Sunday, December 11, 2011

Nomadic thots...

"Swim Good"...Frank Ocean


Somewhere out in the West Midlands, far from the organized chaos of the concrete jungle, Ramone sat puffing on his cigarette, he flicked the ash off with a practiced flick, almost negligent of his surroundings. Out here in the country side, there was a tranquility that could not be measured, a certain peace that couldnt be described adequately with words, it was almost as if he was one with the elements, a perfect blend of man with nature, his soul fused into the timeless wander of existence. He could hear the birds sing to each other merrily, the joy in their voice borne out of an emotion alien to humans, it couldnt exactly be defined as happiness, it transcended the human definition of happiness, it was almost a'kin to a feeling of freedom that could only be imagined by walking off death row at the last second. He couldnt remember exactly how he had come to this state, but then he was a creature of habit.

He had lapsed into his temporary fugue state like he did every afternoon while he was on vacation and somehow he had drifted to unknown territory. In his mind, he was out in the desert, surrounded by emptiness and landscapes that had been rendered almost invisible by time, the wind whispered in his ears, slow soft whispers that felt almost rhythmic but at the same time eerie, he could taste the dry sharpness of the sand on his lips, brittle and almost feathery to the skin of his inner mind. There was no oasis in this desert, only an infinitesimal space that paled in comparison to the single speck of humanity that was represented by him. He was alone, a victim of his own prison, warden and convict at the same time yet powerless to loosen the bonds of ephemeral captivity. The sand swirled about his feet, almost in slow motion, he observed it like a man caught in a trance, gradually a hole began to form where his feet was planted, at first a speck, like little seams unravelling at the edges, he could feel himself sinking slowly, and there was nothing he could do about it.


There was no battle to fight, no wars to rally against, just the silent swoosh as the sand around his feet slowly faded out of existence into another world that he couldn't visualize, a gradual drift into oblivion.
He knew he had to do something soon, or he'd be swallowed up, he had never walked down these paths before, so he was unsure as to the next move to make, his eyes never wavered from the image of his reflection trapped in the sand. Have you ever experienced an out of body experience? Floating out of your soul to gaze down on your spirit, that was the scenario here, he stared deeper at the imagery in his mind, almost transfixed, as if by magic time had gradually ground to a halt in the inner corridors of his mentality. He was torn between indecision and the gravity of his dilemma, a debacle that he couldn't seem to resolve. Time slipped by in steady steps for the man in the desert, yet it never moved for the man on the curb, contrasting emotions ran through the different worlds...

Sunday, November 27, 2011

PaCoLiSo...Chapter 3

Life moved on pretty smoothly afterwards. There werent much students in the estate and for some odd reason people seemed to keep to themselves. Samurai mentioned to Shimon that the estate bore a close similarity to a mini fiefdom. The standard mode of greeting was a perfunctory nod of the head or a twitch of the eyebrows as people walked by. There were little cliques and from all appearances the cliques were as isolated as Palestinians and Israelis on the Gaza Strip. After the Kandi incident, Samurai was wary of making any new 'friends". His back still hurt from the trauma of cleaning up Kandi's room, it had taken a grand total of almost 3 hours from start to finish. He and Shimon had worked as if they were in a trance and the only positive experience he could recall from the incident was that Kandi could sing. She hadn't offered them breakfast afterwards, that was another issue they had grumbled about when they finally retired to their room.

A couple of days afterwards, Shimon noticed that the garbage heap that was inconveniently located behind their block, had started creeping towards the front of their room. Repeated appeals to "Oga Sam", the caretaker to do something about it was always met with a gap toothed grin and a prompt response of "I go do am, no worry". So the next weekend, Shimon and Samurai took matters into their own hands and decided to clean and push back the garbage heap. It was going to be backbreaking work but it had to be done. So that bright saturday morning, the 2 young men changed into work shorts and began the task of reclaiming their territory from overflowing garbage. After about an hour or two of serious work, Samurai sensed a pair of eyes watching them, so he looked up and that was how they met Tweety.

"She was waif like, an ebony colored Kate Moss, petite with deep eyes and a quizzical smile on her face, twas easy to detect the cogs in her brain clicking as she tried to figure out what the 2 young men were doing. Clad in a blue wrapper that
was tied securely around her slender frame, she had her hands in a knot underneath her chin and it seemed for a moment that she was lost in thought..."


"What are you guys doing?" She finally muttered.

Dripping with sweat, with aching joints, Samurai thought it was the most ridiculous question that he had ever been asked. In his mind he responded, "What does it look like? We were so bored and decided to play with garbage!" Shimon came to the rescue and explained that they had just moved in and that the garbage heap was encroaching on their territory so they were doing their best to tidy the place. He had just finished explaining and Tweety just turned and ran back into her room yelling at the top of her voice..."Pocahontas o! Pocahontas o! come and see o!" Shimon turned and looked at Samurai in confusion. By that point Samurai had come to the conclusion that all the tenants of Pacoliso were from a different planet, beautiful but as dysfunctional as Looney Tunes. A minute afterwards, Tweety ran back outside closely followed by Pocahontas, they were both giggling as if the idea of 2 bespectacled men battling against a heap of garbage was the most hilarious thing since the whiteman told Okonkwo that God had a son (Things Fall Apart).

Pocahontas was clad in a wrapper too, pearl shaped face with slight Oriental features
. To Samurai's bewilderment she asked "What are you guys doing?"
As if that wasnt enough, Shimon explained all over again (Shimon wasn't just a diplomat, he took it as a responsibility to explain the most little details a thousand times over without getting upset). Samurai on the other hand was seething with anger, first Cubana, then Kandi, now Tweety and Pocahontas, what next he thought to himself, Pacoliso was already shaping up to be a mini Alcatraz.
After Shimon's explanation, Pocahontas asked "Are they paying you guys?". "No", Shimon replied, and launched into the merits of taking a proactive step to get Oga Sam to act, Tweety stood behind Pocahontas with the same quizzical smile on her face and an arched eyebrow. "Perhaps she is wondering if we are mad people, instead of her to just say thank you and offer us breakfast", Samurai muttered to himself... (Oga Sam did finally take notice as Shimon had mentioned and finished up the rest of the job).

Now there were 2 things that were striking about Pacoliso back in those days. The first was that Oga Sam had a few turkeys that roamed around the estate, they were notorious for their noise and droppings. The damned turkeys shat all over the whole place and made a ridiculous amount of noise. The temptation to murder one of those turkeys at night was hard to resist, but out of respect for Oga Sam, they were never harmed. The other crazy feature was that Pacoliso had only 1 water storage tank, and to compound issues, the water tank was being used by laborers who were building what seemed like the Tower of Babel at the entrance to the estate. It didn't make any logical sense because for some odd reason water supply in the estate was controlled by only one electric powered water pump, so if NEPA struck (which was a regular feature), water went with it also. So the only source of water left in the event of a blackout was the sole storage tank. It was just an example of how inept Looney Tunes was in his thinking. To worsen matters, the water tank wasn't big, so the water was always finished at the speed of light. One thing you ought to remember is that Pacoliso's tenants were 90% female, and most women do NOT like to fetch water, especially when it involves trekking a long distance with a bucket. Gone were the days of "Eze goes to school" where Eze had to go to the stream 3 times in the morning before heading to school, Pacoliso ladies were beautiful and classy chicks, not village trained. But a few of them realized that survival entailed flexing their biceps to carry the buckets of water. Nevertheless, the water in the storage tank was never enough.

One beautiful Wednesday morning, NEPA had struck as usual the night before and the water in the storage tank had run out. Back then, there was an undisputed "Queen" of Pacoliso, some said she was the prettiest chick in Pacoliso then, she was light-skinned and tall and was the leader of one of the key cliques in Pacoliso. Sometime around 9am, she and her entourage made their way to the water tank to fetch water, about 7 of them in number. It was a sight to behold, pretty women in wrapper, cat-walking to the water tank (I never understood
the love for wrappers back then, maybe it was fashionable but all the chicks rocked their wrappers in the morning). On getting to the storage tank, Queen Bee turned the tap on and a little trickle of water came out, the water dripped like tear drops, surprisingly the ladies didnt seem to be flustered, instead they lined up their buckets and began the morning session of gist there. 30 minutes later, queen bee had only about a cupful of water, the gist had run out by this time and was slowly replaced with anger, to worsen matters, visitors had started coming into the estate. Now, there are beautiful women and there are pretty women, the difference is in the make-up, not all women like being seen without a touch of make-up, it takes a certain type of confidence to feel beautiful in your natural skin.

After 45minutes, the queue at the water tanker had grown to about 12 or 14 chicks, by that time no one was smiling. The next move was swift, they took their buckets to the front of the estate and sat in a line in front of the gate, angry expressions etched on their faces, waiting for Oga Landlord a.k.a. Looney Tunes to show up. Oga Sam the caretaker was smart enough to have evaporated from his command post to avoid lynching. So when Looney T arrived in the morning as usual to commence his day at the office, the gate opened to reveal a barricade of angry women clad in wrappers, sitting on top of empty buckets. He got down from his car and before he could open his mouth, the wave of angry voices shut him down, it was a furious onslaught of verbal warfare...a day later, 2 brand new water storage tanks arrived in Pacoliso...

As for that eventful day, letz just say that the riddle "How many bags of pure water does it take to fill a bucket?" was solved


To be continued...

Due to privacy concerns, the series will be discontinued...Sorry guys!

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Thanksgiving & Unfinished thots

Thanksgiving
Itz that time of the year again, turkey day and the officially allowed period of gluttony and laziness, lol. I'm thankful for so many things, for family, friends, love and life. I still remember the early days...days of avoiding fights in primary school 'cos I was skinny, days of insecurity and inferiority complex, days of hunger in boarding house, days of uncertainty in undergrad, days of emptiness and void in a new country, days of all work and study and no vacation...Then I remember the good days, the good memories, growing up years, childhood, family, running barefoot in villa, the happy years, the beauty of naivety, the fun moments in Paco, the brotherhood of the Pypes, the thrill of hustling and hardwork, the exhilaration of success, getting paid, the bliss of summer, the beauty of winter, Ballerina girl...numerous blessings.

I want to say a big thank you to everyone who has contributed to the story of my life, my journey would be incomplete without all of you. I've always believed that every person that walks the face of earth is unique simply because life is the sum-total of our daily interactions and experiences, two people can't have exactly the same stories. I'm thankful to God for sticking with me, despite all my shortcomings and weaknesses. I'm a work in progress, there isnt any "do not disturb" sign, rather I ask that you interrupt me if you notice I am going off track. Life is beautiful and I'm happy and grateful to be alive. To anyone reading this, take a moment to reflect on how far God has brought you, don't stop there, be thankful and pay it forward, spread the love and show love to someone else...

Unfinished Thots
Wrote this piece in my dreams awhile back, can't recall when. Was trying to paint the picture of a broken heart and then I realized that almost all the existing imagery we are used to involved women, wondered how a man would feel.

Heartbreak

He glances at his phone often...
Hoping to see a message or two from her...
But the phone stares back at him in defiance...
Dark and blank, like an endless hole...
His eyes drift off in absentminded wander...
Why doesnt she respond he ponders...
Maybe she is too busy, he says to himself...
Maybe she is preoccupied with something else...
Maybe she is asleep, maybe...
He runs out of excuses daily...
He never stops thinking about her...
It feels like deja vu all over again, he could taste it...
Walked down this path before...
Just then, the phone blinks...
the red indicator gleaming like a rainbow in the desert...
Heartbeat pounds with excitement...
Fingers are out of control as they rush over the keypads...
His eyes light up in anticipation...
then they grow dim like a room slowly deprived of its only source of light...
A solitary candle in the wind, the flame flickers and dies...
Like Plato's allegory, he returns to his cave...
The voices in his head whisper in mocking tones...
He retreats into the shadows of his heart...
The room eerily seems to have lost its former brightness and warmth...
Only one picture hangs on the wall...
Itz tough to make out the features in the dim lights...
He sinks to the floor, arms wrapped around his knees...
Rocking slowly, hanging on to memories...
Struggling to banish the emptiness building up inside...
Clinging to hope, eyes fixed firmly on the flickering flame of the candle...
The voices never let up, his eyes close...
A single tear-drop runs down slowly...

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Pacoliso…Chapter 2

The first night in a new house is always worth remembering. The feel of waking up to a new environment, then the sudden realization that you have a new home always feels like a rush of blood to the head. As opposed to hostel life, living off-campus had its perks, one of them being the warm feeling of solitude in the early hours of the morning. Back in his former abode, “Block C” as it was known; Samurai never really knew what it felt like to wake up happy. The morning always brought one new drama or escapade. Either it was the staccato rapid burst of early morning prayer (demon-killing, holy ghost fire style) from the room next door, or the rhythmic aggressive snoring emanating from the cubicle opposite him, or even worse the shrill scream of kids hawking A & B (Akara and Bread). To compound matters, the occupants of Block C were notorious for their music tastes. While “JJ Chopinson” in Room 6 was known to blast highlife music in the early hours of the morning, the “Man O War” brethren next door in Room 5 preferred the jazz tunes of Fela Kuti, throw in the random mix of Igbo gospel songs (“Akanchawa”) from the opposite wing and maybe a popular Westlife track and you’d get a perfect idea of what the early morning orchestra sounded like.

On the contrary, waking up in Paco for Samurai was almost like opening his eyes to see himself in heaven, except for the fact that Shimon was listening intently to BBC and there was no way the soundtrack in heaven was BBC. Now that was another little detail about Shimon, true to his diplomatic nature, he never missed listening to the news, CNN, BBC, Nigerian news, he was as current as a club DJ on the reigning club hits, a habit that eventually rubbed off on Samurai.

Anyway, back to that first morning, while Shimon was tuned to his radio, he and Samurai made plans on what to buy for the new apartment. The rug was already in place, deep blue with faint white patterns, the 14-inch TV glared back at them with pride (owning a TV back then was a gbogbo bigz boiz trend) and they even had a small fridge that hummed with satisfaction at the voltage it was receiving from NEPA. The room was lit by a china-made chandelier, artistic and simple, Shimon referred to it as the “hell fire light” bcos it only cast the room in soft suggestive glows.
After the morning dialogue and mini-debate over world politics and sports, they both decided to get the day started, it was a Saturday morning after all and there was still a lot of work to be done. The bathroom needed serious renovating and that was the first task of the day. Samurai jumped out of bed, took a few steps towards the door and froze.

“Ol boi wetin happen?” Shimon asked.

Samurai didn’t respond, rather he took a few extra steps and turned around to face Shimon, the first glimmer of panic spreading over his face like a primary school child struggling to remember the capital of Zambia.

“E be like say our house don flood. The rug is soaking wet” he responded.

Shimon scrambled frantically out of bed and rushed to where Samurai stood, each step bringing a squelch of water. Truly the rug was as soaked as a piece of bread dipped in a cup of tea.

“Which kain wahala be this sef”, he grumbled.

They traced the leak to the bathroom, it was worse than they had previously imagined, half of the room was soaked. Without wasting any further time, they got to work and started mopping the water from the rug. About 2 hours later, they were almost done, happy and tired with relief, they jokingly cursed Looney T and Cubana in hushed whispers, the inept landlord was responsible for the maintenance of the house after all and Cubana was simply the worst neighbor in the history of civilization.

Just as they were about finishing, a young lady walked in. She was still clad in her pyjamas, and had a curious smile on her face. Her hair was was cut low, Fantasia style, and framed her face perfectly. She was light skinned and slim, wearing blue bathroom slippers (a.k.a. flip flops) which showed off toes that were neatly painted and hinted excellent pedicure. All traces of fatigue immediately evaporated from Shimon and Samurai’s demeanor, a friendly neighbor at last, different from that idiot Cubana who nearly got Samurai killed.

“Hello”, she said, “do you have a leak somewhere?”

Her name was Eye-Kandi and she lived in the adjoining room to theirs. Kai, sweet neighbor, very thoughtful and considerate, Samurai thought to himself. Shimon happily explained that they had a leak in their bathroom and that it had flooded their room overnight. “But don’t worry, we have finally cleaned up everything”, he finished.

“Okay, no wonder. The leak from your bathroom flooded my whole room too”, Kandi responded.

Shimon being a true diplomat offered his and Samurai’s assistance immediately. “Don’t worry, we’ll help you clean up”, he said. Samurai could feel the tension growing in his stomach, he was tired and they had just spent almost 2 and a half hours cleaning their room and it was only half flooded, surely Kandi’s room couldn’t be that bad. Maybe, Kandi would even offer them breakfast when they were through with helping her, he smiled inwardly and nodded his head in agreement as they all chatted happily and made their way to Kandi’s room. She had Jill Scott’s album playing, the first step inside the room transformed the tension in Samurai’s stomach to sheer terror.

The WHOLE room was flooded; it felt like walking on water.
Kandi beamed a smile at the 2 panic-stricken young men and said, “where do you want to start?”

To be continued…

Friday, November 11, 2011

PACOLISO...Chapter 1

There wasn’t anything fancy or classy about Pacoliso’s looks. Its key attraction was location. It was strategically situated opposite the small gate at Choba, close to all the major attractions of the University. Initially no students lived in Pacoliso, then with the sudden boom in off-campus accommodation, Pacoliso’s shrewd landlord decided to kick out his tenants, redesign the apartments and rent it out to students. It was an idea as brilliant as Mark Zuckerberg’s Facebook hijack. But before we dive in to the story, let me introduce you to the landlord, Loony Tunes.


“Without mincing words, permit me to say that the man was a borderline nut case. I had always assumed that schizophrenia was an oyibo disease but the concept of a well dressed mad man hadn’t crossed my mind. Loony Tunes had a split personality disorder, you could tell by the glint in his eyes. He was always well dressed and his English was excellent, but his madness was beyond imagination. One of the highlights of his actions was breaking a plank on a student’s head, the final round in a marathon battle they were involved in. His personality change was so sudden that you’d miss it if you so much as blinked. Loony’s sole occupation was being a landlord, and he sucked royally at it.”

The very first sets of students to move in were female. And by an act of coincidence, the next set was also female. The striking thing about all the female inhabitants of Pacoliso was that they were all beautiful. Now don’t get it twisted, I don’t believe any woman is ugly, maybe aesthetically disadvantaged, but the Pacoliso student-tenants were stunning. Word started to diffuse around campus slowly that Loony Tunes was hiring out self-contained apartments to students. The demand was intense; you had to be extremely lucky to get a spot. What made the odds tougher was that Loony Tunes had a strong dislike for the male species. The man simply didn’t like guys, don’t ask me why. So only the ladies got lucky, and he rented out to only beautiful and well-mannered chicks. I guess he didn’t want drama queens as tenants. So the day he accepted the two bespectacled young men as tenants, it came as a surprise.

“Shimon and Last Samurai were a striking pair. They both wore glasses and shared a few other similarities but they were as alike as Barrack Obama and Muhammad Ali. Shimon was the logical-thinking, BBC listening and intelligent statesman, a true diplomat. Last Samurai on the other hand was a hybrid of fire and ice, a fusion of different personalities, likeable but complex to decipher. They had no premonition of the circus that would unfold in the years to come and the journey they would share. They were friends and fellow-pypes and were excited at the prospect of living off-campus.”

The first incidence occurred the day they moved in and met their neighbor, Cubana. The young man sat outside the apartment clad in only shorts and a well-worn/almost frayed BYC vest. The notorious Port Harcourt heat and humid weather was in full force yet Cubana was puffing on a cigarette and taking small sips from a bag of NAFDAC unapproved pure aqua. He glanced at the new tenants warily from bloodshot eyes that looked glazed over and concentrated on his puffing. The distinct fragrance of Indian hemp hung around Cubana like a halo. He had probably smoked a few joints for lunch. Shimon, being true to his nature approached and introduced himself; Last Samurai grudgingly followed his lead. Shimon fired off a few questions to Cubana, eager to break the ice and get an overview of life at Pacoliso. As the conversation was going on, Samurai noticed Loony Tunes approaching. Once Cubana’s eyes were able to decipher Loony T from the distance amidst the marijuana fog that covered his eyes, he bolted into his room like Usain and left Shimon and Last Samurai standing outside the apartment in amazement.

Loony Tunes walked over to the 2 young men with a big smile on his face and as Shimon was beginning the rite of introduction, Last Samurai noticed an odd glint light up in Loony’s eyes. Then all hell broke loose. Loony sniffed the air and muttered “you are smoking cannabis in my house”. He lunged for Samurai’s throat while screaming profanity. Shimon was struck with shock as Loony pinned Samurai to the door while gripping his neck, you could notice the quizzical shocked expression on Samurai’s face, as Shimon struggled to explain that they hadn’t been smoking, Loony yelled a few more words and stomped away muttering to himself. The chaos had barely lasted a minute. Shimon and Samurai stared at each other in shock and surprise, with no words coming forth. Cubana crept out of his room a few seconds later, and burst out laughing.

Finally Samurai was able to mutter a few words. “What was that all about?” he said.
Cubana in between fits of laughter replied, “Ol boi, welcome to Pacoliso, you never see anything…”


To be continued...

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

If Pillows Could Talk...

“If pillows could talk…”

The morning light filtered into the room, basking it in warm glows. In the dim silhouette, you could make out the outline of the bed; the sheets clung to the edge of the bed frame, partially covering the intertwined limbs that were still caught in the throes of sleep, tell-tales to a night of passion. The pillow in contrast was clutched tightly by the sleeping lovers; you could almost feel the warm exhalation of air from slightly parted lips on the pillow…

I’m always outwardly clean, that’s one feature I take pride in and at the same time ashamed of because it paints a façade that masks the reality of my life. Looking at me, you wouldn’t be able to tell the difference over the years, age has been kind to me and in as much as you might notice a few wrinkles, it would be impossible to guess my age. You may say that I stumbled upon the fountain of youth early and as amazing as that sounds, I wish I were old instead, shriveled and left to spend the rest of my days in solitude.

My mistress was kind-hearted, it didn’t show all the time but she looked after me. I don’t know if she did it out of a sense of obligation or if her actions were borne out of love but over the years I’ve learnt to cling to the few good images of life and leave other riddles unanswered. I still recall when we first met, love had nothing to do it, felt more like a compromise between chemistry and economics if you get my drift, but our relationship was founded on need. I needed to move on from public life and settle down and she needed someone to rest on. We were a perfect match, and our love for each other blossomed from there as time rolled by…Her scent was of summer roses and passionate fruits and once the lights were turned down low, I would close my eyes and bask in her fragrance. I didn’t care much about her other half, I had only eyes for her and everything else around was like a blur to me. Looking back now, I wish I had paid more attention…

The first time I knew something was wrong was when she travelled, for the first few nights there was nothing odd, Iife was its normal routine and I yearned for her touch and return. Then one night, I was awakened by the touch of another woman, her scent was different, subtle but not overpowering and I could taste the soft vapors of margaritas on her lips. Her fingers dug into my skin and I was swept away by the heat of the moment, lost in her moans of passion and bliss. I woke up the next morning on the floor, and as the memories of the previous night came flooding back, reality crept in like the fingers of winter. The evidence of my betrayal was tattooed all over my skin, red lipstick, few strands of hair and the inescapable scent of perfume that clung to me like a halo. Water can wash away stains and time can erase a lot of memories but guilt takes a long time to vanish…

At first I blamed it on the alcohol, there had to be a logical reason as to why it happened, I argued. A voice in my head whispered, “There’s never a reason, just an opportunity…” I shrugged it off, and tried to blank the incident from my mind. “Surely,” I said to myself, “it can’t happen again…” I was mistaken. It did happen again, and again…till I was forced to accept that there was another woman in my life. It sickened me because I couldn’t speak up and I was helpless to stop it. Whenever my mistress returned, she was unaware to what had happened in her absence. At night while she held me with passion, a part of me would cringe in shame at the betrayal. I was playing both sides of the coin and it was only a matter of time before karma caught up.

We were caught finally, it was inevitable so don’t act surprised. My mistress started getting suspicious, and the minor arguments started. I closed my ears to it, and at night she would cry out of frustration. I soaked up her tears and said nothing. I wish I could have said something but I was as guilty as the other woman. It wasn’t the lipstick or the hair strands or the perfume that gave me away, it was an ear-ring…a glittering ear ring that was forgotten by the other woman. Have you ever tasted the tears of a broken-hearted woman? It doesn’t taste salty, it feels like liquid fire to the senses, each drop burning into you like lava drops from a volcano, the trail leaving a scar that may be temporarily removed but permanently etched in your subconscious…

My name is Cole and if pillows could talk, this would be my story…

Monday, October 3, 2011

The Good Boyfriend

Coventry, UK...
October 3, 2011...

Back in the days in the Garden City, there used to be a common phrase amongst the "Pypes" that was rather hilarious. A typical convo would start like this (the translation is in parentheses for the uninitiated:

"Ol boi, u don fool finish" (Dude, u r hopeless)
"Wetin I do?" (What did I do?)
"U mean say u no buy ur malawi anything for Valentine?" (So you didnt get ur girlfriend a Valentine gift?)
"No be so, I dey see my die right now" (It aint like that, I'm broke right now)
"Na u dey carry last for boyfriend of the year" (U r in last place for a "boyfriend of the year" poll)
"Ur father lap!" (This was a basic yab, literal translation, lol)


Dat was in the good old days, when men were still boys and the theory of making relationships work was still a hybrid between trial and error and experience. Fast-forward a couple of years and I really don't know if the world has moved on or if the boys have really matured into men. I've never been of the school of thought that maturity grows with age, there's always an undefined variance to every statistic. I've come across many blogs and articles commenting on the qualities of the "ideal husband/wife". The views have varied from the downright zany to the quite outrageous and impossible, but they were quite interesting I must admit. The opinions reflected different mindsets, the female in sharp contrast to male.

So it got me thinking, how do you describe a "good boyfriend" or "good girlfriend"? I have always been of the opinion that you can't describe someone of the opposite sex simply because if you are not a man, then u can't think like a man. Any views you may have of the opposite sex is generally borne out of either experience, public opinion or your imagination, which is essentially a fusion of the qualities of members of your family or close friends who are of the opposite sex. So I think it would be apt for a guy to describe in his own words the qualities he feels the ideal husband or boyfriend should have. All you have to do is look in the mirror and count them off on your fingers, they don't have to be correct, but it helps if you at least have an opinion, so u don't just enter into a relationship trying to be the "ideal dude" when you have no clue what the requirements are. Or perhaps you've read "what women want in an ideal man", and you believe it as the panacea to all problems, well it depends on who wrote the book!

I've always used Adam and Eve as the foundation for all simulations (lol), don't blame me, they were the first couple on the block. Such love and chemistry, Adam woke up from his afternoon daydream to see a stunning beauty lying next to him, the dude didnt even bother to think, he kicked his dog (bingo) away and proposed right there on the spot (to all the ladies, he didnt use a ring, I bet he just plucked a flower and used it instead, lol). Eve didn't waste anytime either, "yes, I do!" she replied, and that was it! It's a pity she ate that apple, now we have royal weddings and 90 carat diamond rings (lol, I ain't complaining though, I love me some Coco). Anyway, how did Adam and Eve's relationship work? The one and only cue to their relationship that I could decipher was that Adam never said NO to Eve, he gave her everything she wanted, took long walks with her, gazed adoringly at her, and ate that apple with so much delight that it got stuck in his throat (next time Adam, get rid of the evidence!)

So what makes a "Good Boyfriend"? Most women would say, "he should be loving and caring". Let me tell you how the male mind deciphers that statement, loving and caring translates to spending money on the girl. That's the easy part, anything that can be bought with money is easy. Like Remix would say, "if money is the only problem you have, then you don't have a problem". Well, true, a good boyfriend should spend money on his girl, ur heart is where your money is, but thatz just a tip of the iceberg. There are some things money can't buy. Add this to the loving and caring checklist. A good boyfriend should...

1. Act like a real man but at the same time be flexible and submissive. Follow your girlfriend to the mall when she asks you to accompany her. If she doesnt ask, offer to accompany her ONLY if you mean it, there's no use trying to be a nice guy and then spend every second glancing at your watch. Enjoy the ride, she's making an effort to look nice, offer constructive criticism to her style and choices and offer your own views, if you have no clue, google it. It took me awhile to figure out the difference between a size 4 and a size 10, but I'm still a work in progress.

2. Know how to cook and clean. Let's not get into the debate of who should cook and who shouldn't. The bottom line is this, when she is pregnant, you'll have to take care of her, so think of it as an internship. And moreover you shouldn't be dependent on anyone for food. That's my opinion, every man ought to know how to cook, simple. Cook for your girl once in awhile, it doesnt matter if it tastes bland, the effort counts. And if it tastes bland, go learn! Google it.

3. Ask for wifey's opinion and listen to her. Well you better start getting used to teamwork. Adam and Eve ate that apple, thatz teamwork right there! What if Adam refused to eat the apple? Maybe Eve would have sewn garments for herself and laughed at Adam, "Yo Adam, go put some clothes on, u r swinging all over the place!" U can imagine the argument.

4. Not be too demanding. If she can't cook, teach her, if you don't know how to cook either, then hush it. She aint ur mum, so don't expect mama put everyday! Patience is a virtue alien to most men. Think like an Arsenal fan, don't be expecting trophies like a Man U or Barcelona fan all the time. Patience, hope and faith, that should be your motto. She'll get better. Go Arsenal!

5. Respect his woman. She is not a man, so don't treat her like one of your guys. Cut out the crass talk and soft yabs. You wouldn't like if it another dude talked to her anyhow, so watch your tone with her. Being a man means backing down from an unnecessary argument, making peace even if she started it, apologizing when you are wrong, accepting her imperfections and admitting your own weaknesses. In my opinion, it takes a king to know how to treat a woman like a queen, if you treat your girlfriend like trash, take a close look at the mirror, you'll most likely see a laborer or a tout staring back at you.

I'm sure you must be wondering if I've been brainwashed by some girl or under the influence of Tequilla (lol). I don't know if I'm a good boyfriend or not, I dey try sha. To be sincere, I just think communication is key for any relationship, intimate or platonic. Give more and expect less in return, and you just might stumble on happiness. I don't solicit for comments, but to all those who read this blog, let me know what you think, drop a comment. And feel free to share the blog/article, my views may be ridiculed by others, but who cares...Hakuna Matata!

Saturday, August 27, 2011

The Heart of Man

Woke up this morning to news of a bomb blast in Abuja. The first thought that popped into my head was "Boko Haram and their madness are definitely crossing the line this time. But then it occurred to me that no one had claimed responsibility for the blasts yet, so I held back from jumping to conclusions. As the hours went by, it was interesting to see the different debates and arguments on Facebook. Some blamed the Northerners, Muslims, the Nigerian Police Force, GEJ, even the Devil got some portion of the blame. I blame whomever my girlfriend blames, gotta stand by your woman (Yes boss!)

But on a more serious note, we never heard of Boko Haram till recently. My major argument is that our Government screwed up the day they began negotiating with terrorists. It all started with MEND, and we all turned a blind eye to it. Some labelled it as people fighting for freedom, I disagreed completely. We allowed our country to be held to ransom by a group of criminals and rather than nip it in the bud, our leaders granted them "amnesty". Even an illiterate man who watches TV knows that you don't negotiate with terrorists. Once you give in to their demands, there is no boundary. What I find amusing is that when MEND and the numerous "freedom fighting groups" were busy kidnapping oil workers and threatening to blow up oil installations, no one remembered their ethnicity or religious views. Were they muslims or christians? Don't get me wrong, but it is hard to criticize your religion, many would say that religion had nothing to do with the actions of MEND. I agree, but we never referred to them as the criminals that they are, instead we argued that they had been ignored and maltreated so they were fighting for a cause, we basically tried to justify their actions. We were not bothered because they weren't blowing up people, they just kidnapped people and got a huge ransome as a reward. That was where the problem started, we all turned a blind eye and allowed sentiment to overrule rationality.

Now we have the problem of Boko Haram, how did it start? Knowledge is power, ignorance is a tool of dominion. In the land of blind men, a one-eyed man is king. If you keep people ignorant, they are at your mercy. Some politicians have discovered this weapon of warfare and they put it to use. The extent of poverty and ignorance in the northern part of Nigeria is mindblowing. You wouldn't understand till you've gone there to visit. Let's apply the same sentiment we used in the time of MEND to Boko Haram. They say "Western Education is bad", in this era of freedom of speech, they are entitled to their opinion. Killing people in justification of their opinion is a criminal activity punishable by law, synonymous with what MEND did in kidnapping people for ransom. Should we also grant them amnesty if they agree to dialogue? After all, the Federal Government gave MEND soldiers scholarships and high paying jobs as a reward for surrender. If Boko Haram fanatics surrender, would the Govt also grant them islamic scholarships and high paying jobs?

I refuse to agree that Boko Haram is simply a religious movement. Where did they spring out of? From Mars. There is a strong political undercurrent to their actions. Maybe some elements are trying to undermine GEJ's tenure by showing his inadequacies as a leader, dunno. The bottom line still remains that some criminal elements have hijacked a benign religious movement and turned it into a malignant terrorist group. How to solve it? Fix the root, eradicate poverty in the grassroots and the ringleaders will not have any leverage over the masses. Any student of history can attest to the stranglehold of the Church over its subjects in the early years, history is repeating itself. Boko Haram or whichever splinter group that has hijacked them is exploiting the inadequacies and gaping loopholes in our system of governance. They are killing christians and muslims, we need to look beyond the religion and address the key issues. To label Islam as an aggressive religion is a debate that I refuse to engage in, simply because it does nothing to build relationships, it only causes division. Religion is the opium of the masses, us christian folk have skeletons in our closet too.

To cut the sermon short, I personally believe that GEJ needs to speak out, he cannot prevent all terrorists acts but he needs to act like he is the leader of a nation. If he has a plan or an opinion, he should voice it. Not only GEJ, all our leaders should step to the plate and act like leaders. In the days of old, kings rode into battle with their subjects, today the structure has been altered such that the rulers direct the actions of foot soldiers, but a LEADER has to dictate the pace. The President, governors, senators, reputable statesmen have to come together and act. The time for pointing fingers and trading blame is over, if we don't corral this issue now, then we are heading for the abyss. We'll simply become a target for any terrorist activity.

By the way, how do we know that the terrorist activity was not the handiwork of an international terrorist group considering that the UN office was targeted. On a final note, I have come to the conclusion that acts of terrorism (mob actions inclusive, for example the rioting in Jos and London) maybe induced by religion, ignorance or other socio-cultural or political factors, but the catalyst for unimaginable acts of destruction and violence cannot be modeled by any tangible parameter... an apt explanation? "who can understand the heart of man?" Reference the Spanish Inquisitions, the Jewish Holocaust, the insanity of the Cambodian Khmer Rouge, the Rwandan genocide...the list is endless...some acts are just inexplicable, how do you explain Hitler?

NB: Excerpts from the thoughts that flew through my head while waiting for Irene...

Friday, August 19, 2011

Idle chatter

11:44pm,
Meckzyville, Perez Drive, Newark NJ.

Kyla's birthday is tomorrow. Exactly @ this time 1year ago, I was struggling to stay awake, while trying to keep a virtual vigil as my sister went into labor far away in Pennsylvania. I ended up sleeping in the foetal position, when I woke up a couple of hours later, I was an uncle. Twas a turning point in my life. Since then I've been on a "fatherhood internship", learning how to change diapers, babysitting, feeding the baby et al. Tis a humbling experience being a father, not that I have a child of my own but i'm kinda tapping into the experience by proxy (if that means anything, lol)

Life has been a mini whirlwind. My sisters are in town (yipee), though Raekhi has headed off to Houston. Gotta start including Houston in my travel plans, so if u have a Texas zip code, hola at me when I come thru. There are still a few travel destinations scheduled before the year runs out, keeping my fingers crossed. My best friend got married last week and I was his bestman, twas a beautiful event. My weekend schedule is fully booked till mid October, can't figure out how that happened. Seems like I spend alot of time in a vicious work cycle, luckily for me, English Premiership and the NFL have commenced, so I have something to look forward to.

Idle chatter...I need to catch up on a lot of movies, itz been ages since I've been to the cinema. Been looking for my house keys for 2 weeks and during my search, i've turned my house upside down, discovering a few odd lost items in the process, won't reveal all of them here. Still have alot of targets to meet before the year runs out, running outta time. Life is gradually settling into a rhythm, dunno if I need a spark or not, tis easy to become complacent. Need to take part in a couple of mind-blowing activities before the year runs out, dunno what yet, beginning to lose my edge, lol.

Life has taught me to be thankful for everything, so I've learnt not to worry about the future, I'm always happy, not because I have all that I want or all that I need, but simply because I'm alive...Back to la vida loca.

Friday, August 5, 2011

The Dow Jones diary...

Excerpts from a conversation I had recently...
ME: Damn, The Dow Jones Index dropped 500 points today, pretty disastrous.
WIGGY.F.BABY: I have been hearing about this Dow Jones all day, who is he by the way?
ME: Cue laughter...

I love my Wiggy! But it does raise a couple of interesting questions. It is ironical that the Dow Jones index which arguably should reflect the health or status of the American Stock market or economy should be affected by issues in the Euro zone or crisis in Africa. More puzzling is the fact that most people are completely unaware of the impact of the Dow Jones index on global issues. I'm amazed at the domino effect that is basically inherent in every facet of life, the butterfly effect is no joke. A simple statement from one man triggers chaos in the stock market, what if the dude lied and covered up the truth, the market would probably rise. Brings to mind a certain Bernie Madoff who perfected the Ponzi scheme with such mind-blowing genius that he was able to swindle even governments under the guise of "mysterious hedge funds" that were too complex for the "normal"/average man to fathom. Therein lies the crux of my debate...Information & Knowledge...

There is no knowledge without information, but information without knowledge is limited too. Combine information and knowledge and you'll get power. Bernie Madoff had the knowledge and the information and he was able to wield it to great effect. What is so complex about hedge funds that an average mind can't fathom? Why do we need investment bankers who crunch up numbers and rely on statistics when a simple natural disaster could blow up all the numbers and calculation to bits? Don't get me wrong, I respect the investment gurus and statisticians alot, they have the information and the knowledge because they spend alot of time studying mundane issues that actually have alot of impact.

I'm trying to rein in my thoughts, no point waltzing off into the murky waters of business and finance. Let me turn to art and literature to depict ideas. Odysseus was accorded the honor of being the inventor of the Trojan Horse. Whether mythical or legendary, we would never know if he got the idea from someone else, the movie "Troy" cast it as an idea he got from a soldier's innocent craft, Odysseus was a smart dude, he had a solid background on the traditions of the trojans so he used both his information and knowledge to devastating effect. Even Achilles with all his strength couldnt prevail. Fastforward years later and some dude came up with the trojan virus, polymorphic worms that masquerade as innocent files. Some other dude came up with the idea of Trojan condoms, dunno what he was thinking about, but the whole 'Trojan' name struck a chord and people liked the name. I wonder if that condom brand would have been popular if he named it 'chukwuka' condoms. lol.

Anyway, what I've come to realize is this: If you put the right information in the hands of a man with vast knowledge, the possibilites are endless. The scary thing about information is that it flies about everywhere and could trigger a stampede if twisted or transform you to a king if well used. An "idea" is always stored in the mind/head and remains proprietary to whoever conceives it, the moment that "idea" is voiced out, it morphs into "information/data" and loses its copyright, it floats around in the air, transported by sound waves to any listening or random ear and propagated by more voices, largely ignored by many. Whoever has the knowledge to act first on that floating information/voiced idea gains the patent and power associated with it...ask Mark Zuckerberg!

"This article is dedicated to my 401K plan, still in its infancy but reeling from the Dow Jones index fiasco"

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Ramone (page 1)

The first step is always the hardest. Remember the first scenes of some of the epic movies you’ve watched over the years? Quentin Tarantino’s “Reservoir Dogs”… Visualize the entourage sitting at a random diner, all clad in black suits, debating the rationale behind the culture of tipping. Ridley Scott’s “Gladiator”… Maximus primed for battle against the hordes of barbarian savages, the air tinged with the tension of approaching violence. Christopher Nolan’s “Inception”… the headlong tumble into a multilayered dream ushering in the madness that was soon to follow. There is always something about the beginning that draws you in, pushing you past the stages of inertia. The right word, the right picture, the right scene, to depict the moment, the ultimate quest for that brief spark of literary genius to capture the reader or viewer’s attention has always been a stumbling block.

Today was no different; his eyes stared blankly into space, lost in the timeless limbo of a wandering mind, seeking the glimmer of a spark or distant fire to begin his book. The ritual never changed and he never seemed to notice or mind either. He was sprawled in bed, his laptop beside him on the crumpled sheets. The shades were always drawn, but little slices of sunlight still made it through, bathing the room in soft glows. An urban poster of a black man with a trumpet hung askew on the wall above his head. Closer inspection revealed it to be a Justin Bua artwork. There were few similar posters scattered around, some framed, and others still in the tubes they were shipped with.

Recognition slowly crept back into his eyes; as usual his foray into the boundless world of imagination had proved fruitless. He glanced around the room and was struck by the organized chaos and randomness of the décor, not typical of an aspiring writer; it was more or less a futile attempt at style that fell way short. He stared at the cursor blinking on his laptop screen and he realized that he still hadn’t typed any words. It hadn’t always been like this, for some odd reason he couldn’t remember when things changed or the genesis of his mental fugue state. All he could remember was going to bed one night and then waking up to realize that 2 days had passed. To worsen issues, he had gone to bed in a t-shirt but he woke up fully dressed with a raging hangover. The first time was 6 months ago and it scared the daylights out of him, but since then, there had been multiple episodes so he simply resigned himself to the rhythm of chaos.

He grudgingly pushed himself out of bed, and the instance his feet hit the floor, the perfect intro hit him hard…”What happens to a dream deferred…”

Meet Ramone, the writer…


To be continued…

Thursday, June 30, 2011

Lethargy

Feels like one of those days, can't figure out what the issue is but I've kinda lost the spark to engage my brain cells in the mundane task of work. Just can't seem to find my spark so I need a catalyst really bad. Got a whole load of stuff to do before the year ends, personal targets to be met and I just kinda feel empty, like I'm a muscle car running low on gas. Gotta overcome the slump before it gets worse. Maybe I should blame it on the weather, aint a big fan of summer. People look at me like I'm nuts when I say this, don't blame me, I've had enough exposure to hot humid weather to last me a lifetime. The only good thing about summer is the opportunity to play soccer as often as possible.

Been thinking alot lately, a whole stack of saucers flying around in my mind. I feel sorry for my cerebral janitor sometimes, having to deal with all those broken ideas and dream fragments strewn across the hallway of my head must be a heavy task. I'm actually surprised that people read my blog, some can't seem to reconcile my blog with my outward personality, lol. Well, I'm a mystery to myself too, so don't be shocked, together we'll figure it out. In case you don't know I speak very fluent pidgin english and I can switch facades pretty easily. I need a vacation! Seriously, a 1 or 2 week getaway to a private hideout, free from the complexities of engineering and everything technical.

On to lighter news, July 4th is just around the corner, I definitely aint hosting any bbq party, can't muster the energy to host one. But I am surely looking forward to the chance to rest a lil bit, maybe watch tv series on Netflix, cook, listen to music... "laid back mood theory". I know I shouldnt be saying this, but...Happy 4th of July y'all (When in Rome, do as the Romans do)...Naija for lyf!

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Memories & Tears

Tears...

He stood by the window, forehead pressed into the cool smooth surface, hands in a knot behind him. The rain splashed against the window, dropped off the ledge and formed little puddles somewhere below. The rain drops were frenzied in their arrival, in contrast to the slow tears that streamed down his face. It felt eerie, the only sound noticeable was the clatter of the elements against the window, he stood perfectly still. The only movement you could make out in the dim silhouette of the room was of the fingers of time itching towards eternity. The imagery of tears can be fascinating, his eyes were tinged with absent-minded sadness, his vision blurred by the build up of the little pearls of water. Running down in an almost perfect elliptical trail, the stream of tears traced a path to the cleft of his chin and the little drops plunged to the soft rug beneath his feet. His reverie was broken by the deep sound of rumbling thunder, he cocked his right ear, recognition and awareness slowly filtering back in. A rueful smile changed the features of his looks, in one swift motion he ran the back of his hand across his face and backed away from the window...

Memories...
I was just a few months shy of my 4th birthday, chatting away happily with my brother and sister in the car. Dada was excited and smiling, I can't remember why I noticed but he seemed to be buzzing with new energy. He told us we were going to the hospital to see mama and the new baby. I wasn't so keen on the new baby but I wanted to see mama. I had noticed her absence and my simplistic brain couldn't recall why she had to leave and stay in the hospital overnight. I knew she worked in the hospital but she had been home for awhile since she started putting on weight on her belly. My sister had told me that mama was pregnant with that childish-grownup confidence she had and my brother didn't seem bothered so I figured that mama would eventually lose the weight. My sister kept chattering excitedly in the car, my mind drifted off to a thousand places, I guess I started dreaming as a kid.

We arrived at the hospital and I quickly jumped out of Dada's Peugeot 504, squinting into the hot Enugu sun. I walked in between Dada and Wiggy (my sister), swinging my short hands happily as I held their hands tightly. My brother (Ragfella) strolled alongside while we all kept up the mindless chatter and random observation of our surrounding. We finally got to Mama's room and I recall she looked a bit tired but happy to see us. She was carrying the new baby, swaddled in white blankets. Dada motioned for us to keep our voices low so as not to wake baby up. Wiggy's eyes lit up, I bet she was thinking up new ideas of how to include baby in her "empty milo and bournvita tin" cooking classes. I struggled to catch a glimpse of baby's face, leaning and stretching as far as my short legs would allow. Finally Mama lowered baby for us to see properly and I was fascinated. Baby looked fragile and very fair and the first thought that crossed my mind was that she was too small. I could'nt understand how she could be so small when Mama's stomach was so huge when she was carrying baby inside her. I didn't know exactly how to voice my observations so I waited for Ragfella to say something. I looked up to him, not just because he was taller than me, but he was older and wiser. He had a quizzical expression on his face too, then he said in Igbo, "ukwu nwa di ka ukwu okuko"...(translated as "this baby's leg is like a chicken's leg"). Dada and Mama burst out laughing and we all joined in.

I wasn't sure I could ask my own question, so I bottled it up. On the ride home, I kept wondering why I didnt see any toilet bowl or big bowl in mama's room, how else could she have "poo-pooed" baby out?

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

" U r like a clock", she said...

I lost to my cousin in a game of chess, I really don't know how she won because the rules were a bit too dysfunctional and the chess board had this surreal feel to it. Anyway, as soon as she said "Checkmate", I launched in to a mini speech on how it wasnt possible for her to have won since I decided the rules of the game. She didn't pay much attention to my agitated rambling, so I did the next best thing, I closed my eyes and switched to another dream...Itz funny how you realize that you are dreaming while in a dream, and the beautiful part is that you only awaken to that logic when things are not working your way in the dream!

For no logical reason, I remembered that my Dad had nice feet! It was the most ridiculous switch in the history of my temporal malfunctions, but that was what popped up in my head and I can't figure out why ( Later on when I woke up, I was able to trace the genesis of the random thought to Coco's fingers). Anyway, my papa has nice feet, there I said it! The next page in the dream was a gradual throwback to the days of my father's youth. I could see the young man that he was then, the well kept afro, clothing style of the 70s, the pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket, cigarettes he didnt smoke but which were supposed to lay credence to the 70's swag back then...Dada was calm and laid back, that was definitely his style, I could see it in the dream...

Mama on the other hand was a fire brand! From a distance I could see the mischief and light dancing in her eyes, excitement bubbling underneath, reminds me of Olivia sometimes. I had fallen asleep reading Chimamanda Adichie's "The thing around your neck", so I guess the brief relapse of my dreams to the past was triggered by pages in the book. Turned over the next page and I was running shirtless in the village in pursuit of a lizard. My mind was trapped in the body of a 9 year old boy, and it took me awhile to realize that it was me. I could hear my brother's voice and a host of other voices too as we flung stones at the unfortunate lizards who were displaying espionage tricks beyond modern imagination. For a brief second, I understood the exhilaration of being an Avatar...

Then the next page was a blur. I've discovered that there is a fuzzy stage in every dream, like a black hole where information is hidden and never revealed. I pride myself in being able to remember and recount my dreams but I've never been able to read that blank page. God knows I have tried, I just havent found the trigger yet. I do believe that if we could explore our dreams then faith would be boundless. The slight vibration of my Blackberry feels like a ray of sunlight in the dream. It may sound odd that my heart is somehow synchronized to my BB but you wouldn't understand the chemistry. Anyway, a message came in and I smiled in my dreams, a few seconds later, my eyes fluttered open...

"The rooster never crows in the city..."

Thursday, June 2, 2011

Novocaine

My best friend from childhood is getting married soon. It feels surreal, I still recall when we were kids, feels just like yesterday. It just hit me, I recall when we were 12 or 13, on our way back from school, the car had broken down on Third Mainland Bridge Lagos, somehow we had managed to 'borrow' a copy of a Cosmo mag, don't ask me how we got it, but there were hot chicks on the mag and that was all we cared about. We swore that once we got to the golden age of 18, we'ld marry hot sexy models! I still remember like it was yesterday, the wide eyed look of boyish wonder as we gazed at the sultry brazilian models with streamlined bodies clad in bikinis and whispering our names from the pages of Cosmo...a young boy's dream world...

Sometimes I wonder how time flew by, whatever happened to the kid that was in me. In my dreams I search for him, throwing back the sands of time for a chance to gaze albeit for a second at the kid I once was years ago...I miss the age of innocence, the reckless joy of being young without a care in the world...the exhilaration of waking up on a Saturday morning with the knowledge that school was a factor you didnt have to deal with...I miss the excitement of christmas, the magic of the last seconds of the year, the frenzied excitement of fireworks...the clump I felt in the pit of my stomach when I tried talking to a girl, the innocence and naivety of shyness...I miss the "me" of years ago...

I look at my childhood pictures and a smile breaks out on my face...a tinge of sadness and at the same time joy at the overflowing beautiful memories...I stare at myself in the mirror and I can barely recognize the imagery peering back at me, brows creased by too much thinking, eyes dulled by the passage of time, eyes that once sparkled with excitement, now glazed over and camouflaged behind the tides of life, every scar on my body awakens a memory, they arent many so I can remember the history behind each one...Listening to Frank Ocean's "Swim Good"...nostalgic-mind-dulling music...the track is on repeat...I'm floating in a state of pseudo-music-induced tranquility...the kinda state where you can't really feel anything around you, definitely not the words I am typing...

Sometimes I feel like I'm caught in a dream, feelings of presque-vu, I havent seen the future but it feels like I have tasted it. In my mind, the future feels like sunset on the beach in Tel Aviv, only difference is that I'm never alone in my thots, she's always right next to me...dreams are never structured, that's what makes them beautiful, you can open one door in a dream and traverse from the verve of Israel to the pristine air of winter time in Ottawa...Can you picture an eagle's view from the skies? I'm on cloud 9...Novocaine...If I publish this post, forgive me...I did it in my dreams...

Sunday, May 29, 2011

Tel Aviv

As time approached for my trip to Israel, I was struck with the unease that I felt absolutely no excitement whatsoever, dunno why, maybe it was because I'd have traded my trip to Israel for a day in Kenya, you wouldn't understand so I'll keep the story for another day. Twas a 10hour flight, peaceful and smooth. On arrival @ Tel Aviv, I could feel little bubbles of excitement building up within, my eardrums were ringing in resonance to an unknown chord, after effects of auditory imbalance I guess ( an ailment that plagued me through out my soujourn in the Holy land). I'll cue you in on a few items that surprised me in Tel Aviv.
1. Mercedes Benz was the taxi of choice. Yes sir!!! The cab drivers were rolling in Benzes!!! Leather seat pimping. Yours sincerely was very much amazed, a huge upgrade from the cabs that I have to put up with in NY/NJ!
2. Israel may be painted as a religious country but there is absolutely nothing religious about Tel Aviv! Simply put, Tel Aviv is the New York or Paris of the Mediterranean or Middle East. It is a coastal town and my hotel was right smack on the beach. Now, there are beaches all over the world, but I am yet to find the words to describe the beauty of the Tel Aviv sand and the piercing blue gaze of the sea. Truly beautiful!
3. Israelis love food! And I mean it. The food is 100% natural, not all the processed and steroid infused abnormalities we see in the US. They have a huge craving for this dish called "Humus". It is a type of paste that I really wasn't in to but I gotta give the Israelis alot of credit, they are pretty good with food.
4. There are alot of young people in Israel, ALOT! Got me thinking, but I figured that since the jewish population lost a whole generation during World War 2, they werent taking any chances.
5. There is basically no discrimination between men and women in Israel, both sexes are fierce and independent, equal opportunities every where (I may be wrong, but that's my perspective). There are many female engineers here, the women arent afraid to mix it up with the men and they are really good!
6. Security is key! If ever you plan a trip to Israel, get ready to be searched, and I mean it. It doesnt matter if you are American or Palestine, you can be selected at random and searched at the airport, well if you are Palestine then you are most likely to be searched anyway, lol.

There are a few other things that have escaped my mind. I enjoyed walking along the beach, feeling the sand between my toes and the cool feel of the mediterranean breeze. I watched the sun set, gazed at the stars in the Meditteranean sky and daydreamed about my Coco...

Well, I'm back in Brick City...time to restrategize, focus and make things happen...

Friday, May 13, 2011

Calgary

Work had me on the road again...this time, the destination was Calgary, Canada. The flight was a blur, the first thing I recall however was my surprise when I discovered in Calgary that the CAD had more value than the USD. Pardon my french, but in my mind I was like ..."WTF! U've gotta be kidding me". Well, the sad truth was that the USD had lost its glamour. I changed a few notes and resolved to stick to my Visa card. I love travelling but I hate going on trips alone. So as much as the business trips give me an all-expense paid mini vacation, I don't really enjoy it that much. I had a jacuzzi in my hotel room, well for the money I was paying, it had to be there! Unfortunately I wasnt thrilled by the luxury of the jacuzzi, I used the shower instead. I'll only get in to a jacuzzi with my girlfriend! I'm a simple fella (lol), my hedonistic tendencies are ephemeral.

Calgary is a beautiful city, expensive but beautiful! The cuisine was excellent. Sampled a few restaurants just to get a feel of the town. First stop was @ "Clay Oven", a little Indian restaurant, the food was wonderful. Spicy with loads of zest, in sharp contrast to the soothing music, the effect was almost zen-like yet fiery! On my second day, I tried out a mediterranean spot, "The Mirage". To be sincere, the reason why I went there was cos my guide swore that their shisha was good. Considering that I'm not a smoker, I happen to fancy the aroma of shisha, quite different from the roughness of hashish. The kebab was excellent, the aroma of the shisha made me feel like Aladdin, dunno if Aladdin smoked a hookah though (lol). I kept picturing myself floating on a Persian rug with Coco, arabian night style.

Day 3 featured a rendezvous @ a swanky cafe, can't recall if the name was Red Lotus or Red Cafe but it did have this oriental feel to it, though the waitresses looked like models and were all wearing minis! Excellent salmon sandwich, now I understand why people love the good life! I try not to recall the size of the bill for each outing. Day 4 was a trip to Joey Tomato's. I highly recommend that you check out Joey's if you are ever in Calgary, simply sublime food!

Oh well, I've been writing only about food (lol). But apart from work, thatz about the only thing I do on my travels, sample the food. The trip back to Jersey was definitely interesting, was picked out for a random search TWICE! I don't want to call it profiling or anything but for some reason people don't seem to believe I am an engineer (and a darn good one!). I may dress casual and look a lil rough, but do not be deceived, I'm very good at what I do (sampling food!). Anyway, I opted for a body pat-down instead of having some random dude snickering at my vitals in x-ray mode.

I've always wondered about moving to Canada. My only hesitation stems from their atrocious weather, in summer it feels heavenly, but in winter...think of Alaska, bitter cold. I don't think my wife would fancy the cold that much. Well, I'm back in Brick City, at least for a week, then I'll jet off to Tel Aviv on another trip. Will def give you details on how that turns out.

I keep dreaming about winning the lottery (lol)...say a prayer for me will ya?

Friday, April 22, 2011

Origin

Itz hard to coherently describe my thots nowadays. Don't ask me why, I'm happier than I've been in ages. I sleep with a smile on my face, dawn comes with rejuvenated joy.I'm immune to writer's block, I guess I'm just nervous about baring my soul for the world to read, so I restrict most of my writing to the pages of my mind. Page after page, the ink bleeds, giving shape to letters, words and thots. I'm a dreamer, I don't make any apologies for it, dreams are the framework of my reality. I live in my imagination, if I can't visualize it, then it doesn't make much sense to me. I paint in my dreams, bold patches of color mingled with patches of nondescript blankness, an urban rainbow meshed in an orthodox jungle. The beautiful thing about art is itz blurring clarity, different visuals elicit varying interpretations. An apple on a tree evokes memories of the forbidden fruit, viewed from wide angles the main characters in the picture have different perspectives, why was the apple forbidden, was Adam with Eve when the snake made a move? Let's see if we can work with that...


"It was a beautiful afternoon, darkness was an anomaly in the Garden, the sun hung suspended in the skies, you could feel the soft breeze on your skin, the sweet fragrances in the air...you could also hear the leaves of the apple tree whispering softly, gently caressed by the wind, they swayed with a hidden passion to rhythms that were unknown to the human mind. She gazed at the apple...Was it curiosity in her eyes? amazement? wonder? He lay right next to her...just beneath the shade of the tree. His eyes firmly fixed on her, love deeply etched in his gaze, she was his rib after all, so his heart beat to her rhythm...Its voice was charming, smooth like sparkling wine, polished and hypnotic...the voice spoke to her...soft yet firm...she fell...that was the turning point...he would do anything for her..."

Itz not hard to visualize...

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Morning Blues...

The cock never crows in the city...
Sleep ushers in the sweetest thots...
Dreams never felt so good...
Cocooned in layers of Coco berry moments...
Frozen time, zero gravity...
Pearls of laughter, shaped like tear-drops...
Nectar soaked voice, rhythmic sweet buzz...
Dancing eyes, swaying to visual salsa melodies...
Smooth bronze skin, kissed by the sun...
Body curves fluid and merging like poetry...
A beautiful heart, sound mind...
She glances in his direction...
Fluttering eyelashes...
Lips curved by the symmetry of her smile...
The clock chimes...7 A.M
Love tastes so good...

The Usual Suspects vol. 1

Manhattan, NY...
A few weeks ago...

Time was about 4am, that hour of the morning when the clouds turn in their slumber, stretching and awaiting the morning kiss of the sun. Twas still pitch black, but typical of the city, the purity of the night was defiled by taxi horns and the merry laughter and raised voices of clubgoers on their journey home. That was the scene @ 29th and 7th ave... can't recall the exact coordinates, after effects of an alcohol spiked mind. Clumsy footfalls announced the oncoming entourage, the Usual Suspects, on the way back from the club, trading tales of the escapades of the night...Gusty laughter bounces into the night as one awkward detail is revealed, only to be outdone by another. Suddenly, the equilibrium of the exodus home gets shattered by one unlikely act...

A stunning catwalking chick enters the picture, clothes clinging to the outline of her body, sashaying on heels that defied logic, a'kin to your typical Kodak moment that snaps you out of your reverie. Laughter is paused in motion, eyes slowly navigate to her figure...then the trance is broken by one simple action. Was she a lady in red? nah, she was clad in black, all black. Whilst the usual suspects glanced admiringly at her, she plunged her hand into her purse brought out her phone, placed it to her right ear and continued walking...Now try to understand this...the Usual Suspects were walking on the curb, they may have been tipsy, but their vision and thinking was straight, "La femme fatale" in black was strutting on the street... So the following convo ensued...

Usual Suspect # 1: Yo Shawtie, Don't act like u r on the phone, I know you aint talking to no one on that phone and while u are at it, stop walking on the street...

La Femme Fatale a.k.a. Shawtie: Say what? For your information, I have a 3.5 GPA and I'm doing my masters, so watch your mouth...

Usual Suspect # 2: What has your GPA got to do with this?

Usual Suspect # 1: You still aint talkin to no one on the phone, stop faking!

La Femme Fatale a.k.a. Shawtie: @#%$*%! eyes rolling, attitude on full blast...You have a stupid accent!

Usual Suspect # 3: Accent? What type? British? Look at this brooklyn babe o...

Usual Suspect # 4: Everybody take a deep breath, we all need to relax...

All hell breaks lose! fingers wagging, raised voices mingled with laughter, lost directions...where did we park the car? circus...

Just another day...

One other thing...
I was a guest speaker at a recent event and one of the questions I posed to the audience was "Would I hire ME?" Got me thinking later about a chain of other questions...The concept behind the question was to place urself in the shoes of the other party...stand before a mirror and ask ur reflection a simple question..."Would u hire me?" "Would u date me if I asked?" "Would u marry me if I proposed/asked?"...Real tough question...I sure do know that I would marry me! I am a certified pro, a confirmed cook, a handy man, and a host of other stuff! What more could I want? wink wink...Narcissism...lol

Thursday, March 17, 2011

BoYs DoN't CrY

Growing up, there was a general misconception every boy was unconsciously exposed to. It was a simple unspoken idea but looking back at time, itz amazing to realize the depth of its impact. Boys don't cry. Even if u did, you were not supposed to. Tears were seen as a sign of weakness, an emotion that was permitted only for girls. We often saw our mothers cry while we were kids but Dad never shed a tear. As much as we loved our mothers, we all wanted to be tough like our fathers. The absence of tears was the final emphasis on masculinity and believe me as a kid, that was the peak most young folks struggled to attain.



Now here comes the interesting part, the absence of tears didnt necessarily translate to inability to feel pain. So inadvertently as a little kid, when the hands of pain bit down on my senses and the tears welled up, I fought to hold them back, often biting down in my mind. The image was a'kin to a picture of a little kid trying to prevent a boulder from rolling down a slope. In most cases, it ended up in failure, the boulder overpowers the feeble strength of the kid, rolls down the slope, so do the tears, but the scary thing is that a powerful and scarily negative character starts to grow...mind control. Do you know that tears are an avenue for emotional release? Little phrases come to my mind, when the clouds are full of rain, they empty themselves...



As time went by, the volume of tears receeded, from a flood to a trickle. The little boy in the imagery had grown stronger, not necessarily bigger or older, but his mind had toughened. His mental muscles bulged as he held back the boulder, the pain bit into his arms, illusionary blood streaming down his face like liquid fire...but he held on to the boulder...the boulder didnt roll down the hill, the tears never fell...And amongst his peers, he was praised as being "tough". So the little kid became a man inside, earned the grudging admiration of his friends and the awe of people around. The physical pain was easy for him to bear, he shrugged it off easily, twas just a single huge boulder, the more he worked out in his mind, the easier it was for him to hold it in place... As he grew older, physical pain evaporated, pain is gain, his pain threshold grew, holding back the boulder was a'kin to pushing weights...The older he grew, the more indifferent he became, till emotional release all but vanished in his mind...Then he came face to face with a new type of pain...

Emotional pain is unlike physical pain...The imagery changed from a boulder rolling down a slope to a flood rushing down a slope and into a room. At first the young man was perplexed, he spread his arms as if to push the flood back, but it was futile. The waves hit him from all angles, till he was disoriented. The more he fought, the weaker he became. After many efforts, he stopped fighting and swam with the current. But that was'nt a solution either, each time the floods came and he tried swimming with the currents, he was tossed from side to side, he had no control, and mind control had become his muse. So he sought advice. There were many theories and simulations on how to deal with a flood. Channel the flood some said, but it sounded like a waste of energy. He did give it a shot, by channeling the flood, he turned into a machine, he stored the water in gallons, till it filled the room he lived in, So he gave up that idea. Then one day he felt he had stumbled upon the answer. So he simply shut the door to the room, "Let's see how you'll get in!", he said to the imaginary flood.

And it worked like a charm. Each time the flood came, it battered the room, but the flood never came in. It hit the room from all sides, the room's foundation creaked, little cracks appeared in the walls, which he patched up. Because he didnt know when the flood would come, he lived in the house and never ventured outside...Time flew by...Seasons came and went...Then one day he woke up and couldnt remember how long he had spent inside the room. He peaked out of the windows wearily, torn between venturing outside and staying in the room. Then he made up his mind. He walked up to the door, he didnt just open it, he removed it completely. Then he walked back into the room, and made holes at the corners of the room. He went about his life, happy as a lark! Did he live happily ever after? Well, you'll have to wait and find out...

The floods did come again. It flowed into the room as usual, but this time, the water trickled out of the hole and out of the room. He lay on his bed, as the water level steadily dropped, trickling out of the holes in the room, the tears streamed down his face, and kept flowing, till the water emptied out of the room...

Sunday, February 27, 2011

BuRiEd EmOtIoNs

There is a thin line between a daydream and ...
...a dream forged at night...
For with eyes closed, u see with your imagination...
A feeling close to painting on a transparent canvas...
Floating in the subconscious with reckless abandon...
The thrill is undeniable...
The colors bright, in contrast to the darkness of the night...
Wishes and desires stretch out their limbs...
And take form slowly like illusions...
At first tentative, like the uncertain steps of an infant...
U totter on the edge of reason and consciousness...
Then you let go and slowly merge with the vapors of your mind...
But a daydream is different...
With eyes wide open, the sensation is a'kin to a self induced trance...
The imagery though blurry, feels like deja-vu...
Flashes of color, intertwined with monochromatic shades...
Like a blast of cold wind on a summer afternoon...
Tell-tales to the dreams of the night...
U open ur eyes to realize that they are vacant...
Though the sun shines bright overhead, the moon glows in your view...
illumination provided by sparkling stars...
Then in a split second, the sensation fades...
And u wonder if it ever happened at all...
Clarity returns with the wind's whisper in my ears...

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Revolution and the Social Network

The movie "Schindler's List" changed my life. Maybe not literally but it did transform my perspective of life. I've learnt to be frugal with myself but extravagant in charity and philantropy, cos you never really understand the impact you can have in someone's life. I'm happy when the people I love are happy, I am happy when my friends are happy. And if I can I in my own little way positively impact someone's life, then I'd be delirious with joy. That's why I respect the likes of Bill Gates and Warren Buffet, individuals who have dedicated their wealth to positive goals. I am not asking anyone to be altruistic in any way, but if we all reached out and helped someone else, even if itz just one person, then the world would be a much better place..."Pay it forward"

The recent events in Egypt and Tunisia got me wondering...What actually triggers a revolution? I've always believed that it takes a single monumental act of madness (Biafra) or defiance (MLK & the Civil Rights Movement) for the dam to break. But the status quo in Tunisia and Egypy caught me by surprise. I wouldnt peg it as a reaction borne out of frustration or years of inaction, on the other hand, I'd rather point a finger and say this was a rebellion fuelled by the power of the social network and the media. The power of the social network as a tool for revolution cannot be ignored, Blackberry, Facebook, Twitter...itz so easy to start a wild fire nowadays! No need to call a crowd and broadcast an " I have a dream" speech, no need to instigate an uprising by demanding access to the media, Facebook and Twitter fuelled with the efficacy of BB and other smartphones makes it easy to start a revolution in minutes. Sometimes, it scares me...The inherent power in those little devices is incredulous...

The next step is still cloudy? Tunisia settled theirs pretty quickly, Egypt is still trapped in the throes of revolution fire, gradually ebbing out as the days go by or maybe coming to a climax in a few days. The worrisome situation however is in Ivory Coast...2 presidents in one country, no revolution, no resolution, just an uncomfortable impasse that doesnt seem to have an end in sight. Who knows, maybe if Ivory Coast had a significant social network footprint, things would have been different...who knows? Anyway, I still wonder if there'll be a similar trend in Nigeria, a social network fuelled revolution may be disrupted easily by NEPA/PHCN. After all, you can only send messages if your phone battery aint dead, #justsaying#...

Who knows? Future election results may be announced on Facebook and Twitter..."The Electoral Board Chairman just tweeted that XYZ won the Presidential Elections / He also sent the details of the results to CNN's inbox via Facebook / To see the complete results, please follow the Electoral Board Chairman on Twitter and become a fan of CNN on Facebook/ And by the way, add me on BBM..."

Disclaimer: This blog is not a political tool, the views expressed therein are strictly fictitious and solely the imaginations of the writer...random thoughts that seep into his subconscious when he isnt daydreaming about Coco...mental nirvana

Friday, January 28, 2011

Snow & Religion...

Been back in Brick City for 2 weeks now and I sure do miss the fatherland. First of all, it has snowed 3 times since I got back and frankly speaking, I am getting quite tired of the white powder falling from the skies. In Abuja, the weather was perfect, in Lagos it was humid but it was made beautiful by Coco. But here in Brick city, all you see is mound upon mound of snow. Thank God there are people paid to shovel the driveway, else I'd be suffering weather induced arthritic pain by now. Anyway the weather got me thinking...What if it snowed in Nigeria?

Seriously, what if it snowed in Nigeria? Would we be extinct? It is no secret that africans arent big fans of cold weather. Kinda reinforces my belief that Adam and Eve were Africans and that the Garden of Eden was either somewhere in Egypt or Calabar. How else can you explain how Adam and Eve lounged in Eden without clothes till Eve introduced us to haute couture with her designer clothes from leaves after the fall of man. The weather must have been pretty excellent all year round and don't go preaching to me about the possibility of it being summer time! The apple? Adam ate the last one, that's why we import them to Africa nowadays. Okay, I am straying from the subject matter (lol).

What if it snowed in Nigeria? How would we cope? Our meterologist departments can't even predict the weather, they rely on CNN!What would happen to the homeless people? Surely half of them would be wiped out by the weather! Then come to think of it, if there is no power/light (thanks to NEPA/PHCN), those living in houses wouldnt be exempt! How would we heat our houses when we arent even sure of electricity to charge our cell phones? Who would clear the roads after the snowstorms? Trust me, that is a key issue. New York and New Jersey were grounded for almost 2days after the christmas day blizzard last year. But let's not dwell too much on the negativity of the picture. As africans we have been known to survive even in the toughest of climates. On the positive side, if it did snow in 9ja, we'd be looking at thousands of new jobs created! "How?" you may ask? Simple! There would be thousands of jobless folks eager to clear your driveway for less than what the Hispanics charge ( no disrespect to the Hispanic community). And I can definitely assure you that our ingenious Nigerians would find a suitable way either to process the snow and sell it! Also, we wouldnt have to worry about our spoilt food, hot drinks and such. All u gotta do is stick in the snow! Alright, I am beginning to sound really wacko (lol)

The truth is the fact that it doesnt snow in 9ja reinforces my belief in God. You gotta agree that there has to be a Higher Power who understands our inadequacies and spares us the temptation of burdens we cannot bear. So if it did snow in 9ja, NEPA would either be transformed by some divine measure or we'd figure out a way to harness electricity and heat from the snow itself!

On a side note:
Just got back from the cinema after viewing the premiere of Anthony Hopkins' new flick "The Rite". I am a huge Anthony Hopkins fan so I had to give the movie a shot. My reviews? The movie was disappointing! There was nothing new about the script. If you have seen "The Exorcist" or any movie in that trend, then "The Rite" is definitely a below average movie. And can someone please explain to me why people who don't believe in God feel such a need to make movies about religious beliefs? C'mon Anthony Hopkins! I expected alot better! U just cost me $13!

Thursday, January 20, 2011

"Tata Bubble"

PROLOGUE
The rules of engagement had always been simple. "Never give more than you receive", that was the golden rule. The room was his legacy to that rule..."La Fruta Prohibida"

"I'm all in...", he said. They all turned and stared at him in surprise, or maybe shock. With that brief statement, he had gone against all the rules of survival. He had always been taught: "Never reveal ur hand", "Never wager everything u've got...U need to have something to fall back on in case it doesnt work out" But this was different. Deep inside him, he just knew it. He had always played by the rules and had never lost, leaving a trail of conquests behind him. They had always whispered his name in admiration, fashioned their approach around his style. "How is this different?", they wondered. "He has lost his edge", a few voices muttered, weakened by her charms. If only they could understand...It didnt matter to him if he lost everything, the outcome wasnt the prize, the journey was all that mattered. Fear and uncertainty knotted his stomach, his mouth had gone dry, they could notice the slight tremor to his lips,you could hear his heart beat, the suspense hung in the air like a veil. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and exhaled. "I'm all in" he repeated, "I'll take my chances with her". This time his voice didnt waver. He turned his back on their voices and walked out of the empty room...

Monday, January 17, 2011

Chronicles of the Fatherland...Chapter 4

The Latter Days

"I feel like I am floating through existence..."
"I feel like we are all following shadows...and shadows, they don't know where to go" ....Asa " I feel" from Beautiful Imperfection

The latter days went by like a dream. I toured Abuja to see the new spots and feel the pulse of the city. I did observe that the price of many items had sky rocketed since I left. Cafe 24 is a nice spot to hang out but there drinks are ridiculously over priced. Sometimes I wonder how people living in Abuja afford to hang out at some of these spots, they must be well paid! I didnt mind spending my money cos I have always looked forward to coming home, but I did wonder about the other people who frequented the place. Well, I satisfied my thirst for Nigerian food... For excellent cuisine I recommend Melting Pot and Aunty Ajobi's kitchen ( if u are looking for Nigerian food). City Park is a pleasant place to hang out with friends when you don't want to spend up to 20grand. I visited the Silverbird Galleria but it felt so boring that I left after 30minutes. Someday I'll blog about the western influence in Nigeria and its effect. Sometimes we africans try to copy concepts not suited to our environment and we end up making a fool of ourselves! The Dome was pretty pleasant, the garden was serene and the bowling and billiards wasnt so bad, nice cuisine too. There are many young folks in Abuja now, I observed that the new fashion trend was for guys to rock geek glasses ( everyone is copying the Kanye West look) and it was easy to notice that all the young chaps dressed like musicians on MTV ( hilarious ). I am not an expert on women fashion so i can't really describe their look but it didnt look as outlandish as the guys! The city did feel cosmopolitan, and there was a new found energy I had never seen before. Nigeria is a really beautiful place, sometimes I weep at how we permit our inefficiencies to dominate our beauty. There is so much potential here but years of neglect, mismanagement and negative thinking is holding us hostage. Anyway, I aint a political analyst, so i'll refrain from commenting on our issues. Ah hah, I found the spot with the best barbecued catfish ever! Absolutely sublime and heavenly...

The Wedding
"Have u ever heard of a dreamer girl...living in a world so far away"
"Baby Baby, close ur eyes, life's okay"
"I dream of love, will come my way..." Asa "Dreamer Girl"....from Beautiful Imperfection

One of the reasons why I came back was to attend a friend's wedding. I was listed as one of the groom's men so it meant that I had to wear a suit! (lol). Some old friends from Uniport came to Abuja for the wedding so it was a very pleasant reunion. Itz funny how time flies! We traded gossip on who had gotten married and wondered aloud at why they 'rushed' into marriage (typical male gossip), there was always a conspiracy theory somewhere (lol). Over drinks, pepper soup and barbecued fish, different stories were told... The debates and gists ranged from recent marriages, failed relationships, rumoured relationships, sports, work, the state of Nigeria, the past and incoherent and unintelligible alcohol induced gist! Anyway, the wedding was beautiful, the bride was stunning and the groom held his own. Yours sincerely was smoothly navigating the whole occassion and taking notes as well. I do know that one of the reasons why I'll agree to attend a wedding is so I can take notes on how mine will be organized! (lol, selfish!) Though itz still a few years away, I want it to be as perfect as possible ( wink wink). One interesting part of the wedding reception was the bouquet toss! There were so many beautiful ladies eagerly waiting to catch the bouquet, I wondered how it was possible for all of them to be single! But truly, they were all single. Definitely something to blog about. Why are there so many single ladies? Is it that men don't want to get married or that the ladies don't want to marry the men out there? I really do not know. There are different perspectives to it I guess. I am not the best person to answer that question cos I am still single ( for now, wink wink). Anyway, a lucky girl caught the bouquet, you could see the looks of envy cast her way by the unlucky ones, dangerous looks masked by plastic smiles. I really do pray that all the single ladies find their right partner someday. Nobody should be alone. I played my role at the wedding, took pictures, smiled for the camera and went home happy. Confirmed my ticket to Las Gidi, yipee!


Las Gidi
" I woke up this morning, you were the first thing on my mind..." India Arie "Can I walk with u"

" Many days I have longed for you, wanting you, hoping for the chance to get to know you..."
" Love, those who have faith in you sometimes go astray..." Musiqsoulchild "Love"

I have never really figured out how Lagos came to be known as "Las Gidi" by some people in the States. But the name definitely sounds interesting. I came to Lagos on a mission, a secret known only to few people (lol). Actually, I came to do something I should have done many years ago but never had the courage to do. Maybe, back then the time wasnt right, or I wasnt ready or I didnt know what I wanted. Whatever the reason may have been, I do believe in destiny..."Que sera sera". I came to Lagos in search of Eldorado...I'll tell u the tale someday...

Chronicles of the Fatherland...Chapter 5

"Book Review"

"Where are u, where can I find u"
"Oh Lord, I have been very greedy...I need you now, I need u yeah, I need u everyday"....Asa "Preacher Man" from Beautiful Imperfection

Travelled with 3 books for my vacation, the first one was "Secret Supper" by Javier Sierra. I'll launch into the review of the book later on. The second was Chimamanda Adichie's "Half of a Yellow Sun". I had always planned on reading it but for some unknown reason I had never had the chance to do so. I have to admit that I am one of her admirers after reading her profile and watching her presentation on "the Danger of a one-sided story" as shown on TED TV. I was struck by her poise and confidence. Anyway, I did read the book and it was excellent. She definitely has a style similar to Achebe and her portrayal of the characters was sublime. I am fascinated by art and the science of words, the images she painted of life in the 60s was enchanting. I don't want to delve in to the finer details of the book, though one thing I learnt was that the concept of war should never be revisited. Looking back at history, I am more convinced that Nigerians are a unique breed of people. How else can u explain our still being together after all the strife? Absolutely amazing. The third book in my collection was Stephen King's latest offering, "Full Dark, No Stars". Pretty interesting, the grand master never ceases to fascinate me with his work. Someday, I hope to write. I think about it often, and people tell me that I should, but the truth is that I wouldnt be able to write fiction. If I was to write a book, it would be a book about my life, not necessary an autobiography but something similar to Wole Soyinka's "Ake". I believe that our personal lives are more interesting than any work of fiction we can conceive of if we can put it into words. Let me give u an example, I fell in love for the first time when I was 5! You might laugh and call that foolish, but to a 5 yr old, love was the reason why I decided that I wouldnt go to nursery school anymore, instead I stayed at home till my parents realised I was serious and yielded to my demands, which was to join the girl of my dreams in primary school...I broke a girl's heart when I was 8! I never saw her afterwards...Interested? lol...believe me, there are alot more stories and the scary thing is that I can still recall them as vividly as if they happened yesterday, down to the very words that were said! People say that I have a scary power of recollection, I don't know why, but I hold on to memories...they are the pages of life...I still remember the scent of "Yesterday, Today & Forever"...


"Memory Lane"

"Everything changes..." Staind
" The way we are is how itz gonna be, just as long as ur love don't change"... Musiqsoulchild "Dontchange"

Was going through old pictures at home and felt a whole range of emotions. I don't know why, but some made me laugh and some brought tears to my eyes. I looked at my pictures and could barely recognize the boy that stared back at me. Sigh...How time flies...I had a beautiful childhood, filled with pleasant memories. I tell u a little story! When I was about 5 ( I can't remember the exact age), back then we lived in Enugu, my sister told me I was going to get married! You'll probably be laughing by now but I am dead serious. She looked at me sternly and said, " Emeka, you will get married to Ify on friday". I agreed instantly. I worshipped the ground my sister walked on and if she said it was time for me to get married, then I'ld gladly do it. I had no clue what marriage entailed, but I could recall that my brother had gotten "married" to a girl in the estate a few days ago and he grumbled a bit about it but didnt protest. For your info, my sister was about 9 then. She was more or less the ring leader of the girls in the estate and their hobbies had advanced from cooking sand in empty milo and bournvita tins to cooking rice and now marriage! I was her personal assistant, tasked with the chore of hijacking the necessary ingredients for cooking from the kitchen. Espionage was an easy task for me, I looked harmless and angelic, so my mother never suspected that I could sneak maggi and a cup of rice out of the kitchen faster than 007 could blink! Anyway, the "marriage fever" sprung out of the blues, all the girls were in support of the new trend but I doubt the boys were kean on the idea. Since my sister was the ring leader, my brother was the first ox led to the altar. I was next! The wedding day was a sunny and beautiful friday afternoon and I had worn one of my favorite shorts. My bride to be and the other girls were already waiting under the mango tree in the playground and the older boys were busy playing soccer. You may wonder why i wasnt playing soccer with the boys, twas simple, I was too young to appreciate sports then and the older boys didnt want "little kids" disturbing their game, so I was at that heavenly age were I was resigned to play with girls! Anyway, back to the wedding. I was eager to rush to the wedding venue and get married, such was my excitement at the thought of marriage, even though I had no clue what was involved. On my way to the wedding with my brother ( I presume he was my escort or best man), he looked at me mournfully and said, " Don't get married, the boys wouldnt let you play soccer with them afterwards". I stopped in my tracks and for the first time I was scared silly. I had always dreamt about finally playing soccer with the big boys, so the news that my marriage would destroy that opportunity was a huge shock to me. My brother continued walking to the wedding venue, I turned and fled! I ended up hiding somewhere ( I can't recall exactly where) but about 10 minutes later, I heard my sister and the other girls yelling my name in anger! "Emeka! Emeka! Emeka! kedu ebe i no (where are u)?", they called out. Hearing my sister's voice, I was torn in 2, part of me wanted to respond, but a part of me longed for soccer. I remained in my hiding place and cried. I later came out and went to where the boys were playing soccer, my sister did find me later and was reasonably upset that I abandoned my bride at the altar ( I presume she married some other unlucky dude the same day, lol). I cried more, and she consoled me and forgot that she was angry ( yeah, I was a sissy, lol). I learnt 2 lessons that day. The first was "follow your heart", and the second was " tears are an emotional weapon". Well, I didnt learn them that day though (lol), I guess it filtered in years later. I am looking at pictures of my sister, brother and I when we were kids and all those memories are flooding back in...The innocent years...