A Rare Touch of Nature

A very hearty good week to everybody. I don’t know how many times you have to hear my excuses for not putting up posts when I should but things just happen sometimes to upset the cart. Don’t worry, it’s not just you; Nkem’s been on my neck about my posts as well and I say I can’t get a good story sitting in my couch; I have to go out and get it. She’s so anal about me getting things done on time. She should give me some peace! Yeah right. Darn it! This means I have to tell a good enough story if I don’t want you guys eating me raw. Hm, let me see… Okay, here goes… Once upon a time two weeks past, when lizards had multiplied from ones and twos to hordes scurrying about scratching all over tin roofs and bobbying their heads over termite infested faggots for fuel, there was a young(ish) man who dared venture from his concrete hut in his concrete village screaming with mechanised wagons and bicycles to the much more serene and chirpy villages in the very borders of his living memory.

A tad melodramatic I know, so I’ll come down to earth in plain English. We went to shoot the bulk of a movie in the rural parts of Ogun state. It was supposed to be a sort of fantasy horror movie and we were looking for a very lonely derelict hut in the middle of nowhere. The director, Moses Iwang, whom we fondly call Sneeze – don’t ask me why – who, gladly, takes his work seriously, had insisted on a really spooky location to generate the eerie feel and to make the ‘crappy’ actors’ (us) work easier. The bloody nerve of him! This ‘aesthetic’ feel drove us from the comfort of our homes in Lagos to this remote village four hours away in our own cars! The upstart even had the nerve to leave his own car behind – it was too posh to go – and ride in Uche Jombo’s. The good thing is she made him drive for the entire duration of the shoot. Funny how much liberties people take when they know they are loved – and it does irk me to admit that he is good people.

We got there at about four in the evening, disembarked and looked around us. It was a peaceful village. There were no electric poles in sight and it was refreshing to see chickens pecking for food all over the place. I watched in amusement as a hen with her brood of chicks ‘snarled’ at one of the local dogs that ventured too near one of her errant children. It tucked its tail and slunk away and I couldn’t help wondering what the dog was thinking at the time. “Time was when you wouldn’t dare try that with me if not for these meddlesome humans who force this anomaly upon us.” Not too far away a large she-goat butted a much younger he-goat (probably her grandson) that had been amorously sniffing at her rear end. Half naked children played with wild abandon with one another while some older ones of ages nine to twelve herded docile looking cows to juicier pastures on the outskirts of the village. There weren’t many adults to be seen except for the nursing mothers and the aged men and women. It was quite easy to spot the aged women on account of the fact that they walked about topless, stretched triangular folds of skin flapping over their ribcages as they walked with still very sturdy legs. We stared bemused at them wondering why it took them so long to get their kits off. I guess they followed the maxim of exclusivity being the key to increasing demand. Perhaps they chose to bare their spent reserves as a reminder to the much younger ones of what fate had in store for them and for the discerning ones among them to make hay while the sun still shone.

After taking in our fill of the environment and making jokes (the silly Sneeze asked me to take a chance with one of the rare topless beauties and maybe I’d get lucky – idiot!), Chioma Akpotha even twitted about us time travelling back to 1935, we went off into the spooky grove to commence work. Sadly I have run out of the space allotted to me in this post so maybe I’ll talk about the rest next week so until then, do have a great week ahead guys! A bientot!

I am so sorry!

Good week everyone!
I really haven't been keeping to my blog post deadlines and I am so sorry. For the past few weeks things have been crazy but I'll be back.
Hmmm, I guess its time for me to run through the woods... topless (I really need to step up my workout plan) - Pray for me!

Have a wonderful week everybody and stay safe!

Make Believe

“…That planet earth turns slowly…I’d rather stay awake when I’m asleep... ‘cause everything is never as it seems.” “Fireflies” by Owl City’s been playing in my mind for days now and I only just knew why. The thoughts of the make believe world is sometimes what keeps us sane in this rough world. Who says we don’t need a break once in a while. Good week everybody and welcome to a new week.

My next two weeks are going to very hectic, started on Monday, with the very schedule I hate the most; hopping from one set to the other and then back again. Yes my friends, some unfinished business from a previous project has come back to haunt me so I have to make time to, in the middle of this one, finish the former and then come back to wrap this one up. I think this is the type that gives me the most stress and may be steeped in for the few months to come. In situations like these I try to see the things I like and look forward to in the projects that I commit myself to.

In the first project, Tinsel, I play an evil don, Masters, who runs a smuggling and drug ring and id currently looking for legitimate businesses to acquire and sink his claws into. I love bad guy roles because they give you the chance to let out that inherent evil in you and make you have a feel of what you would have been like had one been on the dark side. The catch is, especially in this one where the evil is from within; I don’t have the luxury of smashing people’s heads open or wrenching screaming babies from their wailing mothers to collect debts owed me, I actually have to think I’m evil to be evil. It’s a delicious far cry from the goody-two-shoes roles I usually play.

The other project is just as wonderful in its weirdness. I play a man in a book that comes alive whenever anyone opens the book to read. He goes through a harrowing journey with his family and the story changes whenever a different person reads the book. I’d love to say more but as you well know, I’m bound to protect the story from ‘industrial’ spies so let’s just say it’s wonderfully weird and the director, Sneeze, is just as weird – just how I like my directors; they bring out the best in me. Our last project together, Between Two Worlds, I played a ghost who’s still trying to have sex with his ‘new’ girlfriend - he died just before he had the chance to consummate their relationship. I was severely punished during that production. That was the project I talked about in a previous post, The Stuntman, where I talked about the leg cramps I suffered while chasing after cars ‘effortlessly’ as a ghost and getting knocked down by cars while going to buy condoms. Only God knows what Sneeze has in store for me this time – it’s supposed to be in a forest. Oooh I love sick!

At least my hectic week had a good jumpstart during the weekend. Went over to a friend’s with Nse my bosom friend and stuffed my self silly with pounded yam and sublime bitter leaf soup! I made sure I carted some home with me and needless to say, it’s all gone. Anyway, thought I’d share, as usual, my week with you guys. I have to rush off hit the road before the hydra headed Lagos traffic catches me in its fangs. Have a great week everyone!

The Swimming

Good week everyone and tons of apologies for not making the post for the last two weeks. I was in Ghana for a shoot and believe it or not I had no access to the internet. If only I knew what I know now about the blackberry. I’m beginning to see the use of that little gadget more and more everyday that passes by. I don’t know why I’m always the last to embrace new technologies. The problem, I think, is that I do not see the point of buying something just because everyone else is buying it, at least until I begin to see the need for the something in my life. So with hulking grudging reluctance, I humbly submit that I do have need for the blackberry to keep in contact with you my dear readers.

I know you’re expecting news from my first time in Accra, Ghana But sadly there is very little to talk about because I was on set for most of the time. What I can say though is that Ghana is one hot country. It was so hot I had to plan and rehearse what I wanted to do for the day and dash out with the ferocity of a mother hen taking a break from trying to hatch her eggs to forage for food. Oh, just as an aside, did I tell you it was my birthday yesterday? I know, Frieda says it all the time; I love attention so I thank you to keep the belated wishes coming!

The project I worked on was a sort of romantic comedy where I played an egotistical presenter of a popular reality show who was at loggerheads with a female co presenter with an equally inflated ego in the person of Uche Jombo. It was good fun bickering and finding all sorts of subtle insulting words to hurl at each other. The crunch came as the scene where I had to save her from drowning fast approached. You see, I had just given up a vice that I have long struggled with (and no, I am not telling you what vice it was/is? – Mama might read this someday) and as a result began to gain weight at an astronomical rate. It didn’t help that the lady who took care of our welfare was especially fond of me in a mother and son sort of way. She was one of those wonderful women for whom cooking is an expression of love and have a firm idea of how that love should be reciprocated. It was a daily battle to keep my rations as low as possible instead of the terrifying platters that were placed before me at every given opportunity. All my morning rope jumping didn’t seem to have much of an effect in my battle of the bulge.
The day finally came and I put on my shorts but kept my T-shirt on till the very last moment, sucked my tummy in, jumped into the pool and stayed in there until it became absolutely necessary that I came out. My efforts at acting – for which I was paid – took second place to trying to suck my tummy in all through the scene, pretty much like those 40’s to 60’s movies where octogenarian star actors try to be heroes saving damsels in distress. I was supposed to, on leaving the pool, brush aside a cantankerous ‘Uche’, accidentally shove her into the pool, realise that she is drowning, dive in to save her and drag her out of the pool. Now imagine me doing all this while trying to hang on to my dignity. I kept my verbal responses to her tirades at the barest minimum – my lungs had more important interests to protect. I went through all that pain only to realise later that Uche in her BB mania had tweeted a very nice snapshot of our shenanigans which was surreptitiously snapped up by one of the dreaded gossip columnist’s blogsites. I am in trouble! Those spare rolls revealed. The titters! I’m dumping you Frieda; my new girlfriend’s the gym. Until my affair with her is over, you are taking second place! It’s for your benefit anyway considering how much you love ‘it’! Hehehe!

Well you heard it from me first so don’t pay any mind to any stale second hand tales that will be coming your way. Once again, many apologies for the lengthy hiatus. Do have a great week everyone!

Misdemeanour

Good week everybody! Thanks for the feedback on my conquest last week. It goes to confirm that we are united in counting our numerous little blessings in preparation for bigger things to come. This week began on a rather funny note; one that that I hesitate to narrate because it shows me in a not very sunny light. Still keen on knowing what I did? Well you’ll just have to be patient and hear me out.

It was a lovely sunny Sunday afternoon and I was on my way to a business meeting on the island. It was a rare Lagos that was sprawled before me; there was very little traffic on the road. I was in high spirits as I barrelled down the Mobolaji Bank Anthony way in Ikeja. I like to drive fast; it’s the closest I come to flying. It is almost like if I try hard enough I’ll take off into the air. Well, someday, sometime… Anyway, I was flying towards the GRA intersection while on the phone (with a hands free device of course!) with Frieda arguing amiably over some not-so-good script I’d received some days ago. I looked at the traffic lights which didn’t happen to be working so I slowed down, just enough to be prepared should any vehicle emerge unexpectedly from either side of the road, when I saw at the very last moment a police woman frantically waving at me to stop. I stamped on the my brakes very hard, rending the air with the loud screech of my tyres and smelt the pungent stink of my rubber and brake pads as they wafted past me. She hadn’t been standing in the traffic-signalling booth like she was supposed to so I didn’t see her on time. Try telling that to the Nigerian police when they’re on the lookout for a hapless victim to break the jinx of a boring day.

I looked back at her with the most apologetic smile I could muster, fearing the worst, and was greeted with a surprisingly understanding smile; the kind a mother gives her errant child. I smiled again in relief. Beside her were two other witnesses to the incident, two men who were standing beside a motorcycle that had a flat tyre. Oh, did they go off like rockets?!!! They began shooting their mouths off about arrogant people who have no consideration for others and just think the road is just for them alone. That just because I have a ‘big’ car doesn’t mean I should tread on other people like ants. I ignored them and apologised to the police lady, thanking her for letting me off. That brought another tirade from the duo: “Oh yeah, why not? They think they own the police as well, don’t they? You knock us down and we’ll probably go to jail for staining your car, won’t we?” She waved me on to go. I thanked her and began to move off.

The two idiots who insisted on drinking the paracetamol meant for someone else’s headache weren’t done. “Go on. Don’t stop. Go on and smash…” I lost the rest of what those two girls nattered about but I had by then run out of my tolerance reserves so I put my head out the window, shouted a hearty “F$#@ you” and finished it off with a very forceful five finger (shege) salute to them.
As I retreated into my shell, something made me look at the other side of the road and to my horror I saw a long line of cars waiting at the lights on the oncoming lane, their drivers watching what was going on. I didn’t know where to look except forward and fervently prayed that as little of them as possible would recognize me. Never mind the ear ripping I got from Frieda when I told her what had just happened. I won’t bore you with the details of how she went on about she’d always warned me about the way I should comport myself in public and blah blah blah. Never mind me the aggrieved one, who should let himself be insulted and not say a word back. Anyway, all that is past; I forgive all three of them for they know not what they do!

It is increasingly becoming clear to me what responsibilities are thrust on the shoulders of the public figure. It sometimes seems unfair to me that I have to be the one to work more on restraint and self control than the other party is obligated to, being that the spotlight will invariably land on me should any fracas occur between us. Then again, I am the bigger man and should continue to work on being one. Have a great week everybody and drive safely wherever you go!

Conquest!

Good week everybody. It’s a hot day today, the compressor of my air conditioning system in my bedroom blew like a bomb and the past few nights have been like an unpleasant sauna. I’ve had so many frustrations in the past few weeks but even more blessings. It’s as if every time a door shuts in my face, a barn door opens a few metres away. The funny thing is, those barn doors grow smaller and smaller before finally shutting only for another one to open somewhere else. I guess that’s God’s way of saying “keep truckin’ My son, I know what I’m doing”. Little blessings eh? Maybe that’s why I can’t seem to keep still, like a frog on a hot plate. The difference in my case is that my antsy (ness?) is born of excitement and anticipation - I can’t wait! Now don’t get me wrong. Margaret, a friend of mine, once asked me why I always seemed to be happy and relaxed. I looked at her and smiled. When I have dark days and have feelings of not being accomplished, it is bad. Ask Frieda who has to cope with my moods. I simply focus on what I’m bent on achieving and trudge on emboldened by the many victories in my life against most odds. Besides I have so much to look forward to in this little life of mine which I aim to end well. I suppose one of my latest little victories, which I am so proud of, is my recent mastery of the cooking of my dreaded adversary – beans. It might seem very inconsequential to everyone but I know where my elation comes from.

In a quest to become more independent, and with a view to controlling the quality of what I eat, I recently decided to cut down on eating out most times and do some cooking on my own. I also decided to eat more of plant protein; legumes, fish, veg and fruit like my mother brought us up on. Maybe that’s why I, nor any of my siblings, have not fallen ill (save for colds) in the past twenty years. Hindsight is always 20/20 vision. The way our mum stuffed us with those ‘horrible’ foods; beans, fish and unripe plantain, made me hate those foods with a passion. Eating out was banned – she didn’t trust the hygienic conditions under which restaurants cooked nor did she trust their nutrition. I couldn’t wait to be eighteen and escape to university. It’s only now that I have begun to appreciate her wisdom. No pain, no gain. Ah, my children will suffer! But, I digress. I decided to go back to my first hate.

My first attempt at cooking beans ended in disaster. I valiantly fought to stop it from getting burnt to no avail. What didn’t I do? I turned the heat down, stirred and stirred, poured more palm oil but nothing could stop the onslaught of the acrid stink that permeated my nostrils. The worst part of it was that when I stubbornly insisted on reaping the fruit of my labour, I was betrayed even further; half the beans was soft and the other still hard! How could that be? Was not it the same fire that cooked them all? The same pot, the same ingredients? Or where some more ready to cook than others? If so then why was mine different from others’ I’d eaten? It was after I’d complained bitterly some female friends of mine that I was advised to put onions in the beans to soften them. I was also given some really good tips which I put to better use. The result was glorious! I’d come in from whence I went, open the fridge, pop it in the microwave, go downstairs, chat with the neighbours a while, come upstairs and deliriously drink in the wonderful aroma of the steaming food and mistily wonder who could have cooked such a sumptuous meal! If no one will praise the agama lizard for jumping down from the tall Iroko tree without injury then he will praise himself on his conquest! Have a great week everybody!

A Train Journey

Good week everybody and welcome everyone to a new, new day? Anyway no time for faffing about. This week’s post is inspired by some funny pictures I saw on a newspaper site online. The picture was of a lone unattached diesel locomotive engine with about thirty something people hanging unto its many sides. I smiled to myself as I remembered a similar incident I went through when I was still brash, younger and very very silly!

I think it was my third year in university, during the December period with the Christmas season drawing near. As is customary amongst the Igbos we, the whole family, were to travel to our hometown in the east for the holiday’s festivities. However as a big boy, I couldn’t be caught alive travelling with the rest of the family in 'daddy’s' car. I was going to go on my own with public transport days ahead of the rest of the family. Okay maybe it had something to do with the fact that I’d agreed with my partners in crime from other mothers to rendezvous early enough so we could frolic as much as we could before the radar of our parents’ watching eyes descended on us. Anyway I made my case to my father that I wanted to learn as much of our culture as I could as I needed it for a paper I was to turn in for my African literature class. An essential tool a child needs to get what he wants from his parents is knowing their likes and dislikes – my father, a professor, naturally had the quest for learning as his soft underbelly. I was given my transport fare and enough money for my research.

Despite just recovering from typhoid fever I’d caught in school, I began my research with my friends in a bar two days before my journey. By the time our pre research was done I had drunk, smoked – please don’t tell my mum! – and pepper souped my research money to down to less than half its original value. When the day of my travel arrived I realized that I would have to make adjustments as I did not have enough fuel to last me till my parents met up with me in the village. The thrifty side of me kicked in as I realized I wouldn’t be able to afford a straight taxi to my hometown from Enugu and still have enough to play with so I quickly hatched an alternative plan. I would take the cheapest means of transport, the train, to Umuahia and then take a shared taxi straight to my hometown – QED. I quickly went to the railway station and purchased tickets for the 9.00am express train from Kaduna up north and waited. I waited, and waited, and waited till the recalcitrant train trundled in at 8.00pm! The frustration I experienced waiting for the blasted train was nothing compared to the shock I felt on sighting the incoming vehicle. The said train was just one of the three trains that plied that route daily. The first two, for some reason, had broken down leaving the third with the singular burden of conveying the Christmas rush commuters and their goods to their final destination. There were people on all sides of the engine, between the carriages; even the guard van in the rear was not spared – and there was a rush by my fellow Enugu commuters, who had paid their fare, to get on as well. I struggled valiantly to get inside, and finally did but it was a fight in futility. Even the gangway was stacked almost to the ceiling with sacks and sacks of garri, rice and beans; and this was in every carriage! The stench was unbelievable, there was no breathable air and there was the constant screaming of babies as their mothers made futile attempts to calm them down. I jumped back out. It was when I looked up that I saw the perfect solution.

Up on the roof of some of the carriages were silhouetted figures seated against the night sky. They were turbaned from head to toe like live mummies and it made a lot of sense to join them up there since it was fast turning out to be my last option. After a quick assessment I noticed the first carriage had no one on it and, hoisting my travelling bag across my shoulder I clambered up the roof, looked around and settled for an overhead water tank. I fastened the clasp of my bag to one of the tank’s hooks and waited. It was a very nervous mixture of feelings for me; the excited anticipation of a school boy adventure I’d brag about to my friends for days to come, and the fear that it could be my last journey in this world. It didn’t help that a sage old man singled me out of all the silhouettes on the roof to plead with me to consider my loved ones at home and climb down from an impending death. It was a harrowing moment because I felt God was speaking to me through him. I couldn’t turn back – not now. I sat resolute, my heart thudding against my sides. The sharp blast of the train pierced the darkness – the die was cast. I looked back at my compatriots; if they could do it, then so could I – safety in numbers as they say. The train pulled away.

Almost as one every one of the shadowy figures lay back and immediately merged as one with the sloping arcs of the carriages’ roofs. I realised then that I was in the company of professionals. I was numb with fear! I couldn’t lie back with them for fear of falling off the roof so I curled on my side in a foetal ball hooking my arm round the tank hook I had secured my bag on. The cold harmattan wind cut through my flimsy calico shirt as the train began to gain speed leaving me wondering which would kill me first; pneumonia or smashing my head on the gravel rushing by far below. my first assailant was mercifully eliminated by the warm sooty diesel smoke that belched at me from the engine’s funnel ahead of me. I gratefully drank in the oily blackness as my body began to warm to its cloying heat. My gratitude was short-lived as a tree branch brushed against my hips! It didn’t help that it was just a nest of leaves that brushed against me because it only carried with it a foreboding that there were heavier branches to come. The old man’s pleas kept reverberating in my head. I resigned myself to my fate and hurriedly asked God for forgiveness in a desperate preparedness for what lay in the world beyond, in the knowledge that the next clatter could be my last. Strangely enough I never mustered the courage to think of the effect it would have on my family were I to die so ignobly. Would anyone ever find my body on that lonely track? Would it end in a sudden whoosh before the blinding flash deposited me at the pearly gates, under the huge book cowering before the stern Face?

It was with muted sobs that I greeted the sleepy lights of Umuahia five hours later as the horn heralded our arrival at the waking town. I knew then that there is an angel for every foolish child in this world – I was proof of it. The memories pictures evoke in us eh? Have a great week everyone!