placed in the other which the events happened, I must say that Alawonde has done a good job with showing us how he didn’t let the world’s rush take away his childhood- he rode in wheelbarrows, shared imaginary stories of underground castles, told lies and endured a big brother’s painful pinch, and etc. He did well by wrapping up with what seems like a poetic listicle, (“This Adulthood is Not New”) perhaps to correct the wrong notion that life is a script co-directed by fate and society- which has made us all believe that a person only becomes an adult at eighteen.
I see a profound mind in Alawonde and I must speak of his captivating style of narration. His quill is one to suckle from and I recommend this e-book, not just because it took him only two days to write, edit and publish it but because it is a gift to the world- one that is parceled with sincerity.