One of the quick ways to avoid trouble in a Naija University was to join a fellowship on campus. It was either you chose the good guys or the bad guys came looking for you. For Samurai, it had been one curveball after another, he had narrowly avoided being trapped by the famed cultists in his freshman year. It was a bit surreal to him because he never viewed himself as a prospective candidate for Mafia life, it wasn't as if Scarface or any of the characters in the Godfather wore spectacles. But he had the physique of someone who worked out, so the glasses were a little distracting.
Anyway, he sought refuge in the numerous fellowships on campus as an escape route. The churches/fellowships were in abundance, it almost felt as if they were competing for the lost misguided souls of students. Samurai had attended a few where the prayer sessions were almost as violent as the Biafran war. Devil slaying, fire-breathing, tongue-speaking students who were determined to relocate the devil from hell to a worse place.
Sometimes he stood while the prayers were rained down around him, being a conservative Anglican, he struggled to understand the ferocity of the prayers. Surely these prayers would kill the devil, ressurect him and kill him again, he thought to himself, such was the intensity. What got under his skin was the tag "Brother Samurai". It irritated him deeply and he hated being called "Brother", he had only 1 brother, Ragfella, and Ragfella never called him "Brother", so he felt that the constant declaration of brotherhood and sisterhood was a bit unsettling. He finally settled on a popular fellowship on campus, a bit flamboyant, Shimon commented, but Samurai didnt care much, after all Shimon didn't attend any fellowship. It just wouldn't feel right if Shimon went to fellowship, he had this aura of a diplomat, and surely Shimon would laugh at the ferocity of the prayers.
Life in Paco had slowed down to a rhythm for Samurai and Shimon, they still didnt speak to most of their neighbors, but the good thing was that Cubana had moved out. To replace him, Looney Tunes had rented out the room to a new dude who was simply from another planet. Let me introduce you to the new neighbors:
La Sugar had a striking resemblance to Taye Diggs, a feat that never escaped his attention. He wasn't just in love with his looks, he was in love with everything about himself! He had a good heart though he saw himself as the best thing in life since sliced bread. He sang like a bird in the morning, had a polished accent that was a hybrid between British, American and Onitsha. Shimon hounded him all the time because he loved the good life while Samurai found him entertaining and funny because he simply couldn't figure out if La Sugar was normal or delusioned.
Nelo and Soso were 2 beautiful ladies who lived in the room next to Samurai and Shimon. They were simply wonderful and Samurai thought the world of them. Nelo or Soso would cook and offer some to the bespectacled young men who looked like twins. Nelo was vibrant and a true live-wire, she loved to dance and there was always a twinkle in her eye. Soso on the other hand was more reserved but could light up a room with her smile. In the evenings, they would sit outside and trade gist with Samurai and Shimon about Pacoliso history.
On a particular Friday morning, Samurai returned to Pacoliso, after spending a night somewhere else. He met Shimon in the room, luckily NEPA was in a good mood, so within a few minutes they had turned on music and started planning what their options for breakfast was. The final decision was Bread and tea, possibly with sardine or some other big boy accessory (they had graduated from Akara and bread). Samurai put on water to boil with their electric kettle and for some odd reason they both decided to go out and buy bread.
It was still early, 8 or 9ish, and the weather was pretty nice, the day couldn't have started any better. It was a 5 minute walk to where the bread sellers displayed their wares, they got there and for an inexplicable reason spent almost 10-15 minutes trying to figure out what type of bread to buy. Finally they settled on a choice, stopped to buy sardine at a nearby store and walked home, gisting happily, and planning the rest of the day. Just as they got back to the main gate to Pacoliso, they ran into a friend of theirs, Ichiro.
Ichiro was as funny and crazy as Chris Rock, he could induce labor in a pregnant woman by just telling jokes. He also happened to be in the same class as Samurai and Shimon and was a regular visitor to Pacoliso.
"Ol boi how you dey? This one wey you dey sneak comot from Paco this early morning, you sure say you never get belle?" Samurai said to Ichiro, while Shimon laughed.
"Make una two dey there laugh while una house dey burn", Ichiro replied. For some reason, this sounded so hilarious that Samurai and Shimon laughed even harder.
"Oya no worry, continue to dey laugh, the house go soon burn reach ground finish", Ichiro said. This time Samurai's laughter started reducing, because he noticed Ichiro wasnt smiling.
"My friend, no dey talk nonsense" Shimon said, his laughter had started fading too.
"Nonsense abi? Remain there na, when you laugh finish, you go sleep for floor today", Ichiro repeated again.
This time, Samurai could feel a knot building up in his stomach, the cold hands of fear and uncertainty. He brushed pass Ichiro and stepped pass the gate, the first thing he saw made him realize that something was wrong. Oga Sam was standing at the security post by the gate, his hands on his head, shaking his head like he was in a Nollywood movie. "Oga Sam, wetin happen?" Shimon asked him. Oga Sam just kept shaking his head, his eyes sad and distant like Yoda in Star wars. Shimon knew the worst had happened, Ichiro wasnt lying, he sank to his knees, the bread and sardine falling in a pile beside him.
Samurai started running towards their house, his heart beating harder with each step. As he made it round the bend, their room came into view...he couldnt feel his legs move anymore...The sight that greeted him was like a scene from Hotel Rwanda. A crowd stood outside their room, all the Pacoliso ladies, some clad in wrappers, most still in pyjamas, carrying buckets, their property was scattered on the lawn just outside their room, smoke tendrils were still coming out of the room, he could smell the thick smell from where he was.
As he approached, they all turned and looked at him, sadness and concern etched on their faces, he stopped in his tracks, as if that would make everything vanish. Time froze for a second or two, Samurai stood about a few yards from his room, his eyes surveying the chaos, looking at the faces of the beautiful young women and men who had saved his and Shimon's property from the burning room, he was speechless...Everyone stood watching him, not knowing what to say...Nelo and Soso walked out from the crowd and held his hand...
Friday, April 20, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
"Trayvon"...
Feb 26, 2012,
Trayvon Martin (17), a Florida high school student was shot and killed by George Zimmerman (28), a self-appointed neighborhood watch captain (a.k.a. vigilante) in Orlando, Fla. Zimmerman maintains he acted in self-defense, Trayvon had no weapon on him, only a pack of Skittles and bottle of iced tea...
Stories like this make me queasy and uncomfortable simply because another young life has been lost and soon the underlying issues will be marred by racial debates and passionate arguments. In the first place, Zimmerman shouldn't have been carrying a weapon. I don't know of any law that permits vigilantes/neighborhood watch personnel to carry weapons. That in itself is another can of worms I don't want to open, the issue of gun-control legislation in the US of A.
Secondly, Zimmerman followed and approached Trayvon, not the other way around. How do you approach someone and then claim self-defense? Conventional wisdom dictates that if you spot a 'suspicious' person, you call for support. Note that Zimmerman called 911 before confronting Trayvon, and he was advised to back down, an instruction he completely ignored. In my opinion, justice should be served on Zimmerman. The police officers who arrived later at the scene 'forgot' to administer a drug or alcohol test on Zimmerman, despite the fact that he had just killed an unarmed man in combat, they simply believed his story.
I don't want to label Trayvon's death as racial profiling, but the truth of the matter is that our society in general (and when I say society, I mean ALL of us) is guilty of racial profiling. Blacks profile whites, whites profile blacks, africans profile african-americans, african-americans profile hispanics, the list is endless. Intricately woven within the fabric that we call 'human society' lies the bane of our existence: We are not united enough to accept our cultural differences/ways of life and we are not divided enough to come to the point where we decide that we don't like each other. So we embrace ourselves in the dark with daggers held behind our backs and delude ourselves with a facade of normalcy.
Like someone commented, if Zimmerman had seen a white teenager wearing a hoodie, he wouldn't have thought that 'he was up to no good'. Now, don't label him a racist, think about this. If Zimmerman was black, I believe that he still would have thought that Trayvon 'was up to no good' because he was 'creeping around' at night. Zimmerman's skin is not the factor here, permit me to borrow the words of Deuce Greenfield (read it on T.Kasali's facebook page)
"George Zimmerman says a lot about where we are as a society today, because believe me, he is not the only the person who believes that the black genetic code makes us predisposed to commit crimes. And plenty of the people who do are 'alleged' non-racists with black friends"
I completely agree with the statement except for the last part. I believe that if we take a poll of people who have this misconception about crime and being black, you'll find that a decent percentage would be black. Answer this question and be truthful, if you see a black man in a hoodie walking towards you on an empty street at night, what would be the first thought on your mind? Now switch up the image a little bit and replace the black man with a white man in a hoodie...then a hispanic man in a hoodie...still the same reaction?
George Zimmerman is a reflection of our society. He should pay for his crime, no questions. But it's time for us to wake up and agree as a society that we have to fight negative stereotypes. Else if we continue at this pace, when next we embrace ourselves, the room will be brightly lit and the daggers won't be hidden...hara-kiri
Trayvon Martin (17), a Florida high school student was shot and killed by George Zimmerman (28), a self-appointed neighborhood watch captain (a.k.a. vigilante) in Orlando, Fla. Zimmerman maintains he acted in self-defense, Trayvon had no weapon on him, only a pack of Skittles and bottle of iced tea...
Stories like this make me queasy and uncomfortable simply because another young life has been lost and soon the underlying issues will be marred by racial debates and passionate arguments. In the first place, Zimmerman shouldn't have been carrying a weapon. I don't know of any law that permits vigilantes/neighborhood watch personnel to carry weapons. That in itself is another can of worms I don't want to open, the issue of gun-control legislation in the US of A.
Secondly, Zimmerman followed and approached Trayvon, not the other way around. How do you approach someone and then claim self-defense? Conventional wisdom dictates that if you spot a 'suspicious' person, you call for support. Note that Zimmerman called 911 before confronting Trayvon, and he was advised to back down, an instruction he completely ignored. In my opinion, justice should be served on Zimmerman. The police officers who arrived later at the scene 'forgot' to administer a drug or alcohol test on Zimmerman, despite the fact that he had just killed an unarmed man in combat, they simply believed his story.
I don't want to label Trayvon's death as racial profiling, but the truth of the matter is that our society in general (and when I say society, I mean ALL of us) is guilty of racial profiling. Blacks profile whites, whites profile blacks, africans profile african-americans, african-americans profile hispanics, the list is endless. Intricately woven within the fabric that we call 'human society' lies the bane of our existence: We are not united enough to accept our cultural differences/ways of life and we are not divided enough to come to the point where we decide that we don't like each other. So we embrace ourselves in the dark with daggers held behind our backs and delude ourselves with a facade of normalcy.
Like someone commented, if Zimmerman had seen a white teenager wearing a hoodie, he wouldn't have thought that 'he was up to no good'. Now, don't label him a racist, think about this. If Zimmerman was black, I believe that he still would have thought that Trayvon 'was up to no good' because he was 'creeping around' at night. Zimmerman's skin is not the factor here, permit me to borrow the words of Deuce Greenfield (read it on T.Kasali's facebook page)
"George Zimmerman says a lot about where we are as a society today, because believe me, he is not the only the person who believes that the black genetic code makes us predisposed to commit crimes. And plenty of the people who do are 'alleged' non-racists with black friends"
I completely agree with the statement except for the last part. I believe that if we take a poll of people who have this misconception about crime and being black, you'll find that a decent percentage would be black. Answer this question and be truthful, if you see a black man in a hoodie walking towards you on an empty street at night, what would be the first thought on your mind? Now switch up the image a little bit and replace the black man with a white man in a hoodie...then a hispanic man in a hoodie...still the same reaction?
George Zimmerman is a reflection of our society. He should pay for his crime, no questions. But it's time for us to wake up and agree as a society that we have to fight negative stereotypes. Else if we continue at this pace, when next we embrace ourselves, the room will be brightly lit and the daggers won't be hidden...hara-kiri
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Ides of March...44 B.C.
Julius Caesar was bigger than life, legendary while he was alive and still an unforgotten memory even in death. The Ides of March (not the movie) commemorates the day of his assasination, many many years ago. Legend has it that Caesar was warned about his impending death by a seer, but as expected, he shrugged it off...He never expected it. Fastforward a few thousand years and try to recreate the scenario...Seers and 'prophets' have been replaced by Military intelligence and sophisticated espionage, just the idea that a leader "could" be killed is enough to trigger panic mode. In some parts of the world, rumors of treason alone would spell death for the opposition, #daysofabacha...Anyway Caesar was betrayed his own people, I guess the last straw for him was seeing Brutus amongst his killers...
"his heart bled, not from the sharp sting of the blade, but torn apart by the darkness of betrayal..."
The weather has been stunning lately, somedays I glance outside the window, and I am surprised to see the sun blushing in the sky, almost ashamed to be caught exposing its radiance in the clouds before the nudity of summer. The apprehension never leaves me though, I close my eyes and expect snow drops to betray the arrogance of the beautiful weather, but it never happens...So my tentative thots are emboldened each passing day, like Caesar, I stride out of my house clad in summer clothes, casting no glances at the weather forecast, surely the sun's embrace awaits me each day, for the winter that never was will not return to betray us all...
One more thing, I watched "For Colored Girls" last night for the first time, safely cocooned in the dark embrace of my couch, emotions sinking with each word and teardrop on the screen. The movie was deep, and wasn't meant for men. Not all men are without souls, the message was true but there are still a few good folks out there. A woman's pain is deeper than words can paint, a man is not capable of such emotional depth..."You can't love somebody with that much hurt in them" One truth I've learnt in life is that the only person responsible for your happiness is U, don't depend on anyone else to be happy.
"his heart bled, not from the sharp sting of the blade, but torn apart by the darkness of betrayal..."
The weather has been stunning lately, somedays I glance outside the window, and I am surprised to see the sun blushing in the sky, almost ashamed to be caught exposing its radiance in the clouds before the nudity of summer. The apprehension never leaves me though, I close my eyes and expect snow drops to betray the arrogance of the beautiful weather, but it never happens...So my tentative thots are emboldened each passing day, like Caesar, I stride out of my house clad in summer clothes, casting no glances at the weather forecast, surely the sun's embrace awaits me each day, for the winter that never was will not return to betray us all...
One more thing, I watched "For Colored Girls" last night for the first time, safely cocooned in the dark embrace of my couch, emotions sinking with each word and teardrop on the screen. The movie was deep, and wasn't meant for men. Not all men are without souls, the message was true but there are still a few good folks out there. A woman's pain is deeper than words can paint, a man is not capable of such emotional depth..."You can't love somebody with that much hurt in them" One truth I've learnt in life is that the only person responsible for your happiness is U, don't depend on anyone else to be happy.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Love letters
“The most dramatic feature of electronic communication is surely its propensity to tempt us into dashing off a message in haste that we repent at leisure. As the emails ping into our inbox we answer them helter-skelter, breathlessly, without pausing to reflect on nuance or tone. As a consequence, misunderstandings often arise…”
“Today's electronic forms of communication may lack that emotional depth but they do enable us to connect more speedily and efficiently than I at least could manage with pen and ink. Still, when we take advantage of them, we ought always to heed (Virginia) Woolf's warning, never to write carelessly. And, if we can, at least count to 10, and read over what we have written, before we press "send"…
Lisa Jardine (BBC magazine)
I came across this article during my morning ritual of navigating the BBC website. I’ve always often wondered which is more dangerous; spoken words or unspoken words. The danger with spoken words is easily identifiable, it is almost impossible to take them back once the chords of the letters slip off the tongue and fly free. The split mini second or so it takes to travel and resonate the eardrums of the recipient is inadequate for the human brain to stop and process the impact of the words, before considering whether to reel it back in or not. The effect is almost intriguing to watch…
Alima’s lips formed into the words “I love you”…time moved in slow motion as the words rolled off her lips. It was easy to see the letters as they floated in the brisk winter breeze, almost teasing in flight, like the carefree motion of a drunk butterfly in summer, slowly the words found its way to Dmitriy’s ears and settled, letter by letter, till his eardrums tingled with the sensation, his eyes slowly lit up as his brain broke down the meaning of the words…He held her in his arms as their lips met…
It doesnt always work out like described above, beautiful words may get you peaches and cream, on the other hand, a reckless word can elicit a completely different reaction: tears, a slap, raised voices, maybe a headbutt, lol. Unspoken words are in a different league entirely, even more dangerous than spoken words. Some call it the silent treatment; others refer to it as zero-communication. Whichever name you give it; unspoken words often serve as the trigger to a reckless spoken word or a major misunderstanding. In the absence of words, people tend to read meaning into every action; it is natural, unless you belong to the IDGAF clique. How then do you strike a reasonable balance between talking too much and not talking at all? Emails, SMS and BBMs are like rapid fire bullets, coming at you like a swarm of excited bees.
Since the advent of electronic communication (Blackberrys being the chief culprit), our lives have been transformed from the normal sedate pace to a NASCAR speedtrack. It is so easy to hold multiple simultaneous convos with different people, your brain-cells multitasking and trying to align your words to suit the intended recipient.
Just after you send “I love you” to Cassie, you send “You suck” to Jerome, and then “LMAO” to Yvonne and then “U dey mad?” to Okon and “What are you wearing?” to Cynthia. Cassie replies with a “love you too”, Jerome with “your papa!”, Yvonne with a BBM smiley, Okon doesn’t reply and Cynthia replies with “I don’t understand”…Okon replies about 2 minutes later with “Bros, I’m straight”, then you realize that somehow you switched Okon and Cynthia’s messages. U try to call Cynthia but she won’t pick your call…the saga continues.
The art of letter writing has been lost, words have become empty, emotions replaced by emoticons, and love has become efficient and cold. Whatever happened to the love letters of the 90s?
Dear Nkem,
How are you? It has been months since I last saw you and I keep dreaming about you all the time. My friends say that you must have cast a spell on me, my response to them is that my heart belongs to you, so no spells are necessary. It is very cold here, the oyibo people say that this year’s winter is mild, I find that hard to believe. Each night, I curl up like a little boy under my blanket and slowly drift off to sleep, it almost feels as if I can reach out and touch you in my dreams. Your body scent still lingers in my mind and I can still taste your lips and feel the smooth curves of your body. Waking up in the morning is always hard for me but I have to work so I can take care of you. I remember you said that you don’t want us to live in the village; even though I’ve told you numerous times that I wouldn’t mind farming to take care of you.
I hope Kachi is taking good care of you. I will write her also to thank her. Make sure you eat well, you have to feed ‘our’ body. I’ve been checking up the price of goats and cows as I told you, the prices are not so cheap but I’ll keep working hard to raise the money. Don’t worry about the village umu nna, when the time is right I will speak to them, even if they demand 10 cows, we’ll always find a way.
I have to go now. It is getting rather late here. It has been long since I wrote by candle light, but they never take light here so I decided to turn off the lights and pretend that I’m still home.
Till I see you again…Kachifo!
Your loving boyfriend,
NB: It may take a month for this letter to get to you, even though my words may be delayed or lost in transit, I’ll always love you.
How about that for old school writing? Let me know your thoughts! My recurrent new year resolution is to talk less, it never seems to work. I've been told to stop trying it :)
“Today's electronic forms of communication may lack that emotional depth but they do enable us to connect more speedily and efficiently than I at least could manage with pen and ink. Still, when we take advantage of them, we ought always to heed (Virginia) Woolf's warning, never to write carelessly. And, if we can, at least count to 10, and read over what we have written, before we press "send"…
Lisa Jardine (BBC magazine)
I came across this article during my morning ritual of navigating the BBC website. I’ve always often wondered which is more dangerous; spoken words or unspoken words. The danger with spoken words is easily identifiable, it is almost impossible to take them back once the chords of the letters slip off the tongue and fly free. The split mini second or so it takes to travel and resonate the eardrums of the recipient is inadequate for the human brain to stop and process the impact of the words, before considering whether to reel it back in or not. The effect is almost intriguing to watch…
Alima’s lips formed into the words “I love you”…time moved in slow motion as the words rolled off her lips. It was easy to see the letters as they floated in the brisk winter breeze, almost teasing in flight, like the carefree motion of a drunk butterfly in summer, slowly the words found its way to Dmitriy’s ears and settled, letter by letter, till his eardrums tingled with the sensation, his eyes slowly lit up as his brain broke down the meaning of the words…He held her in his arms as their lips met…
It doesnt always work out like described above, beautiful words may get you peaches and cream, on the other hand, a reckless word can elicit a completely different reaction: tears, a slap, raised voices, maybe a headbutt, lol. Unspoken words are in a different league entirely, even more dangerous than spoken words. Some call it the silent treatment; others refer to it as zero-communication. Whichever name you give it; unspoken words often serve as the trigger to a reckless spoken word or a major misunderstanding. In the absence of words, people tend to read meaning into every action; it is natural, unless you belong to the IDGAF clique. How then do you strike a reasonable balance between talking too much and not talking at all? Emails, SMS and BBMs are like rapid fire bullets, coming at you like a swarm of excited bees.
Since the advent of electronic communication (Blackberrys being the chief culprit), our lives have been transformed from the normal sedate pace to a NASCAR speedtrack. It is so easy to hold multiple simultaneous convos with different people, your brain-cells multitasking and trying to align your words to suit the intended recipient.
Just after you send “I love you” to Cassie, you send “You suck” to Jerome, and then “LMAO” to Yvonne and then “U dey mad?” to Okon and “What are you wearing?” to Cynthia. Cassie replies with a “love you too”, Jerome with “your papa!”, Yvonne with a BBM smiley, Okon doesn’t reply and Cynthia replies with “I don’t understand”…Okon replies about 2 minutes later with “Bros, I’m straight”, then you realize that somehow you switched Okon and Cynthia’s messages. U try to call Cynthia but she won’t pick your call…the saga continues.
The art of letter writing has been lost, words have become empty, emotions replaced by emoticons, and love has become efficient and cold. Whatever happened to the love letters of the 90s?
Dear Nkem,
How are you? It has been months since I last saw you and I keep dreaming about you all the time. My friends say that you must have cast a spell on me, my response to them is that my heart belongs to you, so no spells are necessary. It is very cold here, the oyibo people say that this year’s winter is mild, I find that hard to believe. Each night, I curl up like a little boy under my blanket and slowly drift off to sleep, it almost feels as if I can reach out and touch you in my dreams. Your body scent still lingers in my mind and I can still taste your lips and feel the smooth curves of your body. Waking up in the morning is always hard for me but I have to work so I can take care of you. I remember you said that you don’t want us to live in the village; even though I’ve told you numerous times that I wouldn’t mind farming to take care of you.
I hope Kachi is taking good care of you. I will write her also to thank her. Make sure you eat well, you have to feed ‘our’ body. I’ve been checking up the price of goats and cows as I told you, the prices are not so cheap but I’ll keep working hard to raise the money. Don’t worry about the village umu nna, when the time is right I will speak to them, even if they demand 10 cows, we’ll always find a way.
I have to go now. It is getting rather late here. It has been long since I wrote by candle light, but they never take light here so I decided to turn off the lights and pretend that I’m still home.
Till I see you again…Kachifo!
Your loving boyfriend,
NB: It may take a month for this letter to get to you, even though my words may be delayed or lost in transit, I’ll always love you.
How about that for old school writing? Let me know your thoughts! My recurrent new year resolution is to talk less, it never seems to work. I've been told to stop trying it :)
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Pacoliso....Chapter 4..."Aluta...b4 Paco"
The term Aluta Continua really didnt hold much meaning to a 200-level Engineering Student. Life revolved around attending classes, praying for good grades and hoping that the dreaded spectre of an ASUU strike never reared its head again. The last strike was brutal, it lasted 6 months and had even the most hard-core atheists praying for divine intervention. For Samurai, the strike had been spent poring over books, making promises to God in exchange for an end to the strike and daydreaming about life outside the shores of 9ja. So when the strike was eventually called off, his joy knew no bounds. He never imagined in his wildest dreams that he would miss the chaos of Aminu Kano Hall or the useless banter the hall residents exchanged to pass time.
Life progressed smoothly till one faithful day, when the stubborn horns of "Aluta" popped up. The day started off just like any regular day, waking up to cries of "Akara and bread" as child-hawkers announced their wares down the corridors, a mix of different soundtracks ranging from Celine Dion to Backstreet Boiz to gospel music...The Aminu Kano Hall Block C residents portrayed a mix of the good, bad and the downright ridiculous. Around noon, word quickly spread around campus that there was a student demonstration/uprising. No one could say with certainty what the problem was, but for some odd reason, the Student Union Government (SUG) was protesting some random issue. In the spirit of Aluta, the SUG president had gingered students to march to the VC's lodge to protest. Before you could whistle a tune, the students had gathered infront of the VC's lodge carrying a casket and proceeded to burn an effigy infront of his abode.
In typical dictatorship fashion, the VC ordered that the school be shut down and directed that ALL students vacate the hostel before the break of dawn the next day. As expected, the Aluta singers vanished faster than a unicorn on the streets of Rumuola, one second you could hear their voices, the next all you could see was smoke tendrils. Anyway, the residents of Aminu Kano Hall laughed at the VC's directive. "Vacate to where"?, they asked, AKH was home! Moreover there was a soccer game between Nigeria and Brazil that evening. People swore to resist and stay till the rapture took place if necessary, no threat of police brutality was going to intimidate them.
As the rays of the sun fizzled out, Samurai noticed that a few residents had started to slink out of the Halls like vampires before sunrise. But the mood in the hostel was still party-like. There were numerous open pots of food with their owners hovering around with concentration and puzzled/ecstatic looks on their faces depending on the taste of their concotion. By nightfall, the student population had reduced by 50%. Being an out-of-state student, Samurai didn't have any other alternatives apart from Aminu Kano Hall. He had a cousin living in Woji, but he didnt see any reason why he had to leave, school was still rocking afterall. That night, the disappointed residents watched Brazil wallop Nigeria by 3 goals, whilst some argued about what went wrong, others turned up their CD players and blasted music...till the last stars in the sky faded. They laughed at the VC's threat, nothing had happened since the eviction decree, "professional noisemaker" they labelled him in derision...whilst dancing to Afrobeat tunes
The next morning Samurai woke up to news that Armed Soldiers were camped right at the school gate. At first he didnt believe it till he walked outside his room and noticed that "JJ Chopinson" was holding court in front of Wing E. J-J was animated in his description...
"Nna men, the MOPOL (mobile police) just full everywhere. Dem carry gun and dem no dey smile at all"
"But we go show dem pepper today, dem no fit try any nonsense!"
"Greatest Nigerian Students, dem no fit comot us from we house, dem go hear am today"
Samurai wasn't too convinced. While the residens tempers and anger boiled at the audacity of the soldiers, Samurai quickly packed a small bag. There were talks about joining forces with the residents of the other halls: Kwame Nkrumah Hall extension, Nelson Mandela Mall and the Medical Hostel hall, to protest the presence of the soldiers. While the Aluta warlords were still marshalling out their strategy, the stampede of running feet could be heard building up. Samurai couldn't recall how things transpired next, the first soldier came bursting through the gates of Aminu Kano, wielding a horse whip, and all hell broke loose...The nimble footed took off with speed that would have surprised Usain Bolt, some in boxer shorts, others fully dressed, the wall was vaulted with ease like it was the Olympics... It was madness! Residents running with pots of soup and stew... A few rooms away, a resident tried to shield his pot of food from the whips of a soldier, he looked ready to die in defense of his food, finally he succumbed to the fury of the whip and fled. Within 30minutes, the resistance had been broken, the residents gathered in small groups to lick their wounds and plot their next move. Every uprising needs a hero, the aluta warlords had long fled, JJ Chopinson was no where to be found.
Walking along the streets of Choba with his few valued possessions in his small carry-on bag, Samurai realized that his life in Aminu Kano was ticking to an end. He ran into Shimon on the road with a group of other friends, they had escaped from Kwame Nkrumah Hall before the soldiers arrived, the plans to move off-campus were laid during that period...
Life progressed smoothly till one faithful day, when the stubborn horns of "Aluta" popped up. The day started off just like any regular day, waking up to cries of "Akara and bread" as child-hawkers announced their wares down the corridors, a mix of different soundtracks ranging from Celine Dion to Backstreet Boiz to gospel music...The Aminu Kano Hall Block C residents portrayed a mix of the good, bad and the downright ridiculous. Around noon, word quickly spread around campus that there was a student demonstration/uprising. No one could say with certainty what the problem was, but for some odd reason, the Student Union Government (SUG) was protesting some random issue. In the spirit of Aluta, the SUG president had gingered students to march to the VC's lodge to protest. Before you could whistle a tune, the students had gathered infront of the VC's lodge carrying a casket and proceeded to burn an effigy infront of his abode.
In typical dictatorship fashion, the VC ordered that the school be shut down and directed that ALL students vacate the hostel before the break of dawn the next day. As expected, the Aluta singers vanished faster than a unicorn on the streets of Rumuola, one second you could hear their voices, the next all you could see was smoke tendrils. Anyway, the residents of Aminu Kano Hall laughed at the VC's directive. "Vacate to where"?, they asked, AKH was home! Moreover there was a soccer game between Nigeria and Brazil that evening. People swore to resist and stay till the rapture took place if necessary, no threat of police brutality was going to intimidate them.
As the rays of the sun fizzled out, Samurai noticed that a few residents had started to slink out of the Halls like vampires before sunrise. But the mood in the hostel was still party-like. There were numerous open pots of food with their owners hovering around with concentration and puzzled/ecstatic looks on their faces depending on the taste of their concotion. By nightfall, the student population had reduced by 50%. Being an out-of-state student, Samurai didn't have any other alternatives apart from Aminu Kano Hall. He had a cousin living in Woji, but he didnt see any reason why he had to leave, school was still rocking afterall. That night, the disappointed residents watched Brazil wallop Nigeria by 3 goals, whilst some argued about what went wrong, others turned up their CD players and blasted music...till the last stars in the sky faded. They laughed at the VC's threat, nothing had happened since the eviction decree, "professional noisemaker" they labelled him in derision...whilst dancing to Afrobeat tunes
The next morning Samurai woke up to news that Armed Soldiers were camped right at the school gate. At first he didnt believe it till he walked outside his room and noticed that "JJ Chopinson" was holding court in front of Wing E. J-J was animated in his description...
"Nna men, the MOPOL (mobile police) just full everywhere. Dem carry gun and dem no dey smile at all"
"But we go show dem pepper today, dem no fit try any nonsense!"
"Greatest Nigerian Students, dem no fit comot us from we house, dem go hear am today"
Samurai wasn't too convinced. While the residens tempers and anger boiled at the audacity of the soldiers, Samurai quickly packed a small bag. There were talks about joining forces with the residents of the other halls: Kwame Nkrumah Hall extension, Nelson Mandela Mall and the Medical Hostel hall, to protest the presence of the soldiers. While the Aluta warlords were still marshalling out their strategy, the stampede of running feet could be heard building up. Samurai couldn't recall how things transpired next, the first soldier came bursting through the gates of Aminu Kano, wielding a horse whip, and all hell broke loose...The nimble footed took off with speed that would have surprised Usain Bolt, some in boxer shorts, others fully dressed, the wall was vaulted with ease like it was the Olympics... It was madness! Residents running with pots of soup and stew... A few rooms away, a resident tried to shield his pot of food from the whips of a soldier, he looked ready to die in defense of his food, finally he succumbed to the fury of the whip and fled. Within 30minutes, the resistance had been broken, the residents gathered in small groups to lick their wounds and plot their next move. Every uprising needs a hero, the aluta warlords had long fled, JJ Chopinson was no where to be found.
Walking along the streets of Choba with his few valued possessions in his small carry-on bag, Samurai realized that his life in Aminu Kano was ticking to an end. He ran into Shimon on the road with a group of other friends, they had escaped from Kwame Nkrumah Hall before the soldiers arrived, the plans to move off-campus were laid during that period...
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
The Pirates of West Africa: Liquid Gold
It is almost impossible to refrain from commenting on the current chaos going on in Nigeria, though I have observed that most people are clueless about the facts. The beautiful thing about being Nigerian is that everyone is an expert on all matters ranging from national security to economic issues, so in the midst of all the arguments, no one really listens to any one, the end result is chaos. Let me paint a little picture about the science of oil, this is for the non-engineers and non-scientific people out there who have no clue what the facts are, but believe deep down in their hearts that something is wrong...You are right, something is wrong and it has been wrong for years. I have to admit that I'm neither a Petroleum Engineer nor an expert on oil related issues, I'm simply an average minded person, a common man.
Background
Crude oil is liquid gold, pure and simple. I bet you didnt visualize that as a starting line. I'll try to keep the science as simple as possible. Crude Oil is extracted from the ground (just like gold, duh!)and then refined and seperated. The key end products are Petrol(gas/gasoline as my Yankee people would call it), diesel kerosene, jet fuel and a few other components (let us stick to the energy sources). Just as Gold comes in carats, Crude Oil also comes in different grades (levelz dey!). The 'lighter' and 'sweeter' the oil is, the better. The logic is simple, Light Crude Oil has low density (higher petrol yield), while Sweet Crude Oil has very little sulphur (cleaner, and less harmful impact on the environment during processing, requires less refining). On the other end of the spectrum, you have heavy oil, and sour oil (opposite to light and sweet), you get the logic right? Itz like comparing Packet Fufu Powder sold at Makola (Iyan Ado) to raw cassava sticks harvested from my village. Both end up as pounded yam on my plate, but the raw cassava sticks require serious gyming before it can be transformed to food.
Logistics
The top 3 oil producing countries are the Saudis, the Russians and the Americans (surprised right?), China is no 5. Oil producing used in the context of the quantity of crude oil that is extracted from their reserves. Naija is ranked about 12th or 15th, not so sure, but our position fluctuates depending on whether MEND is on vacation or not. In terms of Exporting Crude Oil, the top 3 are the Saudis, Russia, Iran...Naija is between 6th and 8th (fluctuates as usual), USA aint on the list (they barely export nada baby!, u'll soon see why). In terms of Import, the top consumers are...you guessed it, USA, followed by China and Japan. USA consumes roughly 20% of the world's oil. Here's what you don't know, Naija's oil is mostly 'light and sweet' and we are the LARGEST producers of 'sweet' oil in OPEC, and remember that Saudi Arabi is a member of OPEC. We are sweeter than the Saudis! yummy! The USA is the largest importer of Naija crude oil,#fact.
Economics
Now I didnt study economics in school, but my dad is an accountant and I am Igbo (lol), even though people say I am too generous (maybe I'm just a radical). The price of 'gas' (forgive me, but saying petrol is tiring, lol) is dependent on a few factors, the key ones being the price of crude oil, the cost of refining, distribution and transportation costs and taxes. The geographical location of the oil reserves are key, if you have to import your crude oil from far then it costs more to transport, crude oil prices fluctuate with every Boko Haram attack or middle-east tension, the cost of refining rises with the grade of oil imported. The US of A utilizes about 75% of the refined crude for fuel (transportation), about 2% for electricity production (shocked right?) and the rest for industrial purposes (pharmeceuticals, plastics et al). Outside the US of A, especially in the oil producing countries (Naija), it is almost a 50-50 split between using the refined crude for transportation and burning the crude for electricity. Why? Because for some odd reason, we don't explore any other alternative means for electricity generation. Hydro (ah, rainy season has ended, water don finish for dam), Nuclear (ah, we can't even handle bombs), Solar (haba, let's not even go there), biomass, biofuels (duh, what is that?)
Subsidy
Currently the most abused word of 2012. You don't need to google it to understand it, from a business perspective, it simply means any form of 'assistance' provided to a biz, normally by the Govt, to prevent its decline either as a result of low profit or to prevent a spike in the price of its products. You see, Naija produces crude oil, then exports it, (making alot of money) then we import it back (because we don't have functional refineries, don't ask me why). So when crude oil prices go up because of Mutallab, we make more money, then the rising cost of crude oil increases the price of refining and importing the refined crude, so we spend more. Since oil is our birthright (as some of my folks in the South normally say, lol), we the masses shouldnt pay much for it. How can a farmer go to a supermarket to buy fufu powder? Taboo! So our weak Government, seeing that the only thing the commonm man can benefit from our stupendous wealth is cheap gas, do all that they can to ensure that the gas prices remain fixed despite all the fluctuation in crude prices. So they 'subsidize' it by paying the marketers and importers, thus transferring our wealth to the marketers and importers. Heard that it cost $8 billion last year, the government bears the cost of it all. Now the subsidy keeps the people content, but it incurs large economic costs. You see, I don't recall where it states in our yearly budget that we set aside $8 billion for subsidy last year. The other funny thing is that the marketers are also people in government. Then also millions of barrels of oil are being smuggled out of the country daily, by who...maybe Pirates of the Carribean, Jack Sparrow where are you?!
Conclusion
Why do we import fuel? Because we don't have refineries. Why don't we have functional refineries. Why ? I really don't know the answer to that. Okay, so if we can burn crude oil to generate electricity, why don't we have light? (power). I don't know, maybe we didnt burn the crude oil in the first place to generate the electricity. So what happened to the crude oil then ? Maybe it was smuggled illegally. By who? Ask Johnny Depp!
My 2 cents
Now that you have a clearer picture (I hope, lol), join the fray! What is the way forward, what should we do? You can't sit down and say it aint your business, when M.I., Ice Prince and all the other Nigerian musicians quit singing club hits and start farming in order to make a living, you wouldnt have any beats to groove to, lol #justkidding! Our MCs have M.Scs(Naeto C) and PhDs (Levelz) nowadays!
The subsidy ought to be removed, it should have been removed years ago. But then our refineries should have been working to full capacity since the 90s. Numerous contracts have been awarded to fix the refineries, yet no results. So if the refineries don't work, then the subsidy should stay in place...till the refineries work, then we would not have to import anymore. Our Government just transferred the burden of years of gross mismanagement and sheer incompetency to the masses to bear. I hear China wants to build refineries in Nigeria, I wonder what the Americans have to say about that...#justsaying
Background
Crude oil is liquid gold, pure and simple. I bet you didnt visualize that as a starting line. I'll try to keep the science as simple as possible. Crude Oil is extracted from the ground (just like gold, duh!)and then refined and seperated. The key end products are Petrol(gas/gasoline as my Yankee people would call it), diesel kerosene, jet fuel and a few other components (let us stick to the energy sources). Just as Gold comes in carats, Crude Oil also comes in different grades (levelz dey!). The 'lighter' and 'sweeter' the oil is, the better. The logic is simple, Light Crude Oil has low density (higher petrol yield), while Sweet Crude Oil has very little sulphur (cleaner, and less harmful impact on the environment during processing, requires less refining). On the other end of the spectrum, you have heavy oil, and sour oil (opposite to light and sweet), you get the logic right? Itz like comparing Packet Fufu Powder sold at Makola (Iyan Ado) to raw cassava sticks harvested from my village. Both end up as pounded yam on my plate, but the raw cassava sticks require serious gyming before it can be transformed to food.
Logistics
The top 3 oil producing countries are the Saudis, the Russians and the Americans (surprised right?), China is no 5. Oil producing used in the context of the quantity of crude oil that is extracted from their reserves. Naija is ranked about 12th or 15th, not so sure, but our position fluctuates depending on whether MEND is on vacation or not. In terms of Exporting Crude Oil, the top 3 are the Saudis, Russia, Iran...Naija is between 6th and 8th (fluctuates as usual), USA aint on the list (they barely export nada baby!, u'll soon see why). In terms of Import, the top consumers are...you guessed it, USA, followed by China and Japan. USA consumes roughly 20% of the world's oil. Here's what you don't know, Naija's oil is mostly 'light and sweet' and we are the LARGEST producers of 'sweet' oil in OPEC, and remember that Saudi Arabi is a member of OPEC. We are sweeter than the Saudis! yummy! The USA is the largest importer of Naija crude oil,#fact.
Economics
Now I didnt study economics in school, but my dad is an accountant and I am Igbo (lol), even though people say I am too generous (maybe I'm just a radical). The price of 'gas' (forgive me, but saying petrol is tiring, lol) is dependent on a few factors, the key ones being the price of crude oil, the cost of refining, distribution and transportation costs and taxes. The geographical location of the oil reserves are key, if you have to import your crude oil from far then it costs more to transport, crude oil prices fluctuate with every Boko Haram attack or middle-east tension, the cost of refining rises with the grade of oil imported. The US of A utilizes about 75% of the refined crude for fuel (transportation), about 2% for electricity production (shocked right?) and the rest for industrial purposes (pharmeceuticals, plastics et al). Outside the US of A, especially in the oil producing countries (Naija), it is almost a 50-50 split between using the refined crude for transportation and burning the crude for electricity. Why? Because for some odd reason, we don't explore any other alternative means for electricity generation. Hydro (ah, rainy season has ended, water don finish for dam), Nuclear (ah, we can't even handle bombs), Solar (haba, let's not even go there), biomass, biofuels (duh, what is that?)
Subsidy
Currently the most abused word of 2012. You don't need to google it to understand it, from a business perspective, it simply means any form of 'assistance' provided to a biz, normally by the Govt, to prevent its decline either as a result of low profit or to prevent a spike in the price of its products. You see, Naija produces crude oil, then exports it, (making alot of money) then we import it back (because we don't have functional refineries, don't ask me why). So when crude oil prices go up because of Mutallab, we make more money, then the rising cost of crude oil increases the price of refining and importing the refined crude, so we spend more. Since oil is our birthright (as some of my folks in the South normally say, lol), we the masses shouldnt pay much for it. How can a farmer go to a supermarket to buy fufu powder? Taboo! So our weak Government, seeing that the only thing the commonm man can benefit from our stupendous wealth is cheap gas, do all that they can to ensure that the gas prices remain fixed despite all the fluctuation in crude prices. So they 'subsidize' it by paying the marketers and importers, thus transferring our wealth to the marketers and importers. Heard that it cost $8 billion last year, the government bears the cost of it all. Now the subsidy keeps the people content, but it incurs large economic costs. You see, I don't recall where it states in our yearly budget that we set aside $8 billion for subsidy last year. The other funny thing is that the marketers are also people in government. Then also millions of barrels of oil are being smuggled out of the country daily, by who...maybe Pirates of the Carribean, Jack Sparrow where are you?!
Conclusion
Why do we import fuel? Because we don't have refineries. Why don't we have functional refineries. Why ? I really don't know the answer to that. Okay, so if we can burn crude oil to generate electricity, why don't we have light? (power). I don't know, maybe we didnt burn the crude oil in the first place to generate the electricity. So what happened to the crude oil then ? Maybe it was smuggled illegally. By who? Ask Johnny Depp!
My 2 cents
Now that you have a clearer picture (I hope, lol), join the fray! What is the way forward, what should we do? You can't sit down and say it aint your business, when M.I., Ice Prince and all the other Nigerian musicians quit singing club hits and start farming in order to make a living, you wouldnt have any beats to groove to, lol #justkidding! Our MCs have M.Scs(Naeto C) and PhDs (Levelz) nowadays!
The subsidy ought to be removed, it should have been removed years ago. But then our refineries should have been working to full capacity since the 90s. Numerous contracts have been awarded to fix the refineries, yet no results. So if the refineries don't work, then the subsidy should stay in place...till the refineries work, then we would not have to import anymore. Our Government just transferred the burden of years of gross mismanagement and sheer incompetency to the masses to bear. I hear China wants to build refineries in Nigeria, I wonder what the Americans have to say about that...#justsaying
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Nomadic thots...
"Swim Good"...Frank Ocean
Somewhere out in the West Midlands, far from the organized chaos of the concrete jungle, Ramone sat puffing on his cigarette, he flicked the ash off with a practiced flick, almost negligent of his surroundings. Out here in the country side, there was a tranquility that could not be measured, a certain peace that couldnt be described adequately with words, it was almost as if he was one with the elements, a perfect blend of man with nature, his soul fused into the timeless wander of existence. He could hear the birds sing to each other merrily, the joy in their voice borne out of an emotion alien to humans, it couldnt exactly be defined as happiness, it transcended the human definition of happiness, it was almost a'kin to a feeling of freedom that could only be imagined by walking off death row at the last second. He couldnt remember exactly how he had come to this state, but then he was a creature of habit.
He had lapsed into his temporary fugue state like he did every afternoon while he was on vacation and somehow he had drifted to unknown territory. In his mind, he was out in the desert, surrounded by emptiness and landscapes that had been rendered almost invisible by time, the wind whispered in his ears, slow soft whispers that felt almost rhythmic but at the same time eerie, he could taste the dry sharpness of the sand on his lips, brittle and almost feathery to the skin of his inner mind. There was no oasis in this desert, only an infinitesimal space that paled in comparison to the single speck of humanity that was represented by him. He was alone, a victim of his own prison, warden and convict at the same time yet powerless to loosen the bonds of ephemeral captivity. The sand swirled about his feet, almost in slow motion, he observed it like a man caught in a trance, gradually a hole began to form where his feet was planted, at first a speck, like little seams unravelling at the edges, he could feel himself sinking slowly, and there was nothing he could do about it.
There was no battle to fight, no wars to rally against, just the silent swoosh as the sand around his feet slowly faded out of existence into another world that he couldn't visualize, a gradual drift into oblivion.
He knew he had to do something soon, or he'd be swallowed up, he had never walked down these paths before, so he was unsure as to the next move to make, his eyes never wavered from the image of his reflection trapped in the sand. Have you ever experienced an out of body experience? Floating out of your soul to gaze down on your spirit, that was the scenario here, he stared deeper at the imagery in his mind, almost transfixed, as if by magic time had gradually ground to a halt in the inner corridors of his mentality. He was torn between indecision and the gravity of his dilemma, a debacle that he couldn't seem to resolve. Time slipped by in steady steps for the man in the desert, yet it never moved for the man on the curb, contrasting emotions ran through the different worlds...
Somewhere out in the West Midlands, far from the organized chaos of the concrete jungle, Ramone sat puffing on his cigarette, he flicked the ash off with a practiced flick, almost negligent of his surroundings. Out here in the country side, there was a tranquility that could not be measured, a certain peace that couldnt be described adequately with words, it was almost as if he was one with the elements, a perfect blend of man with nature, his soul fused into the timeless wander of existence. He could hear the birds sing to each other merrily, the joy in their voice borne out of an emotion alien to humans, it couldnt exactly be defined as happiness, it transcended the human definition of happiness, it was almost a'kin to a feeling of freedom that could only be imagined by walking off death row at the last second. He couldnt remember exactly how he had come to this state, but then he was a creature of habit.
He had lapsed into his temporary fugue state like he did every afternoon while he was on vacation and somehow he had drifted to unknown territory. In his mind, he was out in the desert, surrounded by emptiness and landscapes that had been rendered almost invisible by time, the wind whispered in his ears, slow soft whispers that felt almost rhythmic but at the same time eerie, he could taste the dry sharpness of the sand on his lips, brittle and almost feathery to the skin of his inner mind. There was no oasis in this desert, only an infinitesimal space that paled in comparison to the single speck of humanity that was represented by him. He was alone, a victim of his own prison, warden and convict at the same time yet powerless to loosen the bonds of ephemeral captivity. The sand swirled about his feet, almost in slow motion, he observed it like a man caught in a trance, gradually a hole began to form where his feet was planted, at first a speck, like little seams unravelling at the edges, he could feel himself sinking slowly, and there was nothing he could do about it.
There was no battle to fight, no wars to rally against, just the silent swoosh as the sand around his feet slowly faded out of existence into another world that he couldn't visualize, a gradual drift into oblivion.
He knew he had to do something soon, or he'd be swallowed up, he had never walked down these paths before, so he was unsure as to the next move to make, his eyes never wavered from the image of his reflection trapped in the sand. Have you ever experienced an out of body experience? Floating out of your soul to gaze down on your spirit, that was the scenario here, he stared deeper at the imagery in his mind, almost transfixed, as if by magic time had gradually ground to a halt in the inner corridors of his mentality. He was torn between indecision and the gravity of his dilemma, a debacle that he couldn't seem to resolve. Time slipped by in steady steps for the man in the desert, yet it never moved for the man on the curb, contrasting emotions ran through the different worlds...
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