Two years ago this month, not up to thirty minutes after I publicly shared that I’d completed the first draft of my sophomore novel, fka Book Two, I collapsed. Literally. We were in Nairobi. We were talking about the work, and then I came back to, five whole minutes later, speaking already about an animated film I want to make. I had never experienced that before. I replied comments from the hospital without a single note of alarm because this is my life now. New horizons were buzzing gloriously around me, so why not? While working on the manuscript, sometimes my body clenched entirely, or I would feel a short heated rod of pain from my chest deep into my back, nested between spinal rungs. I would need to be held until my body rested. And mercifully, I could be; so I was. I know why my body reacted that way to sentences I was putting down. “Fiction”, and the stories were that close to me. I had carried them too too long! Somewhere else had to hold them. Between you and me, honestly? I did not mind the pain, the changes. As long as I was getting shit done; unburdening myself too. It was a type of relief. Months later, something similar happened on set in Lagos — a city I have had a complex dynamic with for some time now, so only popped into for some necessary days — and I’m grateful for everyone who handled that with care.
Again: I know why my body reacted in that way. I thought my ambition would kind of… hold my health (?) until I was ready to pay attention to it. If it took that much of everything to get where I was, why wouldn’t my health of all things wait for me? We were together. We were almost there! I’d obviously pay attention after the finish line. I just needed to get some stuff out of the way.
Well, it did not happen like so.
Because yes, in hindsight, the pressures I was under were crazy. I’m not referring to my career here actually, though those changes did give me a kind of whiplash. But honestly? That was a kind of nothing compared to the brutal shifts occurring in my literal life.
I had to change so much in order to recover. It hurt. A lot. Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. To admit to myself that what was happening was serious enough to kill me even under the sheen of my achievements. There were tests: MRIs, bloodwork, ECGs, scans, neurologist appointments, diagnoses (wrong and right), medications (correct and limp). I had to face the grief of losing multiple family members in a short span of time. I had to face how much it hurt to have my life changed on me like that at such a Fun (!!!) Time. I had to stop and look at the gaping divide between my Old Life and New Life. There are many untalkaboutable bits still. And yes, I was dealing with them while refining the text for my next novel. But I didn’t think it was A Big Deal.
On the other side of “the finish line,” we sold the book. And I announced the deal a year ago. I loved how excited everyone was with me! I felt so held. And that holding saved my life. I was ready. I felt that way.
Then two editors I love (both assigned to me) left the publishing house for different reasons, which meant my publication date needed to be pushed by a significant stretch of time. I had been pretty consistent in drumming up anticipation before the fallthroughs, so I did feel, at times, frustratingly delayed and disappointed.
The closer to publication I get (I’ll tell you about this soon), the more I can see the value of the down time life and God gave me. I have had time to rest. I have better health than I’ve had in years; than I would have had if I kept speeding along. I have learned that I want my life more than most things. Damnit, I want MY life!
*
I’ve been wrong about a lot lately. And I’m really enjoying that. It feels good to be reminded in painless, positive and practical ways that not everything I think or feel is objectively true. My life is changing again, pretty rapidly, in secretly accruing undercurrents that will bubble up shortly. I am not surprised. No one else should be. I have done what is mine to do, and what I work on is what I was born for. The world bends, then. That process is undeniable; insistent — an inevitable harvest. And I am my first priority this time.
Being clear-eyed has been an adventure. Just looking at each day, and seeing what it’s in it, what isn’t, then feeling my way around that without distortions is a worthwhile challenge. But on some days, even the things I know for sure are hidden behind a haze. On those days, I think in unstoppable loops. Sometimes, I can interrupt the anxiety before it starts smarting. Other times, I can’t catch it until it has swallowed two point five days and I’m inside a maze I can’t break out of. Many things are harder when my conclusions are worry-tinted.
But then there are miracles. Sometimes, an hour after I’ve catastrophised about something, the exact opposite happens. A situation I believe I fucked up comes back with better news than I hoped for. A friend I thought I was in a strange place with reaches out kindly and with updates on their life. A moment I thought I had to be there to salvage went fine without me and actually contained joy. I went to that place that stresses me because of how loaded with histories it is, and actually had a great time. I dreamt about The Wound and woke up with no corporeal residue. I love those moments. I adore those miracles. They really do save me from the cliff.
*
Some years ago, I decided to start believing my mind. There’s a whole other story about how much transformation, strength, confidence and courage that has brought me. When I started to believe myself about what I needed, what was too small, what I truly desired, and more, my life literally changed. I started to think of my ideas as already real. Now, when an idea comes to me, a reflex I have is: I don’t see why I can’t make that. And often, I can.
The flip side of this is that I also started to believe the dark thoughts that would come up. If the same mind that spat out two epic novels and a third book in three years said I fucked up then surely I did? If my mind remembered something in a certain hue, surely that was it? So: my mind as a place of activation and tangible possibility. At the same time, my mind as a place of fact-based & earned flagellation. If found genius, joy could flow. If found lacking, x must follow.
But something happened recently. After years bouncing between these peaks and troughs, I found a promising slice of light. I stopped something I’ve been doing daily, for eighteen days straight — because I decided to. I had always assumed I could not do without it.
And somewhere in there, I started watching what actually happened vs what I thought would happen. It has freed me up so much. I started keeping a list of things I’m wrong about, and on some days, I log multiple entries. The title of list?
WHAT I HAVE BEEN DELIGHTFULLY WRONG ABOUT LATELY.
An example of an entry could be:
— I was wrong about not having enough time to do xyz (because I actually finished ten minutes early)
— I was wrong about not meeting my goals (because I have surpassed everything on my to do list)
— I was wrong to think that I have made no improvements (because I have and I saw concrete proof today)
— I was wrong to think acceleration would not come (because now I can barely keep track of my inbox)
— I was wrong to think love was finite (because look how much of it I received today)
— I was wrong: I don’t need to “be over it by now” or kill the parts of me that look like a power that hurt me. I can just be. And I am… all of it.
Logging these instances has also meant that the way I think about my thoughts is changing. What if it’s not true that things won’t go right? What if it’s not that I got it wrong? What if me doing my best is actually clear to everyone around me? What if there’s simply more ease? What if I’m only just beginning? What if I have everything I need? What if the moment I’m ready to release the work is the exact right time for it to drop?
You can try starting a list of your own if you like. I hope it works for you too!
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Here’s some good news I want to/can share (for now).
I was profiled by an incredible writer, Ezra Olaoya and photographed by Adaeze Okaro for Dazed’s The Impossible Issue. Dazed is one of my favourite magazines of all time, and to be profiled by them in print gave me insane levels of joy. If you can, buy a copy and send me a photo of the pages when you see them. My favorites are the Willow Smith and Ayra Starr covers.
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I spoke to Thobeka Phanyeko for Glamour SA while in Capetown, and was photographed by Saba Kingsley. We had a lovely conversation about life, my present work, and what's next for Vagabonds the World.
I was Chief Judge for the Native Horror Stories Competition. We received 90+ stories in two weeks, and of the final fifteen I read, I met such brilliance. The final three winners each received $1500 and a blurb. I also included four notable mentions. You can find more details about all that here. For ease (and delight), I’m linking one of the winning stories, by Gabrielle Harry. The other two have also been published on the Native website. You should read them too.
This Sunday Times print feature, just for the title alone. Be Devoured? Yes. Be Devoured.
I contributed to the Lagos I Love You But… zine, curated by Faridah Folawiyo and had a live booth called ‘Please Leave A Message After The Tone’ running at the Manifold Lagos exhibition, which showed at Alara Lagos a few weeks ago. I wasn’t physically present for that show but what people chose to share in writing and by voice even in my absence made me feel so much. If you went there and left talked back to the work, thank you!
I’m FINALLY releasing a Vagabonds! tattoo flash sheet in collaboration with a tattoo artist named Mars/Irawo (!!!) I haven’t shared anywhere else yet. We’ll probably drop in a few days on Instagram using the following handles: @eloosunde and @vagabondstheworld. If you don’t already follow those accounts, I highly recommend! I’m blown away by what we came up with for this, and can’t wait for you to see! This is for all of us who have wanted a tatt based on the work. It’s coming. There are ten different designs. I’m so thrilled by all! And I know my first two already.
OTHER GEMS/THE TROVE
BOOKS:
This Here Flesh by Cole Arthur Riley. It’s so interesting to me the number of people who immediately wonder if I’m atheist because I have moved from where I used to stand. I recommend this book especially if you’re currently trying to figure out the shape of your faith, and have questions. This work soothed me in unexpected places, and the text has some of the most profound + satisfying theological questions and reflections I’ve read in recent times.
Perfect Little Angels by Vincent Anioke. This is one of the best works of fiction I’ve read recently. I want everyone to get into it, tbh.
And Then He Sang A Lullaby by Ani Kayode. I enjoyed the journey.
A Kind of Madness by Uche Okonkwo. Special.
MUSIC:
Rema’s HEIS album. I mean…
Good Feelings — Coldplay feat Ayra Starr. <3
Vision — Qing Madi. This was on repeat the whole time I was in Capetown.
Naomi Sharon’s Obsidian. 1000000/10. She is excellent.
Bawo? — Yinka Bernie. This new sound is perfect.
Odeal’s Sunday at Zuri’s EP. Let it run.
Wande Coal dropped an extended version of Again on SoundCloud
This EP here called Morning Glory, by Narah
More soon.
Take care of yourself! Let time be time, ok? Patience.
I love you,
E xxx
I didn’t know you were on Substack! Loved Vagabonds! and l need to get to Necessary Fiction soon. Thanks for the recommendations!
thank you.