tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82611182585022670842024-03-13T11:45:16.151+01:00Kalu IkeagwuKalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.comBlogger117125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-85098301301848440522014-05-06T09:13:00.001+01:002014-05-06T09:13:43.171+01:00Enough Said, Enough Talk!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gNCBGlBhjgo/U2iXoTCv0TI/AAAAAAAAAHs/lleQ5PsfJ6o/s1600/%23bringbackourgirls!%23.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gNCBGlBhjgo/U2iXoTCv0TI/AAAAAAAAAHs/lleQ5PsfJ6o/s640/%23bringbackourgirls!%23.jpeg" /></a></div>Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-51368129002799972912014-05-01T17:06:00.002+01:002014-05-01T17:15:19.610+01:00Apapa - Kirikiri 2 So! Where did we stop? Ah, yes, so we kicked the sitting preacher and his female train out so we could commence with the most important event of the day – our birthday. Just kidding; we did usher them out but not unceremoniously. By and large the preacher soon came to an end of his message and after the prayer the co-ordinator or host, or compere, who was, incredibly, an inmate, stood at the podium to thank the group for choosing to celebrate its Easter day with them. He was very presentable in his well ironed short sleeved light coloured shirt and dark coloured trousers. He had a large sized head which seemed to tilt this way and that when he spoke and I couldn’t help wondering if he were to lean forward to inspect at his shoes, whether he would be unbalanced by his great head and topple over. I shook myself out of my reverie and paid attention. He was in control of his environment and was at complete ease with the congregation, even the presence of the comptroller – <i>di oga of di prizin</i> – did not seem to faze him as I curiously tried to, as he spoke, imagine what it was he had been convicted for. It had to be fraud or ‘sharp practices’ I surmised because the man was obviously a smooth and educated talker. He spoke very eloquently with the very dry sense of effortless humour typical of the Warri and Sapele people of Delta state; he soon introduced our E Taylor to the podium.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h_5jjhuH3DQ/U2JwG3gQuTI/AAAAAAAAAHc/YgQ9x_DG6ik/s1600/WP_20140421_006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-h_5jjhuH3DQ/U2JwG3gQuTI/AAAAAAAAAHc/YgQ9x_DG6ik/s400/WP_20140421_006.jpg" /></a></div>Our man stood up to an uproarious cheer from the entire hall which made Mary and me start, look at each other and turn to observe him more keenly. He walked to the podium, hugged our 'brainy' host, received the microphone, turned around with his head bowed and without saying a word, walked toward us and stopped in front of the comptroller. He began to speak softly, almost inaudibly and began to thank the comptroller,Mr Tunde Ladipo, a very nice, unassuming man with a quiet steely strength about him, for giving him the opportunity to see the people that meant so much him. He began to move towards me and thanked me for taking out the time to make an appearance, moved to his wife seated beside me, took her up by the hand and introduced her to us telling all at the same time that they both shared the same birth date. As he spoke, still softly, making some of us strain our ears to catch what he was saying, he began humming softly to himself inching towards the inmates when he suddenly thrust his right hand powerfully forward and froze as if waiting for a response – it did come. A thunderous roar emanating from three hundred throats deafened our ears. By the time we looked back at E Taylor from the crowd, the sixty one year old man was already crouched in a dancing position as the choir had already struck up the beat that was obviously familiar to everyone else in the hall save us. The man danced with the dexterity of a very dignified P Square duo as the congregation clapped and urged him on. He was such a delight to watch as he cavorted this way and that, making us will the music not to stop. When he held his hands up, too soon if I may add, he began to address the inmates with a fondness that betrayed his beautiful heart as he brought out the reverse birthday gifts he brought them. Even more magnificent than the silver haired titan were the main stars; the inmates and the comptroller himself.<br />
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There was a passion in them that could be matched only by children in the way they sang, the way they danced and the rapt attention with which they listened to the various speakers. There was an energy in all of them that reverberated off the walls of the building making us wonder who the real prisoners were; us on the outside or they who were inside, a little reminiscent of Fela A Kuti’s masterpiece “Beast of No Nation” where he questions the veracity of us on the outside calling ourselves free. There was a strange light shining in their eyes, like my grandmother’s goats’ used to whenever their favourite fodder is dangled before their noses, as if every moment they spent in that hall was to be savoured before they were sent back to their dreary enclaves. All inmates, from the most animated to the most docile, seemed to be threaded with the same intense yarn, from the same source and towards a common goal until it hit me, freedom! Freedom was the one thing we from the outside had that they on the inside didn’t. The one thing we took for granted was what these incarcerated men found as priceless as the very air they breathed. It pervaded everything they did; it was in their walk; the nervous energy in their step, their heels barely touching the ground, it was in the way they sang; their faces facing upwards as if waiting to be caught up and away by some invisible force, it was in the roaring ‘amens’ they punctuated the ending of every prayer declaimed and was in the way they followed our every move with their eyes– I suspect my colleague Mary garnered most if not all the eyes in that hall, and rightly so; she is a lovely girl.<br />
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I did eventually leave that hall but not before I gave a speech (bowing of course to the venerable Taylor’s gentle prodding), danced till I sweated my shirt darker and had refreshment with the others in Mr Tunde Ladipo’s office. I had in there with strangers, a much better time than I have had out here in years, excluding loved ones of course and as I sit here writing, trying to piece together my thoughts, I ask myself how free I am. Am I making full use of the freedom available to me? What is my freedom for, to ensure that I make my life as pleasurable as I can to the exclusion of others, or is it to make others’ lives better? I find that even with my so called freedom, I am still buffeted from all sides by my obligation to family, friends and society at large, by the desires raging inside me that I fight every single day; desires that fight against the goals I strive to achieve and instead try to steer me towards the very things I abhor. If you ask me, I would say that I think the inmates of that walled prison I visited seem to have a better understanding of the prison they are in than we outsiders do of our wall-less prison out here we carry everywhere with us. I aim to visit that prison periodically even if it is to remind myself of where I am. Have a great weekend everyone! <br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-76843395709291683832014-04-30T14:41:00.001+01:002014-05-01T17:14:45.799+01:00Apapa - Kirikiri 1 A good day to everybody! Immediately I went through the Kirikiri Prison gates I spotted Evangelist Taylor (the good looking white bearded man in the photograph) and another dear colleague and friend of mine, Mary Lazarus waiting patiently for me along the road. E Taylor was particularly pleased to see me and hugged me very warmly and led Mary and I towards the prison gates, my first prison gates.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6kAMPEvNlKg/U2D7UrjMtYI/AAAAAAAAAHE/jmPrDc8k0xg/s1600/WP_20140421_007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6kAMPEvNlKg/U2D7UrjMtYI/AAAAAAAAAHE/jmPrDc8k0xg/s320/WP_20140421_007.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MAKP6u1LYNM/U2D75hsA7oI/AAAAAAAAAHM/CBsivd6Grc0/s1600/WP_20140421_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MAKP6u1LYNM/U2D75hsA7oI/AAAAAAAAAHM/CBsivd6Grc0/s320/WP_20140421_001.jpg" /></a></div>The gates looked formidable while trying to look friendly and inviting with their fresh paint and casually lounging guards sitting on the gnarled exposed roots of a nearby tree; I wasn’t fooled. I waited, we waited behind Taylor, Mary and I, as if he was our only genuine reassurance that all would be safe with us behind those gates. I didn’t know what to expect to behold behind them. Would a strong heady wave of the stench of unwashed bodies come rolling out to us, or would we be walking through a gauntlet of dark mazes with flinty, beady eyes peering at us from the darkness barely held at bay by dim pools of light provided by even sorrier looking light bulbs up above? To my disappointment a small bye door etched from the gate was opened to us and we walked through to a considerably large cavernous reception hall. It was lit up by the natural light coming from the courtyard about twenty metres away and while not being very well lit, one could not only see that it was spotlessly clean, but one could catch a whiff of the slight pine smell of mango trees hidden from view. We were asked to hand in our phones to an officer behind a mesh wire fence, dashing hopes of sneaking an insider picture or two of the potential goings on within the facility. As we walked in, I glanced at my watch and silently promised myself I wouldn’t stay an hour longer in the place before I left for other more ‘lucrative’ engagements, my conscience suitably elevated from my charitable deed of the month; it was 11.30am. We walked into the courtyard and stopped short, Mary and me. <br />
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It was breathtaking. The forbidding walls enclosing the prison were just a façade because a completely different picture lay spread out before us. There were no high concrete buildings with porthole windows and security turrets with armed guards standing watch. It looked more like a prestigious secondary boarding school from colonial times, and the typical prison colours cream and dark green were accentuated by large green mango trees and long rows of low shrubs covered with bright yellow flowers emblazoning the yard with their brilliance. A row of colonial buildings formed a perimeter around well manicured lawns, a modern basketball court, a football pitch and, I’m not sure if a lawn tennis court was present but I could definitely make out a table-tennis table or two. Oh, there was a mosque and a church as well, and into the church we went.<br />
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It was a large hall and was filled to capacity with the seated inmates occupying most of the space from the mid front row to the back of the hall. They wore mufti – a military term for civilian clothes, I learnt that from boarding school – and most of them wore poly-foam bathroom slippers. The front row was occupied by about twenty young men in uniform colours of the same printed fabric. They were better groomed than the others and all wore shiny black leather sandals. From the musical instruments before them I could tell they formed the prison choir (would you believe that since childhood I am still tempted to spell ‘choir’ as ‘quire’?). We were ushered to a row of chairs adjacent to the front facing inmates and sat to listen to the preacher.<br />
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Interestingly, I noted that the preacher preached a message of hope, not the typical ‘waiting to get to heaven before you get your reward’ but offered hope to not only re-entering the outside world of freedom but also the freeing of the mind from prison and going out to achieve great things. Great men who had once been imprisoned were made examples of: John the Baptist, Joseph, Obasanjo, Mahatma Ghandi; great men who were once vilified as these ones seated were. It might seem inconsequential to some, but for me, it was a huge step in the right direction. It swelled my heart with pride that our government, and private groups actually cared enough for erring citizens to invest in their future through genuine rehabilitating programs aimed at making them even better members of society.<br />
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Sadly again, my motor mouth and my love for painting pictures has brought us to another annoying end to this post, but, gladly, even the least hope is not lost as I will be rounding off this story not a later than May the 2nd, the day after tomorrow by hook or by crook. I want to thank you for your patience so far and I would also like to use this opportunity to thank Tracy for her encouraging words plus a huge welcome to my irreverent Formerly Stealth Reader who is still the ‘master’ of stealth as far as I’m concerned. Welcome back to the fold, lost but found sheep – you have been missed. Have a great a day everybody and see you very soon<br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-57368578759442319652014-04-28T14:31:00.002+01:002014-04-28T14:31:46.623+01:00Apapa - The Journey A good week to everybody! I sometimes wonder that I may have spoken too soon last week regarding keeping my joy. I have been tested sorely to know if I could really back up my claims I made regarding my sweet joy. I have had feuds with my friends especially my dear Ario who’s still not talking to me. Lola had yet another incident yesterday and is currently at the hospital (mechanic’s – beginning to wonder if I’m being scammed or not by these notoriously wily but short sighted fellows). It’s just one thing on top of the other, The most infuriating thing of all is that no one has lifted a finger to find my two hundred plus daughters who were kidnapped up north except for their parents, well wishers and foreign nationalities who till today are still ‘helping’ us wipe our smeared backsides in full view of the whole world; a case of the outsider actually grieving more than the bereaved. No matter, it’s of little consequence anyway; in a week’s time we’d have forgotten about the heartbreaking story of the hapless early teenage girls carted away far off north to fill violent men’s bellies, and have their bellies filled in return, and thank God it didn’t happen to us, until it does. Like I said before, I’ll vent my spleen, and then grab my joy back.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qhxuV_KHdVk/U15WSVf34cI/AAAAAAAAAG0/QlwvlBKqv9Y/s1600/WP_20140421_009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-qhxuV_KHdVk/U15WSVf34cI/AAAAAAAAAG0/QlwvlBKqv9Y/s320/WP_20140421_009.jpg" /></a></div> I had some real joy on Easter Monday last week when I went to visit the medium prisons at Kirikiri in Apapa, Lagos. A friend and colleague of mine, Evangelist Taylor, had invited me to join him in celebrating his 61st birthday at the Kirikiri maxim- sorry, medium prison which I curiously accepted but not without some angst. You see, the Apapa traffic is one I have a serious dread for. This is because being the main seaport of the country, the traffic, owing to the ubiquitous trailer-lorries laden with all kinds of goods, and their drivers who are a law unto themselves, routinely cause traffic snarls all over the place, adversely affecting businesses in the area. It is also important to point out that 70% of these trucks are forty years old or thereabouts, and as a result, are prone to breaking down all the time and consequently blocking traffic. Be foolhardy enough to vie for the right of way with them and you’ll be given a ‘crash’ course on the demerits of fighting with a forty year old truck: no brakes, 75% blind spot, ability to move only in a straight line as every attempt to turn even an inch to the left or right requires al the manual assistance of the driver’s mate, and above all, a very silly and stubborn driver! I say all this to say that I only dared go to Apapa because it was a public holiday and so I knew there would be no truck on the road.<br />
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I got to Apapa without incident and drove past very long rows of parked trucks until I realized too late I had made an inadvertent illegal turn at a market square – there were no road signs warning against this error. I only knew about the error from the menacing way the police and LASTMA officers came hulking towards my car, almost licking their lips in anticipation. They didn’t know that one whose buttocks have been stung by a soldier-ant is always cautious of where next he plants them. I leaned forward, my nose almost to the windscreen, grasping the steering wheel tightly with two hands, a fierce look of concentration on my face looking this way and that, as if trying to look for a familiar landmark, a look not unlike that of a sixty year old granny daring to pick her grandchildren from pre –school. I squinted my eyes and tried to look as stupid as possible as the officers pounded their fists at the car for me to stop. One of them even attempted to jump directly in my path but jumped back immediately when he seemed to realize that he might get crushed by this clueless driver who did not even seem to know his bearings. That was how I was saved from paying for some official’s child’s school fees for him.<br />
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I finally got to the prison gate and the rest of the incredible experiences I had there, are they not to be written in tomorrow’s conclusive post; this post being in the danger of being excessively long? Be sure to sign in tomorrow to read about Apapa – Kirikiri. In the meantime I leave you all to a glorious start to the week. Have a great day everyone! <br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-42313508689118110222014-04-16T14:52:00.000+01:002014-04-17T08:07:14.442+01:00Keeping My Joy I really don’t know what the point of driving a new car in Lagos is any more! Good week everybody! I’m in a very good mood this day of our Lord. Why you may ask. Nothing I say, I just will myself to be in a very good mood because I have seen that it is the only way one can frustrate evil in this world. I know what I’m talking about. It’s as if no one has the right to be happy and content. When I’m done hurling lies at you, walk into your office or place of work and loudly announce how ecstatically happy you are. The first question you’d be asked is the source of your joy; is it the lottery, is it a new promotion, great night with the spouse? Say yes to the former and the evil demon invites itself in either of two ways: first, by your invitation. Everyone, feeling it’s their God given right to share in your good fortune, suddenly remembers how close you used to be and so cajoles or compels you to remember you owe them an obligation to share in your wealth in its entirety – until it is spent. Second, you say no. You’ll find out how one mouth can be more deadly than twenty thousand open graves – and that’s the nice ones. The not-so-nice-ones, well, put it this way. You would be well advised to relocate yourself, your family, aged parents from both sides and leave your belongings so they think you’re still coming back – a self imposed exile from your beloved community<br />
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Regarding the latter, the great night with the spouse, hmm, Frieda once told me that if ever the topic of our sex life were to come up among her female friends and her, she would lament my total lack of prowess – in equipment and in vigour – in bed. Laughing, I asked her why she would mock me thus to which she replied that when women see something good in their fellow woman’s possession, they don’t want one like it, they want that very thing that’s been tried and tested. To my mischievous nieces and nephew sneaking to read this piece, sex is after marriage and not before! Uncle Kalu was delirious while writing this piece! Office workers reading this know only full well the perils that come with announcing a new promotion too brashly – brandished daggers stabbing from all sides that would make Julius Caesar’s assassins’ humble with respect. Demons everywhere trying to steal your joy. Like I said before, I don’t know what the point of driving a new car in Lagos is any more.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cbP-yIZ2RZE/U06KYeR4QrI/AAAAAAAAAGM/sbXQpA6Lh90/s1600/IMG-20140415-00002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cbP-yIZ2RZE/U06KYeR4QrI/AAAAAAAAAGM/sbXQpA6Lh90/s320/IMG-20140415-00002.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S4_CF1trAQ0/U06KmHnBu9I/AAAAAAAAAGU/Hf8EhIHabEA/s1600/IMG-20140415-00005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-S4_CF1trAQ0/U06KmHnBu9I/AAAAAAAAAGU/Hf8EhIHabEA/s320/IMG-20140415-00005.jpg" /></a></div>My poor Lola has been bashed and nudged so many times that if all her nudges were to be likened to love trysts, she’d be branded promiscuous or a victim of abuse – which she is. One would simply look at the paint smudges left on her body and count how many lovers she’s had, and from their colours, racially profile them. In fact were I to go to a body shop to give her a paint job, her body would serve as my catalogue to pick one colour out of the many samples on her person. In Lagos traffic, if you don’t go looking for trouble, it will come looking for you: drivers who feel they’re smarter than everyone else and drive into, and block oncoming traffic, LASTMA officials waiting for whom to pounce on, dreaded police checkpoints lurking under desolate bridges, disillusioned people who, beset by society’s numerous pressures, suddenly walk out into the road to be mowed down by you. Thank God the era of street parties are over. Sometime in the past, while it was still in force, I have had it in my head to park near one of the odious parties, surreptitiously tie a rope to the furthest table to me at the other end, tie it to the back of my car, wait till the guests are served food and drinks, and drive off in the opposite direction. It just never ends.<br />
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In conclusion I have found that no one has the right to steal my joy no matter what. Being and staying joyful is my prerogative and no one else’s. If you hurt me or annoy me, I would simply take some time out, rant and rave, deal with the situation and mentally go back to my state of joyfulness; it’s all with good reason I tell you. What’s the point of venting your frustration from an earlier accident on an innocent acquaintance who may have the intention of introducing you to some lucrative deal, or you impatiently brush aside some youngster who has admired you all his/her life, scarring them forever? When I’m in Lagos traffic now, I’m very calm, I don’t fret. I simply toss my impatience out the window, reach into my joy and think all the thoughts I haven’t had time think about; what I’d do if I had a helicopter, what if a meteor came crashing down to earth, how best I should play this role or that, what would make a good story, why is the blacked out SUV in front of me bouncing up and down, are there empty bottles in this car should I need to ‘go’? Point is, a positive outcome can never be the offspring of a negative mind so guard your heart with all diligence for out of it flow the issues of life. Have a great week everybody <br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-23733688362416309712014-04-10T16:14:00.000+01:002014-04-10T16:14:35.079+01:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W-EXvIMEc94/U0ayYvOAUMI/AAAAAAAAAFc/c-w4fXehxcU/s1600/IMG_6956.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-W-EXvIMEc94/U0ayYvOAUMI/AAAAAAAAAFc/c-w4fXehxcU/s400/IMG_6956.jpg" /></a></div>Kalu of Arabia!<br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-92070543169270891972014-04-06T22:00:00.000+01:002014-04-06T22:00:55.902+01:00When I'm DyingWhen I die, bury me in a frozen lake of ice! Don’t mind me jare, I’m just mimicking 2 Chainz and Kanye’s song “Birthday Song” which I found very catchy, the beat that is. I just can’t bring myself to say “Bury me in a Gucci store” Seriously, is that the highest level we wish to attain, being buried in a famed tailor’s shop? I bow o. Maybe my ignorance is bliss given my deaf ears to lyrics of the songs I generally listen to, or does my subconscious mind pick up more than I am aware of? If they were lyrics about what to do with itches and gardening tools – for digging up yams - then yes, that I could understand and make good use of by playing role play romps with my significant other in the bedroom or the sitting room or maybe the kitchen while checking on the muffins or boli (grilled or baked semi ripe plantain) in the oven, or, wait for it, shut up in the boot of the car! See why I love writing? It sometimes dredges up things you never knew lurked in the recesses of your mind. Two things I’d have to keep handy to safely accomplish that feat though: my car keys (remote car locks of course) and a sound theme of a large dog’s bark to be activated in the very likely event of an attempted car theft Hmm, stringy meat to chew on another day. My meat for today is yes, a little off the beaten track but no less important to yours truly, the way I would like to die. <br />
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When I die and how I’d like to die are of little concern to me as whatever puny control I may exercise over the when and how of my demise may only be effected through prayer or due diligence regarding my security and lifestyle. What I would like to do at the point of my demise is a matter I have given my imagination free range to roam to its heart’s content. I have come to accept that there is, and may remain a childlike and playful side to me, and I would love to keep it that way till I’m a hundred, hopefully plus. At the moment, to my shame, I have so far only managed to envisage any of the three things I’d like to do just before kicking the bucket, which even so few, still give me a warm glow on the inside. <br />
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Like the Okinawa residents in Japan, I would love to still shag my wife at a hundred and two years old, and she, mmm, maybe between eighty two to a hundred years. Of course by then we’d have sensibly begun investing in lubricating gel, strictly to jumpstart her of course, and I, by God’s divine will, will still be rising to the occasion on demand, give or take an hour or two of prompting or stimulation, at this point, of any kind, oral or any sensible otherwise. Anyway the meat of it that we’d have been at it for any length of time ranging from four minutes to thirty – yes, I am that ambitious, the software program chosen being the lovemaking application so I can remember she’s the woman I love who has borne me these wonderful initially troublesome children who have left us to our rapturous delights and our unfathomable petty squabbles – the kind no one dares intervene in the knowledge that both of us are just looking for an excuse to have make up sex - I digress. She’s busy with her electric toothbrush buzzing away downtown between us, her wrinkled face – still as beautiful to me as the day I married her – distorted in concentration and I roger on as manly as possible, LLCool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” playing in the background to aid my rhythm and vigour until she stiffens suddenly and begins to let out an almost eerie low but slowly rising moan as my own fever begins to take over me in paroxysms of blurred vision, my glasses almost falling off my nose, convulsions radiating from my loins as they take over my body in ever powerful waves as now a hundred million half lives course their way up from my bejewelled orbs, my centenarian roar sounding like it’s coming from the adjoining room as we cling to each other in our torturous bliss as we are suddenly levitated to celestial transports, God’s throne. Oblivious to our new environment, we look at each other and gasp, “Wow, that was some banging!”, before we notice our celestial surroundings, angels and all, and I, seeing the Almighty and quaking with fear, blurt out, “Banging at, sorry, on Heaven’s door!”. Sharrap all of you, it’s not blasphemy; we widowed each other in matrimony!<br />
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Second, I’m at my deathbed in my home hopefully and not the hospital, still at a hundred and two, surrounded by my wife (she should outlive me – I love being pampered), children: biological, in-law and adopted, grandchildren and hopefully the greats. I call our children to draw closer to me for the last blessings and admonishment. As I bless each one and their future genealogies, I punctuate each blessing by spitting into their open mouths, yes there is an Igbo community where this form of father-child blessing has long been practised – and, hehehe, you never deny a dying man his wish. I would have made it seven spits per mouth but that would be greed, and I may expire before getting to the third child, besides I don’t know how much saliva I’d still be able to muster at that ripe age so I’ll dispense my treasures sparingly. <br />
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Thirdly, if God tarries His hand at taking me away to Him, I would bless the rest of my beloved gathering and save the last for the one most alike to me in personality or maybe the youngest. I would call him/her to me very lovingly, pray for the beautiful child, bless him/her with a tremulous voice and trembling hands, give him/her some life serving advice and ask him/her to put his/her hand under my thigh as they used to do in biblical times. When they obey me, I’ll ask them to move it up further a bit, just under my bottom whereupon I’d take a deep breath and unleash the most ferocious fart I can muster. Hopefully the force generated will be enough to propel my soul and spirit from my body to eternal bliss leaving behind a mischievous grin on my face. I must remember to maintain a strict diet of raw broccoli and beans for when the beams start to tremble and the bulb starts to dim to give me enough wind for my sails- note to self.<br />
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My point here is who says dying can’t be fun? It is inevitable so why not, instead of being so petrified all the time of it, have fun with it and making your exit as memorable as possible, both here and beyond? Cowards have the misfortune of dying many times before their death but the creative ones have the luxury of enjoying theirs many times before it comes. Death is naught but a gateway so I enjoin everyone to enjoy this life, its passing and the life beyond this one. Have a great week everyone and don’t forget to eat your fruit and veggies!. <br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-67621825732611116622014-03-17T16:52:00.000+01:002014-03-17T16:52:39.922+01:00Seven times out of Ten! Good week everyone! It’s a beautiful day I see outside my window, the morning sun peeping through my dark blinds and even the melodious sound of a (I-don’t know-what) bird trills above my neighbour’s noisy generator. Yes my friends, I’m sorry I have to drag you into my now cantankerous and no-electricity morning but as they say, there’s love in sharing. Ah bless! The power just came back. I tend not to praise my local power company when they give us the power we actually pay them for, it being their job but the main reason I never praise them is I found that any time I praised them for a job well done, a range of two to twenty hours of power in a few days, I’d end up not having any at all for the next four days, and this has happened seven times out of ten. I now see the genesis of superstition, tradition and culture. I actually like this topic – I was going to talk about my misadventure at my friend’s dad’s funeral in Ebutte Metta, Lagos but I suddenly want to try making some sense of this in my head and throw it out to you my folks.<br />
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The majority of us, if not all, tend to follow tried and tested, sometimes handed down formulas that lead to successes ranging from immediate gratification to reaping profits from long term investments, personnel and material.. Once these endeavours succeed seven times out of ten, they are likely to be adopted as a winning formula and then a tradition and consequently culture. A man driven to distraction by hunger and seeing no other way out of his predicament than to burgle a house for the first time in his life weighs the cost of his intentions. He prays to God to understand his predicament and to shield him from discovery and shame, to understand that he only need fill his belly and nothing else. He embarks upon his desperate act and ends up not getting caught. The euphoria of his success drives him to try another venture, and then another with resounding success; a winning formula is born – until he is eventually nabbed.<br />
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Take my new found ‘superstition’ as an example. When I praise the power company for transmitting uninterrupted power for a whole day – a rarity in these parts and find that seven times out of the ten I praise them for their services, I suffer blackouts for an unusually extended period of time, I would subconsciously or otherwise, sense that some indescribable force is against me praising the company for its services and doing so would be to my detriment. I would therefore, from then on, refrain from praising any improvement on services provided by the company lest some dark force comes along to snatch away what little service I have hitherto enjoyed and plunge me into its fraternal darkness. I ‘learn’ not to acknowledge any strides the company makes to improve upon its services, however phenomenal, for fear of being let down, and I subsequently compel my family to adopt this ‘secure’ and ‘proven’ tradition. We thus learn a culture of criticism and cynicism through our ‘tried and tested’ tradition of non gratitude and non encouragement; and if some bemused outsider, perplexed by our culture of negativity, asks us why we never acknowledge the laudable efforts of our service providers, we smugly reply that it is to ensure the status quo remains the same so that we never regress; and argue further that the culture of criticism is actually a form of reverse encouragement to our service providers. If then this tradition works out for us better services, or at worst keeps us in status quo, what is to stop us from applying it to other aspects of our lives. A dear friend travels through the treacherous roads from Benin to Lagos upon hearing of your hospitalization bearing the Benin fruits and Auchi groundnuts you love so much, huffs and puffs his/her way round to your bedside to give you a hug to which you, with ‘good’ intentions, ask what took them so long without so much as a word of thanks because you know you’re encouraging them to do better – seven times out of ten.<br />
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One of the greatest gifts we have as human beings is the power of individual thought even though most of us rarely utilize it for fear of drawing the ire of, or standing apart from others. Almost as crippling is our unwillingness to ask ourselves the plain truth no matter how painful it may be. Hence we sometimes go through life holding tenaciously onto outmoded beliefs and traditions of yore handed down to us by our forefathers or parents or even by our own hand. I think one should assess and evaluate whether their tradition is taking them to the destination they are going or drawing them back. If it is then all well and good, and if not, then they should know it is in their power to either amend it to suit their purpose or jettison it outrightly. We oftentimes abuse much of the power we have by being too afraid to exercise it to our hurt. Tradition and culture were made for man and not the other way round. Have a great week everyone! <br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-12902788350928191782014-03-12T12:03:00.000+01:002014-03-12T13:06:51.028+01:00Valentine's Day in Lagos A good week to everyone! The 14th of last month was Valentine’s day and thankfully, on that day, I happened to be working in the midst of a wide range of extremely beautiful ladies, from slight/slender to the outright BBW – big beautiful women – but sadly, like the proverbial man who, carrying watermelons under each arm, trudged to the watermelon market with the very intention of buying more, I simply resigned myself to admiring, or ignoring the fruit on display. I haven’t had a Valentine’s day date in Lagos in such a loooong time, and if I ever do, it will definitely take the planning of a wedding of feuding families to effect it. Why? <br />
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You and your significant other decide to give yourselves a full Valentine’s day treat by planning to see a long anticipated movie and then wine and dine at your favourite restaurant with a view to ending ‘tins’ with a bang, or maybe something slower with more emphasis on the romantic. You both kiss each other your goodbyes as each one, or one of you, goes off to work, with promises or assurances that you will meet at an agreed rendezvous from whence you’ll commence your amorous itinerary for the rest of the evening. Everything going on around you in the office, from the commencement of the business day to the pm still in its toddling stage, only serves to bespeak just how deeply the goblet of love will be drunk: the office secretary suddenly squealing in delight at a couriered package, the office aloof beauty whose desk paraphernalia, desktop computer inclusive, have to make way for the legion of love cards, love cakes and love wines to be displayed. Even the normally routinely dreary office lunch gets a love lift of its own with jollof rice on the menu being served with heart shaped dodo – fried ripe plantain slices -, softer cubes of beef and the sweating and unusually overly made up dinner lady serving up extra helpings of meats with coquettishly batting eyelashes, to the object of her affection, who’s studiously oblivious to her advances. Then the magic hour, 3pm, strikes, your cue to rush out to meet your object of desire.<br />
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You grab your presents, your laptop bag and oh, your car keys, start out, stop abruptly to cast a cursory glance at your desk to check that you haven’t forgotten anything and with a parting general farewell to any who cares to listen, you dash out to your waiting car, phone to your ear warning your sweetheart she’d better not be up to her usual tardiness. With ears pushed to the back of your head on account of a beaming neon smile, you generously tip the security guards, hop in your car and drive out into the largest car park in the world, Lagos traffic! Add to that the mobile phone network jam reminiscent of the wee hours of New Year’s Day and you can be sure whatever cracks existed in your relationship in the previous weeks will metamorphose into yawning craters. You try unsuccessfully to call her, your eyes still on the banner by the traffic lights you’ve been staring at for the past three hours of sweltering traffic and she, her frustration building, remembers that picture of you with the office beauty, her arms wrapped suggestively around your waist, your strident denials of unwholesome behind-the-door liaisons, and your delay and ‘switched off’ phone only serve to confirm her niggling doubts. You finally get to her office block and as you’re driving in you espy her chatting amiably with a small group of junior staff. You park nearby directly in line of her vision and call her cell phone and miraculously this time, it does go through. She doesn’t seem to hear her phone ring because she carries on her conversation regardless, her laughter ringing out louder and above everyone else’s. You finally get the hint after the third ring and humbly exit the car to walk to her. As you reach her she suddenly exclaims to the crew she has to go straight home on account of a blinding headache and swiftly turns around and sashays towards the car leaving you bemused with no choice but to give your onlookers a brave smile, grab whatever is left of your self control and apply a step after the other towards the car. In the course of the silent drive home, you seething with rage and she fixated on her phone and its incessant annoying message beeps, still have some presence of mind to stop over and grab a bottle or two of ‘bubbly’ or her favourite wine and… <br />
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Far be it from me to go delving in other people’s private lives, so, on that note I will have to end here. But, would it be so bad if, even if the wine is not drunk and you both cart your icy weather to bed with you, she unusually clothed and facing the other way, you surreptitiously sidle up to her to gently spoon her, your free arm creeps around her hips and navel, and upwards to the soft globules you know so well until she deftly but gently moves it away. You, feigning resignation, sigh, kiss her left shoulder and relax in the first throes of slumber. A moment of silence, an imperceptible shift of her rump into your groin and a slow smile spreads across your face. As the ice thaws and the hands fumble, the tent is raised and the stone is rolled from the well’s entrance. As you begin to draw water from the well, you begin to verbalise your indignation at being so poorly treated in the presence of outsiders. She screams out her accusations of putting another before her on such a special day, and it’s not clear what passion she’s (s)creaming) from but you know it prompts you to draw water faster and faster as you both argue back and forth until she vents her frustration in one long final shuddering scream as she clasps you tightly to herself. An hour later, or considerably less, depending on the ardour expressed and the self control applied, two of you polish off the hitherto ignored bubbly and reminisce on the day while cooking up what excuse to give for not being able to turn up for work the next day. Valentine’s Day in Lagos might not be such a bad idea after all. Have a great week everyone<br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-70984241660455848752014-03-06T14:10:00.000+01:002014-03-06T14:25:23.469+01:00Hiatus!A good week, or should I say good year to everybody! It’s been such a long time and yes it’s been all my fault so please feel free to pelt me with all the rotten fruit within grasp – keyword being ‘within grasp’. It’s been so long, almost two years since I wrote my last post and it seems like it's taken twice as long to get back on track. I know the question on everyone’s lips, “What kept you away for so long?” I understand, even I am asking myself that question.<br />
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I have been going through a life changing experience over the past two years, change that took me completely by surprise, not by accident, but by my constant relegation of needful things to be addressed to the background of my mind. My relationship with Frieda is not what it used to be before, to our hurt. Alas this blog that hitherto used to be my therapeutic session where I could air my thoughts as personably as I could has become my albatross; my Achilles heel being my penchant for talking straight from the heart as I see it. How would I be able to write my posts without betraying to you all the anguish I, and Frieda, were going through, even more maddening when I was still trying to sort the conflicting emotions raging within me, differentiating between my ideals and the realities that presented themselves before me, pressuring me to make choices when I was at a quandary? I have habitually always kept my cards close to my chest, not letting anyone observe the way I prepare my soup until the final product is hopefully cooked to perfection. In other words I have kept you all at bay waiting till everything has been sorted out before opening the wide gates to my palace, to my anteroom lined with portraits chronically charting my arduous journey towards building this edifice. That was until I realized I stood the risk of losing the one channel, apart from my Lord God, through whom I have the luxury of expunging my fears and misgivings, celebrating my triumphs and achievements, however small – my blog and you my wonderful readers upon whom I liberate myself.<br />
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I have missed you greatly my dear folks. Being away from here has not been good for me at all. I have missed my ranting, my banter and your hilarious comments appreciating my work, good, bad and the grey areas. I’ve stayed away for so long I feel like I have forgotten to write, to pinpoint those beautiful little quirks we so often ignore in our pursuit of shelter, clothing and feeding; the things that make life worth living. Forgive my lack of literary form in writing this missive; I realized, after months of angst over what and how to write, that perfection lies not in the end product but in the courage and commitment it takes to stick through the process toward it. I care more about interacting and airing my views and experiences, within reason of course. In so doing I aim to make our relationship on this forum a little more interactive than before and I am excited so watch this space! I’ll giving out more details soon; this is a profuse apology for being away for so long. Have a great weekend everybody and very glad to be back! <br />
Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-21762961672050257572012-05-08T14:34:00.004+01:002012-05-08T14:34:49.664+01:00Na Wa OGood week everybody. Don’t ask me how I am right now ‘cos’ I’ll probably snap someone’s head off. Is this what producers see in movie shoots?!! It’s like playing chess with forty people at the same time; lose concentration for even a second and your production is delayed for an hour; and I’m just a co producer. Imagine what it would have been if I was the only producer on the set. Yes my friends, I am just helping out with producing and writing on this set in Minnesota just a week before I return to beloved Naija and I’ve already sprouted two new gray ones. Add very heavy emotional stress (which equals no sleep whatsoever) to the mix and you’ll understand if I’m spotted running naked along the streets soon. Anyway I’m saying all this to appeal to you to excuse me for putting out such a short post this week. Pray for me o; I need it! Have a great week everyone!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-21245232014734247902012-05-02T14:30:00.001+01:002012-05-02T14:47:56.211+01:00Beautiful WomenA good week to everybody. It is an absolutely fabulous sunny day here in Texas Like the director on the movie set I’m working on said, “The sun here wan be like Kano own”. Kano is one the desert states in the northern part of my beloved Nigeria. Unfortunately, as is the case with most work environments, there seems to be an overcast message reminding me that I am here to work and not to admire the place. It is a bittersweet experience I’m having at the moment; the frustration of being so near my family members strewn across the state and not being able to see them, and the pleasure of working with an old colleague of mine, the director Ikechukwu Onyeka.<br />
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I don’t know why but I detest talking about my work; it makes me feel like I’m shoving my work down people’s throat or like I’m bragging about things I‘ve done or blowing my own trumpet. Come to think of it, where did I learn these values from, the bible or my parents? My father, he was a very hard worker who liked recognition for his work, and extolled his achievements with a frankness and matter of factness unique only to him. My mum on the other hand is someone who craves anonymity like no other person I know. Not even her right hand knows what the left is doing if she can help it. All she’s happy doing is doing her work and being satisfied in the accomplishment thereof. I suppose then that I am a marriage of the two; I work quietly with fierceness and let my work do my bragging for me. Maybe that’s why I work hard to achieve perfection in my work; so I can have something tangible to be remembered for after I am long gone. What I will enjoy talking about, on the movie set I’m working, are the people I’m working with.<br />
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I am surrounded by beautiful women and I’m depressed. Yes, I can see everyone except the boys rolling their eyes in exasperation. “Kalu and his numerous tales of women and sex!” You wouldn’t understand. The issue of my interactions with the women in my life goes beyond the carnal path you questionably minded people think I’m probably going. The subject of women in my life, I find, is deeply philosophical especially when they are three or more in the same place at the same time. You have this constellation of jewels around you, each vying for your attention and you dizzy from ogling at their sparkling lights, not knowing which to settle on; one for all and all for one. Instinctively you know that should you settle on one the others instantly turn to harpies, and the one you settle on, what happens after the first nuptial flight? It either instantly dulls into a relationship or you are labeled a bastard – yes my friend, that is most times the way of women. Settle for settling on all flowers and you’ll need to tread not only very carefully, but also to employ the wily services of subterfuge, for in vain does a fowler set a snare in full view of the bird he preys upon. Needless to pray for Heaven’s aid should you be found out. Most importantly, you remember the one back home on whom you depend. The one whom you have known for years, been through thick and thin together, has drunk garri without sugar and groundnuts with you, the one in front of whom you fart freely, entrust with your innermost secrets and tells you the truth as it is, in love and no guile. You think about her and wonder which one of the jewels surrounding you will go that mile with you. Alas, the desperately frustrated poet cried out, cast out at sea, “Water water everywhere and not a drop to drink!” I am surrounded by beautiful women and I am depressed. Have a great week everyone.Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-54587896587475002962012-04-18T11:10:00.000+01:002012-04-18T11:10:06.993+01:00An Ode to 'No More Bullsh**t'Minnesota! Minnesota! MINNESOTA OOOO! How many times have I shouted your name?!!! Minnesota will not kill me. Sorry folks, a good week to everyone. I was just lamen- sorry haling the weather here, after it just hailed me. Yes hailed; I thought I had seen every kind of weather until I came here. Would you believe that in just a space of the two hours I went out jogging in the park near my hotel this morning it snowed, then rained before falling as sleet? Yes my friends, I watched incredulously as first the snowflakes fluttered down from the sky, the delicate icy lattice settling onto my jacket with the uncertainty of a newborn kitten, and then fall into heavier drops of water, melting through the fabric in ghostly shapes, before bouncing angrily off it in little icy pellets! What was a sweltering 72F/22C – yes, it is for Minnesota, go suck a lemon! – the day before, plummeted to 34F/1C the very next day at 8am in spring! My total respect in all these goes to the original owners of the land, the natives that lived the land for hundreds of years. Those guys must have been extremely resourceful to have raised families in conditions where boiling water thrown into the air instantly freezes, or where a banana could be used to hammer nails into wood. I hail you guys.<br />
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Just got back from Atlanta, the city of woods as far as I’m concerned, for the premiere of my lovely sis Blessing Egbe’s movie Two Brides and a Baby and it was glorious! There are trees everywhere! Tall green majestic friendly looking trees, a world apart from the wintry serial killer looking tree havens you find up here in Minnesota. Yes, you guessed it, I do love trees; they give us fresh air, absorb unnecessary noise, absorb air pollutants and maintain our earth’s surface integrity. Mmm, trees… Atlanta has become one of my best cities in the world; it’s very accommodating, is vibrant; one has the feeling that everyone there is young and moving in the right direction. Even the not so young still have a strong zest for life. As a young African man, I felt quite at home there; I noticed there was in the city a strong black and vibrant community, where people did not seem to be apologetic for their aspirations to being successful in whatever ambitions they had, and for having a zest for life. In the short time I was there I felt the vibe of many cultures interspersed with one another, each with a willingness to learn from the others; Nigerian, Jamaican, Ghanaian, African American, White to mention but a few. It was nice.<br />
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Drat! I was supposed to talk about the premiere I came to the city for and got carried away. Everything carried me away, even the premiere and the wonderful people who made it happen. Even though we were two, Blessing Effiom Egbe and I – Stella Damasus and O C Ukeje, the other stars in the movie couldn’t make it – we more than made up for the absence of the others. We were like a bag of lit firecrackers, so full of energy and feeding off one another at press conferences, radio and television interviews and photo shoots. Our hosts, Deji and Jide, owners of Snapflix and their crew were phenomenal. Even though we were caught up in a whirlwind of activities and business meetings the minute we hit the ground, that team never for a moment failed to cater to our every need, however ‘whimsical’ –“y’all know I ain’t no diva”. <br />
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What I really want to say is I see a new lease of life being breathed into our entertainment industry, not from governments or from large corporations who want to dole out huge sums of money to make great big movies, but from a crop of young Africans, at home and abroad, who genuinely want to affect our world and the rest of the world around us. Africans who want to tell our own stories genuinely, what makes us laugh, what makes us cry. Why we love our pounded yam and egusi soup, fufu and palm butter soup, dodo and agoyin beans. Why a friendly banter between us might prompt a white lady to call 911 or why we fear our parents more than the child services agency and the police combined. I see a departure from the visionless insipid mush to which our movies have degenerated, to a budding industry that takes itself seriously as both a business and a drive to stamp our own Africaness, rich and vibrant, spicy and exotic, proud and irresistibly different, on the global cultural map. I want to be a part of that industry, even if my only contribution to it is by scribbling these measly lines as an ode to it, I want to be part of it if it is clean and genuine. Have a great week everyone!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-28883236772599720572012-04-10T11:13:00.000+01:002012-04-10T11:13:18.990+01:00PredatorGood week tout le monde! Easter’s just gone past; a fresh new year, a new lease of life for us Christians. A sweetheart of mine, ScarletVirgin on twitter – I have never known a name so cynical, going by her scandalous outbursts on that forum – once said that as a child, she looked forward to Good Fridays when she would pile up all the sins she committed for the year, throw them away with Jesus’ death and start afresh the following Monday. I’m not sure what her status is now but judging from her colourful language on twitter, she has either resorted to a daily cleansing with our Lord’s blood or given up entirely on any pretence at purification. My Easter weekend was a mixed bag of work, play and rest. Woke up at THREE in the morning to catch my FIVE am flight to Atlanta, hit the ground running by going straight into the charity work I was scheduled for till I was done at TWO am the next day, hit the shower, got dressed, went to a nightclub nearby, got back to the hotel at FIVE, hit the shower again, got dressed and headed for the airport to catch my FIVE hour 8am flight to Minnesota! I felt so sorry for the pretty onyibo lady seated beside me on the plane – my snoring must have added to the turbulence on the plane during the flight. The rest of the weekend was spent alternating between the bed, the fridge and the toilet seat. So, how was everyone else’s?<br />
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Thanks for the feedback on my last post. As always, some of you had me guffawing with laughter, most of whom was the ever irreverent imp Formerly Stealth Reader and her unabashed taste for vanilla milkshake. Yes Formerly, he was that scrumptious, according to Frieda, yes she was there as well, who flirted outrageously with him and even told me she’d give him two babies, to my face! Regarding his abs, well, let’s put it this way; you’d have to claw your way to the front of the queue – and I was with black women. Hopefully you’d still look presentable enough by the time you get there. Then again, there’s something about the panting, heaving, bleeding scratched tigress. Hmm…<br />
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I absolutely love the women of nowadays! Gone are the days when I used to believe we men were the predators. You only have to touch the right spot in the female homo sapiens to realize you are the insect in the venus flytrap. Be a horrible lover and you are free from her grasp. Be stupid enough to be a good lover and give her multiple orgasms and you are finished; you have become her antidote for every day, and every stress that comes her way. Unlike us men predators who attack, conquer and move on, perpetual nomads, these predators are smart; they think of tomorrow; they bolster the strength and needs of their prey, nurturing them, fattening them, feeding their ego, stealthily and cyclically guiding them back to the nurturing fertile gardens from whence they came, all the while making them think they are in charge. You only have to see an intruder (their fellow stealth predators) within their marked territory to unmask their true nature. It’s an enchanted spell I tell you and I love it! I have already told God that if there’s no sex in heaven there’d best be something far better otherwise I’m holding up a placard. Yes, I said it! I can’t fear anyone! God created sex and saw that it was good and I Kalu am living proof of that! Where is that nonsense Frieda?! Oya, come here…! Wait for what?!! Shut up! Tempter of me!<br />
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Sorry, have a great week everyone!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-240864901077467882012-04-03T09:28:00.002+01:002012-04-03T09:32:37.387+01:00The ChallengeGood week to everybody! I’m in better spirits now than I have been in the past weeks or should I say months. What has changed, I don’t know, I mean things are pretty much the same way they have been this year; still looking for more money to solve my incessant needs, Frieda still screeching in my left ear and futilely thinking that nagging me continuously is going to get me to do what she wants when she wants it –<i> she never halla</i>!- or eating from my plate when she has hers right in front of her and calling it love! Life has its small every day tragedies I tell you! Maybe those small tragedies are there to keep us from blowing our heads off when the tsunamis come but then, that’s just me. Why then do I feel different today? I think it’s perhaps the thought that I spent over a hundred dollars today buying only fruit on which I intend living solely on for the duration of a month. Of course I will procure more should I exhaust my supplies. Or perhaps my elation at making my very first successful smoothie from very humble beginnings comprising the most disgusting non-fat vanilla yoghurt, fresh strawberries, fresh blueberries, kiwi fruit and bananas blended into a pink creamy tasty smoothie delight this afternoon. All accomplished by the great culinary skills of Kalu Ikeagwu! Mrs Nkem Odewunmi eat your heart out! The reason behind my fruity expedition is simply competition and self preservation.<br />
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I had done a movie in New York involving a large cast. It was quite exhausting, mostly because I was in most of the scenes and a lot of them were emotionally tasking. I worked with a large number of people at different times and this meant I met new people all the time, worked towards getting used to working with each individual and just as I would begin to get used to the one, the one would be yanked away and another take his/her position, and the whole cycle would start all over again. Anyway, in one of such instances I, my character, was supposed to have a heated argument with a medical colleague and friend over a medical decision in my office. There were a lot ‘nonsensical’ medical terms in the scene that took some getting used to, so the other actor and I, after introductions, got down to rehearsing our lines. He was an extremely good looking well built white guy about my height and none of the ladies in the vicinity could keep still on account of him. Yes, I did feel a little green creeping in my colour at the sight of this, this fine intruder taking away my shine and having all the girls swooning at his feet. “<i>The true test of why we’re here will show the boys from the men!”</i>, I seethed, supposing him to be just a pretty airhead who was caught up solely in his looks. When we began the dry run (ultimate rehearsals) in preparation for the actual take, and this ‘airhead’ let rip, I was left a spectator in my own scene. Everyone’s jaw dropped, then clapped; nobody expected that performance from him. But,<i> trust your guy na</i> , it only happened once. I stepped up my game <i>sharp sharp</i>! For the next five scenes we did together after that, it was fire for fire, toe to toe, head to head, without ever overacting. It was sublime. I remembered what it was like being with serious actors who take their work seriously, as a craft to be honed and practiced continuously. <br />
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My useless director kept dancing up and down with glee! <i>“Kalu! Now I have seen someone who’ll keep you on your toes and not let you get comfortable! Others let you get away with anything but me? I will punish you to get the best out of you!”</i> *itch!<br />
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Well this nemesis of mine is going to be on the same project as me in a month’s time from now and I am not going to ‘carry’ last. My fruit regime starts yesterday with a vengeance in preparation for something I’m salivating over – a good challenge! Have a great week everybody!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-17074839524016414902012-03-30T10:11:00.000+01:002012-03-30T10:11:51.570+01:00The WildernessA good new year to everybody. Shame and guilt have wracked my being for the longest time – very much like the feeling a deer gets when he’s trapped in full glare, when everyone, including the occasional driver, is screaming for her to get out of the way before the fatal strike. Well I’ll jump into the loop while the swinging arms are still strong. Forgive my long absence everyone. I’ve been in the wilderness for the longest while. I say wilderness because I’ve been so heartbroken over the past few months. Most things I held to be true have come crashing down in a violent flash flood carrying with it some of the structure I had since built. but leaving the foundation firmly intact. People I held in the highest esteem have been shown to me as shells even more desperate than I. Some of my closest friends have been found not to be whom they seem. Rather than feel indignant at this discovery, or be puffed up with self-righteousness, my despondency has arisen from the realization of our vulnerability as humans. We are so frail! The tragic thing is we think we are invincible, that we can do it all – and we can! – but not when we choose to be self-absorbed, choose to use other people for our own needs instead of working with them as a team, and when desperate times befall us, largely a culmination of our lust for life, greed and selfishness, we enslave ourselves to forces we have no business affiliating with. More and more each day I am reminded of my fragility and the need to depend on the one who truly has my back no matter what the circumstance, God, my foundation upon whom I strive to build. <br />
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I know I sound rather cryptic but this missive is more of me thinking out loud to myself and bouncing it off of your crania. Frieda does that to me a lot so I suppose some her eccentricities must have rubbed off on me. I have missed you lot. I look forward to more therapeutic sessions with you. Have a great weekend everybody.Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-48108828351491124992012-01-22T13:34:00.003+01:002012-03-30T10:42:31.974+01:00A Happy New Year?A good first week of the year to everyone!<br />
I’m back in good old sweltering Naija and it feels good! The normally<br />
insane Lagos traffic that I’ve grown so used to is back and so am I<br />
with my incessant stream of expletives I hurl at slow coaches who are<br />
better off driving in their sitting rooms! God, they make me wish I<br />
had long arms to reach out and hurl them out of my way. They make me<br />
hurl! But that was then, a looooong time ago, some place of blessed<br />
memory, a faded dot in the past. Now, today, a week later, just a week<br />
after the fuel ‘subsidy’ was completely removed by our eminent<br />
president of the people, Goodluck Jonathan, I am now being cursed to<br />
get out of the way by those slow coaches. If Betty had a manual/stick<br />
gear shift, I’d engage the gears half the way, and coast the rest of<br />
the half on neutral - I’d switch the engine off if it wasn’t so<br />
dangerous. These days I mind the calories Betty burns; her food is<br />
very precious to me. I share the concerns of over a hundred million<br />
other people about our future over the hundred and twenty percent fuel<br />
price hike.<br />
<br />
The second week of the year, and these concerns are being voiced out today en masse in protests going on all over the country. A labour strike has called for this week and from<br />
what I observe, it is being effected by everyone I know, including me,<br />
well they didn’t say not to work from home. My question is, as I’m<br />
sitting here, how the heck am I going to have to pay over a double of<br />
what I used to pay for just a week ago, that is, doubling my budget<br />
for the rest of the year with little increase on my revenue as at the<br />
moment? That’s not talking about my brothers who have whole families,<br />
have spent a lot over the Christmas to give their loved ones a<br />
memorable holiday, are about sending them off to school and then boom!<br />
Suddenly the money they judiciously put away has to be more than<br />
doubled if their kids are going the same level of education they got a<br />
month earlier. Or the ones who went to their respective home towns for<br />
the festive season only to be told, commencing their journey home,<br />
that fares have tripled. I even heard some commuters had to sell what<br />
belonging they had so they could get home – and that’s not counting<br />
the families.<br />
<br />
Well, third week of the year, strike’s over<br />
now and everyone’s back to work. Petrol prices have been reduced by a<br />
smidgen and it’s suffering and smiling as usual for us. I’m in kind of<br />
a daze though, because I’m sitting here wondering what all the fuss<br />
was about, I’m asking what we have achieved with our indignation and<br />
what the point was having all those people who perished in the cause<br />
agitating against corruption. The hard stance and tough talking have<br />
suddenly evaporated and I can’t help thinking about the grass left in<br />
the aftermath of the elephants’ fight.<br />
<br />
In summary, I think our world is getting<br />
smaller and becoming more and more complicated as the days go by.<br />
Greater territories than countries are being carved up and shared and<br />
their inhabitants have little say in the matter. Suddenly affiliation<br />
or patriotism towards ones country is like hoping to hold on to job<br />
long enough to see your children through their education, retiring and<br />
getting a good pension thereof - foolishness. Much like the borderless<br />
worldwide web we have come to know and understand, our countries’<br />
economic barriers and buffers are becoming more and more permeable by<br />
the day. The law of governments become subservient to the law of<br />
commerce. The route to survival? Self sufficiency. Every man should<br />
seek some way of starting some enterprise, farming, weaving, some<br />
business of some sort or earn a little on the side, save and invest.<br />
That way one still maintains some sort of control over ones affairs in<br />
spite of the raging madness that goes on around us. Let us begin<br />
looking for the black goat while it’s still daylight. Have a great<br />
week everybody!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-73526651165279504702011-12-25T19:27:00.004+01:002011-12-26T17:35:53.147+01:00Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!Merry Christmas everyone! Do I have to say good week everybody? Pish! I don’t care. All I know is that I am so excited about today mostly because I am sharing it with you my folks. I am going to be as irreverent as I want to be, I am going to write and probably break as many writing rules as I want to, because I don’t care! I have had the toughest and most depressing week. I have plenty of challenges still hounding me at my door but here’s the amazing thing. I have God! I have God who’s ALWAYS got my back, who never gives up on me no matter how stupid i get. He will flog me o, make no mistake, and it hurts when He does! But, with His other hand He wipes my tears and tells me it’s because He loves me and wants the very best for me; and i have always had the best, even when I’ve had little. I’m in a career i love so much, that feeds me. I haven’t done as many movies as my cotemporaries but the few I’ve done have given me a good name. I am not rich yet am very wealthy. I have a blog where I get to express myself and share with readers who love to read what I have to say. All this is a tip of the iceberg of what is to come. I have so much to look forward to I want to fly to the heavens. I couldn’t have asked for a better lesson to learn at this point in my life before I enter the incredible blessings that await me next year. In fact <i>na una de celebrate Ekerisimesi (Christmas for the uninitiated). I don enter 2012 since yesterday! Make una dey dia!</i> <br />
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First thing I’m going to do after getting rid of you guys is I’m going to pounce on a soundly sleeping Frieda. I love it when she wakes up startled – she likes sleeping on her tummy, hehehe- looks around confused, gives the lamest attempt at protesting – she’s the worst actress ever – settles in with a small smile and starts purring like a lazy cat as I start to intensify my administrations. Fly hands fly! Don’t worry folks, she did the same to me last night - I was asleep too! Fly hands fly!<br />
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After the expenditure I shall take a thirty minute nap, wake up, take a shower and begin to plot whose houses I’m going to raid. I will of course be putting the homes with the best of cooks at the top of my priority list. Only homes full of love and warmth but with not so adept culinary skills will top the former, however I will do my best to enjoin the latter to join forces with the former to make for a laudable success. And just so I don’t appear inconsiderate, I shall be armed with a bottle of wine for each household; a pretence of a fair exchange to mask the stealth predator that I am. I shall of course endeavour not to drive as i plan on being properly inebriated in the course of the night – safely ensconced among friends of course. Fly hands fl... oh heck!<br />
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Whoooo! That was fantastic! Sorry guys, couldn’t wait. Off now for my thirty minute slumber. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Have a great year everyone!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-64112666444354321792011-12-14T07:16:00.001+01:002011-12-14T09:28:15.838+01:00This Coming Christmas...Bam bam biyam bam bam… Top of the week to everyone! Don’t mind me please, I have, for some reason been humming the old song by Rihanna all evening. Don’t bother asking me the name or the words of the song because I don’t know and probably never will. This is coming from the lips of someone who nursed a dream of becoming a rock star at the age of six. Thanks to my Igbo father, that dream only saw the four walls of almost every bathroom I took my shower in and was always left there. I did however, have the privilege of meeting someone who actually defied her conservative Nigerian parents’ expectations of what a good Nigerian girl should be; subservient, have a safe professional job, provide both families with a huge litter of kids and give her parents a grand funeral when they’ve passed on. <br />
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Faith plays my character’s other love interest in the movie being shot at the moment. She’s one of the most effervescent ladies I have met who affects one almost instantly with her bubbly nature upon meeting her. I mean how many Nigerian women travel widely around the world for reasons other than shopping or hustling – and by hustling I mean honest, legal enterprise which,contrary to negative opinion, is what most of our wonderful ladies do? Faith travels widely on excursions, professional gigs and even skiing trips. Talk about breaking the norm. she had the gumption to stand up to her parents and do what she always wanted to do – music of the rock genre, and is actually very good at it. Like a smart Naija babe too, she made sure she bagged a good university degree, started a business that currently runs itself before gallivanting the length and breadth of the globe in pursuit of her dream. Youth reading this, please take note and be smarter than me. I’m meeting up with her later this week over coffee and that I am looking forward to.<br />
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Christmas is almost upon us and from the way things are, it looks like I’ll be spending my Christmas here in the US. I can’t seem to get a flight to Lagos earlier than the 28th so I’m looking to make the rest of my stay here in the States as eventful as possible. Fortunately, I tracked down two friends I haven’t heard from in a while; one’s in New York and the other’s in Dallas. I’m opting for the one in Dallas because my cousin lives there as well and it’s the warmer of the two. Even if I do go there, I wonder what the difference will be apart from the routine stuffing of one’s belly with food and drink; the very reason I want to run away from this place where I am. One of the greatest crimes one can commit, as I learnt from Thanksgiving, is to refuse people’s generous offer of food, especially as it is often a gesture of love in our African culture. Perhaps if we lived in the Roman times when there were vomiting troughs for the relief of overstuffed bellies so their owners could return to their gluttony, it would be a different matter, but my ever slowing metabolism dictates the pace these days.<br />
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As I sit here in this gray winter in Minnesota I keep asking myself what one does for amusement in this weather that does not involve drinking, eating, clubbing or the cinema? Ice fishing? Hunting? I can’t even shoot a catapult let alone a - Wait a minute! That’s it! I can go learn how to shoot at a shooting range! And then next time I come, I can take up hunting! Thanks guys, I got it; I got my mojo back! Now I can go to bed. No, I’ll do that after watching two more episodes of Family Guy and Robot Chicken. Have a great week everyone!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-4991304218400753512011-12-06T15:42:00.000+01:002011-12-06T15:42:14.670+01:00Snow DrivenGood week everybody. I hope you do have a good week because mine is not starting very well here. I am very nervous and I have good reason to be. In a few hours’ time I will be driving out in the typically sedate Minneapolis traffic to run some errands since I will not be on set today. The difference between today and the typically boring Minnesota traffic is that it snowed here last night. What I go out there to face on the icy roads is a stark reminder of the terror I faced two weeks ago, and the new perception I have of the Minnesota driving experience.<br />
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I am an avid driving enthusiast. I love to drive in all environs and strive to do so in whatever country I visit, just so I can get a feel of the pulse of its natives. The added challenge of driving on the left hand side of the road, which is the case when I travel to countries like the UK, is one, or mad cities like Paris where cars are used to nudge other cars – with their occupants still inside them- out of the way so they can fit better into parking spaces , or the mad mad Lagos traffic where the proclivity to having an accident is almost entirely dependent upon whether one has a loud functioning car horn or not. Like I said before, Minnesota traffic is boring. One never exceeds the set speed limits on its roads without the risk of getting speed tickets from bored policemen under pressure from overstaffed stations to rake in as much revenue as possible to be able to keep their jobs. Roads are wide and the traffic is sparse. Rush hour in Minnesota means driving ten miles (sixteen kilometres) in twenty minute; in Lagos, rush hour means driving sixteen kilometers in three hours. And traffic jam? Well, let me put it this way. On my way home one day, I hit a traffic jam not two kilometres from my home. Since I was already near, I relaxed, unperturbed, and waited. Three hours and two hundred metres later and almost tearing my hair out in frustration, I pulled over to the side and went into a peppersoup joint. Two odekus (big stout) and two bowls of goat meat peppersoup later, I got into my car and got back in line three cars behind the car that was right behind me when I pulled over at the joint TWO hours earlier. Enough said.<br />
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You can then understand my low opinion of the Minnesotan rush hour which Benitez, our operational manager who takes us about to places we need to go, continuously complains about; that is until a few weeks ago when the snow finally fell for the first time. It fell on a Saturday, as had been precisely predicted by the weather forecasters five days earlier and as always, the soft look of the brilliant white sheet over everything thrilled everyone in the room; everyone but the battle hardened drivers in the group who knew what the fluffy innocent sheets portended. We drove out unto the crunchy ice of the just fallen snow on the quiet side streets jabbering animatedly. There were four of us in the car and the plan was to drop the other two passengers off before me because I lived the furthest away. We turned the corner into the main road listening to a tale of some vitriolic prima donna who loved to give waiters a hard time when suddenly we noticed the two cars in front of us were struggling to stop. We followed suit and to our horror, well my horror actually, realized we were on a smooth sheet of ice and car wasn’t going to stop. I watched mesmerized as our vehicles slewed all over the place and ours finally came under control when our quick thinking Benitez turned the wheel towards the pavement (sidewalk) brushing the tyres against the kerb, giving us much needed traction and bringing us to a complete stop. My participation in that conversation ended there. My next and continuous focus of interest was the traffic around me, half expecting to be rammed into from behind by some heavy truck or being T-boned by some out-of-control vehicle that couldn’t stop at the lights. In the course of our two and a half hour journey we observed no less than six serious accidents on the road – it was later to climb to a record four hundred and eighty by the next day). Amidst all this, cars kept whizzing past us like it was summer. I will not lie to you, I was scared **itless.<br />
<br />
As I make up my mind to venture going out there on my own, I do with nervousness and a certain thrill of adventure. If others can do it, well so can i. I will not go out there armed with foolishness though; I have asked for tips on how to drive on black ice and how best to control my vehicle when the inevitable occurs. Finally I don’t bloody care what anybody thinks; I am going to drive like a ninety year old grandpa out there. Pray for me somebody and see you hopefully next week. Have a great week everybody!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-62377578165653765932011-11-16T21:29:00.004+01:002011-11-17T00:01:13.541+01:00FrostbiteGood week everybody! Honestly ehn, one of the worst things to do is to give birth to your own baby and labour and strive to see it grow. Your whole heart’s in it, you worry endlessly about its future and whether it will make it in life to be able to look after you and your spouse when you grow old and fragile. And just so you don’t put all your eggs in one basket you produce other babies just so if the first one, on whom all hopes lie, fails, the others, with some prayer, hard work and dedication, keep running and by God’s infinite grace carry on the baton to provide for you and your spouse when you still grow old and fragile. Yes my dear friends and readers, I am talking about enterprise or business as people are wont to call it. I am co producing a movie here in the States, one I also co wrote and I find myself worrying about things I never bothered myself with before; marketing, target audience, what title to give it, numerous and endless meetings about any and everything; whom to hire, whom to fire etc. I have the better end of the stick; the other producers are the ones who worry about the money and believe me those robes are3 thorny and heavy. I still have a lot of ideas that I will execute in the course of my partnership with Nkem so if this baby falls by the wayside, the others will keep running. <br />
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Okay, enough philosophizing about my secure future, now to the scarier present or should I say immediate past. I just finished my morning jog with not a little relief. I have also learnt to always check the weather conditions before venturing out of the comfort of your home. <br />
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I had routinely donned my light track suit bottoms and a slightly heavier sweat shirt with my head warmer tucked in my pocket and run out of the building for my early morning jog only to be run back in by the icy wind that lashed into my face and body through my sparse clothing. I wisely went into my room and put on a much heavier fleece jacket, put on my head warmer and went out again. I had two miles to cover and intended to make short work of them with the aid of the music I was listening to on my phone. I cruised comfortably for about a mile, the wind buffeting my unguarded face with a million icicles when I became aware of a numbness in my legs. Alarmed, I realized I had made another error; I had neglected to protect the lower half of my body by wearing summer track suit bottoms in the hope that the frequent pumping of my legs would generate enough heat to insulate them against the cold which in this case wasn’t seeming to happen. With an even colder dread spreading across my heart, I realized I had I had not protected the lower half of my body, where my crown jewels and best friend junior were housed! Quickly I grabbed at them, fearing the worst – I was not wearing even boxer shorts – and was relieved to find they were still intact, even though they were not quite the size I was used to. The sac in which my future generations were housed had shrunk to the size and hardness of a walnut while junior… Well let’s just say he would not have complimented my masculinity were I to be strip searched in front of prospective female officers. I was suddenly taken back to the days when I was eight, standing at the toilet bowl, struggling to get the pee out from my morning wooded peepee – there was little difference. <br />
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Everything is much calmer now. All my bits are intact and in working order, I’m sure, but I have learnt the most important lesson of the day; to always check the weather and dress appropriately before venturing from home. To everyone else, have a great Thanksgiving, To Frieda, happy birthday darling! Your birthday present’s still intact with just a little warming up to thaw out the last of the deeply embedded frostbite! Mwah!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-78350181052723933462011-11-01T13:56:00.000+01:002011-11-03T16:01:33.411+01:00Sampling Tour<p> Good week everybody! Yes I’m okay and yes , I am still in the good ole US of A. I’m back to Minnesota. Ha ha ha! I’ve been stalling for time regarding what to write. This is actually exactly two hours since I wrote the second sentence of this post. I was contemplating whether to write about my trip, alongside some friends, to a strip club last week. Yep, the girls were lovely and yes, I did get a lap dance but that is a story for another day. I know my beloved brother Obasi and my darling sis-in-law Nkiru will probably read this and roll their eyes at this black sheep of the family – and I really am! I have done things that the rest of my family would keel over if they heard but an iota of what I’ve done - but hey, I am what I am.;I love adventure. Best part of it was that Frieda was right there beside me watching my leering grin as I ogled the bare necessities of the chocolate siren writhing all over me smelling so nice even though she wore little or no perfume… but, that’s a story for another day. Come to think of it, she has never really told me what she thought of my being entertained by such vivacious ladies apart from the curious amused wonder I caught in her eyes when I momentarily flashed a glance in her direction just in case a missile came hurtling my way from that angle. I feel I may have clinched a deal for a boys’ night out, but I fear it may just be wishful thinking yet. </p>
<p> The Damage premiere tour is finally over here in the US and it’s been such a relief that it has gone very well. It has been a nerve wracking three weeks for me especially since it has been one of the few projects I have truly believed in. I want to thank everyone for their support during this tour, especially Nkem, of course, Nollywoodreinvented, CHI_SOM and every one of my readers. You have been fantastic all you! Now I’m embarking on another one here which I am having to write and act in as well. It is about another social issue; dealing with betrayal and HIV. That is the most I will talk about the project for now until I see it talking shape in the direction I want it to go – <i>make I no go fall my hand.</i> What I will talk about is my newfound freedom; the freedom to jog where I please! </p>
<p> I now have the luxury to jog where I please; nice pavements on which I can jog without being knocked down by veering <i>danfos</i> (commercial mini buses) and snarling <i>okadas </i>(commercial motorcycles). I don’t get stopped by passersby who demand to know why I am being so mean to ‘Angela’. Can’t I just go and die somewhere in peace? Or why I have to act the role of a debauched reverend father and besmirch the image of the Catholic Church, do I want to go to hell? Or well meaning citizens who, never mind that that I’m jogging to burn fat, ask me to kindly tell them what happened in the sequel of a movie of mine they’d just watched. Here I jogged with free abandon, almost too free. Yesterday I happened to discover a jogging trail not too far from my hotel and enthusiastically went down to try it out. It is already deep autumn here, you in America prefer to call it fall, but the bite of winter is already setting in as is clearly evident in the trees already being stripped of their leaves giving the area a very somber look. I had not gone far down the slope I was jogging before I realized I was well alone on a lonely trail with desolate woods and brackish marshy ponds on either side of me. Images of the Crime & Investigation television network I love watching in Nigeria came flooding back to me. Glancing wildly around me, I half expected a hooded figure streaking out of the woods at me armed with a hatchet or a hammer, or a kindly middle aged man asking if I could assist him with his broken leg, and a kindly prick in the back of my neck, or some nutter taking a pot shot at me from the sanctity of the woods. Prejudiced or not, I quickly unlocked my usually secure phone, ready to dial 911 the second I noticed any funny movement around me and dashed furiously through the grove until I saw with much relief some buildings two minutes later. Suffice it to say I did not go back that way. </p>
<p> Well that is my tale for this week. Fill you up with more later. Have a great week ahead mes amis! </p>Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-68110663866814241052011-10-19T19:46:00.002+01:002011-10-19T20:42:36.168+01:00Who's Laughing Now?A good week to everybody! I am just starting to recover from the awful experiences of jet lag. The experience for me is horrendous! I have slept like an absolute fool! Every time I travel across a time zone as marked as six hours and above, I get knocked out for at least two days. It is very confusing to me! It was for this very reason that I refused to watch any movie on the on board entertainment for the entire duration of the flight from Lagos to New York. The seats were business class seats and reclined to full beds so I slept soundly. Why then is the jet lag demon still pursing me?! In spite of that, I’ve managed to do two Damage movie premieres in New York and in Minneapolis, I have made time to enjoy my beloved American meal; medium done steak and garlic flavoured mashed potatoes and broccoli, twice! <br />
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I did not come without a plan though. You see, tasty as American foods are, they come with a hefty price attached. Not the price tag, if it were I’d be much relieved; it is the cloying stodgy weight it piles on that is the terror of many, even highly strung children. My plan was to jog every morning for at least four miles and finish it with a punishing regime of a hundred sit ups. To my pleasure, the next morning, even as the first rays of the morning peeped through the curtains, a quick succession of knocks rapped at the door jarring the last vestiges of my dream away. I stumbled to the door to open up to a diminutive Tonto staring up at me in her jogging suit. In a panic I asked her if she’d already gone jogging but she said no, to my relief, she just came to know if I would like to go jogging with her. Thus began my partnership which soon swelled with the inclusion of Moses and three days later, after torrents of excuses of not having appropriate sporting clothing and not having the time to go to the stores to buy some, Uche. There is an adage to encourage people who lag behind in different endeavours; <i>the one who walks will finally get to the same destination as the one who runs.</i> I saw the literal meaning of the proverb when Uche came huffing and puffing up the hill thirty minutes after we’d reached our agreed end point, the first and only day she joined us. Her ready excuse, three minutes after she caught her breath, was that according to her fitness instructor, heavy hipped women were not supposed to run. A likely tale.<br />
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What I have revealed here is true. If Uche likes, she can come and refute it in her typically boisterous manner. I will also admit that this is my way of getting back at her for broadcasting to even deaf buildings what a terrible dancer I am. Could anything be more preposterous?!! The painful thing is that people have actually begun to believe it. Well, the buck stops right here! I have taken the pains to show a smidgen of my dancing prowess by adding an excerpt from a video chronicling our Damage movie premiere tour of the United States. This one was recorded at the Mall of America, Bloomington, Minnesota. Please feel free to give me your unbiased feedback and put my ‘haters’ to shame!<br />
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Have a great weekend everyone!<br />
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(To view the video, visit my facebook fanpage - <a href="http://www.facebook.com/kaluikeagwufanpage">http://www.facebook.com/kaluikeagwufanpage</a>)Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-87462192038482095352011-10-05T15:07:00.000+01:002011-10-05T15:07:39.138+01:00What to do, how to do!Good week everybody! Right now, you guys are going to forge the road to escapism for me because I am so confused at the moment and I’m unwilling to face the reality before me. Right now as I sit here typing, I wish I was married so I would never have to go through this sort of stress again. Yes, I know that shouldn’t be the only reason one should get married, and believe me, I have a few other reasons to append my mark on the contract, but the helplessness and frustration I feel at the moment is enough for me to make a deal with – not the devil – whichever woman would readily pack my clothes and stuff I need to travel to the US with for a whole month! Yes, yours truly is coming alongside Uche Jombo, Moses Iwang(Sneeze) and Tonto Dikeh for the Damage promotional tour.<br />
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I hate packing! I never know what to pack for. I get stumped even when I’m packing for just a few days. How many undershirts and boxer shorts to throw in, T- shirts, polo shirts, shirts, whether to pack a jacket or not! Now most of you will be wondering what my problem is over such simple tasks and such obvious items to pack. The thing is I’m a typically jeans, T-shirt and sneakers kind of person, and my predominant theme when choosing clothing is comfort and freedom. I like to know I can sit anywhere I like, get my bottom dirty, stand up, brush most of the dirt off my arse and still have swag. Trouble is, when I like a particular item of clothing, I worry it to its grave, a trait that earned me the nickname The Sower among my room mates back in university.<br />
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I had just bought a pair of checkered sneakers that my size 12/13 feet felt very snug in, a rarity for me in those days, and I wore them almost every day. The tramping back and forth from lectures in the hot sun and my sweaty feet combined to form a resultant ripe odour from my sturdy companion. Tired and spent for the day, I’d hang my faithfuls at the window of the room and go looking for something to eat. Trouble was, the afternoon breeze would waft the wonderful aroma emanating from my shoes into the room and out the other window but not before making the occupants of the room well aware of its presence – and there were numerous wafts on a typical afternoon! I never heard the end of it. My wonderful roommates complained to no end about my prurient sneakers, asking me to take them outside, which I refused to do for fear of having them stolen by the ubiquitous marauders in that hungry hostel. We were a very jovial bunch, I couldn’t ask for better friends, and we periodically took turns at teasing one another. On one occasion, when it was my turn to be flayed, my beloved checkered sneakers became the butt of their jokes. One of the miscreants, a particularly funny guy, Chike, remarked that my sneakers were so fertile that any corn kernel that was sown in them would germinate overnight. The name, The Sower, stuck.<br />
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Where was I? Don’t mind me. I’m just trying to delay the inevitable; I have just today to pack for a whole month in the US. I’m supposed to be a celebrity and so I’m not allowed to ‘dull’ myself. I alone have to pick out my outfits for the numerous appearances I’ll have to make across at least eight sates, and no Frieda’s not here to help me out. Let me see, two shirts for each day so people shorter than me – most are, especially the ladies – don’t faint from the ripe pong from my sweaty armpits when I throw my arms round their shoulders. Groan! What happened to the good old days when I’d just throw a rucksack over my shoulder and saunter through customs in a T-shirt, shorts and a pair of sandals? <br />
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All this jabbering is getting me nowhere. That chaotic pile is going nowhere. The bloody lot are just sitting there staring at me stonily and relishing my anxiety that’s growing by the minute. Like they say, there’s no time like the present so <i>abeg make una no vex,</i> I have packing to do. Have a safe, sorry, have a great week everyone, and wish me a safe trip! A bientot!Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8261118258502267084.post-70425569760384921452011-09-29T13:42:00.001+01:002011-09-30T10:36:34.406+01:00To His Coy MistressA good week to everybody! I’m writing with two intertwining emotions as I speak. On the one hand is the emotion of despondency from the reaffirmation that my betters at writing painfully abound; and elation that I share a kindred spirit with one of my betters. The sage of whom I speak in this instance is none other than Andrew Marvell on his poem “To His Coy Mistress”. <br />
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I remember treating this very poem in my first year in university, although at the time we were too petrified of our lecturer, then Dr Inyama, and his promise that only half of us would make it through his course. Our fear of him seemed very well founded on account of his stern and austere demeanour. In fact throughout my four year course in the English Literature department, no one ever saw Dr Inyama break into a smile for even a moment. Ah, I err; I did see him sharing laughter over beer at the senior staff club with his colleagues. Oddly enough, he did seem quite at home with this phenomenon, mirth. Interestingly though, our wariness of Inyama began to thaw by the end of his second lecture on satire in poetry and short stories. The man’s wit and humour was as keen as a red hot blade. He introduced me to my favourite poet of all time, Alexander Pope, the writer of “The Rape of the Lock” – but that is a story for another day. “To His Coy Mistress” was treated on the first day of our lecture with him and my fear of his course at the time blinded me to its beauty. A young friend of mine was to reintroduce the poem to me only a few weeks ago, over a decade after my initial introduction to the poem.<br />
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I was flirting amiably with a younger colleague, an actress, about twenty one years of age, on a movie set some weeks ago. She was very pretty and well endowed in the right places, and I did not hesitate to tell her so. She smiled back at me coquettishly and with an impish smile on her face told me she was a good girl and would never have any dealings with men. I liked her, mostly because she was quite intelligent and accurately interpreted my flirtatious advances as being just that, which gave us free hand to pit our wits against one another to see who would win in the end – Frieda look at both my clean palms in the air o, nothing happened! We fenced and parried one another’s thrusts until Nikky, at length, told me that if I must possess her, I would have to court her the way Andrew Marvell courted his coy mistress. The name suddenly rang a bell in my head and I asked her about it. She told me the poem was her favourite and recommended that I go and read it up. Immediately we were done for the day I went back home and searched for it on Google and was amply rewarded – I had found another of my mentors. I settled down to a good read.<br />
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The poem is basically about a virgin maiden fending off the amorous advances of an older man. She insists on keeping a vow of chastity and the preservation of her virginity. The man replies with the most gentle and piercing wit, peeling away the young lady’s reserve and defences with the skill and ease with which Hector peeled off Achilles beloved friend Patrocles’ stout armour in Homer’s poem The Iliad, until the latter stood before him, naked and ashamed. He answers her with the lightest sarcasm, telling her that if both of them were granted time, he would begin wooing her ten years before Noah’s flood began, then he would dedicate a hundred years towards wooing and admiring each breast on her chest (<i>chei!</i> See rhyme!) before applying another two hundred years to the rest of her body save for one problem – time would not wait for them. So, in order to forestall Death’s handmaidens – the veritable worms – from deflowering her in the grave where there would be no romance, where all her rosy beauty would succumb to the dust, they would best make use of the youthful fire still coursing through their veins entwine themselves in one fiery ball and tear through the impeding iron gates of chastity!<br />
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Isn’t that just heavenly? If there was any such thing as reincarnation, I probably am Mr Marvell come again but, since I don’t believe in it, I’ll be content with the knowledge that many more of my kind roamed the earth centuries before my father carried my mother across the threshold and successfully baked the bun – me. I enjoin you my dear folks to read the poem and let me know what you think. Have the greatest weekend everyone, and my love for you has not diminished even after such a long spell in the wilderness but, that is a story for another day. <i>A tout a l’heure!</i>Kalu E. Ikeagwuhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06128264583319373169noreply@blogger.com8