tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10232815015538242352024-03-12T23:49:36.995-04:00Air MeccaMind trippin...air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.comBlogger81125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-48915238337172106902018-07-02T19:40:00.000-04:002018-07-02T19:40:09.886-04:00The Decision<br />
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After a 2.5 year hiatus, I'm announcing my return to the blogging world. Can't say for sure why I haven't been writing lately, but it sure feels good to be back. I'm not so sure what I'll be blogging about, quite alot has gone down in the past 2+ years but just consider this as my version on "The Decision".<br />
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Been thinking alot about a "side hustle", ended up figuring out that I'm too lazy to hustle. So I'll just stick to the things that come naturally. Writing is one of them. The others are sleeping and eating. Just need to figure out how to translate those skills into a revenue generating side hustle. On a different tangent, how much money is considered "enough" but "not greedy"?<br />
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If you were a follower of the blog back in the day, hit me up with a comment on what you would like to hear and we'll start off from there.<br />
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Did I ever tell you about "TBOG"? The Book of Ginger...air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-31372900214326557522016-01-04T20:21:00.003-05:002016-01-04T20:21:53.482-05:00Ain't it funny (Politically incorrect)Ain't it funny how you ask a brother about his secret recipe for success and he tells you "Hardwork".<br />
Really? we both know you sling dope. How you gon' tell me your recipe is hardwork when you don't put in that 9 to 5? Hell no bro, your profit margin for a week is my gross for a year, so to hell with hardwork!<br />
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Ain't it funny how "Black Lives Matter" when a black man is shot by a white man and yet don't matter much when the color code is uniform. Folks are getting popped by the hour in Chicago, yet the media and the activists don't seem to be bothered much. Don't preach to me about systemic profiling, if Tyrone was popped by Daquan and Daquan got popped by Jamal, something ain't right.We ought to hit the streets and demand that change happens.<br />
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Ain't it funny how strippers and video vixens are villified for twerking, labeled "trashy" and sneered at, yet if Queen B drops a twerking video, we'all be like "Classy", "Touche", "Artistic".<br />
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Ain't it funny how it is racist when a white fella uses the word "nigga" while spitting bars, but its cool when another black folk uses it. Really, they ain't allowed to use it, but we are bcos we have the right shade?<br />
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Ain't it funny how a rich kid can knock down a few beers, hit the road and run over a few fellas, jump into court and roll out with no conviction, all because of Affluenza, a vaccine rich folks fail to administer to their kids. Really? Tyrone knocked down a shot of Henny, hopped into this hoopty and ran into a pole, pole didn't complain yet home boy got hit with a DUI and 60 days in the slammer even though he flashed his "I ain't got no dad/role model" badge.<br />
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Ain't it funny how the pastor has the most money, rocks a private jet and flashy cars and yet folks in his congregation struggle to pay their rent. "Jesus wants us to be rich", he says. Really? Since you are Jesus spokesman here on earth, why don't you do us all a solid and give all you have to the poor folks in your church. Don't confuse Jesus with Solomon bro, you don't need that private jet.<br />
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Ain't it funny how we christian folks pay our tithe but can't feed the hungry? How we pray for God's help and guidance while breaking the law? How we condemn the mistakes of others and pass off our shortcomings as mistakes?<br />
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<br />air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-19015120906004687892015-01-29T16:39:00.004-05:002015-01-29T16:39:53.053-05:002015 kickoffHappy New Year (belated) everyone! It kinda feels like I abandoned my blog, time is a precious commodity nowadays. 2014 was a wonderful year, I'm forever grateful to God for all the blessings. I'm now a papa (yay!!!), and my little angel is turning 9 months in a few days (they grow quickly!). She looks just like her beautiful mama :)<br />
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Life has been good and I've been blessed beyond measure. If you are reading this and things aren't so rosy for you right now, just hang in there. God ain't asleep, He sees you and understands your pain and struggle. Remain hopeful and positive, each day presents a new opportunity. My new year resolution for 2015 is "to embrace every opportunity to be better". Each new day is an opportunity to be a better man, husband, father, neighbor, christian, brother, friend...You get the drift. Every morning, make up your mind to be better at one thing, it could be a simple act of kindness shown to a stranger, or calling a long lost friend or family member or spending an extra hour pursuing your passion. Just embrace the opportunity each new day brings. And if you think the day doesn't present any new opportunities, create one. We ain't giving excuses this year, gotta take ownership of your happiness and live life!<br />
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Felt good to get that off my chest.<br />
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Coco has been worrying about either putting lil Neso in a daycare or getting a stay-at-home nanny, the thought keeps me up at night too. But now she is about to resume work, tough decisions have to be made. People in Naija don't know how lucky they are, having a support system to fall back on to raise a kid. This Yankee life ain't all peaches and cream. You make a tonne of money and you spend a tonne of money, that's how the story goes. Daycare or Nanny-care fees can make you blink a few times, chai. But the money isn't so much the concern as the quality of care, deep down you just want your child to be well-taken care of while you are at work. And honestly speaking, if it isn't me or wifey or a close family member looking after baby, my mind isn't at ease. Oh well, something's gotta give.<br />
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Did I mention that having a baby can cramp your style when it comes to having fun? Let me put it this way, once baby arrives, fun goes out of the window. There's no better way to describe it. We went to Punta Cana for a vacay, baby came along :) It was fun and beautiful BUT imagine how much more exciting it could have been if we had someone watching baby, u feel me abi? This year there are a few travel spots on the list: Cancun, Tel Aviv, Athens/Santorini, or even Las Gidi (hopefully Naija doesn't explode after the election). Baby is gonna tag along on any trip we take, gotta take advantage of the zero fare for children under 2.<br />
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Finally, I know this post is totally random, but I just had to 'resurrect' the blog, my previous posts were rather impersonal. I've been 'blogging' alot in my head, but I just haven't had the chance to put everything down. I'll release the "Diaper Diaries" book someday, it chronicles everything from when baby was conceived till present. Shout out to all my followers, all my friends and everyone out there.<br />
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NB: Elections in Naija are just around the corner and I have to admit that I'm nervous. Last night I watched a movie "Conspiracy". It basically shows how the Nazis arrived at the 'final solution' for jews during World War 2. It is a chilling movie, very chilling. I hope something is done about Boko Haram asap. Because I just can't understand how people would calmly decide to kill innocent women and children without thought. But then after watching the Conspiracy movie, you understand the term "the banality of evil".<br />
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Live, love and be happy...air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-69751278345526623422014-11-05T22:21:00.002-05:002014-11-05T22:21:39.697-05:00A Beginners Guide to Nigerian Psychology and Mannerism Vol 2<br />
Continued from Vol 1...<br />
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In a flash, the driver jumped out of the car and in 3 swift steps he approached a man who appeared to be the driver of the car that had hit them from behind and delivered a resounding slap to his face while yelling<i> "You dey mad?"</i><br />
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slap: <i>transitive verb</i><br />
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: to hit (someone or something) with the front or back of your open hand.<br />
: to hit something with a sound like the sound made when your hand slaps something.<br />
: to put (something) on a surface quickly or forcefully.<br />
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<i>Source: Webster Dictionary</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Nothing quite prepares you for the crunching sound of an open hand when it makes contact with human skin. It was so unexpected and it took him a few seconds to process that the taxi driver had just assaulted another person in public. He wondered what the cops would say when they came over. He was jolted out of this thoughts by raised voices and the sound of a rowdy scuffle<br />
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<i>"You dey mad? Why you catch brake for road like that? Na you jam me!"</i><br />
<i>"You still dey talk? I go tear you another dirty slap!"</i><br />
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Just when it seemed like the fiasco was about to switch gears to another level, he peeked out of the window and saw that a policeman had arrived on the scene. His black police uniform had seen better days but the imperial look on his face indicated that he was truly a man of authority. However there seemed to be a look of excitement or feverish joy on the police officer's face, if he hadn't been slightly shaken up by the crash he would have sworn that the cop looked like he was drooling like a dog at the sight of a juicy bone.<br />
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Police: <i>Wetin dey happen here? Why una two dey fight for road?</i><br />
Driver A: <i>Oga officer, this stupid man just jam my car</i><br />
Driver B: <i>Na this mumu just match brake for road</i><br />
Police: <i>So that na why una 2 dey fight and cause traffic for here? Oya, una 2 go follow me go station for obstruction of traffic. Na 25000 naira fine be that...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<i>Lesson 3</i><br />
Webster's dictionary didn't exactly get the definition of a <i>'slap'</i> correct. To a Nigerian, a slap is not just a physical action, it is also a "character reforming act, aimed at correcting perceived foolishness". There are different levels to a slap, but the general perception is that a "dirty slap" sums it up. The <i>'dirty' </i>in the phrase refers to the aspect of the recipient's character to be reformed by the action of the slap. Here are a few other functional definitions of slaps, from a Nigerian perspective<br />
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<i>Obedience-Inducing slap</i>: This is generally delivered by parents to their children. A slap of this nature can quickly correct a troublesome child and trigger immediate obedience.<br />
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<i>Destiny-altering slap</i>: You tend to receive slaps of this nature in boarding house (secondary school). Common side effects include waking up randomly at night in tears, random nightmares in daytime, jumbled brain cells and frequent incoherent mumbling.<br />
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<i>Thought-provoking slap</i>: Delivered by a soldier, arguably the worst of the lot. Characterized by after-effects such as psychological reflections and sudden realization that life can't be any worse than it is.<br />
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Statistics will show that the probability that a Nigerian youth/adult received at least one of the above mentioned slaps before the age of 21 is close to 99%. In american terms, you can argue that we all are victims of abuse. We really don't see it that way though, who knows how we would have ended up without slaps ("<i>character reformation"</i>).<br />
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<i>Lesson 4</i><br />
We prefer to settle our issues without involving the police. It doesn't mean that we don't appreciate the law, we just don't trust the people in uniform who interpret the law. Moreover, when we call the police, they never show up. When we don't call them, they show up and refuse to go away.<br />
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<i>Lesson 5</i><br />
If you hit our car, we may slap you and assault you verbally before calling our Insurance company (Geico/StateFarm). Don't take it personal, refer to lesson 3, it's all about <i>'character reformation'.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>To be continued...</i><br />
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air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-87886827669866820472014-10-28T22:16:00.002-04:002014-10-28T22:16:35.935-04:00A Beginners Guide to Nigerian Psychology and Mannerism Vol 1<i>Introduction</i><br />
This is neither a novel nor your traditional educative summary. The views you'll encounter on this journey are purely the results of the writer's vivid and somewhat dysfunctional thoughts. It is possible that you'll stumble across a figment of rational intelligence or a random poetic phrase that captures a trace of brilliance, but do not be deceived, mad men are often considered geniuses. The wonderful truth is that virtually anything can be considered a work of art, it all depends on perspective. So while you may feel a need to comment on this series and argue for or against one of the points raised, be consoled by the knowledge that your contributions are artistic, relevant and at the same time irrelevant to the underlying logic of this series. That being said, allow me to dive in. Be warned, there is no pattern or style to the author's thoughts, you can think of it as a work of art itself.<br />
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mad: <i> adjective \'mad\</i><br />
: very angry.<br />
: having or showing severe mental illness.<br />
: unable to think in a clear or sensible way.<br />
<i>Source: Webster Dictionary</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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The first thing he noticed as the taxi rolled out of the airport was that the driver had his seat belt on. For some inexplicable reason, he found this pleasing. The fact that the seat belt in a car wasn't installed as an artifact had no restriction on his joy.<br />
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<i>"Growing up as a kid, nobody wore seat belts, he couldn't recall why but people simply didn't, till a government decree was passed that made failure to wear a seat belt while driving an offense. Failure to abide by the new law would result in a fine, seat belts suddenly resumed a measure of importance in cars."</i><br />
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The car weaved in out of lanes under the guidance of the driver who was humming along to a signature afrobeat tune by Fela...<br />
<br />
<i>"I no be gentleman at all, </i><br />
<i>I no be gentleman at all, </i><br />
<i>I be African man</i><br />
<i>Original"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
His brief joy gradually turned to dismay when he observed that there really weren't any lane markings on the road. The cars on the road were simply criss-crossing each other at every opportunity, almost like a scene from one of those car racing video games he played regularly. To accompany the daredevil stunts the numerous drivers were displaying on the road, was the symphony of multiple horns blaring out of coordination. Alarmed by the prospect of an impending collision, he leaned forward to ask the driver to slow down a little. That was as far as he got...<br />
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<i>"The grind of metal against metal can be quite unsettling. Apart from the crunching or screeching sound, the sudden shock of being jolted forward can get your heart racing quite a bit. For a brief second your spirit leaves your body and just when it feels like the angels are about blowing the trumpet for you to begin your ascent to the pearly gates, your body forcefully drags your spirit back down and it slams your senses back to reality..."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
He watched in a daze as the driver muttered a thousand curses.<br />
<i>Oga, are you okay ?,</i> the driver asked with genuine concern<br />
He told him he was okay, the impact had come from the rear and apart from the jolt and shock from the impact, he was unhurt.<br />
<i>"Okay, oga just stay here, make I finish this idiot wey jam us"</i> the driver responded, his voice rising and switching gears suddenly.<br />
In a f;lash, the driver jumped out of the car and in 3 swift steps he approached a man who appeared to be the driver of the car that had hit them from behind and delivered a resounding slap to his face while yelling <i>"You dey mad?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Lesson 1<br /><i>We go from 0 to a 100, real quick! The nerve endings responsible for the switch in our emotions are in constant overdrive. It hasn't been scientifically proven yet, because specific analysis of our brain structure may come across as racist to the medical world. We are very emotional people and we can switch emotions faster than you can blink.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Lesson 2<br />
<i>Most of the questions we ask are 'rhetoric', we really don't need your answer. Our questions are more like statements of affirmation of our belief. And if you must answer, it is best you respond with a question. Yes, we answer questions with questions, and it makes perfect sense to us because it confirms our initial belief. See a brief exchange between 2 gentlemen below:</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Driver A: <i>You dey mad?</i><br />
Driver B: <i>You dey craze?</i><br />
Driver A: <i>Something dey worry you!</i><br />
Driver B: <i>You no well!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Lesson 3<br />
<i>The Webster's Dictionary doesn't accurately reflect our interpretation of words. One word can have multiple meanings in Nigerian lingo, but from the inflection or tone, you can easily tell which it is, make no mistake about it. However what most people fail to explain to you is that this applies only to native Nigerian languages. In "Nigerian Pidgin English", a word can have only one meaning.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"you dey mad?"</i> neither means <i>"Are you angry?" </i>nor<i> "Are you schizophrenic?" </i>nor <i>"Are you capable of thinking clearly?". </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
For starters, <i>"you dey mad ?"</i>:<br />
1. Is not a question.<br />
2. Has nothing to do with anger. There's already a word that describes 'volatile or combustible human emotion' and that word is "anger". Why complicate it with another word?<br />
3. Has nothing to do with mental illness. General traditional African wisdom alleges that there is no such thing as mental 'illness', rather we have people suffering either mental affliction from the gods or suffering side effects of excessive marijuana smoking. As such mental ailments are spiritual not medical conditions.<br />
4. Is closely related to your capability to think, but isn't a question about your thinking capability.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"you dey mad ?"</i> can be simply translated as follows:<i> 'You are a lunatic'</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>To be continued</i>air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-63555946576606828732014-05-14T17:22:00.002-04:002014-06-12T12:53:50.850-04:00In Defence of Patience...then SolaPatience...<br />
Let me confess, I laughed as well. Yes I did, there was no way I could hold it back. But after observing the ridicule she received after her news conference, I kinda felt bad for her. So I've decided to come to Her Excellency's defence. I plead with everyone to be objective and unbiased in their analysis of her comments. I'll highlight the key sections of her comments that triggered the reaction.<br />
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<em>"All this blood sharing in Borno..."</em><br />
Now before you start laughing again, you have to admit that she does have a point. Roughly 200 girls were alleged to have been kidnapped and not a single witness can say exactly how or when it happened. Was it at night? Or during the day? Surely the Boko Haram terrorists must be vampires. How else can we explain their elusive nature. They leave a trail of blood behind and not a soul can see them coming. Vampires! <br />
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<em>"Chai"...</em><br />
There's not much mystery about this phrase. It is simply an exclamation of trepidation borne out of frustration. What would be your first reaction if you ran into Wesley Snipes in his full "Blade" regalia? Now visualize a vampire chilling next to your window at night. The simple thought of that image would cause you to say <em>"Chai".</em> Other phrases can be substituted for it, but <em>"chai"</em> best captures the emotion.<br />
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<em>"Dia ris God o..."</em>At this point, I'm sure you understand why she said this. Do the math: Human forces alone can't stop vampires. Clearly spiritual forces are required. Considering how ineffective our soldiers have been in the battle against Boko Haram, I believe it was only prudent that Patience reminded the terrorists about the existence of a far superior spiritual power.<br />
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Now when you put that information together, the only missing link was an interpreter. It would have been perfect if she had an interpreter in the mold of the congressman from Edo state (<em>Patrick Obahiagbon I believe, the last name is kinda tough</em>), known for his deep understanding of the English language. Any man who can use "political higi-haga and economic hara-kiri" in a sentence is qualified to decode spiritual language as well. I bet he could have easily translated her words:<br />
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<em>"All this blood sharing in Borno, chai, chaiii, dia ris God o"</em><br />
translated as<br />
<em>"This incessant vampiric activity in Borno, damn, reprehensible, the presence of God cannot be doubted..."</em><br />
<em></em><br />
That wasn't so hard, abi? I know we've all had our laughs at Patience's expense, but let's cut her some slack. If the pre-requisite educational level for a political office in Nigeria is a secondary school degree, we shouldn't expect too much from the spouses of political office holders. I know she 'represents' the President, but our fault finding should be with whatever points she raised, not her grammar or diction. The public bashing is a bit too extreme. I'm sure she didn't mean to speak incorrect English, but let's not ridicule her forever.<br />
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In other news, the entertainment world was shocked this week by a video of Sola punching and kicking my guy Jigga. When I watched the video, I was shocked o. Sola was really fired up, if she had a weapon with her, she could have used it. It is amazing how a moment of insanity can cause you alot of wahala. Now assuming Jigga pressed charges, it would have broken the family. <em>Chaiiiiii!</em>air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-30658302272660006942014-04-16T16:56:00.002-04:002014-04-16T16:56:52.626-04:00Naija: Daytime NightmareAlmost 3 years ago, I blogged about the Boko Haram menace in Nigeria (<a href="http://air-mecca.blogspot.com/2011/08/heart-of-man.html">http://air-mecca.blogspot.com/2011/08/heart-of-man.html</a>) Back then, the situation was bleak, but right now it seems like we've finally managed to unlock Pandora's box. Nigeria is at war, our leaders refuse to admit it, instead they argue and point fingers at each other while the death toll keeps mounting. Back in 2011, I had my own theories and ideas about how to tackle the problem but right now my mind is blank.<br />
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How do you fight a daytime nightmare? Stay awake and resist sleep? Keep the lights on at night and seek the comfort of other people in daytime? Focus on pretty things and keep a positive outlook? You can only run for so long...Gradually, your eyes will grow heavy, your vision will become blurry, and as hard as you try to fight it, sleep will creep in like a long lost lover whispering soothing words in your ear. Eventually your eyes will close, your chest rising and falling slowly as you embrace the lullaby of dreams, whilst reality gives way to the hazy world of your imagination. When your eyes finally regain focus, there is no escape from the monsters that your imagination has created...<br />
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I've always wondered how the Nazi soldiers at the concentration camps during the Jewish Holocaust (WW2) were able to sleep at night. The heart of man is wicked, and it is shocking to see the depths people would sink to in the quest for power. I refuse to believe that Boko Haram is just a religious sect. The audacity and brazeness with which they carry out their attacks transcends the actions of "a religious sect". The sheer frequency and scale of their attacks are tell-tale signs of a well funded and sophisticated militia group. We are neither dealing with religious renegades employing guerrila tactics nor a band of fanatics intent on curbing western education. The moniker "Boko Haram" is just a ruse for the sinister monsters who infiltrated them to unleash havoc and run the country.<br />
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The Bible advises us to pray for our leaders, but I have to admit that I'm finding it pretty hard sending prayers to the heavenly hosts on behalf of our current crop of leaders. Campaigning for Goodluck Jonathan to resign is not an option, he is our leader, whether he likes it or not, the mantle of responsibility falls on him. If he steps down due to the pressure, then the message we are sending to the world is that we are a "community", not a nation. Nigeria is not a social club where leaders throw in the towel in surrender. A President simply does not step down because the job is "tough". He campaigned to be President, he has to live up to his role. It doesn't matter if he was "selected" and not elected. Mothers bring children into this world, the infants don't have a say in the matter. But when the child gets to a certain age, he/she can make his own decisions regardless of what his/her parents say. So our president needs to man up, no excuses.<br />
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As for the monsters behind this menace, time will tell...<br />
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For concerned citizens, I don't know if there's much that we can do except to keep asking the leaders we voted into power to step up to their responsibilities. The only other option is to take up arms and chase shadows.<br />
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Also keep praying, something has to give...air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-27061059530948199282013-12-27T17:18:00.001-05:002013-12-27T17:19:37.965-05:002014 Countdown Numero UnoThe year is almost over! Yipeee! 2013 has been a WONDERFUL year for me, I don't even know where to start. I apologize for the long absence, I actually had alot to write but never got around to putting the words down. Now if only someone could invent a device that wirelessly transcribes our thoughts into words, life would be so easy...A few items have been on my mind lately, so I'll just ramble a bit...<br />
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This year I read quite a number of books by Nigerian/African authors and it rekindled the fire and passion I once had for anything African. I have to admit that our Nigerian authors are very gifted and deserve alot of commendation. "Americannah" by Chimamanda was nice, it felt like she was writing her story because I could identify with the protagonist (life as an international student). Other authors that caught my eye include <em>Seyi Atta (Swallow/Everything Good will come), Adaobi Nwabuani ( I do not come to you by chance), E.C. Osondu (BBC), Chika Unigwe (On Black Sister's street),</em> but to mention a few. The Naijastories website is also a brilliant concept, there seems to be a rejuvenation of the reading culture and that is a fantastic trend. I still recall reading Wole Soyinka's "Ake" many years ago, still remains one of the best books I've ever read. So in 2014, try to make out a little time and read a few african/nigerian books, you'll be surprised. My new plan for 2014 is to 'sample' a few Nollywood movies, I have to admit (ashamed) that I've always been a big Nollywood critic/basher. I have watched just 2 Nigerian movies in the past 10 years (shame dey catch me) and thanks to Myne Whitman and my rediscovered patriotism, I've decided to support rather than criticize. My first project will be to watch "The Meeting" by Rita Dominic, the trailers look appetizing.<br />
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On a more serious note, the current crisis in South Sudan and Central African Republic is depressing. I honestly don't know the root of Africa's problems. I read a few history books about the colonialization of Africa by Europe between the mid 1800s and 1900s, and it was eye opening. In an indirect way, we can trace the roots of all our problems back to those days. Maybe we would have remained content as separate tribes, with our unique and individual traditions, but the truth is that modernization or westernization was and still is inevitable. There is this great divide in African nations, along religious and tribal lines that inevitably builds cracks and craters along economic and political lines. The troublesome trend is that when the angst rears its head in the political and economic sphere, the tribal and religious angle suffers the backlash. During the days of racial tensions in the West, there was this misguided interpretation of the privilege of 'skin color', a tangible differentiator that a bunch of fanatics jumped on, magnified and manipulated into maltreating a whole race. But when I look at African countries torn apart by wars and periodic genocide, I can't place a finger on a tangible reason for neighbors to fight except for the sole fact that neighbors are meant to be separated by walls and boundaries, not forced to be subject to one authority.<em> "The problem with Africa is..."</em> you can fill the blank, it is a sad situation.<br />
<br />
Life as a married man has been wonderful. I am a 'modern man' which roughly translates to: <em>I'm not the conventional guy, I believe marriage is a partnership and a journey that 2 friends should enjoy, with both parties willing to make sacrifices, the ultimate of which is love.</em> I am not a fan of feminism, neither do I subscribe to patriarchy, I simply believe in love and equality. I've learnt alot from being married and it has made me a better man. Sometimes I get upset when I read or hear about people's<em> (Nigerians and Africans in general</em>) attitude to marriage or being single. We truly need a 'reorientation', a redefinition of our supposed culture, which people throw up in arguments. I don't know about you, but culture is supposed to adapt to people, not people to culture. I want a world where a girl/boy will be free to decide if/when/who, he/she wants to marry without pressure from society, a society where men and women would look beyond gender and treat everyone with EQUAL respect, that is my hope for the future.<br />
<br />
Before I sign off, if you are not a fan of <em>Breaking Bad</em>, I highly recommend that you watch the series. It was one of the best shows ever written (in my humble biased opinion). As for Scandal, I don dey tire for Olivia Pope. I'm looking forward to "The Walking Dead" in 2014 though, beautiful but sad...<br />
<br />
I'll possibly go on a blogging spree and write post for each day left till the year is over, lol. Anyway, we have just 4 days to go, let's take time out count our blessings, reflect on the year and start prepping for 2014...May our hustle never knock engine!<br />
<br />
<br />air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-49442255565064200322013-10-08T17:59:00.002-04:002013-10-08T17:59:40.413-04:00Dilated Pupils"...He closed his eyes, struggling to recall what the sunset looked like, the novelists always depicted the image as picturesque, but in the hazy fugue state of temporary blindness, all he could picture was shadows and blurred lines. "So this is what it feels like", he said to himself, a rueful smile crossing his lips as monochromatic shades flickered in his vision with every blink...<br />
<br />
He brought out his phone, squinting and peeking at it, amazed at how the once sharp features which previously glared at him with digital defiance and clarity, now looked hazy like symbols buried beneath sand dunes in the persian desert. Bold edges smoothened out into curves, bright colors softened by invisible hands that left smudges where rainbows once bloomed brightly<br />
<br />
The only distinct color was red, he could see it with his eyes closed. Soft red hues, not bright, like the color of sun baked earth reminiscent of his childhood days on the streets of the coal city. The red mist didnt hang like a halo, instead it was suspended like a cloud that had been dipped in red dye, just a quick dip, akin to a lapse and decline into temptation to gauge the impact of sin on a pristine nature. <br />
<br />
He squeezed his eyes tight shut and the red hue melted in to a black hole, a crater of emptiness with no boundaries, boundless to infinity. But the red hue prevailed, creeping back gradually as the muscles of his eyes relaxed, slowly swallowing the black abyss with warmth, till it cast a glow of victory. He stretched out his hand, reaching for a memory, a solid frame to reawaken his senses. And as his hand moved, the red mist faded, growing dull as the sunlight receeded, giving way till it merged into a pool of calmness, the color of tepid tea..."<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>Excerpts from my thoughts after a routine eye exam...</em>air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-5796924672023137812013-09-27T13:05:00.001-04:002013-09-27T13:08:11.683-04:00Le Fart & A RantThe sun's rays filter in through the slightly parted window shades, casting warm glows on the tousled bed sheets. Outside the birds chirp merrily, an occasional high octave tune carried by the waves of the sun-warmed springtime morning breeze. Inside the room, beneath the sheets, she lay snug in the warmth of the niche carved by their intertwined limbs. A soft smile on her lips, her beauty captivating, even while asleep. The tranquility of the moment was ripped apart by the sound of a loud fart <em>braaaaapp brraaaappp</em>! <br />
<br />
<em>"What the hell was that?"</em> She yelled as she scrambled out of the bed in panic.<br />
<br />
<em>"Nothing hun, I just messed",</em> He replied bemused.<br />
<br />
<em>"You just messed? That was a fart?"</em> The look of shock in her eyes and the tinge of disbelief in her voice was as clear as the call to morning prayer on the streets of Maidugiri.<br />
<br />
<em>"Yes o, a belch from the gluteus maximus,"</em> he responded happily For some odd reason an image of Gandalf from Lord of the Rings had just popped up in his head and <em>gluteus maximus</em> sounded rather apt as opposed to '<em>ass</em>'. After all, she started it, who refers to '<em>mess</em>' as '<em>fart</em>' anyway?<br />
<br />
<em>"Come back to bed jor, you are acting like you've never heard someone mess before," </em><br />
But she didn't budge, now the shock in her eyes had given way to a look of suspicion.<br />
<br />
<em>"How come I can't smell anything</em>?" She quipped, her voice quavering a little. <br />
<br />
Puzzled, he sniffed the air, his nostrils twitching and flaring furiously as he sought the tell-tale scent of toxic human gas.<br />
<br />
<em>"Na wah o, see as we are analyzing mess like Sherlock Holmes. Come back to bed boo, it is not that serious. You should be thanking God that the smell is not proportional to the amplitude.", </em>he muttered.<br />
<br />
Slowly she backed away from the bed, her eyes darting around the room like a caged prey. Inwards, her brain was screaming in full panic mode, <em>flee while you have the chance o, this is how Oscar Pistorius killed his fiancee and blamed it on non-existent house burglars!</em><br />
<br />
Her eyes grew with alarm as she saw the bulge beneath the sheet where he lay. Was that the weapon ? To think that she had fallen for this serial killer's charm last night and followed him to his apartment without any suspicion. <em>Chineke, he could have easily killed me while I was overdosed with good sex and sleep</em>. The bastard's eyes were not moving from her right now and he had a glazed maniac expression on his face, the quiet drool of a predator about to pounce, she thought to herself, her panic increasing.<br />
<br />
On the bed, he was licking his lips in his best LL Cool J style impression, his mind aflame with thots. <em>Dayuuum! See how she is backing away to run and dive into my bed,</em> he thought. Beneath the sheets, the tell-tale sign of his charged manhood pushed and strained against the sheet. His eyes glazed over in anticipation as he waited for her, his mind chanting "<em>wa gba control</em>".<br />
<br />
Suddenly the pungent smell of putrified human gas wafted to her nose as her back touched the wall...automatically she switched from being the prey to the predator. "<em>Jizos, how can you be so gross!". </em>Realizing that he had just committed romantic hara-kiri, he sought to maintain his cool and reignite the atmosphere that was rapidly fading, but the pungent smell had hit him too, the bulge beneath the sheet shrivelling faster than the ice peaks of kilimanjaro. Quickly he tried to seize the moment, "<em>I'm not feeling well...</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>To be continued...</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>3 Expressions/Phrases that I DISLIKE</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>1. Turn Up</em><br />
<em>Arguably the most used phrase this year. Blame my dislike for the word on its frequent use by Nigerians on social media. The origin of this expression is unknown, but it rubs my mental vocabulary the wrong way. Turn up at a party, club, wedding, even in church...are you kidding me? How about "Shup UP" and just have fun! Grrrrr...</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>2. Bruv</em><br />
<em>First of all, I don't like being referred to as "Brother X", even in church. I have one biological brother and he doesn't call me "Brother". Now some folks like to take famzing to a higher level, uncertified Brit accent et al, "Whad up bruv"...Seriously? You are Nigerian, you live in Lagos, stop it! </em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>3. Innit</em><br />
<em>I don't even want to get started on this. If you consciously program your mind to use a word because it sounds cool, then it isn't natural, is it? or innit? Some words are best left as they are, and some slangs should never cross the atlantic ocean. "Innit" should not be granted a verbal visa to the shores of Naija.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
Okay my rant is over, you can add yours :)air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-236636507834590202013-09-11T17:56:00.003-04:002013-09-11T17:57:53.081-04:00F-1 ChroniclesHe sat in the shadows, the glass of wine hanging loosely in his hands, the soft sound of Coldplay floating in the room like suspended musical chords. His eyes stared blankly into the distance, seeing nothing yet transfixed by the imagery in his mind. A partially-cooked smile lingered on his face, his eyes glazed and moist as the memories trickled in...<br />
<br />
<br />
Un<br />
"6 years ago, a young naive student stepped off the plane from Naija. He was dressed in his favorite jeans, a thick light-brown sweater his dad had given him and a pair of timbaland boots. He had $5000 cash in his back pocket, money that was to tide him over for the next couple of months. Like every newbie, he believed that he would find a job shortly afterwards and begin the pursuit of the american dream. He spent his first night in his hotel room on the 10th floor, overlooking the Newark skyline, giddy with excitement, watching the stars as they twinkled and whispered their welcome to him..."<br />
<br />
Deux<br />
"A few weeks had gone by, no one told him it would be this hard to get a job on campus. He had filled out countless applications, polished his nigerian accent as best as he could and smiled as hard as he could while dropping off his resume at different offices. The smile felt permanently etched on his face, like a mask that couldn't be washed off. Beneath the smile, he was nervous and worried about the future. The academic work wasn't an issue for him, but his naivety about America being the promised land was gradually wearing off..."<br />
<br />
Trois<br />
"Finally! At last! He heaved a huge sigh of relief as he started his first job, a desk attendant. His Warri friend back in Nigeria had laughed when he told him with pride that he finally got a job. "<em>Na security work u dey do for there</em>?", was the question. He sought for the words to explain that being a desk attendant was different but at that point he didn't care, he would have gladly taken a security gig if they would hire him. The job paid $8.15 an hour for the graveyard shift, all he could hear in his head was the sound of gold coins...ka ching..."<br />
<br />
Quart<br />
"Bros, I'll give you a simple word of advice: Find someone and arrange your papers. You can't make it in this country on an F-1 visa, that was the 'advice' he heard from his fellow africans in diaspora. "<em>Nna men, you gotta do what you gotta do, just arrange the thing sharply, else you go roast for here</em>". He laughed it off, that was not even an option for him. He still remembered when he first went off to Port Harcourt for his undergrad, his father's advice had been : "<em>Biko, don't get any girl pregnant, those Port harcourt and Calabar girls there are very fine o</em>". His mother had retorted angrily "<em>How will he get someone pregnant? He is just a young boy, abi all the bible we have been reading in this house is in vain? Emma ekwu zi na o di ihe a</em> (Emma, stop saying things like that)". So he couldn't imagine himself 'marrying for papers', that was simply impossible. By conventional standards he was pretty intelligent, so getting a job after graduation didn't look like a daunting prospect for him. Moreover, Abraham had a son at age 100, how hard could this possibly be...<br />
<br />
Cinq<br />
"He pulled the tie off his neck in anger. He had spent hours at another frustrating career fair, smiling like a circus monkey, speaking polished English, and handing out his resume to prospective employers. It was all a ritual, they would accept his resume, gush about his excellent grades and qualifications, commend his almost American accent, and then hit him with the common chorus "<em>we'll get back to you.</em>..". But they never got back to him, he looked at the mirror in despair. Maybe it was his skin, but he was fairer than Obama for pete's sake! Or his accent? C'mon, even the Indians thought he was American. So what could it possibly be? After a few minutes, his eyes finally opened. He realized that being referred to as an "<em>International Student or F-1 student</em>" was not a compliment, it was just another fancy term masking the harsh reality of life. He jumped on google and tried to trace the path to making it in the promised land the hard way, the chart read: "F1-H1-Green Card-Citizenship-American Dream". He found it quite funny. "<em>So which dream i dey since</em>?", he wondered to himself.<br />
<br />
<br />
NB: This is dedicated to a special group of people, my Day 1 homiez : G.Sachs a.k.a. Confam Bubbler, Fuji Rockstarz a.k.a. Mushin,Yung Ronaldo, Femo, Babse, Chris Phelps, Fola_Munchen and Remix... We go make am one day!air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-59704583999441216022013-08-27T17:05:00.004-04:002013-08-27T17:05:34.552-04:00April 17<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Las Gidi…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Early in the morning, long before the break of dawn, he tousled and turned
around underneath the sheets, his hands searching for the warmth of his fiancee's body. He murmured sleepily with undisguised contentment as he traced
the outline of her body, his thoughts lost in transition in the oasis between
sleep and dreams. His eyes fluttered open a few seconds after as her voice
tickled his ears, "<i>wake up boo, we have to be at the registry on
time</i>", she said. He pulled her closer to himself, still awed by the
reality of their fast approaching civil marriage; it still felt like a dream.
His suit was neatly hung next to her champagne dress, the attire creating the
illusion of betrothed garments linked by the fabric of love. His tie was red,
the color of passion and he had even picked out a red pair of boxer briefs to
match, not that anyone but her would know, he chuckled mischievously. "<i>Good
morning honey, soon to be Mrs E</i>", he whispered in her ear, the thought of
being introduced as her husband still causing waves of excitement to ripple
through his head. She smiled as she wriggled out of his embrace; his eyes never
leaving her, the rush of flowing water snapped him out of his reverie...<br />
<br />
Bumblebee was waiting for them to get in the car, "<i>biko lets start going
o</i>", she called out. They had agreed to leave the house by 7am and she had
been ready since 6.45, true to fashion, the bride-to-be was still putting
finishing touches on her already perfect makeup. The red brooch she had on
earlier had been replaced by a silver one instead, Bumblebee had picked it out
herself because it matched her outfit better. A few minutes later, she sighed
with relief as the couple hurried out of the house in to the car, the journey
was about to begin...<br />
<br />
He stepped out of the car, adjusting his tie one final time and walked briskly
towards the registry with his bride beside him. They made a striking couple,
even though most of the men clad in black suits had picked a red tie, there was
no disputing who the hottest bride at the registry was. He could feel the eyes
tracking their steps as they stepped into the hall; a cameraman was almost
stumbling over himself as he captured their entrance on video. "<i>Oga come
and write your name here, u be number 20</i>", the registry officer beckoned
to him as they walked in. A few minutes later, he was seated next to his bride
on the wooden bench; waiting for his number to be called...<br />
<br />
1 hour later, he was sweating profusely, the sweat dripping down his face like
teardrops. To the casual observer, he looked like a nervous man, in reality he
was dying and praying for their turn to approach faster. The hall was packed,
some brides were dressed in complete wedding gowns, there were a lot of guests
and family members in support and the icing on the cake was the presence of a
Fuji band of praise-singers who never failed to burst into a rendition of songs
compiled with a newly wedded couple's name once the final vows had been said.
His eyes sought out his bride in the chaos and he saw her smiling and laughing
with a few of her friends who had come for the occasion. She still looked
radiant, unperturbed by the heat. "<i>My wife is a goddess</i>" he hummed
tunelessly under his breath, his eyes never leaving her face. A few minutes
later she noticed his gaze on her and smiled back at him, the sweat still
pouring down his face...<br />
<br />
"<i>Number 18, 19 and 20, couple only</i>”, yelled the registry officer
unceremoniously, beckoning to the approaching couples to come forward. Finally,
it was almost their turn, there was no point trying to freshen up, he was
already soaked with sweat, nevertheless he linked his arm with her's as they
walked inside. He was a bit surprised by how quick the ceremony was conducted.
In his mind, he had envisaged a romantic ceremony, where he would look into her
eyes and promise to love her for the rest of his life. The scene that was
unfolding before him didn't look so romantic. Nevertheless, he was still
excited. A few minutes later, it was their turn. They looked at each other with
excitement as they approached the registry officer, then the ceremony began...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
It happened so fast that if u so much as blinked or closed your eyes to sneeze
you would have missed everything. First of all, the registry officer sounded as
uninterested as Obasanjo watching a Kanye West rap video. He zoomed through the
words faster than a Formula 1 race car, never pausing to catch his breath or
even acknowledge the pleadings of the groom to speak slower. He stumbled over
the vows trying his best to repeat the words correctly. "<i>Did u just say
endow</i>?" He asked quickly, trying hard to keep pace with the staccato burst
of words rushing out of the lips of the registry official, whilst keeping his
gaze on his Bride's lips. The officer seemed not to notice or chose to ignore
him, continuing his quick fire approach. A few seconds later, he mumbled
"now u may kiss ur bride". The couple kissed shyly while their guests
ooohed and aaahd encouragement in the background, the photographer on the other
hand was asking for a longer kiss for better pictures. His pleas fell on deaf
ears, the kiss was over in a heartbeat, the registry official motioned to the
newlywed to sit and then asked slowly in clearly punctuated words, "<i>so Mr
and Mrs E, what do you have for us?</i>"...</div>
air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-6409723461728156782013-06-12T14:47:00.002-04:002013-06-12T14:47:35.448-04:00Marriage DiaryEvolution of a bachelor to a husband<br />
<br />
1. Putting the toilet seat down.<br />
2. Waiting happily for her to finish dressing, while admiring the beauty of God's craftmanship.<br />
3. Waiting for her to pick what she'll wear so that you can coordinate colors.<br />
4. Getting used to saying "my wife said.../meet my wife...". Never knew the word "wife" could taste so sweet.<br />
5. Going to zumba class with Mrs E, as a show of support. (Yes I did, I was the only guy there, lol)<br />
6. Coming home early from work/having someone to come home to.<br />
7. Watching a whole season of "Grey's Anatomy" or some random series with Mrs E instead of watching the NBA finals. Also, heaping insults on Olivia Pope in Scandal, how can she be sleeping with a married man, what rubbish!<br />
8. Missing soccer for a walk in the park. (Wow, never thought that could happen, lol)<br />
9. Taking lunch to work and coming home to a warm meal. My wife is an excellent cook!<br />
10. A "goodbye honey/have a wonderful day" kiss in the morning...<br />
<br />
Marriage is a beautiful thing, maybe the best thing in life.<br />
<br />
No wonder Adam took the apple from Eve without hesitation, I'll would have eaten the whole apple tree for Mrs E.<br />
<br />
<br />
Ruben Studdard (Flying without wings)<br />
<em>"Everybody's looking for that something...</em><br />
<em>One thing that makes it all complete...</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>You'll find it in the strangest places...</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>Places you never knew it could be...</em><br />
<em>Some find it in the face of their children...</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>Some find it in their lover's eyes...</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>Who can deny the joy it brings...</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>When you've found that special thing...</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>You're flying without wings..."</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Coco,<br />
You are the place my life begins, and you'll be where it ends. Te amor!<br />
<br />
air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-6430784101056900562013-05-29T17:21:00.001-04:002013-05-29T17:21:59.571-04:00ChOiCeS<em>I didn't choose the color of skin to be born with,</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>didn't pick the family to be born into,</em><br />
<em>neither did I pick the first school or church to attend,</em><br />
<em>nor pick my siblings, 2 came before me and one after, I never had a say.</em><br />
<em>But time changed everything. </em><br />
<em>As the hands of time moved, I had the opportunity to choose.</em><br />
<em>I picked a major and a university to attend,</em><br />
<em>selected friends, made enemies and savored different music genre. </em><br />
<em>Lived my life the way I wanted within the boundary of my power,</em><br />
<em>fell in love, proposed, and married the woman of my dreams.</em><br />
<em>If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.</em><br />
<em>Life dealt me a good hand...</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I saw a little girl running in the afternoon heat, a pair of tattered flip flops on her feet, held together by strips of rope. She had a rapturous expression on her face, unfazed by the burning heat. She had barely any clothes on save for a pair of old frayed panties. You couldn't tell what color it was, it had aged gracefully but even the fabric couldn't withstand the harsh conditions it had been subjected to. The little girl didn't seem bothered by her near nudity as she ran up to an old woman laboring under the weight of<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>a basket, bursting at the seams with cassava stems. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">The basket was old, very old and worn. You could almost hear it sigh with every step the woman took, the silent complaint of an inmate who had given up on the possibility of parole. Baskets may be inanimate but they groan too, their lifespan wasn't meant to be this tough. The white man coined a term for it,<em>"MTBF: Mean Time Before Failure."</em> The basket had served its time, failed, been patched up, died and resurrected by prodding fingers that wouldn't let it rest peacefully in raffia paradise. But it's plight didn't seem to bother the old woman who had loaded it full with cassava. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">She grinned as the little girl hugged her tightly around the waist, balancing the basket deftly by shifting her feet so the cassava stems wouldn't spill out. The woman's face was weather-beaten, her skin stretched tightly across her face, barely covering her jaunt bones. On closer inspection you could tell that the woman wasn't old at all. Her eyes were still young, but her bones creaked and ached like a rusty machine pummeled by the hardship of a struggle-filled life. The woman's smile revealed a pair of gleaming white teeth in sharp contrast to the dull glow of her skin. The woman had never been to a dentist, toothpaste was a luxury she had never been exposed to. All her life she had relied on her chewing stick and it had never failed her. She looked down at the little girl's hair, trying to decide if it was due for plaiting, her face creased with concentration. The little girl's voice snapped the woman out of her reverie. <em>"Mama, nnoo! Ka m nyere gi aka..."</em> (Mother welcome, let me help you)<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />The little girl didn't pick the family to be born into, life had dealt her a tough hand. Only time would tell the choices she would make...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<em><br /></em>
air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-58311987551520582292013-05-13T11:20:00.001-04:002013-05-14T09:09:45.245-04:00A Tale of 2 Cities...<em>Babel</em><br />
It is rumored that Las Gidi is the city of the gods, positioned not so far from the exact spot that once held the foundations of another fabled city, Babel, a city whose link to fame traces its history to the pages of the Bible. If you remember the story, you would recall that the residents of Babel sought to build a bridge to Heaven, but fell short. A testament to their failure was the vast number of languages that set in afterwards, the harbinger of confusion as their descendants were scattered all over the face of the earth. <br />
<br />
What the historians failed to mention was that the exact coordinates of Babel were never known, but rumor had it that the builders complained of the tremendous heat. It almost felt as if the angels were ironing their heavenly garments, transferring the full brunt of the galactic juice that powered their steam irons to the mortals on earth. The tower had sought to create a hole in the bowels of heaven for man to ascend, in retaliation, the angels had dumped buckets of hot water on their heads. But that remains a myth, for all we know, the residents of Babel were scattered across the face of the earth, each speaking a different language, unified by their stubborn resolve to succeed wherever they went…<br />
<br />
<em>Las Gidi</em><br />
<br />
The young man stood in the middle of the road, clad in a pair of well worn dirty blue jeans and a threadbare t-shirt that had the words <em>"BABEL"</em> emblazoned on it. The sun was relentless, the heat overbearing and intense, the sweat trickled down his face in steady rivulets, tracing a grime path down the side of his oily skin. He yanked the formerly white colored face towel out of his back pocket, and wiped his face furiously. He took a glance at the crumpled cloth, his face grimacing at the dirt stains etched all over the previously pristine white cloth. He sighed deeply and stuffed it back down the throat of his pocket, pulling up his trousers slightly as he did so. There was no reprieve in sight from the heat, so the only viable alternative was to soldier on and bear it, everyone else was in the same boat. He continued his duty of controlling traffic, his mind focused on the wad of notes he would receive from the compassionate motorists.<br />
<br />
People milled about with aimless purpose, footsteps crisscrossing the landscape of the dusty terrain, phones glued to ears like extra appendages, the human traffic akin to the sluggish movement of a centipede. The roads weren't any better, the tranquility of the day had long been murdered by the incessant sounds of blaring horns, frustrated drivers yelling and gesticulating angrily at each other in different languages as they sought to maneuver their vehicles out of tight spots, whilst the poorly maintained cars groaned with the effort of twisting and turning their metallic frames at angles they weren't designed for. <br />
<br />
The potholes belched contentedly as cars sank into them, the jarring impact on the car unabsorbed by the shocks and struts that had long since lasted beyond their expiration date. The jolts were transferred to the passengers cramped up in the back seat of the beat-up commercial vehicle, their complaints muffled by the loud arrhythmic horns blaring in the sun-baked air. The driver wiped his face with a dirty rag that substituted as a handkerchief, his face not betraying any emotion or cognizance of his passengers’ complaint. The taxi driver glanced at his once clean handkerchief which now bore no resemblance to its original color and muttered curses under his breath, "Lagos na wa". <br />
<br />
Up in the skies, the angels kept on ironing their garments, oblivious to the mortals below. Babel or Las Gidi, it made no difference, the cycle rolled on…<br />
<br />air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-63200393073839464972013-05-09T13:30:00.003-04:002013-05-09T13:31:28.099-04:00American Wonder<br />
Chukwuka had never been to the USA before, infact he had never breathed oyibo air before. The closest he had come to travelling 'abroad' was his visit to Ghana and Cotonou, which couldnt be really classified as travelling 'overseas'. It was common knowledge that any flight that lasted less than 2 hours could not be graded as an International flight. But if you heard Chukwuka speak, it would never occur to you that he had a green passport. The fact that he even had a passport was like magic to his friends, a passport was the license to enter plane overseas, that was what they all believed. His regular convo was packed full with American lingua, and it was common to hear him refer to his friends as 'dudes'. "Dude, you gorra be tripping", was his way of questioning your opinion. Most of his friends had no clue what 'tripping' meant, but since Chukwuka was viewed as an 'yankee' boy, they grinned foolishly each time he lapsed into his americana accent. <br />
<br />
What they didn't know was that Chukwuka had burned the proverbial midnight oil studying and learning every single detail there was to know about the US of A. He could sing the American national anthem backwards and could tell you exactly what MLK wore on the day he gave his <em>"I have a dream"</em> speech. His knowledge of american affairs gave him leverage over his peers and everyone assumed that his yankee nature had been acquired from frequent travels abroad. After all, it was well known that Chukwuka vanished regularly for weeks in a year and each time he came back from one of his mysterious trips, he always had a new story to tell. <br />
<br />
<em>"Nah men, I was gone for awhile, I was kicking it with my dudes in the Bronx"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"The Bronx? Is that in America too ?"</em> they would ask.<br />
<br />
<em>"Dude, you gorra be tripping!" </em><br />
<br />
He would point to the tshirt he was wearing, which had BROOKLYN etched on it, and explain how the Bronx was just a stone throw from Brooklyn.<br />
<br />
<em>"Datz where my nigga Jigga grew up!"</em><br />
<br />
This never failed to excite his listeners. Chukwuka was on first name basis with all the celebrities they heard about on TV. Last December, he told them that he had spent his holiday with <em>"Jigga and Bee".</em> To think that a young boy from the village could be rubbing shoulders with the beautiful Beyonce was simply amazing.<br />
<br />
<em>"Nna, did she sing or dance for you?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"I hear her hair is like mammy-water"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Shebi they said her husband is a cultist. Did you hear her praying while you were there?"</em><br />
<br />
At this point Chukwuka would raise his hands and stop the questioning with a <em>"Dude, you gorra be tripping!".</em> A hush would descend on the gathering, and everyone would wait for him to reveal secret details of the lives of Jigga and Bee.<br />
<br />
<em>"Look, you gorra go easy with these questions men, Jigga and Bee are my niggaz, I can't be gossiping about them behind their backs. You gorra be tripping to think I'm gonna do that. Even Kanye doesn't talk about this stuff..."</em><br />
<br />
The eyes of his listeners would bulge at the mention of a new name.<br />
<br />
<em>"Kanye West? E kwu zi na (you don't say!), you saw Kanye West too?"</em><br />
<br />
Then the chorus of voices would clamber over each other<br />
<br />
<em>"Hmmm, that Kanye West sef, is he not a cultist too?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Who is Kanye? Is he from our village? His name sounds like an Igbo name"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"What do you mean? Is Kanye West not friends with D'Banj?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"But D'Banj is one of us, is he not osi-na-nwata-buru-ogaranye-1?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Stop advertising your ignorance my friend, do you think he is a trader's apprentice like you?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"You are the fool. Have you been to America before? Common Lagos, you have not visited"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"I don't blame you, ewu (goat)! Just because you mistakenly travelled to Sagamu, you think you have arrived?"</em><br />
<br />
<em>"Guys, you gorra be tripping! What the fuck! Shit men!"</em><br />
<br />
Chukwuka's angry voice would snap everyone back to reality. Amidst the angry looks being cast around, he would announce that he had to rest, and then escape further questions.<br />
<br />
It never occured to anyone to ask Chukwuka why he always came back to the village after his trips to America. The fact that someone who was friends with Jigga and Bee could sit around with them and play cards was fascinating. They held tightly to their sole link to America and didn't want to risk his anger by asking questions that seemed pointless. After all, when the famous americans came back from the moon, no one asked them how they got there and who they saw. Some questions were best left unasked, for all they cared. All that mattered to them was that they were friends with someone who was on first name terms with <em>Jigga and Bee. </em>Maybe, someday, Chukwuka would invite one of them on his trips, and they too would have stories to tell their mates. American wonder!air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-23206853782049219322013-04-10T15:15:00.002-04:002013-05-07T16:34:53.352-04:00PaCoLiSo...Chapter 8<em>The holdiay had just finished and the new semester was still crawling, classes had not started and students were streaming into campus. The beauty of those early days of the semester was in the gossip, tall tales and extended periods of gist. People exchanged stories of how they had gone to London on vacation and seen the King of England, how they were on the plane and the pilot put the plane in reverse because of turbulence upfront, stories that would make Shakespeare's jaw drop. But it was alot of fun. For the Pacoliso residents, it was a time to catch up.</em><br />
<br />
Samurai had just endured the 9 hour road trip from Abuja to PH via Edoline, and he was looking forward to the new semester. He had spent his holiday relaxing and '<em>gyming'</em> (this was a Naija term for exercise which roughly translated to benchpressing iron and concrete, gyms were non-existent, a bench and 2 concrete slabs was equivalent to a gym), so he was pretty impressed with his physique. To spice up his new Johnny Bravo look, he had invested some of his pocket money in buying 3 brand new BYC vests. "<em>Chicks will notice that I have upgraded from singlet to BYC</em>", he muttered to himself happily. The evening was spent gisting with Shimon and other neighbors (as at this time, Samurai and Shimon had become popular in Pacoliso and their room was the hanging spot). <br />
<br />
Early the next morning, before Oga Sam's turkeys were awake, Samurai rolled out of bed, put on slippers and did a few push-ups. Shimon was awakened by the sound of someone panting with exertion... <br />
<br />
<em>"25, 26, 27..."</em><br />
<em>"Bros, are you okay? Wetin you dey do?"</em>, he asked sleepily.<br />
<em>"29, 30... I dey gym...32"</em>, Samurai muttered between count.<br />
<br />
After a few seconds, the count stopped. "<em>I'm going outside to jog for a few minutes. Since we don't have classes yet, I want to start gyming and jogging to keep fit. Do you want to join?"</em> Samurai asked Shimon, who was still curled up in bed.<br />
<br />
"<em>Gym ke? I don't have any weight to burn. Enjoy yourself</em>", was Shimon's response.<br />
<br />
So Samurai went out and ran from one end of Pacoliso to the other, his flip-flops (slippers) slapping the ground in rhythm while the sweat ran down his body. Since it was the early hours of the morning, the sound of footfalls was an alien intrusion. A few heads peeked out of their windows wondering if there was something amiss. All they could see was a shirtless figure jogging from one end of the compound to the other. As the skies brightened and darkness gave way, a few of the early birds in Pacoliso could make out the face of the lone runner, and the smooth ripple of his muscles as he jogged. After a few minutes of observation, one of the few guys in Pacoliso, <em>Bitterleaf </em>came out of his room and joined Samurai. After about 30minutes, the 2 runners sat down in front of Samurai's room and stretched and gisted. By this time most Pacoliso residents had woken and noticed the 2 well built young men jogging.<br />
<br />
The next day, Samurai came out again like before and started jogging. After 5 minutes <em>Bitterleaf</em> had joined him, 5 minutes later <em>Agbani </em>and <em>Potential BigBoi</em> joined them. This time they all ran 20 laps. Afterwards, they gathered under the tree in front of Samurai's room and began 'gyming', benchpressing concrete.<br />
<br />
<em>Agbani (male)</em> was as skinny as a rake. <em>Potential BigBoi (male)</em> was also skinny. Samurai couldn't figure out why they were jogging, but he was glad for the company. When it came to 'gyming', Agbani and PBB struggled to carry the weights, while Samurai and Bitterleaf offered tips and encouragement. That day, the 4 of them agreed on a detailed exercise regimen: 20 laps of jogging (starting at 6am) and 30 mins of gyming afterwards. <br />
<br />
"Ol boi, some of the estate babes wan join us o, is that okay?" Bitterleaf asked. <br />
<br />
By the 3rd day, there were the 4 guys and then <em>PinkPanther. </em>The routine continued and the number kept increasing. A week later, Samurai was awoken by a buzz of voices, he glanced at his watch and noticed he had overslept, it was 5.10am. He could hear Bitterleaf's voice at his window, <em>"Guy, where you dey, we dey wait you</em>". When he finally made it outside, he froze. There were over 30 people standing outside waiting for him, a good majority of the Pacoliso babes and even faces of visitors. Bitterleaf was buzzing around like an army drill sergeant arranging everyone in a straight line, Potential BigBoi was offering to help a girl named <em>ExcessWaist</em> (she was shaped like Toolz) if she got tired, Agbani's eyes were alight with excitement (fine <em>fine girls wey no dey talk to am before were standing close to him, wearing few clothes, chei, see heaven</em>). For a few seconds, Samurai didn't know what to say, it was evident that they had all been waiting for him. Shimon came outside and started laughing, it was almost like the start of an african marathon, people were jostling for space, adjusting hairnets and scarves, pulling down bum shots. A few people wore running shoes, others rocked flip flops. <br />
<br />
Samurai took a deep breath, walked to the centre of the pack, a hush descended. He spoke:<br />
"<em>We'll jog 20 laps, the first 10 at a slow steady pace, then we'll pick up speed gradually and finish the final lap at a sprint. Don't overdo yourself, try to partner with someone. Afterwards, when everyone has finished, we'll gather here under the tree and..."</em><br />
<br />
He was unsure what to say, he couldn't say gym cos most were girls. So Pink Panther cut in, "<em>the guys can gym, while the girls do aerobics</em>".<br />
<br />
"<em>Which one be aerobics again</em>", Potential Bigboi muttered.<br />
<br />
"<em>You'll wind and stretch your waist and your body</em>", Shakira responded. (<em>Shakira</em> was arguably the best dancer in Pacoliso, and her dance moves were so hypnotic that guys were always caught staring with their jaws on the floor whenever she danced).<br />
<br />
"<em>Okay na, the boiz sef go follow wind waist! Wetin u wan tell press</em>!" PBB retorted joyfully, his mind on fire with the image of Shakira winding waist. All the guys nodded furiously in support, "we go wind waist and do aerobics".<br />
<br />
Samurai continued, "<em>in that case, after we finish jogging, we'll rest for 5 minutes and Shakira will lead the aerobics session for 30 minutes and the guys can gym afterwards</em>".<br />
<br />
There was a general agreement to this proposal. He smiled, happy with his mini-speech. Not knowing how to start off the race, he muttered <em>"Let's run"</em> and trotted off, behind him the rhythm of happy feet followed his lead...<br />
<br />
<br />
NB: The "<em>exercise project</em>" lasted for 2 weeks and fostered great friendships. It was the beginning of a new chapter of friendship at Pacoliso. People came from far to partake and it became a popular hit.The project wasn't sustainable, after 2 weeks classes started and hunger became a factor, so energy had to be conserved.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-45074377763975722112013-03-20T18:02:00.000-04:002013-03-20T18:02:01.647-04:00Olivia Pope & My Oga Hello World...<br />
<br />
So over the past few weeks, the naija social media circle has been on fire with the gist of "<em>Oga at the top</em>". Your boi couldn't resist watching the clip and I laughed till I nearly passed out. After laughing sha, I tried to imagine how I would feel if my father was the dude on TV, then I said to myself "<em>na lie, e no fit happen</em>". I can't categorically call my papa a genius but the man sabi book well, where else did I get my small brain from if not from him and momsi. No be say I dey brag, but my papa used to carry 1st in secondary school, all our fathers were "<em>1st_carriers</em>". Back in those days, no one came second, just 1st. (<em>If your papa didn't come 1st, please let me know</em>) Me sef, I have sworn to tell my kids that I was the brightest student of my time, the matter must be embellished to the highest order.<br />
<br />
But what did I learn from the "<em>my oga at the top</em>" saga? First of all (<em>go down low</em>), the man wasn't prepared. I think that was the key issue, I don't want to say he didn't know his job because we clearly don't know what his job details are. But if you are coming on national TV to refute allegations of job racketeering at your establishment, I believe you ought to do your research pretty well. It is almost like going snowboarding with running shoes. But then, this is naija, where anything goes. Secondly, how in the world did his boss agree to send him to represent NSCDC? Clearly the man lacked PR skills, he was basically setting him up for failure. You don't send an engineer to a business meeting to discuss figures, there's a reason why we have PR fellas and spinners, abi the oga no dey watch "<em>Scandal</em>"? Hire Olivia Pope for goodness sake!<br />
<br />
Lesson 3, if you don't know the answer to something, don't be bullish and act like you know. A simple, "<em>I can't remember right now</em>" would have been better than "<em>I cannot</em> <em>categorically tell you</em>". If you study the clip carefully, you'll see that the guy was trying to buy time but kept stumbling further into the hole he already dug with his first statement. The art of spinning a tale requires that you buy a little time with your first reply. <br />
<br />
Lesson 4, when you are thrown against the wall or thrown to the ground, don't just bounce up immediately and start swinging. Take a moment to catch your breath, else if you jump up right away, your knees will wobble and give way. Especially when the odds are not in your favor, you have to fight smart. The panelists were clearly out to 'expose' the fraud at NSCDC, they were prepared with facts and figures, our oga was not and from the look on the faces of the panelists, <em>'dem wan finish the guy'. </em>Our oga's brash display of aggression (a la <em>waiteee wait...), </em>only served to anger the panelists more. So once they sensed blood, they went for the kill. Let's replace our oga with Olivia Pope and see what would have happened:<br />
<br />
<em>Q: What is the website of NSCDC ?</em><br />
<em>A: I can't remember right now.</em><em><br /></em><br />
<em>Q: Are you saying you can't remember or you don't know?</em><br />
<em>A: I never said I didn't know it, I just can't remember it right now. </em><br />
<em>Q: Is it that complex to memorize?</em><br />
<em>A: Like I said earlier, I can't remember it and I don't want to give you an incorrect answer. I don't memorize website addresses for a living. Do you know the official website of the Federal Republic of Nigeria? I'm sure there's one and you should know it because you are a Nigerian</em>.<br />
<br />
<em></em>Sadly, our protagonist and icon of comic relief has been thrown to the dogs. I hear he was suspended, tough luck. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to make any excuses for him, but the truth is that there is a gross lack of professionalism that is almost a '<em>standard</em>' for Naija. I won't say the culture applies only to the civil service, because there are also folks in the private sector who dress sharp but have weightless skulls because of the lack of brain matter. Knowledge is no more a virtue people yearn for, swag and effizi have replaced that. At least the older generation can blame their non-exposure to the internet as a reason for their inadequacies, but what excuse will the present generation give? Shebi we'll all tell our kids <em>"I used to carry 1st when I was your age".</em><br />
<br />
<br />
Trust Naija people to make videos and even t-shirts to 'celebrate' another man's mistake. The speed with which a single faux-pas goes viral is alarming. As in, you can fart in the elevator in Vegas and the gist will be in Yaba within 3 hours (<em>that's faster than an Arik flight o</em>). I hope everyone learnt a little lesson from the whole escapade. As for me, I sharply logged on to my company's website and memorized every single detail of the company profile. You can't catch me slipping, abi are you a learner?<br />
<br />
I have one final question for anyone who follows "<em>Scandal". </em>Is Olivia Pope good, bad, stupid, wicked, unfortunate or just a triffling side chick? Because I can't seem to 'place' her. I mean she comes across as strong, independent and a justice league defender, yet she be tearing up the sheets with Fitz (who is just a complete ass in my opinion). I'm curious to know what women think of her. Feel free to comment.<br />
air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-14339033352612894862013-02-08T19:45:00.004-05:002013-02-21T17:47:31.919-05:002013Fort Wayne, Indiana<br />
<br />
Ages since my hands dabbled with the pen or since I inked the thoughts of my mind with letters. Alas, the hands of time have spun out of control, the seconds clambering over each other in haste to form minutes and then hours. Whither has the first month gone? 31 days, vanished like thoughts that never existed. Glancing back over my shoulder, I can't seem to track the beginning of the year or how we got to February. The mystery of the passage of time still remains unresolved, like the blackout on Superbowl Sunday. Permit my mind to drift, what really happened to the power? Surely, the rigorous gyrations of Beyonce's waist couldn't have triggered a power cut. Considering the coincidental nature of SanFran's non-existence play and the timing of the power cut, I'm tempted to believe that voodoo may have been a factor, New Orleans does have its history. Or better still, the Government was trying to make budget cuts and power happened to be in lower standing compared to Defence spending.<br />
<br />
Considering that 2013 is speeding along like a roller coaster, I'm a bit behind on targets and plans for the year. But that's the funny thing about life, we get so carried away by the rhythm of living that we forget our dreams. I stumbled on a video online that has unconsciously given me the spark I need for this year. One particular phrase caught my attention, "sometimes in life, sight can be a distraction...you have to be blind, in order to be focused". That has been the bane of man's existence, time management. This year, my plan is to do a few things differently, no more flowing with the tide of life. Every man has to pause at a point in his life and re-evaluate and assess himself. We all need to ask a few inward questions: What are the things that matter most to me ?(Health, Family, Career...) Then we need to figure out how much of our current time we devote to those key areas we have identified. If you discover that you are not spending quality time on the things you consider most important, then there has to be a change.<br />
This year, the dream is to be focused, no more excuses for failure. 2013 starts today, Happy New Year (belated)<br />
<br />
<br />
A big shout out to all readers of this blog.air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-71441093282761210392012-12-31T15:11:00.001-05:002012-12-31T15:24:53.633-05:009JA Part 2<em><strong>Port Harcourt</strong></em><br />
Port Harcourt hasn't changed since I last saw it, the roads were still as bumpy as hell and all the regular landmarks were there. The traffic however has worsened a million times over to the point of serious frustration. I shared driving responsibilities with Coco, I did end up scratching the car on an eventful day. Not that it was completely my fault, the other fella cut into my lane and apparently I was supposed to be <em>'aggressive'</em>. My mind was still processing <em>'road rules'</em> et al. The truth is simple, to survive on Nigerian roads, you must throw all rules out of the window. I won't reveal all the highlights of the PH trip here, let's just say I came single and didn't leave the same way, lol. <br />
<br />
However I'll drop a few other highlights. <br />
<br />
Coco was bemused by my <em>'habit'</em> of tipping people for <em>'doing their jobs'</em>, lol. The hotel I stayed in was pretty nice, except that it took 5minutes to open the door with a key. It was a funny cycle that transpired through out my stay at the hotel. I would complain that I couldn't open my door, the concierge would beam a smile at me and send a porter to assist in opening the door, then the porter would wrestle with the door knob and keys for 5minutes, sweating profusely in the process, eventually the stubborn door would open and I'ld gladly tip him for his efforts, the porter's face would light up with a big smile and after firing off several <em>"thank you Oga"</em> greetings to my embarrasment, I finally gain entrance to my room.<br />
<br />
I went to watch the new Twilight flick with Coco. Now you have to understand that I'm not a Twilight fan, and I haven't even watched any of the previous Twilight movies but a man's gotta stick his by his wifey, lol. The movie wasn't all that bad, I wasn't in Team Edward or Jacob, but I was amazed at how excited people were in the cinema. As in, people were so <em>'involved'</em> in the movie that some clapped during the action scenes and even yelled encouragement to the actors, "<em>Kill am well well, he go die today o". </em>It was hilarious to observe but I did enjoy the experience. I remember watching movies/soap operas in 9ja as a kid and believing that the villains were really wicked people, lol. There was no seperation between the character and the real person, so I could identify with <em>"he go die today o".</em><br />
<br />
After 4 nights in PH, our next stop was Las Gidi. We turned quite a few heads at the airport (<em>permit me to brag small, we are a beautiful couple, thanks to wifey</em>) and the flight was uneventful. No stress, till we got to Lagos...<br />
<br />
<br />
<em><strong>Las Gidi</strong></em><br />
How do I begin? The flight from PH to Lagos took 45 minutes, but it took us over 2 hours to drive from the airport to Lekki. Bear in mind that our taxi driver was a seasoned professional who could navigate all the backroads to avoid traffic and it wasn't rush hour, yet it was crazy. Las Gidi keeps transforming every hour, tis pretty hard to recognize the city I grew up and schooled in. There are still alot of landmarks from the past but there are a thousand new buildings I could barely recognize. I still recall the days when Lekki was like the wastelands, just sand and no buildings, back in 1996 when Abacha-stove was popular and baggy jeans were still in fashion.<br />
<br />
We drove by LOP (Land of Plenty) and memories of secondary school and boarding house came flooding back. Even Bar Beach looks transformed, as if it has received a super anointing to deliver it from the evils of the red light district (if you lived in VI back in the late 90s then you would understand what I mean). "<em>The Palms</em>" in Lekki seems to be the rendezvous point for oppressing thy neighbor. We ran into an overdressed young woman who was happily '<em>posing</em>' and taking pictures in front of different stores at the mall, oblivious to the people walking by. I exchanged a hidden glance/smile with Coco, "<em>fresh from the village</em>" we thought, lol (<em>biko, don't judge</em>). A few minutes later, the young chic walked by us again and as she passed we heard her say <em>"chai, my leg dey pain me". </em>Las Gidi effizi is on a different level o, I must admit that I was impressed by the '<em>style</em>' on display, as in <em>color blocking and color combination toh badt</em>! Sunday service was at TPH, and the choir/singing was fantastic, best I've heard in years.<br />
<br />
We eventually bid Las Gidi goodbye and prepared for the last leg of our journey to Abuja. That was when the <em>kasala </em>started. First of all, our cab ride from Lekki to the airport wasn't so comfortable. Considering the heat in Gidi, having a car with a functional AC is a necessity, so we didn't mind paying good money for a cab with a decent working AC. We never waka reach 5 minutes before traffic hook us, the AC wey bin dey blow cold before o begin blow very hot air. At first we suffered in silence for over 20 minutes, then Coco asked the cab driver if he was sure his AC was working and his response nearly scrambled my brain cells: "<em>When the sun dey shine, the AC dey normally blow hot, na because of the sun</em>". I won't lie, I did a mental review of thermodynamics and heat flow in my head just to be sure that I heard him right, my final conclusion was that either our driver was suffering from heat induced dementia or that the laws of thermodynamics were different in Nigeria! We got to the airport and the drama still wasn't over...<br />
<br />
<strong><em>Abuja</em></strong><br />
Our flight was delayed by a few hours and when we finally boarded, the plane was filled to capacity. The flight was pretty smooth and everything was peaches and cream till we landed in Abj. First of all, this idea of getting off the plane straight onto the tarmac is not ideal, coupled with the fact that you have to identify your luggage before you board the plane. Anyway, we stood by the luggage conveyor belt inside the arrival area of the airport, waiting for our bags to show and 45 minutes later we still never see am. By then 3 other airlines had landed and the passengers picked up their bags and left while none of the passengers on the flight I arrived with had received their bags. Till today, I still don't understand why I stood patiently staring at the conveyor belt, maybe because I was lost in the fragrance of Coco's perfume or because I had faith in our airline system since our plane didn't crash, but we did stand there for 45 minutes sha staring at the belt repeat its 360 degrees cycle. Finally my eye cleared (or I think Coco moved, so I was released from the spell of the daydream), and I noticed that all the passengers on our flight were still standing and waiting for their luggage. <em>Could it be that...? Nah, impossible! How could that happen, u follow what I'm thinking ba?</em><br />
<br />
Anyway, we went looking for an Aero contractor official to find our luggage and ran into a very angry yoruba man clad in native wear, accompanied by a tall, dark and serene looking Igbo gentleman (<em>he looked like a Chinedu, don't ask me why, I just know</em>). The Igbo guy looked so peaceful and calm (I<em> almost thought he was high on bitterleaf or ugu</em>) while the other man kept yelling at him with rage. I moved a little closer to Coco to shield her (<em>as a knight, I no want make anybody kolo near my wifey biko, I never pay</em>) as we approached the pair and the scene below played out:<br />
<br />
<em>Warning: The dialogue below is written as it transpired, with the grammatical inflections used by the speakers</em><br />
<br />
Angry Yoruba man (yelling): <em>Can you imagine! Can you imagine! You must be mad!</em><br />
<br />
Calm Igbo saint: <em>Silence...staring into space.</em><br />
<br />
Me to St Igbo (who apparently had a tag identifying him as an Airport rep): <em>Excuse me sir, but we've been waiting for our bags for a long time and they still havent showed up.</em>(2 things to point out: I used my pseudo yankee accent, apparently if you want to get things done quickly with maximum respect, the yankee accent helps. Secondly, I used the word 'bags', big grammar confuses alot of people. I once asked for my '<em>baggage</em>' and the person thought I was asking for '<em>garbage</em>')<br />
<br />
Angry Yoruba man (still yelling and trying to get Coco's attention):<em> Can you imagine! He left it behind!</em><br />
<br />
St Igbo(with that same peaceful look): <em>Well, I am the Aero official here and I'm responsible for your safety. First of all, I just want to thank the Lord that you arrived safely...</em><br />
<br />
Coco cuts in quickly..."<em>what happened to our bags?"</em><br />
I'm listening attentively and wondering why St Igbo is so thankful that we arrived safely, was the plane supposed to have crashed?<br />
<br />
St Igbo (continuing without looking ruffled): <em>Yes, the plane was filled to maximum capacity and because of safety we left the bags in Lagos.</em><br />
<br />
Me: <em>I'm sorry, I don't understand.</em><br />
<br />
Angry Yoruba man: <em>Can you imagine! You are not serious o, what do you mean by that!!!</em><br />
<br />
St Igbo (still in that same calm voice, it was hypnotic, wallahi): <em>I'm responsible for your safety (this dude wasn't even on the plane), and they just filled the plane with full tank of fuel, so it would have been overweight if we carried the bags. Your bags will arrive on the next flight.</em><br />
<br />
Coco (her beautiful eyes wide open in surprise): <em>Isn't the plane designed to fly with full capacity? So how are you sure that our bags will arrive on the next flight? What if the next plane has a full tank as well?</em><br />
<br />
St Igbo: <em>It is simple arithmethic.</em><br />
Till today I don't understand how that answered the question, there has to be something to the arithmetic that only he understood.<br />
<br />
Angry Yoruba man: <em>Can you imagine!!! Nonsense, where is your manager!</em><br />
By this time, a crowd of angry passengers had gathered round and as the information spread that our bags were still chilling in Lagos while we were in Abuja, the anger level rose rapidly and voices climbed to the ceiling.<br />
<br />
St Igbo (still as unruffled as ever): <em>First of all, I want to thank the Lord that you arrived safely..</em>.(dude was repeating his soundtrack all over again, and he finished with..."<em>It is simple arithmetic"</em>)<br />
<br />
Me (as naive as the white man in Things fall Apart): <em>So what about compensation? We'll get some form of compensation, right?</em><br />
<br />
A number of faces in the crowd turned and looked at me, some with the <em>"eeeiyaaa, poor ignorant foreigner"</em> look, others with the <em>"what is compensation?"</em> look...<br />
<br />
St Igbo(calmly repeating his arithmetic soundtrack over and over)...<br />
<br />
Me: <em>What about compensation? Some one has to compensate us, that's the procedure right?</em><br />
<br />
Finally someone in the crowd responded: <em>"Ol boi, na 9ja you dey o, here no be America o"</em><br />
<br />
My accent changed immediately and I joined the angry crowd...<em>"Can you imgine!!!"</em><br />
<br />
<br />
NB: This will probably be my last post for the year. 2012 was wonderful, and 2013 promises to be even better. I'm thankful for my family and friends, life and every little blessing it brings. Big shout out to my blog followers/readers, y'all rock. Most important, I'm thankful for my fiancee, Coco, 2012 was special just because of you, te amor! To everyone, my parting words for 2012 are: Count your blessings, be thankful for everything and show a little more love in 2013, be a shining light for love, hope and joy in your own little sphere of influence. See you all in 2013...<br />
<br />
As for the Mayans, <em>"una no well o, film no dey finish till actor kill the bad guy". Una prediction don enter "To be continued"</em>air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-13598348986579139462012-12-11T11:19:00.003-05:002012-12-11T11:19:38.176-05:00Street Credibility...I was watching an AY comedy skit yesterday night and couldn't stop laughing. Our 9ja people are really creative and they deserve alot of kudos for the progress in the entertainment industry. I must admit that I'm not a fan of Nigerian movies. I rarely watch them, maybe once in 5 years, but I'm a big fan of naija music, yes o! Anyway, I was watching a few flicks on Youtube and in one of them, people were asked to say the proper English translations for some phrases in pidgin English. For example, what is the proper English translation for <em>"which kain mago mago be this?"</em><br />
<br />
It was hilarious to watch people stumbling over synonyms for <em>"mago mago". </em>In most cases the first synonyms that came to mind were other pidgin English phrases like "<em>wuru wuru", "wayo", "corner corner".</em> After running through a couple of them, a few smart fellas were able to stumble on the proper translation: <em>"what kind of trickery/fraudulent behavior is this?".</em> Prior to my sojourn in the Garden City (<em>PH! stand up!),</em> my pidgin English was pretty much suspect and non-existent. I have to confess that Las Gidi pidgin is a bit too polished compared to the south side pidgin, lol. Ever listened to a fluid pidgin English conversation between 2 Warri fellas? Two words to describe it, Auto-tune! The natural voice inflexions and exclamations run the gamut from outrageous to sheer magic. <em>Shooooo!!!</em><br />
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It got me thinking though, Nigerians are really smart people. Our brains process both English and pidgin so smoothly that the transition is almost imperceptible. For instance, I'll translate the first paragraph of this blog in to pidgin without pausing to think:<br />
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<em>"I bin dey watch one AY comedy like that for nite and laff bin wan kpai me. Our 9ja people too sharp and dem suppose to dey collect better award bcos our show too make sense. I no go lie you, I no too dey send Naija film sha, I no dey even look am, kpata kpata once in 5yrs, but I dey feel naija jams, confam! Anyway sha, I bin dey watch some shows like that for Internet and dem bin ask some people make dem talk the oyibo word for some pidgin yarns. Okay make I ask you, wetin this word "</em>what kind of foolery is this"<em> mean?</em><br />
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That barely took 3 minutes, phew! I don't think I got all the words right, but you do get my drift abi? So let's see if I can put the street credibility of my blog readers to the test, lol. This isn't an IQ test, but you can gauge how advanced your pidgin is by taking the test below. I'll throw out a few pidgin words and you can try to translate it to proper (<em>Queen's not Brooklyn Queens o!</em>) English. In the spirit of Christmas, the first person to correctly translate everything/(or the most) will get a $50/25 gift card of their choice. For those outside the US, I guess we can monetize the award as well. <br />
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Season's greetings everyone!<br />
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A lil tip, some of the words are phrases/slangs/proverbs. Translating them to Queen's English implies a literal translation as well as an explanation. Give it your best shot, trust me, it aint easy at all, lol.<br />
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<em>1. Nah today winsh begin fly?</em><br />
<em>2. You fat no mean say you dey enjoi.</em><br />
<em>3. No be the mouth wey pesin dey take price pepper dem dey use price tomato.</em><br />
<em>4. Na from clap party dey take enter dance.</em><br />
<em>5. Bros, I bow for you o! Unto which level?</em><br />
<em>6. Why you dey provoke, dem dey worry you?</em><br />
<em>7. Bros abeg park well, you too dey show yourself!</em><br />
<em>8. Guy free me, I no fit shout!</em><br />
<em>9. My liver bin wan fail me, wetin I for tell Press?</em><br />
<em>10. Abeg, no dey shout give me!</em><br />
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<br />
air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-77613243531288077962012-12-05T15:03:00.001-05:002012-12-05T15:03:14.539-05:00The Adam & Eve series: Random observationsOkay, I could not settle on an apt description for many reasons. I am not a psychologist, so I can't offer advice and tell you exactly how men or women think. I'm not married (yet), so I can't offer you marriage tips or relationship advice either. I try to learn as much as I can to get better, sometimes it gets a little blurry trying to filter through all the info. However, I've observed a few traits over the years and I'm trying to reconcile it with my behavior (I'm not your 'regular' dude, lol. I can be unconventional most of the time). Feel free to offer your perspective/critique to any points raised.<br />
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Random observations:<br />
<em>1. Most men are logical thinkers, most women are emotional thinkers</em><br />
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Note the emphasis on 'most', there are always exceptions to every rule. In order not to sound repetitive, when I say 'men/women', I'm actually referring to 'most men/women'<br />
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The way men and women are wired is different, I don't think you need a shrink to tell you that. When I say 'logical', I don't mean Socrates or Plato. Simply put, a man's thinking is ruled by figures, facts and numbers. There is barely any room for romanticism in thought, emotions are sacrificed on the altar of practicality and feasibility. Women on the other hand often yield to the allure of dreams. The funny thing I've observed however is that beneath all the emotions, women are equally logical, they explore the figures, numbers and facts but sprinkle in a little measure of dreams and extra imagination. <br />
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<em>Let me paint a little picture for you, when a man thinks/plans his wedding, all he visualizes is the budget and logistics involved and sometimes life afterwards. There's no room for anything else. A woman 'dreams' about her wedding years before it approaches, so when she eventually starts planning for it, she considers the logical aspect, but she just doesn't abandon years of dreaming overnight, so dreams and logic/practicality merge till she tries to find a balance</em>. <br />
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Why is this important? Simple, it can lead to a misunderstanding. The man thinks his wife isn't being practical and basically 'ignores' her dreams. The woman thinks her husband isn't being understanding, after all, refusing to even consider what she wants (no matter how illogical it may sound) indicates that he doesn't care about her opinion. Which raises one question, does it mean men are not emotional? Let's tackle observation number 2a and 2b.<br />
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<em>2a. Men have short memories, women don't</em><br />
<em>2b. Women like to discuss issues, men don't.</em><br />
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Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that women like to talk and men are meek gentle creatures, lol. So a man and his wife have a simple misunderstanding, maybe a heated argument or just a difference in opinion or unresolved topic. Egos may have been bruised, voices raised, emotions and feelings hurt by careless words thrown around in the heat of the argument. Hours later, the man asks the woman if everything is okay and she says those golden words "<em>I'm fine, there's no problem</em>". The man in his naivety (lol) goes about life, oblivious to the storm (or in some cases, he chooses not to push). The truth is simple, when a woman's feelings have been hurt, she doesn't just forget it, she needs to 'discuss' it. Maybe it is because women are emotional, who knows? A man's mind is structured in compartments, men box up their emotions pretty quickly and forget about it, 30 minutes after the argument, the man barely remembers. Now don't get it twisted, men feel hurt too but it lasts for the duration of the argument. That's why you probably don't hear that 2 men have been quarreling for days, it is normally settled immediately. But when a woman's emotions are hurt, she bleeds slowly. <br />
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Then it gets worse, the man observes that the woman is acting different, and just because she says "<em>I'm fine</em>", he doesn't say a word. Don't blame the man sha, most men take words very literally, if you tell a man you are fine, then you are fine, that's logical, go back to point number 1. So the man notices that the woman isn't smiling or happy, but because her words imply that she is ok, he ignores his emotional heart and follows his logical head (lol, ego and pride). So when the woman eventually tells the man, "<em>we have to talk</em>", and raises the issue all over again, the man gets defensive, the woman feels unheard, the man feels misunderstood and the story continues...<br />
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<em>"Tony and Cynthia just had a misunderstanding while discussing their future wedding. Tony feels Cynthia is not being practical with her expectations, Cynthia feels Tony isn't listening to her opinions.</em><br />
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<em>2 hours later:</em><br />
<em>Tony: Is everthing alright?</em><br />
<em>Cynthia: I'm fine.</em><br />
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<em>6 hours later:</em><br />
<em>Cynthia: We need to talk about this wedding</em><br />
<em>Tony: Shebi, you said you were okay?</em><br />
<em>Cynthia: Do I look like I'm happy?</em><br />
<em>Tony: How am I supposed to know?</em><br />
<em>Cynthia: If you need to be told all the time, then I'm not going to tell you, sometimes you need to push</em><br />
<em>Tony: Do I look like a mind reader?</em><br />
The saga continues...(Why does "<em>Sorry</em>" seem to be the hardest word?)<br />
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One of the key ingredients of a healthy relationship is excellent communication. I don't subscribe to the "<em>Think like a man</em>" mentality ( no disrespect to Steve Harvey), not all men think the same way. Sometimes all you need to do is to change your approach based on the person you are talking to. When you talk to a child, you normally show alot of patience and understanding, why does it have to be different when you are talking to your spouse? The key word is '<em>understanding</em>' before communication, understand that people think differently, that's what makes us unique. <br />
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Sadly, the reason why most relationships collapse is because of poor/zero communication, eventually the love goes cold. Communication is a 2-way street, you speak and then you listen, there's never a quick-fire solution or perfect script. I have to admit that men don't communicate as well as women (hides face) and women are more romantic than men, I really don't know why, lol.<br />
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Anyway, that's my 2 cents for today. Let me know what you think.<br />
<br />
<em>To my teacher and partner</em><br />
<em>Te amor, Olivia Bubble</em><br />
B.S.S.Cair-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-79625997888575504252012-12-05T13:15:00.002-05:002012-12-07T16:57:25.852-05:009JA Part 1<em><strong>Abuja</strong></em><br />
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Boarding the plane was the easy part, sitting down for the long flight was the tricky section of the trip. I braced myself for the recurring session of vertigo during the flight, then navigated through the flight entertainment section (my choice was a japanese flick, it perfectly suited my current craze with Asian art and culture), managed to wolf down the food while counting down the hours till touchdown in Abuja. There's nothing as good as coming back home, in my head I was whispering a P.Diddy tune as my eyes scanned the Abuja skyline during our descent. The heat welcomed me with a warm embrace, the air dry with a hint of dust...Good ol Abj, how I've missed thee...One of the customs officials beamed with pleasure as I approached, "<em>Welcome oga! I hope your flight was okay sir</em>! <em>Oga you are looking very healthy o!"</em> I couldn't help but tip him generously, imagine a small boy like me being hailed as "<em>Oga</em>", lol.<br />
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So much has changed! I held on tight to my seat as Ragfella navigated through the mild traffic with the ease of a Formula 1 driver. I just could'nt figure out why the roads did'nt have any lanes, all the cars switched and cut in like it was a video game! When I voiced my surprise at the blatant disregard of driving rules, Ragfella laughed and reminded me that I was back in Naija, "<em>no be Yankee you dey o</em>", he jokingly reminded me. Considering the fact that I had only been away from the country for 5years, I still felt out of synch with the status quo. "<em>Surely, I'll blend in within a few hours</em>", I muttered to myself...<br />
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The welcome entourage at home was wonderful. Kyla peered at me from behind her mother's legs, while Robyn smiled and beamed like an angel. After exchanging hugs with Wiggy, El-dee and Boi-O, we all lapsed into our favorite past-time, "<em>gisting</em>". As expected, there was no light from NEPA, but the little generator hummed happily in the background providing all the illumination we needed. A few hours later, I was in bed, happy and content after chatting with Coco, and dreaming of the days to come. I had a pretty tight schedule with stops in Port Harcourt, Lagos and a return to Abuja before the final departure to Jersey, so there wasn't any time to be wasted...<br />
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<strong><em>Port Harcourt</em></strong><br />
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The flight to PH was pretty smooth, nevertheless I was bemused by the phony accents of the flight attendants. I simply can't understand why we have to fake an accent to feel polished/classy, what is wrong with our natural accent? I could barely understand a word of what the flight attendant was saying, I couldnt tell if she was talking with her nose pinched tight or if she was suffering from constipation, but the final effect was hilarious. <br />
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The PH airport looks like something out of an 80's movie set in Brazil, definitely not classy, lol. The bland look of the airport was quickly forgotten when I saw Coco approaching...You know that feeling when your heart skips a beat, and everything around you grinds to a halt, when it feels like you are floating in a dream and the only thing you can see is the beautiful woman walking towards you in slow motion...Chai! I've run out of words to paint how beautiful Coco is, a few people gaped, scoped and stared as she made her way towards the arrival area, her eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face, oblivious to her own beauty...We finally locked eyes, a warm smile lit up her face, my heart flipped over a few times in excitement and when she walked into my arms, I knew I was finally home...<br />
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<em>To be continued...</em><br />
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NB: To all my blog readers, abeg no vex, just like D'Banj said, "<em>love is a beautiful thing</em>", listen to P-Square's "<em>Asamkpokoto</em>" and you'll understand that when a man is ready to trek to Sokoto or PH to see a woman, then she is priceless! Meanwhile, when I was hugging Coco, you need to have seen the looks of envy some guys were passing my way (I feel their pain sha, if I was in their shoes I would have felt the same way), while some other people had this "<em>abeg, comot for road jare</em>" look on their face (awon haters, lol). I'll talk about the "<em>hidden anger/bad belle/frustration</em>" shown by some Nigerians in a future blogair-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-89325673593998760172012-11-08T20:51:00.005-05:002012-11-08T20:56:56.837-05:00Untitled ReflectionsQuebec...<br />
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Hola world! Tis been ages since I scribbled a few words, alot has happened since I blogged. In no particular order, I'll run through the random list of 'interesting' things that took place since I last wrote:<br />
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I finally moved outta Brick City to Parsippany. Twas time to move, dunno how to explain it but you get to a point where you just realize that you have to turn a new page. Parsippany feels fresh, the location is exquisite and I'll be discovering the neighborhood in the next few days. Furnishing/decorating the house was an interesting and wallet breaking experience, I think I could make a living as an abstract interior decorator. Big shout out to Coco who came up with half of the ideas, just couldn't seem to make up my mind, she always had the final word.<br />
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I finally watched one presidential debate and laughed my head off (LMHO) as Razaq Amabo went in on that dude Romney, horses and bayonets style. I kinda felt bad for poor Mitt, people just don't like him, how do you fight that?<br />
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There was a final party hosted @ mi casa in Perez, twas epic. The bartender was tipsy, so I had to substitute as part host and bartender, DJ Yoossouph was on fire and the party rocked so hard till the cops came knocking. I got $60 in tips as a bartender (not bad but someone hijacked the money, my tequilla and sweetened lime juice combo was wicked), Team HQ represented in full force and there was a whole pitcher of customed brewed flavor a.k.a. "The Awesomeness" courtesy of HQ's own Swag King. The po-po eventually shut the party down and people refused to leave, lol, epic night.<br />
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Hurricane Sandy came and wrecked havoc on Jersey. Yours sincerely survived it (thanks for all the prayers and to everyone who called/sent messages). The worst of the storm for me was losing power for 24 hours while stuck @ the old crib in Newark. Unfortunately we didnt have candles or battery powered torchlights, we had iPhone and iPad powered torch apps which eventually ran out of power. I queued for gas for 4 hours and at a point in time I actually thought I was back in Lagos of 2000. Flooding, no power, long gas queues, frustrated people, all that was missing in order to complete the picture was Gala vendors sprinting on the road.<br />
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Razaq Amabo won the US election, I didnt bother following the results this time around, unlike in 2008 when I was delirious with joy. I guess I wasn't buying into the hype of change much more or maybe it was because I was in Quebec trying to explain in my best possible french to the waiter <em>"Je n'ai pas Canadien dollars ici, tres desole!".</em> Anyway, I pray for Mr President, the world needs a stable American economy for progress everywhere else. I kinda feel sad sha, because Mr Romney promised that green cards and passports would be shared at Shoprite and Pathmark if he won (don't quote me o, na wetin dem talk).<br />
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I bought the James Clavell asian book collection (yipee). I've read 3 of the books before, many years ago but I just wanted to have it. I rediscovered Asa's music, been jamming it here in Quebec, part of the french spirit. This winter looks like it's going to be wicked, freezing cold here in Canada (status quo). <br />
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My birthday is roughly 6 weeks away, I'll be turning 29. Maybe I should start drawing up my wishlist: Olivia Bubble, BMW 7 series, A Sony PlayStation 3, iHome Speakers, a return ticket to Paradise, Iya Ronke rice, Champions League trophy for Arsenal and 20gallons of gas (if the queues persist till December!). That's my wishlist for now, don't judge me, I'm a dreamer. <br />
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Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things. No good thing ever dies...<br />
<em>"Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption" by Stephen King.</em><br />
<br />air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1023281501553824235.post-8659370563579422642012-10-04T15:42:00.001-04:002012-10-04T15:49:42.913-04:00Satires & Dreams: The Debate (Part 1)5...4...3...2...1<br />
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The moderator cleared his throat noisily, adjusted his bow-time, patted down his well-kept afro and repositioned his geeky spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. <em>"My swagga dey too gbaski"</em>, he hummed to himself. Noticing that the studio felt rather 'quiet', he looked up and mumbled, <em>"Emmm...Are we on air".</em> The frantic gestures of the camera man snapped him back to reality, he switched on his Denzel Washington mega watt smile, replacing the smirk he had on his face while switching to his polished Channel O accent...<br />
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<em>"Good evening ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the show and thanks for tuning into this year's presidential debate. Let me remind you that this is the final chapter in our debate series, previously we had gathered all the opposition party leaders to debate and you our faithful viewers picked the winner to challenge our beloved President. We move at the speed of light so without any hesitation allow me to introduce our first contestant..."</em><br />
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Moderator flashes another Denzel smile, shuffles a few papers on his table and reads off the accomplishments rapidly...<br />
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<em>"The leader of the opposition party is a fire-brigade, well-spoken, Havard educated young man with a vision to restore the economy of our country to the standard our colonialists envisioned. He is the last man standing from the previous debates and I can tell that he is fired up and roaring to go. Please welcome Mr Razaq Amabo..."</em><br />
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Cameras pan to an immaculately dressed young man in a 2 piece double breasted black suit, he flashed a smile and waved as he assumed his place at the podium.<br />
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<em>" And finally, the man we have been waiting for, the one and only, most learned, most respected, ever vigilant, ever active, ever progressive, most loving President in the world. He doesn't need any introduction, he has walked into our hearts navigating from a boy born with no shoes to a man in Louis V, please join me as we stand and welcome our leader, President Joe-Swagga Lucky..."</em><br />
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Cameras pan to the President as he walks on stage, flanked by 4 mean looking samurai-type bodyguards. The President is dressed in a dark colored french suit and as he walks majestically to the podium, the moderator prostrates flat on the ground in greeting, smiling and mumbling <em>"good evening sir"</em> repeatedly. Razaq Amabo looks at the spectacle before him in mild bewilderment and disgust and shakes his head. <br />
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After the commotion had died down, the moderator now back to his normal charming self, launches into the rules of the debate. The opposition party leader must answer each question first, he says and then the President follows up with his answer. Razaq objected at the unfairness of the rules since it favored the President, but he was hushed by one of the samurai bodyguards who glared at him. President Joe-Swagga was relaxed all through, beaming smiles at the camera, <em>"go on my boy",</em> he said to the moderator.<br />
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Then the debate started:<br />
<strong>Question 1: How do you propose to fix the economy</strong><br />
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Razaq Amabo: <em>Let me be clear, we'll start by trimming the federal expenditure and cutting down the budget and expenses going down the drain in supporting our bloated government officials. We have to tackle this issue from the root, we can't create jobs if the people in charge are not transparent, I plan to ...</em><br />
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Moderator interrupts Razaq in mid-speech, smiling while yelling "<em>time up</em>"<br />
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Razaq Amabo: <em>But I have'nt spent a minute, I'm still trying to answer the question</em>.<br />
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Moderator: <em>Your time is up sir, please give our President chance to address the issues you raised. </em><br />
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Razaq Amabo: <em>Mr Moderator, I have a feeling that your actions are biased, I don't...</em><br />
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Moderator cuts in angrily...<br />
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<em>"Abeg no dey insult me, na you dey pay my salary?"</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<br />
Turning to the cameras again, he smiled and announced:<br />
<em>"Now, let's hear from our beloved leader".</em><br />
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President Joe-Swagga clears his throat, glances around, almost as if he was unsure of his surroundings, <em>"eh, what was the question again?"</em> he queried.<br />
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Moderator: <em>How do you propose to take care of your people sir?</em><br />
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President Joe-Swagga: <em>Simple, everything Mr Razaq said. Plus, I just spoke to the President of Apple, Mr Steve Jobs and my people have been working on a new patent with him, we are going to create 1 million jobs when we release our new technology in this country.</em><br />
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One of the bodyguards walks over to the President and whispers for a few seconds in his ears...<br />
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President Joe-Swagga: <em>I've just been informed that Steve passed away. May his soul rest in peace. I hereby declare tomorrow as public holiday in his honor.</em><br />
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Moderator: <em>So what is this new technology, Mr President</em><br />
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President Joe-Swagga: <em>Well, we are going to release the BBi-Phone 7, a new iPhone with BBM pin so you can ping your friends as you vote. My government will be giving out a new BBi-Phone7 to our 'loyal' supporters at the polling booth on election day...</em><br />
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Moderator (looking at the screen in excitement): <em>What! Oseeeeeee!!! People, you know who to vote for! Swagga for life!</em><br />
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Razaq Amabo (angrily): <em>This is preposterous!</em><br />
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To be continued...air-meccahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15233396071450625848noreply@blogger.com1