silent storms in an ocean of one

#491

2011-08-29T01:12:00.002+01:00

i'm not afraid to say that i feel lost; that i'm in a place that i don't really understand, a road that feels completely unfamiliar with landmarks that mean nothing.

i'm not afraid to say that what i have questions, but no answers, there's mud on my shoes, and mud on my clothes, and mud on my face and mud in my hair, and under the nails on every finger of my hands.

i'm not afraid to stand at crossroads, and i' not afraid of moving - to stand still is to die.

i'm not afraid to tell you exactly how i feel - indeed, that is the point. i need you to listen, and to tell me how you see it. i need you to help me figure this out, because i am afraid that time is too precious to waste,

"nothing"

2011-07-15T01:45:00.002+01:00

why should "nothing" mean so much? how could it weigh the world, and yet be "nothing?" could it truly be "nothing" if it runs so deeply that it drowns peace, sanity, commonsense and firm convictions?

"nothing" should be just nothing. it shouldn't keep sleep from tired eyes. its hard to accept that it was "nothing". it confuses me. it makes me want to run one minute. the next moment i want to stand still and never take another step.

your "nothing" is part of my everything.

2011-07-06T00:44:00.003+01:00

This I crazy. I desperately want to know, yet I know that I should not want to know. How do the moments go; do the hours drag their way through the present, or do they skip through on their way to Memory's Houses? Is it easy; and if so, does it get easier with the passage of these same hours?

The days go by, Time refuses to take note of unspoken desires. Pause! Wait! Tarry a while! The sweet numbness slowly fades away, and its becoming undeniable, that the moments come when reality must be confronted in its starkness. I want to know how this story ends, so I can prepare myself for the outcome. Shall I gather my robes and make ready for feasting; shall the fall of the curtains reveal a new dance?

There's so much about this time and these events that I want to know, but who would I ask? Who would tell the wanderer that he has lost hisnway? The wilderness is bare, and there are no landmarks to speak of. Who would tell me what I so hungrily want to know?

2011-07-05T10:28:00.002+01:00

i sometimes wish that i could turn back the hands of time - don't we all?

this is one of those times when i desperately wish that i had the power to go back and change things. there are things that i would do over, because even when you start again from the present, sometimes you may find it hard to get past what went before.

#479

2011-06-27T13:18:00.002+01:00

There was the one thing
In the end it was that which settled
That endless moment.
It was one thing,
But it was everything
You said that it, “meant nothing”
But how could you know?
In the end it was a yoke
That weighed as heavy
As the entire world
It was almost everything, this nothing.

All the things I said
I meant
Every promise
Every word
Proclaimed from my heart
Spoken with conviction
Sealed with every earnest
And unwavering purpose
Encapsulated in my soul.

It was all I could give
It was all of my being
My everything
It was offered too late
- the whole regrets -
Everything was already gone
It weighed less than the one thing

All the other things were important
All the other things were not
All the other things fell to earth
And like raindrops, they disappeared
Into nothing

One thing remained
That would not go away
It was the anchor that prevented flight
The reality that crushed the dream
Every single time the eyes opened.
All the other things were important
All the other things were nothing
Whenever I looked at you closely
It was clear
You were everything
You were the earth that drank up the rain
You made all the other things disappear.

One thing would not go into the drains
It remained present,
resolute,
like the flood on the greens
After the earth had drank its fill.
One thing refuses to go away.
Still.
One Thing.
One. Thing.

194218062011

2011-06-27T03:29:00.000+01:00

you really shouldn't come between sleep and me - it shouldn't really happen this way. not yet again.

2011-06-22T01:08:00.002+01:00

it was "a thing"
it was one thing
it was nothing
it was more than all the little, "somethings"
it should have been no thing
it was everything

011022062011

2011-06-21T02:19:00.003+01:00

In the end it all burned down to one thing, the one that turned out to be, too burdensome for my being to bear. All of the questions considered; the sum of all the things that unsettled ease - it all came back to the one thing which was neither wrong nor an error - just a thing. It weighed too much in the end, itstill slows my steps as I try to find a path to peace. I wish you could understand.

#476

2011-06-10T01:10:00.006+01:00

there are things i would say to you, if i had a right to speak; things that i would ask you, but what would be the point?

you ask me why i stay awake at night, but i cannot say. the things that trouble me run deeper than i ever want to bother you with - what would be the point?

if we look to the heart of this thing, we would find that the weight on my shoulders was placed there by the errors of my own humanity. i could pretend that this was not the case, but what would be the point?

we could second-guess yesterday and say, that if my choices had been this, or that, instead of the paths that i chose, perhaps things would be different. we could live in the past, but would there be a point?

we could give free rein to passion, and let anger rule the moment. if i let this go for a second, you might get to feel some of my pain. but i am certain as night is not day, that the things i would say would only cause you hurt, and so what would be the point?

this one thing is the undoing of all the strength and resolve that i possess. you say that i should let go and just sing the songs from my heart. but wise men say there's wisdom in holding your peace, even when the pressure within makes you desperate to seek the sweet relief that exists in letting it all out. we are slaves to commonsense; we are the pawns of peace. i could pretend that i don't care that my words would make you cry; but tell me, what would be the point?

if i had the right to speak, i would tell you that my dreams are haunted by thoughts that i could never share with you. my words would burn you, and it would be grossly unfair. the point is that i love you too much to ever hurt you like that.

014510062011

#444

2011-05-09T07:56:00.003+01:00

if you run

i will follow you

if you hide

i will find you

if you fly

then i will grow wings too

i will chase you to the sun if i have to

nothing will ever keep me from you

2011-05-09T07:31:00.002+01:00

dear you,

how are you? i stopped by your pages this morning. i just wanted to say hello. i could only manage to read your last 2 blogs (as usual) before i found myself overwhelmed. i've come up with a plan now, to start right from the beginning, and to stay the course until i have read every word, until i remember every emotion i felt when i first discovered the eloquence with which you said all the random shit you had to say. i will marvel and revel in your gift, and i will bless the Lord for giving you that amazing talent to dazzle the mind with depth, wit and skill.

i won't forget, and you will never really die. but rest in peace nikki.

#443

2011-05-09T06:53:00.005+01:00

is love real?

does it truly exist;
is it really all the things the songs
say it is?
is it really as strong as writers tell;
will it survive being battered and bruised
by life's many vagaries, transiencies and occurrences?

does love exist only in fairytales,
to feed our dreams with hopes
as elusive as unicorns and faraway coves
filled with wondrous treasures?

if somebody loves you,
will they always do,
regardless the things your "love" puts them through?
will they forgive your wrongs,
and patch the wounds you sustained,
while you were running in fields forbidden
to you?

if somebody loves you,
will they always do,
long after you have bruised them
past the thresholds that they made absolute
- in the ways you said, you never would?
and if they should find someone new,
will they still love you,
do the ties end when the harp stops playing its tune?

and what is this love,
this love?
is it always patient,
and kind,
and considerate,
and true,
and forgiving,
and does it truly endure until forever?

what is love, i ask you?
sometimes i know it with certainty,
sometimes i tell of its character with conviction,
but like a fraud i always know,
that i speak of things i do not know
for certain.
what is love,
my love, do you know?
will you love me in my uncertainty,
through my flaws,
through the errors of my ways?
will you love me when my moods sour,
will you love me when my youth fades,
and the lines on my face trace longer
than the years left before my eyes?

i often wonder if love is real,
or if it is madness that takes over our souls,
when we hold someone so dearly that it hurts.
is love real,
and is it healthy,
is it really good that it leaves you so exposed?

sleepless. 071610052011

here and there

2011-04-18T22:50:00.004+01:00

there was a time when i blogged very often, but that was a long, long time ago. i really loved it. i'd come here and say whatever was on my mind. i felt free, it was bliss. but i was in a different place then, and there were things that i just had to get off my chest, otherwise i knew my head was definitely going to explode with the pressure of the thoughts that needed to find their way into the air. these days my life is different. i thought i had pressures then, but i really didn't understand the meaning of the word. these days its clear what the word really means. plus i find that i've become truly lazy, and its become far too hard to sit in one place and compose my thoughts well enough to put the bare bones of a blog together. and then there's the process of writing, which is simply not for kids....

today i got a message, a "scream" in my email from someone who basically wanted to know why ologunde and i hadn't been blogging. so i thought about if for a long moment, and found a truckful of excuses to explain my absence from these pages, which had once been my refuge. i've sat here and promised myself tons of times before, that i would be more diligent about my writing. but the promises come to nought. and there's nothing worse than failing to be true to yourself....

the elections are over, been and done. the results were surprising, yet they were as expected. we clamoured for change, but we have chosen more of the same. one thing i am grateful for is the fact that the elections are widely adjudged to be transparent. for this i give maximum respect to the president for having the courage to appoint professor jega, whom it is generally thought, is an upright and honest individual. it was clearly a great gamble, deciding not to follow his antecedents in appointing a national electoral officer who can be easily "swayed" into compromise. perhaps this president really knows what he is doing aferall, and perhaps he will show us really soon, that he knows precisely how to solve our legion of problems.

its late, and i am going to bed.

#421

2011-01-26T03:09:00.005Z

Sometimes when I lie awake in the dead of night

These things weigh heavy on my mind

And I find it hard to say, although I try

That every thing will be all right.

It should not be a thing

- This thing -

Should not be the dream that keeps

Me from finding sleep.

So I close my eyes again

And pray, this time to find a place

That’s free, from the things that play

Through my sleeping brain.

sleepless. still. 040926012011.

pointless.2

2010-10-16T04:12:00.005+01:00

the hours go by, just as they did before.

the sun rises and sets; raindrops fall and grow, from drizzles, into storms that flood the streets of this troubled city: rivers of mud that sprang from the sky, and leave their mark as they journey back to the sea. one fine day, the skies grew dark while the sun hid his face; in the morning the day star rises again, so the birds rejoice - they regale the world with songs about life, love and freedom. and nature bloomed, a cycle of seasons completed in one day.

why would it be any different, i ask you, my friend? life goes, and grows, and we get wiser by each experience, until the moment when we stop breathing. the scars on my hand remind me, to never stop a spinning fan without the switch; to never again smash glass without a big club. The shame in my heart reminds me that temper is best managed before it simmers.

what i want most, is understanding - the wisdom to know what this moment means, so that the lessons (and their blessings) are not lost. perhaps you understand me - maybe you never will; you're on my mind and i love your weight on the back and shoulders of my every thought.

it used to be that i pondered this and wrestled with the probable outcomes of every possible scenario. it used to be that i stayed awake at night to contemplate the things i could neither help nor change with all of my being. it used to be sometimes, that thoughts captured me so completely, that mealtimes passed without notice, appetite sacrificed on the altar of endless thought - who could eat when your soul's unsettled?

that was a while ago. maybe it was yesterday, but this is today. though i have yet to understand how this story might yet be told when we reach the journey's end, i find that i have left the anguish and agony in a place that's behind me. this thing is still not clear. nor is that one, the question about the thing that you have not told. what is your truth, and why do you hold it so? i hold a faith that this would work. somehow. that anxiety cannot change the course of a ship any sooner than it can raise the dead.

its a strange, incomprehensible peace, but its peace nonetheless. it makes the moments pass easier. i want this peace for every one of my tomorrows.

040716102010

this tree will grow where it might, i shall not restrain its life.

pointless

2010-10-09T20:35:00.004+01:00

the hours go by, just as they did before. the sun rises and sets; raindrops fall from a drizzle into storms that flood the streets, rivers up mud that sprang from the sky. why would it be any different, i ask you, my friend? life goes, and grows, and we get wiser by the experience, until the moment when we stop breathing. what i want most, is understanding - the knowledge of what this moment means, so that the lesson (and its blessing) is not lost. perhaps you understand me -maybe you never will, you're on my mind and i love your weight.

#407 in which i inflict more random ramblings on you

2010-09-17T05:37:00.007+01:00

Its true

For everything there is a time

And a season.

There’s so much that I could say

So much that one could do

(Or so it sometimes appears)

To massage regret into a distant hum

To change where we are

To the place where

We would rather.

Of course,

Let us speak nothing of the ways we could

Rearrange the furniture

In Memory’s rooms.

The time for that lies

On the ground

Surrounded,

Gently cushioned

by the rest of summer.

I buried my fist in the wall

- many walls –

and punctuated that emotion

with my heart’s essence.

The world spins

And turns us around

In circles, cycles and twists

Until we start right back

At the ending

Of the last beginning.

Maybe time’s next revealing

Will fill this hole.

For every thing,

there is a season

And a time.

A time for the harbour

And a time for the open sea

A time to row

And a time to let go

- to ride the waves

where the currents flow.

A time to stand firm

And a time to walk the road.

For every thing,

there is a season

And a time that’s chosen.

The night was dark, and long

And heavy with regret

And tears that we shed;

But peace comes

with the changing of the tide.

Hello, morning,

Make me Happy…

010717092010

remembering tupac

2010-09-07T09:07:00.004+01:00

the "anniversary" comes round again. 14 years ago tupac and friends saw the tyson vs seldon fight, and headed out afterward, to party. they never got there, because 2pac was shot on the way. it truly is a sad sad event to commemorate, because he was truly cut down in his prime. its a shame that the murderers of this vile act were never caught, just as the monster who shot my cousin remains free. yet i am certain that at the end of ages, all these mysteries will become plain. in the mean time, we celebrate a man who left enough to remember him by.

i have never said that tupac was a hero - i doubt that he ever wanted or set out to be one. what i have always loved is his message: of love, of truth, and the passion in his delivery. i have since discovered his poetry, and his activism. i guess he had no choice but to stand tall, being the son of whom he was. i respect that his music remains fresh in a age when creativity has become a formula.

words from a fan (for tupac shakur)

Your words have often
Been the seeds of my reflection,
Introspection,
Quiet consideration of my situation
When life finds me happy
Or low, between the places
That torment my soul,
I play back the words that you wrote
Not so long ago
And know that this struggle is not mine alone.

Bless heaven that I
Have never starved a day
Without the meal to make me whole again
But I feel your thoughts on poverty just the same,
There’s something real in the way you say
A hungry man is in pain
That touches me, as though you told my own misery
So eagerly with your passionate sincerity.

Even thugs need affection too
That’s why you never hesitated to do
A song for the lover in you
That’s why you wrote verses so beautiful
You never felt too cool
To speak the truth
You kept it real in your poetry
Never afraid to draw controversy
By talking about the ones you love.
Love, the foundation of us all
So I speak of my affections and stand tall
Like you, a man whose heart
Is never too tough to feel
- love is real.

I know you tried to teach the youth
To take responsibility for what they do,
But no one listens to thugs like you
Not when they live the way that you used to do
Scrapping and rapping like a crazy goon.
Fighting, shooting, drawing heat
Kicking a ruckus on every street
Speaking of death with passion,
The inevitability of our passing.

And now, no longer in this world of men
You took one last tortured breath
You made your way into Death’s
Dark den,
Finally to find the rest that you have earned
Until the final moments of time when
When all men must meet again
You’re alive in the words that you spoke and scribbled with your pen
You’ll be living in our memories until the very end.

Rest in Peace Tupac Shakur.

(this is a repeat of an earlier post that i first put up years ago)

#402

2010-09-05T06:11:00.004+01:00

talking to you
leaves me open
- its more than i can bear.
its easier when i look away
with my eyes
and with my soul
and with every me
in between.

we have found a place
- our impasse -
we cohabit with warm detachment
this frigid air is comfort
you remind me daily
that time is precious
and life is short
i put my books away
and step on stage

but how do i show you
my resolve
to seize each moment
to waste no single day
to put a new smile
on your face
every chance
that life presents me

this is not
a new cycle
every moment is new
every emotion is a seed
nurtured by affection
realisation
held tightly
by my resolution
to never let this die

open is pleasant
open is pain
open is feeling
feeling is a rainbow cocktail
open is a high
and a low
open is feeling
feeling is a game of dice

open is a rollercoaster

open is often
more than i can bear
open is the sacrifice
i am making
open is the penance
i am paying
to you

064305092010

no title necessary

2010-06-17T16:02:00.002+01:00

dear nikki,

i'm writing this because i don't know how else to reach you. today - just now - i was going through my old posts, and i came across the comments that you had left behind, as you made your way through my mind. it just struck me, like a bullet hits a stationary target, that you will never come this way again; never leave me another smile-inducing comment. it hit me, so hard that it stopped my breath, numbing anguish spreading from my brain and splitting my heart into uneven parts.

i hurt because you will never leave another stain on your blog for me to marvel at, no gem of literary talent for me to wrap my head around. i've always said that being able to read your words was one of the biggest blessings my education has afforded me, and its such a shame that the blessing will now not benefit from the nurturing and the development of your remarkable ability to write shit down with eloquence, and zestful wit.

what happens to all those unfinished tales that you wrote with such aplomb? i used to go off on you for never finishing your stories, leaving us hanging like some flirty prick-tease - now its clear that i'll never learn how some of those encounters and experiences ended. and i hope blogger will not crash one day and wipe even your old stains away from my sight.

where are you now, my friend? i don't think the grave is deep, or powerful enough to hold your soul. where are you now? i refuse to believe that you're not writing up a storm wherever you are. i would love to read what you would have to say about the things you have witnessed since you were translated from this realm.

i still laugh when i think about you. i hope you're laughing too, wherever your soul is. i trust that you are with God, and that you delight heaven daily with the talent that He gave you.

our journey continues.

love,

olawunmi.

and nikki went home

2010-04-12T06:34:00.005+01:00

my friend Nikki passed last year. it came as a rude rude shock, because it was so sudden. Nikki was full of life, which is still evident in the "stains" that she left behind, on her blog, on my mind, and pretty much everywhere she went.

i remember the high i felt when i first discovered her writing, i still can't comprehend how she was able to write so powerfully, with emotion, wit and purpose. and surely her dexterity in collecting random words that she shaped into literary art was beyond mere talent? i still say that reading her work is one of the greatest blessings my education has afforded me, and i am forever thankful that i had the opportunity to find her when i did. i'm thankful that i could interact with her, and speak with her about the stuff that she wrote, in the way that i could never do with the overwhelming majority of the writers whose work we pick up in the shelves of libraries and bookstores that surround us.

i could call her after reading a particularly hilarious piece, and call out her stupidity or her stubbornness or just praise her ability to convey the humour from her reality, into the words that lay dormant on the pages of her blog, only to come to life most angry (most hilariously) in my mind. i could call her about something poignant that she had written, and ask, "how", and "why"? Nikki told the funniest stories, and she told them well. but Nikki always had a point, which stayed with you when you were done laughing. the one about the boyfriend with the crusty feet made me made me less resistant to getting a pedicure (i have since regressed into my brute nature); the one about oral sex reminded me that people often use sex for their own ends (oh yes please) - its true though, great head has the ability to fix the fuck up. i still laugh hysterically whenever i remember that one.

Nikki wasn't perfect though (but who is?). she never finished a story, leaving you hanging after reading the juicy introduction to a particularly interesting story, never quite going back to write the concluding part. like most talented people, she never could quite get it together enough to write THAT BOOK that you just knew her natural ability would one day produce. plus, she thought she could fix damn near any failure with good head (lol).

i miss you, my friend. i miss going to your blog to get my latest fix of your literary crack. now i just comb through your pages like a junkie scraping through his kit for the residue of past highs. unlike drugs though, your ish is still powerfully potent and fresh when tapped years later. i thank God for your life, and the peace that you have found from this crazy, topsy-turvy world. i'm glad that i found you, and that i have your words to comfort me through the rest of my life. i'll keep staring at the stains and laughing at the marks you made. you still remain one of the best writers i have ever read, and i'm happy that i had the chance to tell you that while it mattered most.

Rest In Peace Anika von Harris. Sun Re o.

070812042010

i should be sleeping

2010-04-12T06:00:00.004+01:00

hello world. do you remember me?

i talked about my blog today with a friend, at length. so i've come back to look at me through the eyes of a stranger. i'm laughing, because that's such a paradox - you can't really see yourself objectively. actually, i take that back, because i sometimes can. in the midst of my struggles, i sometimes catch a glimpse of myself and can see with some clarity how i might appear to the casual observer.

just last week i was in a tough tough situation at work, and i found myself losing it with a couple of individuals. one guy in particular really got the brute end of my temper. indeed, i have never seen myself so incensed, or given vent to my temper with such abandon. i was unkind, and i was mean.

several people witnessed my outburst; one in particular took me up on it, saying, "you really shouldn't talk to people like that". he had a point, and i knew that for once i had allowed my carefully maintained grip on my temper to slip. objectively, i knew how i had sounded, and how the situation would appear if the story were told (and told it would be, over and over, exaggerated until it grew bloated to the point were i became most despicably and resentfully vile.

but then, in a moment of clarity, i looked at our situations, all 3 of us. they weren't looking at me objectively - they were judging me as they saw me, in my position, with all the natural thoughts, envy, resentments and suspicion that would be expected to attend my place. in that mirror, all my faults are amplified, the provocation (read failings) of those concerned minor, the stakes so minor that they had become non-existent.

my point is that human beings are not really fair at all, are they? it would not matter how many warnings i had given person x, how many times he had been corrected, how many chances he had been given to straighten up his act. it wouldn't matter that his errors left my head on the chopping block rather than his, or that the individual whose criticism rankled so badly (say person y) was one of those to whom i had to answer for the incompetent stupidity of said person x.

in the end all that matters is that we are true to ourselves. i could have (should have) handled it better, but i meant no malice, i bore said individual no ill will whatsoever. it was simply the frustration boiling over, of being held responsible for the myriad failings of an individual who couldn't get his act together.

i really really hate contractors. and i'm finding that nigerians take very little personal or professional pride in our jobs, so we seldom put our best into what we do. i'm finding that our interest in work is purely financial, and we put in the very minimum we can get away with. i'm finding that i really really hate this attitude, because i put my soul into everything i do. but how do you teach pride and discipline to people who are so poorly motivated?

you wait ages for a bus, and then 2 come by at once

2009-09-02T01:34:00.001+01:00

Most days I am patient enough, and blessed with sufficient wisdom to know that I cannot rush time - that though I am curious to see where tomorrow leads us, there is little I can do but wait to see how our story unfolds. On these days I find peace in the thought that what will be will certainly become, and all a man can do is live within the best of his own abilities, whilst trusting in God to do what is best for us.

But I am only a man.

Some days I lie awake and agonise about the things that I know, and the gulf that lies between this firm ground and the dark waters of the things that might occur in the next instant. Every moment is precious, and I cannot help but wonder, if this one is not wasted, and if the next one is not lost forever, or shaped by the choice that I just made, because even when we choose to do nothing, we make a decision.

Even when we choose to do nothing, we make a decision.

I want to know how this story is told when the children gather in the dusk. I want to know how the Talking Drum will sing this song, and what refrain it will teach those who will walk in the wake of this journey.

I want to know, and sometimes tomorrow is too far away.

014202092009

passing through

2009-09-02T01:20:00.001+01:00

I paraphrase a song from the days of my youth.

I’ve been away for much too long, hope you still feel I belong…

Its true. I’ve been gone from here for a while. When I first started this blog, I didn’t imagine that it would ever become the part of me that it did at one point, but it did. And when I was writing all the time, I never imagined the time would come when months would pass by that I wouldn’t even stop by my own page. Crazy.

Whowouldathunkit?

But weeks, months even, go by and I don’t even stop by. What would be the point indeed, when I know precisely what I’d find? I never meant to stop blogging, and in my mind, I don’t think I have (denial hermano) but the reality is that this page is bereft of new words.

There are so many reasons why I don’t blog as much anymore. Change is constant, and while we are alive we must continue to move. Recently I moved me back to lagos, finished with all the things that I was doing at that phase of my life. This place is crazy busy, life is full, and demanding, and the simple pleasures suffer when you have so little time. So I find less time for the things I used to love, because of the things that are undeniably unavoidable. No time to read, no time to write, some days it’s a struggle just to find some alone time before fatigue forces my eyes shut.

So I find myself asking, “what is the point of keeping the blog open? Why not shut it down, like so many others have done?” the answer to that one is tough. I have a certain pride in my blog, and for me it’s a record of a certain period in my life – one to which I am attached, that also serves as a reference point for the periods when memory, and sentiment determine that I must rake the past for whatever reason might be pressing at the material time.

For now my mind is made up, to keep this blog open, to return here sporadically, and to post thoughts when the urge takes hold strongly – it is after all my own prerogative to do whatever I wish on these pages. To close it down would be to severe a link that I would rather not break, and so we shall stay open, and we shall speak as often as we find our voice.

I’ve been away for much too long, hope you still feel that I belong? How are you doing?

only a man

2009-03-01T00:18:00.003Z

every day that i live, i an forced to face the imperfections of my humanity, sometimes in small ways, but very often in huge things, in the errors that i would rather not have made. no matter how hard i try, regardless how desperately i work at this, there's no escaping the fact that i am only human. i'm a work in progress, and i make mistakes. everyday i make new resolutions; i look at me critically to find the things that need fixing, and vow with all sincerity of purpose to make the right changes. and everyday i find something new that needs undoing, or re-doing, or doing.

work in progress.

i learn new lessons, and forget the old ones, or why does it seem that we constantly make mistakes? i think that life is more about the race to beat our human imperfections than anything else; and the road to hell is truly paved with good intentions, held together by the adhesive of our errors. we can say that we mean well, but if in the end we make mistakes, does it really matter what we intended? one wise woman said that she has conquered hills and found that she still had mountains to climb. its true, i win the little skirmishes, and find that there are wars left to fight. but where does this road lead? and why is learning so painful?

#356

2008-11-11T17:12:00.007Z

my pen
this bleeding pen
has not touched a page
in ages
not since i lost my voice. the urge
is
just gone.

how could i make these things
permanent,
indelible edifices of transient phases
when the passing wind can do so much
to spread the seeds of thoughts once breathed
they find fertile ground in places unforeseen
tall trees of anguish
grow from my acorns of doubt.
if to speak would make it real,
surely the blotted scribbling would
knock the stones onto the grave,
to seal this for all time?

the pages are stark in their whiteness
plain, bereft of scratched
calligraphic adornment
pen bleeds all over my pocket,
and i
i just choke it all inside
cram the spaces with the passing.

you make me
want to dance
sing
laugh
dare to believe
that we can
sing
a sweet song

1821.11082008

RANDOM thoughts from the wimbledon finals

2008-07-06T16:09:00.002+01:00

nadal is a genius

federer is flustered.

surely he will come back?

surely?

nadal is a beast!

federer is coming back.

NADAL IS SUPERMAN!!!! how the hell did he reach that ball?

NADAL has wings.

does federer stand a chance? he's just lost the first 2 sets. does he even have a chance?

tlk is on point!

why does federer make it look so easy?

its not looking that easy for him though.

oh no RAIN!!

they're back.

that was an unbelievable point!!!

he's won one!!!

nadal has wings.

i can't bear to watch this anymore.

HE'S BACK!!!

2 all!

this is the best tennis match i have ever seen.

nadal has broken.

does he ever give up?

HE'S WON!!!

TISCALI IS USELESS. USELESS USELESS USELESS!

2008-07-04T12:22:00.002+01:00

TISCALI UK IS VERY VERY FUCKED!!!

AND USELESS.

AND THEY DON'T KNOW THEIR FACES FROM THEIR TOES.

CUSTOMER SERVICES ARE USELESS, HEAVEN FORBID YOU EVER HAVE A PROBLEM. YOU GET BOUNCED FROM DAFT OUTSOURCED REP TO DAFT OUTSOURCED REP IN ENDLESS CIRCLES OF INCOMPETENCE.

AND THAT'S APART FROM BEING PUT ON HOLD ENDLESSLY.

PLEASE AVOID TISCALI IF YOU CAN.

zimbabwe - bob speaks from the grave

2008-07-02T13:26:00.003+01:00

the words and actions of great men live on, and resound with fearsome truth lobg after their days on earth have become history.

Every man gotta right to decide his own destiny,
And in this judgement there is no partiality.
So arm in arms, with arms, we'll fight this little struggle,
'Cause that's the only way we can overcome our little trouble.

Brother, you're right, you're right,
You're right, you're right, you're so right!
We gon' fight (we gon' fight), we'll have to fight (we gon' fight),
We gonna fight (we gon' fight), fight for our rights!

Natty Dread it in-a (Zimbabwe);
Set it up in (Zimbabwe);
Mash it up-a in-a Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Africans a-liberate (Zimbabwe), yeah.

No more internal power struggle;
We come together to overcome the little trouble.
Soon we'll find out who is the real revolutionary,
'Cause I don't want my people to be contrary.

And, brother, you're right, you're right,
You're right, you're right, you're so right!
We'll 'ave to fight (we gon' fight), we gonna fight (we gon' fight)
We'll 'ave to fight (we gon' fight), fighting for our rights!

Mash it up in-a (Zimbabwe);
Natty trash it in-a (Zimbabwe);
Africans a-liberate Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
I'n'I a-liberate Zimbabwe.

(Brother, you're right,) you're right,
You're right, you're right, you're so right!
We gon' fight (we gon' fight), we'll 'ave to fight (we gon' fight),
We gonna fight (we gon' fight), fighting for our rights!

To divide and rule could only tear us apart;
In everyman chest, mm - there beats a heart.
So soon we'll find out who is the real revolutionaries;
And I don't want my people to be tricked by mercenaries.

Brother, you're right, you're right,
You're right, you're right, you're so right!
We'll 'ave to fight (we gon' fight), we gonna fight (we gon' fight),
We'll 'ave to fight (we gon' fight), fighting for our rights!

Natty trash it in-a Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Mash it up in-a Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Set it up in-a Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Africans a-liberate Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Africans a-liberate Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Natty dub it in-a Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe).

Set it up in-a Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Africans a-liberate Zimbabwe (Zimbabwe);
Every man got a right to decide his own destiny.

i have refrained on speaking afresh on mr mugabe. my thoughts on the degenerate despot are already well-known. and all i need is 5 minutes with the man. 5 minutes and amnesty for hideous torture, because you know he's beyond reason, and when a child will not reason its time to wield the stick. senile african sell-outs are not exempt.

130027052008

2008-05-29T12:54:00.005+01:00

if we take this lesson,
and never let go of it;
if we hold it, and focus our eyes on it;
if it somehow becomes a beacon,
a light to guide all of our steps
from this point on;
from the darkness that was yesterday,
through the garden of hope that is today
into the challenges,
the mad web of the unknown
that is our every tomorrow
would our lives not be
the richer for it?

but how do we learn,
if our minds are closed to the possibility
of trying?
is there a way through this-
could we somehow see the light
through our eyes so tightly shut?
is there wisdom in stopping now,
at this moment?
(should we call this the end of forever?)
at least we could avoid making things worse...
(you could help me understand).

258

2008-05-25T18:05:00.004+01:00

it is truly amazing how you can still unsettle me - amazing and scary. you're never far away:

its a call on my mobile phone, your name and image flash up and i can no longer quite be still -
your voice in my ear is the sweetest pain;

its your name in my email, when you send a random message or the other -
the skipped beat in my heart while i'm wondering what you tried to say;

in my IM, knowing that you are online at the same moment when i am, and only clicks away;

and its most unsettling, when i'm thinking about you, just at the moment when you ring my phone. you're in my present and in my memory and you're the unyielding presence that i cannot shake.

2008-05-14T07:51:00.001+01:00

Today I saw God. In His awesomeness, in His Mangnificence, in His Glory reflected in the work of men who truly understand what it is to live with respect for His ways.

The first thing you hear about most of the new private universities in Nigeria is the rules. No Jeans, No Co-mingling between the genders, (in some cases) No Jewellery, No Short Skirts, No Pants for the female students, Strict segregation of the halls of residence so guys cannot visit the girls and vice versa. For me it’s a tale of restrictions on the very nature of university – in my eyes a refuge of freedom, of barely bridled youth, self-expression and experimentation; a carefree place where you can get away with levels of irresponsibility that you would never contemplate at any other point in your life. So imagine my horror when I heard about all the rules and restrictions; and hence I have always had reservations about them. But then, most of these schools were set up by churches, and so its understandable that they would want to set strict moral standards for their students. If you don’t like it, then you can take your chances with the public schools.

I consider the overwhelming majority of nigeria’s past and present leaders a bunch of greedy, rabid, degenerate, cannibalistic and selfish fools. Thus far, I have yet to be proved wrong, and I’m sure most people would agree. You need only pick up any of the newspapers on any given day to confirm the fact that we are a country being led by blind thieving idiots with no clue. Where are the fruit that we can show for the billions spent on power, housing, roads and sundry infrastructure?

Today I was proved wrong, and right about certain of the foregoing. I went to Covenant University in Otta to assist my dad in giving a careers presentation. My God!!! We travelled through bad roads, at one point Gunther (my gay, german body-builder, teutonic truck with the muscular presence) was wheels deep in mud as we drove past an uncompleted bridge on a road that was meant to connect two states of the federation, the road that actually leads to several border crossing points.

Then we got off that road, and drove past this compound. It was an oasis of calm in the middle of a chaotic wasteland. The fence was painted and the exterior was nicely laid out with plants. We had arrived at Canaan Land, home of Winners Chapel, the 50,000 seater auditorium and Covenant University. So far so good. We drove into the compound, past the church and into the school premises.

My jaw hit the ground.

The compound was beautigully laid out. There were plants and trees everywhere. Well laid out lawns were everywhere. And the buildings. I had expected tyo see a few poorly constructed buildings, in the manner of most things Nigerian. What they had there was emphatically NOT Nigerian. Not in any way. First of all, they had buildings to rival the oldest universities in Nigeria. Except that these were newer and in much better states of repair. There was space everywhere, and the presence of a visionary who had spared no expense to realise his dream.

We went in. they had stuff. They had well-furnished rooms and loads of space. Someone had spent good money there, and done it rather well. Tennis courts, basketball, football? Large buildings for lectures and faculty offices? Check. Teaching aids? Check. We met a handful of lecturers. They looked content. Everyone was at peace. They had generators humming. Air conditioners in the main rooms that we went into? Yezzir! Lecture rooms that looked like actual places for learning, rather than repositories for old worthless junk?

And then we entered the library. Computers and LAN points for laptops? Wireless LAN - albeit without internet connection in the networks I found (though they could have shut those down deliberately to prevent people browsing “unsuitable websites).” it was a huge complex, but it was equipped well above the standard I had ever seen in a nigerian university. We were taken to a small room in the library where the talk had been moved due to trouble with the generator in the architecture building. The air conditioners worked well throughout. They had a projector and other stuff ready for our use. They were organised.

Bishop Oyedepo is a man of God. He has taken the resources at his disposal and created something that anyone should be proud of. He has created a citadel of learning and executed it well, despite not having the resources that our governments have. He has created a legacy for whch people should thank him and honour him forever. He has shown that God does exist in some people. And when the public universities decay with neglect, Covenant University will demonstrate that good can come out of Nigeria still, that individuals and communities still exist with the conscience and presence of mind to serve humanity. Immortality beckons, in the most honest way. Even if the vision were not his originally, he has provided the means for it to become reality, and is that not the point?

What is the federal government budget for the universities? How much does each school get, and what do they do with the cash? How much does Winner’s Chapel have, to establish and run a university with? Bishop Oyedepo has done a wonderful thing and shown our leaders up. How much of their ill-gotten loot have they ever spent on the larger society, except in further pursuit of their own selfish ends? But one man proved that you can make a difference if you put your heart to it. If you truly worship God as you profess to, then it should show in the things you do. But our leaders loot and pillage in the name of God, and expect to be celebrated as messiahs.

Our country needs more men like Bishop Oyedepo. If there were more like him, the billions spent on power might have yielded some result. I have seen the handiwork of a great man, and it left me speechless. All I could do was praise God for the work that people have done in His name.

i (in my ears and in my head)

2008-03-12T09:19:00.000Z

thank you for the music yay-yay

NAYO's Coming Soon...

2008-02-28T15:12:00.006Z

Remember Nayo? she's been featured on this blog a couple of times; i'm a huge fan.

Her Album 'African Girl' will be released on March 10th.

It can be pre-ordered at any of the following links below.

HMV -
http://www.hmv.co.uk/hmvweb/displayProductDetails.do?ctx=280;-1;-1;-1&sku=776187

and

AMAZON -
http://www.amazon.co.uk/African-Girl-Nayo/dp/B0013PJGCO/ref=pd_bbs_sr_1?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1204209002&sr=8-1

In addition, she will be having her live **Secret Village Show** at
the Soho Revue Bar in London - March 13th to celebrate the album release.

TICKETS ARE AVAILABLE -
http://www.ticketweb.co.uk/user/?region=gb_london&query=detail&event=257575

show your support for NAYO.

unedited, uncensored... unwise?

2008-02-28T00:43:00.007Z

something's changing, but i can't honestly say what it is - perhaps its because i don't really know what "it" is, or how the change is coming about. hard to tell, except that i swing between extremes, listless and tired this moment, going through the motions as i wait for the next movement of the clock to unfold its mystery. and then the next moment finds me restless and wound like a coiled spring, ready to burst forth in a frenzy of energy and achievement.

someone should have said, when i handed in that huge folder, that the sense of purpose which once held me would not be easy to replace, that accomplishment would be more anticlimax than victory parade. but that's not all.

something's changing. i'm just not the same, but i can't really tell what it is. you're dancing before my eyes, like you always have, sometimes smiling, sometimes frowning, always teasing with the possibility of what might have been, what might yet be if the desires of the heart alone can shape the destiny of a man and those things which most concern him. is this the beginning or the end? is there another road that we have yet to travel? what becomes of us?

perhaps its simply the passage of time that's wrought this change, but i grow more confused with the years that increase the greying of the hairs that crown my head. once i was impatient in all things, but now find an increase in wisdom and patience and thus the ability to discern answers from things said and the roles we play in the drama of our lives. but the paradox is in the way that i have not yet learned to let things unfold as they may, where it concerns the light that radiates from your being and its presence. once i would have been content to see how the rivers flow, but i find age has only lent me a greater impatience to find the peace that must surely lie in store, so my tired feet run along the shore, hoping somehow to solve the mystery that is you and me.

something is surely different. i ponder the old questions with a new urgency, the weight of uncertainty and the need to chart courses a constant companion to my confusion and the considerations that must be balanced if tomorrow will be as fulfilling as surely it must. we walk a delicate balance, each one of us people between happiness and its absence, constant need and contentment, and who we are is never the same for long. i'm hungry for something more, now that the old challenges are gone; finally its time to take on the bigger stage with purpose, but stagefright steals my confidence and robs me of my lines.

and then there is you, the hero who fell spectacularly from the grace that men of your cloth enjoy by virtue of your professed calling. i find in you both things to celebrate and to detest, virtues and flaws so great that its hard to understand the incongruity in one whom has been so blessed. how much of you can i trust, how much to simply discard and pray that heaven reveals in me more strength and wisdom to do that which is right even when the tide is strong in its determination to oppose my own divination of what fairness demands. i have no desire to speak with you until your eyes have found the true light of reason. we exist like strangers might, who have shared secrets without the intimacy of knowledge.

my reality has changed, and so much else with it; priorities, aspirations and desires, all are different. are we all just strangers to ourselves? who knows? my ponderings bring me no closer to the truth that i seek.

she was a stranger that i once knew

2008-02-08T18:07:00.000Z

everytime i see her a part of my soul breaks down.

she is a woman of the night, a working girl; she hangs out at the classier night spots, smoking casually and sipping her beers at the bar, casting trained glances that initially appear casual across the rooms in which she holds court.

at first i thought that she was just out for a good time, like my friends and i were doing, the night i first saw her at coconut grove. i wondered if i should say hello, or just let it slide, since she probably would not know me after all of these years. something held me back (call it discretion, or a sixth sense) and i simply stayed in my seat without making up my mind either way.

as we sat and talked, my eyes occasionally wandered to the place where she sat perched on her bar stool, cigarette in one hand, mug of beer in the other. it took a few glances before i realised that something did not add up. who was she with? in this city its very rare to see a single woman out on her own, unless she's "on the game". but she couldn't have been on the game, or could she? we argued, myself and i, that there was the explanation for her aloneness was other than what common-sense suggested.

something about her attitude said she wasn't just out casually, and as her companions gathered around her, it became more undeniable, so i asked a friend. "do you think that girl is a prostitute?"

"of course she is", my companion answered, and then teasing, she asked, "or do you like her?"

i laughed it off, and then explained. "i find it hard to believe that she is. we went to university together all those years ago. she was a year ahead of me, she was in Tony's class, she studied english"

"NO!!!" my incredulous friend replied, "olawunmi, you can't be serious".

sadly, i was.

she was still the same, even though i hadn't seen her in almost 10 years. she was obviously older, and she had filled out her rather skinny frame some more, but she was still pretty. i can't say that we were friends, merely the sort of acquaintances who said hello whenever we met. but she was good friends with one of my best friends back in those carefree days, and so we did speak, more than a few times.

time and the (imagined) ravages of her profession didn't seem to have touched her much. perhaps she hadn't been on the game long, i surmised; pondered it for a bit and then dismissed it as another of her professional colleagues strutted her stuff on the dance floor, hips shaking, generous booty hopping with abandon. damn!!!

i bumped into her again on the thursday, at saipan, where the live music is off the chain most thursdays. once again, she was at the bar, sipping and smoking and surveying the room with a careful eye. before the night was out i had established that she was indeed engaged in a trade where the flesh is the merchandise, and the satisfaction derived from commerce is the brief visit to the bliss of orgasm.

looking at her got me thinking, just wondering how this educated woman came to be engaged in this trade.had she been unable to find work after school? or had she found a job,which did not pay enough? what unfortunate circumstance could have brought about such a journey? was she another example of how my beloved country was failing its citizens? or was it more complicated than that?

i have no answers, but i know that it saddens me to see her out selling her body to the right bidder at the beginning of the night, knowing further that the price of her favours surely falls further on slow nights, when the need to earn a living forces her to accept any offers, rather than call the night a complete loss. on a slow night, she might belong to a random loser for a price less than half of what she considers fair for a taste of her womanly charms - the tragedy.

i have often looked at these women and pondered their stories, but i have never encountered one that was familiar to me, and so i was never affected as i have been these past 3 weeks. who knows tomorrow?

lagos

2008-01-29T00:45:00.000Z

this is the longest i have spent in nigeria in years. thus far, its been a month, and i keep postponing my trip back to the uk and the dark, gloomy cold. lagos is nice and warm, and its mad fun. its odd to go out now, after the christmas rush and the hordes of "returnees" (you know, the jand and yankee people like myself) with their foreign accents and dollar bills. its hell getting into most places in december, our pretentiousness guarantees that the bouncers keep out anyone who's not able to pay the extortionate admission prices at the bars and clubs. these days, its odd to drive past club vwxyz and see the gates thrown wide open for nonexistent patrons. i laugh, in december y'all were being silly with the door policy. glad to see y'all brought back to earth!

the social life is mad here, and now that all the crowds have gone back over the ocean, its far less crowded, so you can actually enjoy your time out. the last couple of weeks i have needed monday morning to recover from the weekend's partying. i can see why we're one of the happiest nations on earth, despite our numerous problems, we live hard, work hard and play with the vengeance. my poor liver (see, i get drunk just by associating with my alchoholic friends, exactly in the same way that second hand smoke gets in your lungs). what, are you accusing me of drinking? min' yasef o!

but chei, sometimes its hard to tell the "working girls" apart from the regular girls just out to have a good time. i thought it was just me, when this one girl spent a good 10 minutes talking to me in the vip section of a club. she was mad pretty, and well dressed; clearly educated, and she sounded pretty cool, until she mentioned that she wouldn't mind going home with me for the night, if i promised to "look after her". i ran off and when i told my friends they simply laughed it off. apparently it happens to all lagos newbies all the time. dang! and i was rather flattered by the attention....

so i keep resceduling my trip back. just today i added another 2 weeks to this holiday, to the exasperation of my travel agent. next time i'll just deal with the airline direct. pah! usually,by now i'd be hating the country, and frustrated withh nigeria, but this time i'm still having a good time. guess i'm finally ready to move back. andits not helping that the weather reports predict only gloom and wet cold in my beloved manchester. i miss it, but i'm loving lagos. fact.

back!

2008-01-22T01:03:00.000Z

hey. how are you? is it too late to say happy new year? i have had a rollercoaster couple of months, but i'm glad the worst is over. i'm in lagos, and i will be here for at least another 2 weeks. its blissful to be able to take a couple of months off, but nigeria is an odd place to spend it in some ways. i love the heat and the feeling of being home. at the same time, this place frustrates me. it saddens me that this is how far we have come in 47 years of trying. buti ampleased to be at home, to be basking in the sun in january, instead of huddled in front of a heater. God is good.

forgive my long absence, i will update more regularly now. let me just say, that i am still very much around, the rumours of my death were blown out of proportion. lol.

2007-12-02T04:20:00.000Z

you would think that i would have had this sorted by now, but i'm still not sleeping very much. there were a few days, last week, when i managed to sleep like a regular being, but now that the initial underwhelming euphoria has worn off my body has gone back to being the same. insomnia is kicking my butt again, and its not letting up.

perhaps its because my mind is so full. there are so many things to resolve. not knowing the future is a right bummer, and though its easy to let some things slide, other issues can be so pressing and so urgent in our minds that we can't just play the waiting game. if only it were so easy to fast-forward to the point when all of this is past, to see how it all turns out. there are big decisions in the offing, and its not easy to face major life-altering decisions.

so i can't sleep. and i can't be free of these pressing thoughts that i can only escape in the bliss of sleep. life is grand i tell you.

i am thankful for the past 11 months and all of the milestones that it has held for me and for my family.

thankful. 'sanu

2007-11-21T13:38:00.000Z

my brother is an amazing character and a wonderful human being. born long after i had given up hope of ever having a biological brother, one day the driver picked me up from school with the news that i was finally no longer an only son. YAY!!!

he's all grown up now, exactly half my age and already a man in his own right. i love him because in so many ways he's so different from the kid i was at his age. he's not the hyperactive wrecking ball that i was, nor is he the mischief-seeking rabble-rouser who still somehow inhabits my skin. my brother is gentle and affectionate, and having been groomed by 6 older sisters is rapidly becoming a right gentleman. he's sensitive and sweet, and its undeniable that he's truly a good person inside.

still, i see shades of myself in him, like his confidence in his own person, which manages to hide just how shy he really is, from the world. funny how he might have everyone fooled with that, but having walked that road myself, its easy for me to see the signs. he can be every bit as vain and cocky as i am prone to be; and we have the same insane interest in cars, video games, gadgets and clothes; he beats me at every single video game, and never lets me forget it, but i have never seen him be rude to anyone in the years i have known him.

he might be the youngest of a bunch of kids, but 'Sanu is a man in his own right, and he never lets you forget it. he's a real standup guy, who apparently is not afraid to confront bullies who pick on his friends (i heard this from one of my cousins who went to school with 'Sanu.)

i am thankful for my brother, for his presence in my life and the man that he will be one day.

thankful. words from my notebook. dotun

2007-11-20T21:50:00.000Z

This is why i'm thankful: for family

sitting here watching you
in your own world,
book in hand,
earphones jammed into your ears
doing you -
oblivious
to my watching eyes.
my heart is bursting with emotions
my head could never find words
for my mouth to speak.

you're beautiful, in a way
that only our creator could make possible
still as precious to me
as the day when they first brought you home.
my baby.
i remember,
that i prayed, earnestly
that you would be - that i would have
at long last,
a brother of my own

i remember the very moment the news came
could not help my tears when i learned
that you would be my little sister
- sister, not brother -
but what did i know?
when i first saw your face it was settled
forever in my heart
21 years later and i’m still in love with you
still needing to take you in my arms
willing,
to knock the world to its knees
if she offered you threat or pain,
still knowing,
that you’re special,
as every single one
that you share my heart with;
my sister...
i wouldn't trade you, for all the brothers in the world

on a train, one night; words for olamidotun 2200.150406

this is too hilarious!! (its safe for work, i promise)

2007-11-07T14:25:00.000Z

The Landlord

lines on a page

2007-11-05T14:50:00.003Z

i was silent, i am silent;
i wrote words that i did not send.
i was blessed,
this time the wind acceded my wish;
it stood still
and so my secrets were safe from your ears
- i was thankful for its kindness.
there were thoughts that i just could not speak
though it hurt my soul not to bare itself
to you.
i have been silent too long,
but this time its different;
i would hold nothing back,
except -
that i am not certain,
that you can handle this.

i have awoken;
the intensity of my every emotion
would overwhelm you
the depth of my feelings will
have you gasping for breath
- i promise -
my passion for you
would leave you weak
and shaking at the knees;
there's just no way
that you're ready for this.

my devotion
would rock your world
and my affection
hmmmm,
that would turn you into a feen;
i would lift you,
to euphoric highs
that leave you in withdrawal
every moment when we are apart.
if you could feel my heat
you would never be cold again,
ever.
no, i do not think that you
can handle all of this
so its best that you run.

i have no more time for games
that old me is gone;
run, as hard as you can;
fly if you must
or stay,
but i choose not to run away,
never again.

ologunde

on friday, oprah and yahoo!

2007-11-02T17:28:00.000Z

TGIF.

now where is my bottle of Bacardi?

i'm loving this song to death. and the video's taken long enough to drop too.

i heard oprah slated this song for glamourising fraud. i haven't seen that episode of her show, so i can't comment. but what i can say is that this song, and the Osuofia in London song "i go chop your dollar" are satires. its trite to say that art is often a commentary on life, and we need to accept that. if we can accept Animal Farm as a satire (and indeed that's a stark mockery of a nation's struggle) how can we fail to accept music as the same when it reflects the sad reality that a good measure of a nation's talents and ability is currently being invested in a dishonourable end? George Michael had his controversial shoot the dog video, and countless other musicians have recorded their own views on pertinent issues on their society. why should we not be allowed to comment on the things that occur in our own world?

the ABC documentary made much of the fraudsters operating out of nigeria, but it played down the role of their "victims" who in any other circumstance would be considered accomplices to whatever crimes were perpetrated against them. afterall, the usual scenario is "i am the son/daughter/dog of mr dead african despot xyz. my family has £xxy million lodged in a bank that we cannot access. we need your help to get it out, and for that we will offer you £2y million to help us". if you're clever you know its illegal. and too good to be true. i mean, who wins a lottery withoiut having bought a ticket?

ask yourself what would have happened if the deal had actually gone through. would the victim have declared their new income to the taxman? exactly. they should get done for attempted tax evasion or something, they shouldn't be allowed to play the victim when they are at least somewhat complicit in the attempt to spirit the wealth of an entire nation out of the hands of its rightful owners.

i'm not defending the fraudsters. i actually find it despicable to make your money like that, and its something that i'd never do or condone. but don't label us all thieves, or act innocent and sweetly ignorant when you're helping in some way. have the european banks ever returned mobutu's stolen billions? how much of africa's stolen loot has ever been returned? and who supplies all the guns that end up in the killing fields of sudan, liberia and congo?

yahooze is a beautiful song, and a satire of life in the fast lane. i don't hear anyone telling the blinging rappers that wearing $100,000 rings while your old neighbourhood starves is criminal. and when you abuse the fraudsters please remember that there are millions of honest traders, doctors and regular folk living in nigeria and elsewhere. we're not all thieves.

Words

2007-10-30T23:12:00.000Z

You taught me to pray, and for that I thank you as I say:

I pray that your days are long and full,
Full with the blessings of health,
prosperity and God’s unending, unrivalled favour.
I pray that you fulfil your destiny,
walk the paths and reach all of the heights
that our Father ordained and predestinated
When He first created you.

I pray that He prospers the works of your hands,
That your seeds will grow bountiful and healthy
So that you can reap the rewards of your toil;
Let no man sit on the throne that your labours build
No one should ever take your place,
No one, as God lives.
I ask that your lives are an unqualified success
That you never walk in the shame of failure
Until the end of your long days.

I pray that your life is full of joy
The kind that shines like the sun and never dims;
And the blessings of old age.
I pray that your eyes see your seed prosper
You ears shall hear the adoration of your descendants,
Generation after generation.
May your hands hold your grand-children
And their own children;
Like Abraham, let your seed be numerous and great
If you cry, let every tear be one that expresses joy
And gratitude for the love that He shows you
And the gifts that manifest that love.

I pray that you are never alone, never lonely
Never without the love and presence of the ones
Who mean everything to you.
You shall sorrow not over your children,
Nor over the works of your hands.
May your days always be peaceful and blessed.
As you go I pray
that wherever you are, whatever you do
you find favour and affection in the eyes
of all who behold you.
I pray that you never lose your faith,
and grow older in the knowledge
and communion with our Father
Amen.

I bless the Lord always for you.

For my parents, whom have loved me so much.

in my ears

2007-10-25T10:03:00.000+01:00

i love tyrese to bits, and i love this song. i call this one of my favourite ghetto love songs.

lucky dube

2007-10-23T11:22:00.000+01:00

i love this song so much. its a shame that he's no longer here physically

celebrating Kimi

2007-10-22T16:29:00.001+01:00

in the end calmness and maturity won the day. he didn't take undue risks, he simply covered his own end of the challenge, and left the rest up to fate to determine.

Lewis will have his day, but the moment belongs to a man who has paid his own dues. hamilton has talent, bags of it, but at crunch time he made the little errors that separate the men from the boys, like trying to overtake alonso instead of biding his time. gearbox failure or not, that was his own bag to carry and he dropped it when it counted. i pray that he wins the title one day, but right now its all about the Iceman.

for the first time in my life i am a Ferrari fan. since the end of last season when kimi switched to the red machines, it has been clear what team i would support.

World Champion at last.

Unanswered prayers...

2007-10-22T07:30:00.000+01:00

Sometimes I thank God for unanswered prayers
Remember when you're talkin' to the man upstairs
That just because He doesn't answer
Doesn't mean He don't care
Some of God's greatest gifts are unanswered prayers

- Garth Brooks

It’s hard to accept, when you pray, that sometimes (heck, a lot of the time, given some of the things I pray for) the things we ask will not be given to us. It’s hard. As human beings we feel a sense of entitlement, when we pray, we expect to have our wishes granted. Do I generalise, or does this ring true with you?

Recently I made a prayer. Well it was a prayer, sort of; it was an urgent wish from my heart for something that meant a lot to me. At the time I wanted it more than anything else, and to be honest I still do. But my prayer went unanswered. Some frustration, a lot of heartache and the post-mortem analysis of my own journey, and its still so hard to accept. Accept I must though, through the long silence that confirms what is plain to my eyes, even if my heart clings onto a vain hope that somehow this will come to be. It probably won’t.

“What you want might make you cry” - Lauryn Hill

It might. It might tear you to pieces. But you ask for it anyway, because you're human and you very often can’t see past your heart’s desires.

I believe that God watches over me, and steers me in the right direction. After I discovered this truth I learned to submit to His will, even when it completely contradicted my own (it often does). It means that I have to accept that things won’t always go my way; it means accepting, as a man of faith that things will ultimately turn out right, because His plans for me will lead me to an expected end. And thus far, He has never steered me wrong. Ever.

I prayed with my heart and my being. My wish won’t materialise. The truth hit me when I left sleep at 4 o’clock this morning (yeah, insomnia is still kicking my butt) with the same pressing thought on my head before I had even woken up fully. The same pressing desire that has haunted my every waking thought for the past 3 weeks, and maybe since the summer. It took a few seconds for it to sink in, for my mind to remember one of the truths I have learned through the course of my life, that “if it was meant to be, it wouldn’t be this hard”. It wouldn’t, it shouldn’t, but it is. So it can’t be purposed for me.

Some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.

In Nigeria we say that every disappointment is a blessing. Perhaps. Sometimes its true that it is. Maybe this one is, who knows? What I wished for might have hurt me 5, 10 years down the road, and then I’d have looked back on this period and asked My Father why He let it be; why in His omnipotent, prescient wisdom He didn’t pre-empt my unhappiness and fix it. Well He has, and the truth is that it still hurts. But it’s for the best. When I look back on my life, I want to be able to look at this point with gratitude in my heart for The One who made me and directs my path.

I am human though, and the part of me that wants what it wants, would like it to be God’s will for my prayer to be granted. But God isn’t in the business of individual desires, I think His concern is more with total happiness. So if something would please you today and cause you much greater unhappiness in the future, then trust Him to deal with it. Still, one can hope and pray…. I’d love to see how this ends though, I do. But if I was faced with the option of a straight trade between short-term satisfaction and long-term, lasting fulfilment, then I have no doubts what I would choose. Sometimes you just have to pray and trust. I will get through this somehow.

But let me qualify. I say that my prayer has gone unanswered, but what if I am wrong? What if the answer comes, but not at the time or in the form that I expect it to? What if waiting is part of the process that makes the attainment of the dream even more important? Who knows? Men of faith just accept with the expectation of joy at the end. Unanswered prayers. Could this really be one? I accept.

Have you ever wished for something, and not gotten it, and then looked back upon that thing with the certainty that not having your wish granted was the best thing that could have happened to you?

PS: thank you Uzo.

lucky...

2007-10-20T04:26:00.000+01:00

senselessly we kill our prophets, mindlessly we silence the voices of truth, callously we send the spirits of those who have struggled to achieve success into the prematurely dark night of death. rape talent to gratify violence, we slake our bloodlust with the lives of the innocent. we are men, but you would not know us from the animals who roam the wild.

i first heard his music when i was a boy. one of my uncles played "slave" too loud, and it captivated my young mind. later i would hear "i got you babe" and my love for the south african rasta was sealed, long before i understood his struggle or the essence of his message. i grew up to realise that he was a messenger with a voice that would not be stilled until he had delivered every syllable of the truth that he was told to bless the world with.

perhaps the truth has been told, because Lucky Dube will sing no more in this world. you will hear him in his recordings, but his voice will speak no new truths except the ones that occur to us anew in the songs that we already heard. he was killed 2 days ago, a victim of an apparent carjacking in his native south africa. an act of senseless violence has silenced the man whom apartheid could not hold mute. random senseless violence.

he will be missed greatly.

Rest In Peace

Tim was reading my mind

2007-10-17T22:14:00.000+01:00

my next 30 years

I think I'll take a moment, celebrate my age
The ending of an era and the turning of a page
Now its time to focus in on where I go from here
Lord have mercy on my next thirty years

Hey my next thirty years I'm gonna have some fun
Try to forget about all the crazy things I've done
Maybe now I've conquered all my adolescent fears
And Ill do it better in my next thirty years

My next thirty years I'm gonna settle all the scores
Cry a little less, laugh a little more
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear
Figure out just what I'm doing here
In my next thirty years

Oh my next thirty years, I'm gonna watch my weight
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers
Maybe Ill remember my next thirty years

My next thirty years will be the best years of my life
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife
Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear
Make up for lost time here, in my next thirty years
In my next thirty years

© tim mcgraw

i couldn't have said it any better....

on 2face

2007-10-08T08:51:00.000+01:00

the recent attack on 2face idibia illustrates perfectly, the kind of threat everyone who lives in lagos is under. and its a right shame. no, its a national tragedy that noone is safe whether inside their own home or outside on the streets.

this was an act of needless violence, but who protects us? where do we get justice when the people charged with protecting the nation are among the very rank of murderers and thieves? last year my dad got robbed at a chackpoint by men he was certain to be policemen. his car was taken and he was left on the streets with no means of contacting his family. at least he was unharmed. most people are not so blessed.

2face idibia has struggled all his life to get where he has. what he really needs to do is be allowed to enjoy the success that his God-given talent has brought him. but to some people he's just another wealthy mark to be robed and harmed for loot. but why did they have to shoot him? at least if you leave the victim alone they have their lives to live, and with time they will replace what was taken. but how do you replace a life, or a limb? and how do you console a family whose joy has been stolen by a random act of violence?

these things happen every day in lagos. we read about the random robberies and murders and rapes, and we're all filled with dread, but there are many many more incidents that go unreported. and then every once in a while a high profile target gets hit and we're all reminded that noone is safe. but who will help us? on my last trip to nigeria i only narrowly avoided being robbed one sunday night as i left home to go out with a friend. it was random, but it could still have cost my life just the same.

last night i heard a rumour that 2face had died from his wounds, and my heart was filled with a cold dread. its still not been confirmed, which i hope means good news, because the alternative is not worth considering. he's got the rest of his life to live, he shouldn't be dead. imagine his contributions to his family's welfare, how he has changed the fortunes of his kin. what about the joy his music has brought millions of people? i absolutely love his music, and his voice; his last album is one of my favourites of all time. surely this can't be the end?

but how do we make the streets of lagos safe? the policemen are grossly underpaid and undermotivated. thats a good place to start. meanwhile our leaders are spending hundreds of millions of naira on renovating their official residences. someone needs to think about this. unemployment is rife, no new jobs are being created so what do people do to survive? and our much-vaunted morality is simple non-existent so we can't rely on people to do the right thing. but how do you preach morality to a hungry, angry, frustrated youth who can see cars worth millions of naira being driven around the same city where he can't find a job?

Please God, keep us safe. i just pictured my trip to nigeria at christmas, and my parents' desperate attempts to keep me at home because the streets are not safe. this will of course rankle, and i will protest accordingly - this absence of security is even threatening the peace in my family.

i pray for 2face and his family. i pray that God keeps him safe and alive. please don't let him die. and may God keep you all safe today and always.

isn't this song beautiful?

2007-10-06T00:53:00.000+01:00

you have to love my boyz

in my ears

2007-10-05T18:15:00.000+01:00

those that knew me back in the day would understand....

one

2007-10-05T10:57:00.000+01:00

since i turned 30, nearly everyone i know has been asking me the same bloody irritating question: when are you getting married? i suppose the fact that the second of my younger sisters is about to walk down the aisle is a factor, but i've always just assumed that everyone would be allowed to walk their own road. plus our society has always said that women would marry earlier than their male counterparts, so i couldn't understand the hassles that they were giving me.

they sat me down. several times. parents and relatives, family friends and the non-respected hangers-on who trail my father's every move. it was suddenly the fashionable thing to do, to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with olawumi about his seeming reluctance to settle down. going home to nigeria was the absolute worst i tell you, because there every man and his dog has an opinion which they feel obligated to share with you, regardless whether you give a hoot about the holder or not.

"how old are you now?" the conversation would start. or "your father told me you just turned 30"

and thus would begin the lecture.

"when i was your age i was already married" (hear another animal talk)

fine, but who who asked for your life story? one man had the gall to insinuate that i might be an irresponsible playboy who was refusing to settle down because of his desire to keep sowing oats. that was the last straw. i simply walked out. even the ones who are unhappily married want to tell you to take the plunge. my theory is that they don't want to be the only ones who are miserable in their lives, or else why wouldn't they be teling me to get the hell away from Dodge with the quickness?

one man made me laugh. he had mistresses all over town, and he was calling me a playboy. "by the time i was your age i was already married with three kids" that one almost made me scream. i wanted to ask, "yes sir you were married with kids, but how many mistresses did you also have outside, and how soon after you got married did you start cheating on your amazing wife?" bloody hypocrite.

of course i wasn't stupid enough to say anything that dumb, but i was pretty close (yes you can become stupid by hanging out with slow people, did you not realise that it was contagious? well now you know). they said that anyone my age who is unmarried is irresponsible. suppose i agreed with you sir, what would that make your own unmarried 35 year-old son? and your 33 year-old daughter? see, its no good throwing stones into market-places unless you're absolutely certain that none of your loved ones will be in there, and how sure can you be really?

noone faced the real issues:

that i am still a student;
that i might not have found "the one";
that i might just be scared shitless of marrying someone and waking up one day with the realisation that i can no longer stand the bitch who shares my bed, who is in no way related to the wonderful-amazing-stupendously awesome, can't wait to get back home to you every night woman that i originally married?

and then the weird ones tried to hook me up. i have no issues with you trying to play match-maker, but are you aware that you might just be setting your daughter/niece/god-daughter/friend's daughter/cousin up just to be fresh notches on some guy's bedpost? one of my friends has made a full hobby of notching up those "in-house eligibles" as we call them. personally i try to avoid complications like that, who wants to get railroaded into marrying someone just because the families mesh? so i stayed clear of those peole who tried to hook me up. thanks, but no.

i wonder if they even thought about it before speaking up, that i might just be out to play? plus why wouldn't you even consider if the people you're hooking up are even matched in the first place. no use trying to pair people who are so obviously unsuited for each other, like that highly educated girl who is quite posh, to your uncouth, no-english having nephew with the thick accent, whose idea of a night out is a long spell in the beer parlour.

it was strange that noone ever called me aside to offer any solid advice on the matter. it was just "hurry up and marry ASAP tomorrow morning or preferably tonight". noone said, please be careful when you pick, prioritise love over rationality or rationality over love, or find a way to strike a balance, because if you don't love your wife you will be miserable in no time. none of that. just hurry up and marry.

and they completely chose to disregard my own feelings on the subject. suppose i didn't believe in marriage? actually, i know the answer to that one. i would be labelled a deviant and stoned to death at the city gates. already i have been labelled a bad boy and a negative influence, but i don't see what the fuss is about. that i am unmarried doesn't mean that i am changing sex partners like my underwear, and a married man is not necessarily a good man.

they also chose to ignore my own readiness, doubtless the major factor in the enterprise. suppose i'm just not ready yet? why force anyone into a commitment that he is not quite prepared for? the most painful hing was being labelled irresponsible by so many people. that kind of judgement goes straight to my soul, because i hate to be misunderstood. and i wonder what is "responsible" anyway? who determines what is an irresponsible act, and what is the standard?

i am not pressured though. i continue to live on my own terms. i will marry when i am set, and when she is with me. those buggers can go to hell. that said, i'm now in this cycle of life phase, but i'd like to be left alone to come to my own decisions. all that unnecessary labelling and pressure is just muddying up a stream that's flowing very well on its own. i shudder to think how many people out there are going through the same thing everyday. at least i have the luxury of living far away from my family, but what if i lived closer to home?

are you under pressure? how are you coping?

she's on my mind

2007-10-04T14:52:00.000+01:00

my mother...

the cycle of life

2007-10-03T13:38:00.000+01:00

two of my best friends just had their first babies during the past weekend. on the 28th and 29th. two of my closest friends and brothers. the news filled my heart to bursting with an incomparable happiness, even as i watched my little nephew climbing all over the living room at his grandparents house. Imoh talks now, and says the cutest things. just yesterday that was my brother 'Sanu, who is now this amazing young man.

the cycle of life continues. once we were kids, and now husbands and fathers stand proudly within our ranks. we're growing, these kids and that's the way it should be. as i called Bigg to congratulate him, i couldn't help reminiscing on our first days in university those 12 years past. its a tad strange to watch your friends evolve before your eyes; one moment we were undergrads, and the next Bigg had become the hotshot lawyer that other people were telling me about. i told him he was making me look bad, and he asked how i thought my academic pursuits were making him feel. i gave the toast at his wedding, and i still remember that with some wonder. he's just had a son and he can't contain his excitement. in this moment of weakness, i admit that i am envious, but only in that moment that just passed.

AAA has become a dad as well, i smiled when i saw the pictures. a family, two beaming parents and one little girl. just yesterday we were promising to remain true to the cause of bachelorhood and youth, and now he's changing diapers and gurgling babytalk. its been an awakening. he had a grin on his face like he had just won the lottery. the cycle of life. his reality has just changed for the better. i admit to feeling envious again, and then the moment passes and i go back to being an unrepentant bachelor.

so i woke up this morning and had a frank conversation with my father. i called him at 7, because i had words to tell him, and i couldn't let the moment pass - who knows what might have happened by breakfast time? i wanted to tell him that i finally understand what he's been going on about for the past couple of months, about settling down. i finally get it, and the truth has been burning with an urgency inside my mind. instead i thanked him for the life that he has given me, and for his unending love. i said that the lessons that he and my mom had taught me were giving me a peace that's beyond my understanding. but he kept saying something about just carrying out his responsibility; he said, "i have only been doing my duty as God ordered me to olawunmi". and that was so remarkable; he said that i'd understand when i have my own children, and like him i'd only give them the best. he said a few prayers, and we said goodbye. i heard him say "i love you son" as he put down the phone. i rang my mom to say the same, but i think she was too busy looking after Imoh to hear the phone ring. what is it with moms and mobile phones?

lately i have been thinking about what's important and realising that its past due to make some changes in my life. i need to stop running and plant some roots. to everything there is an appointed time, and the time for change is now. rolling stones might gather no moss, but they never become cornerstones either. i don't know what's responsible for this change, but its something to do with the fact that the phd will run its course in the next 90 days. yes, in 3 months i will have earned the right to be called overeducated. its scary, where did the last 4 years go? i'm feeling urges that i have never felt before, with a passion that's beyond my understanding. my life is unfolding, and it excites me.

the cycle of life continues. two new babies for my extended family to hold dear and as i cast my eyes at the clock i hear it ticking for me to stop playing the game of boys and take my place in the ranks of men. what the hell have i been smoking?

To Bigg, AAA, Bunmi and Tosin, may God bless you and your children and keep your families in His firm hand. thank you for showing the way.

in my head. in my ears - tracy

2007-10-03T07:49:00.000+01:00

ALL THAT YOU HAVE IS YOUR SOUL

Oh my mama told me
'Cause she say she learned the hard way
Say she wanna spare the children
She say don't give or sell your soul away
'Cause all that you have is your soul

Don't be tempted by the shiny apple
Don't you eat of a bitter fruit
Hunger only for a taste of justice
Hunger only for a world of truth
'Cause all that you have is your soul

I was a pretty young girl once
I had dreams I had high hopes
I married a man he stole my heart away
He gave his love but what a high price I paid
And all that you have is your soul

Why was I such a young fool
Thought I'd make history
Making babies was the best I could do
Thought I'd made something that could be mine forever
Found out the hard way one can't possess another
And all that you have is your soul

I thought thought that I could find a way
To beat the system
To make a deal and have no debts to pay
I'd take it all take it all I'd run away
Me for myself first class and first rate
But all that you have is your soul

Here I am waiting for a better day
A second chance
A little luck to come my way
A hope to dream a hope that I can sleep again
And wake in the world with a clear conscience and clean hands
'Cause all that you have is your soul

All that you have
All that you have
All that you have Is your soul

i could listen to this woman all day. she is so deep.

words

2007-10-01T12:38:00.000+01:00

thoughts...

growing
making decisions,
learning
from failure
the inevitability of error
on occasion
cautious, wary
to revisit
yesterday's hurt.

living,
wishing for answers
to matters weighing
heavily on my mind;
pondering,
impatient;
unshed tears
in my confused soul
i need to know:
where does this road lead?

1248.01102006

in.my.head.and.my.soul.

2007-09-29T03:56:00.000+01:00

and the words?

Peace of Mind

I gotta find peace of mind, I gotta find peace of mind…He says it's impossible, but I know it's possible… He say's it's impossible, but I know its possible/He says there's no me without him/Please help me forget about him/He takes all my energy, trapped in my memory, constantly holding me, constantly holding me/I need to tell you all, all the pain he's caused, I need to tell you I'm, I'm undone because he led me away from love to be the victim of his web of confusing lies right there before my eyes. Now I see where I messed up, wanting me all dressed up. To be who he said I was, he had full control of me, thought I was free because, I did what he told me. What do I say now, now that he's gone, where do I stay now, now that he's gone. He says it's impossible, but I know it's possible/He says it's impossible without him, but I know it's possible to finally be in love and know the real meaning of a lasting relationship, not based on ownership

I trust every part of you, cause all that you say you do/You love me despite myself/Sometimes I, I fight myself/I just can't believe that you would have anything to do with someone so insecure, someone so immature/Oh you inspire me to be the higher me/You make my desire pure, you make my desire pure/Just tell me what to say/I can't find the words to say/Please don't be mad with me, I have no identity/All that I've known is gone, all I was building on/I wanna walk with you/How do I talk to you?

Touch my mouth with your hands. Touch my mouth with your hands…I wanna understand the meaning of your embrace/I know now I have to face the temptations of my past/Please don't let me disgrace/Will my devotion last now that I know the truth, now that there's no excuse/Keeping me from your love, what was I thinking of? Holding me from your love, what was I thinking of?

You are my peace of mind, that old me is left behind/You are my peace of mind, that old me is left behind/He says it's impossible, but I know it's possible/He says it's improbable, but I know it's tangible/He says it's not grabbable, but I know it's haveable/'Cause anything's possible…oh anything's possible…

Please come free my mind, please come be my mind/Can you see my mind? Won't you come free my mind? Oh I know it's possible…anything, anything, anything, anything, anything ya, anything, anything, anything, anything, ya, anything anything, anything, anything, anything ya,…Oh free, free, free, free your mind…free, free your mind… free, free, free your mind…free, free, free, free, your mind… Oh it's so possible…Oh it's so possible…I'm telling you its possible…I'm telling you it's possible…free, free, free, free, free, free, get free now… free, free, free, free free, free…

You're my peace of mind/That old me is left behind…You're my peace of mind. You're my peace of mind. He's my peace of mind. He's my peace of mind. He's my peace of mind…

What a joy it is to be alive, to get another chance ya/Everyday's another chance to get it right this time…Everyday's another chance what a merciful, merciful, merciful God…what a wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, God…merciful, merciful, merciful …wonderful, wonderful, wonderful… merciful…merciful… merciful… wonderful…merciful… wonderful…

these africans annoy me

2007-09-25T15:05:00.000+01:00

how we can be so unintelligent about our corruption and expect the world not not to notice, and then turn around and act indignant when the western press label us corrupt and dishonest is beyond me. honestly.

most of you will never have heard of Abedi Pele, but back in the 1990s he was perhaps the leading ghanaian football player. he's retired now, and he runs a football club, called Sekondi Nania. well, last season his team needed to win a crucial game to gain promotion from the second division of ghana's football league, to its premier division. his team were locked in contest with the Cape Coast Great Mariners, another team, with which they were tied on points. basically, one team needed to move upwards at the expense of the other.

so it was crunch time. both teams were playing other teams, and needed to win at all cost. what do you do in such situations? why, you dig deep and motivate the players. you find a winning strategy and employ it. you promise the players a naked massage by 7 beautiful maidens each if they produced the win. you offer to kill cows for their whole villages; you promise them chieftaincy titles and luxury bicycles (this is the ghanaian second division, mind). you promise and pledge. heck, you offer to wed your daughter to the highest goal scorer or something (i'm just kidding, please put down the knife!)

what you don't do of course is attempt to fix the results of the game by bribing your opponents. and if you decide to go that route, you would at least be intelligent about it. afterall, the italians and french have shown us that noone is above match-fixing these days. and even they got caught, which shows the wisdom involved in such options anyway.

what you definitely do NOT do is act out a masquerade that ridicules the intelligence of your entire nation. somehow or the other, that's what Sekondi Nania FC and Cape Coast Great Mariners decided to do. on match day, they both managed to produce Rugby Football scorelines; Sekondi Nania FC beat Okwawu United 31-0 (yes, they scored 31 goals in 90 minutes) and Cape Coast Great Mariners thrashed Mighty Jets 28-0 (yes, 59 goals in one day). how stupid did they think everyone watching was? i reckon they must have decided to re-enact what happened that faithful day at Rugby school, and allowed their players to hand deliver the ball to the goal-line, never mind using feet and such skill. its up to you to figure out the right combination of field goals and tries that would have produced both scorelines. i'll offer you an incentive: if you get it right, i will offer you the hand of my goat in marriage.

i promise i didn't make this one up, the results are here; and there's a nice little story here as well. so why do we then get angry when they call us thieves and fraudsters? why, when what this really proves is that some people are so unintelligent that they can assume that noone will notice when they act the fool in public. the ghanaian FA have since acted, and handed out bans and fines. but i think that's inadequate. sometimes there is a case for corporal punishment of grown men. all the people involved should have been frog-marched and then flogged, before being made to lie down in stinky, smelly poo for a whole day. then they should have been told to stand in front of a black-board on national tv, to write the following lines: "i will never assume that everyone is as stupid as me again. i confess that i am a retarded dolt with zilch common-sense." over and over until the board was full. then its back to the yard for another day of filling buckets from a distant tap with only a tablespoon.

these are the sort of men who make it hard for you to be nigerian or ghanaian in today's world. this is on a par with a governor whose state budget runs into the billions of naira monthly, but who has nothing to show in the way of acheivements after 8 whole years in office. the minister who tried to pass off a 3 million naira project as a 300 million naira job is no better. and why, in a nation of phds, lawyers, doctors, professors, nobel prize winners and a bunch of over-educated international professional elite (chei, see big english!) is the president of the house of representatives a hairdresser? and you wonder why our country has not gone very far in 47 years of trying.

i am embarrassed....

words - sometimes i am self-indulgent

2007-09-24T09:50:00.000+01:00

... and i do a repost

How did you get here?

It seems to me that just last week
You were nought but,
Another face in a very crowded room.

It feels like everywhere I turn,
You’re waiting for me
With that alluring smile on your face
That simply stops my heart.

When did you get here?

I awake and you’re the first thought
That crosses my mind,
Longing for you from within,
I whisper your name into the dark night
Hoping that perhaps, the passing wind might convey
My thoughts to you.

I miss you when you’re not here
But I am loneliest when I am with you.
When the urge seizes me to find you
I never have to look too far
You’re in my heart, and in my soul
You’re in my notebook, in the words that I wrote
- words that i wrote because of you.
You reside in my music,
You made your home in every verse
from my favourite songs,
and you lay your head in the hooks.
You’re everywhere I turn.

How did you get here?

I look at me, and I see
A man that you do not desire
And it grieves me.
I know that it should not be,
But I would change my spots to be
The man that you want.
You have taken over my mind,
My sanity comes and goes
This is sad!

If I had the power,
Then I would make these feelings cease
I look at this weakling,
This caricature of a strong man
Surely this is not I?

I am lost in my infatuation
You have taken over my defences,
Invaded my inner sanctum with your delightful charms
You’re the Trojan horse
That I received with open arms
Now it’s tearing me open from within

Why should the smallest crumbs of your attention
Doled out like a war-time ration
Delight my heart so?

How did you get here?

I saw you coming,
And I raised my heart’s defences
It was obvious when you spoke to my soul’s passions
That you could easily become
A part of me
But I never let down my guard,
So how did you get here?
How did you get here?

For my enigma.

this one's from 2005

my ten (1)

2007-09-20T16:36:00.000+01:00

inspired by the last king of scotland's post, i will write up my musical lists of 10s.

my 10 favourite women musicians.

Tracy Chapman. the depth, the voice, the calming influence on my turbulent soul. this woman's music is amazing on far too many levels. heaven. i have every single album, know the words to practically every song, and i still find new meanings when i listen to even the oldest stuff. i would love to meet this woman.
Lauryn Hill (aka deranged, out-of-touch-with-reality-and-the-fans). her voice is so beautiful. i used to say that when she sings the angels in heaven erupt in new songs of praise for the One that blessed her with such prodigious talent. miseducation, that unplugged album, her consciousness, genius. her lyrics? damn! i love her music to pieces, but lauryn herself i can't really be bothered with. flawed genius.
Toni Braxton. small woman, big voice. her sultry tones make me mellow down to my soul. i love the depth of her voice, and the style that she brings to her music. that "secrets" album is still one of my all time favourites. her last cd wasn't one of my favourites, but she's got an undeniable talent. i would love to date this woman, even if only to hear her sing my name over and over. damn, she might cure my insomnia if she serenades me to sleep at night. and she's so beautiful, i think i might not be able to tear my eyes off her. damn!
Anita Baker. this woman's voice turns me on! (my ex will attest, and plead guilty, since she got me hooked on her music in the first place). before toni there was anita whose music is so mature. every time i hear this woman sing i want to get busy!
Whitney Houston. Uzo did this. she made me a tape when we were kids that blew me away. i've been a fan ever since. i love the old school stuff the best. she makes me reflect on life and love, and i always come out feeling positive. before the struggles , before the
Celine Dion. she got me with "the power of love" and i haven't turned back since. i love her voice and her delivery, and some of her stuff is beautiful beyond belief. this woman can hit some notes! she makes the french sound so sexy as well. hmmmm.
Gloria Estefan. the music. the latin flair. her voice. goodness me, the spanish. she makes me want to put my language skills to use, but i can't find the time. whether she's singing in spanish or english, her music is simpy sexy. she writes such deep stuff too and then she can throw down a salsa number that gets the hips moving. that voice again.
Erykah Badu. there was a time when i didn't like mama gun's music, but thankfully the light finally found the darker recesses of my soul and brought me musical salvation. she's eclectic, eccentric, and deep with a passion. her voice? (see a trend here?)
Norah Jones. wow! smooth and easy on the ears. she's helped me a lot on this journey through my research; i find that i can really relax when she's playing in my ears. and she's a hottie too. there's something peaceful about her voice, something soothing about her music.
Jill Scott/Angie Stone. call me insane, but in my eyes these two women are one and the same. its music and poetry, depth and reality, life, love and consciousness wrapped up in a brilliant musical package. there was a time when i didn't get the whole neo-soul movement, but thanks to Bougzy (the name that reads like my own and the incomparable inspiration drives me to search within myself for the words that i am capable of) i have found my place.

okay, so its more than 10. like i really was going to obey any rules - have you not learned? lol.

more soon...

i am meditating

2007-09-20T11:39:00.000+01:00

this is an old one. very very old. no doubt you have read it before, perhaps you paid it no mind. lately i am reflecting upon these words as i contemplate the future and the path that my life will lead. these words are ancient, but they are profound with an urgency that's touching my very soul.

1	To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
2	a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
3	a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
4	a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
5	a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
6	a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
7	a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
8	a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.

- from the Book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter 3 (King James Version)

Thank you Bolaji, for teaching me that a man need not be old to be wise. I pray that i can someday be a blessing in your life, the way you are in mine. God bless you my brother. Now go marry abeg!! QUICK QUICK!!

remember

2007-09-12T15:06:00.000+01:00

Steve Bantu Biko

(18th December 1946 - 12th September 1977)

a few people might recognise his name, but we should never forget those whose lives were shed in the struggle for realisation of the rights of his people. he would have been 60 years old by now, but his life was tragically ended by those who ignorantly opted to suppress his voice.

his murderers have never been brought to trial. and its funny, his murderers are alive today, but noone knows them except as instruments of terror and evil; while Steven Biko's memory will be celebrated for a long long time. if we know our history, then we will know where we're coming from....

want to know more? look here

do you remember?

2007-09-11T18:19:00.000+01:00

i remember precisely where i was when i heard the news about the September 11 attacks. i was at the nigerian law school in abuja at the time, preparing for the bar exams. we had just come back from the library, it was about 7 or 8 pm, bag slung over my shoulder, tie hanging way low around my neck. i remember that i was tired and just looking forward to chilling with the guys before going back to hang with my girlfriend. as i approached the doors of the hostel, someone said, "have you heard the news about the attacks? somebody bombed america."

no, i hadn't heard. i remember that my mouth immediately dried up, and my mind urgently cried out for more information.

"give me details, what happened?"

"we're not sure, but the radio is reporting that they might have bombed a number of commercial aircraft".

someone else said he had heard that it wasn't bombs, but somehow terrorists had been able to force several planes to crash. that didn't make much sense, but it was very scary nonetheless. we gathered round and started to talk. speculation blew wild like fire. i remembered the scenes from the die hard sequel where terrorists had been able to reset the air traffic controls at the airport, forcing a number of planes to crash. i wondered if that was what had happened. never in my wildest dreams did it occur to me that life had truly imitated art, and that it was tom clancy and not bruce willis who had featured in the imaginary plot which unfolded itself horrifically into real life on that day.

i remember reading the tom clancy book "debt of honor" and marvelling at the very end when the japanese pilot crashed his airliner into the capitol during the inauguration of jack ryan as vice president. at the time the plot seemed so incredible that it seemed like a work of genius. if only we had known.

that night, whilst we waited for details from halfway across the world, we gathered round and threw our ideas back and forth. if you know lawyers, you know that we love to argue and debate. a school full of lawyers is perhaps the most interesting place to have the kind of discussions that followed that little bit of news. everyone had an opinion, from the frankly ludicrous and ignorant, to the well-informed and erudite scholars. the usual anti-american sentiments were thrown out there, how this was retaliation for this, that or the other political wrong-doing. i have never agreed with that line of reasoning, and i was pleased to se that quite a few people disagreed with it as well. its just too easy to blame that sort of thing on events that we never fully grasp, when noone but the main actors ever has the full information.

the full details of that attack emerged over the next week or so, and it still horrifies me to think about it. its amazing how one set of evil acts can change the world so much. the new york skyline has been altered permanently, but that is probably the least of the changes that have taken place in our world since that morning 6 long years ago. fly through an airport and witness the long queues caused by the elaborate security procedures that have been put in place since 9/11. cast your mind to the wars in iraq and afghanistan, and the sense that the world is still changing, bringing the front lines of this global idealogical struggle closer and closer to our front doors.

let us never forget the ordinary people who died just living their lives, going to work like you and i have to do; sitting on a plane flying to an appointment, or a holiday, or back home after some engagement. and those emergency workers who died in the cause of duty. children have lost parents, parents have lost their children, wives and husbands are no more, families and friendships torn apart by this tragic and evil manifestation of someone's twisted mind.

on september 11, 2001, the world changed. where were you when it happened?

Arrivederci Pavarotti, uomo grande

2007-09-07T19:54:00.000+01:00

luciano pavarotti was the reason i first loved opera. his voice captured my attention once, and he didn't let go once. i love andrea bocelli, but it was pavarotti who first taught my ears to appreciate the beauty of the art form.

i have a collection of random pavarotti songs, from the operas to the collaborations he did with other non-classical artistes. for me the pavarotti and friends concerts were a dream come true, because of the opportunity they gave me, to listen to pavarotti sing "regular" songs. two of my favourites are the recording of "baby can i hold you" in which he sang alongside tracy chapman, who will forever remain my favourite musician; and "all for love" with bryan adams and andrea bocelli (he got the lyrics wrong so many times, but his singing was stellar).

actually, i loved hearing him alongside bono of U2, and andrea bocelli and celia cruz and barry white, james brown, celine dion - the man clearly had soul, and you can just hear it when you listen to his recordings. i simply loved the man's voice. that song with celine dion, i have spoken about on this blog already, is a work of beauty. it moves me every time i hear it.

the pavarotti and friends concerts were not just about music though, pavarotti was a humanitarian, and his concerts were about raising money, and awareness about the downtrodden. his causes were the children of the war-torn regions of our planet, and the victims of strife in bosnia, guatemala, kosovo and iraq.

its sad that the man is gone, but people like him will never really die. he lives on in his music, and in the videos that were recorded during the years of his life. he lives on itunes and youtube and those other repositories of our popular culture. but his translation is a sad loss to opera.

buona notte luciano pavarotti.

i saw an indian film recently!

2007-09-06T01:13:00.000+01:00

trust me, if you know me at all, you know that's a big thing. i don't really watch nigerian movies for instance, they simply irritate me to tears (yes i know there are a few good ones, i have seen violated and flesh and blood), but you have a to agree that the vast majority are barely tolerable. i don't particularly like the slapstick, let's-act-the-fool comedies either (think scary movie etc) because they annoy me. i select my movie entertainment carefully because time is far too precious to waste.

until july, despite the best efforts of my dear uzo, i had not seen an indian movie in almost 20 years. when i was a kid, i was a big fan of indian films (what nigerian child was not?) we had the usual suspects in our video library, dus numbri (number 10), the burning train, the great gambler, sholay etc - barely scratching the surface. i grew up watching james bond and amtabh bachan, dharmendra, bruce lee and shaft. back in my primary school days, if you hadn't seen the latest indian , bond or chinese (martial arts) movie, you simply weren't hip. i loved the action sequences and the songs especially. when i think about it now, my love for world music was almost certainly kindled in this early phase of my life.

but i grew up, and outgrew that phase. initially it was everything to do with being "cool". indian movies simply weren't cool, and if you were a teenager trying to find yourself, you didn't do uncool, at least not openly. then i simply got tired of the absence of realism in the whole thing, and the simple or overly complicated and therefore implausible plots. besides, how can you break into song so spontaneously and then have a backing band simply appear from nowhere to help you sing the hooks? yeah. i simply missed the point.

but a few months ago (uzo, who should have been born in mumbai by the way - hello betty boo-boo) sent me a link to a video on youtube. now uzo loves indian films, and she advertises this fact to the world. i simply couldn't be bothered, except that this video featured aishwarya rai (i spelled that right yay!!!) whom i consider to be one of the most beautiful creatures on earth. if you have any doubts that God is beautiful, just take one brief look at that woman. (Praise the Lord!). the video was from the movie "guru" starring aishwarya and her real life beau, abhishek bachan, who can truly be considered bollywood royalty.

i loved the video. it was simply beautiful. the music was out of this world, and it was trnslated too, which made it easier to understand what they were saying. there was so much colour and life in the video, that i simply couldn't stop myself from watching it over and over again. it was a stark revelation of how far indian cinema had come in the 20 years since i stopped being a fan.

i loved the video so much that it made me curious about the movie. and then on my last flight home, they had the movie on the in-flight entertainment menu. that settled it for me, and i setled back to watch it. it was an amazing experience, beautifully shot and featuring all the hallmarks of the genre: there was romance, with tragic twists; and turns music was incredible, though i must confess that i did get bored in places (hey, i didn't say it was perfect), and the culture was well represented.

"guru" reminded me that one of my favourite films of all time is actually an indian movie, the love story "ye vaada raha". i have been on the lookout for this movie for a long time now, i last saw it almost 20 years ago. it was the last indian movie i ever saw (ify, if you're reading, what do i have to do to make you send me your copy of this movie?). i loved this film, and the music that went with it. i still think the female singer's voice is one of the most compelling i have ever heard. i'll admit that i adore love stories, if you promise not to hold it against me. in my mind there are few things as moving as that particular telling of that story, which has been told by other people, including danielle steel. its origins lie in a screenplay titled "the promise" written by garry michael white, but for me its best as an indian blockbuster with the music and the flavour of a culture rich in tradition and colour.

i can't say that i'm in love with bollywood again, afterall i did pass up a chance to see an indian movie at the cinema with uzo back in lagos. but my mind has been opened once more to an experience long forgotten, and i will indulge from time to time.

here's "tere bina" from "guru"

these are from my all time favourite, from the movie "yeh vaada raha". you have to love youtube!!!

thank you for sharing uzo; i love you for always. if you haven't seen an indian movie in a while, i think you might be missing something. i suggest you try one out, and i recommend guru.

thanks for reading.

words

2007-09-05T15:22:00.000+01:00

if this life is a school of lessons
then i want to be your companion
through all of the learning.
whatever fate has to teach,
let me be the one that kisses away the tears
on your face
of hard, unpleasant experience,
the kind that we would rather not remember
when morning follows the harsh night.
only say that you will not forsake me
when my errors cause you pain
and i promise to dwell in my mind
only on the ways that you gladden my heart
than on the times that you do
bruise it.
be the sweet kiss that washes away the bitter taste
of disappointment
and i will be here when the sun returns
to the skies above our heads.

take my hand, and let's walk the learning road.

untitled, undated.

On Madiba's Statue

2007-09-03T14:22:00.000+01:00

The footsteps of great men will resonate far beyond the grounds where their actual feet will ever touch. Their voices will echo throughout history, but if we are wise, those that live in their time will acknowledge their greatness, and honour them, and keep to heart the lessons that their extra-ordinary lives have taught us, lest we undo their legacy to our own cost.

When proposals to put Nelson Mandela’s statue on a plinth at Trafalgar Square were shot down, I was unhappy. The reasoning made little sense to me, but when you can do not have the power to influence things, you simply accept when those who do suggest that Madiba’s life-long struggle wasn’t really an achievement for the “Empire”. I’ll match your Empire and raise you the basic human rights of a nation of people, speak not of an entire race. Who knows what goes through the minds of the powers that be? The official reason was the absence of space for events at the square, but the issue of relevance had been raised in debates prior to the final decision.

Finally, its been put to rights. I was proud of the news that a statue of Madiba would finally be unveiled at Parliament Square. Proud of yet another honour for this great man who has impacted his world far more than he will ever know. i never lived under apartheid, but it is clear that it is through the struggles and sacrifices of people like Dr Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, Medgar Evers, Walter Sisulu, Desmond Tutu and the other champions of the civil rights struggle all over the world that we can boast of the measure of harmony that we enjoy in our societies today. Who knows, if noone had stood up to challenge the status quo, where would we be today?

Even though the apartheid struggle took place thousands of miles away in the south of our troubled continent, the significance of what was achieved reverberates around the world. Future generations will learn about the power of the indomitable human spirit and selfless personal sacrifice in pursuit of the most fundamental of humanitarian objectives. Its also a reminder to the powerful nations of the world who stood by and did nothing in order to secure their own interests. Let the statue be a beacon of hope, and a sign of how far we have come, and their role in the subjugation of an entire continent.

I always seem to be lamenting the absence of true leadership in today's Africa, because the current crop of (mostly) degenerates are rather more concerned with their personal aggrandisement than teh well-being of their own people. Sad, but true. Madiba is one of the people i admire the most, and i would love to meet him one day, just to stand in the presence of such greatness. Its just great to see one of the sons of Africa honoured so far from home.

in my head

2007-09-03T02:24:00.000+01:00

on nigeria, good, bad... ugly

2007-08-24T19:43:00.000+01:00

One of my friends in the states asked me to describe my first impressions of Nigeria on this trip today, my first day back in exactly one year.

“in my eyes, this place is a catalogue of the good, the bad and the ugly”.

He replied, “you just nailed it olawunmi, it’s the good, the bad and the very ugly”.

That’s just how I saw it. From the arthritic conveyor belt that took an age to deliver my bags this morning to the customs officers stressing us over a bunch of foreign exchange declaration forms that noone would ever look at, let alone do anything with, it was all a case of good, bad ugly. Not that it was ever distinct, because sometimes the good overlapped with the bad, the ugly was often bad, though not exclusively so, and occasionally the good was also horribly bad at the same time. It was crazy confusing at times, but that’s Nigeria for you.

Good was the relief on the faces of people returning home after their trips to various corners of the globe. It was good to see that some people viewed returning home with pleasure. There was good in the obvious affluence of some of the people present in the terminal building, evidenced by Vuitton suitcases on the luggage carousel, some people clearly had an eye for the finer things in life, as defined by those who set trends on tv.

But this obvious affluence was also bad and ugly in the same breath. In my opinion that large suitcase with LV stamped all over it was not in the best taste, I don’t care whether Victoria beckham and whoever the hell else swear by them or not. Why you need to advertise the brand name on your possessions so blatantly still confounds me, why not get one which isn’t quite so loud? The wealthy flaunt their affluence (their right) in the face of those who have nought.

Good was seeing the new developments, the new buildings and structures, bad roads that have been fixed. The bad is in the fact that most of these gains are driven by a private sector which is being squeezed by the greedy elements who have entrenched themselves in power. The streets are still busy with all kinds of automobile exotica, some of which make you wonder if the owner ever contemplated the challenge of maintenance when he forked out his money to the dealer. Its great to see new restaurants and coffee shops, new businesses and innovations, entrepreneurs doing new things all over the place. These people daring to take risks in new frontiers will lead our country into the future, I have no doubts.

The traffic situation is plain ugly, although the traffic management guys are doing a credible job – even if it means lining their own pockets at the expense of offenders. What I hate is when they deliberately take advantage of people for their own personal aggrandisement. The good and the ugly are two sides of the same coin then. Is anything ever simple in Nigeria?

We have better communications facilities than at any other point in our history, that is the good. The flip-side is that i cannot call anyone because the schizophrenic networks are high on crack. The ugly is how much it costs to make calls in a country where few people can actually afford to operate the phones in their hands. Yet communication is a necessity, and people find the means to connect, robbing their stomachs to feed their phones, and the networks. Who is to blame? Some people say the high logistic costs of operating the networks i.e. no electricity, teh need to provide security for facilities, and the hidden costs such as bribes, required to make anything happen. All na turanci (grammar), the bottom line is that things don't work like they should, or else how would you explain the fact that despite the high attendant costs of owning a phone, the networks still can't connect you on demand?

By far the ugliest thing I have seen is the look of long-standing suffering on people’s faces. Our people are desperately poor. Looking at the random guy on the street, there’s no doubt that something is desperately wrong with our society. The economy should be in resurgence given the level of oil prices in the past couple of years. Surely the wealth should have trickled down by now? Sadly it hasn’t and the governors on trial at the moment are the sad proof of the reasons why it has not. I’m not saying that the government should go around handing out cheques to people, but I know for certain that there are numerous ways in which an economic windfall like this can touch the lives of everyday people. Good social services, electricity, roads and transport, healthcare, security, the list is endless. But our people are hungry, and unable to find a way to contentment, all the while casting envious and increasingly scornful glances at the rich in their air-conditioned cars. But how do you tell a hungry man that no every rich man is a corrupt government official or his lackey?

The crime rate is down right scary. I hear that all the top night spots and bars are at risk of being robbed. Actually, they say that some have been robbed already, with the usual incidence of rapes and bodily harm, but it is hard to obtain any verification of what word of mouth declares to be Gospel. That’s clearly a result of the poverty that’s eaten deep into the bellies and minds of the people. How does one tell a hungry man to remain honest? And how does one keep a desperately poor youth who has no life-expectations to refrain from picking up that gun? Conscience might well be a luxury that the dregs of a broken society cannot afford.

Something needs to be done quick, or the ruling classes will find themselves presiding over the meltdown of a country that (falsely, it increasingly appears these days) parades itself as the giant of Africa. The good, the bad and the ugly, and its all around us.

0249.15072007

i heard this, refused to believe...

2007-08-24T00:31:00.000+01:00

that it was possible for anyone (even our own people) to be so stupid, but apparently its true that women were being arrested in Lagos state for being "indecently dressed". talk about misplaced priorities. i saw this press release on Jeremy's blog, and immediately realised i had no option in good conscience but to lend my support to the cause. why should we stand idly by and allow this nonsense to be perpetrated in the name of the common good?

to what end would we allow anyone target and arrest our women? and who was the magistrate that passed sentence? does he/she have daughters/sisters/a mother/a wife?
does he/she have a conscience, or has it been muted by blind hypocrisy?
and where is the press coverage of this travesty? i was in lagos and i didn't hear a peep about what was going on. how come?

PRESS RELEASE

August 15, 2007

WORNACO CONDEMNS THE ARBITRARY ARREST OF WOMEN ON LAGOS STREET OVER “INDECENT DRESSING”

The Women's Organization For representation and National Cohesion (WORNACO), condemns in strong terms the continued arrest of women on the street of Lagos.

According to the National Coordinator of WORNACO, Ms Abiola Akiyode-Afolabi, “the arrest is unconstitutional and a clear evidence of gender targeted rights violation”. She noted further that, “with the facts at hand, over 90 women were arraigned before various Magistrate Courts at the Ikeja District on the 25th day of July 2007, while some of them were able to meet up with the condition of bail, over 80 women were reprimanded at the Kirikiri maximum prison. This development to us is quite disturbing. Women can no longer walk freely on the streets of Lagos for fear of being labeled and arrested by supposedly over zealous Lagos State Task Force”.

Ms Abiola Akiyode stated further that “While the reason for the continued arrest of ladies is due to their mode of dressing called dress code. The recent method of indiscriminate arrest of women by the joint task force is alarming as victim are constantly extorted while those who do not have money or insisted on their right are taken to a magistrate court and charge with public disorderly conduct. Those who were released were made to pay twenty thousand naira (N20,000.00) to the judiciary department, Lagos State Government, to us this is nothing but official extortion!”

While the Government of Lagos state and the Commissioner of Police have denied their involvement in the arrest of these women, we believe that as custodian of law and order in the state, they have a duty to protect all without any form of discrimination.

We therefore in one voice call on the Lagos State Government to take decisive steps to stop these arbitrary arrests. WORNACO is poised to take all legal means which include but not limited to rallies, protest and court action to protect women and girls on the street of Lagos from further embarrassments. WE HAVE WARNED!

Eyitope Success Adekunle
Program Officer
Signed.

The Road Safety Farce

2007-08-21T14:25:00.001+01:00

Let me not pretend, I was speeding when I came across them on the Lekki – Epe expressway. I was doing well over a hundred miles an hour (I’ll say about 170km/hour), but this is Nigeria and the 100km/hour speed limit is an advisory limit really, at least these days. To the best of my knowledge, they haven’t stopped anyone for speeding in decades – I have been driving officially for some 13 years, and in that time no speeding fines have been handed out. Now when they were first established, the Federal Road Safety marshals enthusiastically and conscientiously enforced the rules of the highways. As can be expected though, that initial gra-gra has fizzled out, I suspect due to the logistical & operational challenges of actually owning the speed-tracking equipment.

Anyway, I was speeding along on my way to visit my grandmother and running some errands around Ijebu (cradle of all civilisation and origins of my family). I was in a hurry (when am I ever not?), though that would not account for my speed – in Nigeria everyone drives as fast as they can handle. I suddenly went around a bend in the highway they were there, umissable, standing in the middle of the road in their brown uniforms and flagging down passing vehicles. Beside them was the customary line of stopped cars and trucks being inspected for whatever purposes; their ubiquitous Peugeot station-wagon was parked right behind the stopped cars, and seeing that convinced me that they were bonafide, rather than a gang of robbers masquerading as the Federal Road Safety Corps.

I slowed down to pass the spot, expecting to resume my journey in a few seconds, but the officer directed me to join the line of parked cars. Now that was odd, as they usually didn’t bother with private vehicles. Normally they were content to contend with the commercial transport, who were more likely to be found in some infringement of the laws of the road – all the better to solicit an “on-the-spot fine”. These days noone pretends that the Road safety guys are any better than the other underpaid, underappreciated and (therefore?) corrupt cadre of traffic enforcement officials on Nigerian roads, be they the police or the Traffic Management Authority in Lagos State. We’ve all had to “settle” at one time or the other to avoid some greater threat to our convenience occasioned by some real or questionable traffic violation.

I stopped and an officer approached my car. He asked for my driver’s license, which I gave to him. He looked at it long enough to verify that it was valid, and then he asked for my fire extinguisher. After much ado (and a phonecall to the driver back home) I eventually showed it to him. He immediately told me that it was not charged, which was an offence. He appeared to take some wry delight in showing me th guage which read empty. I explained to him that the car was new, and it was clearly an oversight by the dealer who had supplied the car, and it would be rectified immediately. I smiled when I said this, sure that they would now consider me to be firmly in their clutches for an “offence”.

He directed me to explain to his oga (his superior officer), who stood very pot-bellied and official in his uniform. As I walked over to him, I could hear the guy who stopped him telling his boss in Hausa that I had no mirror (ban da mirror). Oga asked me what the problem was and I explained that I hadn’t been aware that the dealers had supplied a dodgy fire extinguisher, it was a brand new car etc etc, and we’d never had cause to inspect it but I would get it resolved ASAP. He asked about the mirror and I explained that it had just dropped off on my way there, “oga you know how the roads are, I ran into a nasty pothole on the road and the mirror dropped off”.

“well, you have committed a traffic offence, and I have to issue you a ticket.” he said this without regret, and with full menace as if he expected me to collapse at his feet sobbing for my freedom. I asked him if I would be free to go after he issued the ticket and he assured me that I would, but he’d have to keep my license until I paid the fine. No worries, I said, just issue it fast so I can be on my merry way. As we spoke there was a couple beside us who had been trying to plead with the officer; apparently they had the same problem (i.e. the extinguisher) and they were also being issued a ticket, which they were trying to beg their escape from.

Whilst I was trying to chat up the officer, I remembered that I had seen a news report the previous week, in which one of the Road Safety vehicles had been engulfed in flames, which the marshals and members of the public were trying desperately to put out. The shame of the situation was that the marshals had no extinguisher (yes, the FRSC had no fire extinguisher in their own vehicle, yet they were issuing tickets to road users in the same position). It was a right comedy, except that it was also tragic and simultaneously symptomatic of the ills of our society.

Not long ago, the head of the police force was arrested for embezzling billions of Naira during his tenure of office. He was subsequently convicted and jailed. And now, more recently his immediate successor and his close aides have also been implicated in similar crimes of financial impropriety. Yes, the very same officers charged with enforcing the law and prosecuting criminals have been proved to be nought more than common thieves themselves. So it was hardly a shock to see the FRSC vehicle burning, but to see it captured on TV was rather fitting. It gave me ammunition to use against my harasers.

I challenged the leader of the marshals. He denied knowledge of the incident I had witnessed on tv and assured me that all FRSC vehicles were fully compliant with the law. I took him up on the challenge and inspected their car carefully. You would be amazed at what I saw:

on the outside of the car, it was immediately clear that the right side turn signal (trafficator in naija-speak) was completely missing, clearly the result of an accident.
on the inside, there was no rear-view mirror, similar to offence i was being penalised for (mine was the driver's side mirror)
a couple of their tires were bald and no longer road-worthy.
their spare tire was not road-worthy at all.
their fire extinguisher was not fully charged, but it was not as bad as my own.
one of their headlamps was so badly rusted inside, that it could not have been effective when used at night.

and these were the things that were immediately obvious; there was no way to verify if other things like headlamps and wipers were even working. i pointed out these things to the senior oficer and he shrugged them off. then i got out my digital camera and told him that i was going to take pictures. he gave me his express permission and shrugged me off like i was unimportant (i suppose i was in his eyes). i figured this would make a great story. while i was doing this though, one of the officers threatened to beat me, and i laughed in his face before inviting him to try. i eat people more powerful than him for breakfast, would he like to be a snack?

later, when the angry words had been said and the ticket written, the officer realised that i was more content to pay N5,000 to the state coffers than to give him money that he could keep, in return for having the ticket cancelled (i haven't learned about bribes, i'm simply too oyinbo for my own good). he then tried to be friendly but i wasn't having it. the most irritating thing was the guy who had threatened me earlier, who now tried to be friendly because he thought i was going to hand out money. he was suddenly all smiley and solicitous, before i told him off.

it was bizarre, the guys who wrote me a ticket for a traffic violation were in breach of more rules than i was. i couldn't really blame the men, it was more the fault of the senior people whose responsibility it is to ensure that all their equipment is up to scratch. yet i also find fault in the men who didn't see the irony in the job that they were doing. i know that the public services are very poorly rewarded, but that was beyond the pale for me.

perhaps i am a trouble-maker, but its not right that we see these things and not complain. i hope the FRSC feel sufficiently shamed by this (if they ever see it), but i doubt it. our people have proved that they are far too thick-skinned to feel remorse for their own shortcomings.

this is nigeria!

2347.07082007

blogger on the rebound

2007-08-20T13:11:00.000+01:00

i haven't really had much time for these pages for a while now. school is coming to an end (YAY!!!) and so i'm trying to focus on just finishing this thing and getting that degree. that monster must be slain! then i'll have to decide if i want to be called "Dr" or not. decisions decisions!!!

going to nigeria was also bad for blogging. i had planned to write a series of blogs on my experiences at home, but it didn't quite happen. i wrote a lot, but jut never found the time (or reliable internet connection) to publish them. i'm back now, and i will put them up as i go along.

Nigeria was fun though. i met up (or spoke with) quite a few bloggers. i went to see The Jero Plays with a few of the blog kin. i'm not naming names, but you guys are amazing. Miss 36 (Looooooong legs, awesome sense of humour, mad fun), Snazzy, Omohemi, Uzo, Daddy's Girl, you guys are amazing. i also hung out with the Taurean and my darling Buki. Yes, did you really think i would leave my baby behind?

i'm back, but i'm not sure how regularly i will blog though, because the next 4 months are crucial to my completing the school program. i'm sure you agree that in a straight toss up between school and blogging, there can only be one winner.

thanks for all the messages: on my birthday, my trip to nigeria and most recently on Sope's passing. i'm sorry if i haven't been replying comments, i've just had a lot on my plate over this summer. but God is on the throne, and He directs our lives. Just remember to give thanks for every breath that fills your chest.

God is love.

words

2007-08-18T22:05:00.000+01:00

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

Death Be Not Proud by John Donne (1572-1631)

For Sope

2007-08-16T00:26:00.000+01:00

when the news hit me the shock unsettled the earth beneath my feet. the ground rolled and rocked until i could neither walk nor stand with stillness. my ears burned, but i could not shut out the voice regretfully telling me this awful piece of news. i could hear the pain in his own voice, but he did not stop; even if he had stopped, it was already far too late - i had already heard.

"have you heard, Sope passed on?"

"Passed, to where?"

"where could Sope have gone?"

i knew what he was saying, but i refused to comprehend. if my spirit was stubborn, my brain simply refused to accept the truth that my ears now knew. my legs gave way and i fell to my knees, right there, as the world went past. that busy street became silent, those passing cars slowed and my life flashed before my eyes. my homie was gone forever from this realm. i mourned his passing on my knees on the pavement by the busy stretford road. i wanted to lay myself down on the dirty streets and abase myself with grief. i wanted to roll in the earth until it covered clothes and the entirety of my being. if i could touch the sand, i thought, perhaps i could connect with my friend.

Sope had died. Shappee. Shappee. Shappeee! his name played over and over in my head.

Shappee!

scenes from the earlier years of my youth raced through my mind: we were teenagers, and then we hit 21. we went to parties and we laughed and played together. we slept in the same beds and we ate from the same plates. we had the same jokes, private confidences that tickled us silly. you had the two-way "fire" line that we all used to holler. you were not just the player, you were I-Shappy, the playa president. we loved to rap One More Chance, at every opportunity, voices going off at the end, we were rockers.

Shappee.

we had too many drinks one too many times. we stood on herbert macaulay road in yaba one night, i got out the camera and took pictures of us laughing. i hung with the crew at High Rise, we drove each other's cars, stereos blasting. we toasted our youth through countless parties. i was at your sister's wedding, and you scolded us because we arrived too late to watch the procession and the crossing of the swords. we were robbed by a group of uniformed policemen in lagos one night, right in front of their police station. we had birthdays that marked our transition, we evolved from boys into men. you called me "were". we turned 30.

Shappee.

we were meant to grow together, my brother. when we hit 30, i knew that we'd still be laughing about all kinds of mischief at the moment when we marked the passing of our 60th year. i was certain that when we turned 90, you'd still be calling me a "small boy". in my eyes you were forever, my brother and friend. we were meant to grow old and reminisce on unilag days together.

Shappee. I Shappee of Sati.

you were always happy, always laughing. even when we had shadows hanging over our heads, you found something to smile about. you were the life of the party, i shappee. i can't believe that you won't find something funny in the next minute heartbeat. even when things were bleak, you'd always find something to laugh about, and you'd declare, "mio sha ku!" (afterall i'm not dead). i guess this time you did pass on, and i miss you already.

Shappee. Shappee. Shappee.

i say your name over and over. every time i remember that you're not going to walk these streets again, a bitter taste invades my mouth. my eyes are heavy with tears i have not shed. i simply don't know how to cry for you. leukaemia. it doesn't matter what the cause, it took away my friend. the tragedy is a weight that's unbearable in my moments of reflection. you got married last year. your wife can really not be a widow, can she? not already? when your daughter speaks her first words in a few months, it will not be "daddy". she will never know you, my friend, and that breaks my heart. when she calls your name, it will be as a question, and never with the certainty of your affection. i don't understand.

Shappee.

i miss you already. i haven't seen you in months, we haven't talked. we got too busy to keep in touch, but every time our paths crossed you were the same cheerful soul. i wish that i had taken more time to listen, to fight the pressures that cause friends to talk less and less. if only.

i want to know what happens next my brother. my soul is strangely cold, i never imagined that you would not live to the fullness of old age, but the One who created us knows best. i would not presume to question Our Father, but i wish i could understand. you have a wife and a child, and a family that never conceived of your end. my heart is heavy with the emptiness of loss; you slipped into the night and left the house empty. Shappee.

Rest In Peace Sope Aderogba (June 2, 1977 - August 14, 2007) one day we will be brothers with arms slung around each other again.

Shappee Sun Re O

the one about being cut off

2007-07-25T23:50:00.000+01:00

Two of the things I wouldn’t like to live without are my mobile phone and convenient, fast Internet access. The people in my life can attest to how much time I spend online and on the phone – sometimes they complain, but mostly have come to terms with the fact that I’m attached to my phone and my computer. My ex actually used to joke that she would often get jealous of my phone.

Coming home to Nigeria, part of the frustrations I have to deal with relate to these tools which I consider indispensable to my life. i have tons of friends, and I love to talk to them on the phone, often for hours on end. I’m also addicted to the information superhighway and the way it feeds my ever-hungry mind. When I’m in lagos, I don’t have the same ready access to the world that I have taken for granted through my sojourn in the UK, and it always gets to me in the worst way - i'm a crack hoe in withdrawal.

Yes, I admit we have come a long way in a short time, and for this I bless the Obasanjo administration, who can at least claim to have paved the way for Nigerians to reach the world more easily. Yet it is not perfect. Not by any stretch of the deluded imagination. We have mobile phones, but the networks are a sad apology at the best of times - often through no fault of the providers I must admit – but still the same nonetheless. The challenges of doing business in our environment mean that it’s still far too expensive to run our phones the way people do in the West.

I’m still trying to get used to those machine gun conversations that we have out here, where you spend as little time as possible on the pleasantries and get straight to the point – all in aid of keeping the conversation brief and as inexpensive as possible. It’s only on the CDMA networks that I have seen people yakking endlessly on the phone, otherwise people keep it short and sweet. Those Starcomms people are making it easier and cheaper to keep in touch by the day, but we’re not at Uhuru yet.

All of last week my EcoVodaVeeCeltel/Whatever-they’re-called-this-week network was so jacked up that I couldn’t even send texts, speak nothing of making or receiving calls. In the four years that I have had this same number on this same network its been the same story, with a few variations. Its not like the others are any better, because apparently they all have their seasons of dodginess. Again, thank God for Starcomms, or else I would have been cut off from everyone.

Did I mention how expensive it is, and what few perks you get? I’m not trying to compare, but sometimes you cant help yourself. In jand, my two cell phones give enough free monthly minutes to fry my brain from the micro-waves bouncing off my ears. Since I have come home on this trip, I’ve had to endure the indignity of running out of calling credit in the middle of an important conversation too many times to count. To make it worse, often its occurred late at night when it wasn’t practical or safe to get into my car and drive down to VI to find one of the heroic vendors who seem to never take breaks from hustling recharge cards – you never appreciate these guys until you cant find them. One thing is certain, I’m never taking my contract line for granted again!

And the internet? That one was a depressing story until recently, when I discovered that my dad actually has one of those 3G internet cards. Starcomms again?! Prior to finding that, I practically made Cool Café my home all of last week, and even then the journey was not smooth. The bandwidth was so slow sometimes that I might as well have been sending letters to those websites and hand-delivering them myself. One day, the network was down, and so I was cut off. I might have tried another internet café, but the fear of EFCC is one of the fruits of wisdom. I hear that the police and EFCC randomly raid internet cafes in their quest to run the Yahoo boys out of town. The last thing I want to do is get arrested for simply trying to check my email and updating my blog, so I stay away from places I am not certain of. But now I got the hook up, and I’m a much happier bunny, but what about the phone?

Yet in jand, the price of broadband service is coming down daily, while speeds are sometimes scarcely credible. No, I know that I shouldn’t compare, but can you really avoid doing so sometimes? It’s extremely frustrating to find that something that you’ve basically taken for granted and find indispensable is suddenly out of reach. Its certainly not a surprise then, to read that Nigeria has one of the lowest teledensity rates in the world.

In the midst of so much poverty, it’s hardly a surprise that communication is not the first priority for most people. But look around you, and nearly everyone has a mobile phone, which begs the question, “how are they able to run them at all?” once again I understand why you never get prompt replies when you send email to a lot of the folk back home – most people simply don’t have that kind of ready access to the internet. That’s why I always have so much respect for the bloggers who write from here. Its not easy at all, but somehow they stay on top of it. I bow for you o!

I have been cut off from the world, but I am alive, fear not.

no light, yet again.

2007-07-18T14:16:00.000+01:00

I write with the hum of several silenced generators in the background, subtly shaking the earth right outside my windows, and we are the lucky ones. It’s another blackout in a nation where few things work at all, and all around me taxpayers are fighting to provide a basic service for themselves. There's a collision of noise and environmental going on outside my very windows, and my family is doing its bit. Even if our generator is silenced, as is everyone else's, what about the carbon monoxide fumes being pumped into the atmosphere? But we are not to blame. There are many reasons why the power situation in Nigeria is so dire, and trust me, dire does not really begin to describe it. It all depends on whom you ask, although there are two answers which feature most prominently on the lips of every single person that you put the question to.

The first reason is technical: the dated facilities just can’t keep up with the level of demand for electricity. While the main power generating facility at Kainji Dam is decades old and poorly maintained, the rest of the country has grown at a rate that has far outstripped the power-generating capacity of all the nation’s power plants put together. And then there is the archaic distribution network, within which a good measure of the already-inadequate power is being lost due to inefficiencies and again that problem of poor maintenance. The fact is - I am reliably informed – that even if all of the existing infrastructure was working at full capacity, there would still be power cuts because of poor planning – even though the demand of power has grown nationwide, the country’s ability to generate electricity has not improved much in decades. It’s a shame.

The second reason would at first sight appear to belong more in a collection of conspiracy theories than in real life. For as long as I can remember, we have blamed the faceless businessmen who profit from the poor power situation for the failures of NEPA (the National Elusive Power Authority aka Never Expect Power At all). We say that they have too much at stake, and they would never allow the power situation to be resolved because of its connection to their livelihood and wealth, and we’re probably right. There is no doubt in my mind that this is true, I seem to recall the late Chief Bola Ige, one of Nigeria’s most respected politicians lamenting that his efforts to resolve the electricity situation as Minister for Power were sabotaged by interests working against him. Our conspiracy theory got endorsed from way up and this is the reason why I fear that we will never find a true public solution to our nation’s power challenges, because the problem of the darkness tycoon is now more serious than ever.

I say this because there are now too many vested interests in the power situation.

You see, back in the days prior to the deregulation of the oil industry, and before the military allowed the refineries to become cob-web factories which deteriorated so badly they could be sold off as scrap metal structures for making bottle-caps, the main power to contend with were the generator merchants. The generator men profited from the power situation by supplying and maintaining generating sets to all those who could afford them. Business was apparently good in those days, and there were rumours alleging that they were deliberately co-opting the public power company to sabotage power delivery in order to stimulate demand for their wares. Put simply, if NEPA failed you, then you had to buy a generator if you could afford it, or spend endless days in the darkness. End of. Of course the candle makers profited too, and it looks like I have overlooked them completely. Damn! Candle guys profited too. Hmm, so we have not one but two darkness merchants.

In the present day, its clear that the situation is a lot worse. For one thing, the power situation is ever direr than at any point that I can remember. Seems to me that we have less electricity than we have honesty, and that’s in very short supply. And if you thought the interested parties were formidable before, now there’s an added dimension. These days, most, if not all of the nation’s domestic oil requirement is imported. Post-deregulation, we rely on private individuals to supply fuel, and it’s a multi-billion dollar industry. There’s nothing wrong with this, I’m a firm believer in capitalism and private enterprise myself, and clearly there is a need that the state machinery cannot fill, which requires the talents and resources of individuals. Fine.

What this means however is that the greater demand means more profits, which goes straight to the power situation. We need diesel and petrol to run not only our cars, but our electricity generators, and the less power there is, the more fuel we require. And the less-fortunate people need kerosene for their lanterns and lamps. Simple equation really – if the power company supplies no electricity, people need more generators (or more kerosene), which requires more fuel which means more profits. I hear that the big manufacturing interests run almost exclusively on their generators these days because NEPA simply doesn’t exist. Meanwhile, I hear that they have changed the identity of NEPA, and that its now called something or the other. That’s all well and good, but if they have not made it any more effective, then it’s still the same inefficient geriatric dinosaur that’s a national disgrace at the best of times. I digress.

Fuel suppliers and generator suppliers, all have one thing in common, they profit from the darkness. Admittedly, the fuel people would still profit from selling fuel to power cars and home cooking appliances, but lets be honest. What businessman would turn down the chance to do more profitable business unless it was particularly inconvenient? So we have a situation on our hands here, where the people who stand to lose from the smooth running of NEPA have an incentive to find a way to secure their interests. Does that sound far-fetched? I’m not sure, when you consider how poorly the public officials are paid. How many would really be able to work faithfully to secure power when the path of least resistance could be so much more profitable? Plus, even if one man or ten men had the drive to do what needs to be done, how could he ensure that less scrupulous members of the team would not sabotage his best efforts? And once again, I forget the candle manufacturers. And the guys who trade in lamps and lanterns. It all adds up, so please don’t laugh.

And we have forgotten the government. What has been done really to make the power situation better? Where are the new dams, the wind farms and the natural gas plants? Where is the determination to face down the businessmen? Forget lip service, where is the action? and where was the action 10, 20 years ago when the situation was growing into the older brother of disastrous? Somebody needs to answer, but none ever will. Shame on us.

Will we ever fix this? Will we ever have power, or are we to forever be at the mercy of the merchants of darkness? Don’t knock my conspiracy theory, just pray for something to happen, or your grandchildren will be buying whatever passes for diesel in the future.

PS: i'm in lagos, and i'd love to meet up and hang out with some of the fabulous people i've met on blogger. i'd love to just put my number on here, but that's dangerous. so please holler at me on ologun.smith@gmail.com, and we'll exchange details. thanks.

on the miracle of flight

2007-07-17T18:23:00.000+01:00

The miracle of flight never ceases to amaze me. Its not that the physics of the thing are beyond my grasp; I have read enough about why and how it happens to understand the basics of what goes on when air rushes above and below an aircraft wing at different speeds. I have read a little about aerodynamics and lift, but I tell you that it still baffles me sometimes to the point where I can only conclude that its simply a miracle. I know that the engine turns, the ‘plane moves forward, and when it races faster than I could possibly run, magic happens and the whole show leaves the ground, to conduct the next stage of the act high up in the sky. Flying is magic.

You can’t tell me that its not a major miracle when you see all one billion tons of Boeing 747 taking to flight as easily as any of the birds which have the benefit of flight, some of them no bigger than my fist. An Airbus is most certainly not a sparrow, yet it flies as naturally. Contemplate for a second the entire process of launching a huge flying machine, several tons of its own weight bolstered by the mass of a few hundred souls and their baggage, and enough fuel to make the entire process possible. Launching, not just to hop into the air for a few feet, but for actual sustained flight. Amazing? Yet it does not stop there, because these huge beasts somehow manage not only to stay aloft for hours on end, travelling faster than you or I could possibly comprehend in groundspeed terms, but they actually propel themselves miles above the ground. And then, more often than not (thank the good God) the process of complex magical voodoo is reversed and brought to completion when aircraft, passengers, fuel and cargo come back to firm earth. If that is not magic, I don’t know what is.

I am living a miracle at the moment. As I write, I am on a plane, headed home to Nigeria. Not only am I flying, but I am doing so rather comfortably, which is probably not right. I’m in a bed, admittedly not a huge one, but it’s a comfortable bed nonetheless - flat (okay, so its hardly bigger than a baby's cot, but its a bed nonetheless) with room to stretch out; being served food and drink. All of this while watching a movie, miles and miles above the ground where my home and all I know are firmly rooted. Down the aisle, a handful of guys are at a bar, drinking and chatting like they would in most bars in any city around the world, which is a tad odd. I’m not sure I know anywhere else where perfect strangers would be talking and drinking within such proximity to my bed! In fact, where it not for that bar and the occasional turbulence that we rocks us from time to time, shaking up the juice in my glass in the process, it might well have been possible to pretend to be anywhere else on earth rather than up in the air, supported by physics, the rushing wind and the voodoo magic of flight.

Yet, all of this takes place within a miracle that’s guaranteed to deliver me to hot and sweaty Lagos before the sun comes up fully across this part of the Atlantic Ocean. If I had any sense, I would be afraid of this mechanical beast that can somehow make such magic possible. Yet it all feels so natural. In truth we have come very far since that day on Kitty Hawk Beach when the Wright brothers (who actually sold bicycles for a living if memory of random trivia serves me right) took to flight for the first time, in what was no more than a few seconds of barely controlled hopping which barely lifted man and machine off the ground. I have seen the Wright Brothers' Flyer at the Smithsonian Museum, and its hard to imagine how that contraption could survive a light summer breeze, let alone the rigours of flying, however briefly. Yet it flew.

Can you imagine the ridicule and scorn they would have had to endure from those who knew of their plans? Imagine Noah, who built his Ark in preparation for a flood that did not come for 150 years. What would we have made of him today? Then picture two brothers daring to think that they could make their winged contraption fly! I would have laughed too, wouldn’t you? You can rightly accuse me of understatement when I say that I imagine they would have been thrilled to their souls when they realised what one of them would have first known, he whose task it would have been to convince his brother that man could fly, even though he had neither wings nor feathers to lift himself off the ground with. No wonder then that they were initially ridiculed even after they had proved that they could actually do it. Like Thomas of the Bible, noone wanted to believe until they had seen for themselves. They're not alone. There are some people who assure me that man has never actually been to the moon....

We’ve come a long long way since then, mankind. The history and story of flight is one of heroic achievement that’s seen the development of the jet engine, long-haul commercial flight (who was it that famously claimed that it would not be possible/economical to have commercial aircraft flying people around the world), supersonic commercial airliners and planes that can fly faster than the speed of sound? Did I forget to mention warplanes that can do amazing aerobatics, the Antonov 225 aircraft that can seemingly swallow whole cities, and of course the space shuttle that has somehow managed to launch specially selected individuals far beyond what our unaided eyes can see. Virgin is already selling tickets on its maiden commercial space voyage, and pretty soon man will consider spaceflight normal too.

I tell you, flying is magic, whether you accept it or not. Its just magic that we take for granted, so we forget to marvel at it. Just picture how it all comes together, engine, rudder, wings, flaps, propulsion, control surfaces, ailerons, fuselage, undercarriage – isn’t it amazing how all these pieces come together so seamlessly? Statistically, flying is one of the safest means of transport there is, and that itself is another reason to wonder. As far as I’m concerned, each airplane is as magical as a flying carpet, only infinitely more comfortable, and blessed with pilots who can take control. I didn’t see Ali Baba or Aladdin controlling a rudder, or controlling flaps with any degree of scientific precision and that’s scary.

If you are reading this, then I have come down to earth, in an aeroplane flown by a skilled, well-trained pilot. I have just experienced the miracle of flight yet again, and I was completely blown away by it. Flying is magic, and I am spellbound. If you're reading this, then its because i arrived safely at home, and I thank God.

Monday

2007-07-09T13:55:00.000+01:00

I had a party on Saturday to celebrate my birthday. This picture was taken just before i cut the cake, we had a mini photo-op (you know how i do). Just sharing. I'm glad to hang 30 years on the wall.

To those who turned up, Thank YOU!!! Hope you guys had as much fun as i did. Thank You and God bless.

Still Thankful

2007-07-03T09:05:00.000+01:00

Were it not for You who formed me from the dust that lay at Your feet, I would not be, nor indeed if You had not called me by Your name long before my father and mother were dreams in the minds of my infant grandparents;

If You had not decreed my being, could my parents not have exercised their choice, and made nothing of the seed that was planted when I was first conceived?

If You had not been living, then at my birth, who would have breathed life into my lungs; when I cried my first protest in life, was it not because You had made me healthy?

And if You had not watched over me, been the mighty Healer that rebuked disease and pain, could the infant that I was had made it through the arduous road that’s made the man that now stands in my shoes?

When I was a boy who played with fire, and drove too fast and risked a life that he had not yet learned to appreciate as an irreplaceable value, who kept me safe, lest I harm myself through exuberance? Who kept me from truncating the dreams that have thus far become the reality that I rejoice in everyday of the life that you gave me to start with?

If someone watched over me through the night, it was You, if ever a hand shielded me from harm, it was Yours, if ever a voice whispered directions in my ears, then it none other than Yours; if ever the love that my wonderful parents bore me was put into shade, it was by the purity of Your unending, unfathomable devotion to my own well-being, for reasons that You will never make plain because Your ways are not for my understanding; who else but You could have been so faithful?

I worship You, Holy and Almighty, Perfect and Unchanging, Merciful and Uncompromising; Your nature is love, and I am grateful for each moment of these thirty past years.

Serena 2

2007-07-02T17:40:00.000+01:00

Yes!!! ITS RAINING!!!!

They stopped the game!

Go Serena!!

Serena

2007-07-02T17:29:00.000+01:00

I'm praying for rain. rain rain rain!!!! Serena's a tie-break away from proceeding to the 4th round, but she's injured. she's in pain. if it rains, she gets a chance to go into the locker room for a massage.

i saw Venus fight back from the brink of a loss this morning. 3-5 down in the final set, and she fought back to win, winning four games in a row on her way to qualifying for the 4th round. i love these women so much, and its not just because they're black. i love their strength and determination to fight regardless the odds against them. they never seem to give up, and that always inspires me.

i'm rooting for you ladies.

THANKFUL

2007-07-01T01:59:00.000+01:00

That even though this moment finds me far from where my heart's hungers would have me,
its still a great distance from the frightening places where i could actually be;

For all that i am, and all that i will become;

For these past 30 years, and all of the blessings that they have held for me;

For every day, every tear, every disappointment, every joy, every mistake, every lesson that's shaped me into the man that i am;

For the next 100 years, and all that they hold in store;

For my wonderful Family: Imoh and Olusanu and all the ones between us; O*A and O*A, because of the blessing that it is to be the branch that grew from your tree;

For all of the branches of the family Tree: few ties can be stronger than blood, and fewer still can stand in opposition to love;

For the love of the One who never sleeps, never tires, whose love is not only constant and eternal but whose faithfulness will endure until all things have passed away.

Because of who You are, my Father, who lives in Heaven.

I am thankful.

someone needs to leave me alone because

2007-06-29T21:02:00.000+01:00

i am not my hair....

there's no religious or moral injunction that binds me to wear my hair the way that everyone else does. the ruff, tumbled look reflects a part of me at the moment, so why won't these older people just leave the hell alone?!!!!!

and now they try blackmail. arghhhhhh! i am too old for this!!!

amazing

2007-06-29T18:18:00.000+01:00

6-1, 6-0 (43 minutes) Serena Williams is on fire!!!

because our Father understands all tongues

2007-06-29T18:15:00.002+01:00

amazing, isn't it?

words

2007-06-28T16:00:00.000+01:00

come a little closer,
let me tell you how special you are
my baby,
if you were a song,
i would sing you with all of my soul,
i would caress every syllable of your being
with sweet, delicate affection,
every inflection and note just right,
because you would deserve nothing less.

if you were a song,
you would be a love song,
a beautiful expression of joy
and explosions of passion;
you would be the masterpiece that serenades my soul

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LONDON BUKI!!!

on virginity (provoking yet another lynching)

2007-06-27T14:32:00.000+01:00

there's a line in one of 2face idibia's new songs that proclaims, "i can't believe she's still virgin"

it's from the song "if love is a crime", extolling the virtues of this woman who has somehow managed to navigate the murky, shark-infested waters of love and relationships without sacrificing or compromising her personal ideals. speaking from a purely musical perspective, i think its a beautiful song.

the full verse goes thus:

she said to me, do you want to be the last man standing?
she said to me, do you want to be the one that them complimenting?
(oh yeah)
girl, i want to be your beginning and your ending
oh, i want to be the only one that you be sending

i can't believe she's still a virgin
lots of guys have been up to her but there was no compromising
she be strong she be keeping herself until the day of her wedding
under the right ceiling
with the right person,
a person deserving of her special kind of loving

that album is the only thing i have played since i first listened to it last monday, and i haven't gotten bored of it yet. trust me, i've been raving about it to all of my friends as well. anyway, i played this song to a couple of friends, and the reaction from the women was a touch unanimous when they heard the line about the girl being a virgin until her wedding day. one or two commented openly, while the others just muttered something under their breath about that one. clearly, it got a few people bugging, but i completely understand. i think it goes back to that societal and moral thing (religious too) about remaining "pure" until the day of your wedding - it made me smile that one.

it also made me re-visit my view on the whole virginity/past history thing. i have said frankly so many times that the past matters very little in the scheme of things, because we all have walked different roads to get where we got, and its unfair to judge someone based on something that went on yesterday, when today and tomorrow are all that matter. what this song reminded me of is how little the whole virginity thing means to me. nothing. zilch. zip. nothing. i don't set a high price on it at all. i don't seek it out, because i simply don't care.

this is the point where some people will reach for their machetes and come calling for my head. i am not afraid. anyone with serious opinions on this issue had better look away now, because i might walk all over your sensitivities. i might be an immoral man, but who is judging?

i don't think virginity is necessarily proof of anything other than the fact that the person chose not to have penetrative vaginal sex. that's the only obvious case that it makes. it says nothing about whether or not the virgin is chaste or moral or particularly "good". afterall, there's no physical evidence that they might or might not have engaged in other sexual activity. i suppose there might be a dress out there someone with protein stains that might prove lewinsky-esque activity, but that's not always the case. face it, not everyone has the incentive to keep a dress soiled with "presidential fluid". the rest of the time the things that we do in the dark remain there, forever a secret kept between two people and some inanimate objects. so who knows what you (or i) have been doing?

everyone has heard the story about the girl who is nominally a virgin, even though she has had sex in all other descriptions of the term. i actually know her. several of her. i suppose she's still a virgin if she's only been having anal sex with her man, or oral sex; yes, you could very well be considered a virgin, since the all-important hymen is unbroken. yet, i think that somewhere in all that "innocent" activity, the spirit of the whole chaste movement got horribly broken, and with it was lost the right to stand on a moral high-ground. if she has had anal sex before, is she still a virgin? you be the judge of that one.

but you might as well admit to being as flawed as the girl who openly has sex with her man, except that the shadow of hypocrisy hangs darkly over you, if you then portray yourself as pure, when you are not. so being a virgin is not proof of purity. at least not on its own. its only the personality of the person that can prove whether they're good or not, and then i ask, does the fact that a person has had sex before marriage make them bad? i don't think so. i know that they have violated religious injunctions to remain pure, and that counts for a lot, but do you know how many sins we commit daily?

don't get me wrong. i am not saying that there's something wrong with abstinence - it is admirable, in this world of tantalising temptations. i respect anyone who can resist the pressure to have sex; in this day such strength and determination to stand by your own convictions is all too scarce. all that i am saying is that its a personal choice which noone should lord over anyone else either way. noone should be condemned for abstaining, or indulging, unless you do so from a pulpit that's unsullied itself. its funny how society always applis its double standards on this issue, but you know, being celibate does not mean that a person could not have caused some people emotional hurt in the past. this goes for guys and girls alike. its not only when you sleep with someone that you can hurt them, all that it takes is for them to invest their emotions in you.

i know a lot of women who have a chip on their shoulder that's based on the fact that they couldn't wait, for whatever reason, until their wedding day to have sex. it grieves me to see someone beat themselves up over this, not because of what their faith tells them, but because of how society might judge them, and that makes me smile. what society? perhaps the same one in which a good number of our mothers were pregnant before their wedding day, or the one where middle-aged men are openly cavorting with girls the same age as their own daughters. honestly, i'm waiting for the blameless to cast their stones.

what i really want to say, is that if you wince when you hear this song, or any other for that matter, maybe you're being too harsh in judging yourself. say what, the past is done and dusted, and nothing you do can fix it. so the girl in the song is a virgin, and she's being celebrated for being that. that's her prerogative. don't hang your head in shame over that. and don't let someone tell you that you should be wearing a scarlet letter, because you don't know where they've been either. they might be "pure", but no man can see inside their skin. they might well harbouring secrets darker than your own.

before you come after me with a holy writ, remember what i have said: i didn't say virginity was wrong; i didn't say that its right to have sex; i said you shouldn't let people put you down just because they appear to live by a higher moral standard; i merely said that its unfair to beat yourself up over something that cannot be helped, because its past. its done and dusted, so why not just lift your head up and go on living?

2:17am

2007-06-27T02:17:00.000+01:00

can't sleep.

MONDAY...

2007-06-25T12:48:00.000+01:00

HAPPY BIRTHDAY UZO!!!

we were on the train, chivalry was not.

2007-06-19T01:14:00.000+01:00

They got on the train shortly after I did, one evening in the earliest days of blissful summer. It was a lazy Sunday, one of those where you go out in your flip-flops and jeans, eyes (adorned) protected behind the trendiest shades, just so you could eat alfresco with friends, or spend leisurely at the park with a loved one. It was beautiful outside, and you could tell just by looking at the way we were all dressed. It was a day for simple pleasures.

Though it was bright outside, it was far from perfect where I stood, and where they came to join me. They were a couple, I say this in the sense that they were a man and woman travelling together, and not because they showed any signs of being romantically involved with each other. They might as well have been siblings, or casual friends, or have some other connection, but whatever that was, they were a couple travelling together on the train.

We were on the underground rail system, and it was far from sunny down here. It was slightly hot, so it was not the most comfortable place on earth. The train was also fairly crowded; there was no room for any of us to sit - in fact, there was barely room to stand comfortably. She was pretty, and he was a man. They spoke occasionally, but I didn’t listen to their conversation, partly because they stood to far away from me for it to have been possible to actually listen to their conversation, but mostly because of the duet that Fally Ipupa and Koffi Olomide happily played in my very appreciative ears, relayed through my ever-present iPod.

The other couple came to join us soon after. Once again, I use the word couple in the loosest sense; they were both women - well, a woman and a child. The Older was the mother of the Younger, she about 10 years of age, cute in that buck-toothed, bottle-thick nerdy-glasses kind of way that you prayed she would outgrow along with the baby fat that clung tightly to her form. She bore a very close resemblance to the woman; hence I was able to conclude that they were mother and daughter. She (the mother) also had the buckteeth and tiny slit-like eyes that are all too familiar to me, having stared at a pair of my own in mirrors all of my life. Yet, both their eyes made mine look like a pair of huge saucers; by comparison to theirs, my eyes were huge windows that let you peer into my person.

The miracle of genetics meant that the child looked like a biological facsimile of the mother. I could not tell what the mother had looked like as a child in terms of her weight, but I could tell already that my other wishes for the daughter were hardly likely to become reality. Whilst she might yet outgrow the thick glasses, she could never change the tiny eyes, nor indeed the teeth – her mother’s features pretty much guaranteed that.

The mother was heavily pregnant. Not being experienced in these things, I would estimate that she was at least about 6-7 months gone, her due date certainly closer than the date when she first conceived the seed that was planted inside her fertile womb. She was a mother already, and by Heaven’s unending Grace, she would be a mother yet again. Amen. What struck me as she took her place opposite me in the carriage was the fact that she also had to stand, like me. Surprised, I cast my eyes around the train, hoping and not-quite-believing that no-one had offered her their place. There were young, able-bodied people occupying seats all over the carriage, yet this expectant mother was expected to stand as the train rocked and lurched in all directions in the course of bearing us all to our respective destinations.

“How could this be? What happened to basic human compassion; how could we let this happen?”

The question bothered me as we approached yet another station. She had been standing in plain sight for more than 5 minutes by this time. In the eyes of the ones who raised me, it would have mattered not that she was heavily pregnant; they would have expected me to give up my seat to the elderly and infirm. Even if she had been all of two days gone, as long as her blessed status was obvious, it would have been required of me to stand uncomplaining to my feet, and to offer my seat with a smile. Even though I had no seat to yield, I wished for one, so that I could fulfil what was taught to me a solemn duty. I have given up my seat for children and women, even if they were scarcely older than I. Such is the overbearing burden of my upbringing by my elders, but I have no complaints. I would willingly give up my seat as many times as there are people more deserving of it than myself.

Yet the lady stood, her child beside her. She also cast expectant looks around the carriage, but no-one paid her any mind. We arrived at the third station since she embarked on the train, and finally places opened up. To my surprise, the first couple I had observed immediately took them; though it must be said in their defence that they were propelled most likely by the same instinct of self-preservation that overrides almost all others – at least until reason kicks in. it’s the suppression of this instinct by compassion that drives parents to place the needs of their offspring before their own. Without a doubt, it is the denial of the same instinct that has created many heroes in countless situations since man first faced danger; from the mother or father who goes back into a burning building time and again to rescue their children, getting hideously burned in the process, but never giving up (God bless you Folusho), to the soldier bravely remaining at his post while his comrades escape to higher ground, resolutely providing covering fire, all the while knowing that by his counter-intuitive choice, his life was placed at greater risk.

So they took the seats, and when all movements (entry and exit from the train) ceased, the woman and her daughter were still standing. I felt even more saddened, and powerless to help. Then the girl looked up, and her eyes met those of the pregnant mother. I imagine that shame and embarrassment washed over her in the same wave as compassion; overwhelming her as she sat on the bench. She turned to her companion and whispered something to him. He shook his head. The subject of their conversation was immediately obvious to me, but any doubts were sealed when she stood up, an embarrassed smile hiding on her face, like a thief hoping to evade detection by concealing himself behind a wire-mesh fence. She offered her seat to the Mother, and as she did so, her boyfriend’s expression caught my eye.

He looked from his friend to the stranger with a strange look on his face. To his friend, he shot a look that said, “I can’t believe you just gave your seat to that woman.” He had the expression of pure incredulity on his face as he glanced at the pregnant woman with undisguised distaste.

“Why should I give up my seat for you?” he seemed to be asking her. It was immediately obvious what the subject of their little conversation had been. She must have asked him to give up his seat for the pregnant mother, and he had refused, and so she had been left with no choice but to yield her own.

The pregnant woman immediately took the proffered seat, smiling with gratitude at her benefactor. She then instantly did what most mothers would do: without hesitation, she asked her heavy, pre-teen daughter to sit on her legs. She showed no regard for the discomfort that she would doubtless experience to have such a heavy being perched on her lap in her condition. But she had nurtured her child from her infancy, and she had no intention of ever stopping, even at the price of her own ease. That simple gesture made her shameful neglect by the selfish, unfeeling horde around me even more revolting in my unbelieving eyes. I glanced at the young man again, expecting him to have learned from both examples of human compassion and rewarded his partner’s generosity by giving up his own seat.

Na yam?

Idle wishes would become riches and make Knights of indigent men first. He was still sitting, and that made me resent him more, because now his female companion was standing, while he perched his inconsiderate behind so comfortably, a shameful example of the tragic death of both chivalry and good-breeding in a society that cares more about wealth than about how it was attained. A wealthy scoundrel is honoured, as though the very fact of having fat pockets wiped clean the slate blighted by the blood that he shed to enrich himself. He watched his companion give up her seat for a pregnant woman, but he remained resolutely seated, while she held on to the safety bars.

In the most bizarre twist, two stops later another seat became free across the carriage, and the pregnant woman got up and walked across, so that the girl could regain her seat beside her unworthy companion. Therein was the basic decency and courtesy of two perfect strangers. As she walked past, they exchanged a look, and I’m sure that in there, the pregnant woman would have passed some unspoken advice, which I can only imagine to have been, “what are you doing with that fool? if he’s your man, then you need to dump that loser quickly”. I only hope that she got the message in that intuitive way that women have.

But what is wrong with us? What has happened to society that a train full of people would rather allow a heavily pregnant woman to stand rather than giving up their seats for her?

na wa o.

2007-06-13T22:26:00.000+01:00

someone needs to tell me whats going on back home. actually, someone needs to explain to me the epidemic of stupidity that already seems to be trailing government in a country that professes to have intellectual giants.

i have not heard this confirmed, and i refuse to believe that it is true, because noone can be that stupid. but tell me, could it be true that someone in power has decided to introduce a tax on electricity-generators in lagos state? i mean, let me take this slowly, levy a tax on generating plants in a nation where the government is too inept to provide an amenity as essential and as basic as electricity. and then you turn around and tax people for providing for themselves at great cost, what their "elected servants" are too selfish (too compromised too) to provide for them.

a tax on generating sets is beyond absurd. my friend says its madness, but i disagree; it cannot be madness because madness implies a degree of seperation from commonsense. these people sat down to think about a new means of generating an income, and they devised this scheme. they aren't mad. certainly not. they're stupid. end of. we're being led by a bunch of Neanderthals, and what does that say about us?

we can't even say that this a tax for the rich, because everyone who can't afford one these days has a generator or 2. they have no choice, if they want to live in any degree of comfort. it is not a luxury, its a matter of necessity. stupid. stupid stupid. i would have thought the exorbitant price of fuel would have been sufficient penalty to pay for having a generator in your house, or indeed in your office. and heaven knows its expensive to keep those things running; a couple of years ago i saw firsthand how much it cost to run a generator for a week in nigeria, and prices have doubled since that time.

the implications of this tax are beyond my own comprehension. what about all those offices who have no option but to provide their own power? if the costs of doing business in nigeria were not high enough, now they have to contend with a fiscal measure which you just know will rise faster than rate at which our leaders can enrich themselves at the expenses of the masses. we should call this the Stupidity Tax, or the Arrogant, Out of Touch with Reality Daft Nigerian Leaders Tax. my father always says that a nation ruled by slaves will never prosper; i think he got that one from the Bible, and it is so apt. perhaps that is the secret of our nation's woes, a leadership of groveling, thieving, sadistic slaves who have no conception or desire for what it means to be free. woe is us.

but why not fix the power first, before levying taxes on things that cannot be helped? i am sure that someone somewhere with dubious credentials will justify this one on grounds of global warming or some other imported concept that he should have spent 5 minutes thinking about, instead of eating the snot from his nose and declaring it "tastes like caviar". global warming is real, i agree with the science, and i believe that we should do something about it. but in our nation, the best thing to do about it is to provide certain basic services. provide a good transportation network, and people will reduce the amount of driving that they do. produce electricity and the number of generating sets would reduce and then disappear altogether.

you know, if they were guaranteed to provide electricity for 18 hours a day, every day, i might almost see the sense in taxing people to provide the rest themselves. actually, i couldn't. i was almost infected with the stupid bug too. whew! that was a close call. even if you provided electricity for 23 1/2 hours a day, you would have no grounds to tax people for the hours you fell short of doing your duty.

if i were an international company looking for a place to set up a business today, nigeria would not be one of my first choices. there would be little point investing in a country where the costs are just as numerous as the benefits. they simply cancel each other out. the leaders are hell-bent on stifling the life from their own people, while they live the lives of kings. but someone should tell them that no condition is ever permanent. i wonder how many laws saddam hussein has enacted in the last 12 months. how much money has he spent? if you're wondering why we have yet to see significant foreign investment providing jobs and other benefits to the country, look no farther than the people who lead us, and who provide an unsuitable environment for people who can actually help the system.

but a tax on generators? talk about ill-advised measures. they might as well place a levy on living. actually, maybe i shouldn't actually say that, somebody might actually consider it a good idea.

who will stop these stupid people?

i support

2007-06-12T21:46:00.000+01:00

i'm loving this. clearly my fellow bloggers are innovating and crafting new ways to keep things bubblin'.

i love the contestants for their bravery. its takes a lot to put yourself out there like this, and i respect that.

check it out

unbelievable

2007-06-10T19:45:00.000+01:00

takuma sato just overtook world champion fernando alonso!!

and lewis hamilton is one lap from winning his first grand prix. amazing!!!

she got my digits

2007-06-08T15:03:00.000+01:00

so i lost my vodafone sim last night. it was hardly a loss, because the useless thing had not been working properly for the past 2 weeks or so. my reception and call quality had been so patchy, you could have sworn i was using a "developing" (read third world) country mobile phone network. question: why are developing countries always "developing". show me one developing country that has been elevated to "developed status". they should just call us under-achieving countries governed by degenerate, thieving, incompetent bastards and leave us be - all this political correctness BS is wearing me down.

shoot, i reckon NITEL in its glory days would have been better than not being able to make calls, or having to bury my head deep in the toilet bowl because that was the only place where i got enough quality signal to call my peeps. ir hanging out of my window and screaming my head off like one of those africans that you see having a telephone conversation that the entire neighbourhood can hear because its conducted at full volume (why are nigerians so loud, and why are we especially so when we speak our own language? Isis, that one was for you, you're on my mind Star)

anyway, that ish got to me yesterday. i just couldn't understad why the much-maligned T-Mobile (aka Naija peeps network aka Econet/Vodafone/V-mobile/Cellcom/Alariwo Shomolu (whatever are they called this week?) London aka MTN Jand aka Globacom for UK peeps). i needed to know if it was my V! handset that was bad, so i swapped sims. the T-mobile sim worked in the Voda phone (gettit?) - cool! i lost the Voda chip before i could test it, so i never found out if that litmus test had any merit.

so i carried my bad self off to the shop this afternoon, looking like the hottest thing that ever hit the streets. went in the store and confirmed that they had indeed had network problems. i got me a new sim (free, thank you!) and they told me to switch networks so i would only use the old GSM infrastructure, rather than the new-fangled 3G wahala which apparently lets you make video calls and make faster internet connections, but still doesn't give head (hey, i'm just saying that the technology is still limited in its application you know. i'm not saying that i'd ever want brain from a cellphone. why are you so perverted?!)

after we were done switching networks the saleswoman said that we should see if my phone was working. i figured i'd call a friend, but she just said, "why don't you call my phone, and we'll see if your phone is working? let me just give you my number"

i had to look up at that one. i thought, "that's interesting, you're just going to give me your digits without trying. is this part of the friendly vodafone service, or are you coming on to me?"

she smiled. i dialled her number, and smiled when she smiled at my digits displayed on her phone. thsi was the bit where it got a tad awkward. i was going to ask for a name to go with the number, it just seemed so natural. at the very worst i figured she'd rebuff me, nothing lost, other than the chance to get to know my customer services friend better. its all in the effort to buid better customer relations. she smiled, i smiled back.

i'm not telling you the rest.

get back to work!

in my head Fabulous (for Imoh)

2007-06-06T13:00:00.000+01:00

i woke up with Jah' on the brain. i've been trying to find a video for "diamond in da ruff" for the past 10 minutes or so, without success. okay, i found a couple of karaoke versions on YouTube, but that's not the same as having mr silk voice singing it himself. both songs have been running around my head, and so i thought i'd share the one that i can at least find. those kids are soooo cute.

my nephew Imoh is one today, and that's a reminder just how good God has been in my life. i still can't believe that my younger sister is a mom, and that lil' man is now old enough to run around the house. i still look at him and feel the strongest tugging inside my heart, knowing that nothing could be more beautiful or more precious than the gift that he is.

the song is "fabulous", because that's what we are. Happy Birthday Lil' Man.

how much to tell?

2007-06-05T17:58:00.000+01:00

My friend wrote a note last week on (Crack)Facebook that resonated deeply within me. She wanted to know how much you should tell a new partner about your past life. Now I’m certain that this is a question that everyone has asked themselves at one point or the other; how much do I tell, and how much is too much?

It’s a fine line, and a highly contentious issue that has to be handled right. Think of it as a tightrope hovering between two skyscrapers. If you slip and fall, the odds are that you will never be able to get back up; so it’s a hard balance to reach, yet it must be navigated somehow. How?

The most obvious question is always to do with past sexual partners. Don’t pretend, that’s the first place your mind went when you read this. If it didn’t go there first, I reckon you’re slow and need to crank your processor speeds up (okay, I’m playing, but why are you so slow to catch on?)

So, we agree that this is perhaps the most obvious issue that anyone has to deal with when contemplating a relationship with someone new. How much to divulge? Names, numbers, circumstances? Hmmm. And we must always bear in mind our society’s double standards for men and women, which allow a man to have spread his oats like a farmer spraying pesticides from an aeroplane, whilst the women are expected to be chaste. It’s a sad rule, but nothing you or I do will change it, when even the women play up to it themselves. Don’t believe me, ask yourself why you refer to some girls as “loose”, “fast” or “promiscuous” when you know that you’re a woman yourself and you should perhaps not be so quick to judge.

There’s no gainsaying the fact that both parties must handle this with extreme caution. But it also takes wisdom as well, to avoid using someone’s past against them. Everyone acknowledges that most men don’t want to know the details about their girlfriend’s past, and so girls are not really keen to disclose their “number” (word of advise, DON’T!). But I have since discovered that the women are just as likely to go ballistic over their man’s ex (don’t deny it, I’ve been there). I’ve met the women who were very hostile to the girl that their man used to date before she even met said man, even though both of them are no longer even inclined to get together. Now isn’t that a waste of good energy?

How much to tell? Do you disclose that you and J used to have a thing which was never defined and only lasted for a couple of weeks? What if you don’t tell and your new man/lady happens to find out? Does it then not become more significant, as though you were trying to hide something? Well, I guess you weren’t quite hiding it, but you didn’t do a full disclosure either, and now there are trust issues raised which might have arisen anyway if they had known how many people you had hooked up with before.

But what does it matter really, if each new relationship is a new beginning? Many of us are way past fast approaching the age of finding our life’s partners, that person whom you expect to grow old and ultimately have Yugly wrinkly mommy and daddy sex with (yuck!). After the excesses of our youth, its time to settle down, but how, when the ghosts of those wild early years are still howling about in the background somewhere, not even bothering to hide their presence? We’re all making new starts, but how clean can our beginnings be?

Most of us say that we should approach the new relationship with complete honesty, and I agree wholeheartedly. But how much of a clean slate are we really willing to deal with here? And how exactly do we wish to wipe the record clean? Do we admit all and grit our teeth, or do we say, “look, I’ve done things I’m not proud of, some of which I will tell you now, some later as relevance dictates, and the rest of it never because it is not important to the life we intend to have together?” One of my favourite songs deals with this issue in a profound and compelling fashion.

Tracy Chapman’s “At this point in My Life” (what, you don’t know by now that I can quote Tracy for almost any issue?) is a poignant reminder that we all make mistakes, and we all have to start again with someone else, who must accept us as we are. The always strikes me as someone laying bare their soul, and playing out a romantic caveat emptor (yes, I know that’s not very romantic, but how else would you know that I have a shedload of law degrees if I don’t throw in the gratuitous phrase from my lawbooks?). look, she says, I have done bad things, you need to know, but that’s not all I am.

My favourite part is what I imagine to be the bridge (I say imagine because that song has no hooks, and every verse takes its own direction). She says:

Before we take a step
Before we walk down that path
Before I make any promises
Before you have regrets
Before we talk commitment
Let me tell you of my past
All I've seen and all I've done
The things I'd like to forget
At this point in my life

If that does not grab you, I don’t know what will. A lover confesses…. “As a man i have done things that I am not proud of, and sweetheart, you might find that in your circle of friends are one or two people who might be able to describe the scars on my back better than they should, but that was a long time ago.” Its funny, but even virgins have skeletons in their closets - never forget - so don’t say that you’re pure. And even if you are, what about the one you’re in the process of falling in love with, can they also make the same claim? Hey, if you’re free from blemish, I’m proud of you, but don’t sit in judgement on the rest of us.

personally, I'm not one of the "let's tell all our secrets around a fire and sing sad songs" school. I think that some things are best left in the dark hallways of yesterday, never to be revisited unless it becomes important to do so. The question though is how to determine what we should tell and what we shouldn't. I don't want to know your "number", so please don't feel the need to divide it, or average it or any of that fun stuff. Its not important. I have always said that the most important thing is that you come with a determination to start afresh, but that will not erase all the sticky moments that are sure to come when we run into ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends and people who know far too much, and can't keep their mouths shut.

So how much do we disclose? This is by no means all about sex, there is so much more that we could be ashamed of from before. People used to do drugs, or steal or just be randomly scandalous before they changed, and these are some of the issues that need to be confronted. I hope to revisit these issues as I collect my thoughts in the blogs to come. In the mean time, tell me your thoughts. Lets hear you….

Thanks for reading.

in my head

2007-05-30T11:53:00.000+01:00

bwoy can shang, and he's got me laughing my head off.

his name is louis harris-tench, and he needs to work on his lyrics some more. other than that, this is really funny!