“Change occurs when the pain of remaining the same is greater than the pain of changing.“ – Alcoholics Anonymous

It was 3:00pm and my daughter’s basketball game was two hours away. It was time to shave, brush my teeth, shower and get ready. I had the brush in my mouth when suddenly 85% of what you are about to read came pouring out. So strong was the energy and flow that I had to keep writing. Fifty minutes later, I realized I still had the brush and paste in my mouth, and was typing with two thumbs on my iPhone keyboard as if my life depended on it. It some direct ways, it DID. The other 15% came at 3:00am the following day.

If you are unfamiliar with “Yakubu”, it might be worth reading my earlier blog posts on the Crock Pot Moments 1 & 2. In them, I introduced the character and set the context for our cordial, stormy, friendly and what has now become a very intimate relationship journey.

As I was stepping into this unknown struggle, I recalled my Sunday school experience and a bible story I had learned about a man named Jacob. The story had it that he wanted something so badly and went to all extent to get it. The Bible story is of an encounter Jacob had with an angel and how he held on and wrestled with the angel until the break of dawn. According to the story, Jacob’s hip joint was dislocated in the process for he would not let go until he was blessed by the angel. The morale of the story was that if one wanted something from God badly, one needed to STAY and not let go. Also that there is a price for the life of abundance and fulfillment we see people experiencing. What stuck with me the most was the process and the wrestling part. His was with an angel, mine was with Yakubu.

After the romantic phase of my meeting Yakubu, adoring him, respecting him and caring about what he had to say, things soon got mean and nasty. It was as if the first part of meeting Yakubu, adoring Yakubu and becoming Yakubu in Awam Amkpa’s play “Not In My Season of Songs” hadn’t happened. It got to a point where I was spiritually, emotionally and psychologically in pain. I was also angry and resentful towards him. In process work terminology, I had reached an edge – a big boulder I could no longer ignore or avoid. One I had to deal with or confront.

As is common with two party and group conflicts, now was not the time to take the other side. It was escalation time. There were assumptions flying around on both sides. There was blame and meanness and judgments. I was accused by Yakubu for not being African or black enough, of not raising my children right. He was merely re-echoing what a Minnesota-based Nigerian friend has been saying for years.

Just like me, he said my children had African names but were in fact not African; that their worldviews were white and they did not even speak the African language. He accused me of selling out and in fact becoming a white man. He reminded me that I wasn’t even there when the white man came to “our land”, raped, plundered and stole from it and occupied it until all was destroyed.

Yakubu went directly into the areas of religion and education. He told me just like the renowned African theologian, John S. Mbiti had articulated years ago, that prior to the coming of Christianity toAfrica, “Africans were already incurably religious” (John Mbiti, African Religions and Philosophy, Heinemann, 1989). He said I had taken to the way of the white man including his religion and education. He reminded me that he had been educated in the white man’s ways as a cartographer and that he is resentful of the constant drawing and redrawing of the African and Nigerian maps to meet the white man’s insatiable needs and greed. He chastised me for getting a PhD as according to him, it was the ultimate mark of conscription.

Some conflicts last for a few days, even months. Others last for years and even generations. Mine with Yakubu had been going on for over 50 years. I only realized it tangentially ten years ago, became aware of its impact and picked up the accusation months ago, midway through my process work journey. The accusations, blaming and shaming have been relentless. I have cried, been sad and even became mildly depressed but it wouldn’t stop. It felt like the more I stepped into my victimhood, the more the abuse continued. To protect myself and maintain my insanity, I went into a defensive mode for a while and then I fought back and justified my rank and accomplishments. I told Yakubu who I had become, what I had done and the lifestyle I had achieved. I took pride in my power of choice and global citizenship.

It seemed for a while that we were even but the conflict soon moved into my sleep time and dream world. I would wake up several times during the night questioning my identity and entertaining the thought that I might truly be a fraud. All was calm on the outside but tumultuous on the inside. I had to keep life going. I had a family to raise and work to do in the world. I had horrible dreams and nightmares, some of which I processed in supervision with my process work mentors and teachers. For a time, I would work and do life during the day and fight mainly at night. Soon the boundaries were blurred as I would work and fight during the day and work and fight during the night.

This was indeed a fight – a fight for my healing, integration and identity. If there was ever one worth fighting, THIS WAS IT. It was a fight for MY LIFE. Yakubu was eloquent. I was subdued. For how could I possibly talk back or raise my voice at him when I was raised to respect my elders and value what they had to say.

With hours and hours of inner work, a point came in the process when my voice not only came through but grew stronger. I was able to stand up to Yakubu. His words still hurt but I could no longer stonewall or avoid, as my tendency in conflict was. I spoke back. I defended, I justified and I challenged his views and opinions. It had in fact become a two-party conflict.

My conflict with Yakubu was one of those where there would be intense fighting for a while and then there would be a ceasefire. Beneath all that was a readiness for when conflict would break out again. At some point in my ceasefire phase, I had the fortune of reconnecting with a college friend on Facebook. As I snooped through my friend’s list of over 700 friends, something caught my attention. Going by the names, about 90% were clearly Nigerians and Africans. Because of the sensitivity to racial/ethnic issues Yakubu had reawakened in me, I went back and browsed through my own friends’ list. The contrast was striking from that perspective. My own list was less than 10% Nigerian and African. The experience triggered the feeling that Yakubu was right after all. Now I was fully living the role. It had an assigned name. It was smelling and feeling like internalized oppression. It really had to be. Something sobering I realized in the process was that Yakubu was not an elder out there to engage but a powerful voice and presence that had taken up residence inside me. It was the voice of my internalized oppression and marginalized self. It was not the “enemy” outside of me. It was the “enemy” within.

All of that knowing didn’t turn things around immediately. It further escalated the conflict. Whereas, with Yakubu as an external presence and voice, I could take occasional breaks for brief moments of sleep, with my discovery it was an all out war. Someone could in fact die. I felt vulnerable and yet hopeful. Vulnerable because I was in what felt like a never-ending free fall. Hopeful because I was acknowledged in my process by my support team and assured that if I didn’t quit, I would come through stronger, wiser and more aware of how to construct my life and reality going forward, and thus become more internally aligned, have fluidity and be more effective in my life and work.

During this ensuing conflict, I was seeking a LOT of help in supervision from my Process Work teachers, mentors and peers. I needed every help I could find. I had come too far forward at this point in my encounter with Yakubu to consider going back. The risk of going back was greater than the pain of enduring, totally surrendering to the process and hoping as in Joseph Campbell’s Hero’s journey, that there was a breakthrough in sight – that somehow I (the hero) would return, bruised or with a dislocated and soon to heal hip, and be blessed and transformed.

During one of my recent supervision sessions, something shifted in my relationship with Yakubu that surprised me. We went from standing face to face and tearing each other apart to standing side by side, being curios and compassionate and inviting each other’s stories. I discovered that mutual learning and integration was now possible. I may not have been there when according to Yakubu, the British colonialists and religious zealots went to Nigeria; when the African people were originally oppressed and marginalized and foreign religions destroyed the incurable religiosity of Africans but I could appreciate and fully enter into the experience. As I received Yakubu’s pain, anger and rage, I witnessed his resolve to let go of the pain and old story. I finally felt for him.

I witnessed myself become an elder, hold complexity, empathize with Yakubu. I experienced Yakubu become the elder I dreamed about. I had known he was a worrier, fierce, stern and angry. Now I saw his ability to hold complexity, his fluidity, his wisdom, his vulnerability. I saw him integrate his polarized parts. I saw deep democracy occurring inside Yakubu. As he shifted, so did I and as I shifted, so did he. I got in touch with my deep democracy too. I listened to all sides and all voices. It was as if we were engaged in a delicate and intricate dance. It was very intimate. There was a good doze of tears involved. In that moment I knew I had come home. I had now fully come home to myself.

I am convinced that all of me need to be integrated for healing and wholeness to occur. My journey in life and experiences do not make me less black. They rather expand the range and depth of who I am as a human being. I am a full human being and Nigerian/African that is also American, is a global citizen, a clergy, well travelled, well educated and experienced/ skilled in many fields of human endeavor. I am a man who is all of these things and many more. All parts of me count and I do not owe anyone any apology for that.

Am I there yet? The answer is a resounding NO. I am work in progress. This path that I am on takes a lifetime to complete. The reality of course is that I am closer to my destination than when I first began. Where do I go from here you may ask? My first and primary commitment is to myself and my ongoing healing and integration. On my honor I promise that:

• I will continue the dialogue with Yakubu: I will embrace the polarity of the experience and lean into the both/and of what Yakubu and I can create. This is part of a lifelong process of discovering and mastering myself and living a life of purpose and impact.
• I will bring Yakubu forward: Meeting and befriending Yakubu and experiencing him as teacher and ally are things that were meant to be. He will forever inform who I am and how I live and always be part of my vocabulary. I introduce you to Yakubu as a metaphor for parts of you that you have disowned or marginalized.
• I will hold myself as 100% Nigerian/African and 100% global citizen: All of who I am count and all of who I am and have are needed forAfrica’s ultimate liberation and global restoration and healing. No part of me will be left out.
• I will not domesticate Yakubu: I will own his edginess and maintain the wildness, which are my secondary parts. I will integrate them into the elder, caring, holding, championing sides which are part of my primary identity.

I invite you to pause and grab your journal and pen or recorder. Take a few deep breadths. You can even close your eyes for a moment if you so choose. Now take yourself to your favorite place on earth or an awe-inspiring moment in nature (also called your earth spot). Take in the energy and presence of this place. Make yourself comfortable. Take a moment and go inside. From this place, respond to the following questions in your journal:

• What parts of your life and core identity have you disowned or marginalized?
• What is holding you back from visiting those uncomfortable places and going over your edges?
• When will you begin your inner work?

I hope my process has contributed to your desire to begin or continue your inner work journey/ process. Please do me a favor by posting your questions, responses or comments triggered by this post on my blog site. It will help me a lot in my ongoing journey and inner work process.

Because of the nature of this particular post and potential need for inner work process it might trigger in you, please consider requesting for a conversation with me if you so desire.

Thank you for journeying with me.

With love, respect and gratitude,

Okokon

Years ago, when my father was still alive, I had a tradition and a dance between us that was alive and well. It was this ritual of taking a twenty step walk to our mail box in Apple Valley, pulling a pile of mails out – a regular combination of 80% junk and 20% real. Stuck somewhere in the pile would be a letter from my dad.

It was always handwritten in the most beautiful cursive. You would have thought that’s what my dad did for a living – teach reading, writing and arithmetic. I guess he did because that was one of the things I aspired to – write with the style and command of the English language like my dad did.

Writing about this got me into thinking about why my dad wrote in English. I know he did because he was a renaissance man. He lived in two worlds – “ancient” and “modern”, African (Efik/Ibibio) and European. My dad knew that the key to success was in bridging the gap between the two worlds. He made me never forget to bridge the gap. I am thankful that I paid attention.

Now, enough of the detour. Back to the letters from my father. They were those three-dimensional ones, the kind you would re-read a dozen times over, think repeatedly about starting a library to archive them and maybe even frame some for display. They were the kind that made you want to halt what was going on around the world because you had something important to share. That’s exactly how I felt, that’s exactly what I did.

The letters dad wrote were about my development, my educational and professional accomplishments, my marriage, parenting, money, relationships, Nigeria, extended family, America, networking, alliances and special friendships. The impact on me was of one’s lifelong coach cheering them on, holding the mirror and reflecting back one’s brilliance and magnificence. It was of one’s mentor sharing their experiences about life and naming and celebrating what they see in their mentee.

So when I looked through the pile of mails and saw one written at camp and addressed to Mommy & Daddy Udo, my attention was piqued. It was handwritten by my 15-yo daughter E-mee. When I opened it, it read:

“Mommy & Daddy,

I am extremely happy that I came to beach camp. Everyday we worship and talk and it really connects with me but tonight, Wednesday, really hit home. We talked about how hurtful little words can be to people and I really felt it because of all the times I’ve been put down by peers. I’ll tell you more about the skit when I get home.

I feel like a changed person and want to live my life fully and completely for God. I have heard many heartbreaking stories and it makes me thankful for growing up with such genuine, caring parents. I thought that there were responsibilities that come with being a parent and there are, but I’ve realized how rare it is that parents actually fulfill their responsibilities with such love and I REALLY want to thank you from the bottom of my heart.

You guys literally are the number one mom and dad and I am willing to argue that until the day I die. I can never say thanks too many times but thank you.

Sincerely,

Emem, E-mee, MeMe, Unwa Papa

ILove U.”

This one transported me to a place of utter joy and fulfillment. I was sitting on our deck. The timing couldn’t have been much better for sitting right next to me was my daughter. I took a deep breadth, took a moment and acknowledged my daughter for her heart and depth of caring. I took two steps towards where she was laying on the recliner and gave her a big hug and told her how much I love her.

I have received many awards in my lifetime. All of them were in the academic and professional arenas. None compares to the intricate dance between a parent and a child, a dad and a daughter, woven together by a handwritten letter fresh off the mail box. NOTHING!

Wherever you are in your life and whatever your relationships, I hope one of those letters will be from your parent or child. I also hope that one of those letters that keep us grounded and ensures that one matters is one written by YOU.

For starters:

• What kinds of letters do you write to your children?
• What kinds are your children writing to you in return?
• What kind of relationship are you nurturing with your children?
• What are your hopes and dreams for what it could be?

I hope you are invested in nurturing relationships that truly last with your children and that you go for the impact it can have on them and the future of our communities and world.

I celebrate the strong, wise, self-assured and beautiful young woman my daughter E-mee is becoming. As Lee Ann Womack sings, I hope she continues to dance especially when she gets a chance to sit it out or dance.

I hope I continue to nurture that spirit of confidence and freedom that allows her to spread her wings and soar.

With love, respect and gratitude,

Okokon

Welcome to the second of my two-part second post in the Crock Pot Series. When I concluded part 1, I was leaving to have a conversation with Yakubu, as he had an essential key that would offer the outlet to my future aligned self. I promised to be back to talk with you again soon. I am back having had a tête-à-tête with Yakubu. This part focuses mostly on this elder character you will soon meet and the impact he has had and continues to have on my life.

Please rewind to that season at Pangea World Theatre in Minneapolis where I acted in the play – “Not In My Season Of Songs” written and co-directed by a Nigerian playwright and US-based University Professor – Awam Amkpa. I was the guest actor, Yakubu – a cartographer who had a lot to say about the Nigerian condition and the impact of colonialism on his culture and psyche. It was a great acting experience for me. It’s impact has never left.

Yukubu was a successful Nigerian elder statesman who grew up with hopes and dreams for himself and his people only to be confronted by a paradox between his new-found “modern” life and the destruction of his cultural structures and constructs. Initially, he chose to ignore the tension and found himself face to face with deep questions arising from his professional life as a cartographer. For Yakubu it was not enough to be the obedient intellectual and professional he had become. In fact, those labels were what got in the way of his finding his voice and addressing his issues of internalized oppression and marginalization. Although Yakubu may not have known the concept or used it in any direct way, the only known path he could have taken was to do his “inner work.”

Yakubu has also become a metaphor for my life and a connecting point to my freedom. Being Yakubu in that play was the first time in my adult life that I was finally free. There was no filtering to what I had to say. There was no concern for my life or personal safety; there was no fear of retaliation or crippling emotional games people of rank play when exposed.

In the past fifteen years, I have been intentional in creating supportive experiences that nurture and ground me. Those have been amazing but not enough. In addition to designing and facilitating processes, I have embarked on a number of transformational processes, taken millions of photographs, biked thousands of miles, gardened almost yearly and done different forms of spiritual/meditative practices. Those have grounded me deeply, have numbed the pain but not adequately responded to the “beast” within my soul.

The experience that finally seems to get at the core of my needs is my current journey down the Process Work (Process Oriented Psychology) path. Through this process, I have explored my issues of rank, internal and external alignment through my primary and secondary identity. I have explored my edges as doorways into my secondary identity, which is where my place of greater potential lies. I have also learned about and engaged in different conflict situations – personal, two-party, group, global etc. In the process, I have become familiar with the use of group process as a resource for addressing issues of marginalization by inviting and including all voices and perspectives on any given issue. That is what is also called deep democracy or worldwork.

By far the biggest gift to me is not in the study of concepts and ideas but in having true experiences of my inner process and the need to finally listen to and include all voices and marginalized parts of me. Listen, I have. I was scared at first because most of it felt new and different especially being the trained private person I had grown to be. As soon as I got past that, the suppressed part I accessed felt just like a bubbling volcano ready to erupt. As I listen to the presumably “sane” side of me, the sense I get is that if I scream, I may never stop.

Yes, if I scream for the crippling impact of the apartheid rule on South Africa; if I scream at the reality that most of the world live in poverty on a planet with abundant resources to sustain all; if I scream at the impact of racial profiling and the toll it has taken on me; if I scream at the many times our parents were denied visas to the United States; if I scream at people who willingly have children, abuse them and condemn them to lives of pain and financial drain due to needed therapy; if I scream at the destruction of the fabric of my African people in the name of a God that cared and loved but in whose name Africans had to give up their cultural identity and think and act differently; if I scream at the constant rape of the peace Africa needs by the ongoing imposed fights and wars in the name of material gain and political interests; if I scream at the many examples of humans making God in their images and using those to destroy each other. I have a lot to scream for.

I feel like screaming. And yet I hear this voice. With the desire for professional and outer success wouldn’t screaming be ungentlemanlike, wouldn’t it be unpolished, wouldn’t it be a disruption of the order, just something no one who desires to be successful does? Wouldn’t it be… be what? It is true as the feminist theologian Beverly Harrison so clearly articulated, that one can be conscripted and unquestioningly join the “academic procession” – symbolic of the  acculturation process of the likes of the Ford Motor Company of old, where employees went in through one door as unique immigrants and came out another as fully acculturated American citizens. I hope and pray that’s not who I have become.

What is true for me is that because of the conscription and the conspiracy of silence, I have never talked about the percentage of times where upon return from an oversea trip, I was treated by my American immigration officials as If I was the “other”. I have never talked about the police stops just to make sure that the car I was driving was really mine. I have never talked publicly about direct racist statements and attitudes of marginalization that people in uniform have expressed in the line of duty. I have not talked about that one police stop and the inspection of the tint on my car windows only to be told that the factory installed window on a 1999 Dodge Durango I owned was not legal in Minnesota.

My awareness about where not to scream is that there is individual action and choice as well as systems imposed and enforced marginalization. The systems imposed ones are contexts where racial and other profiling are so embedded in the culture and yet so hard to prove its presence. So, when it is obvious to me that I have been pulled over because I represent a group that is “statistically” more likely to commit a crime, I know that the police officer in front of me is merely doing his/her job. Even when my lungs are full and I feel like screaming, I know without a doubt that it’s not the place to scream, for screaming will only result in handcuffs and jail and imprisonment. Going back to my young African-American male example from the last post, maybe there is sometimes not a right place to scream and one just has to scream, handcuffs and all.

Yet I must scream because the external marginalizing experiences have now created an internal marginalization. I must scream because it is the key to finding my voice, singing my song and speaking my language. Screaming is my path to finding and becoming Yakubu – to finally coming home to myself. I must scream because I can get my anger and frustration out and thus deepen my sense of self through inner work. Screaming will free me up to integrate the marginalized sides of me and make me fully available to hear and include all sides. I will then be able to go past the liberation theology imperative of God always being on the side of the oppressed and creating space for the oppressor to also be held and healed.

Just last month, I wrote a paper on “Why people become terrorists”. Of the four topics we were given, I knew this would be the one for me. I believed I had checked my biases at the door and was ready to give full non-judgmental attention to the topic of “terrorism” especially in a post 9-11 America and world where one cannot say or joke about the word terrorist without risking being accused of making terroristic threats or being on the side of the “enemy”.

In the process of writing my paper, I discovered that at the essence level, there is a “terrorist” that lives in me. In fact, in all of us because of the parts of us that have been marginalized. According to Arnold Mindell, “Those of us who have the privilege of living outside a conflict zone create terrorism by thinking people are crazy in places like Belfast…We have this condescending attitude because we are not conscious of our own terrorism.” (Mindell, Siting in the fire, 1995: 94)”.

I believe my next work is to incorporate the Process Work paradigm into who I am and what I do. In that unfolding experience, I will be able to help myself and thus help groups and communities “sit in the fire.” To do so, I have to call upon the metaskills of neutrality, fluidity, deep democracy and eldership. The key to that for me is in finding and claiming “Yakubu”.

Yes, Yakubu needs to be reengaged. Only this time, not on stage. I have to make the shift from acting Yakubu to being Yakubu. As hard and scary as it feels, I have to let go of the memorized lines and tap into the tattooed experiences in my heart. I have to become my “Yakubu” complete with eldership, anger, rage, passion, creativity, gentleness, compassion, resourcefulness, activism.

I have to show up with a determination to speak my voice and demand to be heard. I have to show up with a deep sense of love for self and the country, continent and world I love deeply. Just as in the play, becoming, claiming and inhabiting Yakubu will take time. But it’s a journey and a process whose time has come.

My commitment to my unfolding journey is to explore the full depth and breadth of my inner and outer resources and let it all out in service of my life purpose “to transform human consciousness and inspire purposeful action for the world.” I know who is going on this journey but I do not know who will return. From the experiences of these beginning steps, I am excited about who I will become.

I ask you dear friends:
1) Which cultural/ spiritual assumptions get in the way of your fully embracing your shadow side?
2) How have circumstances and obligations kept you from living your best life?
3) What do you have to scream about?
4) What is the extent of your commitment to doing your own inner work?

The quest continues for a place and time to really scream. The very exploration seems to take me further away from the very need that is in my soul. I find myself in a quandary. If I scream I may not stop. But scream I must, because to not scream is no longer an option.

As someone who has resorted to being a career stonewaller, I have been blessed to not pile on any serious psychological consequences. I am now committed to walking down another path. On my honor I promise that: I will scream in my coaching. I will scream with my family and friends. I will scream in my marriage. I will from now on scream in my program design process, photography, gardening, consulting and facilitation. I will not be silent any more.

I am due to begin spinning and kick boxing classes as screaming outlets. Those will now be integrated into all areas of my life. I can hear Stephen on my process work faculty saying to me “rather than trying to plan how Yakubu should show up, ask him what he wants to do and what he wants to say. Let Yakubu do what he wants to do.” I know Stephen is right. I need many voices like his around me, to hold me accountable. Without such voices, I revert back to my perceptions and behaviors that are determined by years of internalized oppression.

Inner work is not a spectator sport where one sits in the bleachers or stand and watches others work hard and sweat. It’s a transformational process that creates full alignment inside and outside. If we are going to have a chance to heal the planet and stop the wars and exploitation of others for personal, corporate, ideological or national gain, we each need to do our inner work. I will be on my inner work path until the day I die.

Hear me scream! Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhh!!!! AaasffggggxtfgchhhbbczsuhvxszznnbgffdddhxsijhvxxZhjbbbbjhdddooodklerrcjnnjuijnhsuiiifdgjncarhvbbiderazxvbujnjijmkohfeeyjbbnj!!!

Thanks for holding the space.

With love, respect and gratitude
Okokon

This is the second in a series of three blog entries I will be posting on my crock pot moments. For all you bloggers out there, I just learned an important lesson on what not to do. I wrote the first two posts the same day and was waiting to post the second one two weeks later. I discovered, not completely to my surprise, that it had changed on me. I ended up keeping the original title while everything else had changed. I also discovered that my second entry had become so long that I had to break it into two parts. So, welcome to the first of a two-part second post in the Crock Pot Series.

I was talking to a friend recently and discovered during the conversation that she was adopted at birth. You see, it was a cross cultural adoption situation. She was raised by mom and dad of European descent while she is of African descent. I will never forget the moment that she suddenly paused and became emotional and speechless. When she was able to speak she said to me “my life has been a blessing and a curse”.

When I asked why and how, she said: “I love my adopted parents. I had an abundance of love and support. Home life was very stable and I got to be successful and a became a professional. They did what they could but they never really knew how to raise a black kid. I simply became the white kid in all regards except the color of my skin. In some weird kind of way, I should be grateful but I am still searching for the real me and my deep sense of identity in the world.”

On that day, in an interesting but direct kind of way, it hit me like a ton of bricks that she was telling my story. That is about where the comparison ends. As far as I have been told, I was not adopted. In many ways, just like my friend, I had experiences that were couched as opportunities: a newfound Christian faith, an imported educational system that created body/mind/spirit split, a forced political structure that was controlling and exploitative, the so-called discovery of the new world and a history if trans-Atlantic slave trade had conspired to conscript me into a “white” man in “black” skin.

At WorldWork 2011 in Denver, I played a number of roles, from active and passive participant to speaker on two panels – one on Africa and the other on War Trauma. It was during the two panel experiences that a theme began to emerge – of someone who has endured internalized oppression and pain from having been directly affected by family separation during a 30 month Nigeria-Biafra civil war in the late 1960s. I also recalled how colonialism and the missionary enterprise have joined to set an agenda that has further numbed my cultural senses and caused me to learn new ways of being and doing to be successful and thrive.

My experiences in Denver triggered one during the 1999-2000 year at Pangea World Theatre (a theater company based in Minneapolis, Minnesota), when a combination of luck, providence and grace, led to an experience that changed my life and awakened my consciousness in ways that nothing else up to that point had. I was an actor in the play “Not in my season of songs” written directed by a Nigerian professor and playwright – Awam Amkpa and co-directed by Dipankar Mukherjee. I was the guest artist from Nigeria. I was Yakubu, a cartographer, who had a lot to say about the constant drawing and redrawing of the Nigerian map by those who stood to benefit from its rape and exploitation.

As someone whose last play acting experience was as Robin Hood in a play in elementary school, I had my work cut out for me. It took a while for the memorization to happen and for me to shape-shift into becoming Yakubu. I know exactly when that shift happened, for I had become this proud African elder-leader determined to take back his land, redraw the map of Nigeria and thereby rediscover his and his “country’s” unexploited self. I had finally come home as Yakubu. I could truly roar as an African lion. Day after day, night after night, people came to watch the play. In the post-play discussion that was typical of Pangea, they praised the acting and the message. Many wanted to know which upcoming plays I would be part of. They were surprised when I said it was my first and possibly last play. I haven’t acted in another play since then.

In those Yakubu-embodied acting moments, nothing mattered more to me than finding my voice, speaking up and out against the oppressive voices of colonialism. I was able to show emotions, scream, articulate the pain and isolation inherent in the life of a highly outwardly success man with an internal deep struggle and isolation. I could finally say everything I felt about the evangelical efforts of the mid 19th Century, the imported educational system of the west and the colonial political system that divided and conquered the motherland. I was finally free at last. As Henri Nouwen so beautifully puts it, free to sing my song, speak my language, and dance my dance.

One thing that caught my attention in my brief acting career and at WorldWork is that I have accessed a voice I never really knew was there. I have discovered a volcanic well that is bubbling from past hurts that I have shut down in the process of taking on a new identity – one imposed by decades of experiences of marginalization and a wish to thrive in a predominantly capitalistic and individualistic world.

During my third residency at the Process Work Institute, I availed myself the opportunity of having individual sessions and explored some of my inner struggles. The first was with Jan Dworkin and the second with Stephen Schuitevoerder. In my sessions I probed the very core of who I am and what my purpose is. I cried, laughed, dreamed, floated in essence and functioned in consensus reality. It was very challenging to cross my many edges especially in light of the fact that those edges seem to come in dozens. Through both of those sessions and the class on our final project, it was clear that the voice I had accessed at WorldWork could no longer be silenced. When I took a peek at what that would mean, the sheer scope of what I gleaned was enough to scare me. It felt ever so real. The sense I had then and still do now was that if I screamed, I may never stop.

My awareness has served to deepen my understanding of the plight of marginalized groups like Native Americans and African Americans in the United States of America. It has reignited my interest in the phenomena called historic oppression and institutional racism. It has shed light on why the young African American male screams, the lack of awareness of why he screams and the poor choice of where to scream. It has answered questions about why most of those ways of screaming always result in handcuffs, detention and imprisonment. Why the dis-ease of alcoholism and domestic abuse in some sub-cultures are often an externalized expression of internalized screams. My current awareness is that what separates me from those in handcuffs and jails or those addicted to drugs and alcohol is not righteousness but that I chose, not where to scream but NOT to scream. For, truly speaking, there is no safe or sanctioned place to scream.

I ask you to consider these questions with me:
1) Where is the proper/official space for oppressed/marginalized people to scream?
2) Where in you does the potential for small and large-scale ”acting out” behavior live?
 3) Which part of you has been marginalized and now needs to be heard?
4) What are you going to do with the little and big volcano bubbling up inside of you?

The major opportunity that exists on this journey is that I have now tasted what is possible when I allow myself to feel and freely explore the inner recesses of my being. I was scared to even consider writing this. Now that I just clicked PUBLISH, I am not afraid anymore. I feel a strong sense of gratitude to myself for choosing to reclaim all of me and not just a part. I must leave now to have a conversation with Yakubu, as he has one essential key that will offer the outlet to my future aligned self. I will talk with you again soon.

With love, respect and gratitude,

Okokon

I have been off-line for ten months now. I have written many poems, done many assignments and completed three process work residencies and one amazing WorldWork experience in that timeframe. I have also continued to hold the container for transforming human consciousness and inspiring purposeful action for the world. Out of all that has come what will now be a series of posts reflective of what is cooking in my crock pot from time to time. This is the first in that series.

When I started my process work journey, thanks to my buddy Art Shirk for his gentle prodding, I did not fully know the scope of what I was signing up for. As it turned out, I was committing to an experience at the Process Work Institute in Portland, Oregon that includes a seven-residency, two-and-a-half year journey with a lot of “inner work” spread throughout the experience. I knew if I worked hard and did a major project at the end, I would also get a Master of Arts degree in conflict facilitation and organization change. But that was the least of my concerns or interest, since I already have the Doctor of Philosophy degree.

If anything offered insights into what was awaiting me, it was the interview process. It was different from any interview I had experienced for an academic experience. I had to talk about myself in a unique way and answer questions about childhood dreams and altered states. I talked about my purpose and vision but what they seemed to be looking for at the time was just one inch or more out of reach. When I learned days later that I was accepted into the program, I said yes more out of curiosity and intrigue than plain excitement.

Joining me on my journey were nine other people, two of whom I already knew (Art and Sonia) and seven of whom I soon got to know and love. They are: Ms. G from South Africa, Mr. M from Palestine, Ms. Z from Colombia & US, Mr. B from Namibia via Germany, Mr. Y from Russia, Ms. N from Egypt & Japan, Ms. E from the US, Ms. S from Colombia and Dr. A from the US. We were MCF Cohort 4. That on its own was a rich and dynamic space to play in. We soon connected well and named ourselves the Global High Dreamers. The journey had begun in earnest.

I learned new concepts and framework and got to play in the sandbox with amazing faculty who has each studied with Arny and Amy Mindell (God father and God mother of Process Work – Process Oriented Psychology respectively) for an average of 25 years.

I have learned about rank and roles, primary and secondary identity. I have learned about the troll or edge figure that stands on the way to that which is wanting to emerge. I have learned about two-party, small group and large group conflicts and strategies for “befriending” them. I have learned about fluidity, eldership and a whole list of meta-skills that are a life saver for any process worker, facilitator or leader.

I have learned about “burning wood” and also taking the time to plant some trees. I have learned that world governments have told us lies about who the bad guys are. For, implied in our many strategies for marginalizing others are the very seeds of what later shows up as resistance or fights for freedom or to use an invented terminology – terrorism. I have learned about Deep Democracy and the need to include and listen to all voices and all perspectives on any given issue. I have learned to use group processes or community forums to help facilitate healing and resolution.

The paradox in my process work experience posed a challenge right away. The faculty was amazing with the clinical part and took us to depths never reached while inviting me to shift from my academic/intellectual paradigm that had brought me this far and accounted for my success the way I had known and framed it. It was my first painful experience. My world was crumbling before my eyes and I had a choice to hang on to what I knew or trust and let go. As I write this, I find myself going back and forth between these seeming polarities, but increasingly letting go more than holding on.

My experience with process work reminds me of my innate nature to want to know everything, be aware of the inner workings of things, never be surprised and to be proven right often, even always. That is an exact mirror of what my relationship with God sometimes looks like. There are times on my journey as both a spiritual leader and seeker that I have been content to totally surrender and let God and the Higher Power lead the way. At other times, I have claimed my half of the co-creator with God status, felt like things were not going right and taken over the steering of the car that is my life.

I have to keep reminding myself that I am work in progress. My goal is not to ever fully surrender, for where would my creative ability and internal sense of power and direction be. The goal is to surrender enough to cross the big edges that have kept me from ever fully knowing myself or claiming my freedom. It is to lean into something new that wants to be born. Not to surrender to that extent is to not know what could have been and miss possible opportunities to discover who I was created to be and the me that would be the best for the world.

The timing of this journey couldn’t be better. It comes at a time when what is happening in the world weighs on my soul as much as the quest for outer success, personal security and comfort. It also comes at a time when all three of my kids are increasingly becoming their own persons and waiting to be launched forth into the world, one at a time.

I want to be ready for my next work when the world comes knocking and the human systems as we know them no longer support our lies and our greed. I want to be ready for THAT. Wait a minute! That world is calling now because those systems no longer seem to work. That’s what this phase of my journey is about. The context, framework and grounds for integration just happen to be called Process Work.

I have some questions for you:

• Where has your need to hold on kept you from discovering an empowered and fully unleashed you?
• Where in your life do you struggle in that space between letting go and holding on to life the way you have always known it?
• What will it take for you to fully feel the fear and yet finally take the leap and cross your edges to greater freedom and a deeper sense of who you are and what your purpose is?

I hope that reading this will give you the push you need to jump into that next journey of life, wherever it wants to take you. As scary as it often feels and as hard as I struggle to hang on, I want to constantly turn over my life and purpose and fully trust the process.

With love, respect and gratitude,

Okokon

Traveling with my easy-going and soft-spoken son UT to Barcelona, Sitges & Girona, Spain was priceless. I always knew my son was deeply caring, sensitive, intelligent, astute, passionate and adventuresome. I rediscovered those qualities on this trip. Designing the alliance for our trip was a work of art and an ongoing process. UT and I had an unspoken commitment to be present, open and flexible. When asked what he was interested in doing and seeing on this trip, he simply said; anything and everything. Ordinarily, I would have been frustrated at the lack of clarity and choice given how big this trip was and how much we had put into making it work. This time, and with this special young man in my life, I was not frustrated. I believed him because I knew he meant it. UT is the master of present, open & flexible.

Because if his openness and flexibility, I assumed the role of a guide, got to work on an agenda and also asked for help from three great friends – Liberto, Rosario and Fernando. In thinking through the adventure we were going to embark on, I thought of what it would look like and mean to take my 20 yr old college sophomore and soon to be junior, to work with me in one of my offices in Spain.

Talking about my office and my work, I have been blessed to be working in partnership with CTI in delivering a world-changing and human transformational leadership program in Barcelona that attracts men and women from Europe, Asia, Middle East, North America, Scandinavia and Africa. This was my eighteenth trip to Span in the last three and a half years. It was in this context that I met Liberto and Fernando, who would become my collaborators in planning this dad and son experience.

I had two agenda for the trip. One agenda was to hang out and have fun with my son. At 20 my son is looking forward to his junior year of college. Anticipating that phase of his life both excites and scares me. It excites me because my big, tall son has become a man and is as determined and focused as they come, and will without a doubt graduate and be successful in life. What scares me is that he is slowly leaving home. That realization sets the stage for what I am experiencing as the father-son relationship we currently have and the need to intentionally design a new one for the future.

My other agenda was to make the trip a take-your-son-to-work experience. My hope was that in showing up authentically in my different settings away from home, UT might learn something about networking, hard work, curiosity, vulnerability and spontaneity. I also hoped that he would see and notice the differences between America and Spain and thus continue to develop resources for navigating complex and yet fun cultural reality that is our world. I wanted to be intentional and transparent about it.

Our trip to Barcelona through JFK, NY was an experience of one first class upgrade after another with the NY-Barcelona leg being a double upgrade for father and son. While in first class enroute to Barcelona, I had an exceptional customer service from a hostess I will simply call Andrea. I decided to come at my interaction with her from a deep acknowledgement place. When the level of activity was slow, I got her attention. I proceeded to tell her about her impact on me. I connected how she was showing up to some deep values I experienced. I told her it seemed to be more than work and an extension of a ministry of hospitality, presence and transformation. I watched her struggle to let in the acknowledgement as most of us do. She eventually did.

Later on, I asked for her name to complete the final part of submitting a recognition letter to her employers. It brought tears to her eyes. When she responded, she said I had changed her life by helping her be conscious about what she was creating. She said it made her want to do even more and that she will be a better person because of the encounter with me. My son, who was seating right next to me was watching and listening. When it was over, he asked, “Dad, is that what you do for work? That was cool”. Close to landing time, after breakfast was served, the flight attendant came around again. Now there was this bond between us. She noticed I had my camera with me and started talking about how she had just gone out and bought one like mine. She asked to handle mine. After a while, she thanked me and left.

Later, when there was a brief break in her work, she returned again, this time with her camera. I asked to touch her camera and played with it. Mine was a Nikon, hers a Canon. Although Nikon owners often do not care much about Canon cameras and owners, it did not seem to matter. There was a strong bond and deep sense of intimacy between us. It was a camera thing that is hard to explain. Soon that flight would end. As I said my final goodbye to my amazing flight attendant and photographer friend. I knew I may never see her again. I don’t even know if I would recognize her if I saw her on another flight. It doesn’t really matter if I ever see her again. I am just happy she will keep flying and being the best for the world. That was the first lesson at one of my offices with a view and it was now over.

When we arrived at Terminal 1 at Barcelona airport, we were greeted and welcomed by Fernando, who asked what we wanted to do. Part of the invitation was to visit a city called Girona. Knowing how much there was to see, do and be in Barcelona, we ignored our immediate need for rest and said yes to the adventure before us. The magical part was that we visited Girona with our minds set on exploring the historic and walled parts of the city and were surprised by what was happening there – the flower show. There were marked stations on the streets, within businesses, cathedrals and strategic corners where tourists and locals alike could drop in or stop by and take in magical and artistic masterpieces of live flower decorations and displays. Out of the nearly one hundred marked stations, we braved the pouring rain and were able to take in about forty percent. Even with the effects of the long flight, the experience was worth every second we spent in Girona.

At dinner in Barcelona later the same day, we were with our friend Fernando and a lady friend he had brought along. Fernando wanted us to meet each other because according to him, she has a level of consciousness and an eagerness for powerful conversations. He was absolutely right. I ended up coaching this new friend I will call Arianna. It was a powerful experience to be that connected and to see her want more for herself. At the end she asked me, “What’s next for me?” I was simply using focused and global listening skills, asking powerful questions, calling forth her magnificence and acknowledging her. Dinner was awesome; the conversation was deep and intimate. Again, my son was watching and listening. We debriefed the experience on the cab ride “home”. I think he got it. His concluding comments were powerful. After our discussion he simply said, “I see how the principles you were using apply in all areas of life, to everything”.

In the eleven days that we were on the trip, I was with my son for five and apart for six. While we were apart, he was hosted by Fernando and Liberto with support from Rosario. Some of the highlights of his time alone included going to visit and swim with Fernando at the Olympic swimming pool (Piscinas Bernat Picornell). He also got to experiment with cooking under the watchful eyes of Fernando the chef, founder of the Consciousness Way and visiting both mountains of Barcelona: Montjuic and Tibidabo. Thanks to Liberto and Rosario for working their magic. UT also got to enjoy Paella with Rosario and Liberto at Crown Marine restaurant and watch the Spanish league championship soccer game between FC Barcelona game and Valladolid with Liberto. Barcelona won 4-0 and took the championship before a sold out crowd of 90,000 fans at Nou Camp in Barcelona.

While with me, we took walks in downtown Barcelona, tried out local foods, did some shopping at Desigual and had different conversations about life, future dreams, passion, creativity and work. We went for a walk by the Olympic harbor and enjoyed a beautiful lunch at LA Caberna Gallega restaurant. We also visited Sitges and got to see the Masia (Almiral de la Font) and meet my amazing leadership team of Sam, Ronnie, Frank and Marte and some members of the Adder Tribe from around the world. He got to see my office with a view, loved it and wanted to stay. Fernando and I gave him a tour of the Masia. We later talked about the bulk of what I do in Spain. He was intrigued by the leadership program. I invited him to consider doing it. I believe he will.

The only experience that compares to watching the high energy soccer championship game was a presentation ceremony I witnessed. The backdrop of the experience was that in 1992 Fernando was in attendance at the Barcelona Olympics and had secure an autograph of Michael Jordan on a baseball cap and some years later had secured an autographed basketball from Pau Gasol of the NBA during an ad promotion. When we were guests at his home, he noticed UT was reading a book about Michael Jordan and proceeded to engage him around what about Michael Jordan attracted him and his own vision and goals for his life. What occurred the following morning at breakfast was magical and totally unexpected. Fernando proceeded to inform UT about how he had acquired the two autographed items and that as years have passed, he had wondered why he was carrying them around. He went on to tell UT that he now knew. In presenting the two items to UT he said, “I know I was carrying them for you. They are yours. Anytime you read about Michael Jordan and what made him great, always remember that those qualities are within you”. I wished you could have been there to witness the impact of the experience on this 20yo college basketball player who has adored MJ for so long and devoted most of his life to being a good basketball player.

I hope he remembers a few things. I hope he remembers:

- the love of family and friends
- the bond between father and son
- the power of dreaming
- the gift of health
- the benefit of networking
- the beauty of hospitality
- the smallness of the world
- the privilege of traveling
- the opportunity of education
- the impact we have on others

I ask you:

• Who are you hanging out with?
• Are they “adders” and multipliers or subtractors and “dividers”?
• When was the last time you took your “son” or “daughter” to work?
• What kind of conversations are you having with the children in your life?
• Who are you in relationships?
• What is your intentional contribution to the health and wellbeing of our planet and civilization?

Being on this trip with UT was an experience of a life time. I became aware that he is ready to fly off on his own. I am proud of his intuition, ability to listen when the head phones were off, and his willingness to step out of the box and engage in conversations across generations in a context different from his. I got to hear what he is passionate about as well as his worldview perspective. I felt proud that he was his dad’s son and that all along he had been paying attention to the important things in life. I felt the circle complete, for in that moment, we were forever linked in the dad-son circle, me and mine and he and his.

These are my words.

With love, respect and humility,

Okokon Udo

This is the second post in a two-part series that began with “Oh, The Places You Will Go! …And…”. Of all the people I have met in my entire life, one stands out the most. He turned out to be the one that would give the most to me, demand the best from me and point me towards my current quest. It was my destined meeting with Dr. Robert (Bob) Albers, a US professor of Theology during his three-month sabbatical stint in Nigeria in 1990. It was nothing he and I were seeking and something both of us discovered, and were transformed by.

…Gave the most to me…

My name is Okokon Udo and I am an immigrant from Nigeria. This post seeks to answer the question: what is responsible for this immigrant to be engaged in life as a global citizen and healer. It is fair to say that without Bob, I would not be here now. I would most likely not be doing what I am doing today. I would definitely not have met you and I would certainly not be directly influenced by you or give to your life in a direct way.

I met Bob Albers 1990 in my last year of graduate education at The Theological College of Northern Nigeria (TCNN). He was struck by my vision for the future which included service to humanity and a commitment to helping heal humans at the places in their lives that they are most broken and hurting. Bob’s time in Nigeria soon ended and he returned to the United States.

When Bob came into my life, he triggered something powerful in me. He provided me a concrete example of what to do in a disproportionately imbalanced world. He gave of his time and skills. He invested in me to take me to the next level so I could in turn help others. It was a brilliant idea. It worked. Today, I teach and mentor people all over the world. I have chosen to become a Bob to others.

…Demands the best from me…

Bob is a model for what we so desperately need in our world. Bob is an amazing professor of theology, an incredible family man, an exceptional human being with a special heart, an awesome friend and coach. Bob is not the best in the world – he never intended to be one. He is in the words of Dewitt Jones, the best FOR the world.

After Bob returned to the United States, we kept our connection going. That connection led to my applying for admission to do a doctorate in pastoral theology with special emphasis in chemical dependency. Unknown to me was that Bob had traveled across the US and made a case for scholarships that would support my program. In 1991, my journey would begin, on a full scholarship.

What you do not know is that when I met Bob, I was married to Umo for almost two years. By the time I left Nigeria for Minnesota as an individual student, we had a sixteen-month-old son. My departure as I have come to understand it was inspired by a calling far beyond myself and a quest for a new world order that would in turn impact my life, the family I love and the world I belong to.

This story is truly about Bob and invites us to pause and recognize the many Bobs who think not of themselves but of a world much bigger and pursue their quests with passion and rigor. This one is for the Bobs who see strangers and turn those rare moments into bridges of peace and healing. By one single act, Bob paid forward. He ignited in me a passion for the world, a sense of service to humanity and a devotion to the principle of paying it forward. Since being impacted by Bob, I have committed my life to being a Bob.

…Pointed me towards my current quest…

There are many people I meet who need a Bob in their lives. They are each full of possibilities. They are waiting for you and I to tap them on the shoulder, invest in their future and turn them loose to do the same. It is the simple but complex system called paying it forward.

Everywhere you look, everywhere you turn, there is fear, anger and irrational behaviors. Some people are acting out in the name of God. Some do it in the name of national identity, political affiliation, racial superiority and ethnic rights. However one looks at it, it clearly represents millions of people worldwide who need to be loved and cared for. I believe that the current national and global context of fear and mistrust is not a “battle” that can ever be won with words or guns but with hearts.

While I have respect for men and women in uniform and politics and could be easily convinced about the necessity for both, my calling leads me down a different path. My life purpose of transforming human consciousness and inspiring purposeful action for the world invites me to invest in equipping people with resources that go beyond giving them fish from a patronizing and superior place to teaching them how to fish, from a servant place.

Years ago when I did most of my work in the chemical dependency field, I came across this creative autobiography. It is quoted here in full:

“I walked down another road”

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters
By Portia Nelson

Chapter I
I walk down the street
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I fall in.
Chapter II
I walk down the same street,
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

I am lost… I am helpless,
It isn’t my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter III
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in… it’s a habit.
My eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter V
I walk down another street.

This piece is fully aligned with the much talked about definition of insanity as “doing the same thing over and over and expecting a difference result”.

We the sons and daughters of the world have to be willing to walk down a different path. That is as true for Israel and Palestine as it is for Democrats and Republicans, Catholics and Protestants, the West and Middle East, “Ist” World and “3rd” World and Blacks and Whites. To continue the way we have for dozens to thousands of years is simply
put INSANITY.

As some of you already know, in June, I will begin a new journey. In the Hudson Institute’s Life Launch lingo, I will be in the “getting ready” phase of my life cycle as I go through the program in conflict facilitation and organization change at the Process Work Institute to prepare for my next world work. I will be searching, discovering and connecting. Searching for new paradigms and knowledge; discovering the next place that my life purpose and passion want to take me; and connecting with new communities of change so I can continue to make my quest real in the world.

Bob is not just a “giant” in my life. He is at once transformed into an impetus for a movement. Bob is a real human being and also a metaphor for what and who our world desperately needs. In a world where people are afraid and can be very suspicious of the other, Bob calls us to risk failing for the sake of impact and transformation. He encourages us to invoke our sense of curiosity and wonder at the surprises that await us through the many people we meet.

Take a moment today to reflect:

• Who was/is the Bob in your life? I invite you to acknowledge that person and celebrate their contribution to your success.
• Who around you needs a Bob? Notice someone who needs a Bob. It could be a young person that has lost his/ her way or an adult who is trapped in a world full of anger and hate.
• Be a Bob to others: Commit your life to being a Bob. It is not enough to have a “secure” and “successful” life. The greatest evidence that you are successful and that you came is in the investment you make in moving the planet “forward”.
• How far are you willing to go for the sake of our collective future? As my dear friend Tom Curry of The Next Level loves to say, begin again. Don’t stay stuck in a place of shame, guilt or self-blame. Commit yourself to take a step forward today, no matter how small. You can always start all over. What matters is that you walk down a different path.

As I have grown up and traveled around the world, I have noticed that there is a shortage of Bobs in the midst of an increase in the number of people and contexts that need a Bob. I invite you to be a Bob, for only in doing so can we make sure that everyone who needs a Bob finds a Bob and that potential enemies do have opportunities to become friends. Will you join me in this movement?

These are my words!

With love, respect and gratitude,

Okokon

This is the first in a two-part series based on the classic works of Dr. Seuss. Most of us grew up reading or raising our kids on Dr. Seuss’ books. One of those titles was “Oh, the places you will go!”. As we look at our lives and how we got here from there, there are many paths to how we can tell our stories. Mine is a combination of words, smells and vivid pictures of people I saw, places I visited and events I saw. This story is truly about place.

What is life without a vision and purpose? What is vision and purpose without resources and support to do them? My story began like most others you have heard before. I was born on an amazing September 19th night, many years ago, the fourth of five kids to Okon and Grace Udo     (nee Ifon). I was born at the General Hospital in Pamol, near Calabar in the Cross River State of Nigeria, proudly called Canaan City for its beauty, cultural richness, proximity to the sea, amazing food, landscape and quality and pride of place.

One would immediately think Pamol was the name of a city or community. That would be right except it was a different kind of community. Pamol was short form for Pamol (Nigeria) Limited. It was an oil palm estate turn rubber plantation. There were rubber trees everywhere. There were nurseries that groomed and got the young trees going, there were areas with older trees reaching their peak and waiting to be cut down and turned into firewood. There was also a smell to it. Dad once referred to it as “the smell of prosperity”.

At Pamol, there was everything else in between. There were dozens of camps (housing projects) with thousands of workers living there. People who lived there were called laborers and supervisors. There were quarters for others called staff. Those were more spacious and nicely appointed. And then there were huge secluded mansions (homes) for managers and the general manager on three to five acre piece of property. We lived in one of those.

My dad was a smart and hardworking man and became one of a dozen or so managers who oversaw the entire operation of about 10,000 employees. He was responsible for an entire division of the company. Pamol was a self-contained society. We had several elementary schools, churches, soccer fields, recreational clubs and facilities, tennis courts, squash racket courts. We also had state of the art hospitals and dispensaries.

Our home had a tennis court and a large orchard with an imposing well-groomed lawn, 9-hole golf course, flower garden and beds. We had poultry and raised our chickens and eggs. You see, it was a class society, one of the remnants of the British colonial era. At Pamol, we were the haves and the majority of people were the have-nots. That’s where I discovered poverty and its effect on people and their families – I mean generational poverty. It was at Pamol that my interest in social justice and diversity first got triggered.

It was at Pamol that I went through a Catholic elementary school. It was at Pamol that I first learned to fight for justice and to challenge the complacency of a system. It was at Pamol that I learned to feel uncomfortable with a life of material comfort and to cry over injustice and unfairness. It was at Pamol that I developed skills for living in two worlds – that of the “rich” and “poor”.

Contrary to the unwritten code of not befriending laborer kids, I did while also maintaining my “membership” in the “high” society made up of folks from the UK, US and other parts of Nigeria and the world. What I remember about growing up in the Udo household was the importance and value assigned to the “trinity” – God, family and education in that order.

I remember walking to school one day and noticing this “laborer” at his task of tapping one rubber tree after another so latex (liquid rubber) could flow and be transported to one of the factories for processing. I noticed something else – his wife and children were helping out. The employee had to tap so many of those trees by a certain time or they would not earn their wage.

At my school we wore white uniforms. For boys it was shorts and shirts while the girls wore blouses and skirts. You could always tell who was who by the shade of white they spotted. Some of the laborer kids came to school late because they had to help their parents at work. They were up very early to complete their task. Some fell asleep in class because of that.

At home we had a cook and a steward. We hosted different kinds of parties and attended many of those that were exclusively for the management staff and their families. We had different sets of dishes, cookware, silverware at home. We knew each by name and brand. We learned to spell those words as a normal part of life. We used them in sentences and knew their meanings. We had dictionaries at home for easy reference and even owned the complete works of Shakespeare and the Encyclopedia Britannica.

Those “other” kids, who unlike me were born to laborer parents did not enjoy the same lifestyle. Their experiences at school were very different. They never took their parents to the airport and did not know how to spell aeroplane or runway or know that what the plane did before take off and after landing was taxi. They did not know there were different types of forks, spoons and knives or what each was used for. When it came to spelling and comprehension or putting words in sentences, they struggled, we succeeded.

After what I experienced first hand at Pamol, I have a different perspective on drive, motivation and success. I know a lot of kids who grew up with me at Pamol and never had a chance at a good education or success in life. Please don’t tell me they didn’t work hard enough or want it as badly as I did. It had nothing to do with hard work but everything to do with a system that is designed to support some and punish others.

People keep asking me why I feel so deeply and care so much about the world and work so hard to make a difference and feel so grateful for the family I have and celebrate my father’s powerful impact on me and see nothing but possibilities for every child I know. I have not always had the time to respond to all the questions I have been asked. My experiences at Pamol literally changed my life. It is a big part of the reason I am who I am and do what I do.

You and I may never know why the world is made up of different boxes. I hope you care about its effect on peoples’ bodies, souls and spirits. We may never know what it means to go to bed hungry or depend on shelters, food shelves and kitchens; I hope you understand why those services are needed and that you work to keep them open and stocked. I hope you raise your children and grandchildren on that awareness. I hope you live your life in that place of creative tension and angst between scarcity and abundance. I hope you come to understand the deep gap that sometimes exists between material stuff and overall wellbeing. I hope you never forget that.

If our planet is going to have a chance to recover and heal, we have to start living consciously and making choices that are informed by sacrifices we must each make. We must not just walk by that family at “Pamol” and see their sacrifice on the altar of capitalism as absolute essential just so that we keep up our elusive and fleeting lifestyle.

In my transition to the American culture I remember a time when little was enough – little money, little house, little car. Now those are all supersized. I find myself wanting more and more stuff, space, money, bigger cars (SUVs) and a bigger house.

I have since moved on from Pamol. Pamol hasn’t yet moved on. Pamol will forever be in my heart. Pamol reminds me to stop and notice, and to act. Pamol broke the veil of my innocence. Pamol called me forth to always stand in solidarity with those hurting and to appreciate James Cone’s admonition about God always being on the side of the oppressed.

Poverty and the significant gap between those who have and those who don’t confronts us with the questions:

• What is our collective responsibility for helping eradicate poverty?
• What is our part in nurturing and maintaining an unjust economic system?
• How do we ensure a more inclusive and fair future by investing where it matters most?
• Where are the kids from “Pamol” now?

I believe that our planet has all that is needed to nurture and support every citizen. I believe that the problem is not with the supply but with the distribution. For there to be a change in the current landscape, you and I have to be willing to make concessions, give up some of our entitlements and invest in the future of the planet by investing in everyone’s future.

I believe that so long as we continue to go down this path of selfishness and isolation, we will continue to have problems among world regions, religions, classes and races. What the current state of our world is calling for is not lip issues to one of the biggest issues of our time – poverty. It is a strategic long-term commitment to helping reverse this downward spiral.

The defining issue is whether you and I will have the will to walk down another road. I hope we do, for there lies our hope for a peaceful and consciously co-created future.

With love, respect and gratitude,

Okokon

Those of you who know me well know how important family is to me. At the heart of that experience is an amazing woman – Umo. She has a presence that fills up the world and a laugh that lights up my soul. She has had adversities and I have watched her engage them and prevail. She has seen the world in the past – sometimes from a not enough, I don’t know what I am doing, and you’re better than I am place.

Then suddenly, something shifted. In the past year, she has said yes to everything she used to say no to – yes to speaking to a group of women at an Awesome Women event. From Facebook posts and responses by friends who were in attendance, she was truly awesome at it and came away wanting to do even more public speaking. She has also designed and co-facilitated a retreat for women and is scheduled for a second retreat in about a month. Her dream is to be hosting as many as five retreats a year and is scheduled for one in Spain this fall. I fully believe Umo in her thinking, feeling, and planning. I am at choice on how I want to respond to her. I could become a realist and dampen her enthusiasm with all the reasons why her high dreams cannot be realised or get out-of-the-way, believe her vision and see the world through her eyes. I am choosing to fully lean in and hope I always get out of the way, support and celebrate.

I am just filled to overflowing with joy watching my very dear and talented wife discover the joy and beauty of following and living her dream life, feeling happy and fulfilled and taking herself to the edge for the sake of the impact she desires. For a while I wondered why it was all unfolding now. I have since figured it out. This is the kairos moment for Umo’s great unfolding. When you and I find our purpose in life and put our passion and creative energies out there in the world, all we can do is trust the Great Spirit and watch the unfolding of the rich master plan that we are.

This past Thursday, Umo discovered yet another dimension of her being. She took part in a fashion show and walked down the runway. You see, a month or so ago, she had gone shopping again at one of her favorite stores – Larue’s on Lyndale and 40th in South Minneapolis and had run into James Reilly, one of her designers. When James requested that Umo models at an upcoming fashion show, she had said yes without letting her brain get in the way. That was one of the moments I live for. The radiance on Umo’s face on that day was worth the price of admission. As I looked into the eyes of the woman I adore, I knew she had in fact reached a point, from which there is no going back and from which everything is referenced as a before and after. She had taken herself to the edge and taken the last leap. As Bill Cosby once said, “I kissed her on the lips ever so gently.”

Thursday May 6, 2010 was the day of the fashion show. The time was 7:00pm CDT and the venue was the Edina Country Club. The theme was the “Fresh and Refresh Fashion Show”. The purpose was to raise money in support of the work of the Assistance League of Minneapolis/ St. Paul. I was one of only three men there in the company of over 100 very excited women. The occasion featured Wardrobe and Image Expert Carolyn Nelson as the fashionista and speaker for the evening. There were 56 fresh and 7 incredible re-freshed fashions displayed on the runway. Carolyn spoke three times (on “your beautiful body type”, “shop in your closet” and “finishing touches”) at three intervals during the event.

One of my friends once said that we humans are assumption machines. He was very right. As soon as the fashion diva was introduced, I immediately assumed she was going to talk about everything fashion out there and the need for women to shop for more and more stuff. I made an assumption. I WAS WRONG! Instead, she talked about things that built self-confidence and reputation in a very acknowledging way. The topic that caught my attention the most was Shop In Your Closet. It was a phenomenal twist that is much-needed in our lives and world. Carolyn invited women (who made up 99.9% of the guests) to stop, look and discover what they already had, to use self-affirming ways to find new creative combinations and to let go of what was no longer needed.

She essentially invited the women (and indirectly, the three men) to get to know, love and celebrate themselves. Her presentation hit me literally and metaphorically. Literally because even with the use of my wife, son, daughters and niece as home fashion consultants, I have only scratched the surface of what is possible in my full to overflowing closet. I have now been moved to do something about it. I am going to defy gender stereotypes and invite the fashion diva to come out and offer me her technical expertise.

By far the most important impact on me was at a metaphorical level. It was the need to go “shopping” in the closet of our lives. This part has to do with self discovery and mastery, self-love, and self critique. It is about doing a SWOT (Strengths, Weaknesses, Opportunities & Threats) analysis and being gentle and intentional in doing so. That is exactly what Umo is doing. While the literal application is still work in progress, the metaphorical part is at a very advanced stage.

As you do a SWOT analysis of your life, I strongly recommend that you resist the natural inclination to start with the W & T and rather begin with the S & O. The process need not be a pity party or a self crucifying experience. It should rather be an invitation to a self-evaluation experience.

The important thing about the closet is that some of us have hung on to sweaters, jackets, jeans, suites, blouses, purses, jewelries, hats, belts and shoes that we no longer need or have not used for two, and maybe even ten or more years. We have to be willing to let go of those to see the things we need and have lost track of and also make room for the new things we need. Sometimes we find ourselves in this place of “someday it will fit”, “what if one of the kids wants it”, “it will fit after I lose five pounds” or even “that’s the blouse Aunt B gave me when I got my first job”. Those are all good reasons but how has that helped you in your de-cluttering process.

I ask you:

• When was the last time you took an honest close look at yourself,
  your life?
• What strengths and abilities have you discovered you have?
• Who have you been put on planet earth to be?
• What have you been put on planet earth to do at this time in history?
• What is getting in your way of fully living and living fully?
• What are you holding on to that you need to let go of?
• What are you afraid of?

I believe each one of us, regardless of age and life circumstances, still has a lot of living to do. We are called by the Great Spirit to use our gifts and talents in service of ourselves and a hurting world. We are called to shed the image of our old and limiting selves and to step into our magnificence. We are called to take ourselves to the edge and trust that there will be WIND beneath our wings as we stretch our wings and take the leap. Please don’t respond by telling me how I do not understand all the limiting circumstances of your life. You would be absolutely right and only stay stuck. Procrastinate no more. This is time for action.

I believe we can each discover the joy and passion within and bring all of ourselves to all of our endeavors and relationships and begin to say yes to being in the fashion show, to delivering a speech to a group of people, to going back to school and getting that degree, to starting that business, to taking that trip, to loving unconditionally, honoring and celebrating your self. YES YOU CAN!

With love, respect and gratitude,

Okokon

For the past 25 years, I have borne the mantle of reverend minister/pastor/ clergy. In that capacity, I have had the important responsibility of presiding over rituals of celebrations spanning the journey from birth to death. I have conducted healing, renewal, reconciliation and blessing ceremonies. I have also been a scholar of and interpreter of theology and scripture, mainly in the Judeo-Christian tradition. I have preached hundreds of sermons, loved every one of them and have been inspired by them to strive to stay connected and be a guide to many. Sometimes I was brilliant and very successful as in creating a movement of people who could never have enough of what I had to channel from the higher power on whose behalf I mediated. At other times I was unsure of who I was, doubtful that a mere mortal like myself could be inhabited and used by the divine. In doing so I fell into self-doubt and lost my way a few times.

As I got my bike ready for this amazing season of spring in Minnesota my mind recalled an important verse from scripture that I had read so many times before and preached sermons and counseled parishioners on. The verse reads: “You know that your body is a sanctuary of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have received from God, don’t you? You do not belong to yourselves.“ - 1 Corinthians 6:9 (International Standard Version, ©2008) . With all the violence in the world, it keeps dawning on me that religion can be a force for good or evil, depending on interpretation and level of insertion of personal agenda and knowledge. My goal here is not to do an exegetical exposition on this verse but to approach it almost literally.

If my body is where my ultimate reality and reflection and higher power and God as I understand him/her inhabits, then the process takes on a direct meaning. I shift from being so heavenly minded and of no earthly value to being both “heavenly” and “earthly” minded. I move to this place of caring about this human personification and representation of my divine essence. It begins to matter that I no longer just keep working my physical being to “death” for the sake of the “reward” of retirement or that I eat whatever I want and indulge in whatever habits I choose in the hopes that it all works out in the end. It’s not about self-blame and guilt but self-love and preservation. Some choices I make will hasten my death. I hope I live long enough to help bring about the changes needed in my world, to deepen my intimacy with my wife and raise our three wonderful children.

On March 23rd, my 4:47am Facebook entry reads: “Last night, I noticed my bike for the first time in a long time. From a distance, I could feel its loneliness. As I inched closer, I heard a whisper in the air. It was a reminder that spring had sprung and that spring time is bike time”. In that post, I had referenced a dear friend Fred who was fit, cared about himself and did not know he had an infection that had weakened his heart. He had dropped off his car at the mechanic workshop on that fateful morning and decided to jog back home. He never made it home. He had collapsed and died. He left his wife and two kids under five. He and I had kids about the same age. That’s when I went out and bought my bike. That’s why my bike is so important to me. Buying the bike was to honor the memory of a dear friend and an opportunity to finally jump-start my physical workout activity.

About ten years ago, I took on a cause, trained for and embarked on a six-day 500-mile Twin Cities-Chicago AIDS ride in support of research and education around HIV/AIDS. It was also in solidarity with men and women I had come to know through my work in Clinic 42 (HIV/AIDS clinic) at Abbott Northwestern Hospital in Minneapolis. The ride was my ultimate test in self-discipline and endurance. I had a lot of fun discovering hidden abilities I had and meeting new people, all with their profound stories of how they got do the ride. I met a lot of people on the ride – people who were living with AIDS, their friends, partners, colleagues, neighbors and family members. I also met people whose friends, family members and partners had died of AIDS.

It was in the process of training for and doing the AIDS ride that I became one with my bike. I also discovered a love for the outdoors and my need to have an inward focus to fuel my outward exertion of physical, emotional, mental and spiritual energy. Gardening has since joined the list of outdoor hobbies and activities I love. Try as hard as I have, including taking out fitness club memberships I never used, I am discovering that I am not the gym type. I can ride my bike. I can garden. I can get lost for hours on end with my Nikon camera in hand. I can resist buying a riding lawn mower even when most of my neighbors have them. I can resist buying a can of pop when I have to drive for hours and rather buy water. I can resist getting any of the colored drinks when I am out for lunch and rather ask for water with lemon. Sometimes, I still want to order a coke even midway through my meal. I can resist for just one minute at a time and then then the urge is gone…just for that day. I love a glass of wine or a bottle of beer when the occasion is right. For the sake of my body, I only drink occasionally.

Today, Fred’s memory calls me to enjoy mini-vacations, mini-retirements, mini-celebrations, even mini-indulgences like saving up for and buying that BMW before mid-life crisis, which I call “mid-life opportunity”. Each time, I clean my bike (like I did yesterday) or take my bike out, I remember Fred. I say a prayer for his wife and kids. I remember his gift to me and the daily reminder to treat my body right and be intentional about the choices I make. I remember to go to the hospital for regular check ups and to notice the minor or major changes that occur in my body. I also remember to not be too cautious and to push the envelop as I seek to live life fully.

I ask you:

• How are you treating your body?
• Where does “Fred the bike” live in you?
• When was the last time you did something outrageous and spontaneous for the sake of living life fully and celebrating the only YOU that has been given to our planet?
• When are you going to go for that walk you have postponed, buy that roller blade you have argued yourself out of?
• When are you going on that vacation you would rather not invest in because of the many home improvement or car repair needs you have?
• What are you waiting for?

The last time I checked, my physical body was in NEAR perfect condition for my age. As my doctor loves to say during my annual check up, I am good for another year. Fred the bike has been ready to put on the miles in our amazing Minnesota spring season. My body as temple of the living God is worth fighting for. I can’t wait to ride out into the wide open spaces. May Fred’s soul rest in peace!

With love, respect and gratitude!

Okokon