Let's Have It!

November 03, 2008; 06:23am

As I stepped out into the street from behind our compound gate, I pondered briefly on my dislike for mornings such as this; slightly warm, in a way that makes you dread the afternoon sun many hours before it peeks out from underneath its’ blanket. I fished out my phone from my bag to let my bf know I was already on the move.

As I talked on the phone, I absent mindedly noticed a bike speed past. There were two guys on it; the rider and a passenger. In the still dark morning, the electronic green and yellow glow slipping through the sides of my Sony Ericsson was as bright as a bulb light in the dark.

I had barely slid my phone shut to end my call when the bike from a few moments before rolled up to me and one of the guys called out “sister…”. I was already thinking if it was directions they needed, they had the wrong girl when the passenger pulled a gun and jumped to my side even as he extended his hand  for my bag.

Without a second’s thought, I offered the bag. But I was still clutching my phone 'cos of the just concluded call that doubtlessly attracted them. He must have thought I was trying to play smart by holding on to the phone ‘cos he reached out to slap me, and was half way to my already burning cheek (fear) when he deflected, grabbed the phone and hopped back on the bike as it sped off.

Only then did I begin to shake …

November 10, 2009; 08:37pm

We were driving towards Third Mainland. If we could cross the bridge and leave the island behind us, the frustrations of the day would be of no more consequence. But as with everyday in Lagos, traffic was conspiring with the dark forces to keep us from the respite we were reaching for with both hands.

To kill time as we crept along with the other road users, I decided to read my newly purchased Genevieve magazine. Our nerves were already frayed, thanks to our individually hectic day, so I hoped that the shared activity (me reading  and him listening and commenting) would help us find a good play field. So I dug out my Sony Erisson phone so I could read by its faint light. It was the same model as the one I lost to robbers the year before. Such was my devotion to the phone!

The plan, which had been working, was interrupted by a rude knock on the driver’s windscreen “Wind down! Wind down now or I go blast your head” I looked up from the magazine, on the other side of the glass was a tout. There was no gun in sight, but that didn’t guarantee that there wasn’t one tucked somewhere. I didn’t want to find out and I assume my bf didn’t either ‘cos he inched the glass down a bit to allow us pass to the robber our phones, at his request.

It was the damned phone that had done me in again, not just the phone but its beacon-like yellowish-green glow.

“Oya, Gimme the bag” the thief shouted gruffly. “Not again!” I thought as I recalled the gold necklace carelessly stashed in my wallet just as the last time. I didn’t mind him having the bag, if I could just sneak my wallet out of it. “’Not a chance” I thought dejectedly as I passed the bag to my bf.

Just then, a gap opened in the lane to my side, and instead of handing the bag over to the assailant, my bf snuck into the gap and pushed forward with the flowing traffic. I could hear my heart beating as we made our way through the traffic at a pace that I considered inimical to our existence.  

October 28, 2010

It’s almost that time of the year. I like to think that I have taken every necessary precaution to forestall any attacks this year, thanks to my acquired paranoia and phobia. I do not own a Sony Ericsson and I try not to read in traffic save by sun light. I think I’m out of harm’s way. What do you think? Might I have left something out?

Picture source here

All Vanity

I was discussing with someone the other day. From one conversation to the other, I came to this conclusion; the life most of us lead is vain and empty. This notion isn’t one that is particularly novel to me. It’s a thought that has occurred to and troubled me before, but the last time it did, I somehow managed to push it to the rear of my mind so I could focus on the fast moving and hence blurry details of my life. But I seem to have made a round trip ‘cos I’m face-to-face with the idea again.

The young lad still in school is itchy to graduate and break into the labour market. The graduate, who is still scavenging for a job, loses sleep ‘cos he’s yet to find that place where he can purposefully rush off to every morning. The gainfully employed can’t seem to understand why the bosses are staling on the promotion. Higher and higher our career ambitions pile and I asked my friend “to what end is all of this?” When eventually our desires fall in our laps, the implication is usually a monotonous life; you wake up each morning, push off to work, go home to catch a few winks before the next morning so you can run off again to be at the beck and call of our employers… on and on in a loop our lives coil.

We probably tell ourselves from time to time that we wouldn’t sacrifice ourselves to the rat race, that we will somehow find a way to live above it, but how many of us actually achieve that? How many of us won’t wake up twenty years down the line to find that we’ve giving the past twenty-three or twenty-five years to the monotony of going to and fro the work place? How many of us won’t find ourselves slaves to our careers (a fancy name for the life pilfering rat-race)?

It’s not the rat race in itself that annoys me and causes me to worry, it’s the way we all strive towards it; the way we all pine and whine when we’re not in the thick of it…that’s what bothers me!

The first time thoughts on this matter crept up on me was earlier in the year. At the time I was unemployed and stuck at home, looking longingly through my window at the people in the rat race. I would think about how only months ago, I was busying about town like them and wonder when I would be able to step back in the game. But on one of those days, I stopped and asked myself “What then?” “What happens when I get another job?” All that came to mind were the days in my past when I used to have to wake up at an hour uncomfortably close to the witching hour and how I used to get so little sleep, I sometimes thought that I wouldn’t mind being suspended for something or another so I could catch up on my beauties.

So I wondered why I was so sad to be away from the stressful monotony and so eager to return it. Like I said, I forgot about it back then, but this past weekend, the matter has come back to mind so I’m throwing the question open; Why do we, as humans, have such a strong tendency towards this thing (work) that doesn't fill the emptiness on our insides?

Picture source here

Go Okada

I have a love-hate relationship with commercial motorbikes (henceforth referred to as Okadas). When they’re around, I hate and dread them and wish that they’d be banished from my life forever. But when they’re not in sight, I think of them with longing, recalling all the times we had together and the ease they brought to my life. Yup, that’s me and Lagos Okadas!

Last month, when Governor Raji Fashola banned Okadas from plying certain routes in Lagos, I was furious and every opportunity I got, I voiced my opinions with clinched fists and bared teeth. I had good reason too and cannot adequately express my pleasure on the untimely demise of the decree.

If I lived and worked in the parts of Lagos where one does not need Okadas I might not have been bothered by his decree. I might simply have pulled out a magazine to read each time the topic came…but I don’t and so I was really angered by it.

I thought the decree was short-sighted and whimsical. I’m not an economic strategist or anything of the sort, but in my opinion, a government that wants to ban Okadas must in the same breath that it’s doing so, provide an alternative. It should say something like “You can no longer take bikes along so-and-so routes, but here are some buses, trams e.t.c. for your use”. But there was no such thing and the obvious implication was that people would be stranded across town and be forced to make long journeys on foot. I work in Lekki Phase 1 and in the first week after the decree, I spent minutes that felt like hours stranded there.  Cabs were the only option, but then that brings me to my second point.

The ban caused traffic to surge, especially on the Island. As a layman, I had anticipated this and could not for the life of me understand how Governor Fashola and his cronies could not have envisaged that if they asked people to stop taking Okadas and start taking cabs, buses and their private cars, there would be more vehicles on our already congested roads. It’s pure logic, isn’t it?! Well, what’s that saying about common sense?

Then there was the small matter of the young men who were to be put out of business. Lagos has enough criminals as it is. I wonder, ‘Didn’t it cross the mind of the government that in putting young men out of work, some of them might turn to crime to put food on their tables or even just for the thrill of getting back at society for snatching control of their fates out of their hands?’

Now don’t get me wrong oh! I’m not saying that Okadas are a blissful part of our lives. On the contrary, statistics and daily experiences indicate that they are a menace to our society. I’m not oblivious of the number of deaths and other atrocities that are a direct result of their existence. I know all these, but I also know that if you must chop off a man’s leg, it’s best to provide him with crutches or a stick; you must show him how to cope without the limb that he has come to rely on.

I understand that we would be better off without the Dare-Devil Okadamen who weave through traffic like cats with more lives than one without a moment’s concern for their mortals passengers. But I also understand that cities are not built in a day, with the wave of a finger.

The well meant but poorly thought out decree has flopped (I’ve been getting bikes out of Lekki) It’s my sincere hope that the people concerned would go back to the drawing board in Alausa and come up with logical strategies and directives that will hold fast and transcend us to the future we desire.

Eko o ni baje oh!!!

"Be My Girl"

The first time a guy ever asked me out, I was appalled! He was my best friend at the GCE class I was attending at the time in my quest for salvation from the iron grip of Nigerian Pre- University examinations (GCE, JAMB, NECO n co.). We practically did everything together during lesson hours. We even had a special written code for communicating during classes so I guess my surprise was justified when he indicated that he wanted to take our relationship a notch higher. Given the depth of our relationship, I couldn’t see what was lacking that a romantic relationship would provide. I asked if he wanted to start holding my hand when we walked and slobbering all over me.

I was 16 at the time and obviously very green. But beyond being green, I was very relationship averse. My definition of a romantic relationship was that once a girl agreed to ‘go out’ with a boy, she automatically became ‘His Girl’ and that every opportunity he got, he would gather friends around him and point at her from a distance saying with a silly drawl, “That’s my girl over there.”. I found the idea highly repulsive and, at the time, would have gladly had both my knees shot than be some boy’s 'Girl'.

When I was in Primary 4, I was selected to play the wife in our end of year playlet. I have always been literarily sound and so even at that tender age, I knew the play had a good story line. I however had one problem with the play; there was a scene where I was expected to fall on my knees in tears and beg my play-husband for forgiveness. Yes you’re right, I baled on the play! I couldn't stand the idea of it and the fact that I didn’t like the boy who had been selected to play my husband didn’t help my course. So after many failed attempts at the hated scene, I broke down in tears and begged off the play.

The anecdotes confirming my aversion for boy-girl relationships are numerous… the only fight I have ever been in was with a boy and all because he called me his wife. 


Looking back, I wonder what it was that got me tied up in a knot about romantic relationships as a younger girl. Maybe it’s the fact that there is a mean imbalance of scale between bad relationships and enviable ones or that I come from a part of the country where women are rumoured to be perceived as commodities. Or maybe the fault was all internal and my mind just had a delayed grasp of the concept. While I doubt that very much, I can’t say that the delay was a bad idea cause now that I have been reformed by age and experience (believe it or not, I do PDAs now), all I can say is …”It’s not good for man to be alone”.

*PDA : Public Display of Affection

Attention ... Everyone!

There’s hope for the guys after all, so wipe your eyes and read…

There’s another writing contest that isn’t gender sensitive. It’s open to African students and professionals who fall in the 18 – 35 age bracket. It’s being organized by AfricanLiberty.org and welcomes 1,500 – 2,000 worded essays on any of the following topics:

•    A free market economy: the missing link in Africa’s development: Discuss
•    Globalization: the key to development
•    A government big enough to give you all you want can take it all away: Discuss
•    Entrepreneurship: The key to self-actualization.
•    Capitalism is a moral philosophy: Discuss

I’m yet to find the courage to send in an entry for this one. Maybe I will and maybe I won’t; afterall one act of bravery can take a toll on a person. But then again, the submission deadline is 15^th November, 2010.

In the meanwhile find more info about the essay competition here

Ciao!

Attention ... Ladies!

‘Was skipping from blog to blog just now and came across a notice of interest to myself and I assume you all. So I’m playing the faithful servant and reporting to you lot what I found. You’re welcome!

It’s an invitation to all African women blessed with the art of poetry to sending poems about but not limited to the following issues; work life, Freedom, motherhood, wifehood, war, children, Africa’s wealth or lack, HIV/AIDS, happiness, grief, marriage, love, loss e.t.c.

The invite states that unpublished poems are preferable and that poems could be in a native language. For such poems (done in an African language), something is said about translation, but I fear you’d have to read that for yourselves. The deadline for submission BTW is December 31, 2010 so I guess that’s plenty of time to scribble and ball up stuff till you finally strike gold.

The best part of it all is that each person can send in as many as 3 entries! I think that’s mighty generous ‘cos it means I get not one, but three shots at wining. Did I forget to mention? Yes, I already sent in my first entry, so 2 more to go for me. Wish me luck as I wish you same!

Check here for more information.

My Prerogative

It’s been 8 years since I turned 18 and almost 5 years since I clocked 21 and graduated from the university. I refer to those points in my past ‘cos they are years when my life seemed to brim with anticipations and dreams. 


At 18, I was a fresher in the university and the world seemed to be at my feet; begging to be explored. At 21, fresh from the university, it was the money-spewing world of employment that beckoned. I got visibly excited when I thought about all the money I was going to make once I stepped in the rat-race and starting swapping labour for wages. I didn’t know the going rates then, I just had a hunch it would be good and I definitely didn't dwell much on the labour part of the exchange. Oh, I forgot to mention that though I wasn’t thinking seriously about marriage back then when I was 21, I had set the peg at 25. I figured that by then I would have had ample time to sow as many wild oats as my principled heart would allow me (please don’t ask!).

It’s 2010 and I’m 26. I’ve worked for 3 years (if you count my recent 8 months unemployment window), but have yet to find the money bag that was rumored to be flung around every month’s end. All I have encountered in its stead are the bathed breaths with which we anticipate our stipends, praying that ‘false labour’ would not be pronounced. The grey area of labour has been adequately straightened out for me and I now know that there’s nothing even in the labour-remuneration proportions. How else does one explain the copious workloads or the fact that though a company policy states 5pm as closing time, the boss gives you the evil-eye when you pick up your bag to leave?

It’s 2010; 8 years after I took my first adult steps into a world that I was confident I would explore to wear-and-tear and I still have one of the slimmest circle of friends. To add salt to my injury, I’m thrown in with a set of girls just like me; girls who play safe and try to live by the book.

Every now and then we confess knowledge of the fact that our lives are boring but don’t do anything to enhance them. We kid about alternate lives where we’re living on the wild side with men, booze, sprees and all the works then we comb our hairs in conforming ponytails and head out to our dreary jobs and other things that do not feature in our fantasies.

I’m not married. I’m in a relationship that’s heading there, but a fish bone is not a fish, so…despite my carefully outlined plan, I’m not married! (Forgive me, LOML). It doesn’t help the least bit that every day that I log on to Facebook, I discover a newlywed friend of mine flaunting her rings as if to say “Look what I got before you!”.

I doubt that I need to spell out that a lot of things have not gone according to plan. Today, I have learned that though planning is important, it’s best done in pencil, making provisions for amendments to the original bills. But more importantly, through it all, I have learned to be happy! Someone recently said how we tell ourselves that we’re be happy or content as soon as we start earning that 8 digit salary, or move to a really grand house in Victoria Island that overlooks the lagoon, or marry that person of our dreams. But in truth, chances are that those attainments won’t bring the joy we think they would. But even worse, is the fact that we would probably never attain them and so would probably never experience peace till we die(if we hinge our happiness on these things). Let’s face it, there are only so many houses in Victoria Island and we can’t all live in them!

So maybe I’d be rich (I’m keeping my fingers crossed) or maybe I’d always just be about comfortable. Maybe I’d live in the kind of house that I’d want to take everywhere with me or maybe the ceiling for me is a 3 bedroom apartment somewhere unimpressive in the outskirts of Lagos. For all of these things, fate kind of has a way of wrestling it out of your hands. But over my state of mind, I have absolute control…so I choose to be happy and content not tomorrow, not when I meet the targets, but right now, right here!

What’s your decision?

WHAT MEN WANT

In the days when I was growing up, the norm was that men sort and married women they could rely on to rely on them. My dear father would tell anyone who cares to listen that all the wives married into their family got educated while in their matrimonial homes, sponsored by their husbands. Yes, those were the kinds of women that generation found desirable; women that came to them unformed…barely metamorphosed from “girlhood” to womanhood. If asked why, those men would tell you that those women were malleable; you could build them into about anything you wanted them to be. But even better than that, they would say they are usually so submissive. What else would you expect from a girl who finds herself married to a man at least 7 years her senior who at least has his B.Sc. and works in an office fabled to be big and well furnished when she’s still struggling to bag her WAEC or JAMB? How she wan take be if not submissive?

Whether you agree with these points is neither here nor there ‘cause you see, that era has faded into the background thanks to civilization. Today what men want is different. Musicians like Neyo, Jamie Foxx, and a host of others provide a glimpse of the Nuevo Man. This Man wants a woman who is nothing like her mother, the woman his father wanted. Today’s Model Wife is supposed to be the following amidst other things;

·         strong (please don’t ask me why cos I WILL tell you my suspicions!),

·         well educated, having completed her education on her father’s bill

·         must have a job that pays well enough for her to buy her car herself and maybe even throw in a well furnished apartment…No, not in Ikotun or Alagbado!

·         must have a career that has very good prospects. You see, he wants to be able to project that in half a decade or so, he would be married to the Manger of so and so

·         must be able to fend for the house in the event that the man can’t, for some obscure reason or another

Now here’s the catch…inspite of these new specs, the Independent Woman is supposed to maintain the best features of the old school bride. In case you missed it (because it wasn’t explicitly stated), all the specs above boil down to women holding 11– 10 hour jobs, like their husbands. But unlike their husbands, they are expected to return from work (traffic or no traffic, work stress or not) in time enough to slip into the shoes of the not-so-modern woman who cooks and cleans round the clock. It makes me wonder “what exactly is it that men want?” Surely, they must know that one can’t eat his cake and still have it! Whatever happened to division of labour? I go out and bring the dough, you take the dough and make dough from it?

Listening to Neyo and Jamie some time ago, my sister asked “Are men of today getting cheap or what?” I can’t help echoing her question. Its popular knowledge that some ladies like to seek out and marry ready-made men, but what is it with today’s men and their quest for ready-made wives? He doesn't seem to want to shoulder any responsibility whatsoever. At best, he wants some who would bear half the burden. Why is this the case? Did our daddies forget to teach our brothers something crucial or were our brothers, husbands and boyfriends selective about what they learnt at daddy’s feet?

While She Slept...

 The day the child was born,

I suspect that his mother snuck out in the dark of night,

unable to get any sleep.

She had to know! She had to be certain!

Who would he be? Would he be great?

Would his fame spread far and wide?

Would he stand tall among men? ‘Tall with achievements?

Oh she had to know… she had to know now now!

Otherwise the family would find her mad by morning

when the actual trip to the clan’s deity chieftain was scheduled.

She had to set her mind to rest

 before it wandered into the dark night by itself.

So she crept out and snuck to the medicine man’s by herself

…like I said, all this is purely8 speculation.                                   

“He’ll be great...”

 that’s what the old man told her after clearing his throat

too many times and too loudly, 
she was afraid she might have to clear it for him

with a slap so he could get to the business of easing her mind

… or sending her and her new born to an early grave.

Relief almost drove her to tears.

The world would come to know his name,
and of his brothers, he would stand tallest.

His innate gifts would take him far

and shield him from lack all the days of his life.

Even his children’s children will be great.

She slept well that night…and the nights after.

I fear she slept too well

cos while she slept the greedy came and stole his gifts.

The wicked came and inflicted wounds on her baby.

While she slept,

the nocturnal creatures came and cast upon him The Evil-Eye,

charming it away from its beautifully foretold destiny.

All the things that were promised that the child would be

Have yet to materialize.

It’s been 50 years since the prophecies…

Fifty years since its mother went to sleep

and left it to the wolves.

Fifty years of failed dreams and promises.

It’s been fifty years!