Exactly three years to the day, I opened a blogger account and designed my first blog(http://mypoetrycrib.blogspot.com). This one you're reading is its sister that was borne much later.
Below is the poem that kicked off my poetic expedition. Reading it now still gives me goose-bumps all over again. It is titled "forever yours", dedicated to one woman I know not.
"You moved slowly,
Patiently watching and waiting,
Never rushing,
never insisting,
Held my hands and walked by my side,
True commitment in every step,
A pillar of strength at bleary times,
Inspiration in the forlorn days,
Extra shoulders to carry life’s wonted burdens,
The pool that dammed my every tear…
That’s why, I’m forever yours…"
Sadly, three years on and I am still searching for that nameless, blameless, faceless woman who was the source inspiration for this piece... I sincerely hope I do not have to wait another three or more!
July 19, 2012
June 29, 2012
Finally, I understand...
How many times have we said “I understand how you feel” to someone who is going through some torrid trying
times in their lives without fully grasping the person’s plight. So often we assume we can identify with other
people’s pain, even without walking as much
as a meter in their shoes, talk less of a mile. Oh, how so wrong we are!
About half a year ago, I was
tentatively diagnosed of having high Intraocular Pressure (IOP) – which basically means the pressure inside my eyes is
higher than normal.
Yesterday, I got substantive
confirmation that I had, what is known in the realm of ocular medicine as, “the silent thief of sight” and it has been playing on my mind like a broken
record player ever-since.
You know how it is when you are oblivious
to a cut or wound on some part of your body, suddenly you notice it and that’s when it starts to sting, when all the while it didn’t!!!? Exactly how I feel now, but much more!
Naturally, ever since I discovered I had
bad eye-sight, I’ve always been
protective of my eyes. Nothing provokes me to action more than someone making a
move towards that region no matter how innocuous. My response is usually swift,
instinctive and sometimes unsavoury to the recipient. After hearing this news,
I am even more conscious, sensitive about my eyes than ever before.
At the present, there’s an irremovable nagging fear in my mind; every little
twitch or itch is greeted with grave concern. Every five minutes I am looking
in the mirror. I despair at the thought that one day; I will wake up to pitch
blackness (or whiteness) and so it’d be
till my last breath.
Now, I gaze at everything I see with
re-invigorated reverence as would a new-born whose eyes have just been opened
to the marvels of this world. I take it all in, sumptuously guttling all the
sights around me – the straight,
crooked, tiny, grandiose, pure, tainted, detailed, sketchy, beautiful, ugly… I devour them as would a hungry monster. These ailing
eyes committing all to memory as much as I possibly can for all I know, there
might yet come a time when the impressions in my head will be all there is left
to see beneath the imposing sheet of cecity.
Maybe I now understand how it feels to be living on
the edge… fearing the unknown, the unseen. So just maybe; when
I say, “I understand how you feel”, I
really do!
April 19, 2012
T.A.S.K and Me…
We spent a short period together but somehow still spoke to great depths or so it seemed. I thought we had struck a chord; reached an understanding, familiarity of the rare breed, far beyond mere acquaintanceship and independent of time. I saw in her a difference; different, removed from the rest. An individual far more ambitious than the narrow minded females floating about, who seemed so intent on hooking a life-partner so much that little else mattered.
She spoke of her aspirations, passion and drive; where, other than there, she would rather have preferred to be and listening to her was refreshingly stirring, heart-warming even. She spoke as though she’d known me for decades; no inhibitions, no holds barred, no demands of reciprocation and it felt divine to listen without being made to feel guilt as though I was hoarding.
She said above all, more than anything else this world could offer, what she wanted the most was love - pure, true and unbridled. Finally, she said she was satisfied; not completely happy and fulfilled but sufficiently gratified enough not to be consumed by the race to beat the biological clock. My heart fluttered.
When she looked at me, her eyes seemed to beckon and in my heart I harboured hope, desire of a future together. I thought I had finally found a real woman. One patient enough to work and wait for what she wanted, yearning for the best yet making the most of her life in its absence. In that instant, I dared to dream; dared even to think that she loved me as much as I did her. For there were many who desired her attention, who would give arm and limb to be her man but she turned my way with rapt admiration. How wrong I was.
Looking back now, I cannot help but feel crestfallen. It dawns that she probably never really shared her true self, true feelings or story. Perhaps, I was just a means to an end, the proverbial “Guinea Pig”…just one in a long line of “eligibles”; drawn from the hat and eliminated when not deemed viable an option to meet that dreaded deadline only a woman at cusp of her prime knows too well. I will never know for sure but I am left with the feeling of being fed dirt in return for handing out chocolate-coated candy bars.
It is possible I come to this conclusion in ire, hence sound a tad unfair. Maybe like in the fairy-tales and happy-ending romance flicks, cupid did in fact manage to find her the true love she yearned for, a very worthy suitor - her very own 'Knight in shining armour' - and the feeling of love and respect between them is mutual. After all, I am only on the outside looking in, but from where I stand, it is so extremely hard to discard objectivity and go along with the heart's fancy inclinations. The photo of she and her man together didn’t look very good; I could not see the sun, her smile or love’s warmth, I only sensed convenience and it gnawed at heart every time I saw it…that guy there should be me!
She spoke of her aspirations, passion and drive; where, other than there, she would rather have preferred to be and listening to her was refreshingly stirring, heart-warming even. She spoke as though she’d known me for decades; no inhibitions, no holds barred, no demands of reciprocation and it felt divine to listen without being made to feel guilt as though I was hoarding.
She said above all, more than anything else this world could offer, what she wanted the most was love - pure, true and unbridled. Finally, she said she was satisfied; not completely happy and fulfilled but sufficiently gratified enough not to be consumed by the race to beat the biological clock. My heart fluttered.
When she looked at me, her eyes seemed to beckon and in my heart I harboured hope, desire of a future together. I thought I had finally found a real woman. One patient enough to work and wait for what she wanted, yearning for the best yet making the most of her life in its absence. In that instant, I dared to dream; dared even to think that she loved me as much as I did her. For there were many who desired her attention, who would give arm and limb to be her man but she turned my way with rapt admiration. How wrong I was.
Looking back now, I cannot help but feel crestfallen. It dawns that she probably never really shared her true self, true feelings or story. Perhaps, I was just a means to an end, the proverbial “Guinea Pig”…just one in a long line of “eligibles”; drawn from the hat and eliminated when not deemed viable an option to meet that dreaded deadline only a woman at cusp of her prime knows too well. I will never know for sure but I am left with the feeling of being fed dirt in return for handing out chocolate-coated candy bars.
It is possible I come to this conclusion in ire, hence sound a tad unfair. Maybe like in the fairy-tales and happy-ending romance flicks, cupid did in fact manage to find her the true love she yearned for, a very worthy suitor - her very own 'Knight in shining armour' - and the feeling of love and respect between them is mutual. After all, I am only on the outside looking in, but from where I stand, it is so extremely hard to discard objectivity and go along with the heart's fancy inclinations. The photo of she and her man together didn’t look very good; I could not see the sun, her smile or love’s warmth, I only sensed convenience and it gnawed at heart every time I saw it…that guy there should be me!
February 02, 2012
Love strikes again...
It is said to be a proven fact that lightening doesn't strike twice in the same place...but what if 'place' was a person and 'lightening', heartbreak; surely it can strike as many times as possible any given where. Love has struck again and I find myself on the wrong end of the blow.
So again, it is the same sad story. Again, it is explicable but yet defies logic...again question marks all round me...again!This time its eerie, sometimes even bordering on the edges of comic...but I can't laugh, instead a 'hard' tear rolls down my cheek.
Besides the barest hints of regret, its just numbness...nothing but a vast empty hollow with the words echoing up and down, caught in pendulum of never ending reverberation. There is no inquest this time...there is no need for one; my hands are not soiled but they are just not deemed firm enough - it's my gift, also my curse - innocence unbelievably sincere that can only be seen as guilt in disguise!
For what it is worth, I still live to love another day...so, with this new scar and fresh purple heart, I trudge on in good faith, praying that tomorrow holds better for me and you!
So again, it is the same sad story. Again, it is explicable but yet defies logic...again question marks all round me...again!This time its eerie, sometimes even bordering on the edges of comic...but I can't laugh, instead a 'hard' tear rolls down my cheek.
Besides the barest hints of regret, its just numbness...nothing but a vast empty hollow with the words echoing up and down, caught in pendulum of never ending reverberation. There is no inquest this time...there is no need for one; my hands are not soiled but they are just not deemed firm enough - it's my gift, also my curse - innocence unbelievably sincere that can only be seen as guilt in disguise!
For what it is worth, I still live to love another day...so, with this new scar and fresh purple heart, I trudge on in good faith, praying that tomorrow holds better for me and you!
January 29, 2012
Stranger on my FB page...
Fair lady, wherein hath thou materialized from and what is it you seek of me, I cannot help but wonder aloud! I did not recognize the face but accepted the 'request' all the same. Now I had a bit more access to whatever information she had put on her profile.
First, I browse through her photos, the majority of them taken while she is alone and perched, a tad uncomfortably, in front of an archaic-looking IBM notebook, in what appears to be a small-scale business office of some sorts.She was far from drop-dead gorgeous but the long fluffy hair that ran all the way down to her shoulders, I suspect did a lot to cover any flaws and enhance the finer features of the face, making it passably attractive. From the sitting position, I can tell
her figure is just about right, nothing like Beyonce but enough to receive its fair share of considerable ogling from guys wherever she goes.
Onwards I move, onto the brief 'bio' - did not find much there to suggest the kind of personality I was dealing with. At best just the bland, regular everyday kind of girl.
Undeterred, I plow on looking for a 'chink', anything that would throw some light on the identity and (or) intentions of this young lady who has somehow materialized out of the blue and thrust herself unceremoniously into my 'cyber-life".
Still bemused, I take my eyes off the page and mentally scroll through my head for any clues to remind me if I may have met this person somewhere in the course of my daily sojourns but none is forthcoming. Thankfully I have the smallest imagineable memory bank on such matters, this due to the fact that I don't get to meet that many females and hardly make any impression of note on the very few I do meet. So mercifully, this isn't a particularly tedious task. Search result returns a null.
So back to the computer screen I turn, her profile gives her location as Abuja...hmmm Abuja, I've only ever been there once in my entire life and in the three days spent, I only spoke to guys - cab drivers and office workers. Jev comes to mind, she could be somehow related to Jev...dude resides in ABJ not so!? So I check again for any mutual relationships...no, not Jev but Ehis. Now this is super odd. Ehis doesn't know anywhere beyond the Warri-Benin express road. Not that he can't know or have folks in ABJ, but trying to imagine that guy anywhere else but the Edo-Delta axis is like taking a fish out of water...I can just see him in a fit gasping for breath!
All options exhausted, I see she is available on chat and send her a brief, chirpy message to try establish some form of camaraderie and get none in reply. After several tries and flustering hours of watching her chat status change from 'online' to 'offline' and back again like batting eyelids, I throw in the towel for the day.
Invariably the curiosity wanes with time like old make-up...and she becomes another 'friend', albeit familiar only on the pages of FB!
First, I browse through her photos, the majority of them taken while she is alone and perched, a tad uncomfortably, in front of an archaic-looking IBM notebook, in what appears to be a small-scale business office of some sorts.She was far from drop-dead gorgeous but the long fluffy hair that ran all the way down to her shoulders, I suspect did a lot to cover any flaws and enhance the finer features of the face, making it passably attractive. From the sitting position, I can tell
her figure is just about right, nothing like Beyonce but enough to receive its fair share of considerable ogling from guys wherever she goes.
Onwards I move, onto the brief 'bio' - did not find much there to suggest the kind of personality I was dealing with. At best just the bland, regular everyday kind of girl.
Undeterred, I plow on looking for a 'chink', anything that would throw some light on the identity and (or) intentions of this young lady who has somehow materialized out of the blue and thrust herself unceremoniously into my 'cyber-life".
Still bemused, I take my eyes off the page and mentally scroll through my head for any clues to remind me if I may have met this person somewhere in the course of my daily sojourns but none is forthcoming. Thankfully I have the smallest imagineable memory bank on such matters, this due to the fact that I don't get to meet that many females and hardly make any impression of note on the very few I do meet. So mercifully, this isn't a particularly tedious task. Search result returns a null.
So back to the computer screen I turn, her profile gives her location as Abuja...hmmm Abuja, I've only ever been there once in my entire life and in the three days spent, I only spoke to guys - cab drivers and office workers. Jev comes to mind, she could be somehow related to Jev...dude resides in ABJ not so!? So I check again for any mutual relationships...no, not Jev but Ehis. Now this is super odd. Ehis doesn't know anywhere beyond the Warri-Benin express road. Not that he can't know or have folks in ABJ, but trying to imagine that guy anywhere else but the Edo-Delta axis is like taking a fish out of water...I can just see him in a fit gasping for breath!
All options exhausted, I see she is available on chat and send her a brief, chirpy message to try establish some form of camaraderie and get none in reply. After several tries and flustering hours of watching her chat status change from 'online' to 'offline' and back again like batting eyelids, I throw in the towel for the day.
Invariably the curiosity wanes with time like old make-up...and she becomes another 'friend', albeit familiar only on the pages of FB!
January 12, 2012
In the everyday hustle...
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!
"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!
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?
October 03, 2011
Message to my grieving heart...
Sometimes when the options in front of you have dwindled to nothingness, there's not an awful lot a man can do but save face and try bite the dust with some grace. No matter how excruciating, you have to face the music...swallow the bitter pill, take out the sore tooth without the cushion of analgesics...and yes, if your feelings are true enough and the pain runs deeper than the superficial, deep enough it touches the very core of your heart; find a corner where you can lay your head, along with it your pride and cry!
Suddenly everything is enshrouded in uncertainty. She doesn't call, text or ping you anymore...and appears to be drifting out of your life, out of your world. She avoids your company and is reluctant to speak, listen or respond to your presence. In fact, all general forms of acknowledgement lessen by the day, as though you do not exist and if you did, you simply did not matter anymore, at least not in her world. These, my friend, are the signs that tell your time is nigh!
You may desperately want to hold on - cling on to straws, as would any drowning being. Fight that sinking feeling in your gut with every bit of strength your ol' battered heart can muster. Pray, save your breathe son...not all battles are to be fought, not all wars are meant to be won.
My tuppence, take the cue, hit the road and live to fight another day.
Beware of the old enemy - that which brings momentary calm, a false sense of relief, hope, sometimes even promise...it usually comes in the form of a smile, "hello", some brief obscure conversation or kind gesture, borne more out of courtesy than feelings once held...they'll set your pulse racing again, offering the faint impression of a glimmer of hope. Tricks, mirages, illusions thats all they are - devises that will pull you back, sink you further into the dark pits of depression just at the moments when you are about to find your feet; about to strengthen your resolve, at the very verge of the initial steps onto the path of recovery.
Make not the mistake to think them a change in your fortunes...fall not into the trap of having your hopes unduly raised for soon enough they will be dashed when the uncertainty returns and once again, your heart is embroiled in inexplicable turmoil, which is only just prelude to a heart-shattering finale. See them only for what they are - attempts to thrust that dagger in deeper, so when the time comes to remove, it hurts the more and the wound takes even longer to heal.
Many will advice you to hang on in there...they'll tell you that persistence eventually pays. But persistence pays in ONE of TWO ways only; and it just might not be the fee you wanted.
Take it from an old, seasoned gambling hand. Hard as it is to accept, there is no use hanging around where you are not wanted whilst a vast world is out there for you to explore.
Chalk it as loss...chin up...move on!
Suddenly everything is enshrouded in uncertainty. She doesn't call, text or ping you anymore...and appears to be drifting out of your life, out of your world. She avoids your company and is reluctant to speak, listen or respond to your presence. In fact, all general forms of acknowledgement lessen by the day, as though you do not exist and if you did, you simply did not matter anymore, at least not in her world. These, my friend, are the signs that tell your time is nigh!
You may desperately want to hold on - cling on to straws, as would any drowning being. Fight that sinking feeling in your gut with every bit of strength your ol' battered heart can muster. Pray, save your breathe son...not all battles are to be fought, not all wars are meant to be won.
My tuppence, take the cue, hit the road and live to fight another day.
Beware of the old enemy - that which brings momentary calm, a false sense of relief, hope, sometimes even promise...it usually comes in the form of a smile, "hello", some brief obscure conversation or kind gesture, borne more out of courtesy than feelings once held...they'll set your pulse racing again, offering the faint impression of a glimmer of hope. Tricks, mirages, illusions thats all they are - devises that will pull you back, sink you further into the dark pits of depression just at the moments when you are about to find your feet; about to strengthen your resolve, at the very verge of the initial steps onto the path of recovery.
Make not the mistake to think them a change in your fortunes...fall not into the trap of having your hopes unduly raised for soon enough they will be dashed when the uncertainty returns and once again, your heart is embroiled in inexplicable turmoil, which is only just prelude to a heart-shattering finale. See them only for what they are - attempts to thrust that dagger in deeper, so when the time comes to remove, it hurts the more and the wound takes even longer to heal.
Many will advice you to hang on in there...they'll tell you that persistence eventually pays. But persistence pays in ONE of TWO ways only; and it just might not be the fee you wanted.
Take it from an old, seasoned gambling hand. Hard as it is to accept, there is no use hanging around where you are not wanted whilst a vast world is out there for you to explore.
Chalk it as loss...chin up...move on!
September 16, 2011
One moment in time...
Seems eons now, the evening I will never forget...that magic moment, when we locked in embrace for an ostensive eternity. A beautiful quiet settled in and around us. Complete repose, immersed in the turbulence of the world outside the window yet somehow far removed from it.
The feel of your lips on my cheek, the gentle pressure of your fingernails digging into the flesh at the nape of my neck, foreheads fused almost as one - siamese - the union sweet, pure, incontrovertible.
We swayed slowly to a rhythm only our hearts could play, one only our hearts heard.
How I long to re-live it all again...your fragrance filling my nostrils, lush strands of your hair caressing face, our bodies merged in sync, bliss, perfect harmony.
In that instant, that one moment in time...I knew, how it felt to love and be loved. If ever I am to have this experience again, share this moment with someone for a lifetime, it'd be with no one else but you!
September 06, 2011
First taste of a heartbreak...
It happened shortly before the end of my industrial attachment (I.T) year in 2001. I was working with the Info Tech unit of one of the major O&G marketing firms on Marina, Lagos Island - not that I knew or cared then how massive the company was,I was more intent on getting the year done and dusted off my records. The shock of being thrust straight into the 'working class' terrain from academics without so much of a warning was so immense, that every working day morning was like a new daze from a Mike Tyson pummel. Plus the hoarders paid less than peanuts, yet worked me off more than they did their regulars...I did practically all the 'personal jobs' for the department added to the 'normal official' work - very infuriating!
Amidst this mist, I met her - a very welcome twist in what was becoming quite a dishearteningly, uncomfortable period in my life at the time. How we met and hit it off, is still very much a mystery to me. I thought the chemistry was excitingly spontaneous and mutual - or was it just my imagination, it all seemed relatively crystal clear but now, given the events that transpired and how much water's gone under the bridge, I just can't say for sure.
All I can recall now is the thrill I felt back then. An elation that stemmed from the mere thought that, after several botched attempts, at last, some dame considered me worthy of attention - yes, I was that pathetic!
I cannot specifically remember words or actions but when I saw her walking down the neighboring street one evening while returning from the drudgery some people chose to call a job and a certain warmth spread through me, I just knew I had found a cause worthy of chase. Even though I could only see her outline in the distance, I had a very strong conviction - I wanted nothing more than to know this stranger, simple passing acquaintance or more. The assured elegance of her walk, the poise, posture, the tall dark imposing figure caught my eye and held me en-tranced till I could envision nothing else. I changed course and followed her for a bit without even knowing I had, its like my feet just developed their own mind. I got close but never could quite build up the nerve for an approach - yes again, I was that pathetic!
In the ensuing days, I snooped around got some of background info from pals in the hood; you know, the basics... name, address, school, her routine movements and any other snippet of info that would generally help my cause. For a couple of weeks, I tried without much success to keep tabs on her. In fact, I had made it a point to alight from the bus five bus stops from my regular terminus and walk all the way down, passing in front of her house just to see if I could make any contact. I also planned all my trips to, one way or another, to include the road that was directly in front of her house, not caring if it made it any harder for me than it should otherwise have been.
Then fortune laughed (smiled would be a gross understatement) on me. I was walking back home through her street from work earlier than usual and there she was, within my touching distance literally, buying kerosene at the provision stall close to her house; even though I hadn't planned or readied myself, I took the chance, mustered all the courage I could find and walked up to her there and then. Whatever it was that transpired between us there is as blurry as a foggy day. The only thing I can only just about vaguely recall my not so assured "hi" and hers in response. It was like a dream, we spoke for a long while (almost too long for a first meeting of two strangers I thought) and for total strangers, such first contact which is usually as awkward as can be, went smoother than I'd have ever thought possible; or then again, was it just my imagination!? Could be - because if it was all so memorable, why is that I cannot remember a third of what was said...!!?
Later on, I got to discover that we had in common, a rather loose form of associative friendship - a close friend of mine happened to be dating a very close friend of a close friend of hers...which I made a point to bring to her notice the next time we met and sure enough that did the trick. She did some background check on me too and off course, her friend only had nice things to say about me - even though she'd never set eyes on me before!
So we got together...everybody gaped, gawked and gushed about the symmetry, said we looked absolutely fantastic together...."the dream couple" - and we were very much alike in many respects, liked quite a lot of the same things and kept to ourselves more often than not, didn't let too much external influence into our affairs, which was just perfect for me. It wasn't all rosy though, there was the odd disagreement. I am always accused of being overly 'un-expressive', not saying much and 'hoarding' stuffs. She, on her part...well, lets just say when she wasn't interested in listening to a particular subject matter, she was frustrating to live with and she wasn't particularly overly expressive herself, not that she'd have ever concurred with this. But in the end, somehow we usually found some kind of common ground to stand on. In truth, now that I think of it, there was a certain air of naiveness about us, uncertainty and lack of direction about the whole affair...regardless, it felt good while it lasted just being the cynosure and envy of all eyes for a while - 'model couple', talk of the hood - it was quite fabulous feeling that!
Amidst this mist, I met her - a very welcome twist in what was becoming quite a dishearteningly, uncomfortable period in my life at the time. How we met and hit it off, is still very much a mystery to me. I thought the chemistry was excitingly spontaneous and mutual - or was it just my imagination, it all seemed relatively crystal clear but now, given the events that transpired and how much water's gone under the bridge, I just can't say for sure.
All I can recall now is the thrill I felt back then. An elation that stemmed from the mere thought that, after several botched attempts, at last, some dame considered me worthy of attention - yes, I was that pathetic!
I cannot specifically remember words or actions but when I saw her walking down the neighboring street one evening while returning from the drudgery some people chose to call a job and a certain warmth spread through me, I just knew I had found a cause worthy of chase. Even though I could only see her outline in the distance, I had a very strong conviction - I wanted nothing more than to know this stranger, simple passing acquaintance or more. The assured elegance of her walk, the poise, posture, the tall dark imposing figure caught my eye and held me en-tranced till I could envision nothing else. I changed course and followed her for a bit without even knowing I had, its like my feet just developed their own mind. I got close but never could quite build up the nerve for an approach - yes again, I was that pathetic!
In the ensuing days, I snooped around got some of background info from pals in the hood; you know, the basics... name, address, school, her routine movements and any other snippet of info that would generally help my cause. For a couple of weeks, I tried without much success to keep tabs on her. In fact, I had made it a point to alight from the bus five bus stops from my regular terminus and walk all the way down, passing in front of her house just to see if I could make any contact. I also planned all my trips to, one way or another, to include the road that was directly in front of her house, not caring if it made it any harder for me than it should otherwise have been.
Then fortune laughed (smiled would be a gross understatement) on me. I was walking back home through her street from work earlier than usual and there she was, within my touching distance literally, buying kerosene at the provision stall close to her house; even though I hadn't planned or readied myself, I took the chance, mustered all the courage I could find and walked up to her there and then. Whatever it was that transpired between us there is as blurry as a foggy day. The only thing I can only just about vaguely recall my not so assured "hi" and hers in response. It was like a dream, we spoke for a long while (almost too long for a first meeting of two strangers I thought) and for total strangers, such first contact which is usually as awkward as can be, went smoother than I'd have ever thought possible; or then again, was it just my imagination!? Could be - because if it was all so memorable, why is that I cannot remember a third of what was said...!!?
Later on, I got to discover that we had in common, a rather loose form of associative friendship - a close friend of mine happened to be dating a very close friend of a close friend of hers...which I made a point to bring to her notice the next time we met and sure enough that did the trick. She did some background check on me too and off course, her friend only had nice things to say about me - even though she'd never set eyes on me before!
So we got together...everybody gaped, gawked and gushed about the symmetry, said we looked absolutely fantastic together...."the dream couple" - and we were very much alike in many respects, liked quite a lot of the same things and kept to ourselves more often than not, didn't let too much external influence into our affairs, which was just perfect for me. It wasn't all rosy though, there was the odd disagreement. I am always accused of being overly 'un-expressive', not saying much and 'hoarding' stuffs. She, on her part...well, lets just say when she wasn't interested in listening to a particular subject matter, she was frustrating to live with and she wasn't particularly overly expressive herself, not that she'd have ever concurred with this. But in the end, somehow we usually found some kind of common ground to stand on. In truth, now that I think of it, there was a certain air of naiveness about us, uncertainty and lack of direction about the whole affair...regardless, it felt good while it lasted just being the cynosure and envy of all eyes for a while - 'model couple', talk of the hood - it was quite fabulous feeling that!
Then out of the blue, it all came crashing down. I noticed she was pulling away. The walks and 'hanging outs' were lessened by the day without warning. Invitation to Friday evening browsing at the neighborhood Internet Cafe wasn't automatic anymore. The love notes and occasional greeting cards all but ceased, gifts were being outrightly refused, none given in return and I am certain the myriad of love poems typed and printed out in fancifully crafted, expensive paper somehow found their way to the rubbish bin. She was no longer standing there at her gate with a welcoming smile in the evenings as I strolled by after work. I couldn't explain it and I darn couldn't well handle it...I was particularly armored for this.
After a couple of weeks of pressing and cajoling (maybe I should have kept my mouth shut), she dropped the bombshell on me....just like that it was over!
I was stunned, completely shell-shocked. For days, I walked around somber, sick and utterly downcast...practically dead to the world. The emotions came in an uncontrollable rush of cycles - dread, despair, defiance, desperation, denial, dejection... needless to say, it was too hard to handle for my poor, young, green soul.
Thereon began the most humiliating two months of my entire existence - till date I haven't had any other embarrassing moments that rival these. For sixty days, give or take a few, I was practically on my knees groveling for her attention; begging like a sissy - a whole month for her to re-consider and take me back and the other, for the reason why she wanted to end it. I vividly recall (amazing how the unsavory bit is that which is most recounted without blemish) standing at the crowded bus-stop beside the market on a Thursday morning trying to get her to speak to me, at least give some form of explanation to quell the raging pain in my heart. About a hundred pair of eyes and God knows how many other hundreds of ears were trained on my pathetic figure as I pitifully whined away to a brick wall as she just bluntly ignored me. Gosh, in that instant if the ground had opened up the gates of hell, I'd have gleefully drown in the depths. I never got a whiff from her....she never told why and probably never will, not that I care to know anymore, but still, I am sure it would give some measure of relief or pleasure or whatever, if I knew something.
To make matters worse, this all coincided with the time I was rounding off work to return to school. There was an industrial action which delayed my return to school after getting my termination letter from work, so I had too much time on my hand and nothing to do with it. Which made my misery all the more visible. I couldn't push her thoughts out of my head. At times I would just go find a spot to hang close to her house to see if I can just catch a glimpse of her...oh yes, I was that pathetic! Just about everyone and everything seemed to be conspiring against me.
Oddly enough, she seemed to be feeding off my demise - every time I saw her she looked in better shape as I steadily degenerated into a shadow of myself.
From hero, I was zero...talk to laughing stock of the hood. I guess my friends thought that would be the best way to get me out of my gloom because I was constantly being chided over the whole debacle - but somehow, even though I felt somewhat betrayed initially, it did help.
I've since gotten over that whole episode; I don't shudder when I get to see her every now and again or hear her name or when somebody brings up the issue for laughs. In fact, I heartily join in the jape and have a good laugh; and it is refreshing too.
I even manage a weak smile and 'hello' occasionally when we cross paths these days but my unanswered questions still come back to haunt me sometimes!
June 03, 2011
My Dream Woman...
Over the years, I have carried around in my head, images and descriptions of the features I desire in my ‘dream woman’ - the woman I would meet, fall in love and ultimately spend the rest of what’s left of my entire life with. Height, shape, skin tone, color, texture, gait, voice, smile, tribe, intellect level et al
With some luck, I have been opportune to meet quite a number of ladies who, more or less, fit the bill but somehow it just never worked out as I envisioned and most times, I wound up hurt, depressed, angry, frustrated…the sole inquisitor motivated by grief after the relationship is canned and everybody else has walked away.
Whether it was inexperience, immaturity, innocent ignorance and (or) just plain stupidity, I am sure I will someday be able to tell; but now, it has brought me to the realization that all the while, in all those years, I didn’t have an inkling of who I was as an individual, what I really wanted from my ‘dream woman’ and the ‘perfect’ relationship I craved. Now I know!
My ‘dream woman’ as I see her now doesn’t have any discernible features; face, figure, color, demeanor or bearing. She doesn’t speak any particular language or originate from any identifiable tribe, race or social class. I have no idea if she is literate, disabled or sane. She is no angel or demon and has no behavior, mannerisms or norms – good, bad or ugly. She is just ‘she’ – a woman like every other, yet her own!
My ‘dream woman’ understands and loves me for who I am; and is not afraid or ashamed to tell it to me or anyone else who cares to know. She is patient enough to wait for me, wise enough to give me room, strong enough to stand by and with me through thick and thin, independent enough to live when am not there, yet bold enough to walk away if it will save our lives, preserve our sanity…and I think I’ve finally found that ‘dream woman’ in you!
With some luck, I have been opportune to meet quite a number of ladies who, more or less, fit the bill but somehow it just never worked out as I envisioned and most times, I wound up hurt, depressed, angry, frustrated…the sole inquisitor motivated by grief after the relationship is canned and everybody else has walked away.
Whether it was inexperience, immaturity, innocent ignorance and (or) just plain stupidity, I am sure I will someday be able to tell; but now, it has brought me to the realization that all the while, in all those years, I didn’t have an inkling of who I was as an individual, what I really wanted from my ‘dream woman’ and the ‘perfect’ relationship I craved. Now I know!
My ‘dream woman’ as I see her now doesn’t have any discernible features; face, figure, color, demeanor or bearing. She doesn’t speak any particular language or originate from any identifiable tribe, race or social class. I have no idea if she is literate, disabled or sane. She is no angel or demon and has no behavior, mannerisms or norms – good, bad or ugly. She is just ‘she’ – a woman like every other, yet her own!
My ‘dream woman’ understands and loves me for who I am; and is not afraid or ashamed to tell it to me or anyone else who cares to know. She is patient enough to wait for me, wise enough to give me room, strong enough to stand by and with me through thick and thin, independent enough to live when am not there, yet bold enough to walk away if it will save our lives, preserve our sanity…and I think I’ve finally found that ‘dream woman’ in you!
April 19, 2011
Making a case for St. Valentine
The origin of Valentine’s Day is as uncertain as any of the other mysteries of this wonderfully fascinating world we inhabit. I (as am sure many others too) have read far and wide to find something, anything that can shed some light on the ancestry of this craze that ripples through globe in the middle of the second month of every Julian calendar year...and my word, there are quite some fantastic albeit apocryphal theories out there. In modern times however, February 14 has just about been universally accepted as “Lover’s Day” – what is yet unclear is if the “love” in question is off the romantic or normal “brotherly- sisterly” or “motherly-fatherly” kind. Popular opinion learns ever so heavily towards romance.
There is a great many people who question the relevance of St. Valentine’s Day; especially where it concerns the idea of it being a day exclusively for romantic lovers. Not surprisingly, the most vitriolic of the criticisms come from the religious sector.
.Amongst the many arguments against St. Val’s is the claim of it originally being a day for pagan worship of some sorts...whatever happened to moving on! Yes, it may have been a day to mark some pagan festivities (or so says many a popular legend)...but that was in the past; borrowing words from the youthful vocabulary of these days, I think it’s safe to say St. Valentine’s Day has been “pimped” or “upgraded” as the case may be.
A very much less venomous argument against St. Valentine’s is the school of thought that believes that love should be an “everyday thing” and not a mere one day for lovers to embark on a public display of affection. While this line of argument is not entirely wrong or right for that matter; but in this world where all our thoughts are consumed by addressing one problem or the other and everything is like a race against the clock, how many couples actually take time out to treat themselves with the attention, affection and care that relationships need to grow? How many times do we see couples hold hands, eat together, exchange gifts or have a quiet time to reflect on their lives together, chit-chat and have good, hearty laughs on the average “ordinary” day? Some people don’t even call their partners...no time to see each other, no time for outings. Particularly in Naija; where it usually takes a special occasion (birthdays, anniversaries etc) for people to do anything out of the ordinary.
This for me, more than anything else, is one reason why the importance of St. Valentine’s Day cannot be undermined. At the very least, for a handful of hours in one day in a year, some couples will be forced to make out that time for each other and celebrate it in their own special way.
From a moral stand-point, it is rather saddening to see the way many people (predominantly youths and teenagers) have chosen to commemorate the day with all sort of perverse activities not befitting of the purpose of the day. But otherwise, why else should there not be a “Lovers’ Day”!!? A day specially set aside for TRUE LOVERS all around the world to call their own. A day where the spirit of TRUE LOVE is upheld and celebrated in the eyes of all, in the most appropriate of ways suited to the persons involved.
Furthermore, there is practically a universally recognized day, week or month for just about everything else on the face of the planet from sensible to the downright absurd...Mother’s Day, International Women’s Day, HIV-AIDS Day, Darwin Day, World Forest Day, World Book Day, Mental Health Month, Vegetarian Week, Kiss Your Mate Day (believe it or not), April Fool’s Day, International Lesbian’s Day, Ground’s hog Day, Lesbian & Gay Pride Day...and this is only just to mention only a few. So, pray tell, why LOVE shouldn’t have a day of its own!?
There is a great many people who question the relevance of St. Valentine’s Day; especially where it concerns the idea of it being a day exclusively for romantic lovers. Not surprisingly, the most vitriolic of the criticisms come from the religious sector.
.Amongst the many arguments against St. Val’s is the claim of it originally being a day for pagan worship of some sorts...whatever happened to moving on! Yes, it may have been a day to mark some pagan festivities (or so says many a popular legend)...but that was in the past; borrowing words from the youthful vocabulary of these days, I think it’s safe to say St. Valentine’s Day has been “pimped” or “upgraded” as the case may be.
A very much less venomous argument against St. Valentine’s is the school of thought that believes that love should be an “everyday thing” and not a mere one day for lovers to embark on a public display of affection. While this line of argument is not entirely wrong or right for that matter; but in this world where all our thoughts are consumed by addressing one problem or the other and everything is like a race against the clock, how many couples actually take time out to treat themselves with the attention, affection and care that relationships need to grow? How many times do we see couples hold hands, eat together, exchange gifts or have a quiet time to reflect on their lives together, chit-chat and have good, hearty laughs on the average “ordinary” day? Some people don’t even call their partners...no time to see each other, no time for outings. Particularly in Naija; where it usually takes a special occasion (birthdays, anniversaries etc) for people to do anything out of the ordinary.
This for me, more than anything else, is one reason why the importance of St. Valentine’s Day cannot be undermined. At the very least, for a handful of hours in one day in a year, some couples will be forced to make out that time for each other and celebrate it in their own special way.
From a moral stand-point, it is rather saddening to see the way many people (predominantly youths and teenagers) have chosen to commemorate the day with all sort of perverse activities not befitting of the purpose of the day. But otherwise, why else should there not be a “Lovers’ Day”!!? A day specially set aside for TRUE LOVERS all around the world to call their own. A day where the spirit of TRUE LOVE is upheld and celebrated in the eyes of all, in the most appropriate of ways suited to the persons involved.
Furthermore, there is practically a universally recognized day, week or month for just about everything else on the face of the planet from sensible to the downright absurd...Mother’s Day, International Women’s Day, HIV-AIDS Day, Darwin Day, World Forest Day, World Book Day, Mental Health Month, Vegetarian Week, Kiss Your Mate Day (believe it or not), April Fool’s Day, International Lesbian’s Day, Ground’s hog Day, Lesbian & Gay Pride Day...and this is only just to mention only a few. So, pray tell, why LOVE shouldn’t have a day of its own!?
February 01, 2011
Still the one...
Its only been a couple of months, two precisely, since fate stripped my world of you for good but it seems like a lifetime and with each passing day this gulf of emptiness expands a million miles more. The tears are longer in my eyes; they didn’t come easy – never do and even so, in tiny rivulets that ran out too fast and dried up too quickly… but deeper down inside, they still rain in torrents and remind me of what I had so close yet never really possessed; the chest in my care, treasures bequeathed another.
For the better part of “our” decade, I was embroiled in a warfare entirely mine. Me, ferociously fending off that rage that festered within even as the love grew and grew. How could you not see all the love inside of me? For so long I ignored that bitter voice in my head that so desperately wanted to scream at you with the last ounce of air in my lungs, make irrevocably the declaration of my undying love so that you and the entire world will see, hear, know and forever remove any alibi for denial. Was that my mistake!?
Well, all that is gone now and I can’t say what it is I live for these days but there was a time when it was all about you. You were so much more than everything to me; I built my whole world around you, fed off the words from your lips… the apple of my eye, the shine that eclipsed that fiery golden globe called the sun. An awful lot has changed since I woke to find you gone but then again the feelings haven’t. I still dream about you, still long for you by my side…even though you are in the arms of another, you’re still the one!
January 06, 2011
Wacky sure works...
It used to be “sex sells”… and it still moves major units but a look at some of the music videos in recent times, you will notice that something else is certainly catching up fast and selling as much, if not more.
From Gaga to Rihanna to Kelis; Bone, Tool to Thugs ‘n Harmony to Nine Inch Nails… it is no longer as simple as showing off an ample amount of hot, curvaceous skimpily clad flesh, well-oiled six-packs, rump-shaking and “konko belowing” anymore. Now it is gone a full-blown, three-sixty degree ballistic, downright bizarre…absolutely nonconcentric!
It’s quite fascinating music videos we get to see on our TV these days and even though it is certainly not a novel trend that is just beginning to eat into the global entertainment industry. In the yesteryears, there have been quite a few oddball videos here and there… one that readily comes to mind is the massive MJ blockbuster “Thriller”; but no thanks to technological advancements, there is an odd newfangled air about it all that won’t get any older.
For one, am glad Naija is still yet to get in on the bandwagon – I mean, even with our lack of the high-powered gizmos our entertainment industry, we somehow still seem to have find scary, real-life images in our videos to display. I really feel there’s no need to compound it any further. I, for one, can point out grown men who cannot watch that “Olori Oko” video alone at night and we are talking clean, gospel music with excellent choreography here and not just some frightful Yoruba home movie.
As with everything else, not everybody is particularly taken in by this development; controversies and conspiracy theories always trail the videos and major actors in the flicks like twitter followers... suggestion of supernatural influences, sinister occult practice, devil worship, sexuality, the world’s end nigh – the list of speculation is as infinite as sand grains along Bar Beach shores. I am not particularly religiously inclined and usually do well not endorse to these school of thought, but some of the images leave a lot not to be desired and do more to lend credibility to these claims rather than confute them. It is fine margins which separates creativity from incredulity; and believe me you; it is just about being breached. The artistes or the brains behind the whole picture can explain away all they want, but it hardly does enough to convince the very clamant, albeit minority, skeptical.
However, going by the rate in which this kind of videos are being churned out and aired, it is probably a fair indicator that they have found some kind of favor with a huge percentage of the public. Well, I guess that’s showbiz for you… queer!
From Gaga to Rihanna to Kelis; Bone, Tool to Thugs ‘n Harmony to Nine Inch Nails… it is no longer as simple as showing off an ample amount of hot, curvaceous skimpily clad flesh, well-oiled six-packs, rump-shaking and “konko belowing” anymore. Now it is gone a full-blown, three-sixty degree ballistic, downright bizarre…absolutely nonconcentric!
It’s quite fascinating music videos we get to see on our TV these days and even though it is certainly not a novel trend that is just beginning to eat into the global entertainment industry. In the yesteryears, there have been quite a few oddball videos here and there… one that readily comes to mind is the massive MJ blockbuster “Thriller”; but no thanks to technological advancements, there is an odd newfangled air about it all that won’t get any older.
For one, am glad Naija is still yet to get in on the bandwagon – I mean, even with our lack of the high-powered gizmos our entertainment industry, we somehow still seem to have find scary, real-life images in our videos to display. I really feel there’s no need to compound it any further. I, for one, can point out grown men who cannot watch that “Olori Oko” video alone at night and we are talking clean, gospel music with excellent choreography here and not just some frightful Yoruba home movie.
As with everything else, not everybody is particularly taken in by this development; controversies and conspiracy theories always trail the videos and major actors in the flicks like twitter followers... suggestion of supernatural influences, sinister occult practice, devil worship, sexuality, the world’s end nigh – the list of speculation is as infinite as sand grains along Bar Beach shores. I am not particularly religiously inclined and usually do well not endorse to these school of thought, but some of the images leave a lot not to be desired and do more to lend credibility to these claims rather than confute them. It is fine margins which separates creativity from incredulity; and believe me you; it is just about being breached. The artistes or the brains behind the whole picture can explain away all they want, but it hardly does enough to convince the very clamant, albeit minority, skeptical.
However, going by the rate in which this kind of videos are being churned out and aired, it is probably a fair indicator that they have found some kind of favor with a huge percentage of the public. Well, I guess that’s showbiz for you… queer!
November 24, 2010
So, so SMOOTH...
Do not entirely disregard my earlier asseverations about some of these our “new generation” radio stations as it’s going to take quite some doing, in fact nothing short of a miracle, for me to have a change of heart in entirety… but if there ever was one radio station I could make a wee exception to, even though its one station that can be readily singled out as a very guilty party in the “Americanization” of naija radio.
I Cannot really say when I started getting hooked on Jazz music but these days, I am more inclined to lend my ear to some good ol’, smooth Jazz tunes from the days of my great, great grandfathers than listen to a lot of these noise generated by my peers (and believe me, I do know some of these guys on a first name basis too). It beats me to but whenever I listen to a good Jazz song (most of ‘em are anyways), there’s this wonderful feeling of peace and serenity that just seeps right through me. I am less tense; less restrained and almost certainly assume a friendlier manner. It’s become so much a part of me now that I have more Jazz songs on my PC and phone than ever before and I keep acquiring more whenever possible because the hunger is getting insatiable. Some people are even beginning to suspect that I am way older than my birth certificate suggests since popular consensus is that such music is for “matured minds”.
Sincerely, I think Nigerians, especially the youths, ought to take to listening to a bit more mellow, easy listening music such as Jazz and soul – God knows we need a lot of calm out there on the streets and all these loud, abrasive, chaotic and “scam-encouraging” music of today does little to help. Imagine the spending hours in the Lagos sun beating down on your head, baking up the little that’s left of your sane brain cells (and am sure most of us know that feeling) and as if that is not enough, “fokasibe” or “scatter your head” is thumping loudly in your ears through some old, scrawny speaker system that makes the pioneering batch off the Bang & Olfsen’s production line look like technology of a hundred thousand years ahead of today. If you picture it right, not very encouraging I presume!?
So what has my unfounded love for Jazz got to do with one of the radio stations that I, literally, verbally assaulted only a few weeks ago!? You’re probably one of those who do not tune the FM band on their radios beyond the 97.99 MHz frequency limit or one those that only skip through these three frequencies; 93.xx, 96.xx and 99.xx MHz… so what is the obsession with these SMOOTH guys? Very simple… they play the best Jazz!
November 15, 2010
Thank God for WA-ZO-BIA
It’s been ages since I discovered OGBC2 while fiddling with our old “grandfather” radio in the early 90s’ and I’ve been a massive fan ever since. Well today, the old “grandfather” radio is no more and a state-of-the-art home theatre sound system sits in its place; but that has done nothing to dampen my appetite.
The advent of RAYPOWER with their self acclaimed “world famous” duo of Ke-ke and D1, Steve “the sleek” Kadiri, Dennis “the menace”, the gorgeous Jumobi Adegbesan, “Shy Shy” Shyllon and the rest of the Alagbado crew ensured that I fell deeper in love with this medium of communication. My favorite shows then were “Sax & Jazz”, “Rock Radio” and “Soul Serenade”. All these, sadly, are no more. Though now, the demands and pressures of adulthood has ensured that there is little or no time to be spent mulling over a radio set, reliving all the pleasant memories from my teenage and early youth years; radio still appeals and captivates me in a way TV, with all the variety satellite streams, has never been and probably never will be able to (or maybe if they stopped all those pointless “reality” shows like BBA , Kendra, Playboy Mansion, and the Kardashians; and showed more live football, it eventually would).
Radio has sure come a long way from what I remember as a kid… the evolution is nothing short of astonishing – especially on the FM band. There’s now radio stations that don’t sleep – operating twenty-four hours, round the clock, sun up to sun down and running seamlessly too; no breaks in transmission or power cuts… absolutely impressive! Years ago, this was like something illusory and unattainable, but here we are, living it. (But I have to admit, I do somehow miss the early morning and late night national anthem rendition). I remember a certain time when one required the SW-short wave type radios (popularly called Mallam radio) that had to have antennas that threatened to dwarf the Eiffel tower, to literally reach into the skies and pluck static-filled signals to be able to put the radio to use. Even then, you’d be extremely lucky to get a station that speaks the language you understand; except, of course, you are very well versed in Fulani, Hausa, Arabic or some strange “Swahili-ic” sounding tongue. Much of the hardware then didn’t even come equipped with the FM band; those that did, well, were just for window dressing – FM was as barren as a wasteland back in the day. But not anymore… it began from a miserly spattering of state-run establishments to the glut of today – an array of mind-boggling options that is now available to all and sundry on the FM band. Nobody even bothers to check if there are other bands on a radio or stereo set anymore, as long as it’s got FM and it works fine; end of discussion!
I dare say, before the plentiful of today… were the good old days of radio, when everything was as plain, simple and straightforward as could be. You just knew which station to tune to at a certain time to catch the program you wanted. Nowadays, it seems you’ll need a guide bigger than the old, new and unwritten testaments combined to accomplish this… utter chaos!
Enter the “new generation” radio stations – the likes of “Rhythm”, “Cool”, “Beat”, “Classic”, “Top”, “Inspiration”… who have totally revolution-alized the Nigerian radio industry in more ways than one. Actually, flipped it upside down would be more apt. Is it just me or most of the new breed radio stations of today have totally cast a “western” or rather “American” face to our radio experience!? The airwaves are filled with voices that do not sound Nigerian, even though the people that own them are supposed to be Nigerians. It is as if the major prerequisite for being a radio presenter is simply just the ability to speak passable Americans – almost every major radio station in the country now has at least one individual in their employ that can do that. I am beginning to get the impression that some of these stations are not for your ears if you cannot grasp the inflexions and prosodies of the American slang to certain extents (a demographic that is highly likely to exclude a huge chunk of the population's over forties). To further aggravate matters, the information content is predominantly entertainment-based and as foreign as a martian in the midst of humans. You can get more Jay & Beyonce news, on Nigerian radio, than you can get our own T.W.O… ludicrous! Gone are the days of radio programming that the man on the street, young or old, can relate to. Where are the live commentaries of football!? The tales by moonlight-like stories in our local dialects, news documentaries, shows that highlights difficulties in our streets and neighborhoods, school debates, current affairs, quizzes and so on!?
I turn on the radio every morning, flip through stations (there are now more stations on the radio than the number of channels on the standard HITV bouquet) and finding a station where the presenters speak English in the manner the average Nigerian would understand is unbelievably tedious. Save for the commercials and the spattering of music from our vastly improving indigenous artistes; there is little else to remind us that we are still listening to Nigerian radio on Nigerian soil. I wouldn’t blame a blind man who wakes up in the morning thinking that he has somehow been magically “radio-ported” to God’s own country overnight because, seriously, if you are only relying on your sense of hearing to get by, over-exposure to some of these radio stations is strongly not advised.
While not overlooking or belittling the positive impact and considerable influence that many of these “new generation” radio stations have in the development of our great nation however, we need to acknowledge that in the process, we are losing a bit of our identity.
Thankfully there are still a handful of stations out there that have a fair amount of local content in their programming, some even presented in our local lingua by “Nigerian-sounding” presenters for the benefit of the rest of us who are yet to be swept off by the wave of “American-ization” of our radio. The likes of WAZOBIA, Radio Lagos, Radio Nigeria, PARAMOUNT, BRILA, STAR etc. to mention a few; but for these stations, many people would have lost interest in listening to the radio. They might not be the public favorites or stations off the highest broadcast quality, but they do speak the language we understand and pass on whatever message in that way in which even the most illiterate listener can grasp - at the very least, they give us a much more “Nigerian” option!
October 29, 2010
Finally I "write"...
Here it goes… trepidly I venture into the world of writing, I mean “real writing”.
I have written a couple of poems but seriously, I don’t consider poem writing that difficult a task. In fact I think it’s quite easy, far easier than a lot of people think it is. Sometimes it strikes me that history has given the likes of Shakespeare, Byron, Keats, Wordsworth, Fry, Atwood, Elliot, Doyle, Angelou, Key, Wilde, Rosseti, Emerson etc. so much more credit than they deserve; pretty much like the incredible amount of spotlight showered on some EPL footballers, whom in all honesty, are not even fit to be in the Pepsi Academy let alone the Naija Premier League.
I mean, really, what is there to it!? All these poems we’ve read and heard so much about… “Child’s Hymn”, “Hunting Morning”, “Amor Intellectualis”, “She walks in beauty like the night”, “Star spangled banner”…
Don’t be fooled by all the jargons; narrative, metrics, rhyme, assonance, alliteration… means nothing, nada, zilch! To write a poem, all you really have to do, in a nutshell, is put a couple of vague, utterly meaningless sentences ("emphasis on “vague” and “meaningless”) on separate lines making absolutely certain that they don’t overflow into the next line i.e. sentence one stays line one and two on two etc. voila! And oh, don’t forget a very brief, snazzy title.
But writing a book, an article, journal, even common entries in a personal diary or web-log (what is now fashionably called “blog”) – now that’s the *ish*… if you do need proof however, this right here took me approximately eighteen hours, forty-three minutes and xxx seconds to finish and this 551 word write-up just about makes as much sense as a drunk’s slurred barrage of garbled rants. And if that’s not proof enough, just ask the average Naija graduate how long it took to complete their project, that’s if they ever managed to.
But be rest assured, I can do an equally (if not more) nonsensical poem in way less time without even breaking sweat – yeah, that’s right and I’m pretty sure you can too (sounds like U2, don’t it?). Now just imagine if I had to write volumes of about say six, seven hundred pages of extremely serious stuff like some work of popular, historical or literary proportions, school thesis or some research paper that’s supposed to make major sense to a massive, massive audience…!?
Well, enough of this boring monologue. To the authors of the listed web-logs (forgive me I’m every bit a buttoned-down, old-school and utterly unfashionable young man):-
http://funkolaani.blogspot.com/
http://aishathebinigal.blogspot.com/
http://www.exschoolnerd.net/
http://debuzzevents.blogspot.com/
http://meetmissbalance.blogspot.com/
http://mojoyinola.blogspot.com/
http://onyi-bestseller.blogspot.com/
http://all4words.blogspot.com/
http://blog.rocnaija.com/
http://extraordinarilygood.blogspot.com/
Whoever and where you are, I hail thee immensely… maximum respect and more ink to your writing apparatus and hopefully, more money in your pockets too.
I cannot help but wonder how y’all have kept it up for as long as you have, but from you I draw my inspiration and I say a big, big “thank you”!
PS
If I do not make mention of your web-log, please be slighted not… I bet you are very good too; just haven’t been opportune to stumble on your writes in this labyrinth that is now the WWW.
LOL… And take all that crap I said about the poets and poetry seriously at your own peril!!!
I have written a couple of poems but seriously, I don’t consider poem writing that difficult a task. In fact I think it’s quite easy, far easier than a lot of people think it is. Sometimes it strikes me that history has given the likes of Shakespeare, Byron, Keats, Wordsworth, Fry, Atwood, Elliot, Doyle, Angelou, Key, Wilde, Rosseti, Emerson etc. so much more credit than they deserve; pretty much like the incredible amount of spotlight showered on some EPL footballers, whom in all honesty, are not even fit to be in the Pepsi Academy let alone the Naija Premier League.
I mean, really, what is there to it!? All these poems we’ve read and heard so much about… “Child’s Hymn”, “Hunting Morning”, “Amor Intellectualis”, “She walks in beauty like the night”, “Star spangled banner”…
Don’t be fooled by all the jargons; narrative, metrics, rhyme, assonance, alliteration… means nothing, nada, zilch! To write a poem, all you really have to do, in a nutshell, is put a couple of vague, utterly meaningless sentences ("emphasis on “vague” and “meaningless”) on separate lines making absolutely certain that they don’t overflow into the next line i.e. sentence one stays line one and two on two etc. voila! And oh, don’t forget a very brief, snazzy title.
But writing a book, an article, journal, even common entries in a personal diary or web-log (what is now fashionably called “blog”) – now that’s the *ish*… if you do need proof however, this right here took me approximately eighteen hours, forty-three minutes and xxx seconds to finish and this 551 word write-up just about makes as much sense as a drunk’s slurred barrage of garbled rants. And if that’s not proof enough, just ask the average Naija graduate how long it took to complete their project, that’s if they ever managed to.
But be rest assured, I can do an equally (if not more) nonsensical poem in way less time without even breaking sweat – yeah, that’s right and I’m pretty sure you can too (sounds like U2, don’t it?). Now just imagine if I had to write volumes of about say six, seven hundred pages of extremely serious stuff like some work of popular, historical or literary proportions, school thesis or some research paper that’s supposed to make major sense to a massive, massive audience…!?
Well, enough of this boring monologue. To the authors of the listed web-logs (forgive me I’m every bit a buttoned-down, old-school and utterly unfashionable young man):-
http://funkolaani.blogspot.com/
http://aishathebinigal.blogspot.com/
http://www.exschoolnerd.net/
http://debuzzevents.blogspot.com/
http://meetmissbalance.blogspot.com/
http://mojoyinola.blogspot.com/
http://onyi-bestseller.blogspot.com/
http://all4words.blogspot.com/
http://blog.rocnaija.com/
http://extraordinarilygood.blogspot.com/
Whoever and where you are, I hail thee immensely… maximum respect and more ink to your writing apparatus and hopefully, more money in your pockets too.
I cannot help but wonder how y’all have kept it up for as long as you have, but from you I draw my inspiration and I say a big, big “thank you”!
PS
If I do not make mention of your web-log, please be slighted not… I bet you are very good too; just haven’t been opportune to stumble on your writes in this labyrinth that is now the WWW.
LOL… And take all that crap I said about the poets and poetry seriously at your own peril!!!
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