My family is close-knit, dad and mum, 2 boys and 2 girls. People always commend on the symmetry, but for me, there's a little downside to symmetry. Lemme explain, Wiggy is the first child (girl), Ragfella is the second child and first son, Raekhi is the last child (baby of the house). Yeah, you get the picture, your's sincerely is the 3rd child (dunno if there's a title for my position, last son perhaps, lol). Anyway, my folks love us all equally, we all have our individual unique traits and I love my siblings to death, can't ask for a better family.
Growing up, Wiggy was like a second mother to me. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't a mama's boy (lol) but I stuck to my elder sis like glue. She basically did all the household chores (yeah, the rest of us were lazy).Then when she had to go to boarding house for secondary school, I kinda followed in her footsteps and became the "go-to-guy" for household chores. I worshipped the ground she walked on, so after she left, I did all the things I saw her do: helping out in the kitchen with cooking, cleaning, scrubbing and also going to market, habits that have remained with me over the years.
Ragfella on the other hand was my protector and rock. My elder brother was a quiet kid when we were young and we had a connection that was pretty deep and unspoken. We were both asthmatic as kids and we shared the same room, so we shared our crisis moments together. Plus he was tall and gangly as a kid, while I was pretty short! So Ragfella would always stick up for me in a fight and protect me, yeah, I was pretty much the sissy scared kid while he was the tough enforcer. Remember when you were a kid and your folks asked you to "strike a pose" for the camera? Well, Ragfella could work the camera like magic, while on the other hand I was a complete disaster in front of the camera, I still am. He was my 'model'.
Raekhi was the baby of the house and everyone always fussed over her. Now, remember I used to be the last kid till she showed up (lol), so in the early years there was a little 'tension' between us. It didn't help that she was so adorable, so you couldn't help gushing over her. Well, everyone was butter in her little hands, except for me. I was tough as nails with her (lol), and drove her hard for a few reasons. One reason was that I didn't want her to be spoilt, my folks were pretty strict and all of a sudden they had gone soft as the years went by, the mantle of discipline rested with me. The second reason was that she looked up to me, so I certainly wasn't going to let my protege be substandard. I was pretty smart as a kid, so I set very high standards for her. The third reason was that I loved her to death and wanted the best for her.
My mum was a loving 'terror' when we were kids, lol. She could strike fear in to you with just a look, silent reprimand! It was almost as if I could hear her voice in my head telling me to behave, and her eyes were like "Emeka, m metu gi aka (emeka, if I handle you)..." I remember one particular incident in primary school when I couldnt get my tenses right. I was a logical thinking boy, so when I discovered 'mathematically' that the plural of a word could be derived by adding an 's' to the end of the singular version, I considered myself a genius. At first, my theory never failed and I aced all the english exams: boy/boys, girl/girls, father/fathers, goat/goats...I always finished my exams in record time and my teacher would beam smiles and congratulate me.
Well, it was all peaches and cream till we got to the funny words like: man, woman, policeman...Then I started flunking, my teacher couldn't understand why I insisted on writing mans/womans/policemans. It was a scandal, the math prodigy couldn't solve simple 'singular and plural'. It was serious enough to warrant my mother's intervention. So she told me, "Bia, when you see the suffix '-an', the plural is '-en'..." So I added a new formula to my logical tricks during the next English test, I was confident! When the results came out, I was shocked! I was so sure I had everything all figured out after combining my 2 mathematical theories for plural words. In the test I had written: man/mens, woman/womens, policeman/policemens...The next intervention was the final one..."Emeka, m metu gi aka"...that was all it took!
My dad was firm and stern and gentle at the same time. He hardly ever spanked us, momsi was the designated flogger. My popsi rarely raised his voice in anger, when he did, it almost felt as if it was a loud boom from heaven. It always began with ..."MY FRIEND, what is wrong with you..." Now, don't get it wrong, 'my friend' is way different from "MY FRIEND", if you know what I mean. My dad is an accountant, so he was very detailed. I remember when he was teaching me how to drive, he would be like..."Emeka, that is a red light, so stop..." I would be like, "Jeez, of course I can see it! I'm not that stupid"...in my head though, I would never voice that out, lol.My father loved us all and he never failed to show it. Over the years, as I grew older and became a man, my father always confided in me.
Today is father's day. I'm not a father yet but since the birth of my 2 nieces my life has transformed. I carried Kyla as an infant and watched her grow into a beautiful little girl. I've changed her diapers, bathed her (she calls it 'wonder-time', which means "water-time" in baby language), fed her, taught her how to dance and spent numerous hours discussing life with her while she smiles and responds in the beautiful incomprehensible garble of baby speech. That doesn't qualify me to be a father, but every time I carry her in my arms and feel her little arms around my neck, I imagine myself in my father's arms many many years ago.
I learnt from my father that you have to be hardworking to succeed in life. I also learnt from him never to refuse someone help when it is within your capacity to help. I've learnt to be generous and genuinely concerned about others. To love without asking for anything in return, and to put others first. To be content with the little I have, to dream and aspire for greatness and to be practical and understanding of others. To all fathers and fathers-to-be, today is your day. Leave a legacy worth celebrating, be the change the world yearns for...
Happy father's day!
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Friday, June 8, 2012
Teardrops & Raindrops
"Hometown Glory"...Adele
Dunno why, but it is easy to drift off into daydreams while listening to music. I personally recommend songs by Ingrid Michaelson, Sara Bareilles, Norah Jones, Sara McClachan and Adele if you feel up to taking a mind trip, the melodies are soothing enough to permit your brain-cells idle away while your heart pumps at a pace sedate enough to permit your life beat at a lazy summer pace...
I'm an uncle again, Robyn was born on May 31st. Looking back, it feels surreal that a week has gone by since then. I still recall the smell of burning rubber as I sped down the NJ Turnpike with my sister in labor at the back seat. Tis funny how calm I felt, except for muttering and cursing (in words that would make a sailor blush) when we ran into traffic 60 miles away from the hospital, I bypassed that hiccup multiple times by driving on the shoulder and the sidewalk whenever I could. It kinda felt like an excerpt from the movie 'Speed', with Keanu Reeves telling Sandra Bullock that she had to keep the car running at 60mph at all costs. In my case, it was more like 100mph, and Sandra Bullock happened to be in advanced labor, so I didn't need any push. Pedal to metal, as for the cops, "catch me if you can" but this baby aint coming into the world in the back of a car!
Sometimes I'm more convinced that life is a dream. A few days ago just after the rain stopped, I noticed 2 rainbows in the sky. I remember thinking as a kid that the rain was as a result of the clouds shedding tears, then later I used to joke that it was probably the angels in heaven doing their laundry. Have you ever tasted raindrops? Little pearls of water dissolving on your tongue with no after taste, merging so quickly into your taste buds that your brain can't decipher if it was sweet, bitter or bland. Teardrops taste differently...
In the final seconds, when she realized that they were going to crash, a strange calm came over. Around her, she could hear the screams of panic and fear, a few seconds earlier she had been screaming too like everyone, calling on God as loudly as she could. Then she heard Him whisper to her softly, "It is time my child, I love you". The screams dried up, her eyes were wide open but surprisingly she couldn't see anyone or hear anything. Then the pictures floated by, her 1st birthday, her first day at school, her graduation from college, her friends, beautiful memories, the warm smile of her parents and siblings, her fiance...she realized she wasn't going to hold him again...she closed her eyes and a teardrop slowly ran down her face...she smiled, took a deep breath and walked into the light...
For those who've lost people, life sometimes grinds to a halt. Sometimes it never restarts for them. For the rest of us, we mourn for awhile and the sands of time turns the sharp pain into a dull ache till the memories starts to fade. We let go of the pain but the memories live on. Eventually we get swept away by the tides of our own lives that the memories of the past float by us like clouds, always hovering but barely noticed...Till a song, a smile, or a raindrop causes us to pause and look up...then we notice the rainbow in the sky. We smile sadly as the teardrops run down our faces merging with the raindrops, consoled by the knowledge that there is a life after death...
"Gone Baby Gone"...Asa
Dunno why, but it is easy to drift off into daydreams while listening to music. I personally recommend songs by Ingrid Michaelson, Sara Bareilles, Norah Jones, Sara McClachan and Adele if you feel up to taking a mind trip, the melodies are soothing enough to permit your brain-cells idle away while your heart pumps at a pace sedate enough to permit your life beat at a lazy summer pace...
I'm an uncle again, Robyn was born on May 31st. Looking back, it feels surreal that a week has gone by since then. I still recall the smell of burning rubber as I sped down the NJ Turnpike with my sister in labor at the back seat. Tis funny how calm I felt, except for muttering and cursing (in words that would make a sailor blush) when we ran into traffic 60 miles away from the hospital, I bypassed that hiccup multiple times by driving on the shoulder and the sidewalk whenever I could. It kinda felt like an excerpt from the movie 'Speed', with Keanu Reeves telling Sandra Bullock that she had to keep the car running at 60mph at all costs. In my case, it was more like 100mph, and Sandra Bullock happened to be in advanced labor, so I didn't need any push. Pedal to metal, as for the cops, "catch me if you can" but this baby aint coming into the world in the back of a car!
Sometimes I'm more convinced that life is a dream. A few days ago just after the rain stopped, I noticed 2 rainbows in the sky. I remember thinking as a kid that the rain was as a result of the clouds shedding tears, then later I used to joke that it was probably the angels in heaven doing their laundry. Have you ever tasted raindrops? Little pearls of water dissolving on your tongue with no after taste, merging so quickly into your taste buds that your brain can't decipher if it was sweet, bitter or bland. Teardrops taste differently...
In the final seconds, when she realized that they were going to crash, a strange calm came over. Around her, she could hear the screams of panic and fear, a few seconds earlier she had been screaming too like everyone, calling on God as loudly as she could. Then she heard Him whisper to her softly, "It is time my child, I love you". The screams dried up, her eyes were wide open but surprisingly she couldn't see anyone or hear anything. Then the pictures floated by, her 1st birthday, her first day at school, her graduation from college, her friends, beautiful memories, the warm smile of her parents and siblings, her fiance...she realized she wasn't going to hold him again...she closed her eyes and a teardrop slowly ran down her face...she smiled, took a deep breath and walked into the light...
For those who've lost people, life sometimes grinds to a halt. Sometimes it never restarts for them. For the rest of us, we mourn for awhile and the sands of time turns the sharp pain into a dull ache till the memories starts to fade. We let go of the pain but the memories live on. Eventually we get swept away by the tides of our own lives that the memories of the past float by us like clouds, always hovering but barely noticed...Till a song, a smile, or a raindrop causes us to pause and look up...then we notice the rainbow in the sky. We smile sadly as the teardrops run down our faces merging with the raindrops, consoled by the knowledge that there is a life after death...
"Gone Baby Gone"...Asa
Thursday, May 3, 2012
PaCoLiSo...Chapter 6
The fire proved to be a turning point in the lives of Samurai and Shimon. It certainly changed their perception of their neighbors, and suddenly the muted greetings and half-hearted nods were replaced by bright smiles and loud "hellos". It was as if the 'ice' of Paco had been melted by the fiery heat of the blaze. Looney Tunes wasn't part of the happy crowd however, he glared furiously at the 2 bespectacled lads each time they walked past his office, wondering how they ended up being his tenants in the first place. For the rest of the Pacoliso residents, a new life was springing, more students were moving into the estate and you could almost feel the energy brewing in the air as boundaries were torn down.
Aphrodyte and Chiddy-bang lived in Block 2. Their room directly faced the main gate. Aphrodyte would later turn out to be the consensus 'queen' of Paco. She was petite in size, curved like an African goddess, and commanded alot of respect. While she was reserved, Chiddy-bang was the opposite. Chiddy-bang was fierce and outspoken and was bold enough to trade words with Looney T. The 2 roommates combined were a fearsome combination. Lounging infront of Block 2 was not a very advisable move, simply because Looney T had a full view of Block 2 while driving in. You could never predict what his next move would be, but it certainly wasn't out of nature for him to do something crazy.
Block 2 was also home to Pink Panther and her sister Octavia. I'll reserve the description for the beautiful sisters for another chapter, they have quite a role to play in one of the most interesting episodes of Pacoliso.
The neatly trimmed lawns of Pacoliso were quite deceptive. Considering that most of the tenants were female, very beautiful women to be precise, it wasn't surprising that 70% of Pacoliso visitors were male. That statistic however changed when the visitors realized that Looney T wasn't normal. Looney T insisted that a "visitor sign-in" book be kept at the gate, Oga Sam was entrusted with the task of ensuring that all visitors sign in prior to entering the gate. The whole idea was the most ridiculous thing since Kanu Nwankwo claimed he was 17 at the 1993 Youth World Cup. True to fashion, no visitor ever agreed to sign in, Oga Sam would melt and beam smiles once you greeted him and he never remembered to enforce the rule. So whenever Looney T drove in to the estate and caught a glimpse of a visitor, he would check to see if the visitor registry had been signed, and then drama would unfold.
Now, you must remember that Looney T was always impeccably dressed and the visitors had no clue that he wasn't normal. He would approach the 'visitor' with a smile on his face, the only clues to his ailment was the crazed glint in his eyes. In most cases, the visitor would be a young man who had made the trip on an 'okada' or trekked all the way from Owhipa or "Back of Chemical" in an attempt to woo a Pacoliso damsel. Having never experienced the beauty of madness in action, the 'visitor' would watch calmly as Looney T approached, without any anxiety.
Looney T (in a calm voice): Young man, who are you ?
Visitor (in a respectful tone): Good afternoon sir, my name is Osas.
Looney T (still in a calm voice): What are you doing here ? Who did you come to see?
Visitor (in a bemused voice, thinking to himself:"Whish kain query be this na?"): I came to see...
Looney T (screaming, with his eyes bulging): Get out!!! Get out!!!
Visitor a.k.a. Osas (reeling with shock at the force of the aggression): Oga calm down, I just came to visit...
Looney T (almost convulsing with rage): Oga Sam! Oga Sam! where are you? What is this idiot doing in my compound? My friend will you get out of here!
Looney T then starts pushing "visitor" out of the estate.
Oga Sam runs to the scene of the drama and wrings his hands in despair and confusion.
Pacoliso residents peep out of their windows and doors, who needs a cinema when you have a live theatre troupe at home?
Visitor a.k.a. Osas (visibly annoyed, his English starts to falter): Oga no dey push me jor, which kain embarrasment be this?
At this point, the Pacoliso damsel whom Osas had come to visit catches wind of the drama going on at the gate, and rushes to her visitor's defense.
The ensuing drama rounds up with alot of name-calling and ego stroking. Looney T threatens fire and brimstone on the tenant and her visitor, Oga Sam tries to pacify him, while the visitor (depending on his bravery and boldness) threatens to rain down missiles from Ikeja Cantonment on Looney T...eventually the dust settles.
The overall resulting effect was that as gist of Looney T's insanity gradually spread around Choba, the legend of Pacoliso grew. Picture a castle filled with beautiful women, guarded by a smiling grandpa (Oga Sam) and a crazy guard (Looney). Only the bold suitors would try making the trip to Pacoliso, and they made their moves in the evening or at night, when Looney T would have retired for the day. As for the faint hearted, they quivered with fear at the thought of visiting Pacoliso. But just the thought of catching a glimpse of all those pretty women in one estate was enough to make the visitors risk it.
Aphrodyte and Chiddy-bang lived in Block 2. Their room directly faced the main gate. Aphrodyte would later turn out to be the consensus 'queen' of Paco. She was petite in size, curved like an African goddess, and commanded alot of respect. While she was reserved, Chiddy-bang was the opposite. Chiddy-bang was fierce and outspoken and was bold enough to trade words with Looney T. The 2 roommates combined were a fearsome combination. Lounging infront of Block 2 was not a very advisable move, simply because Looney T had a full view of Block 2 while driving in. You could never predict what his next move would be, but it certainly wasn't out of nature for him to do something crazy.
Block 2 was also home to Pink Panther and her sister Octavia. I'll reserve the description for the beautiful sisters for another chapter, they have quite a role to play in one of the most interesting episodes of Pacoliso.
The neatly trimmed lawns of Pacoliso were quite deceptive. Considering that most of the tenants were female, very beautiful women to be precise, it wasn't surprising that 70% of Pacoliso visitors were male. That statistic however changed when the visitors realized that Looney T wasn't normal. Looney T insisted that a "visitor sign-in" book be kept at the gate, Oga Sam was entrusted with the task of ensuring that all visitors sign in prior to entering the gate. The whole idea was the most ridiculous thing since Kanu Nwankwo claimed he was 17 at the 1993 Youth World Cup. True to fashion, no visitor ever agreed to sign in, Oga Sam would melt and beam smiles once you greeted him and he never remembered to enforce the rule. So whenever Looney T drove in to the estate and caught a glimpse of a visitor, he would check to see if the visitor registry had been signed, and then drama would unfold.
Now, you must remember that Looney T was always impeccably dressed and the visitors had no clue that he wasn't normal. He would approach the 'visitor' with a smile on his face, the only clues to his ailment was the crazed glint in his eyes. In most cases, the visitor would be a young man who had made the trip on an 'okada' or trekked all the way from Owhipa or "Back of Chemical" in an attempt to woo a Pacoliso damsel. Having never experienced the beauty of madness in action, the 'visitor' would watch calmly as Looney T approached, without any anxiety.
Looney T (in a calm voice): Young man, who are you ?
Visitor (in a respectful tone): Good afternoon sir, my name is Osas.
Looney T (still in a calm voice): What are you doing here ? Who did you come to see?
Visitor (in a bemused voice, thinking to himself:"Whish kain query be this na?"): I came to see...
Looney T (screaming, with his eyes bulging): Get out!!! Get out!!!
Visitor a.k.a. Osas (reeling with shock at the force of the aggression): Oga calm down, I just came to visit...
Looney T (almost convulsing with rage): Oga Sam! Oga Sam! where are you? What is this idiot doing in my compound? My friend will you get out of here!
Looney T then starts pushing "visitor" out of the estate.
Oga Sam runs to the scene of the drama and wrings his hands in despair and confusion.
Pacoliso residents peep out of their windows and doors, who needs a cinema when you have a live theatre troupe at home?
Visitor a.k.a. Osas (visibly annoyed, his English starts to falter): Oga no dey push me jor, which kain embarrasment be this?
At this point, the Pacoliso damsel whom Osas had come to visit catches wind of the drama going on at the gate, and rushes to her visitor's defense.
The ensuing drama rounds up with alot of name-calling and ego stroking. Looney T threatens fire and brimstone on the tenant and her visitor, Oga Sam tries to pacify him, while the visitor (depending on his bravery and boldness) threatens to rain down missiles from Ikeja Cantonment on Looney T...eventually the dust settles.
The overall resulting effect was that as gist of Looney T's insanity gradually spread around Choba, the legend of Pacoliso grew. Picture a castle filled with beautiful women, guarded by a smiling grandpa (Oga Sam) and a crazy guard (Looney). Only the bold suitors would try making the trip to Pacoliso, and they made their moves in the evening or at night, when Looney T would have retired for the day. As for the faint hearted, they quivered with fear at the thought of visiting Pacoliso. But just the thought of catching a glimpse of all those pretty women in one estate was enough to make the visitors risk it.
Friday, April 20, 2012
PaCoLiSo...Chapter 5
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...
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, 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 :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)