Standing in line at the ticket sales point of aero contractors in MM2, amidst the constant hum, buzz and chatter prevalent in this environment, I overhear fragments of a conversation...the reasonably appreciable voice of a female marketing agent trying to sell some sort of product or service to an adult male, who just happened to have the gruffest of grunts as voice and didn't sound like a nice or easy to deal with person at all.
"Sir, please let me just show you some of our..."
"I do not have that kind of time...My business determines my location at any time."
"Where do you have...?" The airport noises made it difficult to hear as much as I would have loved to, especially the saleswoman’s pitch…the scene had an odd ring about it; like a madly driven, love-stricken woman trying to win the attentions of a man. For a moment, I’d gone off-beat, the gruff voice broke me out of the reverie.
"Dubai, UK, America, France, Germany, India, China..." Seemingly showboating now.
"Sir, if we were to give you seven days at any location of your choice where would that be? We have facilities in Asia, Europe..."
"I have told you before; business determines my location at any time."
"Sir, where are you based, I can..." At this point, the marketer is rather rudely and abruptly cut-off by the increasingly impatient and totally unpleasant gruff voice.
"Look young lady, I am a very busy man; you have my card...call me to find out where I am." With that and a quick shuffling of feet, this signalled the end to a conversation even I found as disturbing and discomfiting as perhaps the lady did.
At this juncture, I couldn’t help but turn around to catch a glimpse of the actors.
The ghoul of a man (and I mean it literally), clad in a white, simply cut native attire; neck, wrists and fingers, bejewelled extravagantly, carrying a laptop bag and an array of handheld electronic devices that make SLOT look like an antique shop; just about dragged his considerable mass over to one of the ticketing cubicles of another air carrier and proceeded to deliver a harangue to the unfortunate occupant.
The marketer, a pretty, black, petite lady spotting jeans and a brown tee-shirt with the insignia of some kind of travel agency, tourism group or leisure resort stood alone a feet or two behind me. She was bent over a file folder, rapidly scribbling away on a notepad, more in a bid to avoid embarrassing stares than anything else I suspected. She caught my stare and just for an instant I can sense a bit of dejection and frustration in her eyes. I smile and offer what I hoped to be an assuring nod. She smiles back and returns to her jotting.
It’s crazy…the things we have to go through, all the B.S we have to take, dues we have to pay just to make this money!
Showing posts with label Society. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Society. Show all posts
January 12, 2012
November 24, 2011
Back to work again...
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!
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 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!?
October 04, 2011
Blame it on the white man...always!
Have you noticed that almost every single social commentary, analysis, discussion or debate about some of the perceived ills or unconventional behavior observed is most likely to culminate in the blame or reason being attributed, in no small measure, to the influence of foreign culture or what is popularly referred to as ‘western civilization’ into the fabrics of our society?
From same-sex amorous relationships to abortion, unorthodox religious practices to dress modes, crime, morals and ethics…it is fast becoming norm to hear that so and so was never like this until the colonial masters came, usurped our lands and totally redefined laws and customs of our forefathers. Frankly, I suspect even some primary school toddlers must be tired of hearing this same lame excuse over and over again.
So I think to myself…if we are truly off the belief that there is nothing utterly novel under the sun and that everything that we see or can think of now has been previously done or conceived, albeit not exactly, by someone else in the past; how and why then do we come to the conclusion that some of this controversial issues, ills or anomalies were never present in our society until the White man came…!!?
Hmmm...serious food for thought, don’t you reckon?
From same-sex amorous relationships to abortion, unorthodox religious practices to dress modes, crime, morals and ethics…it is fast becoming norm to hear that so and so was never like this until the colonial masters came, usurped our lands and totally redefined laws and customs of our forefathers. Frankly, I suspect even some primary school toddlers must be tired of hearing this same lame excuse over and over again.
So I think to myself…if we are truly off the belief that there is nothing utterly novel under the sun and that everything that we see or can think of now has been previously done or conceived, albeit not exactly, by someone else in the past; how and why then do we come to the conclusion that some of this controversial issues, ills or anomalies were never present in our society until the White man came…!!?
Hmmm...serious food for thought, don’t you reckon?
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