Land of the Absurd and the Not-so-Absurd

This picture here, regardless of what you think, is the not-so-absurd. And I should know; after all, I am the one telling the tales here. Aren’t these guys just amazing? As if it is not enough that they are flouting every unwritten safety and traffic rule there is- rider, passenger, and three rams, all on one okada (it almost makes me want to pen a nursery rhyme) - they are smiling!!! I wonder what there is to grin about. Something about the dogged, indefatigable, indomitable, spirit of the Nigerian? Maybe. Or excitement at being photographed? I really can’t tell.

Now on to today’s entree- the ABSURD. The spotlight has been on one of Nigeria’s northern states in recent times. Normally, the northern governors aren’t news worthy. They have neither the clout, resources, nor panache to pull off many of the antics their southern counterparts get up to. But this is a new regime, and it seems like they are upping the ante.

We had heard from the get-go of an ongoing battle in Adamawa State for the position of first lady. That ordinarily would fall under the not-so-absurd. After all, this is Nigeria, and it would not be the first time that the chief executive of a State or maybe the entire nation would have a pool from which to pick a first lady. In the instant case, Governor Nyako is totally maxed out on his Islamic allocation of four wives. And therein lies his dilemma. Each of his wives for some reason believes herself the rightful candidate to the throne of first lady and is ready to fight to the death to stake her claim.

The situation is simultaneously hilarious and pitiful. Hilarious because the genius Chief of Staff rather than risk the wrath of 3 scorned women (and you know how it is with even one scorned woman) recently decided to simply make all four of them First Ladies. One of them will be first lady in charge of Abuja affairs, another first lady of health matters, yet another first lady of political affairs, and the last but by no means the least the first lady of home affairs. And I kid you not.

It is pitiful because at least two of these women are high achievers- one a High Court judge in Abuja (the current first lady in charge of Abuja affairs) while another is a medical doctor (no prices for guessing her portfolio) and they have reduced themselves to this … crudity! Even more pitiful is the fact that the good citizens of Adamawa State have to watch as the meager resources that should be used to upgrade their welfare will be inevitably siphoned to perpetuate the four first ladies in a lifestyle to which they wish to become accustomed.

I am not aware of any manual out there which deals with how to handle tricky situations like this, so I totally understand how it would look like the governor is stumped. But I have a wonderful idea. Maybe we should consider holding fresh elections. I can just see the headlines: INEC Holds Fresh Elections for the Office of the First Lady in Adamawa State.

Hazard Is ...

Me alone, female, with all the driving culture of a danfo driver… driving home from work late on a rainy Wednesday night… with the barely there headlights… on the treacherous Lagos roads from Victoria Island to Festac sans street lighting… and malfunctioning windshield water sprayer while beaucoup hired killers (i.e. heavy duty trailers, tankers et al.) splatter mud all over my windshield… with my non-shock-absorbing shock absorbers… maneuvering through pothole ridden supposed-to-be-roads… stereo blaring… answering my mobile phone without using the hands-free device intended for exactly that purpose …

How about you guys post equally or more terrifying experiences you have had (and ... maybe even stories that do not pack all the tension soaked moments of my own experience).

Naira Re-denomination: Complications Arising

Things have actually been a little quiet in Nigeria for a while now (never mind the restlessness in the Niger Delta, the prosecution of thieving ex-governors, the new- I beg your pardon, recycled government officials etc.) so when I learnt on Tuesday evening that the Naira was going to be re-denominated, re-decimalised, re-juvenated, re-valued, and so on and so forth, I was like yeah something to talk about in the office tomorrow. And true to type, us lawyers who really have no clue about economics, discussed the issue with all the gusto with which we analyse and dissect legal principles (of which we at least have some knowledge). I hadn’t really thought about the ramifications of the new Order and so I accepted it with childlike enthusiasm. With further reflection on the issue however, I am thinking: s**t!!!

This issue of the [re... choose your noun] of the Naira finally convinced me of the importance of dialogue and extensive consultations before crucial policy decisions like this one are taken. If only Chukuma had taken the time to consult widely, we would have alerted him to the effect this new policy would have on the economic and social lives of hapless Nigerians.

Take as the first example- Who Wants to be a Millionaire? That show is either going to have to go through a name change (ideas anyone? and no, not thousannaire) or be scrapped. And if it gets scrapped (which the franchise owners will most likely do if anyone so much as even thinks 'thousannaire') Guess what happens to all the producers, directors, costumers, lighting guys, stage arrangers etc...? They are out of a job; while the participants are out of hope.

Secondly and definitely more importantly, what is supposed to happen to our spraying culture? Methinks that I certainly don’t want anyone splattering me with coins. Coins--- Oho! I get it now!! No more spraying!!! The bagger gets to have his way at last!!!!

Chukuma and his men are only going to put us under pressure. Because now, I have to get my act together and get married before August next year. The thoroughbred Naija girl that I am, I cannot even begin to contemplate my wedding without the naira rain which will serve to reimburse me all my wedding expenses.

So Chukuma thanks, but no thanks!!!

For Those I Loved

The first time I lost someone dear to me … didn’t quite happen to me; my friend lost her father and I was almost 19 years old at the time. Up until then, I had been sheltered from the pain of death. I haven’t forgotten the moment when my friend told me over the phone. I cried. A lot. Fast forward 8 years and I’m thinking “Goodness girl! Crying more than the bereaved!!!”

And then it didn’t stop there. In quick succession four of my very good friends lost one or the other of their parents. It wasn’t the floodgates opening but there were more deaths than I appreciated.

About two years ago, my friend died. We had been very good friends in secondary school but lost touch over the years. We bumped into each other in the streets of Lagos much later when we were all grown up. She told me she was seeing someone and they were planning to get married. We made plans to see again- but we never did. I couldn’t even be at her wedding. The next thing I heard, Dupe, God bless her soul, had passed on. This was the very first time I would lose a friend and the news did to me what I assume news of a death does to most people; I thought about life and how fleeting it all is and how we are supposed to make the most impact while we can. That thought I have come to realise, passes quickly… until the next news of a death.

Mama died about the second quarter of this year. Mama had been ill on and off for a number of years but she had just celebrated her 69th birthday and we were all optimistic that she still had a couple of years left in her. Mama was my friend; the age difference notwithstanding. She was one of those people who just love; it didn’t matter who you were or what your antecedents were. She just took you in and loved you. I was a beneficiary of her love. I was Mama’s daughter. Many times when I was ill as a child, my mother would run to Mama who would nurse me back to health. As I grew older, she became more than my nurse and became a friend. She wanted to know about school, boys, and most other things young women experience as they get older. On my first trip to the United States, I went to see Mama to inform her and she bestowed me with a dollar bill. I kept that bill for a while but I eventually spent it. She almost got me to love flowers the way she did; it didn’t quite work out. But maybe, just maybe I will take it up, … as my memorial to her.

Femi was tall, dark, and good looking. He was a husband and a father to a son who just turned one in January. I howled. “What happened to Femi?” Death happened to Femi. Femi was my big brother as well as my friend. I met him at my first job. It was between my penultimate and final years as a law student and I needed to fill in the idle days ASUU had thrown my way. Femi and I worked together for about three months and in that short time, we developed a bond that remained until he died. The last time I saw Femi, we had met up to catch up on all that had been happening to us. He told me of his plans. He had big plans for himself and his young family. I spoke with him after that and he was making plans to go on a holiday. The next communication I had of Femi was a text message: “Sad to inform you but Femi has passed on; Burial is at …” That was when I howled.

My people say that eni to kan lo mo; it is he who has been hit that feels the impact. I remember that after Femi’s funeral on a Friday afternoon, everybody was in a hurry to get back to work. (I, for one, had to leave the office through the back door and I had had to impose on my colleague to do some stuff for me.) I wasn’t sure whether to be upset about this state of things or not. There we all were, mourning- but then again, in a hurry to get back to our lives. It felt like a shame. A bible passage came to my mind then: “let the dead bury their dead”. It must have sounded callous of Jesus to have issued such a statement to a guy who only requested to be allowed to go and bury his father, and then return later to Jesus’ calling. Only God is wise. Jesus knew what he was talking about. When someone dies, the rest of us must continue to live. It is no excuse to shirk our responsibilities; neither is it an excuse to live like one who is dead or dying.

In memory of all these people whom I have loved and lost, I will live. A good life. Until when it is my own time too to take a bow.

Sense of a Woman

Women are strange creatures. I know, I know, I don’t get any brownie points for this non-innovative discovery of mine. In my good moments, I can bash men with the best of them, but sometimes in my heart of hearts, I cannot but feel something akin to empathy with all the men who have to deal with women in different spheres of their daily lives.

I was with a group of girl friends this Saturday evening when one of us commented on another’s hair. You know the way us girls gush: “your hair is soooo nice; is it yours? (like duh!); where did you get it done?” To which the proud owner of the hair gave us entirely Too Much Information (TMI). The “hair” could be hers or not- It is all a matter of interpretation; it was on her head in any case. Her coiffure was that properly (read: expensively) done such that it would not have been obtuse of anyone who concluded that it was really her God-given hair. To her (and most other females), the highest compliment we could pay was that her ‘weave’ was done so well that it looked like her own hair.

On the flip side of that scenario is another young woman this time around also with nicely done hair, but “hers” rather than a weave. The buzz this time around was “oh my God! Is that your hair? It looks so much like a weave”! Now that also, was a compliment.

So here it is: when you have your natural hair on, you want that it looks like a ‘weave’; and when you have a ‘weave’ you want it so that it looks like natural hair!!!

Women! Go figure.

Ever Changing Times

I am not quite certain if I am to be considered too old to read, let alone enjoy the Harry Potter novels. Tell me, is a full grown woman even allowed to know of Harry Potter?

If you have read any one of the series, you might recall the pensieve. The pensieve is a receptacle into which are stored the memories of Professor Dumbledore, from which the memories could be retrieved almost-at-will. I dare say that unless you are a member of the Air Force, and I do not mean the Royal Air Force, such a device is probably out of your altitude.

I was rummaging through an old wardrobe of mine- an archive of sorts if you will. It contains old love letters, cards, and diaries of a time when the extent of my worries was whether my body would ever, please God, catch up with my burgeoning breasts. Incidentally, it did… eventually! Oh, and pictures, pictures, and more pictures!!! From the moment I found out that I was photogenic, I just could not resist taking pictures- as my collection would testify.

Anyway, these pictures (along with my other prized possessions in my archives), they are my pensieve. Each one has its own story- stories told by the backdrops, the smiles (or faltering smiles, depending …), the clothes, the postures, the hairstyles. There has been dependence, innocence, the first stirrings of love, uncertainty, confidence, friendship, weariness … the list goes on and on. In parts, I want to cry, laugh out loud, smile a knowing smile, scream, sigh… My heart would be light and/or heavy depending on the picture. Sometimes a wish that one or two things could have turned out differently- for me and for those I love; but mostly, gratitude for the way things have turned out and are turning out. Memories of more carefree times.

As yet, I really don’t know how to classify ‘now’ in my life. Perhaps some day, they will be carefree times. I don’t know whether to hope they will be, would it mean that ‘then’ will not be carefree times? Does it even matter?

All I know is this: I miss people. I miss times. I miss me.

I like the Rain, I like it not, I like ...

I am starting to think I might have to reappraise my love for the rainy season. The period from May to September is usually the best weather time in Nigeria- that is for me anyway. You see, I don’t react well to heat. There is something about the still, humid, sweaty, Lagos perennial summers (October- April) that just ….arrrgghhh. So, I love the rains. Until today that is (I might actually still have romantic inclinations toward the rains but I need to get over myself today first).

I have learnt a couple of lessons today; one of which is stubbornness and rain somehow don’t mix. And so I got up this morning to go to work. The first indication that something could go wrong was last night- everywhere was flooded and I didn’t make it home until about 11.30pm. The second indication that something could still go wrong was this morning- it was raining cats and dogs, monkey and gorillas. The third indication that something was definitely going to go wrong was … (I forget…) So I got in my car and braved whatever was waiting for me out there. I could take anything on: I am THE babeandahalf after all. Errr…not… The rains, my car, the fates, George Bush (I’ve got to blame it on something… or someone) conspired against me; I found myself literally up shit creek without a paddle or a bathing suit; and to make it worse I can’t even swim.

I won’t bore you with how I got myself out of the mess I got myself into, but it involved me inconveniencing the men in my life- all 3 of them. When I have come to a final conclusion on my feelings about the rains, you’ll be the first to hear. In the meantime, place your bets …

Imitation as Flattery

Fact Pattern:
1 KC Presh is made up of two young men, Kingsley and Precious, who won the maiden edition of Star Quest. Star Quest is a talent hunt show sponsored by Nigerian Breweries Plc.

2 OJB Jezreel (hereinafter known as “OJB”) - a producer. Think P. Diddy, Timbaland … (you are on the right track if you are thinking along the lines of those producers that show up in every video in which their Midas touch can be felt).

3 “Segemenge”- the new single by KC Presh and produced by OJB, I suspect (since he was in the video), with cameo appearances by Tony Tetuila and a host of other guys who, forgive me, I cannot recognise or put a name to for that matter.

Issues Arising:
1 Snoop Doggy Dog better not hear the song or watch the video. He might not drop the implicit copyright infringement action like it’s hot.

2 ‘Bitches’. Aha! Herein lies the real kvetch. I heard a line in the rap that went something like ‘bitches’ going after his ‘riches’. I found it tasteless. Surely there are other words that rhyme with riches, e.g. ‘leaches’, ‘fishes’; even ‘witches’ could have fit the bill and might not be quite as offensive. Please we are Africans; must we copy everything about these Americans? They do not have a patent on the right way you know? Just look at Iraq! And at this point in history when the world in general is putting up a fight against discrimination in all forms against women (remember the ‘nappy headed hos’ furor?), is when we Africans have decided to abandon our own decency- I shake my head in Yoruba.

Conclusion:
1 Words have the meaning ascribed to them- ‘bitches’ does not always have the literal meaning.

2 I am boycotting the video. It’s my personal rebellion. Nobody will notice and even if they do, no one will probably care. Whatever…

3 This thing should be nipped in the bud, lest it catches on.

Who's got the Smarts?

You just have to admire the collection of devious minds that Obasanjo has put to work to come up with these strategies! A two day holiday to prepare for State elections??? What's up with that? My grouse stems from two things 1) Believe me I am as Nigerian as everyone else and luxuriate in work free days; but when the intent of the holidays is to throw a spanner in the works for those who are legitimately trying to fulfill their political yearnings, it just smacks of something other than altruism 2) My bosses didn't even let us take the damned holidays off!!!

Quick Recap: On the one hand, Atiku has been battling Obasanjo about contesting the April presidential elections. So, he has taken the battle up to the point of the Supreme Court which was supposed to give its ruling yesterday (Thursday) Get it???!!! On the other hand, in Imo State this dude named Ifeanyi Ararume won the PDP primaries and was supposed to be PDP's candidate in the State. But would they allow him? No. Instead they substitute his name with some crony of theirs who pulled 14th in the primaries. Ararume- right thinking man that he is- takes the battle all the way to the Supreme Court which declares that he is the proper person to run as PDP's candidate in Imo State. That judgment was Monday. Tuesday evening, PDP announces that Ararume has been expelled from the party and that they are declining to present any candidate in Imo State . Wednesday morning the federal government declares Thursday and Friday "work free days". Are you guys getting my drift? The only logical action Ararume could have taken was to run to court on Thursday to get a declaration (or an injunction) allowing him to contest the elections on Saturday!!! Brilliant wouldn’t you say? And also very egomaniacal!!! I mean how do you shut down a whole nation just to satisfy your own narcissistic leanings???

That, my dears is the story of Nigeria, while America battles issues such as Don Imus's pronouncements etc. To each his own.

Have a nice weekend y'all.

Disclaimer: The above piece says nothing about my own political bent.

It Is Raining Right Now

My mother has to be the chief proponent of saving for the rainy day! I love my mother dearly, it's just that sometimes our philosophies in life differ. She is cautious. I am too, but....

Anyway, I remembered my mother recently when I had to make certain choices i.e. should I splurge on a trip to Europe and move into a nicer apartment; or save my hard- earned dollars (well... maybe not so hard- earned but mine nonetheless) for THE rainy day. I mean, it makes a lot of sense to get used to my humble room in a SFH and sit my ass in DC for the Christmas holidays(or in the alternative spend a grand total of $35 going to NYC) rather than spending a whooping $850 to go to the UK. Needless to say, I will be totally broke but hopefully not in debt by the time I get back from my trip.

So how do I resolve this dilemma of mine? A slow smile spreads across my face... and I come up with a reply for my mother; "Mother dearest, it's raining right now".