Random musings

Bird Box

2012-02-02T13:02:00.000-08:00

I randomly stumbled upon this video, and for a good minute and a half was wondering why on earth it had up to 5 million views. "What the devil is going on? They're just bantering in Russian, or whatever they call that language nowadays. Is this some communist plot to take over Youtube?" Then, just when I thought all was lost, at about 1:40, pure amazeballs ensues. wompwompwompwomp!

Awkward

2012-02-02T12:48:00.000-08:00

Know your serf

2012-02-01T14:27:00.000-08:00

If you have a housegirl/houseboy (a.k.a if you live in Nigeria) this one’s for you.

Think fast - What is your housegirl’s name?
An all too easy question. In fact, let me answer that one for you: Her name is either Grace, Patience, Mercy, Charity, Comfort, or Mary – just pick one of the saintly virtues and bam, you’ve covered 90% of the Nigerian housegirl population. If you have a male serf, you would forgive me for dismissing him as a weekday – If he isn’t a Monday, he’s probably a Tuesday. Or a Wednesday. Or a Thursday. Or a F… you get what I mean. Honestly, why do parents bind their Children’s destinies and cast them into bottomless calabashes from which no destiny can escape? It’s just not right. This is the reason why I have a list of names I can never give my child, such as Boniface and Cletus. You should make a list too. But I digress.

My second question - What is your househelp’s last name?
Ah, gotcha there. You don’t know, do you? (cue smug grin of smugness from me. unless you actually do know his/her last name. In which case, cue this face)

A lot of us have no idea where our househelps came from. Our parents seem to magically procure them from thin air - we get back home one day and suddenly we have a new servant being. Joy and happiness! Our household tasks have diminished! For all we know there’s a secret underground laboratory that cultivates housegirls and houseboys in test tubes. Just add water and poof! Instant serf. Serf-in-a-can! If only. (Joy and happiness are also househelp names. Just saying)

Jokes apart - unless your househelp’s name is Joke - it begs the question: How much do we care about our househelps? How much should we care? Are they just tools to be used around the household as we see fit? Or are they perhaps individuals who happened to fall afoul of chance; people who did not have the good fortune to be exposed the opportunities we had, and, had they been given those opportunities, could have turned out to be even better than we are now?

There’s an underlying belief in a lot of people that househelps are not competent in several capacities/cannot truly be trusted. You’ll let them clean your room, but they’d best not look in the cupboards. You’ll eat the food they cook for you, but somewhere in the back of your mind you’re praying that today isn’t the day she’s decided to sprinkle a healthy portion of jazz upon your edibles. As a result of this, a lot of us keep our househelps at arm’s length, if not a lot further away. All we know is their names, and that they are at our beck and call. (“Yo Sunday, go fetch me a can of Becks! -__-“)

Believe it or not, househelps have souls, and should be treated nicely. It sounds like a given, but sometimes we forget. Like many things in our homes – such as the generator, it’s diesel, and the parentals paying for both of them – we tend to take our extra hands at the house for granted. Sure, we’ve come to the conclusion that 99.999% of Nigerians are douchebags. But they could be the 0.001%. and, at the very least, even if they are enemies, it wouldn’t hurt to give them less incentive to lace your evening pounded yam with cyanide. Keep your enemies closer, no? If you haven’t been nice to the help, start now.

Apart from making them feel like fellow human beings, closing the gap between ourselves and our ‘household life facilitators’ has other implications. Perchance your househelp actually is a low down good for nothing thieving scoundrel, and perchance one day he/she makes off with your precious new blackberry Porsche. And that just happens to be the day mummy and daddy are en route to the USA - on a 14 hour direct flight. So you have no way to reach them. WHATCHU GON DO? Chances are you’re going to throw a cataclysmic fit and threaten fire and brimstone if you ever get your hands on the thieving scoundrel. But chances also are you have no way to go about finding said scoundrel. You can’t call him/her. And even if you do, I find it unlikely that he/she’ll pick up the phone and go ‘oh hey, yeah, I’ve got your blackberry Porsche. Oh, you want me to return it? Okay.’ Yeah, not likely. If at all they pick up the phone it’ll be to say “LOOK WHO’S LAUGHING NOW! YOU WANT ME TO COME BACK AND COOK YAM FOR YOU? OH HELL NO NIGGER! POUND THAT SHIT YOSELF! I’M RICH BIYOTCH! AHAHAHAHA!”

Okay, so that’s what I’d say. But I bet they’d say something along those lines. At the end of the day, you are helpless in your predicament, so all you can do is lean back in your chair, cup your head in your hands and go :’(

So show that you care. If not for the help, then for the sake of your future blackberry Porsche, or Lamborghini or whatever they think up next. Investigate your househelp. Find out where your mom hired them from (there’s often a third party that referred them). Find out where he/she lives (no, not your boys quarters. The place they go whenever they leave your abode). Do something - anything. Every little helps. Do your part. Ask your househelp’s name today.

"Three great men..."

2012-01-30T10:57:00.001-08:00

I managed to get through the first three words of this trailer before squealing like a little girl, hyperventilating and subsequently passing out. Season 2 of Game of Thrones looks a right treat, and I cant wait to sink my teeth into it. for now, here's the appetizer.

Maintain

2012-01-29T12:23:00.000-08:00

Considering how little I've heard from Olu Maintain since he released 'Yahooze' about half a decade or so ago, I think it's safe to say he hasn't Maintained his high flying career. (Yeah, I said it). He has however had a go at making another video for a song he released last year. Here's 'Nawti'.

I just have one question - Do girls really gyrate in their rooms with fellow females when watching music videos (about 48 seconds in)? asking for a friend who may want to set up spy cams. No, really, for a friend.

For the boys...

2012-01-24T07:52:00.000-08:00

Call me a heartless bastard, but living in Nigeria has made it increasingly difficult for me to give a quarter of a pig's flying excrement about the next person's financial problems. With prices at an all time high, and everyone and their mother's brother looking for a tip they don't deserve, I've pretty much had it up to here with parting with the odd N200 at intermittent intervals.

After days of shirking off door attendants, elevator attendants, security guards, policemen and area boys who apparently have deeds to the curbside on which I park my car, as well as having my eardrums besieged by ever evolving incarnations of “Anything for the boys?”, including but not limited to “May we know you? “, “Happy Weekend”, “Any bone for bingo?” and “Oga we dey ya side”, I would appreciate coming home knowing that I will not be besieged by any entities attempting to get their grubby paws on my last N200. Alas, one gets not off the hook that easily.

Upon returning to my house one fateful day, as I alight from my vehicular conveyance I am met with a "Welcome sah!" from the Meyguard - Routine enough. No signs of encroaching fiscal depreciation. I breathe a sigh of relief, give the obligatory "oga nod" and jejely continue on my way. I take a step towards the house. The meyguard takes a step toward me - and Houston, we have a problem.

"A problem?" you might ask. “What on earth could be the problem?” Well I'll tell you the problem. Critical analysis of the Nigerian situation allows me to know that processes subsequent to touchdown/arrival at my place of residence should have the following order:

Arrival --> ‘Welcome sah’ --> obligatory oga nod --> take steps towards house --> insert bodily existence into house

Once the flow becomes Arrival --> ‘Welcome sah’ --> obligatory oga nod --> take steps towards house --> meyguard takes step towards my bodily existence, then I know something is afoot.

Now this is not always a bad thing. Oft, the meyguards approach towards my earthly manifestation/bodily existence is for him to inform me of happenings of relative significance that may have occurred in my absence - delivery of diesel, perhaps even a letter arriving for me. But, sometimes, one is not so lucky. Sometimes the following words tumble out of his glottal cavity:

"emm, I don't know if you can help me..."

Anyone who knows anything about Nigeria knows that any ‘help’ one has to render is purely financial. And as I remember the Area boys/meyguards/attendants-at-places-where-attendants-shouldn’t-even-be, The first thing that runs through my head is “Oh, F*ck no, I can’t help you! Negro you know my ass just got through a day of mongoloids and homo erectuses looking for a handout and now you want me to cater to you? Do I look like Beyonce? I mean, are you not paid for doing your job? Is it not enough? Then tell the Security contractors that pay you - Because we pay them a whole lot to hire you. What are you asking me for? And how does your ass come to the house without transport money to go back? Ever heard of budgeting? Negroloid peel off!”

Now, before you judge me as possessing a heart so black it makes Wande Coal look like vanilla Ice, allow me to plead my case. I was not always this way. I once had the disposition to inquire of the domestic staff “what ails thee? “, and lend a listening ear to their woes. But times were different. Fuel was N65 per litre. I was in College and only home for vacations. I had fewer expenses and more disposable income. In a nutshell, I had not yet chopped Naija life.

Ever since my return to this god-forsaken hellhole… I mean, to this challenged nation, levels don change… and I am not talking 10/10 - Quite the opposite actually. From the moment I stepped off that airplane and into the warm, humid embrace of scorching heat cum Nigerian sweat/B.O at Murutala Mohammed airport, things started going downhill. Flip that 10 around. Na 01/10 knack my akpako.

Now, I may be eating a super-sized bole (hyperbole) with regards to describing my circumstances. It really isn’t that bad. But man can’t lie - living in Nigeria and having to spend a lot of my own money on expenses has indeed taken a toll (insert Lekki pun here) on my wallet, but more so on my mental state. In other words, hearing “anything for the boys” and its various iterations every couple of days has driven me slightly batty.

As a result, I often find myself straddling the thin line between grudgingly letting go of my last N200 and saying STFUGTFO! (note that ‘happily parting with my N200’ is not an option). If I go Lord of the Rings on my moolah and keep it tightly clasped within my fist, something in my heart feels like it is transfiguring into the wretched Gollum, only that ‘my precious’ is a N200 note that can barely purchase one packet of Digestives, as opposed to a mystical golden ring that has the ability to turn its bearer invisible and has spawned a multimillion dollar franchise. Meh! fifty Naira, hundred Naira, million Dollars. All na money. But I digress. The fact is that a part of me sorta kinda feels a bit guilty about not freeing the monies. Because naturally, I’m a caring, stand up guy!

However, the STFUGTFO part of me is not just your every day Ebenezer Scrooge. It’s quite the pragmatic practical thinker – and it’s telling me “Patty me lad, we’ve got ourselves a wee bit of a problem if ye part with yer last piece of gold.”

Yes, my more fiscally prudent alter ego is Irish. Got a problem with it? (¬_¬)

“Ye see wee lad, as ye pile up your monies, little by little, it accumulates, a bit like racks on racks on racks. And before you know it, you’ve got yerself a mighty grand pot of gold.”

Yes, my Irish alter Ego also listens to rap. But that’s beside the point. The point is that by the time I account for all the ‘things for the boys’ I’ve parted with by the end of the month, I’ll be looking at quite a tidy sum. (insert ‘Tiny drops of water making a mighty ocean’ variant here). And that’s just when dealing with the odd area boy or two. They are just after the odd N100. Domestic staff members usually have requests going into quite a few thousand. Talmabout “Abeg I fit hold three thousand?” Three thousand? Three K?! when I go KKK on you and flay your negro ass you won’t be coming up to me talkinabout 3K. mscheew!

It’s not like man cannot part with the odd Ku Klux Klan (3k). But giving a one-off favour in Nigeria can put one on an extremely slippery slope. You give people an inch and they'll take a mile. Nigerians however, will take half the circumference of the globe if you let them. First it’s transport money, then their child is sick, then their other six children come into contact with that child and get sick too. Oh, the fact that they have seven kids to take care of when they only earn so much a month? Let’s not even get into that. Because I will shoot a negro fo sho!

The real problem with household staff and their ‘can you help me’ wahala is that they’re there every time you return to your home. You just can’t escape. Sometimes I feel like the journey from the car to my doorstep is like more difficult than crossing the Mexican border. Park car, wait for meyguard to look away, wait for it, wait for it, run for your life! (Yes, It's that deep). Alas, this man can’t hide forever. Sooner or later the Mexican border patrol will spot me and release their hounds; The ferocious canine beasts will race across the arid desert, chase me down; drag me to the floor, and just as they are about to sink their teeth into my flesh they shall ask “any bone for bingo?”

Lagos Big Boy

2011-06-12T16:23:00.000-07:00

A lot of us can go on for days about the Lagos big girls we see around - toting bags the size of baby elephants, with equally large Sunglasses and the latest mobile phones. We know their repertoire and their itineraries. However, the Lagos big boy doesn't seem to get as much attention. Well he didn't till now. Here is a small piece from a friend of mine, Ms. Okemini, that gives an interesting take on the Big boys of Lagos.

THE LAGOS BIG BOY

“There’s a ‘Look’ in this city. Do you notice?” She asks Him.

“A look to the city?” He is confused.

“No, no I mean a look IN the city. It’s a little...strange.” Pause. “I think it’s the men...there’s something about them, you know. Suddenly, they’re all vulture-bald and goateed these days. Leather sandals and white kaftans. Maybe, some ethnic jewellry on the right wrist and voila we christen another LBB!”

Unconfirmed reports have stated that the factory’s capacity is currently one (1) Lagos Big Boy every two working days. With 2 manufactured a week from over a million factories in the state alone, an epidemic is imminent. The pirates have gone on rampage, there are counterfeit LBB’s littering our streets. Gold-diggers arm yourself with discernment.

“Everyone looks the same.” Her.

“Welcome to Lagos.” Him.

That one feeling

2011-03-04T14:46:00.001-08:00

Be it love lost, falling out with a friend, a business plan gone awry, or destruction of a priceless memento, I always get a most curious feeling when things don’t go as planned; A feeling that comes when I feel that something has been broken; perhaps beyond the point of repair; A feeling that bubbles, oily, to the surface of my psyche, only to drag me down, into its void.

It is a deep emptiness; a feverish turmoil that grips my mind. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet for minutes on end. I wonder where I went wrong; what I could have done better; how it is too late to change things. But as suddely as the feverish storm grips me, I am calmed. I am calm because, in the midst of my chaos, I perversely find tranquillity. I discover the eye of the storm, and there I find peace.

Like numbing poison, this feeling corrodes me, yet I do not feel its sting. A part of me is dying. I know this, but I do not care. I care for nothing. I am in a deep valley, with no shepherd. But there, at the lowest point of my consciousness, am I at my best. Because nothing else matters, I can set myself to task.

Blurred words on manuscript become razor sharp. Jumbled syntax is laid straight before my eyes; I can read. Distractions fade into misty grey; all I see is white parchment before my eyes; I can focus; I can write. Emotions in disarray; letting down their defences; I can push them aside, and pay full heed to carnal intent. I am a machine, more efficient than I have ever been.

But this state of mind is far from perfect - in truth, it is fatally flawed. For while my intrinsic motivations find themselves fortified, a part of the extrinsic world is lost on me. I cannot listen. I hear spoken words, but their meanings die upon my ears. I can read text, but English script is Spanish to my unhinged mind. I am a machine, and while I process input, I will never truly understand it. I will be cold; I will be detached; I will speak my mind, no matter how callous my thoughts. I will be mechanically efficient - but only for so long.

As with most emotions, this sentiment wanes. While traces of prior linger, and occasionally gnaw at my soul, they are soon overshadowed. Other feelings soon regroup, barricading my path to dispassionate efficiency. Phantoms of distraction materialize, restricting my cognitive advance. Work still needs to be done. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet – but this time, there is no subsequent path to tranquillity; no quick fix for my pending workload. Only mental exertions will help my cause - but I don’t mind. The mental load is lifted, and, even at the cost of my godly work rate, it’s great to have my feelings back.

The sinking feeling in my gut disappears, allowing me to fill it with food, laughter, friends, and the occasional bouts of euphoria they bring. More importantly, I can hear again; I can let the outside world in, and fully experience life. But that sinking feeling is a drug; and when it leaves, a part of me wants it back. A part of me wants to be free of distractions, to operate without a care in the world; to get jobs done and to get them done quickly. To speak my mind without concern for what anyone else thinks. That feeling will come again, but I will not search for it. When it comes, it comes, and I will use it to further my cause. I will learn from it and change, so that hopefully, one day, the feeling will be no more.

The Maga Chronicles

2011-03-02T13:41:00.000-08:00

"A Blackberry Torch? you shouldn't have."

Oh, but of course he should have. In fact, it is expected, for these are the words from a lady to her designated Maga; a man who will spend tirelessly on her, perhaps with some underlying intent.Just perhaps. A lot of women think they are above the Maga, and that they will use him for what he's worth before discarding him. But beware, the maga is not a simple animal. I went on a bit of a twitter spiel which I aptly named #TheMagaChronicles. Here it the collection of tweets:

I almost dont mind being a maga. If I have enough money to buy multiple girls BB torch + brazilian weave, I'm probably in a good place

A basic boy who can barely afford bb bold is laughing at a man who buys torch for fine women on the regular. Go figure. #magachronicles

To the maga, ladies are an investment. you think you've found maga, but maga has added you to his portfolio. #magachronicles

The maga is patient; he will lure you in slowly. The process may take months, years, but eventually, something's gotta give #magachronicles

The reason a maga has multiple women is because he's smart. At least one investment will bear fruit - if not all of them, at different times

The maga is a psychological genius & will mess with your head. While you think he's getting nothing from you, each gift let's him get closer

The maga doesn't give gifts; he gives you a chance to let him in - to talk to you for that extra 2 minutes. To let him crack one extra joke

The maga will extract information slowly, one piece at a time. With each gift/convertation, you let him know something new...

After 6 or 7 gift-versations, the maga knows more about you than your coworkers & some of your friends. Suddenly, you start to feel attached

A couple more gift-versations later you start to think "you know, that guy aint so bad. Sure he's old and not that cute, but he gets me"...

The golden opportunity for the maga arises when youre in emotional distress. He'll use all the information he's obtained and draw you closer

Then you start thinking "that guy's always there for me. Perhaps I should give him a chance"...

Before you know it, he's got you. Maga don hammer. But weren't you the one supposed to hammer in the first place? See how things change.

What happens from thereon out is up to fate. If maga had good intentions, he may wife you after the deed is done. If not, who be maga now?

You must forgive me if the tweets seem a bit disjointed. Twitter only allows 140 characters at a time, and I was just airing some Maga-ish thoughts. No, I am not a Maga, though, as I've stated, it wouldnt be all bad to be one. =)

On the random, I also followed @CharlieSheen today. He keeps me winning with Tiger blood!

Yours in winning,

Pat II

The CEO

2011-02-28T14:44:00.000-08:00

CEO of Japan Airlines shows people how a true CEO should behave. Pity it aint happening in corporate America anytime soon.

Peep the link: Here

You Should Date An Illiterate Girl

2011-02-23T02:45:00.001-08:00

Brilliantly written. Makes me want to go out and do that.

You should date an Illiterate Girl.

Why you aren't married

2011-02-17T11:12:00.000-08:00

This is a nicely written piece I stumbled upon while browsing. You may not agree with it, but I just thought I'd share.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tracy-mcmillan/why-youre-not-married_b_822088.html

EPIC DISCOVERIES

2011-01-24T12:32:00.000-08:00

I have come across too many Epic things this week. okay, maybe just two epic things - but they are SO EPIC they count as multiple instances of EPICNESS!

First of all, watch one of the most EPIC naija videos out there till date. Nollywood aint got nothing on this one!

I dont Even know if I should make this second post seperate due to its SHEER EPICNESS! I just hope this one blog post can handle the EXPLOSIVE AMAZINGNESS of these two things at once. The internets may just explode... or implode!

This blog is by far one of the best things out there. Read, and revel in the epicnesity as it fills your mind... then BLOWS IT UP FROM THE INSIDE!

www.blackgirlsareeasy.blogspot.com

Yours Epicly,

- Pat II

btw: This post deserved all CAPS!

Parental Concerns

2011-01-13T01:02:00.000-08:00

Now I'm not a parent... yet. But I oft wonder how good (or bad) a parent I would be if eventually saddled with a responsibility of such epic proportions. It's a life-long task, just in case that somehow escaped your notice. As a parent I would want the best for my kids, and would want them to be the best they could possibly be.

But how does a father/mother elicit the greatest response from their child - the response, both mental and physical, that leads them to the epitome of their childhood form, setting the pace for a future of success and prosperity? The article below Compares two starkly different methods of "rearing" a child. My choice of word is intentional. Read on, and ponder which form of parental guidance would work best for you.

http://online.wsj.com/article/SB20001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html#dummy

If you're going to be racist...

2010-12-23T06:09:00.001-08:00

... at least get it right.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-12030051

Now, if you didn't read the article, it gives a report of a recent incident in which some disappointed football fans in the Republic of Congo took to the streets and attacked Chinese-run businesses, after TP Mazembe were beaten 3-0 by Italian club Inter Milan.

The Fans were unhappy with the Referee's decisions and thought he lost them the game. They naturally took to the streets and attacked all the businesses operated by his fellow Chinese men. Perfectly normal reaction; I mean, who wouldn't take to the streets in a violent rampage after their team lost a match? Just one little problem. The referee was Japanese, not Chinese.

Dear disappointed fans, at the very least have the decency to find out which race you're hitting out at before going buck-wild on their property. I for one would feel pretty stupid if I stormed through several organizations and damaged their possessions, only to find out that the instigating incident did not involve their countryman at all.

Now that the renegades have run roughshod over several Chinese businesses, I doubt any one of them is going to walk up to any of the offended parties to apologize for their "mistake".

"Err, sorry about that mate. I thought the ref was Chinese. My bad, old chap -You orientals all look alike, you know. Case of mistaken identity, that's all. No harm, no foul and whatnot. Well then, Cheerio!"

Yeah... not likely.

This incident is not only an example of ignorance, but is also indicative of a subconsious negative sentiment the Congolese people are harbouring towards the Chinese, whose various copper mining businesses operate within the Republic.*

* Now this could spiral into an argument about neo-colonialism via business operations and how the black man should control his own resources, which in turn could spawn an argument about the inability of the black man to create commercial success for himself, because he had the chance to do so long before the Chinese set up shop, which can further spiral into past colonialism which arguably set the black man back several centuries... and I don't want to go there.

My point is that in a world where black people give white people (and other races) stick for lumping Africans together in one big puddle of oily racial muck, the reverse is also the case, and can have more severe consequences than just upsetting a couple of "Africans". Luckily, no lives were lost in this incident, but this could have easily not been the case.

This once again brings me to a point I often make; where there is division, there can be - and a lot of times there is - conflict. It almost makes me think that the answer to the almighty "Why are we here?" question is "to somehow live in perfect peace, despite all our racial, religious, cultural and ideological differences." Maybe that actually is the answer, and not 42 (follow the link if you didn't get that). Wow, apart from being quasi-psychic, I may just have answered the ultimate question. I never cease to amaze myself.

Now on that self aggrandizing note, I leave you all to enjoy the rest of your day, with hope that tomorrow brings a day free of racism - or, at the very least, jocular racist statements directed at the right races (and at someone who will not punch you in the face for said joke). Oh, and Merry Christmas! - Or "Happy Holidays" to the appropriate parties. See what I did there? Just call me Mr. Politically correct. (Oh darn, I thought I was done singing my own praises. Ok, I'm going now)

- Pat II

* On another note, there's a typo under the picture on the BBC website. Good eye I have, aye? (darn, more self aggrandizement. It hurts to be this amazing!)

Lens is the Word

2010-12-22T09:50:00.000-08:00

The word Lens; Now this App is a seriously awesome piece of work. I even had a bit of trouble believing it was legit at first. I'm not by any means an Apple fanboy, but I've gotta say, the iphone's versatility greatly encourages creativity, and this app is just one example of several amazing creations out there. Its about five dollars for each language package (English to Spanish is seperate from Spanish to English), but it is probably worth it for anyone who travels a lot, or anyone who would want to read Spanish literature.

I do have a few questions though - For one, how well does it deal with other styles of text - radical italics, different serifs, etc. I also dont know how well it would deal with written words, as hand writing varies greatly.

There's also the problem of how it deals with incorrectly constructed sentences and misspelled words though... built-in autocorrect, maybe?

Either way, It seems like a decent app. If it comes with a japanese to English package, I'm buying me an Iphone for Christmas!

- Pat II

What they sayin'

2010-12-16T17:08:00.001-08:00

This video is a perfect example of how gangstaness/blackness takes meaning away from a song. You hear the lyrics when a brutha spits it, and you say "damn thats tight!", but when you take it apart, word for word, you see just how crude a song can sound.

Nothing against the song or its artistes. I'm just saying, in the words of Outkast, "lean a little bit closer". Its fun to actually listen to a song, and not just hear it. Then, and only then, can you truly know what they sayin'.

Below is the original version.

Resposes to Responses: Article on Women in Nigeria

2010-12-15T13:36:00.000-08:00

After reading my previous blog entry, a few people had some things to say. A friend of mine (named Dez) was particularly vocal, saying that Nigeria had bigger fish to fry:

He said, and I quote:

"I think Nigerias problems are WAAAY bigger than any gender issue or role based confusion.
Not to take anything away from this but its like worrying about a flat tire when your engine transmission is toast. How easy is it for ANYONE to make ...it in Nigeria regardless of gender?

In terms of relationships I think you just need to find the person on the same page as you. If you are female and wanna spend day and night cooking and cleaning then you can find the kind of guy that wants a house wife. If you wanna spend day and night hustling then you can find the kind of guy that wants a hustler . If you are more in the middle (and so on). There is no "right" or "wrong" role for women or men. There are just arbitrary constructs people with opinions put forward."

Astute observations, yes - My response is as stated below:

Just to clarify, this isn't a forum for debating gender issues and their place in society. Each gender has their strengths and weaknesses, and we are here to complement each other. This is simply commentary based on my observations, as well as some of my opinions. If you don't agree, that's okay (but you can still go and hug transformer).

@ Dez - astute observations as always. one thing though - I did mention a general perspective. I quote - "discrimination in itself would always have existed in society. As long as there is division, there can be conflict and discrimination." once we are different in any way (sex, race, religion, sexual orientation, tribe) there is room for opposition and oppression. I was just putting things into context for the pertinent issue. Of course there are greater problems, but that doesnt mean the little ones dont exist. To put my 'discrimination' point into perspective, I'll cite a timeless joke by Emo phillips:

Once I saw this guy on a bridge about to jump. I said, "Don't do it!"

He said, "Nobody loves me."

I said, "God loves you. Do you believe in God?"

He said, "Yes."

I said, "Are you a Christian or a Jew?"

He said, "A Christian."

I said, "Me, too! Protestant or Catholic?"

He said, "Protestant."

I said, "Me, too! What franchise?"

He said, "Baptist."

I said, "Me, too! Northern Baptist or Southern Baptist?"

He said, "Northern Baptist."

I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist or Northern Liberal Baptist?"

He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist."

I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region, or Northern Conservative Baptist Eastern Region?" He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region."

I said, "Me, too! Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1879, or Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912?"

He said, "Northern Conservative Baptist Great Lakes Region Council of 1912."

I said, "Die, heretic!" And I pushed him over.

So yeah, the society probably has bigger problems than the oppression of Northern conservative baptists of 1912 by Northern conservative baptists of 1879, but the fact is that that man still got pushed over the bridge because of it. lol. that joke is hilarious btw.

Just to top things off - my introductory sentence stated that I was prone to coincidences-. The day after I wrote this piece, a lady friend of mine in the gym was being hit on by an older (much older) man, and later came to me (unprompted) bewailing the general attitude of men towards women in the country - objectifying them and making it seem like they are unable to do things without a man's help. I then referred her to my writeup. Shameless plug, I know, but I hereby declare myself quasi psychic. lol

Enjoy your day folks

- Pat II

Women in Nigeria - commentary on Chimamanda Adichie's Financial Times article

2010-12-12T08:09:00.004-08:00

I tend to be prone to coincidences; whenever I ponder a topic, something usually happens the next day that teaches me more about said topic. When I learn about something for the first time, the next week I see that same thing all over the place. Maybe I’m quasi-psychic, or maybe it’s just my ignorance preventing me from seeing what I should be seeing until I learn about it. Either which way, I digress. This week’s “coincidence” was a discussion I had with my sister about discrimination against women in Nigeria, and the chauvinistic nature of our society. This discussion was impeccably juxtaposed with our discovery the following day - a Financial Times excerpt written by Chimamanda Adichie, on, you guessed it, being a woman in urban Nigeria.

The day we discovered the article (before we had read it) my sister and I saw a woman in an E/S-class Mercedes Benz and I went “Oya, who bought it for you?" (Tongue in cheek, of course). By sheer coincidence (or was it?) Adichie uses this very example in her article, decrying how women are seen as unable to earn a luxurious living on their own.

While the current state of affairs is unfortunate, the fact remains that there is no smoke without fire. Nigeria has been a patriarchal society for a long time, and the man has often done the bread winning. Several men who have attained vast wealth (notwithstanding how they came across it) often spend it on their spouses, or their girlfriends. Because of this, a high rolling chick is more often than not assumed to have another "source of income" - More so, if the girl is young - it raises eyebrows.

But here I must interject. Young women are not alone in this plight. Young, rich males raise eyebrows as well. While it may not always be openly mentioned (though sometimes it is), there exists a "chopping his father's money" stigma – a label attached to young men whose parents are of substantial means. The son is assumed to live off his father’s wealth, and is implicitly accused of not earning a dime in his entire life. This, to an extent, can be true. The structure of Nigeria makes it harder for young men to gain complete independence early. High costs of living alongside relatively low employment salaries mean that young men are dependent for a longer period of time than in other countries. While some delinquent sons exist, there are several young men working, and working hard, regardless of their parents’ wealth. But still, they are given the label of “carefree rich boy.”

On the flip side (yet again), albeit several young men are attributed this label, society accepts it as a norm, and turns a blind eye. The son is the heir after all, and all that money is his to claim in the long run, right? “So we might as well just treat him right”, society says. He gets the salutes, the “oga we dey hail oh!” and “we dey your side”. The daughter, on the other hand, is distanced, and does not merit the same respect the freeloader son does. She is just another girl who will soon marry a man and become his property. If she’s lucky, that man will be rich and only then will she become a “Madam!” (Note the exclamation mark.) She will still, however, be branded as a man’s acquisition. She will be a reflection of his wealth and authority - nothing more. (The mere fact that the phrase goes “chopping his father’s money “ is prejudiced in itself. Why is it not “his parents’ money”? )
Anyway, here are some points of call for me: Discrimination against women is global, and only recently did it wane in America. Perspectives are still heavily skewed worldwide in favour of men, but times are changing; countries across the globe are becoming more enlightened, and I believe Nigeria will soon follow suit. We tend to copy a lot of things, so here’s hoping we can emulate some beneficial culture as well.

In my opinion, discrimination in itself would always have existed in society. As long as there is division, there can be conflict and discrimination. If women were the higher power, mark my words there would be men writing these anti-oppression articles instead. Complaints of abuse would clutter newspaper editorials with stories of how “that woman stares at my butt at work”, or how female police officers waylay unfortunate men on the highway, inquiring as to whether they had “anything for the girls”. The internet would be awash with male forums and blogs telling of their gender’s enduring suffering, and men’s rights propaganda would litter the streets - assuming that women would let men speak out. For all we know, had they held the reins of power from the get-go, women would still be discriminating against men today, possibly with a stronger hush policy. We all know how adamant women can be, after all. Maybe it’s for the best things turned out the way they did.

All jokes aside, men lucked out genetically. Patriarchy began in ancient times, mostly because of the foundation of humanity, which was hunting and gathering. Men were more physically suited to these tasks, and ended up as the workers/breadwinners, while females took care of children and the households. With such a deep rooted foundation which spanned several millennia, it's not surprising that it has taken the world an equally long time to change its outlook. This prehistoric social structure is the very reason why some male supremacists, (if I may deem them such), argue that feminists are trying to defy natural law – something that has been encoded into our genes from the dawn of time. They believe that women are meant to be subservient and let men do the work.

While this perspective is highly skewed, I firmly believe in the latter part of the statement; that men should do the work. Let me qualify that; women should be cared for, while men work for them, especially (if not exclusively) in the case of marriage. I personally believe that men should work for their spouses. They must till the earth, sweat, and spoil their women with the rewards of their labour. Women are supposed to be cared for because they endure a pain men can never even fathom; childbirth. Women carry the living extension of a man’s being for nine months. Sure, the woman provided half the chromosomes, but she’s the one doing the heavy lifting for almost an entire year. And in Nigerian society, it is likely that the man will want her to do this four or five times. That’s four to five years of carrying a living being within her body. And it does not end there. Each child comes with it at least eighteen years of worry, high blood pressure and stress (it can be a lot more than eighteen years). From the cradle to high school to university, it is the mother that dotes over her child. When the child is sick, the mother is equally sick with anxiety. When the child leaves for school, she frets that her baby will come back with bumps and bruises. When the child matures and leaves for university, she frets that her child is leaving her and going into a world full of influences over which she has little or no control. The mother’s exertions scarcely go unnoticed, but often go unappreciated. The man may claim to worry about his child (and don’t get me wrong, he probably worries), but there is no way he can emulate a mother’s emotions - the feelings projected towards a being birthed from her very own body. Because of this, the married man must do her right. He must work his heart and soul out; ensuring that, save for the concern felt for her offspring, the wife/mother will have no other stress added upon her head. And if such stress inevitably arrives, he must give his all to lighten the load.

However, just because men should work for their women does not mean that females should be restrained in their efforts to make it on their own. Chimamanda’s gripe is especially with the attitude of society towards younger women who have no spouses, and hence no reason not to make the most of their careers and their lives. Young ladies are seen only as potential wives, not as women with potential. Even when they succeed in professional circles, they are ostracized. Strong women are categorized as bitchy, and successful ones in the corporate world are often characterized as being aggressive and manly.

If women don’t succeed, it’s because they are too subservient. If they succeed, they are either bitches (excuse my French), or have done” something” to get where they are. Women can’t seem to win either way in businesses - unless, of course, they start their own. In a patriarchy like Nigeria, such a thing will be an uphill task, and is almost impossible with strong backing from powerful males and females. I believe it is possible though, and I am hoping for more public support (financial and moral) in order to facilitate the ventures of young business women, who can then branch out from fashion, acting and modelling into any industry they wish. Believe you me, I am doing my part.

Till next time, I remain ever hopeful,

-Pat II

Link to Financial times excerpt: http://www.cp-africa.com/2010/12/12/chimamanda-writes-woman-urban-nigeria-financial-times/

"The Fathers have eaten sour grapes...

2010-12-11T11:49:00.000-08:00

... and the children's teeth are set on edge." Such are the affairs of the Madoff family today as Mark Madoff, the 46 year old son of Bernie Madoff, was found hanged in his New York apartment - an apparent suicide. The decision of Madoff's son to take his own life is proof that, no matter how much money you make, there is no substitute for integrity.

Mark Madoff worked for his father in the financial company that defrauded investors of millions of Dollars, but he (assumably) and other family members have claimed ignorance, stating that they were unaware of Bernie's dubious dealings. While I find this hard to believe, considering that, as major stakeholders in the company, they must have perused several annual statements, and must have been privy to information regarding major investments, my misgivings are irrelevant in this context - Even if not directly culpable in his father's wrong doings, Mark's suicide is the embodiment of shame; despair brought upon him by the disgrace Bernie Madoff brought to the family and to its legacy.

I know that as sons and daughters, we may not always be privy to the affairs of our parentage, but we must take this message to heart- Human dignity is inviolable, and moreso is the dignity and pride of an entire family. The virture, respect, and self respect of a collective must not be squandered by the actions of just one man. The stigma carried from just one incident can scar several generations, and cases of families changing their names are not unheard of.

At the end of the day, we are only accountable to ourselves. We cannot know the intentions of anyone else, not even our closest blood relative. It is thus up to us to be true to ourselves, and to others. We each hold our legacies in our hands, but in tow with ours are those of our families, and those who associate with us. Do not dishonour yourself. Do not compromise your dignity, for in doing so, you rend asunder not only the integrity of your generation, but possibly that of many generations to come.

Till next time, I remain,

Pat II

Link:

http://uk.news.yahoo.com/4/20101211/twl-bernie-madoff-s-son-found-hanged-41f21e0.html

Lagos Rain: A short story written for a Creative writing Class

2010-12-06T05:41:00.000-08:00

Gasping for breath, I leaned against one of the two slender pillars that demarcated the entrance to my former home. I barely made it; no sooner had I stepped under the ledge than the heavens bathed the earth with their fury. Akin to a flash flood, the rain had changed the landscape of the compound in an instant– ankle high water appeared as if from nowhere, and a sheet of rain coated the neighbourhood, extending as far as the eye could see. I had made the right choice to run from my car into the compound. Had I been a second later, my clothes would not have needed their weekly trip to the washers. I sighed - Indeed, I had chosen quite a challenging day to move my belongings.

While I was in university outside the country, my parents had built a new home, but had not moved all my possessions out of the old house. I took it upon myself to do that, but had not anticipated such weather. There was no way I would be able to carry anything from the house to the car without becoming a human sponge. I decided it would be best to wait out the storm. Fumbling for the keys in my pocket as I walked, I tripped on the third stair of the entrance, managing to catch myself before I fell. I let loose a stifled hiss, pressing my stubbed toe against the tip of my shoe in an attempt to dull the pain. Several years of absence must have made me unfamiliar with the architecture of the building, I thought to myself. But as I unlocked the front door and stepped through it, memories rushed to me, as if swept onward by the torrential downpour. In an instant, the house was familiar once more; as if I had never left.

I treaded past the furniture that was left behind, perhaps as a gift for future tenants. I paced furtively, as if not to wake sleeping spirits that lay dormant in that abandoned space. As I shuffled up the stairs, I glanced at the overhead windows; the rain poured ceaselessly, and I was again thankful that I was not outside. As I entered the family sitting room, I realized that, on this rainy day, not much had changed; neither the house, nor myself. When the sun shone, the house was an enclosure – a binding force that I would escape from once I had cut the bonds of assigned school work and household chores. But in the rain, it was the same four walls, with the same boy, now a man, standing within, idle, searching for what to do as the waters fell. Years away from my home had changed nothing. The rain itself stilled time – no, reversed its very flow. Chipped and flaky with age, the taupe paint coating the walls outside the house seemed to take new life, revived by the misty shower - The greyish brownness melding into a glossy sheen provided by nature herself. The hibiscus flowers in the garden glistened and reared their red heads- lifting them continually upwards, if only just to be beaten down by the heavy pellets falling from the skies. On the adjacent stone curb, a snail crawled, making its way towards the leafy plants, sure that no one would impede its path; no children to prod at it with sticks, forcing it back into the safety of its shell; no birds to peck repeatedly at its shell, in spirited attempts to earn themselves a meal. In the rain, the snail found its element – its freedom. These were its better days. And as the soft patter of raindrops upon zinc roofing became nostalgic orchestra, I found my soul cast backwards in time, to better days of my own. To damp days such as this, but when I was more carefree; the days when I was younger -much younger- and my only concerns were for life’s trivialities; for the entertainment I would seek out when the rain barricaded me within my own home.
The television would be my first resort- a haven of pre-recorded entertainment that would engage my senses, taking me far from the bleak wetness of the outside world. My favourite program was “Voltron“, which told the tale of a valiant robot fighting the forces of evil. I always looked forward to watching that show. But that was a pleasure accessible only when N.E.P.A saw it fit to provide us with electricity. And more often than not, the house was without supply. Today is no different; I flick a light switch up and down – as expected, there is no power. I then recall how I would often go to the basket in my room, where an assortment of toys and games lay in wait. I was never for want of activity when it rained, and staring at the gaping emptiness where the basket once lay, I was thankful for my parents, who had done so much for me. Because of them the rain brought no concerns save for when I would be free to leave the house and bathe in the sunlight once more.

With childhood long past, the rain now brings fresh qualms; I think of myself – of my car, which would glisten in the shower, only to become dusty when the waters evaporated and needing to be cleaned again. I think of the commuters, as the rain grinds traffic to a halt. They will be late returning to their homes on this Wednesday evening - and equally late to their offices the next morning. I think of the pedestrians who trudge through the grimy sludge as unpaved roads and rainwater become one, and again I am thankful. Yet I am sombre, for the rain reminds me not only of my fortunes, but of the less privileged; traders in open markets closing down their stalls, lest the deluge ruin their wares; hawkers, who brave the squall, lest they are unable to sell their goods; families whose houses threaten to be swept away with the slightest gust. And, pondering these thoughts, I contemplate the nature of the rain; refreshing the world with its bounty, but equally merciless in its descent, sweeping away everything too weak to resist it. Like a rapturous lover it caressed the earth, but perhaps at times too harshly, leaving moist engravings on its loamy pelt. The rain split my emotions, making me melancholy. Yet I always smiled whenever I gazed upon the moistened ground. It reminded me that I was alive; alive to know of the rain – to bathe in its silken showers; to fear its chilling embrace. Yes, as I straddled the line between past and present, in the place I once called home, I was indeed alive.

The siren cut into my thoughts, stopping them dead, and signalling that the electricity supply too, was once again alive. My eyes caught a glimpse of the television in the corner, which had flickered to life. Someone must have left it on as they left the house, and I would have to turn it off before I left. But before that, I would indulge my inner child once more.

It was an old television; a medium sized, grey model which my parents had owned since their days in University, where they first met. I was surprised they had not taken it with them to the new house, and promised myself to return for it later – it would not fit in the trunk of my car with everything else I intended to take with me. Reminiscence guided my fingers to the tuning knob, and it swivelled effortlessly as I tuned in to NTA 2, channel 5. It was four o’clock, and this time, fifteen years ago, “Voltron” would be airing. The static cleared, and sure as rain and taxes, “Voltron” was on television, thrusting his trusted blade in the face of bio-mechanical threats to the earth and its people.

As Voltron stuck down his final foe, I realized that amidst the action, I did not realize that the storm had waned, the thunderous cascade of water now nothing more than a misty spray. Electricity, “Voltron” and clear skies; I guess good things did come in threes. I turned off the television, perhaps for the last time, and turned towards my former room. There were several fragments of nostalgia for me to move, and the sooner I began the better. I stepped towards the door, but stopped, and took a second glance at the dusty television box.

When I stepped out of the house, I was clutching the dusty grey set to my chest, holding it tightly, as if not to lose my childhood memories; memories of rainy days and of Voltron, when the skies were dark and menacing, and when that grey television set had come to my rescue. Today, that television set was having a grey day of its own, and now I would save it. It would sit in my new room, as close to my heart as it always was. I would never forget it, and I would never forget the rain.

Feeling Safe

2010-11-26T13:35:00.000-08:00

As I stepped outside of my house at midnight last Friday, I decided, for some unknown reason, to take in some atmosphere. Just stand in the middle of the driveway, look up to the sky, breathe, and take it all in. As “middle class” Nigerians, a lot of us don’t really set time aside to take in our surroundings. We wake up and move from house to car, to office, to car, to gym (maybe), to car, back to house, to car, to a bar/club (on the weekends), then back to house. We love our enclosed, air conditioned spaces. Yes we do. But as I stood under the midnight sky, with a full moon looming overhead, I began to understand why. For even within the enclosures of my own compound, in what is arguably one of the most secure neighbourhoods in Lagos, I realized that I didn’t feel safe.

I looked around me - The generator remained as always, humming in the corner, giving light to our home as NEPA had not seen it fit to provide electricity for days on end. The illuminated house was beautiful; its magnificence amplified in the moonlight. But beyond the four walls of the compound; literally less than ten meters from where I stood, darkness spread out as far as the eye could see (or not see, as the case was). And Even with the generator engine revving, I could feel the silence; the quietness beyond our physical plane. A silence that signified that at night, Lagos belonged to creatures of darkness; to beings, tangible, and perhaps some intangible, that we would hope never to encounter.
Lagos is not a city where you walk around at midnight; a lot of us hardly walk during the day as it is. But on that Friday night it hit me a little harder; “This is the way we are going to live” - From the safety of our houses to the enclosing barriers of our cubicles in our offices (maybe a corner office if we work hard and get lucky), and then back again - Lather, rinse repeat – for the rest of our lives.

I always seem to draw comparisons to other countries, but can you blame me? Without comparison it is impossible to put things into perspective. In the UK or in the States, I had no fears walking down the streets at night to grab something at the nearest convenience store. Was it the police stationed by the street corner that gave me comfort, or was it the street lights that illuminated the path I walked? Was it the frequency at which I saw people doing the same thing I was; walking with their beloveds, or maybe even going for a midnight jog? Was it the fact that the nearest convenience store was never less than a ten minute walk away from my residence, or the fact that the store felt it was safe enough, and profitable enough, to be open that late? Maybe it was a combination of all those things that put my mind at ease. Or maybe it was just the fact that I was in a country of generally elevated repute compared to my country of origin. In many a street in the New York, outside the main city, crimes rates are high. Even within the main city there are train routes you’d best avoid after midnight. In Hackney, London, there is an alley called murder mile, aptly named for the fact that at least one corpse was extracted from the cryptic pathway every week. In fact, if you went for a midnight stroll in Lagos, chances are no one would touch you; the fact that you ventured out –on foot- at that ungodly hour would probably make most passersby more scared of you than you were of them. Just don’t sport anything too fancy. Wearing designer clothes and a fancy watch is just asking for it.

Now don’t take me up on that. I don’t want to be the cause of one of my friends’ untimely transformation into a tuber of yam. The streets of Lagos may not be that user friendly yet. But even if they ever got that way, would we be motivated to leave the warm, snug, refuge of our abodes? No NEPA means that the street lights will probably not work. A lack of midnight buses or regular taxis means that you can’t really get too far. If you have cravings for late night Mac and cheese, the nearest convenience store is probably a couple of miles away, and NOT open. So what is there to motivate us to leave our homes, even with the safest streets? Pretty much nothing. Now I’m not here to criticize. I’m not going to go on a lengthy spiel about how the stimulation of our night economy could increase employment, reduce crime and make the place generally more habitable. These things you already know. I’m just Captain Obvious, here to save the day – and by “save the day”, I mean just air my thoughts on how miserable I think things are while not doing a thing to sort it all out.

Maybe if I’m lucky some entrepreneur will see this and open a chain of 24/7 Convenience stores/pubs (not nightclubs) around town to get things going. Granted, they’ll probably have to have armed doormen, but hey, it’s a start.

Till then, I remain,
Captain Obvious/Pat II

Revolution

2010-11-11T10:16:00.000-08:00

I have not Posted in a while! Apologies (not that anyone's following or anything). Let me just say one thing. The revolution is coming. that is all...

Mini-stars

2010-08-05T10:42:00.000-07:00

These be our ministers. A little composure during your press Conferences please. You're just showing the world how tactless you are, amongst other things. At least pussyfoot around the question without hurling insults. This horrendous display doesn't help your cause in the slightest. I mean, didn't you see that question coming a mile away? At least come up with something before hand. If he acts like that on the international stage, I wonder how he runs his affairs in Nigeria where no one can see him...

Belial

2010-07-27T11:43:00.000-07:00

I often feel a lot of desicions I've made have been the wrong ones
That the most important things are not given enough attention
Or are not gone about the right way
Or I just plain mess them up.
It really eats at me
A single percieved fault can have me brooding for weeks
As you may have guessed, I just made another blunder
Well, not a blunder per se,
but I could have done so much better
My point though, is not to gripe for the sake of it
it is to make a resolution
For in the upcoming years ahead
I will not let my mistakes define me
I will offset the faults that belie me
I will not let failures bog me down
Though I may stumble, I will rise as many times as it takes
Because I have made a resolution:
My life WILL be fabulous.

The Dishes

2010-07-24T10:59:00.000-07:00

I was staying at a mate's flat in Boston, and, while it was amazing, there was only one small blemish; the dishes. left undone for a couple of days, the ever growing pile had just, well, kept on growing. So I took it upon myself to do the dishes, seeing as my hosts were gracious enough to provide me with a residence (and a gym) for a couple of days.

As I stared at the pile of plates, saucers, pots and pans, I was stumped. I moved plates over spatulas, forks over frying pans, looking for where to begin. And I realized that Nigeria was kinda like the scenario that lay in front of me; a humongous cesspit of all sorts of stagnant fluids and quasi-solids that any man would think twice about before plunging his arms into it.

The Nigerian situation did not come about it one fell swoop. Like the contents of the sink before me, Nigeria allowed its problems to pile up, one after another. and no one was ready to do the dishes. Now the nation faces a mountain of fermenting stew, eba, amala and whatnot. And its a vicious cycle, because the higher the dishes pile up, the less willing people are to wash up. but if no one takes the plunge, the plates will pile up until they spill into the parlor and even deeper into our everyday lives.

But as with the pile before me, I am unsure as to where to begin with the country. I guess the best way is to start small, an build my way up from there. So, as I pick up a small, grease laden fork and start to scrub it, I feel a small sense of accomplishment, At least I've started the process. the changes will be nigh unnoticable at first, but hopefully, one day, the difference will be clear (like 7-up. lol).

- P.U II

Inception: Review

2010-07-19T12:13:00.000-07:00

Great Movies are few and far between these days. Advanced technology has served to make them more engaging and "Hi-def", but it hard to find a piece that perfectly blends an engaging, dynamic plot with mind blowing Cinematography and choreography. Now I was one of those who wasnt thrown by Avatar. Sure, great movie, wonderful effects, but it didnt grip me as much as many people made it seem it would. It was like being in a playful chokehold; Avatar had my full attention, but it was easy enough for my mind to break away and wander.

Inception, on the other hand, was intense. It was like being gripped by the balls. No, It was like being possessed by the spirit. Heck, It was like having the spirit grab you by the balls while putting you in a figure four leg-lock: It will have your undivided attention, and while you feel that the situation is a tad awkward, you kinda have a warm, fuzzy feeling in your netherregions.

Obvious tributes are made to other masterpieces like The Matrix and Dark City, but these do not dilute in any way the quality of the experience. In fact, they only serve to supplement the already stout cauldron of oozey cinematic goodness that is the main plot; dream diving.

Now I'm not a critic, and am not here to analyze the movie to its bare bones. I'm also not one to criticize a flick just for the sake of doing so, or to see "both sides of the coin". I am an average man, and anything above average usually tends to satisfy me. This movie was, to me, very far above average, so if youre looking for an engaging, thrilling piece, this movie is for you. I have never seen a movie in a cinema twice. this movie may just change that.

- Pat

Top 3 world cup teams/players I’d rather not be right now

2010-06-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

In the spirit of the world cup, and how odd this particular tournament has turned out to be, what with certain teams taking shock defeats, and others grasping victories previously thought unattainable, I thought I'd just state a top 3 list of teams/people I'd rather not be right now. Here goes...

3. Rob Green/England: For the country that “invented the game”, these guys have put on a spectacularly poor showing, drawing all their matches so far. People expected them to practically walk over their competition, but they have been less than stellar in both attack and defence. And let’s not forget a certain keeper error that gifted the USA a way to claw one back. (Though the USA was surprisingly resilient during that match, and is currently performing better than expected). Hopefully, they put on a better showing soon, or my jaunt to England may have some very unhappy faces greeting me at immigration.

2. Sani Kaita/Nigeria: This one really hit home, seeing as I am a Nigerian national. Heck, you’d think this guy would be my number one pick for Epic fail/facepalm/FML moment, what with the 1000+ death threats he has already received. And if you haven’t taken a look at his facebook page, please do. Ive seen insults in my day but these blow everything out of the water. Sani Kaita, sucks to be you. And goodluck/godspeed to you when you next decide to enter the nation. ‘Cause You’ll need it.

1. It was a toughie choosing which to pip for the top spot, but I decided to settle for North Korea. Losing 7 to nothing in a world cup game is terrible enough, but when you think of who leads their country... let’s just say Kim jong il will not be pleased. Frankly, I don’t think he’ll care, what with his current beef with S.Korea, and the whole U.N palaver, but you never know. He may be pissed that the other Korea is doing better than his part and decide to go “team America” on his players. Lets just wish them the best, and that they can live this defeat down. I personally think that after 7 goals, I’d just crawl up in a corner and die.

oops, i did it again

2010-06-13T02:53:00.000-07:00

I have this bad habit of writing stuff and never publishing it. I guess its because I think they're no good, or that its all random, irrelevant nonsense. Then again, thats all I write, so I guess theres no reason to hold back. Expect more random nonsense coming your way soon.

The village, by M. Night Shyamalan...or not!

2010-05-23T04:52:00.000-07:00

From my personal experience, and those of my peers, The annual nomadic cycle of the average Nigerian youth in Diaspora seems to go something like this:

Live in Lagos/Abuja/Port-hacourt
School/work in America/UK/some other country
Come back for holidays (or just have the parents fly over to see you)
*sometimes* Go to the village for Christmas

Everything’s hunky dory! You live in a nice place and can afford to jet set like none other. Great! I’m really happy for you, an imma let you finish, but let me ask you something. How about them village trips?

Yes, the dreaded Christmas village trip. Most of us can’t wait to get it over and done with. We come back to naija from Jand/yankee, enjoy a few days in Lagos, and then start prepping for the villa. We start packing all sanitary materials we can find; dettol, purell, the works. we bring enough mosquito repellant and fleet to kill an elephant, a music player or two or three, a hand-held fan (because god knows you don’t get light in the village. Ever. (If you’re lucky, your family is well off enough to run that generator day in day out.) Then, once we think we’re ready for the trip, we hold our breaths and take the plunge. With any luck, the jaunt to the village will be over and done with ASAP, so we can return to our lives. (heck, with kidnapping at an all time high, most of us don’t even want to go anywhere near those places nowadays).

But therein lies my point. “Returning to our lives”. Several of us have developed a disconnect from the village. There exists a great void, both physical and psychological, separating us from all things ‘village-y’. The village is just another one of those bumps in the road that we can’t wait to pave over once we attain financial and residential freedom (cuz we all know that if we had our own houses in lagos, we’d probably say “abeg burn that village side jor”)

However, the fact that we ‘return’ to the village every now and then signifies that there is something to return to. And I’m not talking about the “link to our grass roots” everyone keeps going on about. Most of us are already way beyond hope in that respect. We’re already knee deep in our Western indulgences; going to the village is just another one of the motions we go through to keep the parents happy while we still live under their roofs. Heck, several of us won’t even pass down our local languages to our children. But that’s a story for another day. I’m speaking of the things that exist on a material plane; things that are our birthright. I’m talking about physical assets: The houses, the plots of land, the farms. Several of our parents still own sizeable estates in our villages. These lands have either been leased out, cultivated on, or may just be sitting dormant, being maintained by select individuals. Some of us don’t even know that our parents possess these things. The fact remains, though, that if they exist, they belong to you and yours. Now I’m not saying you should go prodigal son on your daddy and demand that he disclose all his assets. I just find it interesting to ponder what will happen to all those assets once they are passed on to our generation.

Lets face facts; you’re parents wont be here forever. And eventually, their assets will change hands. If our parents made decisions based on our behavioral patterns and lifestyle trends, they’d probably order their village based assets to be liquidated and channel the fiscal proceeds to our private coffers, so we can continue enjoying the “better life” in developed cities. After all, most of our friends reside in the cities, and we probably all plan to work in the cities. What does the village have to offer us anyway? We have no want for their titles or their people; let’s not lie to ourselves here. Who do you “hang out” with in the village? How often do you talk to your distant cousins, uncles and aunts? This is no time for that self-righteous nonsense. (The pretentious, holier than thou “I love my country and all in it” BullSh** is a story for another day too). Most of them don’t even know your name. If necessary, you’ll send some financial backup to some distant cousin, as long as he has the decency to visit you in your Lagosian abode first, of course. For the most part, a lot of us would rather avoid village activities like the plague.

But our parents probably have a bit more faith in us, and would probably want us to keep the village house as a momento/legacy, at the very least. They would like us to visit the village every now and then, and to foster relationships with the people. So, if we wish to respect their wishes, we’ll probably have to keep the house, and the plots of land, and do more village trips. But therein lies the pivotal question: what the devil are we going to do with those rural monstrosities? (I don’t even wanna get started on the “fostering relationships with the people” part. My brain would melt.)

You may ask yourself, “what do my parents do with those assets?” well, I’m sure they have certain family members in place taking care of these things, and they do visit those sites a lot more frequently than our generation does. All those random weekends away? Yeah, they stop by the village and give the place a gander before they return. Our parents are diligent like that.

But the people our parents have caring for the place are mostly in their generation, and you probably only meet them once or twice when you eventually venture on one of the dreaded Christmas village jaunts (if that), Even then, you may never exchange more than a few pleasantries with them. Like your parents, these people wont be here forever, and even if they lasted that long, by the time you’re old enough to need to take full control of your assets, they’ll be way too old to give a dam about managing your ish. There is the off-chance of your parents retiring to the village, but with the staggering rate at which the elderly are being abducted from the villages, I don’t know how viable that option is. The most that could happen is that they spend a bit more time in the village house, but they’ll probably still reside primarily in the urban regions of the nation. So good luck with getting someone village based to keep the place tidy for you and make sure you don’t come over one day to find some randoms residing in what you once thought was your place. Heck, even our parents aren’t omniscient. I’ve heard of a guy who’s farm got turned into a Weed factory while he was away for just one week. If it happened to someone who inspected the joint on a near weekly basis, imagine what could happen to your estate when you only visit it

But something comes even before finding randoms in your village estate: getting to your village. Now who can drive to their village here, or can at least direct a driver? Show of hands, anyone? I’m guessing not that many. Come Christmas, we just hop in the car and pass out, hoping to wake up in the evening all safe and sound at our villagey abode. A few of us are fortunate enough to have drivers from our indigenous lands. Methinks it’ll be a good idea to have one in the future. (Hmm, staff acquisition/management in the future. That’s a different blog entry entirely. Back to the village.)

Considering how limited our access to the villages are, its small wonder that we don’t really consider these things. And I don’t blame us. A lot of us have been brought up
as Lagosians/Abujans/Porthacourtians. From there, we were shipped off to some foreign land for education. And now we’re in our mid-tweties and getting older every day. Village adaptation is like acquiring technical skills. If you don’t use them, you forget them. And that’s what’s happening to a lot of us right now.

Knowing our parents, they’ve probably set up checks and balances to ensure that these possessions make it into our hands safely. But the greater question is, what do we do with these things once we have them? I’m not here to tell you how to live your life, or how to manage your looming village crisis. I’m still confused as hell myself. Heck, for all I know this little quandary may apply to just me. Everyone else may have themselves sorted out already. That would be awkward, and kinda upsetting. But hey, that would mean that I’d have people to ask for advice. So, if you’re a Diokpa/first son like myself and have already sorted out your future “villagery”, feel free to share some pearls of wisdom. I’ll even pay you! (someone should even start a village asset management company. They could make a killing off our generation) But for now, I’m going back to planning my summer vacation in some other country… Galactus approaches after all.

Yes, I know some of us are true blooded lagosians and don’t have the village assets problem, seeing as Lagos is your true home. To that I say “Oh gooood for you” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qrvMTv_r8sA

Leadership; Home and Away

2010-05-11T16:06:00.001-07:00

Congratulations to David Cameron, the new Prime Minister of England. The transfer of office was made official after Gordon Brown submitted his resignation to the queen, formally stepping down from his appointment as the Prime minister and as the head of the Labour Party, ending his party's 12+ years in power. Truly a big day in Politics.
Watching the events unfold, I inadvertently began to draw comparisons between how things were unfolding there and how they would potentially unfold here in Nigeria.

First of all, the leader of the country would never resign here. Full stop. Save for falling out of favour with their party's god-fathers, our "appointed" state heads would never budge from their posts, no matter what public pressure they came under. After his unfortunate run in with a certain "bigoted” old woman, Gordon Brown got so much stick for his slip of tongue you'd think he'd just insulted an entire race. Following his gaffe, the man stoically accepted all responsibility for his actions and implied his readiness to resign if he let his party down. In Nigeria, I don’t think I've ever even seen an instance in which the leaders went from doorstep to doorstep, pleading their case with the masses. Those in line for their share of the national cake know when their time will come, so why would they bother with such inconsequential dillydallying? to them, the people are not even worth socializing with on a personal basis, save for the occasional public address, which they probably can’t wait to get out of the way so they can continue doing more important things, like browsing the catalogues for their next private jet. To them, the people's vote has already been cast, the election results foretold; and to the people, this is a far greater insult than being slapped in the faces (or being called a bigot). And when "elected", our leaders become infallible. None of them would even think of stepping down as penance for any of their misdeeds. Matter of factly, these men would much rather die in office than step down for any reason. *Cough*Pericarditis*Cough

One other thing I couldn't help but notice was the subtlety of the power transfer. Brown quietly resigned, and Cameron quietly took power. A nigh stealthy jaunt to Buckingham palace sealed the deal for both parties. Save for the fact that news cameras impeccably covered the journeys of both these gentlemen , one would have been unable to tell that it was national leaders traversing the roads in small convoys.

As a Nigerian, you can’t blame me for taking note of the convoys these two men travelled in. I mean, when the Guardian, a well respected Newspaper, spends half of an article discussing the cars our national leaders arrived in, and only a paragraph on the actual interaction between said leaders, well, I rest my case. But I digress.

The convoy for both parties was limited to a mere three or four cars. And none was a Mercedes Benz. The politicians opted for subtle mid range Jaguars, albeit armoured ones; Traditionally British cars. Makes sense; Obama rides in an American made car. Hu Jintao of China rides a car made in northeast china. The emperor of Japan rides a Toyota It’s a matter of national pride, and displaying confidence in your country. But I won’t judge on this paltry detail. In fact, If our politicians drove in Nigerian made cars, with the state of our manufacturing industry, I’d fear for their safety. Those third mainland bridge breakdowns can be a bitch.

Traffic was not stopped for either party on their way to and from the palace. No sirens blaring, no conspicuous security detail in sight. In nigeria, you could hear the damn convoy approach miles before you actually saw them. Overly conspicuous Security staff would be clearing the streets miles in advance to boot. Heck, anyone who intended to ambush them would have ample time to take out their armed detail while they littered the streets raining abuses on the average civilian, all in the name of clearing the path for their approaching fearless leader.

Let me be fair though. Traffic was not stopped because neither party was Prime minister at the time. Brown had stepped down and Cameron was yet to be officially recognized. Once Cameron is officially PM, His new car will be a lot prettier, traffic will be stopped for him, and the size of his convoy will inevitably increase, though I doubt it'll top the 30+ motorcade the Nigerian President uses (now that's rolling deep!). Furthermore, Traffic here is a tad heavier than over there, so i guess the streets need to be cleared to facilitate travel. Then again, whose fault is that? If those "leaders" actually did their jobs, our infrastructure would be on track, and the daily commute would not be half the nightmare it currently is. And what's with almost every government official (and some ex officials) having irrationally long convoys? If they really wanted to help, they could reduce their convoys by a couple dozen cars. Then they'd have an easier time getting their asses to their destinations.

But let's not forget the kicker; if it were Nigeria, Cameron would be getting a ton of congratulatory messages in the following day’s papers from parties "wishing him well", aka wishing for him to do them well with some political favours. Of course, just taking up an entire page or two in a paper won't do the trick; but don't worry, most of those fogies would have already sent a couple of rams/goats to Cameron's residence to sweeten the deal.

Now I'm not playing the part of the "holier than though nigerian", berating the state of affairs, and going on a rant about how our culture demeans human life by placing more value on what we have than what we are. I'm not going to rave about how materialism has eaten so deep into our culture, and how extravagance and excess seem to define how much a man has achieved in his life, and how, if things don't change, our society will continue on its downward spiral, as our morality erodes to vanishing point. Oh no; none of that for me. That has all been said before, and repeating it won't really do me any good. I'm just enjoying the show. Besides, I have my own problems, like where I'm finding my first million. Maybe I should invest in a few cows and forward them to the governor's office. it'll definitely be worthwhile once I land a solid contract, don't you think?

N.B: Pictured is the New model Jaguar Cameron should be using now. His is black, and costs about £200,00. Me likey!

Friendly Fires

2010-04-29T10:08:00.000-07:00

Times change… People change... We change… What happens when your old friends are no longer the type of people you care to associate with?

Now I’m not saying that your former friends have pulled a heel turn, started smoking crack and kidnapping people for ransom. No, it’s the little things; the lifestyle choices they’ve made that don’t mesh with yours: The crowds they choose to hang with. Their manner of speech. The way they text (I mean, if u hd a frnd txtin u lyk dis mst of d tym, I dnt thnk ud wnt dem 2 b txtn u oftn). It’s not their fault. They just chose to live life a little differently. But diversity brings discrimination, whether we want to admit it or not. They’re different from you and you’re different from them. In fact, they may find you just as incompatible/unappealing as you find them. Some of them probably can’t wait to be rid of you. Now it’s not a question of who can’t stand who, and who the bad guy here is. The fact remains that from your perspective, you guys just don’t mix anymore. And, from a purely economical point of view, it makes no sense for you to keep associating with these fellows.

It takes away your time, and it takes away your energy; the effort you expend in an attempt to be social is no mean feat. You send the occasional “what’s good?” message of facebook, and if you ever see them at a social ensemble, you try to hold a conversation with them for more than a minute. But they don’t say anything of worth, at least not to you anyway. To someone else, their words may be glistening, golden baubles of immeasurable wisdom and rapturous enlightenment. To you, however, its crap; Pure, unadulterated cow dung. And it isn’t even the good kind of shit. If you spread that dung on a field you wouldn’t grow nuthin. Seeing them for more than just a minute is just, for lack of a better phrase, a waste of life.

So, what do we do with these “friends”. Some folk say “just ditch em.” A crude but effective solution. Just bail out of the friendship wagon. Downgrade dem fools from ‘friend’ to ‘associate’. Pretty much ignore their existences, perhaps exchanging a few pleasantries when you walk past each other. Just perhaps. Its not much different from what you already do. Heck, you hardly see them as it is, right?

Now I’m not saying you become their enemies (whenever I say that word, the Nigerian intonation of it always comes to mind. Naija folks know what I mean. There’s enemies, and then there’s ENEMIES. But I digress). Your social interactions with these people, or what semblance of them you have, remain almost completely the same. The only thing that changes is your mentality. These people no longer hold a significant portion of your mind-space. A trifling thing, you might think, but mind-space is nigh invaluable. It’s the base for conformity, groupthink and coalescence. It’s how movements get started; how revolutions begin: by allowing someone to take a share of your mind. It’s all about Cathexis; the investment of emotions into an object. When you attribute significance to something or someone, you feel more strongly towards them, and both positive and negative emotions projected towards the object are heightened.

If you attribute “friendship” to a party, you are more likely to agree with them, empathize with them and see things from their point of view. So if you look at things from the perspective of a guy who spits nothing but bullshit, what do you think you’re gonna see? That’s right; bullshit. And I don’t know about you, but I’m not one for having bullshit on my mental windscreen. It obstructs my view; and when cruising down the road of life, I prefer to be able to see my goals. If I have to step out of my cognitive conveyor to clean bullshit off the glass every two seconds, my goals will be a long time coming. It’s probably best to have those shit-spinners take a flying leap. Good riddance to bad rubbish and all that stuff.

But, on the flip side, closing off your mind to these people also means you forego seeing a lot of things, though it’s probably going to be mostly (yes, you guessed it) bullshit. There’s a saying that goes “even in a pile of pebbles, one can find a pearl.” It might only be a minute chance, but as long as that chance isn’t zero percent, you just may be able to pick out something valuable from the lives of these people. Maybe all that cow dung isn’t impotent after all. Besides, you never know when you’ll need them for one thing or another, so while it’s tempting to burn bridges, you may want to keep these guys around. Just in case. The downside is that you never know if you’ll ever actually need these people, or if you’ll ever find that valuable pearl. You may just end up having dung flung in your face for the rest of your life.

At the end of the day, I remain at a quandary when it comes to these folks. As I said before, I’m not perfect, and these feelings of social disconnect may be mutual. Perhaps some people may have been trying to get rid of me for the past couple of years but my insistence on social interaction must have been dampening their efforts. If that’s so, then I apologize to those people from the bottom of my heart, for I have been a bullshit slinger; a relentless cow dung flinger. But for those who have been throwing the crap in my face, I could go down the Usher route and let it burn, or I could go with Journey and don’t stop believing. Neither solution has proven itself absolute; after all, each case is unique, and no two friends are alike. So I guess it’s impossible to generalize, and till I examine each case individually, I’ll do a Johnny Cash, and walk the line.

Tezuka Zone (手塚ゾーン)

2010-04-27T13:42:00.000-07:00

The first thing on your mind must be “wtf is a tezuka zone?’ Heck, what on earth is a Tezuka anyway? Well, Manga enthusiasts like myself would probably be familiar with the prince of tennis series; A series in which they play, well, Tennis. The captain of the protagonist’s squad is a guy named Tezuka. He’s a really good player. He’s got everything you could ask for; the service, the backhand, the smash. Pretty much your run of the mill great player (oxymoron anyone?). But the young lad also has the ungodly ability to spin the ball in such a way that, after a few exchanges, any return from the opponent flies right back to his racquet. Kind of like a vacuum/magnet. And from then on, the kid doesn’t have to move an inch; all the opponent’s returns go right back into his strike zone. And that’s the Tezuka zone. Awesome, right?

Yeah, I know it’s pretty much impossible in real life, (hey, that’s why it’s a manga!) But I digress.

Now you may be wondering what I’m ranting about. Well, you see, I really like that move. Apart from the fact that it’s Totally Awesome, I see it as analogous for the perfect life. The raison d’etre of lives everywhere. It’s the life all lives should aspire to be. (Right now you’re probably thinking “what the hell? I bust my ass for a bachelors degree/masters and this mo’fo is telling me to go play tennis?”). I implore you to be patient and allow me to expanciate (is that even a real word?)*

This past weekend, I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Jimoh Ibrahim. Most Nigerians should know who that is. (Those who are still in the UK/USA, I wouldn’t bet on sha). Anyway, for those who don’t know, Mr. Ibrahim is a prolific entrepreneur, and just recently bought Virgin Nigeria, amongst other things. Now, one thing really amazed me about this encounter. It was not hearing of his exploits, nor was it hearing about the staggering rate at which he acquired business ventures. It was seeing the speed at which all these opportunities came to him. While I was in the meeting with Mr. Ibrahim, he literally had people lined up at his doorstep, waiting for an audience. Several he told to just come back another day. Some fortunate few were allowed the privilege of waiting in his compound whilst he wrapped up his other meetings. One thing in common with all these folks? They all wanted to do business. Some wanted to assist with a takeover; some wanted to be taken over. Others were potential pilots or managers of his most recent takeover (Virgin). There were all sorts, and Mr. Ibrahim had his pick of the litter. If he thought your proposal could fly, he’d buy into it. If not, he wouldn’t move a financial muscle. If he thought your venture had immense potential, you could walk away with millions in the space of an evening, though Mr. Ibrahim would likely make a few more million than you would at the end of the day. Such was his control over things.

Mr. Ibrahim is at that stage of life in which he no longer has a need to hustle; to go out and look for viable areas of growth. They all come to him. All that’s left for him to do is analyze the situation and pick what he thinks to be the most profitable ones. Everything is at his beck and call. The bullets are already loaded. All he has to do is pull the trigger, for he is the top gun. He is at the zenith, the epitome; at the centre of things; He is in his Tezuka Zone**. And I believe, to a greater or lesser extent, that this is where we should all aspire to be; at the center of things. To be the ‘be all and end all’ of whatever we do. We don’t have to make boatloads of money a la Mr. Ibrahim (though that would be nice too), but if we do what we love and strive to do it better than anyone else, money will naturally follow. And moreover, we will be at the dead center of our industries. Nothing will be able to pass from one end of the circle to the other without passing through us first. And because of this, we’ll be able to take a bite out of it if it looks tempting, a la a great white shark.

But it is important to understand that nothing comes without hard work. Even Tezuka has to trade shots with the adversary and analyze him before he can appropriately match his own strikes. In the same way, we have to play the game, and build up our zones with every stroke of the ball, taking everything in stride; Keeping our eyes open, waiting for opportunities, and taking advantage of any openings we see. We can’t expect to have everything in place from the get-go. We must be ready to work extra hard: For we are facing the toughest opponent; life.

So we should give it our all, and aim for the top, creating our zones as we go along. Who knows, we may have a future Jimoh Ibrahim amongst us. But, more importantly, if we play our cards right in the game of life, almost everything*** will come to us, and we won’t need to sweat the small stuff anymore. We can all just sit comfortably in our Tezuka Zones, waiting for an opportunity to land that killer drop shot****.

- Fin

* No, seriously guys, is that even a real word?

**(I guess technically he’s in a Jimoh Ibrahim zone, but that’s beside the point).

***yes, “almost” everything. Tezuka zone isn’t perfect, you know

**** Zero-Shiki dropshot, anyone?

Praying for Clear skies, as Galactus Approaches

2010-04-23T13:24:00.000-07:00

Quite the ambiguous phrase, isn’t it? Let me enlighten you; Ive decided on a temporary name for the novel-esque piece of literature I’m attempting to construct; Clear skies. It just sounds so…fitting. Like everything in the world, however, The title is subject to change, so we’ll see how that works out. I also happen to write at the blazing pace of a snail on sedatives, so don’t expect anything anytime soon. Maybe I’ll post teaser excerpts to keep me motivated. Watch this space (then again, don’t)
As for Galactus, c’est moi. Yes, I am galactus. Need I explain? Well, I’m planning a return trip to the States (branching in the UK), and I intend to have an earth shattering good time in both countries, a la Galactus. So yes, I am Galactus; the doom-bringer, the destroyer of planets. I know it’s a lame, nerdy allusion, but I like it. Besides, Galactus is Awesome. And HUGE! So I’ll be visa applying, interviewing, and ticket scheduling, and hopefully, everything will work out. The orientation week of grad school messed around with my travel schedule a bit, but it’s cool. I’ll survive. And nothing would be more apt to finish this entry than a 1960’s comic book caption-esque rhyming one-liner: Citizens of the world, cower in fear, The Advent of Galactus is near! Muahahaha! (still working on my evil laugh).

Carcharodon State of Mind

2010-04-13T14:00:00.001-07:00

I have a dream: not one of those enlightening, nigh rapturous dreams a la martin Luther king, chock full and brimming with pearls of wisdom; promising futures filled with harmonious coexistence and opulence. No: I dream of sharks. In my childhood, I oft dreamt of being chased by these beasts; of being captured; of being eaten alive. Thankfully I’d always woken up before the fiends began to feast on my entrails.

I’ve had several of these dreams. And in them, I‘ve been chased by all sorts: huge, mechanichal sharks; robotic monstrosities with rows and rows of revolving teeth, kinda like something out of james and the giant peach. I’ve been chased by red sharks, green sharks, rainbow colored sharks, you name it. Heck, I’ve been hunted by a shark wearing a superman cape.

But why sharks? Why couldn’t I dream of monsters and aliens like any normal kid?
Why those aquatic atrocities? Sigmund Freud would probably diagnose me as having a subconscious infatuation with sharks; Shark envy, perhaps. And, coming to think about it, he might just be right.
What’s not to envy about your stereotypical great white shark (scientifically classified as Carcharodon carcharias)? The blue hued tyrant of the seas just skittles around wherever he likes, and takes whatever he wants, whenever he wants. His line of thinking probably goes something like this:
“I’m swimming… I’m swimming… I’m swimming… still swimming… ooh, I see a fish… and I Eat it! Omnomnomnom!”

Isn’t that the life?

Now lets talk physically: A great white is one of the faster things in the water, and it is one powerful SOB. Those jaws can tear you limb from limb before you can say “bob’s your uncle”. Perhaps more fascinating about the great white is that its one of the species that constantly have to keep moving. They’re in the group of sharks known as “obligate ram ventilators” and need to constantly swim forward in order to ‘ram’ oxygen-containing water through their mouths and over their gills. Simply put, if they stop moving, they die. Kinda crappy, you might think, but it means that those things don’t sleep. Ever. How much energy must they have to be able to do that? On the run from the day they’re born till the day they die. I can’t even imagine human society if we didn’t need to sleep. Things could get very good, or very bad.
And that brings me to my point. Human harks. No, not the strange man-shark genetic hybrids you see on the weird sci-fi shows. I’m talking about humans with that Shark ideology; That Carcharodon state of mind. They’ve gotta be on top. They’ve gotta be king. They’ve gotta take down every adversary. They’ve gotta keep moving or they die. Those be my kind of people.

In this Canis Canis* world, we’re all sharks: each person a different species. But to be on top, you’ve gotta be a great white. As a great white, you can’t slow down for nobody. You can’t afford to be meek; weak. If you so much as give life a chance, it’ll tear you to pieces. You’ve got to be the most ruthless Shark. You’ve got to be the predator. You’ve got to be the hunter. You need to stalk your prey. You need to corner them. You need to sink your rows of teeth into the soft, fleshy hindquarters of your prey and relish the taste of blood on your tongue. Clamp down those reinforced jaws and spin that tubular body; Shake what yo mama gave ya. baby! Rip off chunks of meat and gobble em up. You are Daniel day Lewis. You take their milkshake and drink it. “Gimme some of dat dere life meat. Omnomnomnom.”
You have got to bite. If you don’t bite then you get bitten. You’ve got to tear into the prey that is life. You are the great white. King of the sea. You are champion.

But let’s not get too cocky just yet. Don’t forget about that fin of yours; It’s valuable. It’s your rudder, your cochlea. It keeps you balanced, keeps you swimming; Keeps you alive. And by god isn’t it the tastiest part? Everyone wants a piece of it; they want to taste you: Shark fin soup ain’t a delicacy for no reason. You’ve got enemies, and they all have a penchant for some of dat dere fin soup. Oh yes! They’re out there; those who would rather see you falter, to have you stumble and fall; waiting to use your head as a stepping stone. They’re sharks too. Hungry, cannibal sharks who just cant wait to tuck into your juicy innards. Some may hide in the cracks and caves, others might look like your friends, acquaintances. But don’t be fooled; they only want you for your shark fin soup.
So be careful who you socialize with. Beware the leeches, the moochers, the haters and the loathers. Scorn the yellow bellied backstabbers, and shun them frumious bandersnatches. Those who plan and plot in groups; They only want you for your shark fin soup. They want to take from you all that you have, leaving you with nothing. You give them an inch, and they’ll take a mile and three quarters. So turn the tables on them if you can; eat them alive and Paint the sea red with their repugnant spew. As the good king Leonidas would say, give them nothing, and take from them everything.

But not all battles can be won; pick yours wisely; know when to run. There’s always bigger fish in the sea, but your time will come eventually. So Dart and dodge; swim loop de loops; they only want you for your shark fin soup.

It’s a sharky world out there, and only the greatest of the whites end up on top. You either keep moving or drown. You either fight tooth and nail for what’s yours, or go belly up and die. it’s the world we live in, and it is one cruel mother lover. So to he who dreams, dream of peace, of revolution, of tranquility. Dream of these things for me, for I am unable to. Because when I sleep, I dream of sharks.

* Canis Canis is the scientific name for dogs. My obscure way of saying it’s a dog eat dog (or shark eat shark) world.

N.B: hey, you wanted posts, you got posts (I ain’t exactly sure who “you” is, since no one reads this stuff, but whatever! Let the madness continue!)

2010-04-08T03:17:00.000-07:00

Oh my days! Its been a while since I last put something up here. Its funny, because I have quite a few writeups, but they never make it online for some reason. Well, I'm gonna have ta rectify that. Not like anyone actually reads this thing, but it'll be fun to have my wilder thoughts up here. Maybe its better no one actually reads them. =s Haha. Neways, more bloggage promised, be it crazy, random ramblings. That is the point of blogs, n'est pas?

Nigeria at 49: Lets have a ball

2009-09-29T16:08:00.000-07:00

As we draw closer to the 49th anniversary of our independence, it seems mundane to bemoan our numerous failings as a state. It is an incessant habit we have undertaken for many a year without significant results, and I am not one to beat a very dead horse. So stop you’re endless whining and lamenting. Instead, rejoice! Rejoice, I tell you.

Rejoice, for our leaders so greatly value education that they would travel thousands of miles away to celebrate the opening of a university in another country. The fact that out very own educational system is in shambles is nothing to be worried about. After all, it encourages our youth to engage in more “entrepreneurial” ventures, such as the ever popular “yahoo” scams. Those people must be making good money, because this month alone I have seen at least ten emails from banks I don’t even have accounts with (as opposed to the usual three or four).

Delight in the fact that kidnapping now brings a steady flow of income to the Niger Delta. Only God knows what those people were complaining about before; even if they had worked out a ”deal” with the government and the oil companies, they would have just been living off whatever scraps the corrupt officials left behind after embezzling all the oil money. With kidnapping, you get to keep every Naira you make, and those corrupt jerks don’t get a dime.

Revel in the fact that new banks will soon open up in the region solely for the purpose of facilitating ransom payments. I can see the taglines now: “Niger Delta Trust Bank: your loved ones returned within 24 hrs”, “First Bank of Niger Delta: We negotiate the lowest ransom fees, so you don’t have to”. With any luck, they’ll soon introduce monthly payment plans so that the less privileged will have time to gather funds. And when these banks open, they will create numerous job opportunities, which will enable people to earn income and, in turn, pay potential ransom for their friends and families. It’s a win-win situation for everyone so what are we waiting for? Let’s all go to the Niger Delta and have a good time.

And let’s not forget our international clout. We should take pride in our ever growing popularity in the global scene. Nigeria has been referenced in Blockbuster Hollywood movies and international marketing campaigns. What does it matter that we have been portrayed as cannibals, prostitutes and scammers in all of these media releases? As they say, “any publicity is good publicity, right?”

We should exult, for Ghana is as happy as a lark, laughing as it gazes upon countless Nigerians now flocking to their country for better education and jobs. The punch line? The would-be residents are carrying their belongings in Ghana must go bags. So party hard, my future Ghanaians. After all, aren’t we supposed to celebrate with our neighbors?

Be happy that we do not have to waste money on pointless national projects such as doubling our agricultural exports, which countries such as Cameroon plan to do. Who needs agriculture when you have oil; the dark, liquid gold that has stained some of our people so black that one cannot help but question if we are a cursed nation, pursuing that which lies under the earth and inadvertently destroying all that lies upon it, not only directly but indirectly, by drawing resources away from the development of countless other potential revenue streams. Some ask what will become of this nation when an alternative source of energy is discovered. But that will not happen in the near future, and it’s not like our oil wells will ever dry out, will they?

Be euphoric, for vision 2020 (which looks more like vision 202020) will never come to be, and will forever remain a vision, not a reality. But is that not the beauty of an ideal; that it never comes to be? If we actually obtained our vision, we would become lethargic and complacent, not unlike several of those big banks that have turned our economy into quite a mess. So be of good cheer, for we shall be constantly striving, albeit getting nowhere.

Rejoice, and be glad, for when all goes to hell and the privileged flee to foreign nations, they will find streets paved with gold and infrastructure aplenty, financed fully by the money crooked politicians have stolen from our nation and stashed away in international coffers. They will sit in their crystal palaces and sip on champagne as they celebrate a successful flight from a decaying nation while watching it die a slow, painful death.

And then, maybe in death, this country will find peace. Or perhaps it will turn into a hell far worse than anything we could have ever imagined. Such seems to be a more appropriate fate for a country that has been blessed with everything, but has produced nothing. So eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die.

- Grey

The longest movie

2009-07-04T12:37:00.000-07:00

For one reason or another, doing stuff in Naija is long tin. i mean looooong. Bros cant even have a weekend without long ass tin! That’s why people are frustrated in this country. Let me expantiate by comparing the typical movie going experience in jand/yankee to naija.

Seeing a movie in the US/UK:

Step 1: call you mates

Dig out your contract phone, open your phonebook and dail your buddies. The conversation goes as follows:
A: Dude, you wanna go see that new movie? (seeing as american marketing is so well done, if not overdone, everyone knows the when latest movies come out even if they dont wanna know)
B: Sure
A: Which theatre you wanna go to?
B: Lets go to the IMAX. I hear the movie is in 3D, and the screens there are huge!
A: Ok, cool. See you at eight.

Step 2: buy tickets online
Three clicks on Fandango and you’re done.

Step 3: Go to movie
When its time, walk/take a cab/bus to predetermined movie and arrive promptly.

Step 4: watch movie and be happy

Seeing a movie in NAIJA:
Step 1: call your mates
If only it were so simple:

Step 1a: Find out who is in still in the country, because half the population has janded, and the other half is in yankee.

Step 1b: Find out the new cell phone numbers of whoever is still in naij, cuz we all know no one keeps their number for more than two months. (not that its their fault. Why the hell do networks cancel your number after you leave your phone for two months. It cant be that hard to just keep the number on record!)

Step 1c: Go and buy credit because you’re out. (Mallam, give me MTN wan thousand. Abeg scratch am for me.)

Step 1d: hope the networks are not down on that day.

Once you finally call your mates, the convo goes as follows:
A: Ma guy, you wan go see movie today?
B: Meehn, i dont even know what is out.
A: This guy check silverbirds website.
B: Bros, No NEPA.
A: Kai. Anyway, i have their pamphlet. It seems terminator comes out today.
B: Okay, okay. But bros, you get driver? My own no dey for house.
A: Yea yea, i’ll come pick you up. Now hang up jor, you’re burning my credit.
(There is no asking what theatre you want to go to cuz you have one of two choices: SIVABED or DE KPAMS. Take it or leave it)

Step 2: Go to movie
Oh no, not so fast, lets just check up on a few things, shall we?

Step 2a: Check for availability of driver
If you like, skip step 2a. Dont be surprised when the gateman tells you “Ah, Idris don go home oh!” just as you’re about to step out.

Step 2b: account for Naija time and go-slow
Know what time your movie is. Plan to leave thirty minutes before that. Then plan to leave thirty minutes before that. Well, maybe not that far ahead, But as sure as the sky is blue, you will run into naija time and Naija issues: Your driver will be eating lunch, and today of all days he decided to get extra goat meat and kpomo. You’ll find out you need a couple extra bucks, so its time to hit up the ATM a.k.a Popsie/momsie. The go-slow will be more hellish than it usually is. Its always one thing or another. Just be prepared.

Step 3: Buy movie tickets
Because we all know we aren’t buying tix online. And of course, you’re paying in cash when you get to the cinema. Who dash you online transaction?

Step 4: Watch movie and be happy (hopefully)

Now that you’ve finally made it into the cinema, hope that you can watch the movie without being pissed off by

- Kids who are way too baffed up for the event (its the movies for the love of god. You aint clubbin. Now take those shades off fool!)

- The guy who wants the world to know he got a new iphone (will you turn off that thing before i slap you upside the head?)

- The theatre room malfunctioning in one way or another.

Once you've overcome all of the above, you may relax and enjoy your well deserved movie.

Editors note:
Now i know i’ve made it seem like its hell to go to a movie here. Its not that bad, and you’ve obviously got to check up on a lot of stuff no matter what country you’re in. My point is that there is too much long tin in this place. It has gotsta go!! So until I find a better measure, I’ll be using the this guide as a way to measure naija’s progress. The less steps on the list the better. jk

- P.U II

2009-06-21T15:38:00.000-07:00

“Kingdom-Phylum-Class-Family-Genus-Species”

The words reverberate through Ikhenna Onyeador’s head like an echo in an empty cave.

“Kingdom-Phylum-Class-Family-Genus-Species”

“Or is it Family before Class? Meehn, this is not even funny.”

It was July the 15th, 9:30pm, in LJC, and finals began in less than 12 hours. With only 15 minutes left till lights out, Ikenna was getting all he could into his head before Mr.Arina’s Biology test the next day. Bassey Otoabasi, just done with some late night laundry, quipped as he walked by:

Ah ah, Ikenna, you’re still jacking?

(Anyone who has ever heard Ikenna Onyeador yarn please flashback a bit to get the full effect of the next few lines)

“Meehn, this is not even funny. After Biology almost put me on academic probation last CA. I’m surreh but ah cannot allow dem to probate me.”

“But it’s the end of term, just bang the test jor”

“Noo! LJC? Local Jail for Shidren? They will probate me once I get back! I’m not in the mood to have Paulinus call out my name in the middle of my Saturday movies next term.”

As he uttered those words, Odia Egbire Molen, the trusty timekeeper, came out of his room and rang the bell for lights out.

“gbelen, gbelen, gbelen”, went the brass/copper/”only-god-knows-what-material-it-was-made-of” bell

Irede, the hostel prefect, promptly switched off the lights, as he wanted to get some shuteye.

“Heeeeeee, they will not kill me oh!” Ikenna screamed as he grabbed his notes off the floor. He promptly proceeded towards the laundry area where the lights were still on, waving his Biology notes in the air like a madman. “Paulinus will have to drag me to my bed tonight, and I will give him hell!”

Unlike Ikenna, The well prepared were already sleeping comfortably in their beds. The likes of Pat Oladimeji knew they would be bashing Mr. Enokela’s Agric science exam in the morning. “Citrus spp. and Musca Sapientum aint got nothing on me!” he chuckled to himself as he went to sleep. Little did he know that Mr.Enokela would only be giving half marks for all “spp.” answers, requiring full scientific names for whole credit.

Charles Okon and his roommates were also sleeping soundly, though not as prepared as Oladimeji. In fact, they had not studied at all. Having stabbed Hausa class all semester, what was the use in worrying now? Sugaban Dalabai, or whatever Mallam Shehu called it, could go and perish for all they cared. Maybe one of the Hausa chicks would give them dubs if she was feeling nice. In retrospect, they should have given the girls last night’s buns just to seal the deal. Anyway, it’s no biggie. They could always perform the old “write-on-the-chalkboard-and-erase-it-just-slightly-enough-so-we-could-still-see-it” trick. It worked for the passé compose in French during the last CA, and it never hurt to have a backup plan.

Hamza Ibrahim is also making last minute preparations. T.D board, check. Rotaring Compass and Protractor, check. T-square. Check. Pencils, Check. He promptly stashes the precious cargo in his locker and seals it with his personal combination lock before jumping into bed and shutting his eyes. He wasn’t foolish enough to use the standard LJC locks. One knife and a well timed blow were all you needed to crack one of those. And that was only if you didn’t know the trick to opening them silently. With Mr. Val’s Technical drawing exam two days away, he wasn’t taking any chances: Anyone with half a brain knew that T.D materials had suddenly become “scarce” a week ago, and anyone careless enough to leave their precious instruments unguarded would pay the price. The closer you got to the exam, the more risky it became: Many a T.D final had been accompanied by panicked students wondering how their T-squares had evaporated in the small span of time between breakfast and the Exam. Several opportunists were willing to sacrifice Akara and Pap for a decent T.D board. If it was Wednesday bread, all they needed to do was get a pal to smuggle it out for them while they obtained the goods. With this knowledge etched into him as deeply as his name is etched on his T.D equipment, Hamza peers one last time at his locker to ensure that it is as impregnable as Fort Knox before soundly falling asleep.

With the general populace all in bed, Sergeant makes one final patrol around the boys’ dorm before turning in for the evening. But, unbeknownst to him, there are some for whom the night is still young. For minutes after he leaves the dorms, a faint glow illuminates Regis’ Box Room 13. Within its confines, the true creatures of the night begin to stir…

“Abeg chuka, shine the light here small!”

“Dis guy, why you no bring ya own torch?”

“Mehn, Paulinus seized it last week when I borrowed it to one junior” (That’s right; “borrowed” would suffice for both borrowing and lending.)

The words flew back and forth between a certain Chimdi Enigbuna and Chuka Okwu. The pair of roommates had earlier been deceived by Tony Madaki into playing dorm soccer, and were unaware that he had already thoroughly jacked for all the upcoming exams. “Just one game”, Madaki had said. But as with most dorm soccer matches, one game turned into several, and before the boys knew what had happened, it was already lights out. Tony Madaki would be heading straight to bed, but for Chimdi and Chuka, a crueler fate awaited: Late night jacking in the Regis box room. NEPA had taken light (duh!), so they couldn’t even rely on the box room lights. Chuka had been well prepared enough to bring a torch, but Chimdi was not as prepared, and thus found himself in his current plight. He tried to get Chuka to share the luminous wealth, but his roommate was having none of it.

“Chimdi mehn, guys have Ms Ohia’s Economics final tomorrow. I need to jack! Olamide should have an extra torch. Go and check.”

“This guy, why you doing me greasy? Xavier house is far. Anyway, I’ll be back”.

“Don’t let them nab you sha!”

Ma guys, lower ya voices. You want Sargeant to hear us?

The grave voice belonged to John Chuchu Onwuagha, who was sitting in the corner. In one hand was his economics notebook. In the other, a loaf of bread and TITUS sardines (because sardine is not sardine if it isn’t TITUS). A trivial meal, one might think, but to the residents of LJC he might as well have been eating caviar on toast. (The smuggling exploits of this individual and his cohorts are tales of legend. But that, my friends is another story.)

“Sorry ChuChu, no vex. Anyway, let me be going.”

With that, chimdi snuck out of the box room.

The other residents of the box room then began their various affairs. In one corner, Olusola “Shogz” George Taylor, Umar Abdullahi and ChuChu were conducting their “trade operations”. Finals week was a good time to sell excess stock: everyone with extra cash was using it, seeing as they’d be back home in some weeks. People also got hungry during late night jacking sessions, such as this one. It was a goldmine for the professional smugglers. Nasco, aka “Nas”, would be going for prices between N150 and N200, seeing as it was finals. Frequent buyers may be lucky enough to buy at the regular price of N100, which was still a 100% markup on the street price (Shogz, you bagger, making boyz buy for N150!)

The other inhabitants of the room were of the jacking persuasion, each with their own torch and various textbooks. Science students were getting ready for Physics and Further math, while art students had Government and History to study for. Chuka was of the art variety, and aside from studying for Economics, he needed to do some hefty jacking if he was to pass his upcoming History final. That Ottoman Turk topic was some very “unsegzy sturvz”, and he had not bothered to read up on it till today. Needless to say, he wasn’t very thrilled when he heard it would make up majority of the final. As he cracked open his book, he heard a small shuffling sound directly outside the box room. “It’s probably Chimdi on his way back from Xavier with a torch!” he thought to himself. But it was not meant to be.

An all too familiar “Who are those?” resounded through the air, and not unlike the voice of God, it struck fear into the hearts of men (or in this case, young boys). A key was inserted into the lock, which opened with an ominous “click”. Chuka and his fellow students immediately put out their torches. The door swung open and in stepped a student’s worst nightmare. It was Mr. Orji, with cane in hand. It was the worst possible scenario for the lads: Trapped in a box room with only one exit, and between them and the door stood the scourge of mankind (or studentkind, as the case was). But as the cornered mouse would fight a cat, these boys had no intention of getting caught. Chu chu faced double incarceration if he was apprehended with smuggled goods (which is now an offence worthy of suspension in LJC. It’s as if they have nothing better to do. *hiss*) so he was not going to come quietly. It was indeed a desperate situation, but all was not lost: For once, lack of NEPA worked in favour of the students. Orji had not brought his torch, and the boys thus had the cover of darkness under which to make an escape attempt, which they promptly did.

As if led by a military commander, the boys proceeded to execute a retreat that would make an army general proud. Two boys flanked Orji’s right, and two others went to the left, while the braver soldiers attempted to break through the middle. Any normal human being would have been overwhelmed by the assault, but this is Orji we are talking about. He would not just let it end like that. His cane wielding hand moved at speeds that would make a black mamba envious, striking Chuka and Umar simultaneously. Umar chests it like a man, but the unexpected lashing catches Chuka unawares, and he lets loose an inadvertent “yekpa!”

Orji’s cat-like ears didn’t miss a beat. “Chuka Okwu, is that you? Will you come here!” But Chuka does not hesitate in the slightest. He bolts out of the box room as if his life depends on it. At worst, Orji will come to his dorm later, and he’ll deny every allegation. As long as his roommates didn’t cast him, he’d be fine. Speaking of roommates, where the heck was Chimdi? Maybe he had been nabbed by Orji and was already kneeling down on the lawn outside.

But the lad in question was already back in his dorm: On his way back from Xavier, Chimdi had seen the hardened disciplinarian heading toward Regis and promptly declared O.Y.O (on your own) on the poor sods in the box room. “Next time Chuka will share his torch!” he sniggered mischievously in his head. In fact, maybe he’ll try to extort two biscuit from Chuka in exchange for not casting him. As he lay on his bed, he contemplated the lost study time. “It’s all good.” he thought to himself. He could always jack right before the morning bell or during breakfast. To an extent, the point of partaking in late night jacking was the mischief and all other shenanigans one could engage in while perambulating the campus. Then he remembered that Economics and Government were back to back tests.

“Maybe i’ll just make dubs jor…”

End

Whot a night

2009-03-22T20:41:00.000-07:00

Its almost the end of senior study hall. Paulinus and most of the other staff are managing the dorms, where the juniors are already asleep… or should be. The seniors have free reign, and they’ve been using it for quite a while. The other senior classes are making as much noise as they can, but it is a silent night in SS3D.

The atmosphere in the room is tense. Two individuals stare each other down in a high stakes match the likes of which have never been seen. Many have already fallen in their attempt to make it this far, and their antes shall become the spoils the victor shall claim. As of now, two remain, but there can be only one. Uche Ekeledon and Kene Nweze face each other as Gladiators in a death match. Neither intends to have any mercy. Each intends to strip his opponent bare, leaving him with nothing. It is a winner takes all final game of Whot.

The cards have been dealt, each finalist getting eight starting cards to make sure the game lasts longer. The starting card is displayed; a four of Cross. Uche having won an earlier coin toss, will begin the match. he plays a Three of Cross. Kene throws down a three of Circle. Uche goes to the market. Kene also goes to the market. Uche plays a six of triangle. And then, the action starts:
“pick three!” Kene slams a five of triangle on the desk. Uche picks the three. Kene then follows with playing a nine of triangle. Its Uche’s turn to go on the offence. He trows down a two of triangle.

“pick two, my friend!”
“Abeg pick four”. Kene retaliates with another two, this one of square

Kene hesistates, and begins to reach for the market. Uche uses this split second to add two additional twos to the stack.
“in fact, pick eight!”

The crowd goes silent. This may be a crushing blow for Kene. However, he has a knowing smirk on his face.
“Dis guy you tink ya smart. I block am!” Kene throws down the seven of stars and stops Uche’s assault in its tracks.
Uche is visibly disappointed: He could have been in a good position if he had gotten Kene to pick. Kene, on the other hand, knows he’s in a good position. He knows uche doesn’t have more than one picking card. That’s because Kene has two fives and a seven alongside a six of stars. As long as he can get rid of the six of Stars, nothing can stop him from blasting uche and winning the game. If, perchance, Uche has another five, all he can do is send back the assault, leaving Kene to check-up by blocking with the seven. If Uche blocks with a seven, he’ll still check up with the seven. It all depends on uche’s next card, and as ii an answer to kene’s prayers, uche throws down a four of stars, not changing the suit. Kene immediately plays his six. The stage is set. Now all he needs to do is wait for his next turn to come. But it never will.
A resounding noise breaks the silence as Uche’s hand slams the pile of cards..
“I don Knack am!”
(for you who don’t remember, once you tap the deck a card can’t be withdrawn). The following words seal Kene’s doomed fate:

“Suspenshunsuspenshungeneralmakethol-onlaskatchekup!” (“Suspension, suspension, general market , hold-on last card checkup!”.. for all of you who were confused by the actual pronunciation, which is way more fun to write out)

In a flash it ends. Kene, still bewildered, needs a few seconds to regain his motor functions before rummaging through Uche’s game winning play, with hopes of finding an error. But alas, there is none. The Igbo man has played a perfect hand. His job done, the Edo native rises from the table:

Uche Ekeledon gives himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. He will have 5 buns tonight. Tomorrow will bring two extra pieces of fish to his table. The losers have the responsibility of traversing the heavily patrolled borders between the different houses (the most unfortunate will be the poor sod who has to deliver fish from connely to Regis. It’s a long trip and fish cannot be as easily concealed as biscuit, (by far the most portable/smugglable nightcap), two of which will be taken from the aforementioned sod if he fails to deliver the fish. If he brings a nice tail maybe Uche will let him off the hook for the half Wednesday bread he still owes from a previous deal… just maybe. After all, one could always make a deal with half Wednesday bread: half fried rice on Saturday sounds like a good exchange. God help any juniors who try to dupe him. After all, it was LJC: the local jail for children. You could run far and wide (Run to the sick bay if you must) but you cannot hide. With that reassurance, Uche begins to head towards the dining hall, but not before turning around to his fellow gamblers and cracking a cocky grin.
“Same time tomorrow guys?”
Amidst swears and jocular chants of “waka” “shege” “dan boroba” and “ya fada...” Uche steps out into the moonlight. It is a good night to gamble. Maybe he’d get one more game in before lights out. After all, seniors got extended time, he’d gotten a junior to do his ironing for one bunz (only because he was feeling generous), and NEPA was being good for once. With a chuckle, he walks on. Life had never been better for a jailed gambler.

Weightlifting for dummies

2009-03-22T19:25:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is by general request from the masses. I don't intend to sound like a workout guru or nothing and most of what i do/did may not be accepted by all but hey, it was requested, and I will provide. Currently I am on the Crossfit regimen, but this is my old regimen and there may be a lot of things I have changed over the years. Also, a lot of this is written as if addressing an absolute gym illiterate, so dont be offended if it seems like i'm spelling it out. I do not intend to insult your intelligence. lol.
So here goes

get ready for this. I put some effort into writing it:

Aite, before you even touch a weight, here's the basics for Gaining MASS (god i love when they write that in magazines):
*eat small meals frequently (good, healthy stuff, 5-7 times a day)
* Lift like a mo'fo... keep the reps low (6-10) and heavy.. go heavy most of the time.
* Sleep like a log.. get 8 hrs+ whenever u can!
* Body part splits help out (chest with tris, Back with bis, legs, shoulders.. each on a different day)
*keep cardio to a minimum. this is where it gets tricky... if u like your endurance, you cant really get huge, because cardio breaks down muscle fast, esp. if u do it a lot for a long time. But if u get huuge, u lose speed and a bit of endurance (u can actually gain good sprint speed if you train right). Combining the two is difficult to say the least. Only dedicated individuals (the type that weighs their oats in the morning) can get both in... some dude I know is huge but can run like a friggin zebra! I hate him. lol.
Also, if you don't watch it, you could put on a lot of fat because due to lac of cardio... unless u have good genetics, say goodbye to your abs. lol. This is where eating good stuff is important: If you eat healthy stuff only, u can put on muscle without much fat (but in college, we all know that aint possible.) that's why cardio is still necessary, but not too much. All in all, you need cardio, but too much and u don?t get huge, and little/none will make u a tub of lard.. Jus for kicks lemme tell u that the average time before the body becomes catabolic (breaks down muscle) is 45 minutes. so you have to keep most of your workouts in the span of an hour to an hour and a half maximum... if u wanna put cardio in with your body part workout, well,that's anutha story. Unless u doing five minutes on the bike, you jus askin for trouble. I Told u it was a tad complex. lol. It helps to be Asian though. Most of them guys pretty much don't need cardio to have a low body fat%. They don't really need it unless they wanna keep endurance/got bad genes. Lucky bastards!

Having a protein shake can eliminate two or three meals in the day, so you don't need to waste money on food. (Have one once u wake up, especially the morning after a hard workout, one in the middle of the day, and one to wrap up the nite b4 u sleep.) I had the unlimited meal plan freshman year so I could eat like a pig. Lol.
Rest is important. Don't go gymin 7 days a week. Recovery is SUPER important. hence sleep and eating, which rebuild the muscles
There you have it? all u need for huuugeness in a nutshell:

You asked for the break down, so here's the real deal. Get ready for
some reading:
These are my old
body part splits, with two parts (like chest and tris) done on the same day. I didnt do more than three excersises per body part. (thats madness!) i just switched up the excersises i did every week.

Chest (usually done alongside triceps for me)

1. Bench press(flat): 4 sets (excluding warm-up set) of 12, 10, 8 and 6 reps respectively. Increase weight each set.
2. Incline Bench press: 3 or 4 sets (depends on you). Same format as flat bench: increase
weight, decrease reps
3. Decline bench press (some people don?t even bother with it, so this one is at your
discretion) same format as the other two.
4. Cable flyes: (tell me you know what this is!). 4 sets
5. Dumbbell flies can substitute for cable flies.

(in place of the normal barbell bench press, incline etc, u can use dumbbells instead. This allows you to incorporate more stabilizer muscles. Go with the normal stuff for about two weeks then try dumbbells. Believe me, doing 220 on the bench doesn't mean doing 110 per hand using dumbbells.. its a lot harder doing it independently)

Triceps
1. dips: (once again, tell me u know what this is)? (if you?re a heavy guy, you may not be able to do this with your body weight, but you should be fine): 4 sets. If you are too light, try weighted dips. Use the belt which allows you to strap weights on it, then dip with that. Use a heavier weight each set.
2. tricep extensions: 4 sets, same format (increase weight, reduce reps)
3. tricep pulldowns: 4 sets, same format
4. skull crushers (generally, these are tricep extensions on a bench,
with a barbell
instead of dumbbells, using 2 arms at once): 4 sets, same format.

Since I used to do Chest and triceps together, I do pushups for a warm up set. And you can use them to put a finishing touch on your workout? abs may accompany chest and triceps.

Back:
1. Lat pulldowns: 4 sets, same format. (up weight, down reps)
2. Seated rows: 4 sets, same format
3. DEADLIFTS (aite, u mite not wanna do deadlifts on this day. Not that they'll kill you,
as the name implies, but the lift works a lot of bodyparts, including lower back and
hamstrings and quads and forearms, so you?ll be hurtin after this one) no one really knows the best time to do deadlifts. Some do it on legs day, some on back day. In fact, some guys have a whole
workout day for deadlifts alone. Ask guys at ur gym when they do theirs. I personally limit this to 3 sets.
4. Incline rows (just rows at an angle on some machine. If u don?t have that machine, don?t bother). Same format
5. Pullups, hands at shoulder width. If your hands are too inwards, you end up working
your biceps more than your lats. This usually happens to me anyway, cuz I?m relatively
heavy. If u cant do pull-ups jus yet, stick with the other exercises and build up
strength then come back to pull-ups later.

Biceps
1. barbell curl (everyone knows this one). 4 sets, usual format
2. Dumbbell curls. 4 sets, same format.
3. Preacher curls. 4 sets same format
4. hammer curls. 4 sets, same format.
5. now, if you feel like an intermediate, try drop sets on the preacher bench (I'll
explain drop sets later).

FOREARMS.
These will probably be worked during ur biceps exercise, but u can work em anyway.
Reverse barbell curls do the trick. Forearm curls work well too.

LEGS
Oooh yea, everyone loves to hate legs day. I bet no one you know likes em. My old roomie
never wanted do em, till he saw the light. Any website will tell you that squats and deads are KING exercises.
1. Squats: jus do it! 4 sets, same format.
2. Leg press: 4 sets same format
3. Leg extensions: same ol thing (try drop sets if u have a death wish)
4. Calf extensions. I do 6 sets for this.. it?s the only thing I do
high reps for.

Shoulders/traps
1. Military press, barbell: 5 sets, 12 reps to 3
2. Side lateral raises. 4 sets, same format (12 reps, 10, 8, 6) (try front lateral raises for some variety)
3. seated dumbbell press 4 sets, same format
4. shrugs. 5 sets
5. upright rows. 4 sets, same format.

ABS
Yeah, everyone want to have abs.. hehe
For abs, I jus do about 15-20 reps for leg raisesn and 20 sit ups for multiple sets. Then
the drop sets on the ab-lounge looking machine we got in our gym. Neways, its basic stuff.
Hanging leg raises: 3 sets 15-20reps
Sit ups:2 or 3 sets, 15-20 situps
(use a weight and do crunches on an incline bench if u aint got an ab machine
with attached weights)
you can do abs wheneva u want... jus slot em in some workout. jus make
sure u put em in. i've had a case of "I'll put it in next time", but "next time" never comes. lol
Let me just say here that abs are a mainly a combination of genetics (for shape) and diet (for definition). if you start using the auto fill google bar and type in abs are made.. it will fill the rest out with "...in the kitchen", which is pretty much true. a low bf level increases definition. but remember, if you're going for size, you'll have a higher bf than someone who's cutting, so dont expect to have washboard abs like he does.

DROP SETS
I hold a strong belief that Drop sets, like math, were created by the
devil to screw me over. Like deadlifts, which leave u dead, when ur done with these, you
will drop. (Don't even try em for legs or you won?t be able to walk). They generally
involve putting on a heavy weight, then doing a couple of reps (12-15), then, you drop
someweight of the machine/adjustable barbell and do more reps. Keep dropping the weight and
doing reps until all the weight is off. For all the reps after the first, try going for
12 reps/till u can go no further. Believe me, you?ll have so much trouble lifting up the empty bar
when you?re done. You?d end up with like 60 reps in one set.. sweetness.

No matter what the lift, there are general rules to follow.
Do not cheat: Don?t use "body English" when working out. Make slow,
controlled movements with the weight. If you don't, you end up using other body parts,
and not working the targeted areas. Like those guys who swing their whole bodies to lift
a dumbbell/barbell during a curl.I bet u see em. They aint workin their biceps at all. They using momentum to shift the weight. Cheating, however, is not all bad. it can help you get that one extra rep when you need it. But It can also be dangerous. If ur bouncing a heavy weight off your chest and not controlling it, you run the risk of smashing ur ribs! Which leads me to number 2

2. Always have a spotter: preferably someone who goes to the gym with you, so u don?t feel awkward looking asking some random guy, or girl. A spotter should constantly watch u, especially when doing heavy weight, so u don?t kill yourself. I've seen some accidents bro.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KRrX1cvT6ds

3. Alternate: after using a routine for a while (a month or more),
switch it up if you want to. Do different workouts on different days. If the old routine
works fine and you're seeing gains, leave it be. But if u seem to have reached a plateau, feel free to change things
up.

4. Eat right: now this is even harder than working out and harder still when in college. Eating right is an entire article on its own. maybe i'll put it up later.

5 . When you do these workouts, The amount of sets and reps, the order
in which you do em, is all up to you. The range is generally 3-4 sets of 12-3 reps per exercise for hypertrophy and strength.

Chest is usually done with tris, while back goes with bis. Some like to change it up. And
I like to put legs between back/bis day and shoulders so I?m not doing too much upper
body. Some guys will do all the workouts twice in a week. Hey, it works for some guys. But Do not underestimate days off. That's when muscles heal/grow. If u don?t take a day off every now and then, you overexert the muscle, and may injure it. However, What works for someone will not necessarily work for you, and vice versa. 4 sets with decreasing reps works aite for me, with 2 days off in a
week. so I'm cool. Experiment and find your style, and happy lifting.

If u got any questions. Jus ask. Besides, u got the internet on ur side, and your fellow gym peoples! Ur all set! 4get the grammatical errors. Boiz don't have time. I aint getting paid ya know (For all this typing I swear I should be making a buck or two) lol.
If u wanna know some sites, bodybuilding.com is sweet. T-nation.com is king. some facebook groups are good too.
Peace out!

Regards,
Pat Utomi II

Crossfit New England Throwdown!

2009-03-13T18:03:00.000-07:00

On Saturday, the sixth of March, my friend Lee Jacobs and I ventured out to Natick Massachusetts for what would be one of the greatest Saturdays either of us would have: one which would leave both of us temporarily incapacitated, on the verge of death, and perhaps most importantly, aware of our place in the world of Crossfit. For the uninformed, Crossfit is (a la Wikipedia) “a strength and conditioning fitness methodology. Its stated goal is to create "the quintessential athlete, equal parts gymnast, Olympic weightlifter and sprinter.” It is also my latest physical fitness challenge: because lifting weights and occasional cardio just wasn’t leaving me as dog-tired or making my life flash before my eyes as often as I would like it to. I was in search of something relatively new. After all, it’s common knowledge that “switching it up” every once in a while is good for the body.

My friend Raj Patel used this opportunity to lure me into the world of Crossfit. (Oh, did I say lure? That may be a bit misleading. I meant DECEIVE! I was CONNED, HOODWINKED I TELL YOU! IT WAS ALL ONE BIG TRAP!). After a couple of weeks of trying the scheduled WODs (workout of the day), I gradually came to hate it less each day and stuck with it (Hence the Deceit from Raj. He knows that as long as its physical activity I’ll do it, even if it kills me every time I do. He also calls me just to “check up on me” and see if I’m “still doing crossfit”. It’s like he’s guilt tripping me into it, though I’m not sure if he’s doing this consciously or not.) Point of the matter is that I eventually got to meet Mr. Lee Jacobs, who is also an avid fan of crossfit and after a couple of workouts together, we get to bond as fellow crossfit lovers/haters.

One day, Mr. Jacobs tells me (via facebook) about an upcoming Crossfit New England Throwdown, and asks if I’d be interested in going. It would last from 12 noon to 6 pm and be composed of three WODs. Considering my love for athletes and physical activity, I was going to go no matter what. The key question was whether I’d compete or not. I’d only been on the crossfit program for a few weeks, and was mixing in my old lifting routine every now and then. I wasn’t really sure if I could take on three WODs in one day (Considering my first WOD experience lasted only eight minutes and left me laying on the gym floor for at least half an hour while people walked by and looked at me as if I they hadn’t seen a dead tired negro on the floor before). I decided to suck it up and compete. After all, the worst that could happen is that I’d get my ass handed to me by a chick. I went to bed on Friday night fully unaware that the worst would happen quite a few times.

As morning broke on the fateful Saturday, I proceeded to make myself a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, with a protein shake on the side. I didn’t want to eat too much, as I wanted to be as light as possible for the trials ahead. In retrospect, I should have had a bigger meal: A MUCH bigger meal. After the meal, I proceeded to assess my arsenal: Protein powder, check. Fruits and nuts, check. Change of clothes, check. Gatorade, check. Armed with the necessary nutritional sustenance that would facilitate my survival for the day (or so I thought), I ventured out of my dormitory in high spirits, ready to take on the world; the world of Crossfit.

Lee was kind enough to rent a zipcar and drive up to my residence, so soon after stepping out of the student village I was on my way to Natick Massachusetts. Excluding the stop for gas and getting lost after being misled by multiple streets named “Oak Street”, the journey was a relatively short one. But it was going to be a long day for me and Lee. We arrived at Crossfit New England with time to spare and proceeded to register for the days events. The turnout is great, with about eighty athletes showing up (more people to totally own me). There were three WODs (workouts of the day, if you forgot) we were to partake in, and individuals could take part in groups with varying levels of intensity. The first group was the pups, with the easiest workouts, followed by the pack and then the “Big dawgs”, who had the highest intensity level. Lee and I signed into the big dawg class. “Bad move buddy”, a voice in my head goes. I ignore said voice (Bad move number two).

Before Each WOD, each crossfitter partners themselves up with a coach. I partner myself with a lovely lady named Cynthia, or Cindy as she is more affectionately called. Why does this name have a malicious ring to it? Oh that’s right, because one of the crossfit workouts is named Cindy. 22 rounds I believe… (Crossfit reference, don’t worry if you don’t get it). Cindy is from crossfit cynergy, and her group is made up of great people through and through, including her hubbie Keith. The pack and pups get started, and before I know what’s happening, Cindy’s all up and done with her WOD, and Lee and I are up for our turn with the big dawgs.

all smiles because we are yet to know the true meaning of pain!

The first WOD is a 400m run down and uphill followed by 20 burpees for 4 rounds. A burpee is pretty much dropping to a pushup position then getting up then hopping slightly. Sounds easy, but do that 20 times after a 400 meter run. Four times. That’ll learn ya. I’m doing this WOD with lee, and several other “Big Dawg” crossfitters, including about four females. I don’t even lie to myself by saying “maybe I’ll keep up with the girls”. I know I’m getting owned here. The question is “how many meters behind am I going to be?”

By the fourth round, I’m dying, and my legs refuse to obey my commands. My burpees look like I’m a kid learning how to walk. Time runs out just as I finish the last run. That’s fine, because I would have literally keeled over if I had to do any more burpees. Lee doesn’t finish either, though he’s a bit ahead of me. I guess the fifteen minute time cap on each WOD leaves you a bit frustrated, but prevents you from completely draining yourself. That way you have a bit more time to get ready for the next WOD. I finish my run with a grin and tell my coach that it was fun. He tells me I’m crazy. I don’t blame him. Not many people in their right minds would find that workout enjoyable.

The second WOD is 21 deadlifts and 7 thrusters for five rounds. Not good. My back is still recovering from a chronic pain disorder (which I most likely brought upon myself by having poor deadlifting form). Not to mention that deadlifting is the bane of existence for taller people. But hell, I did the WOD anyway. After just two pulls, my coach already notices that I’m quad dominant and don’t pull from my hips as I’m meant to. He advises me not to rush the WOD but to get my form right so I don’t hurt myself. I comply. By round four, yet again, I feel like I’m going to die. But it’s not the cardio that’s killing me. It’s my back. Even though I try to keep the right form, it’s not easy, seeing as I’ve been doing it a certain way for quite some time. Even the thrusters, which are usually easy for me, become aquite the excruciating experience. I also drop the bar right against my right shin. Just a graze; slightly annoying, but it is heavily outweighed by the fact that we dont get to drop barbells in the school gym (just buy bumper plates dammit! why is BU so cheap?)

(there’s lee dying. Haha)

I manage to finish four rounds when time is called. Crossfit cynergy members cheered me on, and that was a very refreshing experience. the atmosphere in the place is amazing: competitive yet friendly. perfect conditions for an athlete to thrive. not that I was particularly thriving at that moment. But thats besides the point. One more WOD and it’s all over. (Note to self: thrusters are evil. Never do them… ever)

The last WOD is a Push press/jerk for seven reps followed by twenty pull-ups for five rounds. Lee and I swear we’ll finish this one even if it kills us. Lee goes first and finishes in about eleven and a half. I step up after he’s done and have a go at it. The weight is just 135 lbs. I usually throw this up as a warm-up, but at this point in the day, it feels as heavy as anything I’ve ever held. It’s a painful five rounds but I too, finish at about the same time as Lee. As I stumble away from the blood drenched pull-up bars, someone shoves a beer into my hand. I thank him kindly and proceed to (nearly) pass out on a nearby spot on the floor. To my surprise, Lee and I actually finish ahead of some people in this WOD. I guess we retained some of our dignity. The next group of big dawgs steps up and FLIES through the WOD like there’s no tomorrow, with most guys finishing in about seven minutes. Ridiculous!

(Death by pullups)

(more death by pullups)

With the WODs all done, the crossfitters proceeded to have a little shindig right there in the gym. Lee and I stayed for a while to indulge in some healthy turkey wraps provided by the various crossfit teams before packing up and heading back to BU. I felt sorry for Lee, who had to drive. I could feel the pain his legs were in. We got back home, grilled some stake at Lees place, and then I went straight to bed, knowing that I wouldn’t be working out for at least the next four days. That pretty much concludes my day of workout hell which may or may not be one of the best Saturdays I have ever had. Save for the blood and sweat and tears (literally) it was an amazing day I wouldn’t mind reliving sometime soon.

(“Yup, there’s the insane “I’m DONE!” face)

(beer and protein. Best combo ever)

(Crossfit. Unfuckwithable)

(That’s sue, Cindy’s kid. 12 yrs old. Amazing!)

(yeah Holly!!)

(Go Rich!!!)

(me and sue size up battle scars)

(just one of several pull-up casualties)

(Theres Cynthia ripping it up)

210 baby (fine, 210.5. jeez!)

2009-01-25T08:52:00.000-08:00

So I awoke this morning to find that had reached (or very nearly reached) my goal of weighing 210 lbs. I'm almost exactly 30lbs down from 240 (forgive me if I'm insulting your math skills. and I didn't get a scale till recently so i don't have any evidence of when i was morbidly obese. haha.)

Pleasantly surprised? yes i was. It was a long and arduous journey, but i got here. And i couldn't have done it without the men's health handed to me by the accommodating flight steward (I'm kidding, okay?). But there was a lot of brown rice and broccoli involved (considering i don't eat pasta). yay for complex carbs!
And as for the naysayers to my eating chicken in class: I have back to back classes and i need to eat, okay? more eats = higher metabolic rate = more burned calories! I don't get it: when a girl eats straight up meat in class it cool, because she's on atkins. but when I do it, I'm a meathead. I just cant win!

Below are some of the basic (very basic, i know) home cooked foods that got me through even the toughest times (because I've obviously gone through hard times. those who pay my tuition must be trying their hardest not to kill me right now. I love you padre!):

The notorious men's fitness, accompanying my dinnerage for the day.

mmmm, salmon, brown rice and broccoli

215... getting there

chicken and brown rice (brown rice and broccoli? again?)

Chicken getting ready to be taken to Tuesday/Thursday classes

accompanying Manwich that also follows me to class.

Meat and... big surprise! brown rice!! and broccoli!!

Dessert! cottage cheese + Strawberries. (don't worry, its usually Reese's white chocolate peanut butter cups. I only show you what i want you to see.

Manwich Construction!

Chicken and... yes, you guessed it, Broccoli!!

Victory (or very close to it)
Curse you gravity! couldn't you let up for a bit? just 1/2 a pound! do i need to go and run now just to make weight?? what a cruel world!

Now I'm not saying this is all i eat. I am a white chocolate fiend and I'll tear into some whenever i have the chance (that includes white chocolate cookies. Curse you BU pub!). and lets not forget the occasional lion bar. Food is good, so indulge yourselves. But remember, you are what you eat, and if you're trying to shed unwanted lbs, you have to do the Heisman on that chocolate tart every now and then.

I also know that water weight is a huge factor and I'll most likely fluctuate between 208 and 213, but that's fine with me. I'm a happy bunny. Now I just need to get a few more calories in to make sure i stay in the 200 range. Crossfit will burn a lot of calories, both the good and bad ones.

as for those tagged in this note, you are people who either experienced my in-class chicken eating, constant bitching/whining about calories, fit rec-ing, or are just very good friends i'd like to share the inner workings of my life with. then again, the last category encompasses you all, seeing as i would care enough to let you in on aforementioned chickening/fit-rec-ing. yay for friends! now maybe I'll be able to go skydiving with Sachit/Kevin!

(Nigerian) food for thought

2009-01-17T20:06:00.000-08:00

It was a regular day in the life. Only this morning, I was making pancakes. (I hardly ever make pancakes.) I mixed the ingredients and heated the skillet, anticipating the deliciousness soon to follow. Ah, pancakes; a culinary delicacy full of soft, fluffy goodness. Suddenly, a voice goes off in my head, speaking in the most broken English I have heard since daddy showkey. “look at your head like pancake! (LUK AT YA HED LIKE KPAN KEK). “you have obviously forgotten where you came from.”

As I pondered this exclamation, I realized that, sure enough, Nigeria, despite its constant civil strife, has changed a lot since we were in primary school. and this change extended into our eating habits. Nowadays, we wake up, make some pancakes and toast, drink some OJ and, if we’re feeling adventurous, have an omelette on the side. For lunch, our options are limitless. We can go out and have some Nando’s chicken, sweet sensation, or maybe some st elmo’s pizza (2 for 1 super Tuesday comes only once a week after all). We can grab some dessert at chocolat royale if we’re still feeling a tad peckish. And this is just the guys in naij. The folks in the UK are having tea and crumpets, with pudding and tart on the side. Walkers Crisps are spot on when watching those footie matches aint they fam? Throw some Strongbow in there and you’re all set. Don’t even get me started on those residing in our very own US of A. Starbucks franchises are on display like litter on the streets of Ajegunle. McDonalds, Burger king and the like are thriving amidst the depression, with ever cheaper meal options showing up on the menu each day. Wendy’s 3conomic burgers are looking mighty fine right now, aren’t they? The options are limitless. In the midst of this maelstrom of delectable edibles, we seem to have abandoned that which gave us sustenance till we reached this point. Allow me to take you back, way back, to some of the Breakfasts, lunches, snacks and beverages that have played an iconic role (some still do) in our Nigerian existences:

Breakfasts
PAP and AKARA
NASCO corn flakes with HOT water and Peak evaporated milk (none of that kellogs stuff yo. Lol)
Bread dipped in tea (bournvita or milo, take your pick)
Bread and Butter (jam? What’s that?)
boiled/fried egg (eat with bread, akara or yam)

Lunches and Dinners
Eba (add soups as necessary)
Peppersoup (and meats/fish as you see fit)
Pounded yam
Amala
RICE (be it white, fried, jollofed, it was always there. Add chicken/meat/fish as necessary)
Beans
YAM (boiled, fried, pounded, Porridged… eaten with oil, stew, soup, options were limitless)
Plantain (almost as multifaceted as yam. Boiled, fried, porridged, frittered… Plantain is always welcome as a side dish or dish in itself.)
DODO (such a specialized form of plantain it has to be set in a category of its own. Lol)
Moin-Moin (nuff sed)

Beverages
OGOGORO
Legend Extra stout
Gulder
Star beer

Snacks/Small meals
Soaked garri and groundnut
Chocomilo
Sunshine Coconut chips
NASCO WAFERS (for those primary school break times before we had enough allowance to buy Mr Biggs.)
FAN ice cream (more easily attainable with meager allowance- N20 in those good days. Always good after school.)
Chin-Chin (one of our best fried snacks IMO)
Robot/Sprint Chewing gum (Chin-gum…)
CORNED BEEF and SARDINE sandwitches. (how could you forget Titus? Don’t lie and say momsie never made mass sandwiches when you had to bring something in for the feast on the last day of class)

I know I have omitted a lot, so feel free to throw in whatever gastronomical wonders that graced our plates back in the day.

Shows that made the good old days, truly good!

2008-12-07T20:38:00.000-08:00

Ah nostalgia. *sniff*. A true Naija person will feel pangs of elation and/or melancholy when they see these. At least I did. I don't know why I've been having this penchant for old skool, but These are what made the good old days truly good. I had to do some international language translating to find some of these clips, so give em a gander why dontcha?

The rich also cry or Los Ricos También Lloran: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MUICeuqAOo)

Bold and the beautiful: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPNntaTAo-w)

Wild rose or Rosa Salvaje: (I remember vividly, it was always yam porridge night. Lol): (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xEofhKPQ7sg)

Papa ajasko (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bf1YbYNuKuA)

Things fall apart- CLASSIC!! Watch for at least two minutes for the whole song. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o7FS95IcRNU&feature=related)

Rentaghost (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yX5kXSGaDUg)

Santa Barbara (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wT0ndELh-Ck)

Escrava Isaura… some of you will be wondering what this is, till you hear it (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feHwNgGRiwk)

Secrets of the Sand or Mulheres de Areia. Remember those two sisters fighting for some guy?? the blind guy who could make great sand sculptures? I remember the scandal, the treachery, the romance! *squeal* (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WP4qu4FYpK0)

Maria de los angeles is here (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4oHjnf3-1BE)

No one but you, aka Tu o Nadie (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wOCq5FjJrPA&feature=related)

Doctor Who: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BwJtYmNpINI)

Telematch in german on Sundays. was there anything better to wake up to? I know it was before mass because we never finished watching it before we had to leave. (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QMGqtlplUg&feature=related)\

SLedgehammer - what a hardcore!theme! lol (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tBAbz6isTsI)

SUPERFORCE?!? (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RsW78sWVb8Y&feature=related)

And some classics I couldn’t get Videos for:
Checkmate
Tales by moonlight
Storyland
Lady of the rose
Newsline with Frank Olize

I put in a special segment for the stuff I watched when I got back from school. Ah, the days when NTA 2 was the shizz and we actually had NEPA to watch tv with!

The 4 o clock lineup (once you got back from school) and some Cadbury's breakfast tv hits:
National anthem
“NTA Twooooooo, channel Fiiive, your reachout station!”
Voltron (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f9C2YLVaSBw)
BIRDMAN (biiiiiiiiird-maan!!!): (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LpnuxDhoueQ)
Superted (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUUGmos_Kg4)
Dodo the kid from outer space (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WlQSqPXzVdw&feature=related)
Danger mouse: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PrM0E9pag8E)
Pingu (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wx4s7CLEaFc&feature=related)
Secret Squirrel (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-S_F9U9gNEQ)
KidiVision 101
Biker mars from mars (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWS-OiHxKto)
Terrahawks (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1hgHvOH9mJA)
THUNDERBIRDS!! (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nFb4IVLXDss)

Good times!! I may go on a movie spree next. Feel free to tell me anything I missed in this one. I know there are a lot out there.

That point in your life...

2008-08-24T17:17:00.000-07:00

When you become an adult in Naija:

You’re now eligible for police “checkpoints”: When you were a kid, they’d wave the driver by (after all, you didn’t have anything for them: your weekly allowance wasn’t going to be enough). Now, however, you get stopped at every possible checkpoint, with a “Good evening Oga/madam, wetin u get for your boys?” (“your boys”… like you know dem sef… *hiss*)

You can “authorize” the activation of the generator when NEPA strikes

The household staff now goes “well done” (“weh Don!”) when you get back home.

The kids of family friends now call u “uncle” or “aunty”… makes you feel so old. And in contrast, “Uncle John” is now “Mr. John” to you.

You gotta look at the meter to make sure they aren’t swindling you at the petrol station (make sure it starts at zero before they pump your fuel). The same applies to diesel, kerosene, garri, groundnut, clothing material and all measurable substances.

It may cross your mind to buy a plot of land somewhere once u have enough money (god knows it’s better to buy cheap now and take your time building).

You can take the family car out when you want to (but you dare not touch Popsies/Momsies BMW/Mercedes without asking)

You can “maneuver” the more challenging Lagos roads. Conquering Oshodi Market (which has only one lane for three lanes worth of cars, not forgetting the market stalls and innumerable amount of people) officially gives you Driver (“Driva”) status (though to fully qualify, you need to know a fair amount of shortcuts to and from the Island)!!

You’ve given up on Calling NEPA when there has been no light for a month (in actuality, you should have given up several years ago). You won’t even get through, seeing as all the landlines have been down for ages.

You know better than to buy “Pure water” (also something you should have known a while ago… hopefully you didn’t learn from experience)

You know to have your Cash, watch and GSM ready to hand over once some guy taps on your windshield with a gun.

In order to prevent the above from happening, you know better than to bring out your GSM whilst traversing certain roads.

Before you buy something you want in the market you bargain for at least 15 minutes, with an “Abeg give me last Price (“Laz Prize”)” every two minutes, Only experienced women/Drivers usually get the actual “last price” when they engage in real market scenarios so guys shouldn’t feel so bad if they get ripped off the first few times (for optimum results go shopping with experienced individuals so on your next trip you can say “Which one be One thousand (“Wan Touzan”) you dey talk? No be dis one I buy for Five hundred last week?) . I believe a whole book could be written on Naija shopping tactics (best places to shop, the last price for various items, etc)

Remember those jokes your dad used to crack with his friends? You can laugh at some of them now cant you? (I say “some”, because I bet a lot of em are still gonna fly over your head) You knew it was gonna be bad when they started the conversation with their various nicknames. I believe they once sounded like this:

Dad: AAAH OMODILOGBOOOOooN!!

Dad’s Friend: IKENGA THE IKENGA

Dad: It seems you are living large!!

DF: hahaha, no now! In fact, My generator is eating more than me these days! As they say…

Both: HAHHAAHHAAHAHHAAHA

Yeah, that pretty much sums it up for me, and I bet this applies to some others out there...
Good luck with life.

2008-08-23T16:40:00.000-07:00

Random Good Stuff to Listen to:
Dizzee Rascal feat Calvin Harris- Dance wiv me
Sonny J - Hold my hand
BPA feat Dizzee Rascal -Toe Ja
Roll Deep- When I'm Ere
Chemical Brothers - Midnight Madness

In response to..

2008-04-16T23:36:00.000-07:00

This post is in response to the Fiasco in which several Nigerians were booted off a plane as a deportation was taking place. Original article: http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/topstories/2008/04/07/136-ba-passengers-removed-from-jet-over-deportee-row-89520-20375182/

Its a sad thing (not unlike several other issues in this day and age).

Begin rant:

Deportation is oft a result of on having committed a crime, and resistance comes somewhat naturally. He should have followed the eleventh commandment (never get caught). However, if the "jig is up", so to speak, resistance is pretty much futile. the individual should have stayed put and nothing else woulda happened (best imaginable situation). Obviously, it didn't go down this way.

I wont sugarcoat the issue. Nigerians are stereotyped by British airline staff as those rowdy individuals who always pack too much luggage, cant wait in line, and are almost always of disorderly conduct, be it pre-flight, mid-flight or post flight. And there is never smoke without fire.

Nigerians also have this mindset of being "opposed" to the airline staff in some way (in no small part due to being given aforementioned stereotypes), almost always backing up their fellow peoples unless they are outright wrong. And, being Nigerians, the intervention is almost always "ruff and tumble" (I told u, no sugarcoating). However, I still believe that the pilot's course of action would have been completely different had the passengers been British citizens.

As for the interfering “busy body”, it is human nature to avoid conflict whenever one can (unless you are one twisted individual). However, when dealing with the “law”, things are completely different. Any move on your part can get you slapped with an “obstruction of justice” charge, and the ball is almost always in their court. In my opinion, unless you physically need to take action (if there is blatant abuse of authority on the part of the law enforcers), its best to hide your feelings (however righteous they may seem). As I said before, if he’s being deported, he probably did something wrong. If the law enforcers need to use force, I’m guessing the criminal isn’t going quietly. I do not know if the passengers were informed that there would be a deportation taking place. I believe this would have been the best course of action: A message informing the passengers of the scheduled deportation and a strict no interference policy. However, if the interference from Mr. Omotade was just verbal, his arrest is in no way justified. It is a gross misconduct on the part of the British constables and may be actionable in a court of law. Then again, I don't know if the officers were influenced by the BA staff to arrest Mr. Omotade. In that case, the blame on the officers may be lessened.

As for the actions of the Pilot, I cannot base judgment on this alone. I do not know if he issued a warning to the passengers or if he issued an immediate unloading of the aircraft.

In a nutshell, this just goes down as another incident in the life which could have been completely prevented. Had the offending individual alone been removed, it would have all ended. Better yet, give him a tranquilizer and take him in quietly (damn right I endorse use of sedatives). I know the words we all want to hear in this argument: racism, stereotypes, abuse of power, etc. These may or may not have influenced this situation (who am I kiddin?), but all in all, it is a disgrace to our status, not as Nigerians, but as human beings. Such things should not happen, but my goodness, when don’t they?

End rant…

Midnight sun

2008-03-03T11:12:00.000-08:00

I walk in the darkness, enlightened
Surrounded, alone.
Avoid the gaze of passersby?
Why bother? They’ll do the same.

Tip of the hat, a wave or a smile?
Who am I to be that fool?
Even if one longs for that dead game
The winds blow cold, and take away warm eyes.

In this world of the midnight sun
There is less need for smiles and cheer
They have become mere fraccions
Of that which makes the world go round.

Every now and then, a solar flare
How long till they burn out?
But those are fears for a daydream generation
I have bigger problems on my mind.

Frustration, worry, doubt,
These are soon to pass.
For I rest my head upon my bed.
And hope to see the sun once more.

I wrote this one at 2 a.m (getting better). midterm later today. Maybe I'll give an explanation later. I'll let you ponder this one for a while.

Regards,
Pat II
Tarot Card: The world 21

Deux modes (Two worlds)

2008-02-17T22:31:00.000-08:00

Who'dathunkit?? Me, starting a blog. I guess it was inevitable, if you come to think about it. For people like myself, who only hang with self (Cuz that's the way to go), and who only understand self, though sometimes one feels that one comprehends oneself less than oneself should, it seems blogging would come naturally. After all, give a man a mask and he'll tell the truth (Oscar Wilde).
It’s kinda sad but true: That which one most wishes to say is that which lies buried longest of all (In many cases, anyway). Tis the irony called life: a culmination of the infinite and nigh incomprehensible psyche of man. For if there is something I want to do, the natural impulse is to do it. If only life were so simple, then, by Janus (Othello reference for ye Shakespeare buffs out there), we'd be living the life. Kudos to those who have broken the wall, going with the "Just do it" mentality of Nike. For some of us, however, the word "consequence" weighs heavily on our minds. An example, if I may:
Dinner with the friends. Friday night. You've all downed a couple but the cognitive facilities are still in tact. And, as friends often do, you begin to talk, and proceed to down a few more. Jokes are told, with subsequent laughter echoing through the room. Then one of your friends sends you a humdinger. Be it what you may: sex jokes, poking fun at a guy at the subsequent table, bitching out his ex-g.f, who still happens to be a friend of yours. In the space of one second, you go through all the following possibilities. Do you:
1. quip in (cuz thats what friends are for)
2. laugh it off half-heartedly,
3. go "oi, come on mate, that's a tad uncalled for innit?" either way, each option has its own string of issues. what will your friends think of you? Are you the "bosom buddy" with option number one, or are you just an arse kisser? Maybe you're the play it safe type with option number two, or maybe you're just a spineless coward for not choosing a side. Does the third option make you the just, noble lad, or a plain old killjoy? That’s just one example of several we probably face everyday. your perspective of different options will be different depending on where you stand (Because if a mate's bitchin' out some whore who rubs you the wrong way, you're probably likely to add fire to that flame, if you're the aggressive type) but in this day and age, most of us prefer the middle ground, cuz, by god, its the safest way to go.
But what about the feelings you harbor deep inside? Those you keep bottled tighter than a genie in a bottle (ooh, Britney should go to rehab, but Amy Winehouse'd probly tell her to say "nooo, noo, no!.. sorry, couldnt resist)? Not the spontaneous urges you get when a random topic comes up, but the emotions you feel everyday, and want to scream out whenever someone mentions something even remotely related to what it might be, but can't, because (God forbid) your friends think you're weird, or you feel it might harm your reputation in some other way.
We conform with society and bury our true feelings, silently hoping, praying, that someone who feels the same way will come your way (but not in public, where your friends can see you)
I have referenced this once before, but a friend of mine once said "only dead fish swim with the tide." (Referring to the "feeling buriers"). And I will state my ever standing counterargument: The other fish will think you're an absolute d-bag for swimming against the tide and getting in the way of “progress”. Besides, it takes too much effort and is in many cases, unrewarding. People who stand out are "odd" and "have issues". Only in a few cases do they become "classic" characters with "exceptional" qualities, breaking barriers and helping mankind progress (a la Mr. Zuckerberg, Aristotle, etc) People like Aristotle didn’t even get commended till they died. Where’s the love?
From a purely statistical perspective, its best to just swim with the tide, and avoid any mean looks from the other fish (those cold, unfeeling eyes. fish scare me ^_^; ). If, perchance, you see another aquatic buddy swimming against the tide, wish him luck. He'll need it. As for me, I'll continue to reside in my two worlds, my Deux mondes: The world which you all see, and the world which remains deep within. By balancing them out as best I can, I intend to keep swimming with the tide, going off-course at little as possible, or whenever I can get away with it.