Friday, 29 March 2013

Four Months....

Can't believe I've failed to blog in over four months. The stash of incomplete musings in my draft box is reaching unprecedented levels. The relapse is upon us...

Tuesday, 13 November 2012

Oi...Ava Woooord!!

Blogging again...what an oddity.

With my raving days long behind me, my skanking shoes are antique-worthy. So when my boy implores me to accompany him to a house rave (a rave playing house music, not a house party) I'm unequivocally obliged to politely decline. But after some strategic and guilt-stained badgering I succumbed and agreed to roll through.

Homely reception

Me: "Dresscode?"

Him: "Nah,I'm wearing trainers. None of that"

Mildly comforting I didn't have to make an effort appearance wise although the idea of being met by grunges and underaged miscreant did circulate my cerebrum of expectation.

On arrival we were met by a hollow gathering of females in dirty converses and retro-shoulder slash tops and dudes in electric blue skinny jeans with a bellowing baseline of uninspiring house rhythms. Those who didn't get the memo and came in heels were looking understandably uncomfortable - hastag TeamOverdressed *sigh*

To my surprise the demographic consisted mostly of young, black city kids of a similar age to myself who didn't look like they were about to slit their wrists or send someone to their maker anytime soon; just out to have a good time. Even more surprising was how they were dancing. House music isn't the Holy Ghost but boy it was making people move in mysterious ways and with this I began to decipher the logic behind the choice of dresscode or the absence of one - casual and comfy. It's full on - dancing imitates the monotonous boom of the music blurting out the speakers with sporadic, almost off-beat shuffles and heel clicks. Heels, pointed office shoes and figure-hugging dresses would restrict movement and longevity. Revelers were there to simply dance without ceasing - chirpsing and drinking were secondary and tertiary objectives respectively. Instead interpolations of "Oi Yoi, Faaack Orrrf!!!", "Av a Wooooord!!!" and the trump of horns blowing whilst ravers spawned with the music was undoubtedly the highlight of the night. My inhibitions fully took a dive and my gassed raving persona of old made a special guest appearance at heightened intervals.

Surpassed expectations 

What looked trivial at first soon started to look vaguely enjoyable - my friend a prisoner of Rosé was in his element doing his very best to fit into what was clearly an acquired taste to body movement. There was no Azonto's or Etighi's to be had in this environment and for 4+ hours we tried our best to be House ravers failing miserably but enjoying it nonetheless. 

I left with a desire for more, not exactly in terms of raving again but just for that shuffle dance. I've been scouring YouTube for any viable tutorials on how to learn a little side step so I don't look so out of place next time if indeed I ever venture into such establishment. Here's the one I'm heeding at present...

And before I forget, Mr O - what's was that rant about? 


Monday, 17 September 2012

Rotten Apple

Contrary to the proverbial excitement brought about by the arrival of yet another iPhone, I remain amongst the minority who find the erotic stimulation some get from splashing out £600 on a thinner upgrade a tad tedious.

I've never been a fan of Apple. They remind me of that jarring yout at school that was good at everything never got in trouble and had all the chicks loving him off. Prick!
I mean yeah, I know the iPhone has stupidly fluid web functionality with limitless app capabilities and immersive visuals but why must everyone get wet over it huh? I've been to households where practically all the electrical gizmo's were Apple branded – Macs, iPads, iPhones & iPods - a fruit store in ones room – iNsane! 

You’re probably sensing a little bitterness and you’re right I am, sour even, Granny smith sour. I remember when SONY dominated the 90’s like this. From Playstation to Walkmans – the electrical giants had customers by the balls (and breasts) legally racketeering precious finances from zombie-loyal consumers. As a result I embodied #teamnoSony so Nintendo and Sennheiser were my brands with my Sony Ericsson W810i being the only exception, but then again it was half Ericsson making it mixed race and not fully Sony so it didn’t count.

Why Hater?

So why do I revile Apple so much? Firstly those TV ads; irritatingly idyllic white settings showcasing the product whilst that annoyingly catchy tune plays over the guy going 'all on your iPhone'. It’s the simplicity of everything, how is something so advanced made to appear so effortlessly simple? Can't they run around doing sign-language like those phones4u people.
Then their fan base - take these rancorous fans for starters who took time from their not-so-busy schedules to graph visual disses on a Samsung ad that mocked the iPhone 5. Are Apple paying these Homosapiens though? Donkey behaviour! Considering that $bn lawsuit they hit Samsung with, they really should chuck em a couple stripper dollars for a good show. It’s this die-hard and vivacious attitude that gets me. Ask an iPhone/iPad user why they have one and they’ll look into your eyes with love and start preaching like those Potter House youths outside Whitgift Centre on a Thursday evening. They draw your attention casually flicking that their silly finger like they’re flicking a chunk of bogey to show off its features - 'It’s just sooo smooth' – like its Nivea in their hand KMT. And when they fail to convince the stubborn goat that I am, they ask why I’m fighting it DPMO!

I've long despised dominance of a sole individual, team or organisation and it’s no different here. I'm an economist, monopolies hinder competition and growth. Until this mass hysteria about Facetime and apps that tell you when your next period is due (*Apple ad voiceover voice* Yes there's an App for that) dies down I’ll continue to fly the banner for #TeamOrange.

Tuesday, 7 August 2012

The Lost Drafts

I haven't blogged since I left Nig; Olympics and a backlog of catch-up sessions to blame. Don't really have anything to type so I'm just releasing some unreleased draft material that's been sitting in a lifeless state since my last year of uni. It's not even finished, just raw rubbish for you to observe and ignore

Superficiality Vs Materialistic - Lesser of two evils

I was chilling (instead of studying) in a computer cluster room at Uni when a former friend of mine accused me of being superficial simply because I made a favourable yet tasteful comment about a subjects appearance (I later discovered its because she 'disliked' her but then again what's new!).

Where I admit guys have a narrow perception of attractiveness (either she's hot or not) females have criteria as broad as an overweight mother of four.

Now lets take Mr Rick 'Rosay' Ross for example. Blessed with an ear for music, not with a face for looks yet a growing number of females find him genuinely 'sexy'. No seriously go Nigeria and enquire - the guys excrement is goldust over there. But why? Well lets take it back to the classic scenario. Walking down West End and you see this Esther Baxter-esque physique of a woman with a dude that looks like Flavor Flav on her arm. Whilst scratching your head wondering as to if this girl is under Juju, it soon becomes apparent he's a roadman, with an X6, two yards and plenty of meulah. Oh so that's why, figures. 

Typical example exemplifies the depth this catalogue of 'attractive criteria' girls possess, spans over and beyond the realms of simply aesthtics. Girls find non-tangible characteristics desirable; confidence, security, status, pizazz, – all mythical criteria to us guys when looking for something in a women as we're more interested in what we can see and feel (and they say guys aren't sensitive, pa!). So in the case of Rick Ross it's safe to say the influx of female fans is down to his certified status and egoistic swag as opposed to his burnt lips and endomorphic somatotype. I guess you can say his status and braggish demeanour is a twisted apparition of a man with boyishly good looks and a body to match in the eyes of certain delusional females. 

As superficial as guys may be, we keep things simple. If she looks good, we're attracted. If not, she’ll have to try harder. Girls however are materialistic specimens not that I'm biased or anything.
We have a genuine, if not a tad fickle criteria; looks. Girls on the other hand will not only base their decisions on looks but also bypass it (if it isn't the individual's strongest attribute) in favour of bank balance and popularity. Indeed not every girl is a leech and will look for honourable characteristics in a man if he's not blessed with looks, but I'm generalising here so I'm permitted to make such sweeping statements.

That said, girls are probably smarter…oh ok…ARE smarter than us guys in the sense they don’t limit themselves to a standard as temporary as appearance. I mean we marry a lady, size 10 with a pretty face and banging body to compliment it. Child birth takes it toll on her figure and she inflates to a size 16 with love handles and three chins. Then what, divorce? Remember for better or worse brah!

OK the same can be said of ladies scrutinising a man's bank balance I mean look at Tyson who accumulated millions throughout his career, yet he's burdened with overwhelming debt. A woman after him would have met, slept and left (if he didn't beat her up prior) by the time the doe started to dry up...

...And that's where the block hit the writer!

Saturday, 16 June 2012

Pass Out before I Pass Out

I'VE DONE IT! After 345 grueling, demanding and occasionally rewarding days of service, I've finally finished!

My set of Corpers did what we called Passing Out, a closing ceremony of sorts to officially mark the end of our service year. I've learnt so much over the year, met some good people and drawn closer to my native culture. At times I felt like passing out literally but I've gritted, hustled and survived.

Beach Pass Out Party ought to be mad!

Partners in Criminal Activity

Me & Ant

Wednesday, 6 June 2012

She Weeps

Evening of Sunday 3 June 2012,  I wake up to a bombardment of missed calls. Prefix all commence with +44 so I have reason to believe something major has taken place. *Phone Rings* It's my younger sister. Her tone unsettled, she enquires about my welfare. I respond positively – she does the same before switching to a dismissive tone as if she was being hurried along. I ask what happened. She informed me a plane crashed in Lagos that afternoon. To make it worse a friend of her friend was scheduled to be on it.  Her concern understandably switched to confirming if her fears were true – she hangs up. At this point any lingering clasps of sleep have fully cleared from my eyes. I had to confirm what I'd just heard.

Fears Confirmed

153 people on board the Dana flight from Abuja lost their lives when the plane crash landed in a residential area in Agege. At least 10 others were killed on the ground and with allegations of faulty gear and engine equipment aboard the ageing liner (22 years) all I can say is why (again?)

For long I've raked on about Nigeria's lacklustre maintenance culture. We seem to believe once we build a new road or acquire a new bus the job is done. I'm accustomed to cussing out the UK's Highway Agency with all their roadworks - tarmacking terrain they serviced only weeks before. But here…pah. It's as if maintenance is a chore, a financial hindrance of sorts to appease the gods. So when I hear said plane was over 20 years old, one shudders. 

Our new roads rivert back to their old state within months - have you wondering if renovation ever took place. Our schools and offices, roads and aviation sectors act as dumping grounds for old, haggard computer equipment, black smog-bellowing Mack trucks and dated, second hand planes from abroad we seem more than happy to accept. Nigeria reminds me of the guy who can just about purchase a Range Rover failing to account for the after sale expenses of fuel, servicing and insurance. 

Now we as a nation sit with forlorn faces asking ourselves why for the um-teen time and we'll continue to do so until we get the fundamentals right. I'm not even pointing at the Government this time – it's becoming a cliched gesture. I'm pointing at the private companies acquiring sub-standard equipment with selfish gain taking priority over the safety and well-being of our people. I'm pointing at the 'we'll manage it' culture where instead of replacing a decrepit machine we opt to cope in order to save or even pocket a little extra Naira. And the saying goes he who points the finger has three pointing back at him - so I'm pointing at myself for sitting back and expecting things to change eventually – and if it doesn't – as long as it doesn't affect me and my immediate folk I'm largely unperturbed.

In fact I'm tired of complaining. My NYSC Community Development group were badgered to raise N550K for our project reconstructing a borehole and 12 toilets for a local school. A valiant endeavour yes but maintenance work that should be carried out by the local government is conveniently shifted over to Corpers who are accused of not serving their country if they murmur. 

But as I said, I'm done complaining, just waiting patiently for someone or something to place that final straw on my nations back - then we'll see - until then she'll continue weeping.

Friday, 4 May 2012

A Focus on Friendship: Part II

You've been invited to a birthday dinner. You and the celebrant have no mutual friends so you'll probably be the glum plum who doesn't know anyone; an accomplice is therefore essential! You systematically troll through your phone book & BB contacts trying to find a suitable candidate. You acknowledge the fact the celebrant is rather reserved so inviting Hype-Hype Ken is probably a bad idea. Moaning Mark will probably jar you after 30 minutes, book-in-advance Ben stressed two weeks notice wasn't sufficient and Cheapskate Chris will be asking a million questions about how much the dinner will cost. 

Hopefully your scenario isn't as tasking as this but herein lies the gist of the second entry - looking closer at the assortment of characters that make-up ones complete circle (if of course it is). Which of these are in yours?

The Joker

Needless to say life without this character would be rather dull. Commercially known as the party-starter these individuals are an absolute must at birthday functions and gatherings to break the inevitable icy atmosphere etc. Loud, funny, outlandish, fearless flimflammers - experts in uplifting spirits, practically every circle should have one who possesses these traits. 

Their uncouth nature can make them unpopular figures amongst some as they tend to speak their mind so friendships with these character are usually ones that have spanned a few years – at least until one can handle and accept their crude ways. From experience they're not the best listeners (as they tend to be the ones who want you to listen) or ones you can confide in as their big mouths invariably leak news like a tabloid newspaper.


The Confider

When you need a listening ear and idiosyncratic advice on an issue you don't even need to think about who to call – it's automatically The Confider. Typically the more reserved character in the clique as they use the silence to simply sit and observe but not always. True, some prefer the sweet-talk consultants – those ones who will tell you what you want to hear but the certified Confiders put your feelings aside and tell you what you need to hear. Some even have this insatiable way of noticing when something isn't right even behind the front of 'all smiles, all good'.  

As a guy I've always found the best Confiders to be those of the opposite sex but same sex Confiders are just as prominent. 

Arguments with The Confider are rare but when they do occur it's usually quite serious. I've seen instances where friendships have collapsed after the recipient couldn't handle the Confiders truth but typically speaking these are essential friends for life. The ones who truly have your best interest at heart will always slap you with a dose of reality regardless of how it makes you feel. If you appreciate a true friend you'll appreciate the Confider. 


The Complainer

*Sigh* if they gave you £1 for the number of times you'd want to slap this character you'd be in the Forbes Rich List. If it's not their partner, it's work. If it's not work, it's the rising cost of patties at Bagel King. If it's not…errr...I think you get the gist. These characters are just programmed to see the adverse side of everything. 

As the analogy at the top of this entry would suggest you've probably got into a few scuffs with this one. Spent some time 'not talking to each other' over some pettiness that seems trivial when you both grow up and realise the silent treatment is pointless.

Despite their tiresome ways, you stay friends with these characters because 
1, you would've ditched they're arse a long time ago if you couldn't stomach them and
2, you've probably gone through more fights than Ike and Tina Turner but always seem to make-up so you just assume the idiot is meant to be a permanent fixture in your life.

Best thing about these characters is that on the rare occasion they're not complaining, they can possess traits of the Joker and the Confider – bittersweet I guess.


The Looker

This is the guy or girl in the circle who always gets the attention. Wherever you go in numbers – be it raving, chilling in a bar or at a birthday gathering they're the one your male or female friend will slyly enquire about during the post-event phone call. Not to limit them to just superficial characteristics as they can also be the Confider, Joker or Complainer too but their main contribution dwells in the aesthetics department. 

Ensure you have your jealousy in check around these characters. Many a time I've seen friends in the same circle begrudge The Looker's attendance at a function simply because 'he's gon' take all the chicks'.


The Connect

Not a lot of circles can boast of this character as they usually belong in the outer circle. These are the individuals who seem to know everybody, everywhere. Need gig tickets in LA? They've got a connect for that. Driving Licence in Lagos? They've got a connect for that. Cocaine in Columbia? They've got a connect for that. 

It's as if their links know no boundaries but the offset of this is that they usually don't have time to play the friend which is why relations with these characters rarely go past a phone call every couple months. Very useful but whether they're essential in terms of being a friend is questionable. 


The Excuse

Ah the excuse – the individual whose whole life revolves around blab and waffle. Not to be confused or compared with the Complainer. You need a lot of patience with these characters as their monotonous tendencies can get tedious. They're prone to alienating themselves and are soon left on the periphery of circular activities. 

Ask the Excuse whether they'd like to go out and you may be familiar with the following replies: "It's too hot", "It's too cold", "I'm broke", "It's too far", 'It's too expensive", "I don't have hair cream", "I have one or two things to do", "Who else is coming? *mentions names* Nah 'llow it", "I don’t know anyone", "you didn't give me enough notice". By the time you've heard the 11th excuse you're ready to hang up. 

Most annoying thing about these characters is that when they do come out they can make it entertaining but this is overshadowed by the 99.8% of the time they mutter flimsy excuses not to.


The Conscience

In some ways The Conscience and The Confider are similar with the only difference being The Conscience adds the religious element to proceedings. The Conscience is the character in your circle who frowns at anything remotely secular. The one who advises you to refrain from vices. You probably wouldn't invite them to a bar or gathering where after a few drinks the post-watershed topics start and their spirit gets edgy. 

Well-mannered and well to do, these individuals are a reliable addition. You may feel you can't act yourself around them at times as they can be quite condescending and judgmental from my experience anyway. The Conscience and The Joker (especially a secular one) may clash. If there isn't a like-mindedness between yourself and The Conscience you may find relations remain at surface level.


The Hot Mess

The Hot Mess is the baby of the circle. Living in their second childhood, they're attitude to taking responsibility for themselves, their duties and others leaves a lot to be desired. Unreliable, you'd be a fool to think they'll turn up on time or finally give you the money they've owed you for two years. 

The Hot Mess is the individual who is advised several times not to do something but will go ahead and do it anyway (yeah that!). A highly frustrating character, The Hot Mess will invariably get into altercations with anybody and everybody making promises to change that never materialise.  If this character is in your circle I'm pretty sure you've questioned their presence on several occasions but because they're your friend, you overlook their shortcomings rather than deserting them. Lord knows if you did they're finished. The ironic thing is these characters usually have great potential but they fail to exercise them.


The Organiser

Also known as the circle PA. Similar to The Connect but plays a more intricate role as a friend. The Organiser arranges the trips, nights out and such so when they're not available other circle members seem at a lost at what to do without them. Usually the high-flying type, ace in their academics, probably in a sturdy relationship too. They can get edgy when things don't go according to plan due to their synchronized nature but are usually cool-headed characters.


The All-Rounder

The All Rounder tends to be the utility character – one who can switch from mellow to monster in a minute. Their popularity plays a part in silently ordaining them with the leadership role. They possess a bit of every trait. One can come to them for advice like The Confider, has the ability to entertain like the Joker and generally acts as a link between all the members in the circle. 

I call these character the Iniesta’s (the pint-sized genius in the heart of FC Barca's midfield if you didn't know) of the friendship circle – stringing the passes to makes sure everyone's involved – the cogs of the clique. The first on everyone's list, there's usually a vacuum left when these characters are not present. Every group needs one who possesses these characteristics.


Missed any?

The Atomic Analogy

Proton, Neutrons & Electrons – remember that lesson. Not going into the academics of it but the analogy of the friendship circle bares similarities to the framework of atoms we were taught at school. So picture everyone you know being within an atom…ah forget all this, my brain is starved of oxygen. Let what I've written marinate first * collapses*

Saturday, 28 April 2012

Day 300


SPAAARTA! What is your profession?

Flagrant Corper, assessing the state of affairs 300 days since trading my Bus Pass for a wooden Danfo seat.

You know initially when they say it whizzes by, you overlook their observation as mere ignorance but when I glance back (no Lot's wife) it has gone quickly. I recall entering orientation camp as a young, somewhat naïve A je buta boy not knowing what exactly to expect. Area boys, Okada & MOPOL have put me through a baptism of fire with each harrowing encounter being a fresh lesson. I've experienced, learnt and now shine eye better than most - I'm now the aggressor but never the instigator – in my approach and reasoning when dealing with challenges over here.

Surpassing Expectation

A lot of people are in disbelief that I've even managed to stomach Nige for this long. From friends to family members, even strangers applaud my efforts but I continue telling them I was already mentally psyched for this. Just envisioned and prepped myself for the worst. Once you're able to accept this, nothing can shake you. All my A je buttish peers drive lavish cars to their luxurious workplaces whilst I endure the bus conductors unwashed armpit in my face on the way to my industrial container of an office. I've gritted and just got on with it and I'm more accustomed to the more adverse side of Nigeria.

At 300, I stand as a man who feels more Nigerian than at any point in my life. Lodged in Lagos I've discovered a deeper appreciation for Yoruba culture. Despite the aggressive undertones, I love the poetic elements and passionate delivery of indigenous speakers of the Yoruba language. If Nigeria was the world, Yoruba would be the equivalent of English – I picked up small still. 

Unfortunately Igbo culture has failed to make an impact. It's not like there's a shortage because Igbos are plague-like on this axis just that their language, mannerism and behavioural tendencies have dithered behind their outspoken counterparts.

Still woefully trying to acquire a more meaningful understanding of my home tongue. Still find the ‘Pongs’, ‘Tongs’ and ‘Wongs’ more of a comical jibe rather than something I desire to be fluent in but one day I'll get there.

As you were

Some aspects are yet to change or improve. Silly superstition and senseless beliefs still hold my country firmly by the nuts. It's as if we refuse to believe unfortunate incidents are part of life – if anything adverse occurs it's usually passed off as a spiritual undertaking. 

We're still critically short-sighted and this is what prevents us from moving forward. Long-term planning is deemed irrelevant – we're only interested in the here and now and understandably so seeing as today's sacrifice for many, in a poverty stricken nation, probably means dying.

The inequality gap continues to widen, corruption remains absolute and now this new threat of terrorism ravages the chances of Nigeria ever being great. It's through this NYSC service me and my fellow youth aim to learn, grow and engineer change for the better but reality will probably slap me and ask ’what's the point?' 

Wednesday, 22 February 2012

A focus on friendship

They say show me your friends and I’ll show you who you are. Not sure about you but the individual claiming such would struggle to do so in my case. It hangs on the premise of dated ideologies – birds of a feather flock together and all that kerfuffle but in my eyes, only long-standing friendships uphold such authority over ones character. 

Under scrutiny

On scrutinising my circle of friends, I observe such a wide spectrum of character traits and personalities it’ll be near impossible to brand the person I am. And it’s needed – a close group of friends should have this balance, this utility aspect to it where there's a friend to turn to in practically every circumstance. I liken it to a toolbox, each friend a tool useful in their own unique way. You wouldn’t call on a spanner to do the work of a hammer but both are present to cater for their particular need when it arises. Every character has a role to play in collectively contributing a unique piece to complete the 'circle'. Due to similar character traits, you tend to find clashes in homogeneous groups which lack the rigour and solidarity of those with a more cosmopolitan make up.

Since sojourning in the motherland, I’ve noticed the over-zealous attempts to befriend. In the nicest way possible I’ve often found myself maintaining a healthy distance probably because the minute inkling of paranoia got me thinking they’re just after a ticket to the UK. As I approach my latter years, I’ve observed this obstinate attitude of mine towards making new friends. Whether this is to do with my antisocial nature I don’t know. I believe one is at their most receptive in their adolescence as you permit and prone the type of characters you can and cannot tolerate within your circle. 

As you meet new people you’re discovering yourself too which is why old school friendships are so intrinsically valuable as they’re a reflection of who you are, and if the friendship still exists, a product of whom you’ve become. Secondary school through University I’m sure you would’ve gone through a list of friends, associates and companions who may or may not have withstood the test of time. Some alliances falling foul to conflicts, others mere distance and these days even death. 

As we age, we wean out the shaft until we’re left with that circle of close knit individuals we can call our true friends. Outer circle ‘know-bies’ will forever remain and they serve their purpose too but for some reason or another will always remain on the outside.

Quota reached

Now, in my mid-20’s I feel I’ve reached my quota. Not that I wouldn’t accept a new friend but simply because I feel I’ve acquired the balanced arsenal I need. Let me put it out there for those of you who’ve graduated and worked for a few years: how many can say you’ve met a new friend you could immediately draft into your inner circle? Not a lot – well I assume not anyway. Most inner circles comprise of friendships that have spanned years, be it right from childhood, school or Uni even. Screening their character traits, likes, dislikes and compatibility with yours is a process that usually takes time to implement, test and conclude. Yes on the odd occasion we meet that individual whose character just fuses and those years of investigative study can be packed into a few months but such is seldom.

What constitutes to a complete circle of friends is held at ones discretion. Experience says around 5 to 6 individuals but this is merely a guesstimate. It’s really depends on how scrupulous one is in their process of elimination. 

In the second and final instalment, I’ll delve a little deeper into what makes for a balanced circle, the atomic analogy and the role of outsiders.

Monday, 13 February 2012

Great Commission

Another video entry this time the handiwork of my bruddah from long time, Jojo/legz who really needs to distinguish which moniker he's going under - is it Jojo or Legz fam?

Won't yab you with a blurb, just know that God's using the kid mightily. Kinda makes me reflect on my life.

Listen. Absorb. Reflect.

Thursday, 19 January 2012

Reflecting at 200

Rah another milestone in this epic journey of mine. Hard to fathom that 100 days ago I was contemplating my 25th birthday. Now it's 2012 and I'm faced with terrorist threats and a national crisis over the fuel subsidy. I'm grateful though – still trying to stay learned, understand my native tongue and 'shine my eye' for any scam artists scoping me as an easy target.

From the last landmark entry I've been a victim of jazz - twice (I can't find another explanation to decipher what happened), got a new job (those in the know will relate to how much a triumph this is) and united with a bunch of long-lost cousins I never knew I had. Mixed bag in all but variety is the spice of life right even if I'm not a big fan of pepper. Till date I'm still vehemently denying accusations that I've acquired a wifey out here. Peeps back home are of the opinion I've already consumed her love potion, promising her a British passport and a house with a swimming pool and garden. *Sigh* My Life.

Anyhow, deciding to keep this one to a minimum, concise and straight to the point – had a few gripes about the length of my entries so I'll let pictures deputise for textual content. Miss Kennedy always said I waffled too much in my essays and she wasn't wrong. Still got an A in English Lang and Lit though AND WHAT!! See you at 300 – SPAAAARTAN!! 

Life's a Beach: If it was it wouldn't be half as hard - chilling, Eleko Beach, Lekki

Family Affair: One of my long-lost

Sips up: Drinking that fresh Coconol

Wednesday, 4 January 2012

Vouch for me

*Sigh* 2012 - if this is how you're going to continue for the next 362 odd days I think I'd rather say my goodbyes now. The New Year is only 4 days old and already drama is rolling up on my plate.

They say chivalry is dead but perhaps it's because the intended recipients continue to put a gun to the efforts of those who try. I'll refrain from ousting this individual on the net but the actions of this Blackberry Babe reminded me of one particular experience I had back in LDN.

As a friendly gesture I invited this female out to eat - nothing squalid, fancy or suggestive just a platonic dinner. Feeling a little gingered after copping a cheque for a whole £438.45 in overpaid taxes from Inland Revenue, I encouraged her to order anything she wanted; she obliged. Now covering a three course meal would usually have me frantically calculating the dent in finances and weeks staying indoors this indulgent investment in food would have on me.

So after eating we requested for the bill as you do; it came to around £38 or so. I paused for a reflective moment to analyse the items on the receipt before reaching for my pocket. After fervidly refusing her cynical offers to pay, I brought out my wallet and a creased piece of folded paper. I'd placed it suggestively on the table - the waitress looked at me to confirm her suspicions. In a coded manner I nodded discreetly before reverting focus back on my company – looking perplexed she asked:

"What's that?"

Now those familiar with Zizzi's know they run frequent offers permitting guests to discounts, extra food etc so why not take advantage of it.

"It's a discount voucher" I replied sounding real proud of myself.

At that precise moment her facial expression creased up to resemble that of a constipated Shar Pei.

"Oh my days, a voucher? What so I'm not worth a full meal yeah. How can you invite me out for a meal and use a voucher to pay. That's taking the piss". She was usually a timid individual from the peaceful outskirts of Kent but the South-East London in her really came out that evening.

At this point I'm assuming it's all a little fun and games, a joke. So I'm there with a big grin on my face thinking she's playing. WRONG. Maybe she was a little high but the last time I checked Appletizer had no alcoholic content. The girl was genuinely pissed and we haven't really spoken since. I've shared my experience with others and got mixed reactions. Some saying she was inconsiderate, others condemning me for falling for the cheapskate option. I'm still of the opinion, if they're offering, I'm taking but I guess it really depends on your relation with said individual. This latest edition was very similar the only difference being the backlash being twice as outlandish but it's cool, she won't be getting a BB from me that's for sure - Bloody Otundo!

Naija Quotables


Myself and the security guy at work get into a little banter about differences in African and Western culture and he asks:

"So where do you live in London or UK?"

"London is in the UK Boss" I reply

"Jesu. So London dey inside UK - Kai, me na professional mugu oh"

2. "Take this in case of in-casity"

Sunday, 1 January 2012

Happy New One

It's been a while I got intimate with my keyboard to post an entry like this - news of fuel subsidies and Boko Haram won't allow me rest.

That aside upon reading this I assume you've made it to the new year - Congrats! According to some 'experts' we're all doomed if prophecy is to be followed to the letter, but I'll leave that for them to worry about. I'm just glad to see another year, being given the chance to right my wrongs and further myself in this journey we call life.


2011 was one of my better years - so many people, good and bad played vital roles on my stage through which I've bettered myself as a person. Experiences and new challenges have been paramount in making 2011 what it was for me. It's really been a breakthrough year in setting out to achieve something and actually doing it namely this NYSC journey I'm currently embarking on - God helping me I'll complete my service with no qualms.

Never been one to conform to culture and conjure new resolutions - I feel life is a continuous resolution and I'll attempt to employ this into my daily lifestyle.

Before I go I noticed (whilst checking Blog stats) it only used to be one old lady in Ukraine who oddly found my material ever so slightly amusing. Now I'm responsible for keeping 19 followers engaged with the happenings of my Nigerian endeavours. My yellow cheeks are glowing red - thanks for feeling my random accounts are worth keeping a tab on. I'll reciprocate when NEPA decides to bring light and with that I bid you a Happy New One!

Sunday, 27 November 2011

As I Age

NOTE: Before I start, I'd just like to shout out the anonymous reader who messaged me to say she finally understands the message behind my post entitled Have you seen my white chick?' Some readers still don't get it but long-live assumption.

Ok so this sojourn outside the realms of London Zones 1-6 for the past four months has plunked me into a state of nostalgia and retrospective thought. Perhaps I'm missing the endearing frolics of life in the Big L ever so slightly.

Side Note: There's technically 1-9 Zones but what business do I have doing in Moor Park? As for me London stops after Wood Green - the rest is village. Cue boos from the Arnos Grove/Cockfosters lot.

So to remedy the burden I've been going through archives of pics and vids ranging from the Amsterdam Weekender of '07 (salute all who attended - big trip) to birthday parties in '92. Looking back at the good times like some old veteran reminiscing about the war and their long-lost sweetheart. Longing after the care-free escapades of my youth again like knock-down ginger, kiss chase and typing 'ASL' when you added a new chick on MSN Messenger. Sign of getting old I guess. Confirmation of this saddening fact was no more resounding than when I got into a 'back in my day' discussion with this five year old kid who hadn't a clue as to what a cassette was - MAAAATEEE!

Like generations before, I'm adamant 'my day' was infinitely better than any other: music, fashion & lifestyle wise - we did it best but I'm sure the 60 and 70's babies would beg to differ. I recall a debate raging on about if Lionel Messi was the best ever to grace the pitch. Panel members of a youthful disposition were in no doubt. This however pinched the nipples of the older participants who cited Maradonna as a far superior player. DM was probably the footballing hero of their day so for 'inexperienced' fans to overlook an all-time legend for one of the modern greats was a disservice to them. Same with music. Few would argue the Cash/Young Money movement are running tings in the Hip-Hop arena right now. However dare you say Drake or Weezy are better rappers than Slick Rick or Big Daddy Kane to a veteran Hip-Hop fan, and they'll scold you with their walking stick.

Truth is, these things are all relative. The days of our youth are usually a period of discovering our world, our experiences and ourselves. The avid 50's baby story would differ from that of the 90's babies of Generation-X but it doesn't make our likes, dislikes, culture and upbringing any less credible. Instead we should embrace trend differences in that when 12 year old Maxwell stops your Heartless Crew record to play a track from MC Killer MacKill's mixtape, endure the ordeal with a smile if only for two minutes; he'll appreciate it.

So being an 80's baby I leave you a visual token of my juvenile delinquent days. Happy Sunday and all that jazz. Tick.

Stick-up Kid: I played TopBoy back in '89 and I weren't even acting. I moved to this girl at church for her packet of Skips with just my flab and intimidating forehead. She boyd me and only gave me five but I was OK with that. Unfortunately CCTV caught me - got 22 years of mockery for my troubles KMT.

Wednesday, 23 November 2011

The Petition

I was escorted by friends to one of Lagos' most prestigious chill-out zones recently. Attractive girls flock to this location like flies to a fresh lump of dog shit but one particular female grabbed my attention amongst the rest. Her smooth, caramel-kissed skin was flawless. She had that au naturel flex going on with minimal make-up and freshly manicured nails to complement the slender blue dress she had on but she was far from a devil. Even her Brazilian (or was it Peruvian?) was on point but it was her bop not her beauty that had me rapt.

The Problem

This chick was staggering like Bambi on five shots of Tequila with interpolations of The Crip Walk added to the tedious routine for the simple fact she chose to wear six-inch Louboutins she clearly couldn't walk in.

It was a hot mess and Nigerians being Nigerians were unreserved in their comments: "See Ashewo wearing shoe like mu-mu, Olodo!"

But she isn't the only one. At Church, in the office and on road, ladies worldwide are falling foul to the misnomer of No Pain, No Gain! No fool, it's all pain and no gain when you end up in A&E for brucking up your ankles.

I don't take pleasure in seeing such…wait…maybe I do purely for comical purposes but that aside it really isn't lady-like strutting like you're being possessed by demons all in the name of looking sexy (well trying to anyway).

The Proposal

So I've taken it upon myself to file a petition for a High-Heel licence. YEAH, YEAH you read it correctly no typo, a LICENCE to rock HIGH-HEELS just like you require a driving licence to drive. See it as a labour of love as I'm tired of amateurs trying to pull off the killer look by rocking killer heels and doing nothing other than killing themselves (or their ankles at least).

Side Thought: I'm slightly high off Supermalt so I may be a tad delusional as I type this but it's making a lot of sense as I do so I'll proceed *burbs* Excuse me.

Rocking heels like driving is a skill (at least I think it is) so I intend putting these measures in place. Ladies intending to rock heels longer than 3inches will be required to take a strut test at the various levels before being awarded a licence:
  • STUDENT LEV TEST: 3-4inches
  • DIVA LEV TEST: 5inches
  • MODEL LEV TEST: 6+inches
Candidates will be required to climb up/down stairs, navigate uneven terrain, dance, run and finally walk down a 50m x 1m runway. Any swaying or wobbling will count as minors (10 Max) with full-on drops, trips, stumbles and staggers seen as major faults and instant failure.

If you pass, well done - tell the foxes and celebrate by painting your bunions with your favourite nail polish. If you fail, its Key Stage Two heels (no more than 2inches) and Primark pumps for you. It's either this or getting stabilizers fitted. The fashion police have also endorsed the initiative tentatively so tell me, have I warranted a signature or just a cheeky slap?