EAC: Winter was just setting in. The birds came along, and I usually like feeding them pieces of bread. I see one lonely one far away. I said, "That makes two of us." And then my thoughts started to soar. I just started writing [my poem,] Oh Lonely Bird. "Where do you belong?” We have something in common. I just take it verse by verse, telling the story of the bread, and how it related to me too. I was in a situation where I had no choice. That was the story of my life - to be at that place at that time, to work for some dollars, but I'd rather be somewhere warm. 

So I [wrote,]  "Vexes are hexes are bundled and tumbled on the rock of my pain and the pain inflicted on me… the pain I generate inside by being pained." Somebody throws a stone at me. That's an assault. Then the anger I feel from the assault, that's another thing, another pain. So I bundle it up and throw it away from me, and it tumbles away from me, along the rolling hills of my struggle.

In a minute or two, I won't see this bird again. I started thinking of the United States as a whole, the racial tensions, the riots, and I was giving the bird the message that it's not all hopeless; “I know you came and saw me in my condition.  I was alone with my thoughts [and] the bad ones came along. But I'm positive that it's going to change. So when you send the message, tell them, yes, you saw me, but that's not the end of the story. It's bad now, but it's a changing story and things will get better.”

And maybe eventually we'll be turning these [poems into] songs of laughter, you know?  This is how I spend my time - therapy, humor, laughter, writing, songs, spiritual hymns. I’ve been writing poetry for 30 or 40 years.  It ingrained in me the way I need to express myself. It all starts in [the brain]. I said to myself, “I wonder how this lady would be able to draw a brain because there's so much happening here.” You want to express through the mouth straight, [but] sometimes there's no outlet for [that] expression. It's like you’re cooking; you have a lot of ingredients, and you're confused and you don't know what to do. (laughs)  And then you start putting them together and get a lot of relief. I'm glad that I'm able to [write poetry]  just to keep my sanity till all my predicaments and all the things swirling around in my head are no more. After I’m done, I’ll look at it, and it's now something that I can digest.

Oh lonely bird

written by EAC

Oh lonely bird, cold, no sun!

Where do you belong?

Where are the others

with whom you daily flap?

Your more shrewd mates took flight,

and long sought warmer climes.

You, now, cast away, faraway…

white, dim, over the distant bay,

leaving me alone with my thoughts,

interrupted when you came along;

to share from my cold lunch box,

eagle eyed, longing…anxious.

Oh lonely bird, report how a lonely sentinel ponders,

in the United States of our dear time,

said and done, to swallow his malice,

finding solace in hymns, spiritual verses,

peeling, licking…the fruits of humor,

till predicaments and indictments are no more.

You’re now distant as stars…faults all gone,

say me well to those along your sojourn.

report not…bother not with tweets of gory,

for what you saw was a changing story.

Vexes and hexes are bundled and tumbled

on the rock…along the rolling hills of my struggle.

Written on Thanksgiving Day, Long Island City, USA 11/22/2018

MJ: The part of my body that I would say that [trauma] affected most is my eyes. I used to [express my pain] in tears. It was all I could do, just tears, tears, tears, [so] maybe I’ll find some relief. It came to a stage where it affected my eyesight. After all the tears, when I opened my eyes, everywhere, it's white. I can't see anything. So that’s when I found out that I can't cry anymore, it’s affecting my health. 

Yes, my heart [was affected], because of betrayals.  Let me tell you, it took me a long time to realize that it was betrayals that did make me feel so bad [day to day]. I was telling my husband when we were coming, "You have to calm down and think: what is causing some emotion or pain in you, even physical pain?" 

For example, [EAC] got himself some shoes. They're not just for comfort. [He is] standing all day for his job. I come from Nigeria, and back home, you see how miserable and rude and nasty nurses are, it could just be the shoes they are wearing. How many of us could afford to buy good shoes, $70 or $100 shoes? The pain from the feet is getting into your head, and you wouldn’t even know it was your feet. E was telling me, "those shoes, the difference they made to my life!"

So [it’s] the same situation; I didn't even know that it was the betrayal that I felt from my pastor and bishop [that] I'm still getting over. It was so, so deep. You let somebody into your life, somebody you trust. It’s almost changed my nature, the wound really goes deep down.

EAC: [We’re] always on our toes. Even if someone [is just saying] “Oh, come into my office for something.” [I] question their motives. I have to come to terms with that. I learned to trust again.

MJ: Even the children, although they were not directly [involved], they were really affected. It touched them so much.

EAC: I always feared for them, I always worried for them. Like, “Are you sure you know the person? Where do they know the person from? What time are you going to be [there]?” I’ve had to step back to try to get them better.

MJ: I couldn’t go about holding [it in] my chest like that. I don't know how to express it.  That's one of the difficulties I have. Maybe because of what happened, I never knew how to ask for help. But time and focusing on other things, and Safe Horizon has really helped. It's not been easy. Ask for help. Nobody can read your mind.  It's very important to have some kind of support, somebody to talk to. I don't know how people survive not having somebody to talk to, not being able to express themselves. They say, "Well, I don't know what this person will say about me, what this person would think about my feelings."  You take the help and you move forward. 

Like the other day, there was a word I wanted to use. I was writing something and sometimes when I'm spelling on my phone, my spellcheck doesn't work. The word [was] vulnerable. Because of my vision, [if they] start saying, "oh, it's at so and so place," I can't go by myself. So I asked my husband how to spell it. He said, "Well, what do you want to use the word for? Why should you say that?" I said, "That's the problem. That's the way I feel, vulnerable. What's wrong with the world? " That's the way I feel not being able to express it. I started thinking, "Is it a bad word? Shouldn't I use it?" That kind of thing. But that's how I felt, just feeling exposed. There's nothing wrong with that word. That's the way I feel.

EAC: And it's also part of my own learning curve. I need to really take a step back and know that it's doubly hard [for M], and I shouldn't get in the way all the time from her trying to express herself. 

MJ: Because I never used to be [like that.] I could go anywhere, do anything. There's nothing I wouldn't do. I used to fly as an air hostess, I used to teach. So you can imagine, everything just changed [with the loss of my vision.] It's scary even to step out. I'm always having nightmares. Before we go anywhere I say, "oh, do they have steps? Do they have this? Do they have that?"  It's not so bad, but compared to what I could do before? 

[To steady myself,] I just calm down and think, "How do I fix it?" I went to the hospital the other day to get eye drops.  I walked because it was a good day. By the time I got halfway, I started feeling funny. I said, "Oh, my God, am I going to be able to make this journey?" My husband was out at work. I called him and I said, “I’m at the pharmacy, but I don’t know [how to] go back home. Maybe I have to get my son to call Uber for me.” But then I sat down and realized I have to calm down and think. I realized that it was my glasses. Through the heat, it changes. Eyes control so much of your body. Your eyes can make you feel dizzy, make you think you’re going to fall down. I realized it was the heat and it was my eyes, so I just took off my glasses, fixed my hat properly, and walked back home. Because I was getting scared, my husband wanted to call Uber. I said, “No, I have to try something out, because if I take this Uber home, I will never come here by myself again because I wouldn't know what is wrong. So am I not going to live my life?" 

When I feel so vulnerable, I look for ways to adapt, something to do to process it. And it's just a little thing you have to do to meet that challenge. When I [felt] vulnerable before it was so scary. I didn't want to leave the house, do anything. And then I said, "Okay this is fear, right? And insecurity. I'm going to go out.”  And then I started going out, and it wasn't so bad. I put on my glasses and there I am, moving around.

I think time heals a lot.  I'm thankful for the many blessings that God has put in my life. My children are happy, my son is married. He's happy, he's doing well at his job. My husband. And my health. I'm taking care of my eyes, going outside once a day. I've decided you can't hold a grudge all throughout your life. The Bible says forgive and love. It's not like one doesn't forgive, but I think it's the forgetting part that is hard, like when you hear the person's name.

[I knew I was healing] when three weeks ago, somebody from my former church called me. She said, "Bishop sister has terminal cancer. She had to leave America. She's in a wheelchair. I saw her and I didn't even recognize her until she introduced herself." All kinds of emotions flowed through me. And I checked [myself]. I said, "No, I'm not happy that she has cancer." That's when I saw that I was really healing. I said, "God, if there's any way, just heal her."

I find [peace] in silence, in being still. I try to listen to a lot of music from back home. When I hear [songs] in my language, it calms me, it’s something I'm familiar with. I could sing that song for the whole day. In little places I do find comfort. I do the positive things, and I'd say I make myself happy.

[If I could tell something to] my past self, I would have just said, “Don't worry.” Because it wasn't worth it, all the worries. If I could live my life all over again, I would never worry myself unnecessarily. That's what I'm learning every day. Life goes on. Because all the things I've worried about, [they have] come and passed. Life still continues and I keep going. Worry brings about fear. It paralyzes you, it makes you ill. I mean, it's the worst thing you can do to yourself. Just put in your best.

EAC: [I came here] 14 years [ago]. At work, everybody is in it for a profit. [They] try to look for the cheapest way to get things done. And that's what leads to taking advantage of people who are in certain situations. Their accommodations are the cheapest. It's summer, blazing heat, 90 degrees. There's no air conditioning where you're working. And because of your situation, there's a limit to which you can complain. Those things start bothering me. [M has] to hold me back because I want to react. I'm going to try to fight. I'm going to try to speak up and that is at the risk of losing that job.

MJ: I have to tell him. "Don't!"

EAC: In your condition, you can't just walk in with your resume to the next shop. So those are the things boiling within you and you're enduring that condition, in which they defeat you because of their profit motive. And they're paying you below minimum wage and they know you’re vulnerable. And that's the painful part, that there's little you can do. And then you're sitting there. (laughs) Those are the things I've had to endure over the years. 

Right now, I'm waiting for them to react to what I told them, to change the conditions, to make things better. And if they don't, I give them one hour and I'm going to tell them again. And they see me go around and start scribbling notes. I'll put in notices. They put us in a 4’ x 4’ cube [as security]. It's hot in the summer [because of] all the equipment. Eight hour [shifts] and sometimes, if nobody comes in, 16 hours. The conditions are just horrible.

MJ: They told him he behaves like a union. (laughs)

EAC: I'm accused of being a union leader or all kinds of names. [They’re] saying, " Oh, it's only you that's complaining; it's only you that would say this."  It's like a running battle with the employers, and sometimes I get my way, sometimes I don't. Then in winter, it's time to put up the heat. They don't want to because they want to cut costs. That battle starts all over again. Sometimes I have to go out and make a video [with] commentary. I say, “You're building a school [for] $34 million. My name is E and I'm a security guard at this construction site for this $34 million building that this company is building. And this is where I am. The temperature is five degrees,  it's below freezing, and there is no heater in this building." So I made that commentary and said, "Well, if anything happens to me, if I catch pneumonia or whatever, we know who to blame." 

In that moment, I'm getting some kind of relief, I'm getting some kind of comfort that I'm doing something. It's just me and nobody else. I don't take it further or because I'll lose the job. So I have to have some of those recordings. 

MJ: You have the voice, but you can't speak out. 

EAC: It's interesting, you know what I mean? It's just a matter of this piece of paper, because if I don't have it, I'm not allowed to do anything. It just hurts, it's just so silly sometimes. They're out to exploit the other man.  Many things we were not able to do, because "Oh, you need this, you need this, you need this."  And everything was new to me. So by the time I got a job that afforded me time to be alone, I started scribbling my experiences.  

I wrote a book - it was all about my experience from when we took off at the airport in Nigeria. And a few years into having lived here, experienc[ing] the culture, shock, the adaptation, the discrimination that we faced here and how we coped. It’s called High Alert: The Narratives of a Dreamland Watchman. The first chapter [was about] a nursing home. Nursing home workers had gone on strike because we were looking for better pay and better conditions. The proprietor had yanked their medical [benefits]. They had a sit out. So they put [me] there for security, to make sure that [the people] they called "scabs" could safely come in and out.

It was a really big surprise to me. America is a mixed bag. I suddenly realized some of the freedoms that are here [as well as] some of the discriminations. The people who were not working were still getting some benefits while they were [striking].  Back home, the proprietor will use her influence to call the cops and they come and beat the hell out of [the strikers.] And these people, the police were guarding them, they came and served them [food]. It was a really big awakening for me.

EAC: We met back home in Nigeria. [I knew she was the one]  because she was a matter of fact person. First sentence, first date, she was no nonsense. I've never gotten anything like that before, straight talk. I was really impressed with that. Especially where we come from, coming from a woman who tells me as it is. I'd like some of that! I'll call [it] sincerity, no nonsense attitude. 

MJ: I was talking to him, and there was just this feeling of "this is the right place to be."  I remember, one day he came to our place. In my [country, a] boy and girl, you don't talk to each other. He had the gall to come to our house. (laughs) It's taboo. And my father said, "Yes. Who are you looking for?" And he said, "I’m looking for M."  My father said to me [later,] "You know  that young man that came to look for you that day? Stay with him. He's a good man and he has a bright future."  I said, " Oh my God, something is happening."  And that was it. Intelligence, that's what I look for, the brain. There's so many things he had read, so many books, even some books I hadn't read that he told me about.  He got all those books for the kids. Being with him was just right. Gentle and kind and he always wanted to be better. I was 18. I left him, went to college and lived my life, studying and working. But we knew we still had each other. We got married and had our first child. That was it.

EAC: I didn't go to college till I was forty [something]. I needed to make money. I was 15 when my dad [passed].  So I grew up really early. My mother was so overcome with grief, we were doing our own thing a lot of the time.  My dad had a lot of assets, so when he left, a lot of people wanted it. We had to really struggle to extract it from them. I still had junior ones who needed help, and that was the only source. These other people were not related to us at all, but just happened to be in the position of trust and [were] trying to keep it for themselves. I went to court for many years. I used to get into fights and when I go to try and take possession of something, people [came to] fight me and beat me up and it was a mess. 

I grew up really fast and started working really early [at] the printing press; I was 20 something. I went to technical school and specialized in bookbinding, so I had a little place in the house and a workshop. That's one skill I used to survive. I got interested in videography and that became a source of income. What a life. It was really adventurous. That was it for Lagos, Nigeria.

I would tell my younger self to always take advantage of opportunities as they come, and when there are obstacles stick with them till you've accomplished them. Don't try to do two things at the same time. I wasn't really focused. I didn't have a mentor at that time.  I needed somebody to tell me, "Take this step, take this step, take this step," like a counselor. It was [only] after marriage and the children that I started to try to prioritize.  

[Going through everything] strengthened my wife and I’s] bond, especially with the children. We of course had our rough patches, but it's two people that decide to live together and to make the best of it. You build on the love that you have for each other. At the end of the day, we try to always find a center that pulls us back together. Sometimes I have my faults, and I'm always quick to realize it. Sometimes I've had a bad day and I transfer the aggression coming home, opening the door. The pain gets to you, and you [take your anger out on] to the people familiar with you, the people that are more vulnerable, people you love. We've found a way, and we try to recognize it when it pops up. “The sun never goes down on your anger.”

It's not a perfect relationship. Everything is balance, compromise. Open communication is very important. Then our faith, too; there's a higher power than you, and love and respect people. By telephone, we have to pray together before we say goodnight. We try to do it with the kids, too. We are neatly bound

Your dreams may be deferred a little, but it's never too late. The opportunity is still there.  One way or the other, pushing and pushing and pushing, [our kids] were able to go to college. Those savings here and there, sacrifices, sweat, blood and tears. They're able to finish college, so everybody is wiser. 

There's so much going on in America. We didn't even know much about racism until we came here. So we tried to tell [our children], "Don't let [it] change your focus. Just do your best. Don't forget about your color. Push in where you can. You have your education. You can go anywhere."