I a

...but a dream

2010-04-29T08:14:00.000-07:00

I am but a dream in the sleep laden head of
an alien on a parallel universe
I am but a reality show watched by all
in the heavens above
I am but words spoken by the Supreme Deity
who lives on a misty Island
I am but dust crumbling slowly into the air
as each day passes by
I am you, you, in the very air that you
breathe in every day
I am but a speck in the eye of the Great
Watchers from Mars
I am you, you as you wade through me
with every step you take

Abayomi and I

2010-04-20T03:58:00.000-07:00

… At five years old
“What’s the west of the stowy?” He asked staring at the pictures in the comic book
“The oko baba dudu first!” I said making a grab for the sweet.
He clutched it tighter, “Who is that man standing behind Spiderman?” He pointed at the comic.
“Oh he’s just there.” I said dismissively. “You promised to give me the sweet if I read the comic to you.” I said eyeing the oko baba dudu anxiously. In spite of the fact that I am three years older than Yomi he’s always one step ahead of me.
“What is this man doing there?” he repeated holding up the comic.
“How will I know? There is no balloon coming out of his mouth.” Then it dawned on me that Abayomi has no intention of giving me the sweet, so I made a grab for it . Abayomi gave the loud screech that always fetched our mother from wherever she was … I snapped my fingers at him. “I will show you! Mcheew!!” I know when to run …
“Wale! Biodun!!” he called his friends. “I have finished weading the comic. But you have to give me one oko baba dudu each before I tell you the stowy … is it me that said you should not know how to wead like me? … This is spiderman and the other one is emm… emm, …superfly…!”

… And then he turned eleven
“But why is your cousin not talking now?” Jide said, eyeing my ‘cousin’ who is dressed up in a black mini skirt with a pair of very high heels and a big afro wig.
“I told you she’s mute, she can hear you but she cannot talk.” I said smiling at my ‘cousin’ as she applied … no smeared… more lipstick on already blood red lips and added powder to a ghostly face.
“But that your cousin looks like Yomi.” Jide said staring at the huge boobs straining at the tee-shirt.
“Wo Jide, I’m tired of this jare, do you want a girlfriend or not? She will allow you touch one of her breasts, just pay up.” I held out my hand for the twenty naira. Jide reluctantly handed over his life savings to me, his eyes still glued to my ‘cousin’s’ balloons… “Are you sure she will let me touch th…the…them?”
“You can take your 20 naira back if you don’t trust me.” I watched with disgust as Jide started squeezing one of the big pimples on his face … no wonder he doesn’t have a girlfriend.
“Where is Yomi?” He asked as he dipped a finger inside one of his nostrils.
“He’s in Lagos.” I said haughtily. “Come back around 8.30pm, my cousin will wait by that door.”
“It will be too dark.” He whined
“You did not say you want to see a breast you just want to feel it, so you don’t need light. You have to leave now, mummy is back.” I said pushing him through the door.
“Good afternoon ma. Bye-bye.” Jide said as he ran off.
“Abayomi what are you doing in my shoes … my wig and my make-up?” Yomi stood up from the chair and nearly fell off the heels he was wearing.
“Get that muck off your face. Go and change. What’s that on your chest? The balloons I bought for Oba’s birthday abi? Don’t worry; I’ll get to the bottom of this later. I hope you’re done packing because the taxi that will take us to Lagos is waiting outside…”

… Yomi at 34
What fun we had in those days !

Finding ways of losing Nemo, Nemesis dearest or Mice will play

2009-09-30T09:11:00.000-07:00

I lived with them for years, they were there in my little apartment, and it was as if they pay part of the bills. They did everything in their power to throw me out and I retaliated…the mice, I’m talking about mice! They ate ate through packets of Indomie, cornflakes, and refill packs of everything no matter where you hide them and then used the rest as toilet. They ran through the house as if it was their backyard, they had a lot of fun…at my expense.

I tried everything, from rat poison to those funny looking contraptions sold on the roadside ‘guaranteed’ to kill all the mice in my house. I chased them around with slippers, I tried to trap them will all sorts, I even gave them indocid and they became taller, stronger and fatter. Things came to a head when I woke up one night to squeaks and what sounded like laughter coming from afar when I opened my eye and in front of me were about 15mice were playing right in front of my nose. Some of them were skipping ropes, some playing ‘ten-ten’ and some were playing hopscotch…this is no lie! I swear I saw them with my two naked eyes!

Before I could say Jack Robinson they had dragged in the mice version of a home theatre, electric guitars, drums and keyboards, I couldn’t believe my eyes, so deciding I must be dreaming I pulled the duvet over me and tried to get some sleep. The squeaks became louder but since I had made up my mind that I must be imagining things, I decided to ignore the noise…then I realized that this would not be possible since somebody must have entered my room with a really powerful torch. Thinking it could be Alex, I dragged the duvet and the pillow off my face and opened my mouth to yell at him to switch off the light when I realized I was wrong on one count.

There was really a powerful torch shinning in my face but it was not held by Alex, the light was coming from a mouse sized stage…a stage? I took a second look and what must be the mouse equivalent of D’banj got on stage and started doing his thing. The screams that filled my room was enough to wake the dead! I screamed and tried to jump off my bed, but I jumped back into bed when my feet touched furry bodies! They were all there, all the mice in the neighbourhood were there…walahi talahi this is no lie!

I made two decisions that night and one led to the other: I’ve had enough and I’m getting a cat! If I had known I was opening a pandora’s box, I wouldn’t have done it!

Confessions of a latecomer, sometimes early comer: I sha come!!!

2009-04-09T11:18:00.001-07:00

I’m a notorious latecomer at my office, in fact my boss always expresses shock anytime I make it into the office at 9am on the dot or a few minutes past.
“To what do we owe this honor?” is her usual jibe

But I have an excuse ... I mean I have several extremely important REASONS because, well … I exercise first thing in the morning. I know some of you are wondering what it has to do with anything so I’ll start from the beginning… here goes …

“I’m an exercise freak, and since I discovered jogging I’ve given up other forms exercising. At this point I’m supposed to tell you the benefits of regular exercise a la flat stomach, pert tits, firm butt, slim arms, stronger heart, better health etcetera etcetera etcetera and then say that regular exercise means that you can still eat regular meals (not gorging yourself) and still stay fit and all that jazz.

I really should tell you how I love the early morning silence, the communion with God and nature, I should rhapsodize about how things become clearer as I clear the garbage from my mind and body as music flows through my blood, it’s rhythm in tandem with the beating of my heart and my feet hitting hard tar. How can I describe the way every word of the songs drop into the depth of me? But as wonderful as all the above are, they are not the real reason I jog regularly.”

The question then is “Ayodele why do you resume late for work?” The answer is “Because of the view.”

Then you go like “What?”

And I give you a totally senseless answer like…

“I’m not talking about the deserted streets, the beautiful trees, dirty gutters and traffic free roads. No it’s not the serenity it’s the people. I love watching people come to life early in the morning.

Hookers being dropped off by clients or returning home from a night of hard work, all bleary eyed and disheveled, transvestites fixing their wigs, returning home to confused wives and girlfriends. Night watchmen still in sweaters and holding their torches like lifelines. Drunks waking up from gutters looking disoriented (like “what the hell am I doing here?”).

Watching beggars sit according to rank and realizing there’s more to begging than meets the eye. Watching young men and women clearing the shack they slept in the night before. Discovering that your average schizophrenic sleeps too, finding out exactly where they sleep, watching them get ready for the day and wondering where they find all that crap they carry around.

Getting hailed by passing bus conductors “Ta lo nran e ni se, ma se wo’le” (Translation: What the heck is wrong with this fool, hop in so you’d get to wherever you’re going faster!).

Watching Hausa boys pee in the middle of the road and watching me watch them (I’m the early morning mad woman who is always running from God-knows-what). People going to early morning services .

Listening to the lyrics of the Mullah as he calls “Allahu Akbar” (No other god like Allah). I study the methods of washing carrots, I get toasted by okada riders and motor car drivers (“let me give you a ride now.”) and finally arriving at my neighborhood around the time the akara and pap sellers start hawking their goods and receive my usual greeting of “E ku jogging o!”(translation lost in English but you can manage “well done for jogging!” ridiculous)and from my more nosey neighbours “E pe di e l’eni” (you are a bit late today) as if they synchronized their alarm clocks with mine…"

Now you wonder why I get to my office late …

Ten easy steps to becoming a politician in Ibadan

2009-02-25T06:50:00.000-08:00

I know a lot of us out there are planning to become politicians in 2011, in order to make your life easier the following steps should be should be followed carefully, especially if you are from Ibadan (sections are applicable to other PinDiPin states)

The Ten Steps
1
Drop out of school: Any level - primary, secondary or tertiary institution will do! Polish up your English language, by using c instead of ch or sh. For example say cusing siar (cushion chair), sikin (Chicken), sop (shop), mison (mission) or vice-versa (fici-faca) , adfansh (advance), shoja (soldier) etc. please consult writer for more lessons.

2
Laze around for a couple of years: due to the fact that you have to experience poverty first hand, you need not get a job, live off your parents, friends and relatives. Make sure you have a lot of friends in the same situation, hang around yahoo yahoo boys but DON'T join them.

3
Get Smart: at this point tell the members of your family that you want to open a shop selling second hand goods at Gate or Ogunpa (electronics, cars, spare parts, whatever!). They'll give you money quickly because they are tired of seeing you loafing about, so they'll beg , steal or borrow to get you off your arse.

Impregnate the apprentice of an hairdresser.

4
Attend a lot of Fuji parties: this is an important prerequisite, you do have to attend parties thrown by fuji musicians, Sina Akanni, Atawewe, Igi Rogodo, Taye Paso, Rasidi Resese etc ensure you 'spray' these people with a lot of money so that they will sing your praises, ensure the tapes (insist on tapes, no CD's please) are distributed to bus drivers plying Beere, Idi-Arere, Isale-Osi, Agbeni, Sapati etc routes.

Impregnate an Alhaja that has made a lot of money, don't worry she has 5 kids for 5 other men and she's not expecting you to take responsibility for this one.

5
Get involved in a couple of fights: Ensure you have weapons like machetes, daggers and Ake UTC (axe), get a couple of marks on your body (one across the cheek will come in handy when trying to prove you're a real man or woman), this will ensure that nobody will mess with you.

6
Get Fat: You must try to be as fat as possible, developing a beer gut is the easiest way to do this, and make sure that your head becomes fat too!

Marry a younger and richer version of Alhaja, insist that she must be properly bleached (if she isn't already) throw a big party for your dead great-grandfather.

7
Join a political party: by the time you reach step 4, the appropriate political party(ies) would have started sending out feelers, take it easy and show a lot of reluctance, this will help you get a better post in the party, it will also help when there is more than one party involved. Join the one with the most thugs and most disregard for propriety.

Start dating Ibadan Polytechnic girls.

8
Get Spiritualists: you must choose your spiritualists with care, the best thing is to get two from each religion, ensure you get a ruthless one and an Holy one, the holy one in each religion will balance out the ruthlessness of his partner, with the result that you'll be able to deal with all known and perceived enemies without any repercussions…and yes, you'll get to go to heaven.

9
Visit Molete: this is an important pre-requisite or you won't make it. You have to eat amala off the same plate with the strong man of…oh wait…he's dead, mmmm, okay hold up…we'll keep you updated on this. Meanwhile, you can pay a visit to the graveside which is going to be turned into a tourist attraction very soon.

10
Vie for a political office: you should start off as a local government council chairman, by the time you leave you would have 'made' enough money to go to the next step (a governor or senator), marry your polytechnic girlfriend (she'll be first lady since she can speak henglis), recruit your old layabout friends as bodyguards (just tip them like 500 daily and they'll die for you)…and then live happily ever after.

Akani

2009-02-15T04:17:00.000-08:00

Akani
of the beautiful eyes
with the kissable lips
the tender hearted
of the gentle mien

Akani o
Akani oko
Akani o
Akani odo
Akani r’oka f’eye je
Akani lo ro fun baba

Akani
For whom my heart beats
The one my love needs
To whom my soul yields
The place my home is

Akani
Swayed with every wind of thought
That tore my heart to bits
Trampled my soul to pieces
Threw my love back at me

Akani lo we l’odod
Gbogbo omoge yo owo ose
Won ni ‘t’emi ni o gba, t’emi ni o mu’
Akani o, Akani r’oko
Akani o, Akani r’odo
Akani r’oka fun mi je
Akani lo ro fun baba

Akani who never loved me
Akani who didn’t deserve me
Akani I wish you
Yes I wish you
Oh, how I wish you
Far away from me.

AE Olofintuade © 2009

I rilli lof you my dia

2009-02-02T04:26:00.000-08:00

I lof you
I rilli do, I sware
Nobodi fit make my hart
Dey beat gidigba
For my shest
But you my deer

You wan no wettin?
Weda I fit dye for u?
Why not my deer
I fit do anytin for you
In fact go bring the cloth now
I go dye am no matter the time

I won spend all my moni
On top of my lof for you
Make I carry you go
Mr. Biggings
I go buy you meetpye
Cake and coke, I sware

Wetin consine Silifa
Consine awa lof?
The lof wey we haf wey pass jollof
Her time don pass
She don comot
Efen my first wife
No get mout for dia

Na you be my lof
I go buy u anytin you want
I go do paming and jerry for your head
I go buy you to mash shoe and bag

Just say u go marri me
My dia
If I no carry you go
My families houses
Make you say
My name no be Suraju

I lof you my dia
I rilli do
Na your lof dey kill me like beer
Na on top your head I go die

The diary of a mad man – 31st January

2009-01-31T07:34:00.000-08:00

You might not believe it, but there’s nothing as exciting and as liberating as voluntary madness. The day I chose to become a madman was the first day of my liberty. As I took each cloth off my body I felt like I was breaking the shackles which have held me bound from the day I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth.
For the first time in my life I could shout, scream obscenities… but that was short lived. I fought long and hard to become a certified, totally naked-on-the-street mad pesin.

I love being a mad man because basically I can do anything I like and nobody will blame me, they’ll say:
“He slapped you? You’d better start running or better still go to your pastor to do deliverance for you, how can a mad man slap you? You want to go back and fight a mad man abi? Please go ahead; just don’t come back here after the fight! I don’t want anybody to think I know you.”

But the real freedom lies in the fact that I chose not to do those things, I chose to live my life violence free … hehehe … but don’t tell anybody or they’ll start taking me for granted. I’m no father Christmas and I enjoy the way people cross to the other side of the road when they see me coming.

I even saw my mother once, gorgeously attired in a pink lace, she was sitting in one car that looks spanking new (father must be having another affair). I took out time to study her while she was busy reading a newspaper. Her face looked so stiff I suspected she must have had another face-lift.

Mother dear mother. The social butterfly, the social climber. I was so busy studying her I didn’t notice when a man came up behind me and grabbed me, I screamed with rage and that was when she looked up, our eyes met and I saw the shock of recognition in her eyes. Although her face remained immobile, but those eyes, they expressed horror, fear, revulsion and something akin to pain…

“Kasali, leave him alone!” she shouted at the man who was still busy shoving me.
“Modom, he’s a madings o! I seesaw him dey looks looks at you.” He said, reluctantly letting me go
“I said let him go!” she shoved a thousand naira note through the window at me, I laughed, picked up the money and tore it to bits. She looked at me and I gave her the finger… my mother … I remember my pre-freedom years, she had so much power over me. But now I’m free, free from her greedy, grasping claws forever … freeeeee.

The diary of a mad man - 30th January

2009-01-31T06:39:00.000-08:00

They call me ‘alakowe’ or the gentleman, that’s what they call me to my face anyway, but when I’m not there they call me ‘were’ and ‘asinwin’. The old women hiss and sigh deeply “… and he’s someone’s child, mmm, were dun wo l’oja, ko se bi l’omo (literally: watching a madman in the market can be entertaining but it’s not entertaining to have a child who is stark, raving mad).”

The young women sigh and avert their eyes from my dangling member, they sigh over my tall physique, I can almost hear them sighing
“What a bloody waste!” and I smile and I laugh and laugh

The pity me, you can see it in their stance, the look in their eyes, they pity me … they look at my dirty and naked body, my filthy matted hair, my wild eyes, my yellowing teeth and shake their head. But I laugh, I look at them and laugh long and hard, I laugh my wildest and throatiest laughter because I am free… and they are not.

Writing this diary is actually one of my whims, something I just decided to do, and I think it’s kind of interesting you know. Sometimes I just get a bee in my bonnet … actually, I permanently have a bee in my bonnet … and I laugh at my own jokes and laugh, and of course, they give me a wide berth which makes me laugh harder…
My getting this pen and book to write with happened quite by accident … there’s this Ibo boy who sells secondhand books.

What friendship is … NOT

2009-01-28T03:28:00.000-08:00

I read articles on how I’m supposed to behave, because I don’t give a flick about what people think about me, but I do care about not hurting others.
I read articles on psychology to check if I’ve not totally crossed the line which divides sanity (a.k.a. boringness) and total insanity (a.k.a. stripping naked on the road – an interesting idea really).
I read articles on personalities, to be sure I am not the only one with a personality disorder.
I read articles on love (identifying it, difference between love/lust/infatuation) so that each time I lose my head over another loser, I will be able to identify my feelings as infatuation and move on. I have read articles on friendship, singlehood, parenthood, fatherhood (yep because I have to be mum and dad, now I’m supermom!) … I’ve read practically every topic under the sun for various reasons (and some for none!).
Each of these articles try to tell me how to live, what to wear, what’s hot and what’s not. Sometimes there’s so much information flowing through my brains I just shut down! Anyway, my revenge on the world is this article on what friendship is not.
Actually this is more about talking to myself than anybody else, these are the rules I believe I should follow if I’m to have friends and not die a friendless old maid (although the old maid side will probably not change!) So here we go

Friendship is not

A ship – although the word is made up of friend and ship, the ship part is definitely not true. I know some of my friends who can compete with a ship when it comes to their girth (I mean their waistline), but really they ARE NOT SHIPS. You are not to board them and expect to be entertained (this seems to be what all that we want these days, to be ENTERTAINED). Well I’m sorry to disappoint you, your friend is not D’banj (you should be so lucky), so sentences like “oh she’s sooo booring”, “Don’t you ever do anything else but read/watch videos/surf the net/ beat your …em?” etc. does not apply

Fun: Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying friendship shouldn’t be fun, but I’d be careful when all my friends “just wanna have fuun!”. Go clubbing, go swimming, laugh, laugh, laugh, screeeeeeeeeam, gossip, feel better than everybody else, get high, get laid, look down on anybody unlucky enough not to be included in your circle of (myopic and silly) friends … nah friendship is not all about fun. Friendship should be serious too you know, when you get to discuss matters of grave importance (like the kind of clothes you should wear to church on Sunday). Friendship is actually a lot of work, sweat, tears, rage. You invest your time, money and emotions in it.

Cheap: this is a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again. Friendship is COSTLY, it is VERY expensive and not only in monetary terms. It will cost you your time, emotions and money, and what do you reap? Fierce loyalty. If you cannot do anything for anybody, give anything to anybody; help anybody … that your selfish body will continue feeding on itself.

Have I tortured you enough? I can actually go on and on, but I think I’d better save the rest for another day.

ENVIRONMENTAL AKALISM (I)

2009-01-19T07:31:00.000-08:00

In spite of my outward show of being a romantic, of believing in ‘happily-ever-after’. In spite of the fact that I tend to view the world through rose colored lenses and stubbornly believe in basic human goodness. In spite of the fact that I am a dreamer and I don’t believe in the word ‘impossible’, I can be a level headed, cold eyed realist … this is the other extreme of my personality which I don’t allow to take total control of me. My bitchy, ‘never-say-die’ side, that side of me which drives me to excel at whatever I lay my hands on, that part of me which can be totally ruthless, callous and calculating.

That part of me that can look at situations dispassionately is what I use to look at my beloved country, Nigeria. I KNOW all the problems we have, I LIVE these problems with every air I draw into my lungs.

I wake up in the middle of the night and the problem hits me as oppressive, relentless heat and mutant mosquitoes. I PAY for the problems when I go shopping, when I pay my over inflated bills, when I try to buy the basic necessities of life. I INHALE the problem when I pass by gigantic heaps of refuse by the roadside. I’m EMBARRASED by the problem when I hear about another “pellow Nigerian” scamming someone from England or America (as if they don’t have enough scammers over there already!).

I get MAD at the problems when I hear or read about another method the Nigerian government has just invented to squander the money which rightfully belongs to the Niger Deltans. I HISS at the problem, when I encounter our men in uniform, who have sworn ‘to serve’ and ‘protect’ collecting 20 naira ‘offerings’ from commercial motorists.

I laugh at the problem when I see the idiocy of the people who have been forced over us by the ‘powers that be’ (e.g. ENVIRONMENTAL AKALISM, read part II and you MIGHT be able to understand what this means, I’m yet to figure it out myself). I WEEP for the problem when I see another mother and child dying due to the failure of the Nigerian government to provide basic amenities and infrastructures for its ‘fiffle’, when I see another demonstration of the “Don’t give a *&^n! Wether y’all live or die! I’m here to chop all the money till I quench!” Attitude of our so-called leaders.

So nobody should talk to me about the PROBLEMS confronting Nigeria. I’ve heard the country being described as ‘dead’, a failed state, moribund, hopeless, helpless, god-forsaken and other epithets and, honestly, I am sick and tired of these descriptions.

I will be the first one to admit that this country is sick and desperately in need of resuscitation, but I don’t want to hear another word about the ills, all I want to talk about now … all I want to DO now is find a way forward.

Since not all of us have dual citizenship or can apply for asylum (under any flimsy pretext), bully, beg, scam, marry or simply buy our way out of this country. Not all of us have the temperament to live as second class citizens or fugitives in somebody else’s country. And even if we’re willing to do any or all of the above, not all of us can get out of this country, I believe the only thing to do is find solutions to the problems besetting this country, after all we’re at rock bottom now and the only way out is UP. I strongly believe the only thing we can do is CHANGE.

I’m not talking about mass rallies, or the ‘miseducation’ of our people, I mean change that happens within individuals, when we change then we can change our environment. At this point in time, we have no other choice but to change

Nigerian men in uniform are INSANE!!!

2009-01-16T02:08:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning and prepared myself and my son without an inkling of what was happen to me. I have heard about the insanity of Nigerian men in uniform, I have read about it, I have witnessed it, it has happened to my friends or friends of friends, but this morning I had a first hand taste of the insanity which seems to dodge our men in uniform and I’m convinced that it is a powerful curse that has been placed on them!

There I was on an Okada, and down Awolowo Avenue, Bodija were the men of Road Safety Corps (they should be called the “road hazard corps” I swear) I groaned inwardly and wondered what they wanted.

My Okada rider,who was going on a normal speed slowed down a bit, then out of the blues came this guy, SO Olagunju, (who has obviously been watching too many B grade action movies) he jumped in front of the okada, grabbed its handle bars and threw the okada, the Okada rider and myself, on the road. With the result that the okada rider and I were underneath the machine! (He’s obviously on some kind of drug) We nearly fell into a gutter! I’d never been so furious in my life!

“Are you f*&^%$*& insane? have you f*&^%$*& lost it?”
“Look here madam…” he said, acting surprised
“Don’t you f*&^%$*& madam me, you this f*&^%$*& blazing idiot.”
“Don’t talk to me like that!” He said getting aggressive, he drew near to me and acted like he was going to slap me.

By now the traffic had come to a standstill and some men had gathered, as he drew near to me, they moved closer to him, I swear, they would have beaten that guy up if he had laid a hand on me. I could smell their frustrations, they were willing him to hit me so that they can hit back at him, because at that point he represented the system that has oppressed them for so long … and still is…

Then his superiors who have been watching from afar drew near and started apologizing,
“Don’t f*&^%$*& apologize to me! What if I died? Would you be f*&^%$*& apologizing to me in heaven or hell or wherever?”
“Madam, we’re sorry, please let this Okada rider take you to your office.” But I’d totally lost it, I was screaming and yelling obscenities at them. I insulted every single one of them, I insulted the government that gave them the power to become licensed lawbreakers, I yelled, I screamed, I was egged on by the crowd who were also tired of the bullshit … I am totally freaked out… even rite now …

It’s a pareeeeeee! II (Burials)

2009-01-13T02:15:00.000-08:00

For a whole week, nothing happened, no Ologi, no Alakara, nothing! Even the women who run mini supermarkets on my street were nowhere to be found … I got so desperate that I had to ‘import’ pap from my mom’s ‘adugbo’. By the end of that week I was going around bleary eyed because of all the noise, it was a full fledged jamboree … a minute of silence for the souls of the departed chickens, goats and cows.
I was so annoyed I couldn’t get my regular dose of ogi that I totally ignored the party, I pretended I didn’t know what was going on, which was pretty easy because I assumed that nobody noticed my absence, practically everybody was there, why would my absence be noticed and then …
“Anti Ayo!!! Where have you been?” a loud voice yelled from behind me, I turned around to see Mama Yinka, the woman who sells me kerosene.
“Mama Yinka, how are you?” I yelled back, “Gen-gen! You are all kacked up o, me I like this material you’re wearing, and the style na waya, this your gele sef, o ga o!” I also noticed that her bleached skin is yellower than usual, “So where are you off to this beautiful day?” I said
“That’s why I called you now, where have you been? We’ve not seen you at all this week.” She said obviously displeased she’s not seen me
“Me ke? When I’ve been looking for you all over the place, I ran out of kerosene a couple of days ago.” She looked at me pityingly, clapped twice and hissed
“Mchew. You’re not serious o anti Ayo, don’t you know that Pa XYZ who lives in that red house died?” I’m honestly sick of being told this
“We have been burying him during the week.” She said as if that explains everything
“So I’m not supposed to cook…” I said, this was a new one on me. She burst into laughter and locked up her shop.
“E woo, you these alakowe people sha, we are going for the shursh service now, when I return I’ll send some kerosene to you through Yinka.” She said waving at me… I am still trying to figure out why people who have so little waste so much.
By the time I got to my house about 5more people had hailed me “Anti Ayo! Where have you been? Aren’t you coming to church for the ceremony?” and many more questions meant to stir my conscience about my social responsibility … to be at the burial party…
Anyway sha, that’s the beginning of my romance with parties in my adugbo. In the past three years I’ve been able to deduce that the success of a party is measured by the following:
a) How many people attended the party? Woe is you if only a few people attended your party … people must attend from near and far, including relatives living at Fiditi, Igbeti, Igbo Eleerin etcetera who you only see at burials and child naming ceremonies. Of course how you guys are related has to be really hazy and of course they must stay for two weeks to ‘help’ you clear up the mess.
b) Who was on the bandstand? Is it Igi sekele, Taye Paso, Gigi N’jake Sarafa, Ayinla Koroko(now don’t ask me what these names mean, ‘cos I don’t know!)
c) How much was ‘sprayed’ on the celebrants by the guests, how much was ‘sprayed’ on the musician? And how much got into the pockets of the people in the ‘adugbo’
d) The amount of amala, gbegiri, ewedu and deep fried meat that was made available to the guests (now this is the most important part of the whole thing) so they can ‘je aje’yo, a o tun bu lo’le’ (that is eat in and take away)… a minute of silence for the souls of dearly departed …goats, cows and shikin!

It’s a Parreeeeeeeeee!(I)

2009-01-13T00:10:00.000-08:00

Nigerians are well known for our love for partying, no matter how poor, oppressed or downtrodden we are, one thing we know how to do with flair is throwing and rocking a party. Chop, drink and quench… that’s why you’ll find a couple who’s monthly income doesn’t add up to 20k throwing a wedding party and inviting everybody and their cousins, and trust Nigerians, they will turn up, en masse (I actually stopped attending weddings a long time ago!). In fact some of them don’t even bother going to the church/mosque/shrine/local government headquarters where the wedding is taking place; they go straight to the reception…zat’s where it’s happening!
And the same goes for every excuse for throwing parties, child naming, burials (now that’s a reeeeeeeeeeeally biiig one), house warming, buyday(1st, 16th, 18th , 21st, 40th and every th’s thereafter), we even throw parties to ‘flip over’ dead ancestors! Trust Nigerians, everybody will turn out in their orange gele and green shoe and bag combo (no matter how broke they are!).
Why am I talking about parties? Well about three years ago, I moved from a very genteel and Ajebutta neighborhood (Bodija) to a big and rambunctious ‘Adugbo’(expression Femi’s). One of the best things about this adugbo (aside from my extremely cheap akomodashon) is the pap, I love taking hot, thick pap early in the morning, especially with pipping hot Akara. Unlike my former neighbourhood where everybody was too tush to be selling stuff like pap and akara, this one’s got my favorite breakfast in abundance.
My problem with parties started when one day I woke up and all the pap sellers were nowhere to be found, I rushed downstairs and walked up and down the street, nada… even the woman selling akara beside my house was not available … haba! This na disaster in the offing o! So I went to my next door neighbour’s place (Lanre, now that’s one character that will take a whole book to analyze) who kindly informed me that ‘they’ are throwing a burial party.
“Who are ‘they’?” I asked a bit bemused
“Everybody now.” Now I was totally flummoxed
“Who’s everybody? Does that include you and me? Because I don’t remember being told about any burial party.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you know Pa xyz who lives in that red building died?”
“So?”
“So everybody is attending the party and nobody’s doing anything until after the party.”
“I still don’t get it, and I’m definitely not attending a party that has nothing to do with me.”
“What do you mean by that? Everybody will be there…”
“When will the women selling pap and akara be around then?”
“As soon as the party is over…”
I said okay and made to walk away, “Wait Ayo, I still don’t understand you o! You mean you haven’t bought the Aso Ebi?”
“Mcheeeeeeeeeeeew! Whose Ebi? They are Not my ebi…”
“But don’t you greet the old man?” He said
“Oh so greeting people nowadays makes me their Ebi? Will I be mentioned in the will too? Wo Lanre, I’ll see you later jare…” I said, quickly walking off before the conversation degenerates any further.

Dreaming

2009-01-04T01:49:00.000-08:00

Floating on a cloud, I see myself as more than I am, I see myself up above, I see myself among the stars. I am doing what I’ve always wanted to do, I am doing what I was born to do, and then they came along, they pointed at my dreams, they laughed at my dreams, they said it can never be done.
Flying on gossamer wings, I reached dizzying heights, I landed on top of my mountain, I’m on top of my heap. I rock, I’m in charge of my game and then they came and they pointed and they laughed, and they said it can’t be done. “You are just like everyone else, you’re not special.” they said “get your head out of the clouds and accept you’ll never be more than what you are.”
For a split second I was dumbfounded, I stopped dreaming and sat down there. I looked at myself and realized my ordinariness, it’s true I’m just like everybody else, I’m just a bit more cuckoo, how could I have thought it can be done? Why did I imagine for a moment that I could make a difference? I should grow up, get a life and stop dreaming. These are my friends, not my enemies. They’ve had more experience, they’ve done many things.
Then I said to myself, why then was I created, to be a drone? Not to make a difference? I asked myself what’s the use of dreaming? What’s the point of God’s love, God’s investment in me?
Then I realized I need my friends as my enemies, they made me more determined to dream, to reach out for that which I’ve always desired, more, better, touching lives, making a difference, that’s why I’m me.
So I achieved all they said I couldn’t and reached out for more, for better, for best… and there I found myself floating on clouds, borne gently on the milky way, I’m a planet, I’m more than the eye can see…

You wouldn’t know love

2009-01-01T10:10:00.000-08:00

You wouldn’t know love
If it knocked down your door…
If it fell in your hands
From the heavens above
You wouldn’t know love… (Micheal Bolton)

I love jogging early in the morning, it helps clear my head and my body, enables me to plan and focus on my goals for the day…though I’m still a slightly chubby woman who behaves like a girl, has a tendency to bloat at certain time of the month, takes decisions with her heart rather than her head, can leave things as they are (laissez faire) but fierce when she wants something badly enough.

So what does this have to do with anything? Well, I was jogging early Wednesday morning when I made the startling discovery that not everybody responds positively to being loved.

Everybody talks about loving and being loved, everybody wants…nay, needs to be loved. We all talk about it, chase after it, beg for it or try to buy it, but when it’s freely given, we get freaked out!

That’s when we put on our superior attitude. Me? You love me? How can you love me? Did I ask you to love me? Have I solicited for your love in any way form or fashion? Who are you to love me?

Underneath the ‘fronting’ is the fact that we feel unlovable. We’ve judged ourselves and come to the conclusion that we are ‘not good enough’. Instead of accepting love and basking in the feeling of being genuinely adored (not for our looks, money or social status), we try to humiliate the person who loves us, we disrespect them because we think to ourselves ‘how can he/she/it love me without any reason? I’m not good enough for that kind of love, so why should he/she love me? There must be something wrong with him/her/it, because there’s something wrong with me.’

We assume that the person is ‘cheap’ and does not have any pride that’s why he/she/it loves us, that he/she/it might even enjoy the humiliations we méte out to them. The person becomes the butt of jokes or, worse still, an object of pity. We give them crumbs of affection, and condescend to him/her/it.

I remember someone that loved me like that once, he did everything in his power to show me that he doesn’t care about my looks, social status or circumstances and I did everything in my power to push him away… then he went away…now its my loss…

The conclusion of the whole matter… I’m not asking you to fall in love with everybody who loves you, just give them a modicum of respect, just avoid doing things to humiliate them, talk to them like human beings and if they start stalking you?...shoot ‘em down!

Self-worth and the Society (I)

2009-01-01T10:01:00.000-08:00

Our society is made up of people in or who had been in our space at one point or the other. Our intimates, family members, acquaintances, people we admire, those that admire us, people in our neighborhood, colleagues, schoolmates, people we grew up knowing. All these people are interwoven into the fabric of our lives.

For every society there are rules (mostly unwritten) which guides the behavior of the individual. The society dictates what is wrong and right to us and without thinking about it most of us accept these rules. Some rules are the norm, they cut across every stratum of the society (there are strata). From childhood all these rules have been pounded into our medulla oblongata, thou shalt not – steal, lie, kill, covet, envy, take God for granted, diss your parents, for-ni-cate, thou shalt not or else…

Aside from the general rules stated above there are also different rules guiding different strata of the society, these strata are called classes. The classes can be broadly divided into the upper, middle and lower classes, this division varies from one society to another.
Within the classes are classes and within those another set of classes– ad infinitum.

These ‘classes’, in most cases dictate the way we perceive ourselves and others, they are like glass bubbles which allow you to see and hear other people without touching them. These bubbles confine us and our experiences within a certain limited space, denying us the freedom to BE. This is due to the fact that within the bubbles are ladders which everyone is scrambling to get on top of, basically because their experiences are so limited and boredom sets in, so a game is made out of being a top dog.

This is the reason, for example, a person who was raised in Mushin and had listened to Fuji and Juju all his or her life will expect to be bored at a jazz or classical music concert. I use the word ‘expect’ because the person has never experienced these forms of music before and therefore cannot be sure of how he/she will respond to it. The same can be said of someone who had lived a sheltered life (sheltered by wealth and affluence), the person cannot even imagine a music form called Fuji…

Whose exams is it anyway? “Definitely not yours mom!”

2008-12-31T10:34:00.000-08:00

“So what are you reading?” I asked as I bumped into Alex’s room
He jumped guiltily and tried to hide the Mad magazine he was reading, he then put a notebook in front of him. I pretended not to see the Mad that has just been pushed under his table and reached out for the notebook which had Social Studies on the cover, but was filled with drawings- spider/super/batman; rubber man and what looked like a cross between Sango and a rabbit.
“Oh! Sorry about that.” He said as he snatched the notebook from me and thrust another one with the title of ‘Social Studies’ written on it.
“Okay, hold on, let’s rewind and start from the very beginning.” I said as I picked up the Mad lying underneath the table.
My head was filled to overflowing with the thought that I have somehow failed my son. The sins of my youth have finally caught up with me; it must have been passed through the genes. Images of my mum and me in scenes horribly similar to this passed through my head …well except for the drawings…mine were stories. I had a sense of déja vu; I didn’t know how to proceed…should I start yelling or use the loving mum tactic?
“Well?” I asked again, basically because I didn’t know what to say next. Alex first stood up and put a healthy distance between us.
“Emm, which one?”
“Mad, that Mad under the table”
“Okay…emm”
“…and I’ll prefer the original version of the story, not the remix.”
“I was tired of reading social studies, so I decided to take a break…”
“By reading a comic?”
“Should I have watched a movie?” he asked, all innocence.
“Don’t even start with that! I’m dead serious here!”
“Sorry mum, I’ve read it so many times I just wanted to read something aside from my notes.”
“Okay, what about the Social Studies notebook full of drawings?”
“Well, our Social Studies teacher is veeeeeery boooooring, and tends to go on and on about being a good boy or girl, so whenever he starts I draw in my fake social studies notebook.”
“You know you’re not supposed to do that!”
“Yes, I know I am supposed to pay attention in class, and yes I know how expensive the school is, and I know how I will disgrace YOU if I fail MY exams… mum you keep going on as if this is the ONLY exam I’ve ever done. Since the day I came back home and told you we were starting exams, you have been going on at me…and you made me scared.”
“Oh so now it’s my fault…” I asked, I was at a loss
“I am not blaming you, I’m just telling you that the way you have been going on scared me. I mean you keep sneaking up on me and asking me funny questions, and waking me up at 5am to read… I am still in JSS 1 you know, I’m not reading for SSCE or something...”

Whose exams is it anyway? (1)

2008-12-31T10:26:00.000-08:00

Early Thursday morning I woke my son up and tried to hustle him into the bathroom and to school, but he wouldn’t budge. I finally managed to drag his bedclothes off him and I looked into his huge black eyes swimming with tears. I sighed, suspecting what was to come.
“So what is it this morning Alex?”
“Oooh mum I’m dying.” He groaned, dragging his bedclothes out of my hand
“Mmm … interesting, so what is killing you … this morning?” I asked rolling my eyes heavenwards.
“I can’t breathe, which is a sure sign that MY ASTHMA (notice the emphasis on the word MY) is back,” he coughed to prove it
“I also have malaria. If you feel my body you’ll realize that my temperature is veery high.” Whispering now and speaking slowly, I nodded in sympathy, ‘mmm-ing’ along with him.
“And mom, the worst thing is this headache…it is too much, in fact I can barely see right now.” He said as a tear rolled down his left cheek (God knows how long he practiced that move in front of a mirror).
“Awww, poor baby.” I cooed, feeling his forehead and the base of his neck (noting the lack of heat and presence of a steady pulse) he looked surprised, that was the last response he expected, “You can stay in bed all day long. Pele…”
“Wha..wha…what? But moooooom…”
“Yes honey” I said walking out of the room
“But I am starting my first term exams this morning.” He yelled, I didn’t even look back “Really? Don’t worry about that, you won’t need it.” I said with the same even tone I’ve been using with him. As I walked towards my room, I heard his footfall (quite springy for a boy who was about to die a few minutes earlier).
“But mooooooooom!” I turned back and smiled at my son
“You shouldn’t be out of bed you know Alex.” I said
“I have exams!”
“So?”
“I have to go to school.”
“No you don’t…see those three things, the headache, fever and asthma are sure signs of death…”
“Noooo! It’s not asthma, it’s just a cough!”
“Okay.”

Driving in Nigeria Made Easy

2008-12-30T05:01:00.000-08:00

First, I want to say ‘congratulations’ on the acquisition of your new ‘tokunbo tear rubber car’, we go wash am, many more to come o! Next, I want to advice you not to take driving lessons, they are WAY too expensive and those driving instructors don’t know what they are doing anyway. The only thing to do is purchase your drivers license from your favorite ‘hawker’ at the licensing office…it ranges between N5,000 and N10,000 naira…depending on your ‘mugun’ status. Oh and forget that big ‘L’(learner) thingy they ask you to hang on your car…everybody will then be looking at you in a funny way because how can you just be learning how to drive at your age? (Shameless agbaya) so, please to save face, don’t use it.

Now ask one of your friends who can drive to take you to a football field, you can practice there and if there are people on the field, all the better to learn how to be a ‘hit and run’ driver.

Before you leave home…
A. Repeat after me, I AM THE ONLY SANE PERSON ON THE ROAD, EVERYBODY ELSE IS MAD.

B. ALL DANFO DRIVERS ARE YOUR ENEMIES. They are actually not human, once they get behind that danfo steering wheel they become acolytes of the devil, they mutate into…emm…emm cyborgs, no Smiggle…no something worse…I leave the rest to your imagination, but believe me, they are out to get you!

C. Get your road rage in place, so u ask me what road rage is …mmm okay, think of all the bad things that have happened to you recently, if none comes to mind think of the Nigerian government…now you are in the right mood yep! You are VERY angry, angry enough to hit someone, deliberately, in rage. “Yep that’s road rage.”

As you enter your car
a. Try to remember the exact place you’re going, bring out your hand drawn map and stick it to your dashboard “what’s a dashboard? Emmm, emmm that thing in front of you silly! No? What do you mean by no! I’m telling you some…oh that’s your steering wheel silly! Yeah, every other thing is called a dashboard…I think.”

b. Practice the abuses in your ‘Yapping Danfo drivers in Ten Nigerian languages’.

c. Take a deep breath and wish your family members a fond farewell, don’t forget to tell your wife/girlfriend/boyfriend/partner/whatever that you love them but Jesus loves them more.

d. Wait! Don’t forget your “Yapping Danfo drivers in Ten Nigerian languages”at home; (enquiries about purchasing the book should be directed to me, thank you) you can put that on your dashboard… “what do you mean by what is a dashboard? Abeg no start again o!”

As you enter the main road
a. Play road hockey with Okadas and their riders, it is allowed. In fact it’s the latest rage in keeping fit.

b. Bring out your dictionary, although the abuses are best in your native language, but for those of us who can’t speak our native tongues because we are too Ajebotaish (better still too dumb) to learn it please bring it out. The abuses are to be rained quickly and with flair.

…to be continued. Watch out for part 2…Grab your copy NOW!!!

The Politics of Inequality

2008-12-29T10:42:00.000-08:00

As George Orwell said in his book, Animal Farm, and I paraphrase “All animals are equal, but luckily for us, some are more equal than others.”
Equality is a noble ideal, treatise have been written on it, people have killed (and have been killed) for it – “Plebeians arise and strike down the aristocrats! All men shall be equal!”
History is full of examples of the majority arising to cast off the yoke of enslavement placed upon them by a powerful minority – China, Russia, France, India, China and our very own Zimbabwe.
Men have endured unimaginable ills, inflicted upon them on them by this powerful minority, until they are pushed to the wall – then they face their foes in a blind rage and smite! They maim! Murder! Burn! – Until the minority flees or die.
“We’ve had enough.” Their actions say, for words would have become useless tools at this point.
When man reaches this stage, the scene is at once both glorious and gory, sensitive men ignore the gore and focus on the glory. The best and basest of human character comes to play – the musicians sing lustfully of heroic deeds, the drummers beat out primordial rhythms on drums made out of human skin – and the people sway to the beats as one, they are on a mission, they have a higher calling.
They want, no they beg to be martyred, the shout of “Liberté, egalité, fraternité et justice!” rents the air. “Gimme my motherland or I die!” At this point man always win, they win the war and they always lose the battle.
Because after the dust settles and the rubble is cleared…and George Orwell said in his book, Animal Farm, and I paraphrase – “All men are equal, unfortunately (and forevermore) some are simply more equal than others!”
…it’s a vicious cycle…