In The Poetry of Life | Nasiba Babale

It is painful, you know, having you up there, well housed in your skull, protected, while I am here taking all the blame for your atrocities.

It is painful, you know, having you up there, well housed in your skull, protected, while I am here taking all the blame for your atrocities.

In The Poetry of Life | Nasiba Babale

A Letter to My Brain 

Hello. How are you doing? I hope this finds you well. I am not a fan of small talk, so I will go straight to the point. I am also not a very politically correct person, so I apologize in advance for the things I would say that will not come out right. We are supposed to have this as a one-on-one conversation, but I am not a very confrontational person either. And I convey anger better in writing than I do with my voice. If you don’t believe me, ask my ex. 

That being said. What on God’s green earth is wrong with you? I do not understand you at all! You have caused me a lot of trouble, embarrassed me, put me in situations where only the Grace of God saved me, and made me look stupid in places where I was supposed to maintain my steeze. And if you cared to know anything about me, you would know that I take my steeze seriously. 

For starters. I need more sleep than you allow me to have. Maybe you don’t know it, but I am not young, which means I have no business being awake past 10 pm. So why is it that as soon as I lay my head on the pillow to rest for the day, you seem to wake up? It is as if the pillow is a stimulant and you are the almost dead thing waiting to be brought back to life.  Suddenly, you start to remember the color of my English teacher’s shirt back in JSS 3, the best things I should have said to my friend in an argument one year ago, and the outfit I should wear to my mother’s grandson’s graduation when you know he hasn’t even started school yet. It always makes me wonder where you were during the day when I asked you to help me remember the password I set a day earlier. Or when I begged you to search your archives for the name of that person who was smiling at me in the bank. Or when I was rushing to work and was desperately trying to find my glasses. Where were you then? 

What would it take to have you let me sleep when I am supposed to? Yes, just tell me already. I am tired of trying blindly. I mean, I have tried a lot of things. Sleeping in the dark. Not taking caffeinated drinks after 5 pm. Dimming the light on my phone. not touching my phone at all. Reading something boring. Zhikr. Lying on my side. Lying on my back. Sleeping in a quiet place. Sleeping in a fetal position. Shutting my eyes as tight as I can.  What haven’t I done right? 

And why is it that when you finally manage to allow me to sleep, you jolt at the slightest of sounds? Why do you like amebo so much? Someone opens a door, and you are awake! Someone puts on the light, you are awake! Someone whispers my name, and before they close their mouth you are already on your feet! What exactly is the problem? Do you have a beef with rest? 

Why do you forget things so easily? Is it that your surface is too slippery and things just can’t stick to you, or do you just enjoy making me suffer? Maybe you derive joy in hearing my mother shout at me for not doing something she has repeatedly told me to do. Things you refuse to remind me to do. Now that I think of it, it is not that you forget things; it is that you love to remember them when they are least needed. You drive joy in flashing details when you are sure I have zero means of retaining them, or that they have exceeded their expiry date. Because, help me understand why your favorite moment of remembering things is when I am praying? Am I supposed to cut the prayer and write it down or what? 

And please. I have been meaning to ask you this, what happened to your face recognition software? Is it out of date? Did you uninstall it without my permission? Does it have any bug issues? Or is it that you have never had one to begin with? Because I don’t understand why helping me recognize people is such a herculean task for you. It is as if the moment people leave my presence, you delete them from my memory, making me look stupid, or cold when we meet again. Do you know how many people have called me arrogant because they believe I acted like I had never known them in my life, when we had met and interacted before? It is painful, you know, having you up there, well housed in your skull, protected, while I am here taking all the blame for your atrocities. I am not Akon. I am tired of taking all the blame. 

Do you know that you talk too much? Or is it that you think too much? I am not sure which is which. All I know is that there are voices in my head. Constantly. You are constantly talking. Or thinking. There is absolutely no quiet moment with you. And had these thoughts possessed some order to them, I wouldn’t have minded, but no. There is absolutely no order to them. You just ramble. Hardly ever taking a thought to a logical conclusion before you bring in another one to overtake the one in existence. I can’t even talk in peace because you always find a way to bring a thought that will distract me. For me, it is not a train of thought; it is a maze. A never-ending maze that leaves me fatigued. Don’t you even feel the pain? I do. I get brain aches! 

I am very sure there are more issues I need to talk to you about, but since somehow you are still in charge of everything I write, I am sure I am forgetting some things. But it is alright. I know I will remember, just that it will be after this piece has been published. Well, before I leave, I would like to appreciate you for the good you do. Yeah. I know. I am supposed to start with praise before criticism, but… you know how I am. You should know that I love how quickly you think in critical situations. I mean you can throw in a solution as soon as a problem is thrown at you. That is beautiful. I love that. I also love how you manage to keep calm even when the world is throwing a storm at you. At me. It is beautiful. There are a lot of other things too, but if I keep showering praises on you, you won’t wake up and do the needful. So please sit up. Do better. 

Warm regards, 

Nasiba. 

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Nasiba Babale, a.k.a The Poet of Light, is a medical laboratory scientist with Aminu Kano Teaching Hospital. She is the Creative Director of Poetic Wednesdays Initiative, and the moderator for Glass Door Initiative's Poetically Written Prose contest from 2019 to 2021. She was one of the judges of the 2020 edition of The Nigerian Students Prize organized by Poets in Nigeria. Her poems have been published by Brittle Paper, African Writer Magazine, Ghost City Press, and others. She was shortlisted for the Brigitte Poirson Poetry Prize 2023. She is a columnist for Konya Shams Rumi and a lover of arts. She co-curated the maiden edition of Kano International Poetry Festival. She is the author of the chapbook The Rain is Like You (Konya Shams Rumi, 2023) and the poetry collection Pickled Moments (Konya Shams Rumi, 2024). She hails from Kano State, Nigeria.