You should meet ' My God '

2:18 am Dec. 27th 2008.
At about 1.30 am yesterday, the car I was riding in with a couple of friends was doing turns in the air. Wham ! Bam! Gbish! Gba! like a really bad sex with a lot of energy. Finally my side of the car crashed into a makeshift container shop, shedding us with a mass of glass and slowing down our space odyssey till we hit the surrounding bush.

Two guys in front, a friend I had invited for the trip and my humble self. It had happened, we were stunned, probably in mild shock cos we started making jokes about the accident immediately. My side of the car (the door) took a huge beating and would have to be replaced; my neck, head and shoulder cannot be replaced but they hurt like shizzles.

I had broken glass scattered under my skin (Now they call me Mr. Glass), sitting in a fresh accident spot, surrounded by the darkness, sand, dust and the heavy bush. I ordered everyone out 'cos we had to make sure the car won't burst into flames (James Bond style). We were somewhere around Eleko Beach, coming back from a hitherto promising party (@ Hermitage Garden Resorts, Akodo). Like very good children, with our collective very good upbringing, we had limited the alcohol intake and also limited our speed to about 220 mph; then the fine tarred road ended abruptly like a bad joke gone stale and sour, and then presented us with a huge gaping hole.

The first to arrive was the scene was a group of black on black men (of the infamous NPF) and a vigilante man brandishing a huge but blunt looking machete. Depression hit us immediately; Surprisingly, the police men were sympathetic and were insisting on getting us to a hospital quickly because they saw the accident and could not believe that anyone survived. Annoyingly, the vigilante man wanted us to pay for endangering people's lives (ours, I think) and he wouldn't listen to anything till one of my friends paid him 1000 Naira.

And then more people arrived the scene, acting shifty and shady. The oldest man wanted the police to make arrests, the police told him he was crazy. After plenty prostrations and scolding, they let us go and we made our way back to civilization with an accidented car, doing 30 mph. I kept reminding my friends that my God saved them because of me, but they kept insisting that their individual God saved us. We argued about it till we got home. I couldn't call my baby...she would kill me if she knew. People I related the story to wanted to see blood as evidence and right about now, I am heading out again for some kinda thanksgiving. I've fallen in love with the night these days.

Another day, another major proof that God exists (for all you doubting Thomases).

Banksy says:

Link: Banksy

Fun Link

Found this link (http://labs.wanokoto.jp/olds) where you can upload images and make them look 100 years old.

Image Above: My picture (100 years ago)

Shit-tesis

I should be ecstatic. Well, maybe not an emotion that intense...but I just got a new, sexy 13.3 inch white Apple Macbook (as a replacement for my old 17 inch Apple Powerbook G4 ). Onydchic thinks....(well, does'nt matter...Apple makes the best products to date).

A friend called me up, sometime last month with bad bad news. More like stinky bad news. Madam Sher' (short for Sheraton) was our favorite eatery/buka while I was working at the University of Benin (UniBen) and living in the bordering village called Ekosodin. She served neat and delicious varieties between the morning hours and early noon (eba, rice, plaintain, fried fish, cow tail, cow tongue, etc). A favourite of many UniBen students, we would queue up to get our share, argue about football (soccer), treat our visiting friends and then drag our feet to the office or to the hostels.

Gist is: she confessed to being a witch of some sort. The friend that called me was passing through Benin and heard the story; apparently, he called me to confirm if the story was true. He was told that the women confessed to using human parts in cooking her food and that was why it was so appealing and appetising to the students she served. WTF! My major beef with this woman is this: students didn't really care much about high quality of food. As far as it's cheap and plenty.

Her food was neat and kinda affordable; she did not need the 'Otumokpo'. I ran down after that and mischievously spread the gist to all the people that I knew had eaten there. I guess that was a psychological reaction to rejection and dumbing down the story entirely. According to a friend 'Na wa o, but even if we chop am, we go don shit am finish by now. Abi? '




Random rant: Superman wore a BYC tee shirt instead of the Power S tee shirt. He was last seen diving off third mainland bridge trying to save a south south politician's golden gold fish.

True.

Scars…

She kept peering over her shoulders, staring straight at us; a confused look on her face. I could tell that that the guys she was with were not comfortable either. Ankara (nickname, can't remember how he got it.) shifted uneasily in his seat beside me; "homeboy, relax. No weeere!" I said to him. We were there to have fun like the rest of them. Damn, we had every right to be there. These people, blacks like us were actually staring us down like we were from outer space; plus, I could smell their fear. I knew who was drawing all the attention to us, and I couldn't care less.

Ankara is 6'3, heavily built and always wears a hat and flies the collars of his shirts constantly; he only wears natives when he is around people he is comfortable with. Shy, kinda reserved, walks with a swagger and has a nasty temperament. Scars run from the top of Ankara's head, down his neck and to his back. He is one of the many people I know that are always ready to fight (for one misplaced cause or the other); the scars were just testaments to the struggle. One of the only few people that I know would die for a friend and for family.

Werunthings.com takes us to many places, and while processing some images and audio content from one of our appointments, he walked in and started pushing the mouse connected to my Apple Mac around; sneer, sneer…one side comment after another and I was already getting irritated; "Wetin dey worry you, Ankara? You dey mad? Which one be all these noise, ehn?". The dude just laughed and said "You want me to crush you abi?"…laughter from everyone in the room, some of them were actually nervous and we all grew up together (just imagine). So, that's how we started arguing about random stuff, in Ankara's opinion, we (the werunthings.com crew) could mix with the celebs that we interviewed 'cos we were educated and had steady jobs.

The argument moved from opinion to opinion, got heated up, paused and continued. I promised to take him on one of our 'observation' trips (just to change his point of view) and there we were, at a show we paid for and we were getting the treatment. I was so pissed; they were using their eyes to harass the dude, staring intently at his scars whispering to each other. Now, I think I can imagine how people living with HIV/AIDS feel when they are stigmatized. You should have seen how all of them trooped out together in a mad hurry after the show, probably scared that they would all get robbed by one man.

Classism is the new stupidity.

Sigh*

T.G.I.F.

I smiled again. Actually, I was amazed that I could forgive the panties. They had these little bow ties at both edges. I’ve always thought white panties were kinda too clinical and a huge turn off; but, watching her bend down and rise up consistently was getting me to have a rethink (no turn ons, ). I smiled and her sister said “You!, this man..., She is married, yes?” They both stuttered their sentences out in English and my subject ended her sentences with a smile and a flick of her hair; here I was, by chance with two beautiful and friendly Lebanese ladies.

I was using my lunch to pick up gifts for friends (I immensely enjoy doing that), this time I was at colors in Africa picking up art pieces (key holders, soap stone figurines and some wooden sculpture). “So, you buy plenty, you get discount, I buy plenty plenty, no get discount, why?” my subject asked, she was tall and beautiful, and like 7 months pregnant; she was picking artifacts for friends back in Lebanon. We chat about random stuff, about me (being an artist and working in a financial service company) and about how much she loved Lagos (crazy place, no?); she towered over me and we flirted shamelessly; her sister kept reminding me that ‘my subject’ was pregnant and married; we both ignored her. I never felt better in a long time, knowing nothing could come out of the whole flirt/chat thing. Time flew, had to leave...stretched out my hand for a handshake but got a warm hug instead.

Made a joke about her giving birth to twins and she said she’ll name the male after me. Laughed, went over to Debonairs, got a large tray of pizza, went back to work saw the 10.30 screening of Iron Man at Silverbird and went clubbing later. Beautiful day, the way a Friday should always go. Thank God another friday is around the corner.

Ahem ! ! !

Onydchic says I’ve got A.D.D. (I say she’s wrong, ‘cos if you asked Mr. Ola Johnson- my secondary school maths teacher, he would tell you how I used to turn my maths assignments into sketch doodles); thinking about it now, I guess she wasn’t referring to algebra. That’s the most I want to dwell on that topic.

My worst addictions didn’t last, nothing longer than a few weeks, at most. That may be my only reason for not understanding what compels my “Lazy friend” to consistently and repeatedly give in to what he calls “the spirits”. In my own opinion, there are some things you should not make any excuses for, never. A young dude with a promising football career that is crazily addicted to sex and clubbing (to hunt for sex) is another dimension to being a junky.

Drug junkies smell like death, they reek of the substance that they abuse and give credence to the “What nourishes me also destroys me” quote. This dude threw away all hopes of going professional with his football career, though old enough to be a father; he still rags ‘pocket money’ from his mum, cannot engage in any kind of productive labour (he says he doesn’t want to work for anyone) and is scared of graduating from the university ‘cos he knows that ultimately leads to him fending for himself. Dude pays 5 to 15 gees (in this kain hard time) to have sex with a faceless club girl, then walks over to your house in the morning to eat breakfast and lament about how “the spirits” have possessed his “thing”.

Personally, I don’t understand it; there can’t be two of this type of person alive (well, maybe Eric Benet and Un..........d, that actually makes three of ‘em). I know there are doctors and psychiatrists amongst us, what is this ailment called? Because, personally I do not believe any spirit will make your loins so promiscuous. Moreover, evil spirits cannot let you enjoy so much (abi).

South Africans! I am adding my voice to the multitudes that think you should cover your faces and bury your heads in shame. What were you thinking as a nation, what reasons do you think you have to take the lives of people that have taken refuge within your territories?

The blood is on your hands, you are a nation of murderers, arsonists, rapists and thieves, not revolutionary ANYTHING. And what is more, AFRICA is quite about it, NIGERIA is quite about it, the whole WORLD has kept mum. What a shame, knowing your own painful history as a nation. Big shame!.

Soliloquy

Engage
node.

I've had so many funny mornings; but it seems they always try to outdo each other. Walking to C.M.S. bus stop this morning, I was prepared for the usual thick weed smoke at Tinubu square, all around the fountain. What I wasn't prepared for was a dude blazing fast and hard (long drags and puffs) and doing a solo rendition of "Baba, gbe mi s'oke" (Father, lift me up; a Yoruba Christian song). His hands were spread in the usual blessing receiver pose towards the sky; the fat weed was on his left hand. I looked across the road and as I expected, he had an audience, fellow blazers were staring intently at him and nodding their heads like he was passing across some evangelistic coded message that only they could decipher. Strange world; I wonder who died or whatever happened to him (or them).

Ideas in clusters; and hidden recesses of my mind. Surfing hard on the colourful wings of the rainbow, but I still reflect in tones of grey (seek balance?). Yes, that's how it's been...I process ideas and promise myself that I'm gonna do a beautiful blog post; then I walk into the office and I get hit by the nagging and bullshit at work. I'm dying.

Manchester United won the Premier League title yesterday and the whole of Lagos Island went buck wild (we always love a good reason to party). Unfortunately, I had to make an appearance at work (yep, on a Sunday) so I saw only the first half; fortunately, I got back home before they finished all the booze and goodies. Downed bottle of Baron De Valles and realised rather too late that I was shacking on an empty stomach. Feeling warm inside and particularly happy, I turned to Tae and told her how much I thought I loved her. Wonderful girl, she just smiled and said "Of course, I know how much you do...meanwhile, have you had anything to eat?". I ate the hot fried plantains first and the fried eggs later. I snuggled up to her and wonderful things happened (not sex, peeps!). Why couldn't my girlfriend be this caring? Woke up this morning with a nasty headache, had a cold shower, now at work. The cycle grows bigger.

 

I'm not sexist, and I really hate to pass an opinion on religion and shit that has to do with sexual preferences; But, WTF is happening to good old guy and girl standard relationships?. Was at Reloaded Night Club the other day and the place was packed full of Lesbos and Fags. What the fuck happened, peeps? I can understand the lesbo bit (I willingly accepted the reason a lesbian friend gave to me once, something about women being more in tune with their emotions and shit), maybe that's 'cos I'm chauvinistic and will never say no to jumping in on a lesbo action set. But, once again, WTF is guy on guy shizzles for? Why would any sane guy dump the curvaceous and voluptuous confines of a woman's body and explore..., explore what? Bones and muscles? Damn, maybe I need to chill out on the bashing bit, before I get acid thrown on me, but this shit is taking a choke hold on this country big time. Haba, we are young nah, and the women are so so beautiful.

And about sacrifices…

"All sacrifices are made in blood

A constant battle between a self (the conscious)

And another self (the subconscious)

A war of choices

That can only yield a VICTOR

And a totally subdued VANQUISHED. "

*circa 2004

 

NB: If you are looking for a good book to read (for the weekend maybe), try Kelly Link's short story collection "Stranger Things Happen".

It's available as a free download under a Creative Commons license. Link here: http://www.lcrw.net/kellylink/sth/index.htm

Have superb weekend peeps, meanwhile WRT will be covering the British Council WAPI Event tomorrow, here in there Lagos office.

Hope to meet plenty plenty bloggers there.

 

 

 

Ignorance Alert

I haven't read a book in what seems like ages; Actually, I haven't read a book since I relocated back to Lagos last year. At a point, I psyched myself that all the blogs that I visit (daily) kinda make up for this hiatus. I argued with that inner self that the traditional book/publishing thing has shifted on its pivot and the web is the 'IN' thing. Thinking about it, I learn so much and get so inspired from visiting various blogs and websites; What's more? There is a whole lot of quality Nigerian content on the web these days. Thanks to the various bloggers that put their spine into the process.

What can rival the creative abilities of a blog like UnNaked's, The last king of Scotland's to the point music/album reviews (fridays are great again), Guerreira Nigeriana's classroom (I always thought she was a professor), Desperate Lady's constant drama (still looking for the right man, dear?), James Tubman, Onydchic, Jeremy Weate's blog, Afroliciousbabe (to open her blog for office na die) and so many more (too numerous to mention).

I read Decipher by Stel Pavlou sometime in the past and fell in love with it. I borrowed it from a friend and had to give it back. I have been searching for where to buy a copy since then. I tried buying it online and got bounced because of the Nigerian shipping address, I even wrote to the author but no luck. If anyone knows where/how I can get a copy, please let me know. I'll be sooooooo grateful.

Been so busy putting finishing touches to the: www.werunthings.com website. We are searching for creative collaborations on the www.werunthings.com thing; if you think we can work together, please feel free to contact me via: contribute@werunthings.com . Basically, we are into showcasing exceptional Nigerian creativity (via interviews, reviews, events coverage, motion, pictures, words etc). The plan to is to introduce and develop more interesting modules as time goes on; Right now, it's a not for profit thingy and we advise all our contributors to keep their day jobs (man must wack, peeps).

Upcoming Event: Top shelf entertainment and media personalities (Fred Amata, Fathia Balogun, OC, Kween, Basketmouth, Koffi, Yinka Davies, Ruggedman, owen gee, Funsho Adeolu,Princess, Gordons, AY, Obiwon, Teju Babyface, Kwame,Gbenga Adeyinka D 1st, Kate Henshaw, Siju Alabi, etc, ) are to participate in a novelty football match to raise funds for the motherless babies. The event, titled Galaxians Play for Charity is to hold at the Astro Soccer Pitch, Ikoyi in the city of Lagos on the 27th April, 2008.

Visit this website to learn more about the event:

http://werunthings.com/events/?p=3

Back from the dead…

Hmmmn. So, I've been away for a while. Thanks to a couple of unprecedented issues. The 4^th of April was my birthday; imagine all the possibilities of grooving that day (cakes and drinks happened at the office and I had visions of %'s after work; plus 'Kiki was supposed to sleep over for the first time; Oh! 'Kiki.), 'cos it was a Friday after a hectic week. Nah, I didn't groove. Came down with some bad ass cold, which turned into stress induced/laden fever. I struggled through it, and like an average Nigerian, went and got some pills from some Chemist dude to help battle the cold. By Sunday evening, I was just a few bicycle lapses away from death (according to the doctor).

So, with dying a big option; my big sister dragged me by the ears to the General Hospital Emergency Section on Sunday evening {Oh, yes…I found out big sisters are allowed to do that}. 8.30 pm and business was booming. The patients' wards were full and the corridors had to be utilized too. Please, understand this: it was the emergency section of Lagos Island General Hospital and I was scared shitless {so much blood, drips, catheters and some kain other contraptions everywhere}. For every second that passed, the idea, the presence and the VERY essence of 'God' just kept crossing my mind. I can't go into the details so I don't mess with some people's senses.

Ironically, while I was waiting for the Doctor to 'sort' me out, and thinking very hard about all the distractions in life and how important doctors are; I heard the very familiar tune from the television show: Who wants to be a millionaire. The sound was coming from a patients' ward upstairs, and it was coupled with the 'oohs' and 'aahs' that follow guesses and near misses of both contestants and viewers. Na wa o, I thought, well, as far as there is life…there is definitely hope. The doctor finally made it over to me and when I tried explaining my condition to him, he burst out laughing {I guess I was using too much blogger lingo}. He was sure I had to be admitted but the nurses couldn't find a bed for me. "Well, you'll have to take this injection and buy this drugs, ehn, pallie…and promise me you'll live. Haba! You are young nah". That is exactly how he put it. My sister was not pleased with that kinda talk but I could relate. I took my injections, bought the drugs from the pharmacy and I lived.

 

NB. Been working on a couple of stories that I could publish here. A friend saw them and thinks I can blow them into full blown movies. I'm still thinking. I have been silently involved on an interview/entertainment event thing with some of my friends. The maiden edition has been published and they interviewed Denrele Edun. You all know that woman-ish/girl-ish guy on teevee. Here's the link. http://www.werunthings.com

Memoirs: 2

I'm the breeze in your hair

The whispers in your ears

The honey, wine and cream on your lips

I'm the fingers on your body

The kiss on your ass dimples

Giving you goose bumps

And instant pimples

I'm d caress of your breasts

The lick on your nipples

I'm the traveler on your spine

The gold miner in your navel

Can't you see?

I'm the heat in your thighs

The tongue in your thong

I'm the gifted musician

Playing your pubic hairs like a harp

Perhaps, you're the choir

Singing sweet songs as I take you higher

-2005

 

Note: I wrote this one as a mental compensation for not getting love in return. You know, I let it play in my mind, like she was there; being loved and reciprocating. Well, while reading through my 'book', she found the write-up...loved it, found her name scrawled somewhere below and cried {still can't fathom why}. Priorities got switched after that: I wanted a relationship badly; she thought the sex was beautiful and all that mattered. I couldn't complain. Nirvana.

Memoirs: 1

Neglecting the scars of these street wars

The blood that flows from car windows

And tired mothers fast becoming widows

Missiles are stones and bottled up flaming furies emboldened by petrol and kerosene

I care no more

Even if the overflow carries me away with it

Though I can easily beat its tide

I know I won't even try

For what else could be real

When her promise of love was just a sham

Pssheeeeeeew!! !

June 03, 2003

 

NB. This is from a collection of notes {memoirs if you please} that I used to write to myself in the past; Inspired by the emotions that I felt at different moments of my life. I would pick up a pen and my sketch pad, switch off the lights and start doodling; the doodles would turn to random words and sometimes I manage to turn out coherent stuff. I hope this is one of them. I had a lazy-fun easter break, would/could have been 'great' but was marred by the death of a friend. May her gentle soul rest in perfect peace. Amen.

Cheers.

Love, eternally.

They were airborne, at last. He looked to his left; she was there, his beautiful wife of four years. They had dated for three years before getting married. He couldn't recall anything meaningful he had done without her. She was ashen with fear, totally speechless; must be the flying experience. She didn't expect it to be this sudden and definitely not this way, he had to make this move or he would have lost her to that playboy, Benjamin. They had promised they would be together till the death and he meant to keep his word; moreover she was carrying his baby, their first. He could not believe his ears when she told him she was leaving, 'I'm leaving with Ben, we are flying tonight' she said, and 'the baby is his, not yours'; what nonsense!. Me and Mr. Jones (by Amy Winehouse) plays on the radio, she starts screaming, and it wasn't about the music. He knew why, and smiles; my love, my life, he thinks to himself.

The metal barrier bends under the impact and the car bumps up a little higher into the sky upon hitting the concrete. Yes! smooth sailing, he could let go of the steering wheel now. She had stopped screaming and was staring at him with unspoken questions in her eyes. There was no time to explain anything, everything. His eyes offered the only explanations 'soon my love, you will understand, we'll be together forever'. They were going a lot slower now, altitude and gravity must have switched roles. He looks out the window and up into the sky, so pure, so sublime. Everything starts happening fast again, the plunge must have started. He reaches out to her and she just keeps staring ahead, her eyes fixed like they were made of glass. She looked so ethereal with her unmade hair caught in the wild breeze.

Breathing became hard; the machine went through random twists and wisps of air were all around them. The breeze was stronger and harsher now, no more a caress. The radio was still on, though he could barely hear what was playing; something that sounded like 'Lady' by D'angelo. How appropriate, he closes his eyes, sleep was creeping in and he couldn't allow himself to fall asleep. This was their moment. His eyes close again as they landed rather fast and uncontrolled, they went into the air for the second time with more twists and turns. He couldn't see her face anymore or hear what she was saying, a contorted metal part of the car was now blocking his view, his neck snapped as they hit the ground on the third bounce. Someone screamed somewhere in the background, he couldn't make out the words properly, more people were screaming now; then nothing; just the enveloping darkness.

 

 

Our father's past......Our present

Sinfully dark
Cleansingly bright
This night
we have come this far
at Ifa's bidding
The mouthpiece of the gods
With ambers' guide
we're not led astray
Under the moonlight's shine
we carelessly gyrate
to the rhythm that we create
We answer to the call of the drummer's best;
Chants and praises
Blood and wine
We appease the gods
Hope to please them all
Wives are taken
Duels are broken
Tonight we are high
in our ancestor's spirit
Every stop, yet another climax
This is how we pledge allegiance
to the binders of the earth
In happy subordination
We reinforce and pay
homage to our fathers' past
And to today...
Our present.

June, 2004

T.Y.P.I.C.A.L.L.Y. Yours

"Stop !, I say stop !, Immediately!

...I fit dash you the bus fare but make you stop, I wan come down!

Conductor! Tell your driver to stop oh! I no fit come die like chicken, my babies are too small to be orphaned. "

We were all cramped into a veryyyyyyy small bus, hugging the metal frames of the seats directly in front of us and silently praying for the bus driver to slow down. For where? The devil of a driver kept it strictly "Need for Speed (Underground)"-ISH. There was a maniacal smile on his face and he was saying something to the passengers in the front seat, something like "All the winch for this bus, dem winch bird go fly leave them today!". The bus conductor was hanging loosely (typically, with his shirt blowing in the wind like Superman's cape) to the edge of the bus laughing wildly,flirting with death (typically) and he probably thought the driver was funny 'cos he chortled and said "Oga, Carry Go!"... I laughed when I heard that and the guy beside me gave me a stare that would stop a raging bull; he said "You think it is funny? This madman is about to plunge us into the sea and you are laughing, I cannot blame you, you are a young man, no responsibilities and no children and wife waiting for you at home...". He ended it with a hiss (typically); I kept laughing. That day was no different from any other. In fact I think I'll title this post TYPICAL till something more creative strikes me.

I love drama! It's ingrained in me, I grew up as the last of ten children (four wives) and believe me there was a lot of drama and they mostly seemed so funny to me 'cos at the end the issues got resolved so easily only to reappear and keep the cycle going . I'm sure the family man in the bus that gave me the lecture was probably right about all he said to me that night...but it wasn't my fault that I found the whole scenario funny, in a kind of weird way, I could relate to the spirit, the connection the bus driver and his conductor had that made the suicide attempt so funny. Reflecting back on the bus flying trip, they were probably wrong in endangering our lives and being over confident about their driving prowess. I did major reflections on the incidence later that night (probably 'cos I wanted to make sure I was not particularly insane)...and I figured: "WTF, I wake up by 5 a.m., go to the mosque, take a bath and by 6.30 a.m. (max) I am at my desk in the office and close for the day by 8.30 pm on a lucky day. The highest point of the day would usually be trading links and arguing about the essence of Apple products with Onydchic (yes, the Onydchic)"

Damn it! I had a right to laugh, after a spent day, comedy/laughter is a mega blessing; I am one of the drones that make up the workforce of the emerging (?) new Nigeria. Businesses have become religions, Offices – temples and the workers are the varying groups of worshippers. We have welcomed this march towards a better future and are so grateful that we could find jobs that keep food on our tables and the shirts on our backs. BUT...Nna men, the situation na die!, we have traded our personal lives, very important sleep and laughter (most importantly) for the meagre wages. There should be courses/certifications on "Catching buses in the city of Lagos" but the real deal is the possibility of watching live drama or getting into a random argument/maybe quarrel (wey no concern you) on your way home. You can never predict what you get. If you want a bigger stage try the Molues (as soon as possible too 'cos i heard they'll soon be replaced by the BRT buses).

If : you've ever been harassed by the police, your pocket has been picked while hustling to get a bus space, insulted for no reason by area boys/Okada drivers/bus conductors, stuck in meaningless traffic, been duped by local Wash Wash/French Man/I came to see my brother in Lagos
but... type of fraudsters, lost your way due to mischievous "good Samaritans", found your way, discovered a new kind of joy, met someone interesting and nice (wink*), turned on the radio and fell in love with sound...etc. Don't fret, don't burst a blood vessel from the excitement, take your time, savour the moment, and smile 'cos no matter your reaction the bottom line is: This is Lagos!
(typically).

With all its clichés and oxymoron; explore it, blame it, experience all its frustrations, enjoy its possibilities, love it, hate it, whatever you do, find your own little niche where you can LAUGH out loud at the end of the day and let out the steam (and mean it). Why? You ask? 'cos you have to wake up by 4 or 5 a.m. the next day and be at work by......................................

Police and Thieves

Sorry folks, don't know much about stanzas etc...that poem {or whachamacallit} is sumthing i wrote on the road to Suleja from Benin City about 6 years ago. It marks a period when I thought I would be a huge crusader/artist/poet/whatever I decided to be. Had to post it 'cos I've been feeling so uninspired lately and I didn't want to post anything short of superb {don't know if it measures}. Added to the artists'/poetic block is a nagging feeling of nakedness. 

NAKEDNESS? yep!. Been reading a lotta people's blogs lately and and I decided not to comment on any of them. What constitutes these 
blogs sometimes is beauty wrapped in a glorious veil of creativity...BUT! what leaves them
short are the feedback/comments by readers. This whole thing to me is like a voyeur/exhibitionist relationship. We feed off each other. I mean a reader's comment could be stronger than the original
post itself. Folks just trod all over the web tagging melancholy along. Sincere comments are like water to a plant, but half assed
 'me self yarn' kinda comments just kill everything. 

Nuff said...gotta go home. Hope you enjoyed the Qest' Ion post. Drop a line.

QUEST 'ION

candles in the wind
little boats in storms and oceans
the hangman's noose
the desperate innocents
sounds to words
pen to paper
sticks to daggers
in anger we protest
this enslaving we reject
the police today
murder our tomorrow
and dem politicians
measure us intelligentsia
against the light of their loot
go away military! we said
we want a breed of our own
how sad when we realize
its still the same greed
in our type of garb
and still that's not the height of
our sorrow
we try,
we hustle and we bustle
but realize we still have to borrow,
our lives,
our seeds, our wives
their soul we nourish
with crumbs from a rich man's table
what can we do?
for silently we die
bearing our sorrows
'cos in diaspora
they say it's much poorer.

The good, the bad and the outright nasty (the sequel)

   

R I O T ! ! ! ? 

Scene Two:
The picture above is one of the pictures I took from the Seun Kuti event. It describes/captures Scene Two (from my previous gist). This scene happened rapidly, not particularly pre-meditated. Let me educate the undiscerning in the public about one of the most efficient ways/forms in which robberies and mugging take shape. Whenever you see a group of young men, arguing, acting shady and moving extremely fast towards you like a Comanche wheel, quickly duck out of their way. The process is simple, they argue and carry on a mock fight while they progress blazing fast towards you. They envelop their victim and strip him or her of every valuable item, of course with a dose or two of slaps and kicks {to leave you traumatic, I think}.

Let’s get back to my previous yarn. Scene one had successfully played itself out and we decided to enjoy the show, while pretending like what happened didn’t happen at all. So, Seun Kuti gets on stage and starts getting his groove on. Everyone expected a lot from him, drawing parallels against the memories of Fela Kuti and he seemed not to be bothered at all and did his own thing. To the right of the stage was the Sponsors’ corner, where the good people that made the show happen sat {most of ‘em were from ‘away’} and they seemed hell bent on showcasing all the gold jewellery in their ward robes {Eko for show}. This time around, we didn’t even notice any commotion, it seemed like a full mass gyration to Seun’s Music, but the security was beautiful and they couldn’t be bullshitted.

A pocket of bad guys had started a Comanche wheel, and were advancing towards The Sponsors’ corner but everyone knew the ruse. An attempt to stop them nearly turned to a full scale riot and shots had to be fired to calm the situation. This is what happened {amazingly fast too}, one of the mobile policemen stepped into the crowd and told them to back off. One of the Comanche’s stepped forward and asked the MOPOL (Mobile Policeman) to mind his business, tempers flared, balls grew and the MOPOL {having the leading edge of an AK47 and a police uniform} pushed the ‘brave one’ back two paces with the usual Zombie order “ get back into the crowd or I go fire you for here now now! ”. This must have obviously enraged “the brave one” as he took off his shirt and started shouting “God punish your father, na Island you dey o. If no be your uniform, look, I for kill you for here with my bare hands”. This scenario, to us, was a comedy, everyone started laughing, even the MOPOL’s colleague; a lot of Lagosians are known to bluff their way through life in this manner, but the MOPOL didn’t find it funny.

Imagine a common Area Boy, talking to him (a rugged agile) anyhow. He cocked the respectable AK47 and attempted to arrest the now over confident and comical “brave one” when a hand lashed out from the crowd and hit the MOPOL in the face. Rere run! Gbege set!; the second MOPOL instantly became alert and so did the crowd of Lagos Islanders standing close to them. E be like film for my eye, I saw them become one, a full scale guerrilla team. Punches, thrown bottles, arms flinging… R I O T!!! Seun started panicking on stage; even his stage manager (Eddy Remedy) looked shaken. Shots in the air, two police colored huge baseball bats started swinging at the crowd, and several shots fired into the air again, chairs were hurled, pure water sachets thrown, bottles getting thrown, Seun Kuti begging for peace on stage and the organizers making frantic efforts to calm the situation and then we finally had a breather from impending disaster.

Seun made it up to the crowd; he did his own version/rendition of the Zombie song. Lovely show, on the long run, everybody gyrated to the music like nothing happened. They didn’t even gist about the incidence. Such is the way of my people, welcome to Lagos Island.

The good, the bad and the outright nasty

I heard a woman screaming ole ! ole! (thief ! thief !) about 2 days ago. That is not an uncommon scene in a city like Lagos, but what caught my attention was the time the incidence occurred: at about 2.30 a.m. The first thing that came to my mind was 'what in heaven's name are you doing outside by this time on Lagos Island? '. It turned out that the dude was not trying to rob her, rather, he was trying to rape her while she slept outside in a makeshift bed beside a kiosk.Dare devil, like a bonafide Lagos Islander, she chased him through the maze of sharp twists and turns of the surrounding streets till he disappeared.

And then, she came back to give US, the weaklings that did not have the balls to come to her rescue, a piece of her mind, she rained abuses and insults up and down our street and the unfortunate co-joining streets. The sad little piece of her mind lasted for about 2 hours with very short breaks in between. Drama, you would say, but unfortunately, sad stories like this end pretty messed up sometimes. A lot can be deduced from this story, pointers that things are not sitting right in our society. A homeless woman getting raped in the middle of the night by an absolutely irresponsible night crawler.

Violence, rape, robbery lurk in these streets. A typical Lagos Islander laughs when he/she hear s of novel stories of 'living hard' by the likes of 50 cents, there is even a joke about Tupac Shakur (R.I.P.) that says if he (Tupac) was alive and living in Nigeria, a night at Alagbon or even Lions Building would have eroded his thuggishness. As a matter of fact he would be an 'ajebota' on Lagos Island.

December 25th 2007, I was given a welcome back scenario. Prior to that day I had spent about 6 years away from the Island, on a kinda on and off basis while schooling in Benin and a little more than 3 years working all over the eastern parts of the country. Seun Kuti {the look alike and talented son of late Afrobeat Legend : Fela Anikulapo Kuti } was billed to play to commemorate the eve of the Annual Oko Faaji Fanty Carnival. We all expected some kinda violence or another, but the two most outstanding occurrencies blew my mind. In all my life I had not seen/ witnessed a night like that before. Let me share the scenes with you:

Scene one:
Chilling with friends in their upstair apartment, we had chosen the spot cos' it overlooked the stage that had been set up for Seun Kuti's performance, we shared drinks, goodies and they brought out the left over fried meat from the Sallah Festival that just passed. Enuff people had come back from "away" and the air over Lagos Island was all electrical. Seun Kuti's backup singer/dancers had started testing the mics and the show was about to start, that's when it happened !. As if on cue, people started gravitating towards the stage in anticipation, during the rush for the best spots we noticed two outstretched hands reach for a friend's neck, just in view, below the balcony where we stood and before you could say ole ! the necklace and pendants were gone. The owner of the neck/necklace and pendants didn't even know and if we were not staring in his direction, trying to get his attention, we would not have known. It took him about a minute to realise his piece had gone from his neck.

To be sincere, that whole act did not surprise me, not at all. I was born on Lagos Island, and I had seen worse shit. What I wasn't ready for is what followed next. As my friend noticed the necklace had gone, he started harrassing, slapping and searching everyone close to where he stood. Immediately, without any form of communication between them, the criminal's friends shielded him while he slipped the necklace and pendants into his mouth. Since we saw everything , we started shouting from our vantage point for the search team to frisk the criminal. Men ! NA SO THE GUY SWALLOW THE NECKLACE AND THE PENDANTS DEM O ! {the criminal swallowed the necklace and pendants}. I had heard gists of this kinda prowess, but meeeeeeeen... what followed was scary . He was dragged, beaten, his clothes were torn and this guy denied his involvement. Thank God for Prison Break, some of us suggested giving him orange juice and laxatives.That was when he started begging that he'll give us the necklace and pendants but we should make it a private affair, that after all he was just a hustler,trying to make a living. We got the necklace and pendants back and a reprisal attack followed about 2 hours into the show {...just to let us know we can't be spoiling business}. Two of my friends were rushed to a nearby clinic for treatment from broken bottle cuts.


To be continued...

The Chrysalis

I live in hell, NO, seriously I do live in hell.
I didn't just wake up, pack my bags and decide to live there though. I was born bred {bread}, buttered, battered and waiting for the next wave of chain {change} reactions. Since I am not given to self pity then I won't or rather I can't blame my parents. It wasn't always like this.

You see, Lagos Island {Marina, Olowogbowo, isale Eko, Adeniji, Onola, Campus, Oju-ina etc etc} was the bubbly commercial nerve center of the state, the gravitation towards the state of
eternal inferno has always been there, and kinda gradual, but like a conspiracy, we all ignored it.
We could not be bothered, as far as we had our parties, our guinea jacquards, our brochades and
when about 16 people could inhabit a one room apartment and share communal toilets.
What could we care?

If this was to be a musical piece, the theme would be rape, murder, torture, gun running,
assasination, blasphemy, paedophilia, robbery, petty stealing and I'll leave the rest to your
imagination. You can't ask a friend to come visit, ehn! lai, lai would be the response.
A friend even compared the Lagos Island situation to a scene in the movie
'The good, the bad, the ugly'. If you've seen that movie, project your mind to that scene where
the bad dude was caught and they start reading out his endless atrocities at his execution...bottom line was, the dude's sins were too many to mention that they summed it up with 'all the crimes under the sun'. That's the situation in my part of the world.

Don't get me wrong, I am not proud of the situation and would help reverse it if that can be achieved. What I'm going to be doing on this blog for the next couple of days or weeks or months is outline/showcase {right word?} what has become the twisted culture of the infamous Lagos Island. Whenever I can, I will provide still shots to butress my point. So, take my hand {come on, don't be scared} and see my part of the world, with your own eyes. I'm not asking you to be the judge, it's not a lab/clinical situation. Arm chair scholars stay out of this; you ruin everything.
This is the real deal, a people, a community, a race in distress.
So why don't you take a walk with me...

Hey, I got a blog space

Happy New year everybody...i finally decided to start blogging.I still can't figure out the compulsion to just keep writing stuff (I guess it keeps a lotta people from blabbing on and on)...well, I have been getting loose tongued these days and eroding my famous 'cool' exterior.
I hope (sincerely) that I turn out good contents though...Keep your fingers crossed...and re-visit my blog.
Thanks for stopping by.
Ciao