Bosi gbangba pt2

"What is the issue now?" the man asked. "Haven't you taken enough for the tests?"
The child was crying silently, in her mother's arms.The nurse glanced nervously at the couple. How was she to tell them that the pathologist was out for his noon day drinking break?
"Er...the samples have been sent to the Lab sir," the nurse stuttered.
"But that is what you said twenty minutes ago!" the man exclaimed.
"We are waiting for the results sir, before we can proceed." the nurse repeated again. "

The man glared at the nurse before turning back to his wife and child. Suddenly two doctors rushed into the room and asked for the referred child. The nurse pointed towards the watching couple. One doctor quickly collected the sleeping child from its mother while another began explaining that the child had to be operated on because they believed any more delay would jeopardize the child's life.

"No!" exclaimed the mother. "That's the reason we asked for a referral! We do not want an operation!"

"But madam," the doctor replied. "she can barely breath! The only reason she can sleep right now is because she is not alert. When she wakes up she will be in a lot of pain. If you only let us..."

"Let you do what?" the mother interrupted. "Cut a hole in my baby's throat?"

"But its just a tiny hole madam." the doctor said.

"No matter the size its still a hole," the father replied. "A permanent hole. We do not consent to the operation. Why are you not waiting for the test results?"

"Tests?" repeated the doctor.

"He means these test results," another voice floated from the end of the corridor. She was tall, slim and her steps were soft and sure on the worn tiles of the hospital. As she crossed a sun beam, her face was framed for a second, and it looked more like a model's than a doctor- the mother's roving eye caught on the billowing doctor's coat again for assurance. What could this teenager be doing in a doctor's coat? She wanted to ask.

"You ran tests on the child?" the second doctor asked her, his face contorted in a frown.

"Yes," replied the lady as she moved closer to the mother and rubbed her hand up then down the woman's sleeve. The woman relaxed a little, unconsciously.

"She has a bit of apple stuck in her wind pipe." she continued. "Its not poisoning as their hospital's note said. All we have to do is give her drops that will melt the piece. We will also give her more sleeping syrup."

She looked directly at both parents as she said,"There wont be any need for an operation. Please let ur perform the procedure. It will only take a few hours."

"We don't even know these people." the mother said, looking at her husband pointedly. The doctors apologized and introduced themselves.

As they made their way back to the waiting room, the mother wondered what would have happened if the teenager doctor, who turned out to be a pediatrician, had not arrived when she did. She had shuddered when they had been told that their baby was about to be given a permanent hole in her throat. Her mind had failed to refuse to stop picturing the child, with a hole in her throat, growing up still with a hole in her throat.She pictured the humiliation, the shame, the suffering the girl would be put through all her life, all through no fault of hers.All because another woman who wanted her father had decided to 'deal with' the girl.

The mother shuddered again."Are you alright dear?" her husband asked as they sat down to wait.

"I will be if you can assure me that that witch will not spend another night under my roof," the mother responded.
"It could have happened with anyone," the father defended their house guest. "Even you."
"Even me?" the mother repeated. "How could I possibly be so dumb as to feed apple to a child that has no teeth?"
"I knew you were going to react this way." the man said in a resigned tone.
His wife just stared at him before shaking her head, also in resignation. How was it that men were blind when it concerned women that wanted them?

They sat in silence for three hours, the wife muttering prayers for minutes at a time. The husband sat back, and reminisced. He remembered when the baby was born, how he had been called aside and told that the hospital did not have an incubator, but there was a way out - they could improvise, if only they could get their hands on about ten hot water bottles and a few more thick blankets.
He'd made a dash for the university quarters, and gone from door to door until he'd gathered all he needed. His neighbors looked at him in wonder - an African man was usually this jubilant when his wife gave birth to a boy, but the father was oblivious to the the gender, and even the condition. As far as he was concerned, he had a child.
He was a father.
He had a child.

The baby had been 1.6kg at birth, and the doctors, after setting up a make-shift incubator with cardboard boxes, hot water bottles, and thick blankets, were scared when the weight dropped to 1.4kg. The baby was a survivor however, she not only survived the incubator, she survived one month at the hospital. She was the smallest premature baby to ever survive in the hospital, and as a gift, she was granted free treatment until she clocked three years of age.

But the baby was barely one year old, when an old friend came visiting some days ago, totting apples, the local species. She had insisted on carrying and playing with the baby, then on feeding her apples today. Ajibike had adapted to the new food until a particularly big piece had gotten stuck in her throat.What started as a small back-patting incident, became an alarming issue that entailed rushing the child to the nearest hospital. Thank God they had been alert and not numb, because the doctor on duty had insisted on operating on the child, even after hearing that the kid was choking on ordinary apple. They had put their foot down, and insisted on a referral.

"Sunday?" a leathery voice interrupted his musing. The father looked up, then sat up immediately. His brother, older than him with more than fifteen years, was standing in front of him. He tapped his wife gently before standing up and prostrating in greeting.

"I thought so," the man said, nodding his white head. "When that child doctor kept disturbing me that I must carry out the analysis before going to my joint for my midday palmwine, I thought she was just ranting as usual. Thank God I glanced at the name on the forms. I carried out the analysis quickly before going out. I am glad I did."

"Thank you Papa," the wife said, rising from her kneeling pose.

"What happened to my child?" he asked as he took the seat vacated by his younger brother.
"She got apple stuck in her throat," the wife replied.
"Hmm...." the man mused. "Asphyxiation, or poisioning. Was it critical when you got here?"
"The doctors from General Hospital gave her a sedative so she was still sleeping when we got here."
"General wanted to cut a hole in her throat abi?" the old man asked.
"Yes," replied the mother.
"Typical," the old man muttered. "All they have to do is dissolve the apple piece, then give her a sleeping draught, and position her so that she doesn't choke before she wakes up. That's all."
"That is what the girl doctor said," the woman said.
They all turned at the footsteps coming down the corridor. The nurse approached the receptionist first, then came towards them.

"Dr. Ogochukwu says you can see your daughter now." She said. "Please follow me."
The three of them followed the nurse who led them down the corridor as she spoke.
"She is now in the Children's ward, but in a separate room. I see you have met Papa Mankind."
"He's actually my elder brother," the father responded.
"Small world." she said.
"Yes small world." agreed the father, who entered the room after the nurse.
They were greeted by the endearing sight of Ajibike clapping her hands and shaking her crib in enthusiasm as the lady doctor sang out of tune, while she checked her vital signs.The mother's silent tears were in complete contrast to her happy laughter.

Bosi gbangba pt 1

The man rubbed his head again in anguish, then rubbed his aching eyes, before resuming his pacing. Back and forth he paced in the waiting corridor, ignoring the pitying glances that passersby sent his way. Everytime a doctor approached he looked at their faces intently, dreading bad news.
They had already lost one baby. This unexpected one had been a God - given miracle, and now it seemed it was only a teaser.
He smiled as he remembered his wife's facial expression when the doctor had told her that her illness was another baby, not malaria. But that was four months ago. Now he had had to rush her to the emergency room because she had fainted.
He had stepped down to the car to pick something, only to return and find her on the floor.

"Hello sir," the approaching doctor asked. "Are you the husband of the woman in the theatre right now?"
"Yes, Yes," he said in a rush. "I am. What happened?"
"We are sorry about the.." the doctor began, but had to pause when the man began to cry.
"Wait sir!" The doctor exclaimed. "She still alive!"
The man looked up instantly. "She is alive?" he asked, trying to believe the words that came out of his ears.
"Yes she is sir," the doctor repeated. "I just came to tell you that you have to sign some papers. She has to be operated. I want to explain the situation to you sir, but you have to calm down and listen carefully."
"Am listening" the man replied as he walked with the doctor towards the theatre.
"Ok. We have to operate to remove the baby. I understand that the approximate duration of the pregnancy is just over six months right?"
"We are not really sure." The man responded.
"Then it might not be developed enough to survive." The doctor said."We are on a race to save your wife's life. That is what we hope to achieve. We will try our best but saving your wife's life is the goal. Do you understand?"
"Yes I do."the man replied. "Please save her."
Three hours later the man was called into the theatre.
"Your wife is fine now sir." The doctor assured him. "She will be resting now."
"Thank God!" the man sobbed again.
"And that is your baby" the doctor added. "Its a girl, and she's alive and kicking."
The man glanced in the direction the doctor was pointing to, and saw a nurse motioning for him to come closer. He peered at the tiny form in her arms, all bloody and wriggling the tiniest arms and legs he had ever seen.
"She's barely seven months old." the doctor said.
"Baby" moaned the wife.
They all glanced at the bed, the nurse hurrying to her side to show her the child.
She stared at it for a few minutes, then turned to her husband and asked,
"Are her toes complete?"
He nodded in response.
"And her fingers?" He nodded again.
"Thank God" she muttered before falling asleep again.
At 1.6kg, not longer than an Africola bottle, Ajibike was born, on the 23rd of September.

Bosi gbangba pt 1

The man rubbed his head again in anguish, then rubbed his aching eyes, before resuming his pacing. Back and forth he paced in the waiting corridor, ignoring the pitying glances that passersby sent his way. Everytime a doctor approached he looked at their faces intently, dreading bad news.
They had already lost one baby. This unexpected one had been a God - given miracle, and now it seemed it was only a teaser.
He smiled as he remembered his wife's facial expression when the doctor had told her that her illness was another baby, not malaria. But that was four months ago. Now he had had to rush her to the emergency room because she had fainted.
He had stepped down to the car to pick something, only to return and find her on the floor.

"Hello sir," the approaching doctor asked. "Are you the husband of the woman in the theatre right now?"
"Yes, Yes," he said in a rush. "I am. What happened?"
"We are sorry about the.." the doctor began, but had to pause when the man began to cry.
"Wait sir!" The doctor exclaimed. "She still alive!"
The man looked up instantly. "She is alive?" he asked, trying to believe the words that came out of his ears.
"Yes she is sir," the doctor repeated. "I just came to tell you that you have to sign some papers. She has to be operated. I want to explain the situation to you sir, but you have to calm down and listen carefully."
"Am listening" the man replied as he walked with the doctor towards the theatre.
"Ok. We have to operate to remove the baby. I understand that the approximate duration of the pregnancy is just over six months right?"
"We are not really sure." The man responded.
"Then it might not be developed enough to survive." The doctor said."We are on a race to save your wife's life. That is what we hope to achieve. We will try our best but saving your wife's life is the goal. Do you understand?"
"Yes I do."the man replied. "Please save her."
Three hours later the man was called into the theatre.
"Your wife is fine now sir." The doctor assured him. "She will be resting now."
"Thank God!" the man sobbed again.
"And that is your baby" the doctor added. "Its a girl, and she's alive and kicking."
The man glanced in the direction the doctor was pointing to, and saw a nurse motioning for him to come closer. He peered at the tiny form in her arms, all bloody and wriggling the tiniest arms and legs he had ever seen.
"She's barely seven months old." the doctor said.
"Baby" moaned the wife.
They all glanced at the bed, the nurse hurrying to her side to show her the child.
She stared at it for a few minutes, then turned to her husband and asked,
"Are her toes complete?"
He nodded in response.
"And her fingers?" He nodded again.
"Thank God" she muttered before falling asleep again.
At 1.6kg, not longer than an Africola bottle, Ajibike was born, on the 23rd of September.

Nigeria’s Bank crisis

Since friday I decided not to comment on what was going on in the banking industry here in Nigeria, partly because I was three busy, and partly because I really do not 'vent' about politics. Yes, I vent about the upcoming wedding, the office, and other things but not really about politics. But this one, I have to vent.
I read a post on 234Next about the banks crisis and the moves that CBN has made to try to change things, and it was alright. The information was shocking but still Nigerian. Then I read the comments.
I encourage everyone to click the link above and read the comments thoroughly. It appears that there are some Nigerians who don't realize that every decision-making office in Nigeria is rapidly being filled with underqualified [or in some cases, unqualified] Katsina and Kaduna state people. I started with 'it appears' cos I do not want to believe it is true. I encourage everyone to read through THISDAY newspaper, yesterday's edition.
Meanwhile this was my response to the writeup:
BANJI AHMED and all those condemning AKEEM KOLA ADEBAYO, I think you missed his point. When he was talking about tribal activity he was not talking about the banks issue alone. Take a good look at the recent activities in FERMA, PHCN, CBN and other key decision-making posts in the country - you will see that the top crop is being replaced by unqualified, or lower level underqualified katsina and kaduna men. Just look well. One retired northerner even wrote a signed statement about it - it was in yesterday's papers. I personally know that the FERMA head was sacked without preamble. That is what he is refering to, not the bank issues alone!

While CBN has the authority to caution erring banks, I do not see how they have the veto power to 'sack' bank MDs and chairmen, especially banks created by private hands. And I also agree with the fact that people's assets should not be seized to pay the debts incured from failing businesses, only the collateral.

While the US has given us till 2013 before we implode, I for one pray that the tension wont give way before then. Since friday one statement I heard during Abacha's rule has been echoing in my head = 'The northerners are born to rule. The others are born to serve them.'

Let's all start praying for Nigeria o!

Nigeria’s Bank crisis

Since friday I decided not to comment on what was going on in the banking industry here in Nigeria, partly because I was three busy, and partly because I really do not 'vent' about politics. Yes, I vent about the upcoming wedding, the office, and other things but not really about politics. But this one, I have to vent.
I read a post on 234Next about the banks crisis and the moves that CBN has made to try to change things, and it was alright. The information was shocking but still Nigerian. Then I read the comments.
I encourage everyone to click the link above and read the comments thoroughly. It appears that there are some Nigerians who don't realize that every decision-making office in Nigeria is rapidly being filled with underqualified [or in some cases, unqualified] Katsina and Kaduna state people. I started with 'it appears' cos I do not want to believe it is true. I encourage everyone to read through THISDAY newspaper, yesterday's edition.
Meanwhile this was my response to the writeup:
BANJI AHMED and all those condemning AKEEM KOLA ADEBAYO, I think you missed his point. When he was talking about tribal activity he was not talking about the banks issue alone. Take a good look at the recent activities in FERMA, PHCN, CBN and other key decision-making posts in the country - you will see that the top crop is being replaced by unqualified, or lower level underqualified katsina and kaduna men. Just look well. One retired northerner even wrote a signed statement about it - it was in yesterday's papers. I personally know that the FERMA head was sacked without preamble. That is what he is refering to, not the bank issues alone!

While CBN has the authority to caution erring banks, I do not see how they have the veto power to 'sack' bank MDs and chairmen, especially banks created by private hands. And I also agree with the fact that people's assets should not be seized to pay the debts incured from failing businesses, only the collateral.

While the US has given us till 2013 before we implode, I for one pray that the tension wont give way before then. Since friday one statement I heard during Abacha's rule has been echoing in my head = 'The northerners are born to rule. The others are born to serve them.'

Let's all start praying for Nigeria o!

All the Married Ladies

I have a question for the 'experienced' Naija wives out there...How do you cope with decision making in the home? I am engaged to a good quiet guy and he's nice and reasonable most times but guess what? He's from Ekiti state. That is the beginning of it all, cos we all know they are extremely stubborn people. He can be so determined over some issues at times it makes me so exasperated that I am breathless.

Now the wedding is pending and as usual the little arguements and 'issues' over wedding preps is expected, but it still makes me raise an eyebrow, cos even though I love this guy, it is a serious issue for me when he wont see reason.

I am not always right but sometimes I am sure but he wont listen. Then when I am proved right he still wont say a word. Its funny, really because I have been practicing 'agree to disagree' but its wearing me down.
Tis especially frustrating because I am used to making my own decisions and all that independence.
Now he's all luvey-duvey but am not even blinking. Is this normal?

Then the role of motherhood? Does it fit easily? Do you just become a mother, just like that? Cos I cannot begin to comprehend how my body will change over nine months and there's the childbirth part. I hear stories of how 'the lady had several tears and she had to be stitched inside and outside [shudder]' or of how 'the labor took up to 5 hours and had to be induced in the first place'. Tis making me shake. Then having a kid now without proper..er...[financial] preparation is a major issue. My cousin told me that a pack of pampers, the big size that lasts an average of 2 months, costs 54, 000 naira [yes, fifty-four thousand naira]. That alone is making me try to pinch every cost wherever I can.


Then I ask Vicky, when are we goin to start have the babies? And he replies, 'immediately of course. Why wait?'
What about my career? I am already feeling down that I have to leave the posh job I'm at in Lagos to go to the unknown in Abuja. The frustrating part is everyone keeps advising me to get a Ministry job because that way, I can have the time to 'rear my children properly'. I did not intend to have a career in the ministry where all they do is open and close file cabinets for God's sakes! I have climbed so far in so little time - as the head of technical department in the mobile IT firm I work, it has been hard work getting there. Now I am supposed to go and work in a Ministry so I can have time for my children? What about the bankers in Abuja, don't they have time for their children?
I have serious issues running through my mind - Kafo has heard some and pacified me a bit, but some things are nagging. My mum is so excited about her only daughter's wedding and is always put out that I am not concerned about the engagement lace color combo, or the exotic aso oke combo she is thinking of combining. I am just not into the whole drama. Left to me I would just pay a planner and smile for the camera. In fact, left to me we would just go to the registry and be done in an hour. But my mum has only one daughter, and his mum wants to have a ball cos she especially loves him, never mind that they have had two weddings this year already - his sister got married in March, his brother, two weeks later in April.
The funniest part is when I see him, all my fears melt away. But I would like to know if it is normal.
My mum's over three decades older than me so to sacrifice all for a man was the norm then.
All the married ladies pls help me out....

All the Married Ladies

I have a question for the 'experienced' Naija wives out there...How do you cope with decision making in the home? I am engaged to a good quiet guy and he's nice and reasonable most times but guess what? He's from Ekiti state. That is the beginning of it all, cos we all know they are extremely stubborn people. He can be so determined over some issues at times it makes me so exasperated that I am breathless.

Now the wedding is pending and as usual the little arguements and 'issues' over wedding preps is expected, but it still makes me raise an eyebrow, cos even though I love this guy, it is a serious issue for me when he wont see reason.

I am not always right but sometimes I am sure but he wont listen. Then when I am proved right he still wont say a word. Its funny, really because I have been practicing 'agree to disagree' but its wearing me down.
Tis especially frustrating because I am used to making my own decisions and all that independence.
Now he's all luvey-duvey but am not even blinking. Is this normal?

Then the role of motherhood? Does it fit easily? Do you just become a mother, just like that? Cos I cannot begin to comprehend how my body will change over nine months and there's the childbirth part. I hear stories of how 'the lady had several tears and she had to be stitched inside and outside [shudder]' or of how 'the labor took up to 5 hours and had to be induced in the first place'. Tis making me shake. Then having a kid now without proper..er...[financial] preparation is a major issue. My cousin told me that a pack of pampers, the big size that lasts an average of 2 months, costs 54, 000 naira [yes, fifty-four thousand naira]. That alone is making me try to pinch every cost wherever I can.


Then I ask Vicky, when are we goin to start have the babies? And he replies, 'immediately of course. Why wait?'
What about my career? I am already feeling down that I have to leave the posh job I'm at in Lagos to go to the unknown in Abuja. The frustrating part is everyone keeps advising me to get a Ministry job because that way, I can have the time to 'rear my children properly'. I did not intend to have a career in the ministry where all they do is open and close file cabinets for God's sakes! I have climbed so far in so little time - as the head of technical department in the mobile IT firm I work, it has been hard work getting there. Now I am supposed to go and work in a Ministry so I can have time for my children? What about the bankers in Abuja, don't they have time for their children?
I have serious issues running through my mind - Kafo has heard some and pacified me a bit, but some things are nagging. My mum is so excited about her only daughter's wedding and is always put out that I am not concerned about the engagement lace color combo, or the exotic aso oke combo she is thinking of combining. I am just not into the whole drama. Left to me I would just pay a planner and smile for the camera. In fact, left to me we would just go to the registry and be done in an hour. But my mum has only one daughter, and his mum wants to have a ball cos she especially loves him, never mind that they have had two weddings this year already - his sister got married in March, his brother, two weeks later in April.
The funniest part is when I see him, all my fears melt away. But I would like to know if it is normal.
My mum's over three decades older than me so to sacrifice all for a man was the norm then.
All the married ladies pls help me out....

Paris said it all….

It all seemed so unreal - someone even twitted that he expected Michael to jump out of the casket and tell us it was a lie and make us roll our eyes and say, 'Oh pleez! Stop your theateritics for Pete's sake!'

But it was not to be.

I tried to watch the Michael Jackson Memorial, but I live in Nigeria, where the only TV station to show it live decided that the nine o clock news was more important than watching the service - they cut into the live feed with their news. Nigeria has not changed and we get six o clock news so why didn't they just leave it on for Pete's sake? Its not like they interrupt football anyway.

Even the internet wasnt cooperating - guess it was my low 115Kbps bandwidth that wouldn't help. So this morning as I opened my yahoomail, I saw AP news about it and clicked. This is what I found. And It finally sunk in....


By SANDY COHEN, AP Entertainment Writer – Tue Jul 7, 9:35 pm ET
LOS ANGELES –
For all the hasty preparations, hand-wringing over security, breathless media competition to scoop details and soul-wrenching performances, the essence of Michael Jackson's memorial service came down to 20 poignant, powerful seconds: the moment when 11-year-old Paris-Michael Jackson inched up to the microphone and, in a statement no one saw coming, referred to the late pop superstar as "Daddy."
It was a remarkably humanizing moment. Then again, it was remarkable just to see Jackson's three children in public to begin with.

A fiercely protective father, Jackson rarely brought his brood out into public, covering their faces in veils and party masks to protect their identity when he did.
Now here they were, unveiled, before an audience of thousands at Staples Center and millions more around the globe. Starting out seated in the front row, the three youngest Jacksons eventually joined the rest family onstage as the two-hour service wound to a close.
Dressed in the same dark suits and yellow ties as the rest of the Jackson men, 12-year-old Michael Joseph Jr., known as Prince Michael, chewed gum and toted the memorial service program; 7-year-old Prince Michael II, known as Blanket, held his program and clutched a Michael Jackson doll.

Paris, wearing a black dress with white trim, turned a small patent-leather purse over in her hands as other family members spoke. And then a dramatic hush fell over the crowd as family members whispered that the little girl, whose lifetime of public exposure amounted to a small handful of paparazzi photographs, Paris-Michael wanted to say something.

She furtively emerged from the tight circle of family members, who rushed to lower the microphone to her level. And with her uncle Randy on one side and aunt Janet on the other, Jackson's little girl stood center stage.

"I just wanted to say," Paris began weakly.
"Speak up, sweetheart, speak up," Janet encouraged, sweeping the girl's long hair back. "And get close."
Paris put one hand behind her neck, another on the microphone, and began again.
"Ever since I was born, Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine," she said, her tiny voice cracking.
Rebbie and Marlon Jackson moved in closer to comfort their niece. She shut her eyes tight.

Then she wrapped her hands — little fingernails painted red — around the microphone and fought back tears as she continued: "And I just wanted to say I love him — so much."
She collapsed in tears into her aunt's arms.
"It's OK, baby. It's OK," Janet Jackson said as she held Paris close. Prince joined in on the hug.

And all at once, Jackson wasn't the larger-than-life King of Pop, or Wacko Jacko the tabloid freak. He was a doting father who had left three adoring young children behind.

He was "Daddy."

Nicely said. Goodbye MJ.
I am still crying...

Paris said it all….

It all seemed so unreal - someone even twitted that he expected Michael to jump out of the casket and tell us it was a lie and make us roll our eyes and say, 'Oh pleez! Stop your theateritics for Pete's sake!'

But it was not to be.

I tried to watch the Michael Jackson Memorial, but I live in Nigeria, where the only TV station to show it live decided that the nine o clock news was more important than watching the service - they cut into the live feed with their news. Nigeria has not changed and we get six o clock news so why didn't they just leave it on for Pete's sake? Its not like they interrupt football anyway.

Even the internet wasnt cooperating - guess it was my low 115Kbps bandwidth that wouldn't help. So this morning as I opened my yahoomail, I saw AP news about it and clicked. This is what I found. And It finally sunk in....


By SANDY COHEN, AP Entertainment Writer – Tue Jul 7, 9:35 pm ET
LOS ANGELES –
For all the hasty preparations, hand-wringing over security, breathless media competition to scoop details and soul-wrenching performances, the essence of Michael Jackson's memorial service came down to 20 poignant, powerful seconds: the moment when 11-year-old Paris-Michael Jackson inched up to the microphone and, in a statement no one saw coming, referred to the late pop superstar as "Daddy."
It was a remarkably humanizing moment. Then again, it was remarkable just to see Jackson's three children in public to begin with.

A fiercely protective father, Jackson rarely brought his brood out into public, covering their faces in veils and party masks to protect their identity when he did.
Now here they were, unveiled, before an audience of thousands at Staples Center and millions more around the globe. Starting out seated in the front row, the three youngest Jacksons eventually joined the rest family onstage as the two-hour service wound to a close.
Dressed in the same dark suits and yellow ties as the rest of the Jackson men, 12-year-old Michael Joseph Jr., known as Prince Michael, chewed gum and toted the memorial service program; 7-year-old Prince Michael II, known as Blanket, held his program and clutched a Michael Jackson doll.

Paris, wearing a black dress with white trim, turned a small patent-leather purse over in her hands as other family members spoke. And then a dramatic hush fell over the crowd as family members whispered that the little girl, whose lifetime of public exposure amounted to a small handful of paparazzi photographs, Paris-Michael wanted to say something.

She furtively emerged from the tight circle of family members, who rushed to lower the microphone to her level. And with her uncle Randy on one side and aunt Janet on the other, Jackson's little girl stood center stage.

"I just wanted to say," Paris began weakly.
"Speak up, sweetheart, speak up," Janet encouraged, sweeping the girl's long hair back. "And get close."
Paris put one hand behind her neck, another on the microphone, and began again.
"Ever since I was born, Daddy has been the best father you could ever imagine," she said, her tiny voice cracking.
Rebbie and Marlon Jackson moved in closer to comfort their niece. She shut her eyes tight.

Then she wrapped her hands — little fingernails painted red — around the microphone and fought back tears as she continued: "And I just wanted to say I love him — so much."
She collapsed in tears into her aunt's arms.
"It's OK, baby. It's OK," Janet Jackson said as she held Paris close. Prince joined in on the hug.

And all at once, Jackson wasn't the larger-than-life King of Pop, or Wacko Jacko the tabloid freak. He was a doting father who had left three adoring young children behind.

He was "Daddy."

Nicely said. Goodbye MJ.
I am still crying...

Do you have scars like that too?

Life is so funny. And so painful. I used to think of myself as an easy-to-heal soul, you know, the type that forgives easily, and forgets.
I still heal easily - on the surface that is. My skin heals quick and I have no scars, no matter how severe. But I am wrong in my assumption.
My heart has scars that wont dissappear. It is odd that the two scars that are prominent were brought on by similar circumstances, and by friends. The first was from a bossom friend who I loved deeply. I really felt for this babe. Don't get me wrong - I was not attracted to her, I just saw her as the sister I never had. I went out of my way to please her and help her. It wasn't that she was ill, or disabled or anything. In fact, she was and is a beauty - long legs, pretty smile, lovely figure. Around her, short, pudgy me was not self-conscious however. I felt at home with her. It didnt even matter that we were of different religions. All that mattered was her happiness. Our friendship stood the test of time and other people's jealousy, but it was destined to crack one day, and by something so flimsy, I still cannot believe that she actually believed I could say such a thing.
Well, it ended. I was bitter, sad, hurt and angry. Even when the truth came to light, I kept away. I had wrapped myself in a cocoon to heal.
Its been years, but even now, if I go visiting, her family still treat me like their own.
But everytime I read something about her on Facebook, or see something she gave me in my room (I refused to throw them away or hide them), I feel a pang in my heart. Why did it have to end that way? Maybe she didn't love me as much as I loved her? So many questions will remain unanswered.
The scar still pulses even now.
Then the second one was woken up tonight. I got through a shaky year three in the university with help from an angel. I found him on the internet - he's a math whiz, knows more than 14 programming languages and was alive during world war 2. He's a veteran, and has survived so many things. I admired him, and looked forward to hearing from him everytime. He's also a crazy man - one time he decided he was relocating to another state, but rather than fly he chose to go by road. That sounds alright until you read this - he reconstructed a bicycle and attached a trail of six black containers to the back with three wheels. He traveled for almost a month, slept on the road or in parks, and subsisted on little or no food. I had to plead with him to notify at least one member of his family (yes he has grand kids but is estranged from the family because he chose to live on the streets) before starting out, so in case something 'happens', they would know.
All was rosy until I made a mistake. A classmate of mine needed help for his project and his topic was something I was sure that my 'Grandad' (yeah that is what I called him then), could handle, so I introduced the 'mate, and told Grandad to please help.
That was the last I heard from Grandad.
By that time, he'd gotten an apartment, gotten a job, had a girlfriend he intended to marry, but something had happened to his back, so I was in 'caring' mode - checking on him with mails to make sure he was ok. We had gotten so close that he didnt feel any restraint in giving me his POBox address and number (I think I sent a card once sef). We even exchanged pictures.
Looking back, I wonder, what did I do wrong? He just up and refused to respond. I got frantic. Was he alive? Searching his name on the net said yes he was, and from the dates of his latest postings I could see he was still active. Was it my religion? He's a staunch atheist but I never pressured him to convert - the highest I did was tell him I was praying for his recovery. Was it my friend? It might have been, because Jide could have been a yahoo boy without my knowledge.
I will never know.
Grandad even wrote me a story, and sent it to me. It was sweet. The scar is still there and throbbing.
R and Kent Dolan - scars that refuse to fade and go away.
Do you have scars like that too?