Meet n Greet!

Good week everybody! Forgive me if I sound incoherent at times this morning. I’m still a bit groggy from the euphoric reception, the hard work and eventual hard partying I, alongside the rest of the crew, Nonso, Uche Chibueze, Bola, Juliet and Sneeze, wounded myself with during our day’s stay in Port Harcourt for the Meet and Greet promotion for the movie Damage. My left hip still hurts. I don’t know if it was as a result of exertion from displaying my skills on the dance floor at Wine bar. I think I’m getting better and better at this dancing thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still the butt of jokes regarding my dancing prowess among my colleagues but the guffaws are quieting down ever so subtly.

On touching down in Port Harcourt, we were driven straight to the Wazobia FM radio station to talk live about the Meet and Greet expedition. Here’s the interesting twist. Wazobia’s language is usually spoken in Pidgin English instead of normal English. This meant that we had to show our Pidgin speaking skills on air. As we settled down on our stools in the studio I began to notice worried yet amused looks on some of the people’s faces and they were all directed at me. I asked if anything was the matter and of course the ever boisterous Uche (yes JOMBO), spokesperson for even those who did not invite her to speak for them and Defender of the universe jumped up with that loud voice of hers. “They are worried because you, like your dancing, cannot speak Pidgin to save your life”. Chei chei chei! It was as if an ant had stung my ear! Eh! Me! Kalu the son of Egbui Ikeagwu, not speak Pidgin. Uche Jombo even had the temerity to ask me to try and keep up with her! Ten minutes later, that same Uche began floundering all over the place like a fish that has lost all its fins. Even the DJ had to remind her three times to stick to Pidgin when she kept running off her trolley. When it got to my turn to speak, hmm! Believe now! I went into it with the dexterity of a Waffi guy! If I was a girl I would fallen for me there and then! I was so good with my flow and nuances that I could from the corner of my eye spy Bola Aduwo nodding her head enthusiastically at me. In fact I had to scale back a little so as not to detract from the reason we were there; speaking out against domestic violence, a result of the humility in me I suppose.

After stamping my authority in the place and leaving with a noticeably humbled Uche, we all headed for the hotel where we had just about 10 minutes to freshen up before going to the Meet and Greet event at Icinemas. I was to sell popcorn to the paying customers and Uche was to sell tickets to them. We had bickered about that at the radio studios – she wanted to use her clout to snatch my task from me by announcing to a live audience that she was going to sell popcorn before I corrected her on the same air. It was a very hot affair, dipping my trowel in the hot popcorn and shovelling tens of bags full with the hot fluffy kernels while taking care not to burn my hand on the overhead mini halogen bulb at the top of the case. But it was all worth it because the fans were a delight; very friendly and politely asked if they could take photographs with us. By the time we finished, Uche, as rambunctious as ever bustled over to my cubicle to brag about how much money she had made from sales – never mind that her tickets sold for N2000 apiece while my popcorn was a humble N500. Then again, that’s short people for you – always have to have the last word. Let’s see how you’ll beat me in this one. Nonsense! I still love you sis.

We sat down together to watch the movie Damage and were pleasantly surprised by a rousing applause from the audience when it ended. It felt good to be part of a team that worked so hard to achieve something. We did the normal red carpet photographs and took off to the Wine bar – a nightclub to party. I did not fail to deliver. In fact I grooved so well even Uche had to take back her vile earlier words the server. It was a very good weekend indeed. The only drawback was that I didn’t get to eat my favourite Port Harcourt roadside dish, roasted ripe plantain and hot pepper palm oil stew with smoked fish. Darn it, my mouth’s watering already! This weekend we go to my home state Abia to check it out. Will keep you updated with the goings on this weekend. I’m trying to think of what delicacies to look out for: Egusi cakes, ugba and okporoko etc. Please let me know if I’m missing anything out. Have a great week everyone!

Shattered!

                        A good week to everybody. Thank you for the reception to last week’s post. It was so heartbreaking that I just couldn’t get to the net from where I was and so couldn’t post comments like I have resolved to do nowadays. No fear though; I am still going to post my replies to some of the comments on last week’s post. I’m trying to rush through this one as the miscreant who calls himself the production manager will be beating my door down in about thirty minutes.to drag me to work. But, as always, I risk life and limb to get this vital insider information out to you my wonderful readers. Aluta continua!
                         I’m still groggy from last night’s shoot which ended at 3am. It’s 10am now and I’m headed out for yet another fight scene with Uche Jombo who plays my wife in a drama that focuses on domestic violence. The difference here is that instead of the usual violence where the husband routinely uses the hapless wife as a punching bag, the diminutive wife in this case gives as much as she can take – and I have a sore jaw to show for it. Man, that lady is strong. We did this kitchen scene where Taiwo, my character, suspecting that his wife Sarah is helping feed his younger sister’s, played by Tonto Dikeh, drug habit lands a vicious back handed slap across the face knocking her to the ground. Quickly recovering, she yanks his feet off the ground and he crashes to the ground beside her with a loud thud. I literally had the wind knocked out of me and then she pounced on me and gave me a very painful bite on the stomach. Well it wasn’t that painful given that we were only acting but it was painful enough to get the expected agonised scream from me.

                          Only yesterday at night I had vases and wine glasses hurled at me which I to dodge just a fraction of a second before they smashed into the wall behind me. Funny thing is, the missiles were to be hurled at me, and I was to move just a little to the left so that the scared expression on my face would be registered with the glass shattering against the wall in one shot otherwise it would be wasted and we would have to do it all over again! My character was expected to, after the initial shock of his lucky escape, turn and throttle his wife in a fit of unbridled rage. When I heard rather than saw the loud boom of the vase and the resulting shards of glass strewn all over the floor, I realised it could have been my head if Uche hadn’t aimed properly enough at the wall or I hadn’t moved quickly enough. I just stood there in shock, frozen. I could feel the empty cold eyes of the cameras on me waiting for me to move but I couldn’t; I just stood there. Uche watched and waited for a reaction from me still quivering with rage and then stalked off. To my horror I suddenly realised she wore nothing on her feet as she walked across the broken glass on the floor and screamed out to her to mind the glass. She turned around, glared at me and asked how stupid I thought she was; of course she was looking where she was going and minding her step! Suffice it to say that the scene was ended with that priceless look on my face.

                           I am still reeling from that experience at how easily things could have taken a turn for the absolute worst. This emphasizes the need for pushing for added investment in an entertainment industry that is here to stay; for things to be done properly and for risk to be properly controlled and contained by way of insurance. So far we have managed to keep our lives, limbs and property while getting what work we can get done through God, our wits and passion. Speak hands for me! :-D Have a great week everyone!

Love for the Art

Top of the week to all and sundry. I’m on set at the moment with my mind filled with better places I would rather be than at work. I don’t know why I have a sudden urge to go on a holiday. The strange thing about it is, much of our work actually does seem to outsiders like one big holiday; we work far into the night when others are sleeping, sleep and lounge when most others are working. What most people don’t know is that for every scene that lasts for, say a minute or a minute and a half, an approximate three to five hours’ work goes into making that scene possible depending on how many people there are in the scene.

Usually, when people badger me about wanting to act I smile and ask them why they want to go into it – the fame or the love for it. I think someday, when I become a producer, if anyone accosts me and inundates me with pleas to induct him or her into the world of acting, I will make sure their first scene is a party scene where the main characters meet and have some sort of conversation or specific action to take. Those of my colleagues in the business who read this bit will probably snigger at my sadism, and with good reason too because we all know how full of drudgery “party scenes” are.

The worst part of a party scene isn’t the fact that it takes at least four hours to record a scene (I for one, have once begun one at 9pm and did not finish recording till 4am the next morning), but that one would have to nurse the very same half filled glass of wine or beer, with a strained grimace and faking a conversation with a member of the opposite sex who is supposed to be your significant other in the movie, whom you have silently vowed to never give the opportunity to take “the relationship” further than the confines of the set – you kinda get the clues regarding their intentions when they still keep leaning onto you even after the director shouts cut, and you politely have to remind them that the take is over.

Or maybe a plate of food you are supposed to be carrying but are not allowed to eat for “continuity” purposes. God help you if it’s actually a really lovely dish and the producer emphatically urges you not to waste the “props” as he is on a tight budget, or the miserly props manager – they always are – sidles up to you and begs you with a whisper in your ear to take it easy on the grub. I usually scoff the lot if I’m hungry and dare them to “disgrace” their production by not refilling my character’s plate. You watch that hot sizzling food slowly turn to a congealed mass of dulled brown slabs of meat and sodden vegetables atop icicles of yellowed rice fast stuck in a frozen lake of brown grease. Now imagine going through this routine coupled with the tedious movements, dances (again, heaven forbid that you should forget your sports deodorant at home), all the while trying to look like you’re having an absolutely fabulous time for at least fifteen to twenty times. Finish this gruelling routine, expectantly wait for the movie to come out in six to eight months ,sit down to watch and wait for that scene you laboured in for ten hours straight disappear in two minutes flat with your loved ones about you grumble about the scene dragging on for an unnecessarily long time. Yes I do believe it would make for a fitting welcome to the acting community!

Darn it! I’ve gone and got carried away with my distaste for crowd, especially party, scenes and my desire to inflict them on naïve aspirants and forgotten about the holiday I really wanted to talk about. Well let’s hope I remain focused next time and not get distracted by my innate sadistic desires. Have a great week everyone!

PS: Kudos to two of my fave people, Formerly Stealth Reader and Rosa Winkler for getting the quote on my last post correct. We shall sit at a round table with our lawyers and iron out the modalities of reward. Cheerio!

Breaking Rocks In a Hard Place.

A good week to all and sundry. I am still the good old country called Ghana. I get to sleep with the beautiful roar of the sea by night and bask in the peaceful calmness of Accra by day even while I’m hard at work. I can finally touch my toes without bending my knees after a week of rigorous martial arts training. I get delirious when I raise my arms and feel that searing pain shooting through my muscles and tendons mostly because pain equals result. In no time soon I’ll be ready for those area boys when they crawl out of their holes to accost me when I’m stuck on the third mainland bridge or those rogue LASTMA traffic officials who always lie in wait for any erring road user. Yeah, I know, new found power always has a way of getting into its owner’s head but that’s the adage’s business; it’s my prerogative; I can what I wanna do – thanks Bobby!

On a more serious note, I am on a strong learning curve here. I am learning a lot about patience and endurance which are largely fueled by focus and drive towards where I want to be in this volatile entertainment industry. It is especially hard to humble myself to learn the vital instruments I need to take me the level I want to get to – to still be relevant as a versatile actor for the next forty years. It’s so easy to let the adulation and accolades one gets from the general public, the media and professional bodies get to ones head – and they do seep in no matter how hard you try to keep them out I find that they leave one in a false world where one sees little need to improve on ones self especially when it requires that one to lower himself or herself to the ‘lower’ status he or she just struggled to rise from - a place he or she would rather go to considerable lengths to forget; make everyone else forget. What makes it swallowable is focusing on the goal (hopefully worthwhile) one wants to achieve. The biblical adage; in order to live, one must first die, comes true here. It has been even harder to find people with whom to share the same vision – not those who just talk (and they are cheaply available) but those who actually work towards perfection. So far I have managed to find just two diamonds in the deep recesses of the quality mine. I apologise for not elaborating more on this but you will understand that there is a time for everything and at the right time, my basket mouth – as you my dear readers can attest to – will surely leak. I am not in a pretty place right now but I am convinced that the culmination of all these travails will bring a lasting smile in my body, soul and spirit.

Today is my off day – thank God – I’m going to take my aching limbs to the bed, snooze for about twenty minutes and amble off to the cyber café and deliver your goods. So I’ll see you guys next week yes? Have a great week everybody! Groan...

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!

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!

A Sub Space Adventure

 Good week, and morning, to everybody. I wish I was in a very bad mood right now but ‘unfortunately’, I’m not. Why this absurd wish? Well one of my beloved readers, Formerly Stealth Reader – God I love that name!- once said on my post, Carnival Free , that I always sound so jolly and that she, I think it’s a she, wants something angry from me. Frieda laughed so hard at that one. The times she’s had to play nursemaid to my endless frustrations, anxiety and uncertainties are legion. But then again, she is a true woman; she always makes sure my laundry is thoroughly washed clean before hanging it out to dry. So Stealth, your wish may be a long while to come but come it may, owing to the fact that Nigeria has a lot of anger in her. It’s been fuel scarcity for the past three months so for now let’s hope that that the patriotic citizens of this country, and they are in the majority, prevail over the traitors in keeping her as a unified peaceful whole. Not perfect I know, but it is the first step to taking us to the road to prosperity AND accountability.

  Last weekend was sublime. I had been invited to go along with a professional body to inaugurate an upstanding citizen as the patron of the body. The occasion was to take place in Warri, our host’s hometown, an oil producing city in the Niger Delta area of Nigeria. We were to, after the ceremony, spend the night at the host’s holiday resort in Escravos, and island about a hundred kilometres from the coast. Enter stage left, my first miracle, the airplane. No, it wasn’t just any airplane, it was a propeller aeroplane! I had been longing to get into one because I’d heard about its flair for depositing one’s ingested dinner onto the one’s, or his/her neighbour’s, lap by way of turbulence. I’ll fast forward to where I excitedly boarded the plane after ogling the pretty black propellers that looked like magnified domestic fan blades made from liquorice. I stooped all the way down the small cabin to my window seat which was positioned right beside the wing, buckled my seat belt and waited for the engines to start. They did, with a whirr, but the blades didn’t turn! And then they did! Faster and faster they went until they became a very fine blur. I wondered what it would to be like to be deaf and walk backwards into them. Would I feel the pain? Would death be instantaneous? What would the blood spatter be like? Would it be all over the wings and fuselage? My fixation with Dexter is getting the better of me. We taxied to the runway, turned, and began to hurtle down the tarmac with unbelievable power. In fascination I watched as the wheels were retracted into the overhead wings and we were airborne. I must admit I watched with some trepidation we climbed reluctantly higher and higher. I will also admit that take offs and touch downs scare the daylights out of me. I always feel like the engines might give up on take off and send us crashing back to earth. I thought of Frieda and wondered how the news would be broken to her, what falling back to earth would be like. Would I scream or even have the time to soil my boxers? All these and more I thought about as I looked at the miniaturised busy Lagos plan shrinking further away beneath me. The seat belt sign went off and the apprehension passed.

   It was a pleasant flight; the sun was out and the coast along which we were flying was clearly visible apart from the occasional fluffy clouds that dotted the skyscape (is there a word like that?) beneath us. I could tell when we got to the mangrove swamps from the large bodies of water and numerous spider web networks of the same element that transversed the area. As I watched, the undercarriage came out as we began to prepare for descent,  and I felt like we were a big bird about to swoop on its prey and I felt my belly drop in my mouth when we did swoop. I’m sure my face went a few shades lighter as I watched the wings bank this way and that, my fingers digging into my armrest, the aircraft readying itself for a smooth landing while staring at the hypnotic veneer of the landscape looming closer and closer, wondering if the two would be married together in a perfect mesh. We landed.

 For me it was an adventure. It was an adventure because it had all the ingredients needed for any adventure, endeavour or enterprise: will, excitement, research, faith and fear, and the acknowledgement of all five in one. These, I think, are what make the experience of an adventure so exhilarating. The fact that one conquers ones fear, powers on with his will and faith, is motivated by the excitement and contains risk through research is what makes it an accomplishment no matter how small or big. I for one can say I have accomplished a propeller planed adventure to Warri. I would love to hear yours, big or small, in your anticipated comments on this post. Have a great week everyone!               

       

Prelude to A Calabar Christmas!

Good week everybody! Anyone feeling christmasy yet? Because I am. I don’t know why I’m so excited about this particular season this year given that I just had a mini fight with my Frieda – she’s not talking to me – on account of the fact that I cannot spend Christmas with her this year, our second together. Worse still, she’s at that time of the month when everything and nothing makes sense. I will not mention the word; we made a pact that I’d never mention that word when the visitor approaches and she’s feeling all hormonal at the risk of losing my life or worse still, eating burnt food! So pardon me my gentle folks but you are not coming between me and my tummy. It is interesting though, this phenomenon, I have never experienced anything like it in my life – okay maybe so, but it was in a much lesser scale then. During this period I have to cuddle, comfort, never ever EVER use a harsh word on her because she cries so easily. If any character in any movie, newspaper story, or new dumps his wife for a younger filly or cheats on her, I get the blame. If she has a nightmare where I happen to be the antagonist, I get the blame. Never mind that my face could easily change into someone else’s in the course of the accursed dream, I still get the blame. I then have to pacify her and persuade her to go back to sleep so I can make amends and right the wrong I inflicted on her in the dream. The brunt of my fury is now on my main man Tiger. The man is a tiger! My guy answer im name true true. Fifteen mistresses that we know of? Man o man! Oh, sorry babes! That was disgusting! How could he? At least if he had to let the news leak, why did he have to do it during this period? And now I’m on my way to Calabar on a working holiday, my ears are ringing with admonitions on where to eat and where not to eat. I must only eat hotel food and nowhere else. I must call from time to time to reassure her of my safety - and of her security. Why does the one I love just have to be so wonderfully complicated? What’s with me and moody women? Why can’t simple just mix with its fellow simple companion – you know, birds of the same feather? I wouldn’t have anyone else though. Like Drake’s song says “You the #%@#ing best!”

This week I have little to write about as I have been banned from writing about the work I’ll be doing in Calabar until it’s done. The company wants to keep its secrets secret and have the element of surprise over its competitors. That’s fine by me, but be assured that my tongue will run like my belly on a bad day when it is done. Instead of looking forward to the tradtional Christmas rice and chicken stew, ( that’s for wimps) I’ll be looking forward to afang, afere, ekpang nkwukwo meals in Calabar – on the hotel’s menu of course!

Do have a great Christmas everybody, and a prosperous New Year. Let’s have a fun filled and, of course, reflective holiday! Now I know why this season is exciting for me; I’m sharing it with you and would very much love to hear about yours and your plans for this season as well. Have a great week everybody and I love you all.

SWEET HEMLOCK

Good week everyone! I was going through some of my family pictures the other day and with a wistful smile paused at my late father’s photograph. This particular one he had taken when he had just received his doctorate degree with my four year old self perched on his knee with a quizzed look on my face, probably wondering why I was asked to sit still and look at the mechanical eye staring at me. I remembered the admonition my father used to instruct me with when I’d actively begun appreciating the female form. I was in my last year of secondary school and my ever tidying mother had found some irreverent pictures of women in various forms of undress. My ears, while being too old to be pulled, knew no rest for the best part of a fortnight – a larger percentage of the assault being from my mother. My father in very few words, at four o’clock in the morning, that time most old school parents feel their words sink into their children’s obstinate heads the most, instructed me on the evils of chasing after vagrant women (as he called it) because they were the downfall of would be great men.- a heavy robe he had hung on my broad shoulders from childhood, one I have come to appreciate.

I, as all teenagers are born to do, rebelled (passively of course) against my dad’s instructions. I saw it as him being a spoilsport, and my opinion was enhanced by my uncles’ tales of my dad’s escapades with the fairer sex before he got married to my mother. I wrote this poem in university in my third year with a smile of mischief playing on my lips as I put pen to paper. I want to share with you my thoughts then and hope you’ll enjoy it. Have a great week ahead. Cheerio!


Never again a woman will I chase!
For the evils that abide within
Are such that have no depths.
Eve to Adam
And the fall of Mankind!
But ooooh…
What bliss lies therein the secrets of woman?
Those breasts
Those buttocks
Those thighs
That…
So sweet, so intoxicating, so comforta-
No!
Never!
I shall be wise!
Solomon fell!
Samson fell!
I refuse to be beguiled!
But then…
Sweet is the fall caused by women
For bloodless is the fall.
Like opiated sleep it is.
Retrospect shall now I
On the moonlit blanket beneath which we lay,
Freda and I,
As we writhed and…
Oooh!
Truly, sweet and sour
Is the weapon of a woman.

Copyright Notice (©): All poetry, photography, art work and images appearing on this blog page- Kalu Ikeagwu Blog Spot- may not be reproduced, reprinted or retransmitted or altered in any form without the express written consent from the author. Individual poems/pieces remain the copyright of the poet/writer appearing and the poet holding the copyright must be contacted prior to any use of such said work.

The Rat Race

I am sitting in my hotel room at five in the morning trying to meet the deadline of this morning’s post. I’m still shivering from the experience of my last scene which was spent in a swimming pool frolicking with a buxom lass. Loads of fun you might think, and yes it may have been so if one were to take away the fact that the gorgeous lady in the picture had been at work all day long, trundled through the rush hour traffic, take away the fact that mosquitoes armed with straws were stocking up their blood reserves from our unprotected bodies and that I was dreading Nkem’s wrath if I failed to make the deadline for this morning’s post. It was fun in the end for the short while it lasted though. We romped about and I had gleeful fun throwing her in the air and dunking Sylvia in the water getting her wig soaked much to her giggling indignation – it was hers and not the costumier’s. I drove back to the hotel clad in just my wet trunks with Sylvia beside me hoping to be pulled over at the ubiquitous police checkpoints. We both mused over what explanation we’d give them. No she was clothed, anything otherwise would have been stretching it a bit far. Sadly there was none. And now to this week’s topic, which is where I’ll crave your infinite patience. Patience because I want to apologize for my sporadic posting of late because of the work load I have at present. I want to let you know however that this blog and you my readers are foremost on my mind. Chiefly so because I get to air all my views, silly and serious, and also have an audience to share them with, making you invaluable to me. Please indulge my shortcomings. Thanks..

Okay, this one’s on the brighter side of life and not to be taken seriously but then again, who knows? I’d just finished a grueling day’s shoot and was hanging out with my colleagues in camp quite late into the night, past midnight. We were too tired to eat, I hadn’t eaten for the best part of the day. I decided to sit out with them and wind down slowly with idle chat when suddenly a huge rat emerged from a nearby gutter and scurried across the yard.. One of my colleagues, Lizzy, screamed and jumped out of her chair. Everyone began complaining animatedly about the menace of rats in the area and how difficult they were to eradicate; and then it occurred to me in a flash! Grinning mischievously I turned to them and told them I had the perfect solution to end the scourge.

The one thing that brings about scarcity, raises the value of a commodity is good old demand. I asked to them to paint a picture in their minds where there was absolute famine in the land and there was nothing to eat let alone meat. I asked them to then imagine having our little, sorry, huge furry well fed rodents skewered on a spit over an open fire roast, three at a time, all garnished with garlands of red peppers and onion rings and glistening with sizzling dripping oil. Would they be so vile then? Not only would these vermin’s status be raised to desirable, they would disappear in an instant! Why are diamonds so far out of our reach? Because they are desirable. Therefore it follows that the only way a problem, in this case the form of a creature, can be eliminated is by desiring it. Quad erat demonstratum. I probably will be pooh poohed over this unique school of thought but hey, no knowledge is wasted! If nothing else, it is already on record that Kalu has an opinion about something. Ha!

It’s 9am now and my shutters are getting the better of me. I’m going to catch a little nap before I dive into that mad traffic heading home. What to do when I get there: see if there’s anything to eat in the fridge, go to the mechanic’s, fix Betty’s brakes, post this piece, er, what else? Pack my stuff for Wednesday, no, call the cleaning lady, then… I don’t know, I’m going to bed so erm, I guess it’s goodnigh sorry good morning everyone. Have a great week ahead. God, I love it when it gets to this part! Have a great week everyone!

The Stunt Man

A glowing week to everyone especially in these trying times! Chin up everyone; the only way is up. This sort of reminds me of the Pharaoh’s dream of old where he dreamt of the seven scrawny cows eating up the seven fat ones. Well let’s hope it was just one cow that swallowed the seven this in our case! Anyway like I said, a wonderful week to all and I’m going to toot my horn this week and brag about one of my many talents – not that I intend making a career out of this one – stunts! Yes my dear friends I can confidently say I have earned my stripes in the world of stunts with no insurance! Hopefully this will be the last.

It was on a movie set in Lagos and the character I was playing was a slime bag that got his kicks off sleeping with other men’s wives. The movie’s not out yet hence no title yet. Sorry that’s the Nigerian way of doing things – no movie, no name. Well in this scene the cuckolded husband, played by Bimbo Manuel is so frustrated with his philandering wife’s (Rita Dominic) antics that he goes to help himself with the ladies of easy virtue at night. While parked on the road where the prostitutes ply their trade and seated in his car, he imagines his arch enemy, yours truly, crossing the road while he runs me down into hell where I ‘belong’. Now I jauntily thought it would just a case of crossing the road, being startled by the bright headlights, open my eyes wide when I realize the intention of the driver, raise my arms across my face to avert the impending onslaught and then ‘cut’! No such luck.

The director, Izu Ojukwu, walks up to me with a guilt laden grin on his face. The kind that says “I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this but you’re going to have to do it anyway cos I won’t have this scene look stupid”. All I’d have to do, according to him, was to walk casually across the road and the vehicle would ‘bump’ me from the side and I’d simply employ my athletic skills to fly up in the air, fall to the ground and play dead. I looked at the vehicle in question. It was a formidable looking Mercedes SUV and to make matters worse, it had monstrous steel bull bars attached to the front bumpers, rising up to my rib section! I looked back at him.
“Oh no no no. The engine will not be turned on. The P A’s will simply push the vehicle so it will roll gently and just graze you just a little bit.” He said in an attempt to reassure me.
With some reserve I consented and made ready on the other side of the road. At the first attempt I ‘casually’ sauntered across the road, my peripheral vision at its sharpest as I spied the black shadow gliding towards me like some oily monster until I ‘saw’ it at the very last moment and startled by the dazzling headlights, opened my eyes wide when I realised the intentions of the driver and raised my arms across my face to avert the onsl… “Cut!” The director bellowed. Damn!
“You are not supposed to ever notice the car. It’s supposed to catch you completely unawares. Take two!”
I walked across a second time. Twenty people must have been pushing that car because the speed at which that vehicle came at me made it look like it was fleeing a crime scene. I jumped back at the last minute swearing and hurling unmentionables at my would be assassins. By this time a small crowd had gathered round to watch even though it was 11pm, I decided to be a tough guy and go through with it. I crossed, walked bravely in front of the car and got hit. It wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be but if I had initially thought I was going to sprawl over the bonnet like I would an ordinary car, I was to change that thought very quickly if I was to live. The bull bars would not even let me get close to the already high bonnet let alone sprawl over it. Using the bars as leverage, I flipped and then flung myself over the side of the bonnet landing on the ground with a thud. Of course I had to repeat it again as it looked too ‘contrived’. It took two more takes for Izu to be satisfied with the sacrifice I had made. The good thing was I suffered no injury and no bruises. The highlight of the shoot that night was when on being knocked down, the ‘prostitutes’ rushed over to assist my character as he lay prone face up on the ground – Staying dead was a very trying time for my character especially with the camera trained on his lifeless body!

Whenever Nollywood deems it fit to honour versatile actors, I will stand tall in the exclusive club of actors who do their own stunts! Have a great week ahead everyone!

Mind over Matter

A good week of the mid month to everyone. I don’t know what to say except that I had a very good day today. It’s hard to pinpoint what is actually making me grin from ear to ear so I’ll just keep rambling on and on and hopefully the coin will drop into the slot somewhere along the line. I spent the weekend at my friend JB’s and we did a lot of catching up as we always do after a considerable time apart; he lives in the Lekki part of Lagos and I on the mainland and all who know Lagos know that these two locations are traffic miles apart! Anyway one of the things I went to do on the island was to give a television interview on what my life is like as an actor. One of the questions Simi, my interviewer, asked me was what my most embarrassing moment was. My mind went down memory lane and a smile lit on my face. I don’t know why it wasn’t that hard for me to recount given my, I think, shy nature but I thought I’d perhaps share it with you.

I’d gone to live with my maternal uncle in Oturkpo, Benue state for a year with a view to study hard for my JAMB university entrance exams. My JAMB result of the previous year while enough to get me into the university of my choice, had not met with the very high grades required by the department I applied for so I had to sit for it a second time. My uncle was the vice principal of a teacher training college in the town and this provided me with the perfect environment for study even though, to my chagrin, it was to be under his stern supervision. Alas, what goes around does come around. My father, of blessed memory, had bought him up as a child and tutored him through school in the old fashioned ways of the missionaries – the cane. Truly, the adage that goes, if the alligator will eat its own eggs, what won’t it do with the hide of a frog, rings so true. I, as well as my siblings, received second hand the taste of my father’s strict upbringing when his arm was beginning to tire. My uncles, maternal and paternal, received it first hand. My dad, not fondly called ‘Teacher Egbui’, then a standard (primary) school teacher, was famed and feared as the teacher whose arm never came down. He could go through the entire school in the village with the cane and not tire – my uncles had the misfortune of living with him. But that is a story for another day. Suffice it to say that my dear uncle was determined that I made the high grades required for the university of my choice. I stray again… Sometimes I fear for my children, and my grandchildren when I grow old; I’ll probably kill them with stories! Sorry, my most embarrassing moment.

It was about noon. I had just finished studying for the morning and was getting ready to go to the market to buy ingredients for lunch – yes I was also the cook of the house. I came out to the backyard with just my towel tied round my waist and a pail in my left hand to fetch water from the tank at the back of the house. The tank was a five hundred litre tank. The kind that have no taps but can only be accessed by removing the top lid and bending over the edge to scoop the water within with the bucket. On this particular day the tank was only a quarter full and so I had to stand on a stool to bend over and scoop the desired amount of water needed for my bath. As I did so, the towel loosened from my waist and fell to the ground. My uncle’s quarters, a large four bedroom bungalow stood in the middle of a row of six houses that formed the senior staff quarters with no fences demarcating them. Each building had a two bedroom servant quarters annexed to it. Some ladies about my age, to whom my uncle had leased the servant quarters, four in number, one of whom I fancied, were plaiting each other’s hair and sharing gossip on their veranda. I could feel the warm sun on my naked behind and the sudden hush behind me. I straightened up and looked at the ground behind me. Sure enough there was my towel lying on the hard ground far below and beyond my reach with the chickens pecking for food around it. Barely breathing I dared to cast a glance at the girls to find all four of them staring back at me as if to see what my next move would be. I calmly turned round, bent over, scooped my water, came down the stool, set the pail on the ground, picked my towel, tied it round my waist, looked them in the eye – at which they averted their gaze – picked the bucket and went into the house! The next week one of the girls, not the one I liked, came over to ask if I could go over some old examination question papers with her. Mind over matter!

I learnt, still am, that no situation is irredeemable no matter how hopeless. Here’s where I welcome all kinds of experiences even if it’s under the aegis of anonymity. Heck, I’ve shown you mine so you show me yours. :) Have a great week everyone and may every cloud carry a bold silver ling with it.

The River Runs Through It

A good week to all once again. I don’t know about other parts of the world but it’s really baking here. The humidity alone is brain throbbing. Join that with the typically horrendous Lagos traffic and you’ll have a fair idea of how we’re faring over here. The real meaning to the phrase ‘suffering and smiling’ is right here. Nigerians? We are a formidable people; whoever thinks otherwise should go and fetch water with a basket and give us to drink. Oh no, no, no, I’m not done griping yet; the overworked transformer on my street blew sometime last week and we’ve been admiring the stars at night while swiping at those ubiquitous free loading blood sucking tenants. My generator’s been working overtime sometimes forcing me to choose between power and the deafening noise from the… Oh my, they just brought the power back! The transformer must have been fixed! There is a God in heaven; and a conscience among those in charge. Ah! The air conditioner is on and I’m typing merrily away now. Bliss – while it lasts!

Where was I? Yes, griping. Griping about the awful conditions we’re we are being forced to live under. Without wanting to become too political I can’t help but want to add a voice – and maybe influence a collective one to change our lot for the better. A friend of mine once asked me a question while we were holidaying in Poznan in Poland sometime ago. We were drinking polish beer in Murowana Gosclina, the old picturesque town square and admiring the pretty young ladies milling about in their various pursuits. Mukul is a doctor turned actor turned director and is one of the few people I love discussing philosophy with. Before going out at night to storm the night clubs (East Europe has the best) we would sit at cafes in the square arguing for hours on end over different schools of thought – he with his Muslim cum agnostic views and I with my Christian and Nigerian ones.
“Kaloo,” he asked in that exotic eastern accent of his.
“Yes?” I replied, waiting for another topic to chew on.
“How many people are there in China?”
The answer seemed quite obvious but I answered anyway.
“About one point six billion?”
He bowed his head in thought for a moment then looked up at me.
“Can you imagine what would happen if all billion plus people were to come out en masse and piss into a ravine at the same time?”
I just sat there staring at him and the dam burst. The image of a furious hot yellow flash flood emanating from a billion and a half people obliterating everything in its path was too much for me. I roared and roared with laughter and it was all I could to keep from rolling on the ground and making a nuisance of myself. Those are the kinds of idiots I have for friends! I love this life… and yes, I am still on course.

I have often thought of the situation here in my beloved Nigeria and thought of the best way to make our voices effectively heard in the most non violent way possible. Not long ago the wonderful women in Kenya decided to checkmate the political impasse in their country by imposing a sex strike on their men. Apparently even prostitutes were paid not to have sex with customers. I’m not sure how effective it was or if it’s over yet but it definitely set me thinking of Nigeria, a nation with a population of about a hundred and forty million. Now if two million of us were to struggle uphill of the national assembly with laden bladders; women discreetly arranged on one side and men standing proudly on the other, and let loose, what a mighty rush that would be! What a river? What streams? What brooks? What impetuous rivulets coursing through corridors of power, suffusing expanses of plush carpets and rugs in their wake. Our little babies would brush aside any security checks, sending security agents scampering for safety, politicians hopping onto their seats; one hand holding up their robes and the other their noses. I can imagine them wading through the uric flood to get to get to their SUVs and of them thinking of getting to work in the days to come. The stench of our displeasure of their handling of affairs of state would reverberate in their nostrils for days on end; not to mention the lingering state of affairs in the halls. The cleaning bill would be substantial I’d expect, but it certainly would be one well spent. Then those people at the helm of affairs would sit up and enact policies that actually benefit the masses in the knowledge that another demonstration of our collective will is just a pure water sachet away. Just a thought!

In summary, I believe we as a people grossly underestimate the power we weld as individuals and as a collective unit regarding changing our destiny for the better. While a few people may strut about at the helm of affairs falsely believing they and their favoured ones are born to rule to the detriment of the governed, it is important to remind them from whence the power given them emanates – the people. The beauty of it is that it can be done in the most peaceful way like Mahatma Gandhi did with his passive resistance to break the crippling hold Britain had on India. We as Nigerians can stand up and voice our disapproval of the inept way our economy is being handled by people who have no business being there in the first place. We should actively love our country and strive for the best for her and our children We can make our voice heard, so let’s do it. I’m done philosophizing so have a great week everyone.


My air conditioner purrs away
Drying my sweat away
By my ear the mosquitoes sing
While I brace for the inevitable sting!

The Debut..

Hello everyone! Not quite sure how to handle my debut writing, so I’ll first of all ask you to bear with me as I try to express my thoughts, feelings and experiences with you as best as I can. Please don’t be too critical of me as I am still an infant in the worldwide web of writing.
First things first, welcome to my blog! On this journey, I’d like to take you through the patchwork of my weekly life in colours of highs, lows, the drab, the zany, joy and pain… pump it up, pump it up! lol Ok, maybe only the old skool connoisseurs would get this joke. Feedback from you my lovely people would be very much welcomed. I de beg una O! Hm.


This week started on a not so palatable note, actually it was quite disturbing… Got an email message from a friend that showed graphic details (the pictures were to graphic to post on this site) of a young girl named Stacy, who was decapitated in South Africa. Stacy was murdered by Shorn in broad daylight and in full view of people going about their business. Her crime? Apparently, she turned down Shorn’s love advances for about a year and he, on that day, decided to remove the object of his “affection” from this world through the most violent means possible.
Armed with a sword and length of rope, he dragged her from the minivan she’d just embarked, cut her hand off from the wrist before proceeding to chop her head off….and this was done in full view of passers by!
This incident, while occurring in far away South Africa, touches us all. This event should touch every parent to the soul, The thought of burying one’s child is heartbreaking, not to talk of the knowledge that one’s child perished in such a gruesome manner. How does one start to comprehend such a loss? What did she do to warrant such treatment? Saying no??!
If he was so sure that she was his for life then he should have, after hacking her to death, dispatched himself as well by diving into a ready vat of hot oil or worn a lit rubber (tyre) necklace! There’s absolutely no excuse for this sort of behaviour especially as it adversely affects the lives of many. The only excuse would be mental instability and if so why wasn’t it detected immediately?
I’d like to know if the young man is aware of what he has done? Does he know he cut down a young woman’s dreams and shattered the peace of her family? If not, then for the duration of his incarceration the four walls of his permanent cell should be pasted with blown up pictures of the gruesome images that our senses are being assaulted with. He should have bright lights all year round so he doesn’t have any reprieve in darkness and should be cut off from all human contact until he fully understands how horrendous his crime was. He does not belong in our society!


I know I should have begun on a lighter note but this one’s hard to ignore as it could easily happen to any one of us. How many times does a woman have to say no to a love advance before she’s taken seriously? Is it right to stand by (this happened in front of a crowd in broad daylight) and watch while a fellow human is hacked to death just because you don’t know him or her? Why don’t we let our minds drift to the possibility that it could well have been our mother, sister, wife, girlfriend or even daughter that was subjected to such a gruesome ordeal? How would we be able to pick our lives up after that? If we don’t want to have to go through that experience then let’s come together and make our society a real society by being our brother’s and sister’s keeper. I’d like to know your thoughts on this.


Yes, I know this is a bit heavy for my first blog but I promise to make it much lighter next week by talking about the summary of my life last year. It’s like putting the cart before the horse but then again, you did ask to take a peek into the goings on in my life! I know I sound a bit cryptic so I’ll explain…. My original plan was to start by charting what direction I’ll be going this year, taking you through the lessons I learned last year, the things I’ve experienced so far this year, and discuss the last movie sets I worked on but impulse drove me ( to my manager Nkem’s surprise) to write on this piece. Sorry Nkem!
Sooooo, next week is your chance to laugh at me, or with me, as I cut out a slice of last year. In the meantime, have a wonderful week!