After an absolutely torrid five week hiatus of going from hospital to hospital for
various health reasons, I am due to return back to work. Believe me, you do not want to
work where I do, things can get really treacherous in many unimaginable ways and without warning too.
The night before, am curled in a nice hotel bed somewhere deep in the heart of Old Warri, I call
my colleague and room-mate to confirm when he was due to return to work, good company is very necessary to keep your head above the water here and sometimes, this could be literal. He told me
he wasn't going to be returning as scheduled because he was planning for his
marriage...and here folks begins my torment!
Ok...so Ifayemi is getting married; how is that my headache!!?
I get to the office the next morning at the usual 'ungodly' hour of 0415hrs, while Odogbolu is still cozily wrapped up in sweet slumber, Ekulobia is still as dark as hell is hot and Hadejia, don't even mention...'life' generally starts to come to life around 1000hrs on a 'normal' day there. The stately, always jolly Engineering Manager, Durwood Morris walks in ten minutes later stops himself just short of my ajar door and quizzes "is that Douglas in there?" I am usually the only one person who ever beats him to the office, almost the only one person permitted to get to the offices ahead of him - if
it'd been someone else, I could just picture the unfortunate fellow cuffed, gagged and
being hauled away by security.
He opens the door and walks, "how are you doing young man...welcome back!" (all this in yankee fo'ne - he is African-American). "You were away for quite sometime son...what's up!?" Then suddenly he reaches out and grabs my left hand and visually scans the fingers, no doubts looking for a ring. Lets out a long, heavy sigh, "C'mon man...you and Funsho are the only ones left on this block." Funsho is one of the Document Control folks.
"Ok, seriously. You do like women, don't you...!?" He asks with a mischievous grin.
Well, what could I say to the old man. I just stood there, stupid smile on my face and made some very incoherent, barely discernible sounds. The joke was on me, no escape route. He completes his rather boisterous greetings and welcomes then ambles on to his office which is just a door
away from mine.
As if that is not enough harrasment for one morning, later I go to attend to a user's PC issues and the next thing that escapes his lips after the fairly routine hailings like "good morning, welcome...when did you come back...how your people!?" is "Oge dey marry tomorrow oh, dey there dey form fine boi...shebi he met you here on this project!?"
Soon enough the mist gets clearer but not my mounting mixture of shame, defiance, confusion and ultimately frustration simmering in my head. Minutes later, I walk past the notice board in one of the hallways and see the cause of all this early morning furore...four wedding I.Vs tacked to the board announcing various weddings coming up within a short span of time; all guys known to me one way or another. I look up and see one of the QC Piping Inspectors, Maduka strolling towards my direction, mischief written all over his ill-fitted face...no prize for guessing what is coming up next.
Shuuoo, make una free me nah!
November 24, 2011
November 21, 2011
The 'below average' Nigerian Child
There is a very popular but quite ancient, rustic bicycle repair/rental shop in a street around the Works/By-pass bus-stop area, in the general vicinity of Oyemekun, Akure. It seems to be the only one of its kind for miles because in just a little under one year, I have scoured the nooks of the town and not heard off or seen another. Either this or the owner of this particular establishment is so darn good, competitors aren't worth consideration.
After school hours, the kids in the neighborhood flock here to rent and ride bicycles, of course, for a token fee. Some of them still clad in their school uniforms, bare-feet, covered from head to toe in red dust, scars, bruises and sores all over their bodies...but they ride seemingly happily till late into the evening until you begin to question if they really have homes and families to return to.
This neighbourhood is far from the sunniest you will find in the sunshine state, I dare say not the very worst the city or Naija as a whole can offer but certainly bad enough to provide an apt enough illustration of the state ‘sorry’.
Around here, one is more prone to hear very frightening threats and verbal abuse like (excuse my attempt at Yoruba writing) oti ku leni, ma gba ori e or tin ba fun e igba'ju hurled at the children at such a rate that strangers unfamiliar with the native tongue would have little choice but to mistake them for compliments.
The environment is filthy and unkempt; some of the buildings, short of falling apart any minute, are barely fit for occupation and so crammed together there is barely room to stretch... and it doesn't take a certification in HSE to spot scores of hazards visible at every rise and fall in the extremely rough, bumpy patch of the street road just waiting to become recordable incidents or worse, fatality.
In the face of this apparent desolation, to see the children's happy carefree laughter as they ride back and forth, is a cheery sight but more disheartening are the many disturbing questions that accompany the cheer...what if they get hurt? who is watching over them and tending to their needs? Where are their parents or guardians? Do they not see the dangers that this little ones are being exposed to? Inwardly, I shudder because I know something unpleasant is going to happen someday (probably already has) and will recur...but who seems to care!? With all the fear, uncertainty and insecurity that surround them, I cannot help but dread for the present and future health/safety of these children!
I am also very saddened by the fact that I did or can do little to improve their lot...as a slogan in my workplace goes with regards to unsafe or hazardous conditions, "you see it, you own it." I didn't particularly own this situation or even try to and am not proud of that.
As at the time I was drafting this, one of 'em was peering over my shoulder at my Blackberry phone, sheer wonderment in his curious eyes...I wonder if he could tell I was writing about them!?
After school hours, the kids in the neighborhood flock here to rent and ride bicycles, of course, for a token fee. Some of them still clad in their school uniforms, bare-feet, covered from head to toe in red dust, scars, bruises and sores all over their bodies...but they ride seemingly happily till late into the evening until you begin to question if they really have homes and families to return to.
This neighbourhood is far from the sunniest you will find in the sunshine state, I dare say not the very worst the city or Naija as a whole can offer but certainly bad enough to provide an apt enough illustration of the state ‘sorry’.
Around here, one is more prone to hear very frightening threats and verbal abuse like (excuse my attempt at Yoruba writing) oti ku leni, ma gba ori e or tin ba fun e igba'ju hurled at the children at such a rate that strangers unfamiliar with the native tongue would have little choice but to mistake them for compliments.
The environment is filthy and unkempt; some of the buildings, short of falling apart any minute, are barely fit for occupation and so crammed together there is barely room to stretch... and it doesn't take a certification in HSE to spot scores of hazards visible at every rise and fall in the extremely rough, bumpy patch of the street road just waiting to become recordable incidents or worse, fatality.
In the face of this apparent desolation, to see the children's happy carefree laughter as they ride back and forth, is a cheery sight but more disheartening are the many disturbing questions that accompany the cheer...what if they get hurt? who is watching over them and tending to their needs? Where are their parents or guardians? Do they not see the dangers that this little ones are being exposed to? Inwardly, I shudder because I know something unpleasant is going to happen someday (probably already has) and will recur...but who seems to care!? With all the fear, uncertainty and insecurity that surround them, I cannot help but dread for the present and future health/safety of these children!
I am also very saddened by the fact that I did or can do little to improve their lot...as a slogan in my workplace goes with regards to unsafe or hazardous conditions, "you see it, you own it." I didn't particularly own this situation or even try to and am not proud of that.
As at the time I was drafting this, one of 'em was peering over my shoulder at my Blackberry phone, sheer wonderment in his curious eyes...I wonder if he could tell I was writing about them!?
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