A Tale Of Two Nigerians (2)

****(Please read part 1 below first)

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Hello Andrew

I got your email, and I won’t lie, while it nearly drew tears to my eyes, I can’t still help but implore you to be upbeat. Let me tell my story and you may begin to see why.

After you left, I spent a month at home before I headed to school to start first semester year one. I stayed in a school hostel, in a room with boys and men. It was a mixed bag of cultures, personalities and temperaments. For one, we had Walata who had been in the school system since 19-whenever, and had more extras than Panadol. He bullied everyone in the room, and fed fat of his room-mates’ resources. The room had about 12 inhabitants and this is outside the hordes of squatters who came and went as they pleased. I returned back from’jacking’ late one night to see a squatter I had never laid my eyes on before laying on my mattress, and he even had his shoes on. The chap was every angry that I disturbed his sleep.

Then one of my room-mates brought a table fan because the room was stuff, as bunks placed in front of windows were impeding cross-ventilation. Walata would wake up, while the guy was sleeping and face the fan’s rotation to himself. The guy had to ‘abandon’ the fan for Wally.

Then I had a room-mate who was klepto-maniac. This guy stole everything he owned. We were grateful that he saw the room’s occupants as his family, and he admittedly said one day that one does not steal from family, so we were temporarily safe at least. However the pessimist in me, continued to carry all my money in my socks rather than leave anything to chance; I mean, Klepto could always change his mind, yeah?

It was in school that I saw the social divides of society become apparent. That’s why university is called that, it is a ‘universe –city’. I saw guys, children of moneyed men in government with money to blow, who cruised around in some really smart cars, chasing easy girls and staying in expensive apartments in town. I know a lass whose dad was an ex-minister who lived permanently in a hotel, where the daily room charge was 3 grand. Do the math – that’s almost 100k per month.

I have seen the other side of the divide. There were guys who were from impoverish backgrounds where everyone in their village had contributed their widow’s mite to enable them come to school. Some of these guys were really brilliant – in fact one graduated with a first class in political science. There are first class talents in Nigeria who cannot afford school fees, yet our government is wasting resources buying Toyota Camry as official cars for themselves and awarding themselves estacodes for ‘official’ trips. Shameful.

I had a room-mate so poor that he spent holidays in school, living in one of the dirtier school hostels. I have had people come to borrow bathing soap, toilet roll etc. A guy one used my deodorant roll-on while I was looking away. He just went into my locker and grabbed it. I had to ‘dash’ it to him, because his armpit hair was all over the roll-ball. I hid my toothbrush after that!

After I graduated, I served under the NYSC program – that one is another story on its own. Finding a job after service was a big wahala. The few jobs that there are have impossible conditions attached to them – most be younger than 23 at graduation, but must have done NYSC,  must have 2.1 with 5 years’ experience. The fact that the job is advertised in a daily doesn’t mean it really exists – it may be a scam by ‘recruiting agencies’ who ask you to pay them for the opportunity to get you a job that pays you. Confused already? I was.

Then there are job ads that are there just to fulfill all righteous and tick legal or compliance requirements. There are major multinationals in Nigeria where jobs are ‘preserved’ for the wards and kids of higer-ups who are still rounding up their degrees abroad. There was this case in a major oil producing corporation on the Island in Lagos,  where a desk and computer and position was put on freeze for 2 years, pending the time, one of the senior executive’s niece would start and finish her degree in London. That position was advertised annually and candidates would risk life and limb, and waste scarce resources travelling to Lagos to interview for the ‘phantom’ position.

Then there was the degree discrimination in the job market. Foreign degree candidates are a dime a dozen now, so what chances do Naija degree holders stand. I mean, I attended OAU right? That used to be top of the pyramid. At my last interview, I was ghosted over someone who had attended London Met. It is now so competitive that some companies actually look for foreign degree holders and will use your resume to line their bins or make paper planes if they see ‘made in Nigeria’ anywhere.

However your connections are everything in Nigeria. Consider this equation: “ connections” + “Nigerian degree from Ogun State University”  > degree from Harvard or Cambridge.

And the general socio-economic situation in the country is a shambles. People are living like zombies, walking with dead eyes stares and no hope for the future, while leadership at the top has failed. Nigeria’s north and south are like two different countries – a tale of 2 cities. It is not uncommon for a newspaper report to show a mass killing or bombing of a church in Gombe, while the next column would feature fun-seekers posing for the red carpet at the latest event in Victoria Island Lagos. It is just like having your own personal Netflix or Movie Magic channel – page one (Gombe) features Terminator 4 or War of the Worlds, while page 2 (Lagos) is Sex and the City or Confessions of a Shopaholic. Meanwhile Eastern Nigeria’s own (pages 3) is Wall Street: Moni Never Sleeps.

You complained about discrimination abroad based on your skin color. What about ethnic discrimination? Your skin is your skin, but that’s because your nation is an abomination.

You said you have been following recent political events, the strikes and fall outs from fuel subsidy removal. It is all well and good following the events from the safe haven of your British exile, but it is real in the field. Countless people have lost their lives, and our president just sits there regurgitating semantics. I remember the hit 1995 movie “The Usual Suspects” starring Kevin Spacey. There was something said in that movie that is now infamous “The greatest trick the devil ever pulled is convincing the world that he didn’t exist.”

Anyone who believes that the devil does not exist is either a JJC or hasn’t been to Nigeria. There is a wicked cabal in this country whose tentacles are like a hydra around Nigeria’s oil wealth. The word ‘cabal’ is almost an anagram of cannibal. Just take away ‘nni’ from cannibal, you have the word ‘cabal’.  ‘Nni’ is an Igbo word for food. These secret group are blood-suckers.

Fast forward, I was at one of these Occupy Nigeria rally things in Lagos two weeks ago, and I thought that I had walked into the wrong gathering. It was like being at a fashion show, like New York fashion week or at Ascot in England. Many people were dressed to the nines, and a few were even chatting  away on their phones, or taking ‘facebook-worthy’ pics with friends and celebs.

Occupy everywhere

Some people were carrying ‘placards’ with the words “David (Mark) and Jonathan out.” Some were fist pumping and singing solidarity songs.

We thought it was all fun, until suddenly bullets start flying everywhere as trigger happy policemen  started busting shots into the air to disperse the crowd.

PISHAUN! PISHAUN!! PISHAUN!!!

See the way the crowd scattered like the Tower of Babylon. People were picking race left, right and center. Valuables were left behind, and there were shouts and shrieks all around. Someone behind me fell, I think. Key word – I think, because fear no let me turn around check am. Accidental discharge is no crime in Nigeria.

I ran for my dear life, and ducked behind an abandoned scrap danfo bus. I started checking my chest and limbs to see if I was hit.

I looked up and saw pandemonium everywhere. People had jumped into gutters, some girls were crying as they ran in fear. A mother had abandoned her 5 year old. A hawker had thrown his tray of Gala  onto the side curb and fled behind  a bush.

After some minutes, I noticed that the policemen had moved on in their van, so I stood up, dusted myself and picked up 2 Gala from the floor, opened one, took a bite and started the long journey home.

Last week I returned back to my base in Kano, where I work in the statistics office of a non-governmental association. Kano has started to erupt in little pockets of violence, echoing the past events in Gombe, Bauchi and Borno States. My stay here is beginning to feel like a bad episode of The Blair Witch Project. Where I stay, is a cluster of living quarters, housing many Southerner, mostly Christians, and I am beginning to feel watched. I try to make sure my BB is charged to have internet service so I  don’t feel alone even when I am not speaking to friends and family from Lagos on the phone. My Starcomms flash drive for my internet service is a bit erratic anyway. Lately I can feel funny aggressive stares from the aboki who sells small goods in a stall in front of my building. When I went over 2 days ago to buy some packets of Indomie, he hissed and looked at me in an unfriendly manner, as he fiddled with the dial knob on his small transistor radio. The radio was blaring some announcements in a language that I am not sure is Hausa.

It is now about past 1 in the night here, and I feel so lonely and afraid, I must say. Last night, I barely slept as I heard gunshots and screaming in the background. The next morning, the newspaper headlines announced “30 traders maimed and killed at market square by Boko Haram fundamentalists.”

Tonight I can hear the loud report of bomb explosions and mortar fire echoing in the background. Kano, the great city of the groundnut pyramids appears to have gone nuts.

Oh my God, what is that? I can hear screams and chants coming closer and closer. That is my neighbor’s voice and I can hear his wife pleading in Igbo with some invaders chanting holy war songs.

Help! Andrew, please help me!!! They are at my door!!!!!

My country shitted on me/

She wants to get rid of me/

Cause of the things I’ve seen/

Cause of the things I’ve seen/

Nas (My Country, 2001)

A Tale of Two Nigerians (1)

Who can remember that social commentary on emigration in the early 80s? The one where a frustrated twenty-something year old character called Andrew lamented about how fed up he was with the standard of living in Nigeria, the inflation rate and the crippling effect of Buhari-economics? The year was 1984 and Nigeria’s neck was under the bootstraps of Generals Buhari and Idiagbon’s WAI policy, a brutal national orientation toward orderliness and discipline in national life.  It was post oil boom Nigeria, and the petro-dollars were drying up. Funny enough as bad as it seemed then, these leaders were messiahs compared to today’s lot.

Andrew  wanted to ‘check out’ was convinced otherwise by another character in the short film, who encouraged him to remain in Nigeria and contribute his quota to nation building. In any case, moving and travelling abroad in early 80s Nigeria wasn’t a rave, so no long thing.  That ad became now encapsulates the struggle of the common man to escape out of this country for greener pastures in obodo oyibo to this present day.

What you don’t know is – that the story didn’t end there. Esco had exclusive access to the script which is based on a true story. As usual the names have been switched up to protect the innocent, but the story had been kept true to its roots to edu-tain you (educate + entertain). Seat back, relax, get your popcorn (or guguru & epa) and a hanky too (you will need it, trust):

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Andrew decided to stay behind in Nigeria after receiving advice from pro-Naija optimists. He secured a state scholarship, and attended UNIBEN where he graduated and was lucky to start work with one of those older generation tally-numba banks.  He also got married and had a son who he named Andrew Junior. Andrew Junior attended one of the Federal Government Colleges for his secondary education. He became very good friends with a classmate of his, a chap named Bamidele. They were inseparable friends from Form One till SS3, hanging out also during the holidays as well. Their folks became close friends too due to their strong friendship.  Everyone who knew them remarked that Bamidele and Andrew Jnr were tighter than giraffe pussy.

Andrew’s dad wanted his son to pursue the dreams he never had, and decided to send him abroad for his university education. Andrew Junior got admitted into Brunel University, United Kingdom to major in Finance. Bamidele had no such luck; his folks were civil servants and he was quickly ushered to write Jamb. He scored 250 and got admitted to OAU. This was circa

On the day Andrew was leaving for Great Britain, Bami escorted him to the airport along with Andrew’s folks. Soon it was time for Andrew to board, and Bami was almost crying more than Andrew’s mum sef.  He even almost followed Andrew into the departure hall, and kept on waving long after the Andrew’s aircraft had taken off into the clouds. Like na wa o, so Andrew has indeed gone to Jand…

His thoughts were interrupted by the bark of an airport immigration officer “Abeg local champion, dress for one side, make better passenger wey wan travel pass.Ehen, oyibo, open ya box, make I inspect am. Wetin you go carry dash me for this ya luggage? Chei! Na wetin be all this one? You dey still carry chin-chin and cashew nut go London? Dem no get am boku for there? Haba, you go leave this one for me o. And this your body spray sef….”

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Dami and Andrew kept in touch for a while, but after a while everybody had to answer their papa name. Phone numbers got lost, and they just got caught up with the struggles of their respective lives. In fact they didn’t hear from each other for almost 4 years, until one day Andrew saw Dami tagged in a picture on facebook. He sent Dami a message, and Dami sent a reply

This is  the story of 2 young Nigerian males experiencing life in 2 different countries. One in the diaspora, and the other as a prisoner in  his own country which is no longer at ease. This story is told from the excerpts of the emails exchanged:

 

Andrew’s email:

Hello Dami,

It was great to see you on facebook again. Social networks work wonders eh? Its been a long minute. Life in England can be a tough lonely existence. When I first moved here from Nigeria, I was staying in my aunt’s crampy place somewhere in the Streatham area of London. She was a nurse and worked long alternating day and night shifts, so it could get some quiet and boring at times especially when I first came because my school had not resumed. In my first week, I got so homesick, that I came out on the balcony of the 7^th floor council flat and shouted my greeting “Good morning, my neighbours!”

My oyibo neighbors looked out of their windows wearily and drew their shutters blind. An old woman walking her poodle in the park downstairs, looked at me with disdain. I think someone must have called the authorities because the next day, TV license officials came knocking, and busted me for not paying. My aunt wasn’t in so, I had to cough up the fine or risk being arrested. I didn’t tell my aunt because she would be furious that I opened the door at all to outsiders. I had to swallow the 250 buck fee from my pocket money,

I have not been back to Nigeria since I left! I watch AIT news and follow Linda Ikeji and Bella naija  to keep up with news. I also have Sahara Reporters bookmarked on my PC, and I visit the Nigeria stand every year at the Nottinghill carnival to eat Obalende suya and jollof rice and socialize with my compatriots. Does NEPA still take light? Stupid question right? Do trees grow in a forest? Does Obasanjo like pounded yam? Does Banky W wear face cap? Right now I am doing a Master’s degree in Communications. I don’t even know why I am doing it because it is my second post graduate degree. The truth is that I am tired of reading or going to school just to be able to stay abroad legally. My next plan is to start a PHD program  in Canada – University of Toronto. Then I would come and do another PHD in Yankee . By then I should have arranged papers somehow.

I could have returned to Nigeria ages ago, but there is an endless cycle of bills to pay – credit cards, school loans etc. And I just started paying mortgage on a property. Besides there isn’t much left for me in Nigeria – did you hear that my dad was let go by the bank in the last banking shake-up by Sanusi? I hear  he stays at home all day in a shimi, reading newspapers and shaking his fist in frustration. My mum said that he has removed food subsidy at home. He is now regretting not leaving in the early 80s. Somebody told him to try registering with one of those Canadian immigration agencies. But what does Montreal, Calgary and Vancouver hold for a 50 something year old ex-banker from Nigeria?

Bros, jand done tire me. I remember that the office I was working with once sent me to work on a project for a few months in one small, backward town in Lancashire, Northern England. Ol boy, dem no get African store for there, so I nearly died of hunger and boredom. One day I was so desperate to eat swallows, that I bought a last minute train ticket to London, went to an African store on Kilburn, demolished 4 wraps of pounded yam, slept in a bed and breakfast, and took a train back to my base the next morning.

I am fed up with all the discrimination that comes with living in another man’s land. Call me paranoid or over-sensitive but it is there in the funny stares you get when you present your green Naija passport at Heathrow, and are ‘randomly’ selected to step aside for a full strip search. Don’t drop the soap!

It is there in the way security gaurds and loss prevention agents shadow your every move when you enter an upscale joint. Or even when you are seated in a full bus, and some people would rather stand for hours than share a seat with you. It is etched on faces which show slight disappointment when you work in for a job interview. No amount doing ogboju by ‘anglicizing’ your name will erode discrimination. I know Nigerians abroad who have ‘formulated’ English sounding names out of their native names. Olanike became ‘Nicky’. Chikamara put ‘Kammy’ on his resume and official ID documents. Oghenerukevwe warned all her fellow Nigerians at her office in Manchester that they should only call her ‘Rukky.”  A girl named ‘Ifunanya’ threw a fit and caused a ruckus in my school’s records office because they had the gall to put her full name on her official transcripts when she had insisted that she be called ‘Nani’ from now on. Why would someone want to share the same name as a Michael Jackson-lite footballer at Man U?

It is no difference in the work environment. My friend Sheri a Nigerian girl who has been working at my office for more than 8 years, has been promoted down and side-ways but never upwards. The company policy calls in a promotion freeze, but we know it is wash wash because they recently hired a man from outside and made him her manager, and he knows diddly squat about the business. Promotion squeeze ke? It should be termed ‘lateral  career confinement’ or ‘work winch’

The situation got me fed up, and I called Ikenna our ex-schoolmate who is in Yankee. Remember him from secondary school. Well, he now lives and works in Houston, Texas, having done his university there too. He told me some home truths which a frank oyibo friend of his had told him in confidence: “Dude, racism is everywhere and forms part of the fabric of Western society. In early American history, the China-man built the railroad; the Indians helped the pilgrims. But in return, the pilgrims and their decendants annihilated generations of Indians and forced them into reservations.”

Ikenna said that what he heard next took the wind out of him: “Your situation is even worse, and it is not just the colour of your skin. You are the bottom of the social pyramid in this country. You are lower than a nigga; you are a Black African.”

I know Nigerians here doing well who are still complaining, because they would rather live in Nigeria if they had the chance.  Then there are those also living from hand to mouth, doing temping jobs just to be able to keep out the cold winter and fuel the stomach. These jobs (jabs) pay near minimum wage about 6 bucks an hour). Nothing beats earning a proper salary in your own country and temping jobs where you earn a wage, have a way of killing one’s spirit once you do them long term. The wages of sin is death – the sin of wages is an emotional death.

Successive Nigerian governments have let us down, and it seems that the post oil-boom generation (Generation Y-Not) would have to pick this country up as our parents’ generation has run the country aground. I was in Yankee on an exchange program, when Obama was elected into office, and people of all colors, though especially African-Americans were rejoicing all around me over the election of a first black president. Me, I was praying and hoping that Nigeria would elected the first decent president in the next elections.

My guy, I am tired of venting about living abroad, because most Nigerians would give an arm and a leg to come here, and they would abuse the hell out of me if they heard me complain. Even my dad warned me to “stay there!” when I spoke to him on the phone about entertaining the thoughts of returning back. My mum said that if I was feeling homesick, she would send me “Nigerian movies, new music by Wiz-kid, Skales, Duncan Mighty and Davido, and some foodstuff like crayfish, dry pepper, Indomie, egusi, ogbono seeds when next somebody was coming to London.

I have been following current events in Nigeria with the fuel subsidy wahala, the bombings and the violence. Na wa o. I was even at the Occupy Rally at the Nigerian embassy, but I couldn’t stay long because my boss ordered me back to work.

We are all Nigerians when push comes to shove,

One love

Do Me (2)

Just try am, you go see pepper today

When my little cousin was about to go off to University, I called her and gave her some advice. Nothing too preachy; just some basic rules for keeping safe from sexual predators and pervy hawks.  I am a lad, and I know all the tricks of the game: nobody was pimping my little cousin. She later confessed  that the advice I gave her helped her and some of her friends she shared them with, and were gems that should be codified into a journal or something. Ah bless.

Seeing the rising incidents of rape and sexual assault, I have decided to draw up this set of rules for the benefit of my reading audience. Guys could have a read too, but they won’t be needing them unless they are super-star entertainers or billionaires. Naija girls won’t molest you unless you are loaded or famous, abi?

1. Guard your grill: Nas said “school your sons, teach your girls karate”. Every girl should know how to defend herself if cornered.  I know that is easier said than done, because a Nigerian man on a rape mission is like Oge Okoye and ‘runs girl’ films. And fighting off more than one guy may be asking too much of any member of the fairer sex (unless the girl is built like Apolonia). But I have always told my little sister and my girl the following: You don’t have to know Krav Maga, kung fu or gidigbo to ward off attackers. You can gorge the man’s eyes with your pinkie, thumb and index fingers. If you have one of those manicured fake acrylic nails, put it to good use girl. Or you can yank the attacker’s nuts sack(scrotum). Any brute would cry like a baby if this is done properly, I don’t care if he is built like Gentle Jack or Torino. A quick tugging motion diagonally is all that is needed, with all the strength you can muster. Think of it, like you are yanking a Birkin bag off another girl’s hands at a 60% off sales event. That should do it.

This would only work if your attacker is a man. If it is another female trying to rape you, sorry o.

You can also attack his legs, by stamping his knee caps so hard  that they break inwards. Do this if you are both standing. If you are wearing Loubotins with 4 inch heels, stick them in and twist, till the rapist bleeds. Loubs don’t come with red heels for nothing. This one is risky though – do not try if you are wearing fake or knock-off brands, as the heels may break instead. Don’t try either if you are wearing Gladiator sandals.

I wonder why in a country that produces red pepper, tatashe, really red hot chili and suya pepper, we do  not have an indigenous pepper spray firm. Such a company would make a killing in sales. Maybe I should become a ‘consultant’ to any interested investors because girls would rush pepper sprays like they do Blackberries and weaves. Yeah I can see it – Esco’s Anti-rape Suya Pepper spray. I could do a partnership with the makers of Baygon insecticide. Or maybe I should name the pepper spray “Be-Gone” instead. Have you seen the way those things maul roaches?

I would have advocated that a Nigerian company produced stun guns for personal defense, but I thought about it and remembered NEPA/ PHCN. See how that went? Nigeria has a problem with electricity so how can we think of making electric stun guns. Maybe unless we have one that uses fuel  to generate the electric shock, just like an “I Better Pass My Neighbor” generator.

2.  Don’t go to a guy’s crib alone especially if you don’t plan on getting down. Yes I am talking to you. Girls need to stop deceiving themselves by saying that guys should be able to hold themselves no matter what. Honey, flee from all manners of temptations and danger. As Segun Arinze used to say in those old Nollywood flicks, “do not enter the snake pit unless you want to tango with the Cobra”. Or trouser snake.

By the way, Segun Arinze used to refer to himself as The Cobra. He looks nothing like a cobra, unless he is referring to its hood.

3.  Don’t underestimate any chap, and write them off as harmless or platonic friends. Any guy who is not related to you (ok, there are exceptions but I hope thunder would fire them) could try to sleep with you. Body nor be firewood. Some girls delude themselves by trying to compartmentalize their male friends. “Oh, Sabifok and I are like best friends, he would never think about it. I even knew his ex- girlfriend.”  Meanwhile you are wearing “cross-no-gutter” mini-skirts in front of this dude. Babes, buru gawa jor.

And don’t deceive yourself thinking that this guy is built like Teju Philips while you are thickset like Monique, so there is no way he could overpower you. Agro makes super-humans of timid people. I refer you to the Konji Principle, Volume 2.

 4.  Always hold your trans-card (or transport fare) or have a means of transport, if you are going to see a dude. Some guys use the threat of not dropping the chick off to force the lass into sleeping over. Keep your phone charged too, and have some credit for goodness sake. Try keeping 2 phones if you can preferably, Glo and another network. For some girls, this may be damn near impossible, especially if it is the dude that paid for your phone and credit in the first place. Good luck.

5.  Do not bait guys by aiming to “chop his money” and flee. Many guys are gracious in ‘defeat’ but there are nutcases out there, who believe in ‘tits for tat”. Get it? Tits for tat. In other words, it takes two hands to wash each other properly. A chap called Chima used to hook his rich 419 cousin with girls from his uni. His cousin Shaba would treat the overwhelmed girl to shopping and dates, and then take them home for a shag-fest. Until Chima introduced Shaba to this really street-smart girl called Ijeoma. Shaba took her shopping to various stores where she picked up clothes, a really smart watch and some make up accessories. She complained that she needed provisions and toiletries for school, so he obliged her.

He drove her back to his house for ‘desert’ and that’s where the drama started. She refused to let him get down, and acted like she was surprised he was bringing all this up. She thought all his kind gestures had been a friendly act. Shaba was having none of that, and keep trying to take her top off. So Ije told him to give her a second, while she used the bathroom.

Shaba strolled to the fridge to fix himself a drink, when he heard a loud noise like a smash. He rushed to the bathroom, and broke the door in. Ije had been trying to bail through the toilet window, and had smashed the water closet as she stood on it to elevate herself. She was lucky not to have sustained any injury. Shaba was amazed – the toilet was on the first floor (2^nd to yankee people). Ije smiled sheepishly.

Shaba dragged her back into the bedroom, and she had to give it up sharp sharp. What a jerk! 

6.  And if despite all of the above, the unfortunate deed happens, make sure you tell someone. If you have elder brothers, let them know. If you have cousins who are in confra, let them know, and point them to the house of the person. If you have a Chief who wants to marry you and has been making advances, let him know so he can organize his thugs. Trust me, there is no shame towards a rape victim. Nigeria has evolved – we have entertainers dressing up half-naked and people spilling their life secrets on Twitter. We have a weak central government and a free-for-all economy, so there is no shame in being raped. The supposed stigma is too small/irrelevant for the victim to hide the act and carry a lifetime of pain and distrust of men.

So there you have it. Stay safe and be good.

Do Me

The  raping of a girl in Abia State by a group of 5 lads, allegedly ABSU students  generated a huge uproar some weeks ago. The lads also had the gall to upload a video of the act, sending huge shock waves across Nigeria and the blogging community. A week or more later, a similar act was perpetrated by 2 LASU students, who lured and raped a lass. The events of the past few weeks have served to bring to national consciousness the issue of molestation and rape in Naija.

Rape incidents are not new in Nigeria. The advent of the internet and access by many Nigerians to smart phones and data plans has served to blow incidents that would otherwise be hushed up. Is there something about our culture that makes ‘no’ not mean ‘no’ ? People have argued this same part of our culture heaps a certain kind of stigma on a rape victim, discouraging her (or him) from speaking up or filing a report with the authorities.

In many aspects of Nigerian life, ‘no’ may mean ‘maybe’ or ‘later’ or ‘e go be’, just the same way an appointment to meet someone at 9am, ,may mean 12 noon or 2000 and never. Does this also apply to sexual advances? I mean we have all been brought up on local movies and TV shows, where the chap chases the lass, and in the early stages of ‘toastery’ she acts like she can’t stand him. Some females may even slap the chap at the mention of a date or insult him venomously (see Danny Wilson’s “Raggamuffin” video). Later on, she has a 360 degree change of heart, and they end up shagging/marrying/ or chasing each other at Bar Beach. A young male sees this, nods to himself and takes mental notes: No means ‘it depends.” At first if you don’t succeed,……..try again….

But remember that sometimes, Romeo must die..

Do Nigerian chaps feel entitled to sex once they are in the same room with a lass? An incident happened in England some years back where these 2 Nigerian chaps (Daniel and Akin) went to a club in the West End and pulled 2 oyibo chicks. They took them back home to Daniel’s flat. Akin was staying over briefly, because he had come down from Coventry for a few days. When they got to the crib, Daniel’s chick was ‘co-operating’ with him, so they chilled on the couch playing tonsil tennis. The other girl didn’t want Akin anywhere near her, and spurned all his advances. She didn’t even take her shoes off, and refused the offer to change into a pair of Akin’s shorts.

Time to go to bed, and the lads laid a huge comforter on the living room floor, so that everyone could sleep. It didn’t take long before Daniel and his girl started making out seriously, solving some ‘bedmathic’ solutions. Eventually everyone fell asleep. Not Akin. Around 3am, not able to take it anymore, Akin ‘mounted’ the other girl, slowly pushed her underwear to the side, and started having sex with her. The girl did not say a word or move an inch. When Akin was done, the girl stood up, and went to the bathroom. When she returned, she tapped her friend to wake her up, and announced that they should leave because she had just been raped. Pandemonium galore.

Her friend grabbed a mobile phone and started calling the police. Akin and Daniel ‘begged’ these chicks from 3.30am in the morning till like 8am. Dem no gree o.They called the police, and that’s how Akin was arrested. From Daniel’s flat in Kensal Green to the police station to Old Bailey court.  He is presently in Belmarsh prisons, at the custody of Her Majesty. Like Tuface Idibia once crooned: Ogogoro be like woman; if you shack am, you go high o.

Incidents like this have been occurring in Nigeria for ages with a different outcome. The chaps would ‘beg’ or threaten the girl, and that usually would be the end of the matter. There is this girl I know who once told me that she was raped by her brother’s friend who she had a crush on, when she was just 16. She was in S.S 2 then, and the chap was a 2^nd year student in University. She had stopped over at the guy’s house after school. The guys and 2 of his friends all took turns shagging her in the living room, and then she ran home crying but didn’t tell a soul. She said she had buried the terrible memory in the deepest pits of her subconscious.

What?! I asked her why she didn’t tell her elder brother or her folks. She confessed that her brother would have been really pissed and brushed off her allegation saying something like  “Nto gi, why did you go to his house in the first place. It is good for you’. Her folks would have sneered ‘ Ashewo, your waka waka don carry you enter gbese abi. If you like, next time make you no come home straight from school.’ What kind of family is that? The Adams Family or the Fuji House of Commotion?

The act of forcing a girl to have sex against her will occurs far more often in Nigeria than one imagines. A girl comes over to see a guy whom she is not even dating, and is ‘coerced’ into ‘dropping’ .Or some rude guy hands the girl a refreshment in her hand, as he is shoving his penis into her mouth.

There are many other examples. Guys who coerce the girl into having sex by refusing to drop her off, or shutting the exit doors, and falsely imprisoning her. Or the  case of the rich aristo chief who took a girl on a shopping spree at the Palms. When they got back to his hotel suite, he started taking off his agbada, and strapping on a Gold Circle condom. When the girl tried to protest saying “Ah, Chief, I am not in the mood o; besides I have a yeast infection”, the Chief barked as he shoved his manhood towards her pelvis “Ehen? And then? Ti ya n’ime!!!”

Chief had 4 rounds that night.

Or when a girl says  “I have the ketchups, so we can’t even have sex”, there are guys who would counter “That is all well and good but what do I tell junior who is now stiff”.

As lads, we have to exercise self-control even if a girl comes to spend the night dressed like Tiwa Savage in her new video for ‘Love Me, Love Me, Love Me.” We have to keep that trouser snake sheathed. A cold shower is better than a cold cell.

Throughout history, many famous or successful men have fallen from grace after they were indicted and imprisoned for rape crimes. Tupac and Mike Tyson are moot examples. After Tyson went to jail for rape, he lost his boxing mojo, and was never the same prized fighter again, and took to biting ears like Goldie songs. He now rears pigeons. He lost bouts to boxers who would have beaten previously with his eyes closed. Even Bash Ali would have had a good chance of beating Tyson.

To prove how heinous the act of rape is, rapists are treated as the lowest of the low in the social hierarchy in American prisons. Once your fellow inmates ask you what you are in jail for, and you mention rape, you would get assaulted and picked on, or even shanked with a sharp object by other prisoners. Only child molesters have a worse reputation than rapists. Put it this way, even a prisoner who is serving time for stealing an 80 cent loaf of bread is treated better than a rapist. I don’t know how they would be treated in a Nigerian prison though. I mean corrupt politicians have been raping the economy and our treasury, and the few that went to jail for it had thanksgiving dinners in Kirikiri.

A lot of chaps have gotten burned by misconstruing a girl’s intentions. Chaps that like to look for an imaginary ‘green light’ in the girl’s posture, often get the wrong message that the girl is DTF (check “Jersey Shore” for the full meaning). Some guys have a problem discerning what is green light or even light at all. If a girl so much as looks as them, they would sprout something like “Abi, una done see? This babe dey fall for me, mehn. I go carry am go lodge.”

There should be a condom that has a small print on it which says ‘Girl has now consented to sex, so hereby executes the contract by tearing open this section.”

The magic condom would only be operable by females. It would probably have a seal that guys find damn near impossible to open, and only females can, a bit like a bra strap’s hook.

Until then, we have to treat our women with respect, and condemn all acts of sexual assault and rape on our sisters. I want to commensurate with the 2 girls who were forcefully violated, and I hope that the only silver  lining behind all this unfortunate events would be a greater support for rape victims, general public enlightenment on the subject of sexual assault and a re-orientation of our police agencies on how to investigate and treat the crime of rape including offering counselling and victim support.

I have a bit more to say on this subject, as will be covered in 2^nd part. Till then I dedicate the following song lyrics to any of our Nigerian sisters suffering any hurt as a result of molestation. Keep your head up.

 

Princess of the Nile/

And sweet black sexy child/

Ooh I like your style/

First mother on the planet/

I know it’s getting scary/

And all these wannabe pimps is all that you meet/

But you have got to shake them off like fleas and nigga meat/

And use your God-given talents and abilities/

No matter where you’re from, you get much respect/

Coolio (For My Sistas, 1995)

Baby, Don’t Do It

Mba nu....

As a kid growing up, I really loved Jackie Chan movies. He was a modern day Superman taking out all the bad guys with his vulnerable style of martial arts, plus he was mad funny. He was realistic unlike Steven Seagal who would break everyone’s legs and bones like okporoko and not sustain a scratch himself. Jackie Chan was real unlike Mojo, Benbella or Garth who were heroes on Nigerian comic strips in the newspapers. Garth was always falling for treacherous double-agents (Guardian Newspaper), and Benbella was always getting beaten up. Nackson,even had more mojo than Mojo (Vangaurd newspaper).

One of my wishes as a child was to travel to China to meet Jackie Chan.

On a visit to a Chinese Restaurant in Surulere, I asked the waiter “Hey, you are Chinese. Do you know Jackie Chan? Is he your brother? Una resemble”

Carefully balancing the plate of hot soup and Wong Tong soup, he answered with all the restraint he could “Jackie Chan is actually from Hong Kong, not China. Besides I am Taiwanese”

What is the difference, I thought to myself. But I remarked “Okay Taiwan; na una country dey make fake toys…”

My mum ‘eyed’ me furiously, so I stopped saying more.

That ‘eyeing’ became a secret code for ‘shut it, boy!’ or ‘baby, don’t do it’

I would like to apply the same code to the same categories of people in Nigeria:

• You only spent your adult life in Jand/Yankee, yet your foreign accent is even stronger than the citizens there. You act as if agege bread and public transport is beneath you. You criticize everything about Nigerian life, and remark about how The Palms and The Galleria are glorified shopping centers where you are coming from. You start pronouncing Nigerian words in an annoying manner, just like when Stephen Keshi, the former Super Eagles captain pronounced Bournvita as “Born –vira” in that 94 beverage ad. You broadcast your foreign pedigree or “pre-degree” in every update on Facebook or “Twirra” We all hear you. You need to quit forthwith.

•  You follow fashion blindly. Nah I really mean that literally. You follow fashion and you don’t see as a result. Biko nwa nne,  don’t wear sunglasses indoors unless you have apollo, you are a huge superstar, or you are a funky malo.going to Bar Beach on Sunday. When you start wearing glasses to the extent that you can’t see properly or nearly cause accidents all in the name of fashion, then there is a problem. Beauty is pain? Try accidents and incidents because you nor see road because of shades. Dude was wearing sunglasses at 6pm and cruising on Lekki-Epe expressway bumping 2Pac’s “U Cant C Me.” Ojuigo then crashed headlong into an okada carrying a passenger. The Consolidated Association of Okada-Riders of Nigeria Lekki Branch surrounded dude with anger and revenge in their hearts. The first slap he received took the glasses off. See how he was finally made to take the frames off. By the way, these okada men should really quit mobbing motorists after accidents.

•  Think about it before you press the send button on your BB  especially forwarding those needless messages which require the recipient to follow suit or die within 7 days. There is one that has been catching pervy people on facebook recently – you click on a pornographic still and it shows up on your wall. You are what you forward.

You know how drunk oyibo girls on a night out start texting guys who they fancy or exes who have scorned them. The next morning, it is a bad idea as they now look foolish. This should have the same effect on people who forward dead jokes or tired messages via BBM.

Don’t forward messages or boring jokes. In fact don’t text/forward/bbm anything you cannot physically say yourself to the recipient’s face. Nope I refuse to forward this religious message and its doesn’t mean that I am denying my faith or refusing to propagate the gospel. I am just denying you the sender the opportunity to drive me really mad.

 This all reminds me of a time I took up a part-time Market Research job while in university. The job entailed making calls to customers on the company database and asking them a set of questions from a questionnaire, and informing them of new or available products and services. Due to the range and volume of outbound calls, I spoke to nut-jobs and some of the weirdest people in the U.K.

I remember calling a customer number, and a very gruff man picked up the phone. He hardly allowed me introduce myself and my mission before he launched into a tirade:

Me: Hello. My name is Esco, and I am calling from X Company. We are conducting a market research, and would be grateful if you could spare 5 minutes of your time to answer….

Crazy man: What?? Why the fuck are you calling my home? Who gave you my number…

Me: I apologize if I caught you at a wrong time. I….

Crazy Man: Who sent you to call me. It was my ex-wife, wasn’t it? Why, that bitch! It was my ex-wife, wasn’t it!!!!!

 Me (now fearing for his ex-wife): Nah chill, it wasn’t her. Actually…

Crazy Man: Who sent you then?

Me: Nobody sent me…

Crazy Man: If nobody sent you, then why did you call?

Good question. I had no answer to that, so he put down the receiver. Not gently though.

BBM chain message sender, if you have nothing better to do, please put your BB down gently.

• During the reign of Ivan The Terrible in 16^th century Russia, a tax was imposed on any man who wanted to grow or keep a beard. Yes, you paid your weight in roubles/gold if you decided you wanted to sport a goatee or gemu or Ricky Ross (this was a status symbol).

I think this tax should be imposed in Nigeria – it will swell our government’s coffers and deter some of our fashionista wanna-bes too.

Have you seen the Oliver De Coque-esce or Ojukwu-ish beards on some fellas recently? Rick Ross done cause bad thing for Nigeria.

This also goes to females carrying huge hair follicles on their heads in the name of attachment or weaves. Nope, I have not joined the league of Brazilian weave bashers – far from it; that is an over flogged issue, and it doesn’t bother chaps anyway (as far as we are not paying for it). But my only issue is when the hair starts to wear the girl, as opposed to the girl wearing the hair. If you are lekpa, don’t wear an orobo bundle of weave. If you have a mama iyabo hair-line, stay away. If you have Frosties flakes kind of dandruff, disregard these weaves. If you are a smallie, please quit wearing a weave that is almost taller than you, that it reaches your ankle. You are not the Little Mermaid. Or the Small Mammy-water.

 

You can shuffle up the cards I’ma learn the deck/
When I do the game is mine , man I’m aiming high/

Beanie Sigel (Stop, Chill, 2001)

Laugh Wan Kill Me Die For Here (LWKMDFH)

Hardy Ha Ha...

I would like to think that I have a great sense of humor. If you tell a good joke, you can rest assured that I would bless your efforts with laughter. I do like to wind down and have a laugh with friends and family. But I also prefer to read or watch material that is witty, intelligent, and original. Yep, I do get those sarcastic dry layered (as in not wet) jokes too, like the ones Britons tell.

And I am not just talking about English stand up or mainstream comedians. Watching James Bond movies, you are likely to hear some very witty punch-lines in 007’s dialogues. Like when Q (the weapons expert) was showing Sean Connery how to use one of his new inventions, a bomb alarm clock, which as he instructed “You are not likely to wake up if the alarm goes off.”

Ricky Gervais is hella hilarious as well – that is one of the funniest guys alive. Anyone who has the bottle to insult the cream of Hollywood with hard-hitting jokes at a major awards ceremony, but still get Robert “Raging Bull” De Niro to giggle uncontrollably like a child deserves a pat on the back. Read about the jokes here.

I really enjoy British comedy – I really do. Peter Kay and Graham Norton are beasts. I am not just name-dropping, I actually do watch them. No awards for that. Some Naija people had never even heard of Amy Winehouse, but it was funny to see how quickly they jumped on the twitter bandwagon this past week. Rest in peace Camden Princess.

Me dad was a comedy buff as well as one of the funniest guys ever. He used to tape the Benny Hill Show though he didn’t let us watch it because that dude was a bit dirty (Benny Hill not my dad).

There is a difference between funny and irritating. I used to have my chin in my palms watching “Some Mothers Do Have Em.” Frank Spencer is rather irritating – destructive vandalism isn’t amusing at all. Mr. Bean tries, but I find that the studio audience prompts me to find the comedic value agreeable. Oh, and I don’t think Chris Rock is all that either. His high pitched voice doesn’t equate to funny, though Everybody Hates Chris was a very very good show. It was probably because he just added voice-overs and wasn’t in it. I find Terry Crews a better comic act in films than Chris Rock. There I said it. Print that.

Nigerian comedians have held it down for years. In fact they kept it going when music was having a hiatus and in the pre-Living In Bondage Nollywood years. I remember our mai-guard buying and playing one of those Zebrudaya comedy cassettes, playing it on his transistor deck, and laughing in Hausa-Fulani. Clarus and Gringory were really funny, but Chief Zebrudaya was a cut above in his weird English “Adam and Eve are walk in the nakedness of nude. Are you were.” Or “Fa fa fa foul”

Oke Bakassi is another really hilarious chap. He just says the weirdest things ever, and they come out as comedy gold. In a movie, he was in a beer parlor with his cohorts when policemen came to arrest him. Warning the policeman, he threatened “Officer if you touch anyone here, you will lose your uniform.”

In the movie Endtime, where he played a crooked church agent working for fake miracles pastor Clem Ohameze (Pastor Weaver). During a worship session in church, he pretended that he was an agent from then underworld sent to kill the pastor and deceive his ministry. He was apprehended by the church ushers and brought to the front of the church to be questioned by the powerful pastor. The following exchanged ensued:

Pastor: Who sent you here, demon?

Okey Bakassi: Pastor you are lucky o. I was sent here from hell to come and destroy you but the Satan is a devil sha.

When Okey Bakassi and Nkem Owoh were combined in a movie, it was in the classic Nollywood blockbuster “Pam Pam”. This movie contained more funny parts than Will Smith and Martin Lawrence in Bad Boys. Pam Pam should be archived and placed in the Nigerian National Film Registry (if we have one). Failing that, every Nigerian movie buff should have a copy (original one o).

One of my best scenes was when the 2 guys who played good-for-nothings looking for big money schemes met a set of twin sisters who were from wealthy homes. They chatted the ladies up, so the ladies invited them over.

They were in the ladies’ bedroom chilling and eating ‘chicken’ when the girls’ father suddenly came back home and caught them. Their father was a rich looking, chief character, and was angry to see his pets with 2 unsavory gold-diggers. Okey Bakassi and Nkem started trying to formulate lies. Here was the conversation:

Chief: Young men, what are doing in my house with my daughters. What do you even do for a living?

Nkem Owoh: Sorry sir. I am a carver of hair follicles.

Chief: Carver of what? I will slap you now o

Nkem Owoh: Sorry, I meant that I am a barber

From  Nights of a Thousand Laughs to Crack Ya Ribs, we have comedians doing their thing. For a mere pittance, you can watch established comedians perform on a stage, at a show that may start late, and in a hall filled past its capacity that it may constitute a fire hazard. If that isn’t funny, I don’t know what is. By the way AY is really doing something different with his TV show, and the concepts behind it. No resting on elbows.

And comedians are now hired to anchor events. In fact, we have taken a huge step from asking bitter or old school relatives to MC our weddings to hiring boring tribute bands to perform chopped and screwed washed up hits that bore everyone at the reception to now paying for comedians to at least make the business of getting married easier to swallow for all concerned. I have been at weddings where the comedian MC did a good job of making everybody laugh – including the unserved, the jealous unmarried friends, the scorned exes of the couple and even future wicked mother-in-law.

Do Nigerians enjoy comedy because it creates an escape portal from the myriad of problems in our national life? Is comedy the new opium of the Nigerian masses, a bait to stymie our attentions, while crooked politicians laugh all the way to the bank with treasury loot? I think not. I think we do comedy very well because generally we are happy, humorous people. Look around you, get down from your car and take a walk on a Lagos street and you are bound to see enough material for a book, film or blog. To think that this particular blog is centered on ordinary everyday happenings in Nigeria is a moot example. So I wonder why our movies are not more original, and cannot seem to escape the tried and tired themes of boobs for bucks, banal superstition and blackberry babes. Even the actions and inactions of our leaders provide enough material for a quirky comedy if not for a horror movie. I don’t know what is funnier than legislators coming to blows over Ghana-Must-Go bags or a governor’s apologetic plea to Boko Haram.

From Samanja, to Papa Aluwe, to Halo Halo and Fawlty Towers, Nigerian TV has always had comedies. Even when our movies lose the plot generally with the script or storylines or bad acting, they still make you laugh at the pitiful attempt.

However, there is a step Nollywood must take when making comedies. And that is to get the small parts of dialogues right. A lot of the exchanges in our movies are uninspiring and outright flat in delivery. There is no use of wit or sarcasm, to make our storylines build up with dynamism. The monotone, with which some acts drone out their lines, and the unimaginative nature of the script, makes it look like Nigerians in general are simpletons. No, we do get it. People in this country were brought up with some well written comedy shows like Basi and Company, New Masquerade and even Icho Kwu (the one with the Igbo court clerk and oyibo judge). I watched Basi & Company recently and marveled at how well the script was written. Of course it was written by the late playwright – Ken Saro Wiwa. It was original, the characters were deep and interesting and different, and it was funny. Trivia: did you know it had a book series?

Some days ago I was browsing YouTube, looking for the football match where Liverpool were trounced 3 – 0 by a smaller team, when I discovered a video, chronicling all of Arnold Schwarzenegger’s movie punch lines and quips. You know I really like Schwarzzo and was rooting for him even during his recent tabloid quibbles. I have always preferred the Terminator to Rambo (Stallone) even if I must confess that Stallone is the better, more technical actor. However Schwarzzo’s magic is his effortless charm, and the little quips he drops in movies, which are less than the sum of their parts.

Please enjoy this video of the Ex- Governator’s wise-cracks in past movies. Watch for scene 2.11. I enjoyed it…

Finally my take: The funniest guys in the world?

Nigerian – Okey Bakassi, Seyi Law, Alarm Blow, (his face alone), Dauda, John Okafor.

Foreign – Martin Lawrence, Mike Epps,  Chris Tucker, Terry Crews, Ricky Gervais, Graham Norton, Mario Cantone, John Witherspoon., Kevin James, James Spade.

Please name yours – and no, Esco does not count. Lol.

Fly With Me (Part 2)

 

World Traveler Plus...excess luggage

 

After the last checking point, I got ushered to the departure lounge. Everywhere was really full, as everybody in Lagos seemed to travelling on that night. I saw some girl I had gone to school with, and she came over to say hi. Then she asked me where I was headed. Before I could answer, she said she was going to Jand for a week, and then going on a girl’s holiday with her mates to Holland. Good on her. But I wondered to myself, whether Holland wasn’t a better destination for guys?  

I then realized that I was just being stereotypical -in Nigeria, sometimes people look at you funny if you say you are headed to certain countries for holidays. A girl I know once spun an atlas globe and decided to visit any country her finger landed upon. Thankfully, her finger avoided Bauchi State, Afghanistan and Libya and landed on sunny, zany Spain. She was single so she was travelling alone. She said that on the plane, people raised their eyebrows a bit when she told them that she was a single young woman on a holiday trip to Spain from Naija. Everyone thought she must be going there to sell sex in Barcelona. I am Ibo, and I cannot say I am travelling to China or Singapore without people thinking I must be a spare-parts dealer. And when I tell people I want to travel to Yankee, they always assume my destination is Texas. Ibos go to Montana and Maine too, you know.

I and my ex-classmate exchanged Naija numbers before she bounced.

Getting spots to sit down was hard, and some people had to stand until the announcement to board. The announcement came finally, and I boarded the plane and snapped on my belt.

I had an aisle seat in the middle row, so I was silently praying that the person next to me would not be a woman with a cry-baby or meddlesome toddler, a very huge person who would over-lap into my seat space or a sleeper who snores.

Then a lass walked up to my seat, and when I looked up, it was someone I knew as well. What a coincidence! She squeezed past me, and sat on her seat exhausted. We chatted for a while; she said she was exhausted because she had worked till 7pm at her bank job, rushed through V.I. traffic to Apapa to pack up her stuff, and had to speed to traffic to get to Ikeja on time to make her flight.

By the time she had walked through the aircraft door, she was dead tired, and one of the air-hosts noticed it. After she explained her grueling day, he promised to look for and re-seat her at one of those seats which face a wall and have a lot of leg space. He told her to go to her originally assigned seat, while he would check if the alternative seat was available.

When she saw me, she decided to sit down at her seat for companionship. By the time the air-host came by to move her, she told him that she would prefer to seat next to me. Soon after the plane took off, this lass snoozed off into the deepest sleep I have ever seen anyone have. You know when some people doze off and their eyelids do not shut properly so it looks like they are having a fit? She only woke up to tell the air-hostess serving food a while later, that she preferred the chicken to the meat casserole. She took a few spoons, and fell back asleep, with the spoon in her mouth!

Omo, me sef come de fear small for the girl. You know how they used to do in the 80s. If a passenger slept too much on a plane, when you disembarked, immigration would call you aside for a full rectal search because cocaine smugglers usually slept a lot.

Ah, I had already made up my excuses in my head so I could deny knowing her if it came to that. I would say ‘Officer, I do not know this woman like that o. I have no idea why she carried Dusting Powder inside her nyash o”

When the plane reached Heathrow, I and the lass said our goodbyes, as I was heading to a different terminal to connect my flight to the USA.

I remembered that my cousin in Yankee had wanted me to get her some toiletries from Boots and some British confectionery. It seems that Nigerians in America prefer British toiletries and confectionery as they are seen as quality. I stopped by a Boots and WH Smith, and copped a few things – it all added to my load. My cosuin always made me bring her biscuits (cookies) and chocolates (candy) whenever I went to see her from London. She believes that you cannot beat the taste and quality of Hula Hoops, McCoy’s crisps, malted milk biscuits from M & S, Sainsbury’s Chocolate Digestives and Lion Bars. They are much better than Lays Crisps or Reese’s Pieces.

Me, I prefer Goody Goody. It is very chewy, chewy.

The flight to Yankee was quite bumpy even though the plane was not filled to capacity. It is funny how some parts of the air journey seem to affect the plane ride. I have noticed that when passing through the Sahara Desert – the air in the plane gets a bit hotter and there is some slight turbulence, especially if it is passed during the day. When we had passed the Sahara Desert, negative thoughts passed my head of what would happen if there was an unfortunate crash.

 Those Arab desert nomads who wield long knives would be at the wreck in a flash. I would just speak to them in sign language –please point me in the direction of Zamfara State, so I can start slapping across the desert to Naija.

Those desert people are ruthless, I hear. There are tales of desparate immigrants who tried to leg it across the desert from Naija  to Morocco and other Mediterranean African countries on their way to Europe. Some die from heat stroke,  some are maimed by wild animals while some even get captured by desert dwellers and sold into slavery. Imagine me, Esco, make dem sell me so I go come become houseboy for one foreign country. Ife eme!

The funny thing is that if something unfortunate happened, my fortunes may be better with this desert foxes than trying to cross into Nigeria through Sokoto, Borno or Zamfara. With this shameful killings and lynching going on, wouldn’t it be ironic that I could survive the desert heat, slave runners and carnivores only to be beaten to a pulp and burnt to a crisp by an irate Northern mob as soon as I got over the Nigerian border? Tufiakwa!! Chukwu a ju

Thinking about that, I didn’t know when I sucked my teeth loudly, and did the ‘tufiakwa’ sign, complete with the finger snapping and hand movement around my head. The oyibo man seated two rows away who had been watching me, glanced at me like I was growing mad. He shuffled uneasily in his seat, and cranked up the volume of his in-flight entertainment.

One of the hostesses saw me too, and walked up to me as she gave me the most plastic smile ever ‘Are you alright, Sir?’

Sweating, I replied ‘Yes, I am fine. Please could I have kunu, sorry, Lipton tea with plenty Cowbell milk to drink.’

Ignoring my specific request, she said ‘Oh, yes. I will get you some tea. We do have PG Tips’

Hours later, the aircraft jetted over the coast of Canada, around the Newfoundland area. This part of the journey to Yankee always astounds me. Looking down and seeing huge icebergs floating around in a very dark ocean is a formidable sight. And that  was when this yeye plane decided to start doing ‘Yahoozee’ dance with the air.  Men, see prayers. That body of water (the Atlantic) is nothing like anything I have ever seen before. The water big pass my village stream. Water wey come get ice block for inside again. E come black like zobo. Fear no go catch you?

To take my mind off the turbulence, I started remembering other flights I had embarked upon.

A long time ago, on a flight to Owerri, the plane started jerking up and down, and everybody in the plane was visibly scared. One man kept acting like he was reading his newspaper but I noticed that he had been on the same page since we took off. Me and another man seated next to me kept on looking out of the window. The plane was flying very high above the clouds, like it was on a mission to Mars. E wo!

The man shut the window, and tried to remain calm. The next jolt of turbulence shattered his calm exterior. He opened the window shutter and what we saw was frightening. There was another plane flying parallel to us about a hundred feet away but close enough to see it. Me and the man exchanged glances – a plane that close; that can’t be right, can it?

Nigerians we de fear! And why wouldn’t we. I have entered an aircraft before where the oye was not working. It was like being in a flying Molue.  Two passengers on student rebates had to share one seat as the plane was very full, and they had to be in school by the next day deadline.

That one na small. I remember the BA flight I was on a flight from Heathrow to Lagos. Like 3 hours into the flight, I got up to take a leak. Oh boy, the back of the plane where the toilets were was like backstage of ‘Rhythm Unplugged’ Concert  in Lagos. Some Naija chaps were just standing there, gisting and checking out any lass who walked by to use the loo. They were even scoping one of the busty hostesses. The hostess tire sef. She did not even bother telling them to take a seat and strap up when the seat-belt signs came on briefly. The guys were just laughing and cracking jokes and discussing what they would do when they land Lagos. One said that he is heading straight for the clubs that night. He was certainly dressed the part. 

Then you have Naija people that immediately the plane’s tires touch the ground, they stand up, head for the overhead cabin, grab their handset and phonebook and proceed to start calling every single person in their extended family: ‘Hello Jibunoh, can you hear me? Ah, the reception is so bad. Yes we just landed. No, we have not disembarked yet. The flight was delayed by 30 minutes due to a connection from Port-Harcourt. Ah thank goodness for safe journey o. Let me hang up so that I can call Mama and everyone.’

Then there are the ones who pay N7,000 like you for a cheap Aero Contractors Economy ticket online, but act like they are Business Class Card holders. These inconsiderate people lean their seats very far back, often without warning, and end up spilling your pea-nut snacks all over you in the seat behind. They also rush to board the plane so that they can squeeze a trunk box into your own overhead cabin, then seat down like nothing happened.

Now in present time, the pilot announced our decent into our destination airport. Ah, my best part of travelling my air – arrival and baggage claim.

I passed through immigration, claimed my luggage and walked into the sunny Yankee afternoon. My cousin was there to get me. Next destination? Whataburger, my favourite fast food spot – for a huge steak and bacon whooper. I needed it; airplane food sucks.

Please share your comments and experiences.

 

You might see me anywhere, day in the life/
Only thing changed, the tail number on the flight /
I can touch down and take off the same night/

Jay Z (Ignorant, 2007)

I Am A Nigerian In Diaspora; Are you?

Wetin dey? Make we hook up for yonder na...

There is a statistic that one out of every four black African persons is a Nigerian. Seeing that we are a nation of nomads, travelers and soldiers of fortune, we are to be found in almost every nook and cranny of God’s green earth.  There is probably a Nigerian somewhere selling tippers of sand to Eskimos in the Arctic region. However, the common countries where Nigerians seek better fortunes are the UK (Jand), USA (Yankee), Canada (Ice Box), South Africa (Southie) and recently Dubai (Sandie?).

Every now and then, you hear an adventure story of ‘The Lord of the Rings’ proportions about Nigerians who travelled to places like Gabon, Singapore and China for education and hustling. Sweden seems to be popular recently, though Nigerians that venture there do not do so because they love Abba and Volvos; the tertiary school tuition is said to be free.

However, recently on the Nairaland website, I was surprised to hear that Nigerians can be found in places like Cuba, Andorra, Croatia and far-away Australia! Na wa o. Nothing surprises me anymore, so do not be awed when you hear that someone is raking in millions, selling a delicacy called Kangaroo suya in Sydney.

Nigerians are known to look out for each other at varying degrees; depending on what country they are domiciled. You will find that those living in America and Scotland are a bit closer. In the latter, cold and congee may have a say. However some have complained that Nigerians in Canada keep to themselves, and Nigerians in Jand have an unfortunate reputation as being ‘aka gums’ (tight fisted in Ibo) who keep to themselves. Having lived in England myself, I always tell the critics that they should try driving to meet up or buying a 5-Zone Oyster card every single time someone visits from Nigeria on holidays. London is bloody expensive sha, and there is precious little time for anything else but work. Nigerians do try to keep in touch and remain friendly with their compatriots living in the same country, but only for economic and emotional benefit. I wonder what the Nigerians in Cuba say to each other when they meet?

So how do you recognize your countryman at a public place in a foreign country? How do you tell a Bolaji apart from a Taniqua, Shaniqua, Quanesha, Lashonda, Tomica and a Kenyatta? How can you find that? How do you know that girl sitting across from you in the Tube is even from your hometown, before she betrays that fact by answering a call from Nigeria, during which she starts her conversation with ‘How far now?’ Where can you locate the Nigerians in your town for carriage or marriage?

I must warn that there are no hard and fast rules. I promise to give you some guidelines, if you promise to go over and say hi, anytime my guidelines work. Deal?

• Nigerians walk into a place like they own it. That chap that struts with his chest out as he strolls into the lecture room at your postgraduate university even though he is late and everyone is seated is most definitely a Nigerian. He was most probably a banker in Nigeria, who decided to save up and travel to do his Masters. And.he.wants.everybody.to.know.

 

I remember travelling for summer to America from Jand some years back. My cousin decided to take me to a mall which is one of the largest malls in the U.S (think more than 5 times bigger than Shoprite) because I wanted to go to the Lacoste flagship store to cop some alligator polos. When we got there, we parked in the indoor garage, and I got down from the passenger side and started working towards the entrance to the Mall, as my cousin locked up the car.

When we both got inside I was walking in front of my cousin strolling through the aisles.  After a few minutes, cousin tapped me on the shoulder and drew me aside, with a confused look on his face and asked ‘Dude, you done come here before?’

I replied ‘No, at all. Why?’

He sighed as he shrugged his shoulders ‘Men, the way you just waka enter inside with your head up, you dey flex like say you done come here like one million times. Na wa o.’

 

Ah, make them write JJC for my forehead because I never come somewhere before? That attitude we have when we enter a place, stand at the entrance, and throw a sweeping gaze at every one of the million bewildered people there is called ‘I No Send.’

Good or bad? You be the judge.

• Nigerians talk on their phone like they are speaking into a microphone connected to a public address system. They put their business out there like you won’t believe. So if you spot someone from afar chatting into the phone, while gesticulating wildly with his arms, like he has beef with the handset itself, that’s probably a Naija person. Never mind, if you do not recognize the dialect he is speaking.

 

• In Yankee, if you see a middle aged person in a nurse’s uniform, go and hug them and introduce yourself. You probably have just seen a brother or a sister. It does not mean you will get free medical treatment.

 

• Our appearance. Nigerian men can have huge folds behind our heads! I don’t know what it is about our food but it goes straight to our ogos and necks. Huge neck folds may combine well with traditional clothes, but when a thick necked fella wears a skinny tie and a waist coat..We also have a culture of wearing slippers, so you are likely to recognize a Nigerian when you see a monster toed man wearing a bathroom slippers (some people pronounce it as ‘silpas’ to a public place.

 

• During my stint in Scotland, it was noticed that Nigerian guys usually liked hanging out in clubs, leaning against the wall facing the exit. Two or three guys would contribute and a 30 bucks bottle of champagne, while 6-10 other Naija boys would scramble around, trying to get some in their plastic cups or pint glasses.

 

• Take a trip to any major NEXT clothes store every December 24^th/26^th (when they have their annual 40% super sales), you will see people that you had not seen since nursery in Nigeria. Even that uncle that owes your folks money, and faked his own death and burial in Nigeria, would be here. Nigerians love NEXT sales, but most of all they love awoof!  The NEXT Clearance Store in Leeds used to clean out due to Naija people who would book cheap tickets week in advance to take a 3 hours train journey from London to Leeds; we have now shifted our custom to the Clearance stores in Bicester, Oxford.

 

If you also see a black person pushing a trolley overflowing with both men and women’s clothing in Ross, that person is Nigerian.

• Go to the Bissonet area of Houston Texas, Woolwich in England, or any major square in Toronto, Canada or Frankfurt Germany and shout out randomly ‘Emeka! Ade!’ I swear someone will answer you with a ‘Present Sir!’

 

Do not shout out the name ‘Efe’ or ‘Alero’ in Rome though, unless you have change for agbanas.

Nigerians boku for some areas sha.

The one that always amuses me is that the ones that live in the less glam areas or slum parts of the cities are usually snobbish and unfriendly to each other.

• We fancy big and flashy cars. Even the ones struggling to make ends meet, make sure they drive solid whips. Some brands are better preferred like Toyota Camry or Corolla. In fact if your car breaks down on a major road, do not bother calling the AAA; just stand by the road and wave any dark skinned drivers in Toyota Camry, and beg in pidgin ‘My car  battery done pafuka. Abeg make you help me come push am make im jump start.’

 

• That sister who does not smile, and is always typing away on her BB. Sorry but some Nigerians girls, especially when they just move abroad newly should start their own BANS movement – Babes Are Not Smiling. Why are they always screwing their faces in the public like ‘No one should dare approach me; I am not on your level.’

 

I know one oyibo guy who fancied this bootylicious Nigerian female at one firm I was doing part-time work, but he complained that in his team, everybody was scared of the lass. She was always short with everybody and ate lunch alone.

Nigerian girls fit bone face! Dem no dey get neutral facial expressional at all; especially if they are in a place where they do not really know anyone. That’s how you can identify them in a room full of Taniquas and Desantas.

Sister cooloo temper o. Approach a brother and tell him that you need a hug.

• They love wearing leather jackets. After watching all those hiphop artists like P.Diddy and Kanye sport leather jackets in music videos, some Naija people decide to wear all the leather they couldn’t wear in Nigeria when they get abroad. Some even start from Murtala Mohammed Airport, in damn near 70 degree weather. Some break out stone-wash jackets with studs and shoulder pads like the Felix Liberty and Alex Zitto era.

 

Some chaps here sport head-warmers in the summer, confusing the poor oyibo people they school and work with. One oyibo man had to ask one Naija JJC who had reported to work in the middle of English summer, wearing a jumper with a button up under, and a bubble-goose Northface jacket on top ‘Are you alright mate? You are sweating buckets..”

Share your thoughts and experiences.

Sergeant Pepper

At all, at all, na im bad pass

We have heard it announced, advertised on radio as infectious jingles, and appear on daily prints – “Police is Your Friend”. In Nigeria, the police’s role is to serve and protect. In fact our Police Force’s motto is “Serve and Protect with Integrity”.

They have not always done that, so now we beg them to protect our votes and safeguard our democracy by policing the ballots during elections. This picture evidences a betrayal of our collective trust. The last time I saw a picture of a Naija policeman on the web, he was carting away a huge bag of rice at a food scramble organized by Ms Jonathan last year.  In doing so, he displayed the brute strength and temperance of a U.S. Navy Seal in endurance training. Meanwhile people were being trampled to near death a little distance away, in the ensuing fight for PDP rice melee.

Ironically, the Nigerian Police Force service crest has a huge elephant inscribed on it. Not the most fleet-footed animal in the world. Slow, moody with a short memory. Reminds you of someone, eh?

Looking at the above picture, though we highly doubt it, the policeman’s superiors may summon him to Ikeja High Command to answer a query as to why he was catching 40 winks on duty while our votes were in danger of being misappropriated away by election fraudsters.

I struggle to think about the sort of excuses he may come up with in answers when confronted by the Inspector General. Which kain sleep I go dey sleep when elections de happen? Tufiakwa!! Never!  I  no sleep at all, lai lai. Make I explain:

1. Sir, I was only checking my pulse because my heartbeat has been a bit irregular.
2. I was only feigning sleep; it is part of a covert police operation to catch scheming ballot box thieves
3. It was the work of my enemies who are people from other ‘tribes’ envious of my position as a designated ballot security agent. They sent a paparazzi photographer to snap me at my moment of weakness.
4. I was playing a simple game of ‘spin the cap’ to pass the time. Honest.
5. I was meditating in prayer for the success of the elections. And for you sir. May your enemies never catch you slumbering, sir. May EFCC never Tafa you.
6. Some people from one of the major political parties tried to bribe me to help them perpetuate electoral fraud, but I refused so they ‘jazzed’ me with a ‘poisonous’ N1000 note so that I would pass out on the job. Funny enough that note seems to have disappeared too.
7. I was searching for my service pistol on the ground.
8. The person in that picture wasn’t me. It was ‘photo-shopped’ or ‘trans-imposed’.
9. I was killing a ‘jigger’ bug by stepping on it, at that precise moment the picture was taken.
10. I was possessed by a wicked spirit which made me unconscious for half an hour. Its name is “Esprit De Corps”

If all of the above fails, he can fall back on the fool-proof Nigerian excuse:  Please,  it was the work of the devil, sir.

Ah, sleep is the cousin of death.

Agbaya

Some nights back, I was browsing through YouTube and accidentally discovered some old school Nigerian music videos and ads from the 80s and 90s. I have done the “down memory lane” thing on this blog before, and I am not about to remind anyone of just how much they are really getting on in age. In Nigeria, we use the word ‘elderly’ or ‘chairman’, in England they just say you are an ‘OAP’.

I am a bit ashamed to say that I do not know the age demographic of  the readers who view this blog on the daily. Truth be told, age is a taboo subject in Nigeria – ask at your peril. In the civil service, it is career suicide as it determines whether you are promoted so you can eat fat at your desk, and get paid for doing nothing like a parking meter; or whether you are pushed out to retirement so that your position could go to your scheming kinsman in the name of federal character.

In Nigerian football, age is supposed to determine whether you are selected for the U-17 team, the Flying Eagles (U-20) or the Super Eagles, but the lines are blurred. And Yakubu Aiyegbeni is supposedly 26 years old, making him younger than D’Banj.

It is no secret that many Nigerian footballers claim that they are 17 no matter what age they went professional. We know graduate footballers that claim they are 17 years even after finishing University. Someone once Nigeria won the gold medal at Atlanta 96 Olympics, beating Brazil in the semi-finals because it was a duel of boys versus men. Ahn Ahn.   I do not care what age Kanu really was at Altanta 96; his performances deserved that gold medal.

There is the famous example of a Nigerian footballer which I am sure you have heard about. He was a Nigerian international who wassigned by a Belgian football club in the 80s. He claimed he was 18, even though he was at least twice that. Since he was smallish, ‘young’ and still growing, the club dieticians started giving him formulas to enable him grow taller and stronger. He grew alright – only horizontally and not vertically.

There is this Nigerian socialite who has celebrated her 45^th birthday like 10 times. You see congratulatory messages on all the dailies the same time every year – like can’t they do the math? Meanwhile her children are still growing, graduating from college and getting married, but this woman is supposedly 45 years old every year. Ah, Nigeria and the “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”

It is funny, the aversion to age means that sometimes roles are reversed in Nigeria – youngsters do not grow fast enough, and leave the nest (home) really late, sometimes in their 30s. And you find older people occupying roles that are better left to youths – especially in presenting Nigerian hip-hop music programs or roles that require innovation, technology, or a new way of doing things.

Looking at 80s and 90s Nigeria on YouTube, I was taken back into a Naija innocence we may never see the likes of again. Those ads spoke of an era way before Yahoo Yahoo, 419, kidnapping and extreme corruption had taken a foothold in our national life. Nigeria was younger as a nation, and our national life had an infantile charm to it. The land was green. Now it is the same colour as black gold.

It does not matter what age you claim on your birth certificate that you had doctored for you at Oluwole in Lagos Island, or the one you put on your resume when applying for those age-phobic graduate jobs, or even the one you claim when you are chatting up infatuated juvenile (18 and above oh!) girls.

You are an agbaya if you can remember or were aware at the time of any of the below listed events or times. If you are a guy, you should then keep away from rocking skinny jeans; and if you are female, they should kneel and call you “Aunty” whenever you step out in public – market or social event.

If you plead the 5^th amendment, or are confused by any of the information below, sorry o, skip this post and wait till I blog about Justin Beiber and Wiz Kid.

• ·You had a Ghanaian teacher in primary school that wore “bongo” flared trousers or thick polyester French suits, sweated profusely and pronounced sentences like “Do ya werk” (Do your work). They also knew how to flog, were dedicated teachers and liked keeping a full beard or moustache. I meant the males, not the females ones. By the way, I would like to shout out Mr. Ableze, Mr. Fosu and Mr. Doe.
• ·You remember an era when wanting to be a comedian when you grow up was a joke itself. My mum once flogged by sister for saying she wanted to be a policewoman when she grew up. Well, I would still flog my niece if she told me the same thing today. If she wants to wear uniform, there are ample opportunities with all these aso-ebi weddings and events.
• · You were aware of your surroundings at a time when spaghetti was was seen as oyibo food for the middle and upper classes. in fact some people called it ‘supa-geti’. Now it is a staple in most homes, though not nearly as popular as its cousin Indomie noodles.
• ·You know who the original actor who played Basi (before Zuli Adigwe replaced him) in the hit Ken Saro Wiwa directed TV series Basi and Company is.
• ·You remember the era circa 91-92 of the over 20 presidential candidates – Shinkafi, Yaradua, Jakande, Ciroma etc. That was the most colourful presidential election campaign in Nigerian history. Think you have a problem of choice regarding who to vote for in the presidential election now? Try back then.
• ·You ate Nasco wafers and drank Samco chocolate drink. These were our own Oreo cookies and milk in the 80s. If you went to a posh primary school, you were given the wafers and a Samco drink during lunch break. If however you attended Gbaja Elementary, you were given ‘food’ money for lunch by your folks, which you used to buy  an ice-drink called ‘condensed’, made up of colored watered down fruit-flavoured water pre-packed into small nylon bags and frozen. It was heavenly though, and beats Kool-aid anytime.
• ·On weekends usually, your mum bought a fowl in the market and it was killed at home for meat. Every part was of the chicken consumed except the feathers. Some families used to carve and divide a whole chicken which everyone selected by order of seniority – the father as the breadwinner took the thighs/drumstick and the gizzard. The mother had the wings; the elder brother took the breast, the elder sister grabbed the back/butt; the middle sibling took the ankle/claws, leaving you the baby of the house with the head and the comb.
• ·The finest girl in your class probably sported periwinkle braids, patewo, shuku, face-your-front, or some odd plaits like that ala Taiwo Ajayi-Lycett in Mind Your Language. There was nothing in Nigeria like Brazilian weave. If fact the only thing we got from Brazil was watching their national team, Le Selecao play football or whoop our ass in junior world cup tournaments. We all like Zico, Socrates, Romario and Bebeto, but nobody wanted their hair.
• ·I know I would probably get some stick for this but back then private secondary schools were regarded ( a bit wrongly) as schools for olodos who had failed the Common Entrance. I don’t know about that, my cousin went to Chrisland and he is owns a bank today. That perception seems to have changed, as it is now the other way round. Moving on, back then the 3 best secondary schools in Lagos were KC, QC and FGC Ijanikin, before ISL replaced the latter in the list.
• · You know that SAP is not the name of a computer program/software, but was first in fact a belt-tightening, austerity inducing government program introduced in the early part of the IBB years. And if you ever ate a snack called SAP stick (aka kokoro), you are gangsta.
• You remember a time when many of your clothes were sewn by the family tailor rather than bought ready-made.Your mother would go to the market and buy bales of materials which were dispatched to the tailor to work his magic. I remember once in primary school, I wanted a Ninja Turtles shirt (ready-made) but my mother would not get me one. When she budged, she decided instead to buy a plain white tee-shirt and instruct the tailor to copy the design off a clothes catalogue. I knew it would be impossible to copy, and my worst fears were confirmed when the shirt was handed over to me. The tailor had left out the second ‘n’ in the Ninja Turtle insignia. So I had to walk around the streets of Lagos in a shirt with ‘Nija Turtle’ printed on top of it.
• You recall when Indian movies were popular. And you had a razz house-help, relative or neighbour who gave him/herself an Indian name based on a character from one of the movies. I know someone who called herself Najin. Another called himself Sholay, and no, his real name was not Shola. This person also felt cool with him/herself, humming and belting out songs from the movie at ear-shattering pitches, and doing the snake dance. By the way, word to the wise, do not ever, ever, wear an Indian sari in public, if you are not a model slim Nigerian female under the age of 20. And please do not put the red dot on your forehead either. You would look ridiculous, trust me. By the way, I recommend these Bollywood classics – Dus Numbri (Number Ten), The Burning Train, Jugnu, The Promise, Dharam-Veer. Happy viewing