2011

A good week and New Year everybody! How was everyone’s Christmas celebrations? Mine was a working holiday and I didn’t get the chance to see my wonderful family but it was enjoyable nonetheless. The carnival in Calabar was spectacular as usual and I walked the whole nine hours required of participants in the event. I, however, thankfully, did not have to smile for the entire time which was more than a relief – ‘Nuff respec’ to all you models out there. Everything was almost as it was the previous year so I have no details to bore you with. What I will bore you with is my excitement at meeting one of you, one of my very own readers, Ebbe Bassey! Yes my friends, I saw the ‘local’ girl in Calabar, and she almost got me in trouble!
I was on my way to the king and queen competition taking at the stadium strictly as a spectator and to support my friends Emeka Enyiocha and Ufuoma Ejenobor who were our band’s king and queen. They had gone ahead of me because I had stayed back to have dinner before going since I wasn’t sure when next I’d have the chance to eat that night. I was strolling through the lobby when I heard someone call out my name from across the hall. I glanced back and saw a lady dressed in a black top ( Ebbe was it?) and white slacks walked up to me. she walked up to me purposefully with an air of familiarity and a dazzling smile, so much so that it stretched mine involuntarily. With a knowing twinkle in her eye she introduced herself to me as Ebbe Bassey and the rest was almost a blur. I don’t know how she survived the bear hug I enveloped her in but I remember I drew back eventually to compare her with the picture I had of her on my facebook page. She was far more beautiful than any of her pictures and I told her so – you Calabar women will not kill us! I would most certainly have envied her husband were my own Frieda not more beautiful. Anyway I congratulated her on her wedding that she didn’t deign to inform me about to which she apologised and had the temerity to demand that I not fail to invite her for mine before dragging me off to meet her husband Mark who was having a drink in the bar.
He was a very pleasant guy, quiet, with keen intelligent listening eyes. I shook hands with him and my attention reverted back to Ebbe and we walked to the other end of the room to exchange more colourful stories with one another. Her idea of compensating me was to offer useful tips on how to get the most romantic places to get married for significantly reduced prices. Fine, I’ll forgive her. The rest of what we talked about isn’t important to you but I became fast friends with the couple in what promises to be an invaluable alliance. It has also shown me how valuable you all are to me through our blog experience which has shown to have developed into a collective relationship. Who knows which one of you I’ll be meeting next. Whenever it is, I definitely look forward to it especially meeting the likes of Formerly Stealth Reader – I love that name, Myne Whitman, Rosa Winkler and all you Anonymous(es) that like to stay that way.
Sadly I have to rush off to work since those slave drivers in Tinsel don’t brook any lateness. Then again we will see next week won’t we? Have a wonderful New Year and be sure to eat up those leftover festival grub. They always taste nice to us single ones as long as there’s a handy freezer to store them in and a microwave to warm them. I personally have my fridge stocked till the next week and a half; I went by three families who cooked too much during the season. Have a great week/year everyone!
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The Carnival 'Too'

Good week everybody. I’m sure everyone’s begun the year with that typical sombre look that always heralds the aftermath of an indulgent festive season. Most patriarchs or matriarchs of families bear that look of, “I shouldn’t have eaten that much! How in “$@#’s name am I going to lose this fat?” Or, “You’ve done it again, Father Christmas! Gone and given all your money away to grabbing relatives that would sooner pour wet concrete than throw in a rope were you to be stuck in a hole! How are you going to pay the children’s school fees now? God, shoot me dead if I ever, ever go to that village again for Christmas!” Fortunately, for now, I have no such worries; I’m still single but heck, who knows, might have enjoyed my last Christmas of irresponsibility and by God I did, hopefully, go out with a bang! So, where was I?

I sneaked out of the hotel in disguise and jumped straight into the waiting arms of my friends who were waiting for me in the parking lot. I made sure I dived into the car before the three sisters knew what hit them and before we began smothering one another with hugs and kisses. The reason for sneaking out? Well my reason for being in Calabar was supposed to be kept secret and to hide my identity, I was to remain in the confines of the hotel until the carnival was over. Try entrusting a tuber of yam in a goat’s care! The congregation of even the mildest hedonists, sorry, revelers would not have forgiven me if I’d stayed cooped up in that glorious tomb during such a festive haven. We went to the cultural centre first, I think it was because one of the girls had a stand there, to have a drink or two. I, for some reason, stuck to water for the duration of my time there. I tried some ram suya but abandoned it almost immediately on account of the meat being too tough. Why people love to punish themselves I’ll never understand. They might as well season it with salt and pepper and eat it raw; that way you know you are suffering for suffering’s sake. But, being in the company of such a bevy of beauties more than made up for the lacklustre stimulation provided by the beverage and I really hammed it up as they jostled one another for my attention. Hehehe, king of the hill! We went to one other bar, where I stuck to my water before being dropped off at the hotel at about 1am. There was a sticky moment on our way to the hotel though. A friend of theirs, who offered to drop me off at the hotel before dropping them off at home, while at the steering wheel, suddenly turned back to me and asked how I was. I said I was fine hesitantly, observing he had a knowing look in his eyes. “Do you remember me?”, he asked, a smile playing on his mouth. “I, I’m not sure…” I hesitated. “We met at Annie’s baby’s dedication”. And then it clicked! “Ah, yes I remember! How you dey now?” And then I sank my foot in it. “How’s Christie? She didn’t come with you?” I could kick myself in the shin ten times. What if he had a girlfriend among the five ladies that were with us? What trouble had I brought upon him? “She’s in Lagos .“ was all he answered, and smoothly too. I slept very fitfully that night because Christie happens to be like my baby sister; always extorting money for phone cards from me and gives me a lovely hug and a smile whenever I go to see her in the bank. But, that is a matter for another day.

The next day dragged in at about ten in the morning. I had a lazy breakfast with the ubiquitous twins, Uti and Ajibade, the two rascals shown in the pictures with me in The Carnival 1, before going off to the stadium for the dress and tech rehearsals in preparation for the night’s kings’ and queens’ competition. Our band leader, the senator, came with us and made sure we were comfortable with the size of the stage. The stage. I had been stumped by that phenomenon once before in university and I was not going to let it happen to me again. This time I drank in the vastness of the intimidating arena and also made sure I was well accustomed to its every corner. As if that wasn’t enough our leader came up to me with the theme music for my appearance and told me I would have to dance to the rhythm with the grace fitting for an obong (king)! Me, Kalu, that am famed for dancing with two left legs, dance to the rhythm? Well, I tried to do as she asked and got laughed at to derision for my troubles. I looked at the senator and saw the genuine fear in her eyes. “Aunty”, I said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, I never go into anything and expect to lose. I will uphold my own end of the bargain. Don’t mind these faithless hooligans”. I know she didn’t believe me but hey, what else could I say?

The kings’ and queens’ competition that night? Well that will come, hopefully, at the same time next week. In the meantime, have a blessed week everybody!

The Carnival Won

Good celebration week everybody. I hope everyone’s week was just as colourful as mine – never mind that I haven’t slept for more than ten hours in the past five days. It has been a very interesting week for me; from experiencing things I haven’t experienced since my tramping days in secondary school – I walked for nine hours and still bore a grin all the way - to modelling clothes on the catwalk. I’m back in Lagos now and am fully rested. My main headache is trying to put my experience in Calabar on paper in the best narrative way.

I will not bore you with the details of my journey from Lagos to Calabar. The truth is, there really is little to write about it except to remind myself of the anger and irritation I felt at the flight delays that are synonymous with Christmas holidays in Lagos when people try to travel down south. The jostling, hurling of abuse - and getting sprayed in the face in the process - bribes and ... The hotel, when I finally did get to Calabar, was nice and comfy and I quickly settled in and reminded myself that there was still work to do. The sweaty nightmares I’d had in the weeks before of the heavy burden I’d be carrying on my shoulders and being forced to smile as I walked hundreds of kilometres to cheering crowds I wouldn’t dare drop dead from exhaustion in front of, were going to have their prophecy validated, or not, that night as I went to try out my costume. Oh, did I forget to mention that I was to be the king of the band I was representing, to be in direct competition with the kings of other bands in the carnival and this was to be taken oh so seriously? So seriously that I was squirreled into a secret room, sorry hall, in the basement of the hotel where there were about twenty different seamstresses hunched over their machines and spinning furiously away as though the devil himself bore down behind them with a curly hydra headed whip. There were heaps of coloured twisted nothings or should I say i-know-not-whats in the far corner of the hall as the senator, the leader of the band excitedly showed me my orb and sceptre I would be using on my throne. She also helped me decipher the different layers of the heap of leather, textile and wire by showing me what they were for; costume for the children’s band, the mermaid’s tail, drapes for the truck and so on. All this I looked at and listened to with just half an ear – all I wanted was to see what load I’d be hauling for the length of my time on the streets.

I met with Daniel, an amiable shirtless Trinidadian who had designed the throne I would be hauling about. Let me regress a little. The reason for my anxiety and trepidation was because I was told that I would be carrying my own throne that was designed in such a way that it would seem that I was sitting on it. The import of it meant that I would, while hauling that heavy contraption about for tens of miles, look like a true king, relaxed, smiling and waving at his subjects while concealing the strain and stress seething underneath the mask. I had enough reason to be worried – I take my work seriously when I am committed. If I had committed myself to being the king of the band, I was going to be a true king all the way – no short cuts or quick fixes! The first question I asked Daniel when we were introduced to one another was to be told how many kilograms I would be hauling about and he said to my utter relief, no more than ten. My heart grew even lighter when he told me that instead of carrying the weight, I would be pushing the throne while walking along. Crimson butterflylike wings spanning about twenty five feet from one end to the other were attached to both sides of the throne and I got into it and walked about in it, in the darkness of the hotel’s courtyard of course – too many spies about, testing the wind resistance of the wings.
It was a much happier and relieved man that went upstairs to have a shower, change and check out what the balmy Calabar night had to offer now that most the headache had gone away. A drink with friends, go clubbing or go seeking out local thatched out of town taverns to sample fresh palm wine and bush meat or fish were on the menu as I pulled my baseball cap over half my face as I sneaked out the hotel lobby thirty minutes later.

The rest of the story, are they not to be revealed in the weeks to come where I hope to exhaust the experiences and delights I had with different people in the wonderful city called Calabar. I also wish to, once again, apologise for the late entry of this post; I have been inundated with a backlog of work that has been waiting for me and I had to attend to them to free my brain to attend to you my good people. Welcome to a new decade and have a great week everyone!

**More pics to come! Just having problems uploading them to my laptop**