Who's Laughing Now?

A good week to everybody! I am just starting to recover from the awful experiences of jet lag. The experience for me is horrendous! I have slept like an absolute fool! Every time I travel across a time zone as marked as six hours and above, I get knocked out for at least two days. It is very confusing to me! It was for this very reason that I refused to watch any movie on the on board entertainment for the entire duration of the flight from Lagos to New York. The seats were business class seats and reclined to full beds so I slept soundly. Why then is the jet lag demon still pursing me?! In spite of that, I’ve managed to do two Damage movie premieres in New York and in Minneapolis, I have made time to enjoy my beloved American meal; medium done steak and garlic flavoured mashed potatoes and broccoli, twice!

I did not come without a plan though. You see, tasty as American foods are, they come with a hefty price attached. Not the price tag, if it were I’d be much relieved; it is the cloying stodgy weight it piles on that is the terror of many, even highly strung children. My plan was to jog every morning for at least four miles and finish it with a punishing regime of a hundred sit ups. To my pleasure, the next morning, even as the first rays of the morning peeped through the curtains, a quick succession of knocks rapped at the door jarring the last vestiges of my dream away. I stumbled to the door to open up to a diminutive Tonto staring up at me in her jogging suit. In a panic I asked her if she’d already gone jogging but she said no, to my relief, she just came to know if I would like to go jogging with her. Thus began my partnership which soon swelled with the inclusion of Moses and three days later, after torrents of excuses of not having appropriate sporting clothing and not having the time to go to the stores to buy some, Uche. There is an adage to encourage people who lag behind in different endeavours; the one who walks will finally get to the same destination as the one who runs. I saw the literal meaning of the proverb when Uche came huffing and puffing up the hill thirty minutes after we’d reached our agreed end point, the first and only day she joined us. Her ready excuse, three minutes after she caught her breath, was that according to her fitness instructor, heavy hipped women were not supposed to run. A likely tale.

What I have revealed here is true. If Uche likes, she can come and refute it in her typically boisterous manner. I will also admit that this is my way of getting back at her for broadcasting to even deaf buildings what a terrible dancer I am. Could anything be more preposterous?!! The painful thing is that people have actually begun to believe it. Well, the buck stops right here! I have taken the pains to show a smidgen of my dancing prowess by adding an excerpt from a video chronicling our Damage movie premiere tour of the United States. This one was recorded at the Mall of America, Bloomington, Minnesota. Please feel free to give me your unbiased feedback and put my ‘haters’ to shame!

Have a great weekend everyone!

(To view the video, visit my facebook fanpage - http://www.facebook.com/kaluikeagwufanpage)

What to do, how to do!

Good week everybody! Right now, you guys are going to forge the road to escapism for me because I am so confused at the moment and I’m unwilling to face the reality before me. Right now as I sit here typing, I wish I was married so I would never have to go through this sort of stress again. Yes, I know that shouldn’t be the only reason one should get married, and believe me, I have a few other reasons to append my mark on the contract, but the helplessness and frustration I feel at the moment is enough for me to make a deal with – not the devil – whichever woman would readily pack my clothes and stuff I need to travel to the US with for a whole month! Yes, yours truly is coming alongside Uche Jombo, Moses Iwang(Sneeze) and Tonto Dikeh for the Damage promotional tour.

I hate packing! I never know what to pack for. I get stumped even when I’m packing for just a few days. How many undershirts and boxer shorts to throw in, T- shirts, polo shirts, shirts, whether to pack a jacket or not! Now most of you will be wondering what my problem is over such simple tasks and such obvious items to pack. The thing is I’m a typically jeans, T-shirt and sneakers kind of person, and my predominant theme when choosing clothing is comfort and freedom. I like to know I can sit anywhere I like, get my bottom dirty, stand up, brush most of the dirt off my arse and still have swag. Trouble is, when I like a particular item of clothing, I worry it to its grave, a trait that earned me the nickname The Sower among my room mates back in university.

I had just bought a pair of checkered sneakers that my size 12/13 feet felt very snug in, a rarity for me in those days, and I wore them almost every day. The tramping back and forth from lectures in the hot sun and my sweaty feet combined to form a resultant ripe odour from my sturdy companion. Tired and spent for the day, I’d hang my faithfuls at the window of the room and go looking for something to eat. Trouble was, the afternoon breeze would waft the wonderful aroma emanating from my shoes into the room and out the other window but not before making the occupants of the room well aware of its presence – and there were numerous wafts on a typical afternoon! I never heard the end of it. My wonderful roommates complained to no end about my prurient sneakers, asking me to take them outside, which I refused to do for fear of having them stolen by the ubiquitous marauders in that hungry hostel. We were a very jovial bunch, I couldn’t ask for better friends, and we periodically took turns at teasing one another. On one occasion, when it was my turn to be flayed, my beloved checkered sneakers became the butt of their jokes. One of the miscreants, a particularly funny guy, Chike, remarked that my sneakers were so fertile that any corn kernel that was sown in them would germinate overnight. The name, The Sower, stuck.

Where was I? Don’t mind me. I’m just trying to delay the inevitable; I have just today to pack for a whole month in the US. I’m supposed to be a celebrity and so I’m not allowed to ‘dull’ myself. I alone have to pick out my outfits for the numerous appearances I’ll have to make across at least eight sates, and no Frieda’s not here to help me out. Let me see, two shirts for each day so people shorter than me – most are, especially the ladies – don’t faint from the ripe pong from my sweaty armpits when I throw my arms round their shoulders. Groan! What happened to the good old days when I’d just throw a rucksack over my shoulder and saunter through customs in a T-shirt, shorts and a pair of sandals?

All this jabbering is getting me nowhere. That chaotic pile is going nowhere. The bloody lot are just sitting there staring at me stonily and relishing my anxiety that’s growing by the minute. Like they say, there’s no time like the present so abeg make una no vex, I have packing to do. Have a safe, sorry, have a great week everyone, and wish me a safe trip! A bientot!

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!

The Event

Good week to everyone! How has everyone’s week been? Mine’s been so busy doing nothing but networking and promotions; my initiation into the vile impersonal business world. I have recently found out, and this is just a hypothesis, that the most boring and humourless people in school are mostly the richest people today. They are usually the bankers, businessmen and accountants of today. I refuse to believe that it was because they had no sense of humour but that they maybe saw art, fun and humour as major distractions to be avoided at all costs even if they have to scrooge themselves doing it. I suppose the end justifies the means. At least, like Scrooge, they might get the chance to be unscrooged later in life. For those of us who began our lives with art, idealism and daydreams and having to learn scrooge language later in life. I wonder what our stories will be as night falls. It was a strange feeling for me at the Damage movie premiere two weeks ago.

The three days leading up to the date of the event were very physically depressing for me; I almost threw up in the bathroom an hour before I picked up my car keys. I usually hate watching myself in movies I’ve done because I keep seeing mistakes I make, and things I could have done better. It’s sometimes so bad I hide behind my couch to watch; it’s like watching a horror movie, the difference being that I must have company to be able to watch the latter. You can imagine how it felt having to watch myself alongside hundreds of fellow professionals, prodders, directors, investors and most nail biting of all, critics. Couple that with the fact that I was playing the role of an angry, violent wife beater who shouts himself hoarse for the most part of the movie, which, God forbid, might end up not being so convincing, and you have the perfect bowl of bowel pureed nerves.

The red carpet part went without a hitch although I did leave it with an aching jaw from yapping incessantly to legions of journalists and flashing bulbs, repeating myself over and over again while trying to look like I was uttering the heartfelt words for the first time. The last journalist to interview me took the largest slice of the cake. He looked in every possible direction there was but mine as he interviewed me as I talked; it didn’t last long and it was the last. I left there and headed for the cinema, was ushered to my seat and I sat. Not long after, the movie began.

It didn’t take long for me to realise why oyibo , sorry, our counterparts across the pond are always so skinny; I was humongous! I thought I was looking at a funny mirror! Every step I took was like King Kong was entering the building. I desperately prayed for some vestige of acting prowess to at least cover up the offensive smell I was looking at. All through the movie I kept ticking off the boxes in my head with my invisible pen, my buzzing ears not even registering the audience’s reaction, with my sweaty finger poised over the stopwatch of my watch. It wasn’t as bad as I anticipated it would be. In fact the audience loved it. If you know how unforgiving a Nigerian audience is, you’ll appreciate the sense of relief I felt every fifteen minutes – yes, I had divided the movie into sections of fifteen minutes to measure the overall ratio of the parts that were bad versus the good – yes, in that order. I even noticed some quips and quirks I unconsciously chipped in here and there of which I was pleased and took notes of. It ended well.

What’s that saying again? Nothing ventured, nothing vanquished? I’m not sure if I got it right but that night was a definite victory for me. I learnt to believe in myself more, to trust my instincts more and the value of working with a visionary producer and director. Three cheers to you Uche Jombo and Moses Iwang( Sneeze)! Great job on the movie Damage! Have a great weekend guys and please please please do go watch the movie Damage. It’s showing in cinemas nationwide at the moment. Ciao!

On the Go!

A good day to everybody! Not much to report today except that I’m rushing off to the island to shoot the last bit of the Damage movie. I’m rather nervous at the moment because tomorrow’s the voting day for the presidential candidates and I intend to make it back home tonight so I can vote tomorrow in my area where I registered. What I am not sure of is whether there will be a restriction of movement starting tonight or whether it commences tomorrow because I don’t want to come across any stony faced group of soldiers assuming every late motorist is a potential political thug. I also hope there won’t be any harassment or fight breaking out where I’m going to vote tomorrow, or anywhere in this country for that matter. It’s bad enough having to stand in the queue for hours on end in the blazing sun waiting to have my thumb stained.

Oh well, pray for me everybody and for those of us who live here in Nigeria, and have registered to vote, see you at the grounds tomorrow! Have a great day everyone!

Dermatitis?

A good week tout le monde! I’m scared! I’m itching all over! Well on my arms and my shins. I don’t know if it’s the lagoon I plunged into while doing a scene where I, sorry, my character, was murdered by the police just because he used a hapless lady as a human shield, or because of the oppressive heat conditions I worked under while wearing a very heavy cloak all afternoon. On the one hand I may be looking at an adverse skin condition, and on the other, it could just be heat rash. When I finished that day and looked at my hands, they looked like boiled mackerel fish that had been left out in the sun for too long.

I have since then played the role of a home doctor by having three showers a day, yesterday with a good dose of antiseptic in my water, lubed myself liberally with antifungal and antibacterial cream and ghosted myself all over with dusting powder before turning in for the night. It has come down somewhat but it still lingers, possibly on account of the oppressive heat that has found its way into my home on account of the recent breakdown of my air conditioner. Don’t worry about me; if symptoms still persist, I will be sure to see a doctor, much as I hate to see those walls for fear of the confirmation of my worst nightmare. I now realise God never lets me get ill; I’d die many times before my death.

Right now I’m getting ready for two sets, the first on the Tinsel set, rush to the passport office to pick my new e-passport(with a very horrible picture of me) during the interlude, and then over to Uche’s Damage set to complete the red carpet scene that ended in a fiasco at the Vantage hotel, Oniru, on account of its greedy manager who demanded more money than was initially agreed upon by both parties when he saw the celebrities coming in. Now I have to pay for his obtuse business intellect and greed by going for a reshoot and possibly losing out on another job. I hope he gets what’s coming to him for trying to take the food off my table. Nonsense!

Anyhow, I’m off to another antiseptic shower before getting another antifungal/antibacterial coating and off to the harsher work climate. Until then, watch where you swim and have another great week everyone! Ouch! Scratch scratch…

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!

Berries of the Dark Kind

Guten week to everyone in the house. How is everyone? First, I want to wish my very dear friend Sara a very happy birthday today, and a belated birthday to my troublesome friend Nse whose birthday it was two days ago. I’m down with a cold – the hazards of walking about on cold floors with bare feet. I thought about (and did) complaining about it on facebook and then I remembered worse things people suffer from all over the world and I held my piece. On second thoughts though, I think I am allowed to whinge about it a little. After all, my people say that a little snake one sees alone in the bush becomes a python when he recounts his encounter with it to his neighbours when he sees them. So yes, I have a cold and it’s killed my appetite, one of the few places in my life I do not tolerate interference. It prevented me from going for the bush meat pepper soup I craved for last night as I am wont to every time I finish a project, especially the gruelling one I finished last week. No worries, the tick will fall off soon as it has drunk its fill.

The project, quite an interesting one; I played a character that spoke with a very heavy Igbo accent. The Igbos, of whom I am one, are an interesting people. We believe in getting our point across even if it means not giving much consideration to how we put it. That is not to say we are not poetic, quite the contrary if I may say. We like to pepper our words with proverbs to make our audience think, anticipate what we want to say, hide what we want to say or break terrible news gently. You may refer to my earlier proverb as an example. Anyway, enough talk. Now to more talk!
There is quite a lot to talk about but, being the blabber mouth that I am, I have been prevented from saying ninety percent of what is in my head to say by the mighty Nkem so I’ll just go with the ten percent. I feel like I’m the last to catch up with any kind of new technology – the latest to confront me being the ubiquitous blackberry which I am soon in the danger of acquiring. My friends, Yolanda and Uche Jombo, had already begun educating me on the virtues of this “wonderful” contraption – its phenomenal networking abilities, updates on twitter and facebook and its dexterity in gossip related matters – a fundamental asset to have in our “show” business. Like I said in previous posts, I’m still trying to get my head round this modern technology. One thing is for certain though; the world seems to have moved on from the traditional physical structures and property to the virtual kind – one that is based on perception, publicity and transient popularity. Pretty much like gold and money that was at the turn of the Victorian period, gold being the actual value and paper money, a ‘mere’ promissory note that has come to dominate the world economy for the past near two hundred years.

My worry now, apart from worrying about the mastery of those complex social networks, is how I’ll manage to type on those tiny buttons with my huge thumbs. Then again, every journey begins with a step. I’ll embark on this one today and wait for another accursed technology to raise its head from around the corner. I did not get to have my beloved pepper soup today but, as I’ve begun to hawk and spit, from the thickening of my phlegm, it shouldn’t be too far away. A few more lemon teas should speed up the progress. Awaiting your tips on what hidden treasures lie hidden in my new toy. Have a great week everyone.

A Rare Touch of Nature Pt. 2

Good week everybody. And so we walked or should I say crept into the grove and took in the dense foliage that surrounded us. It kind of reminded me of the road to my late grandmother’s farm in the village with its sound of dripping leaves, chirping crickets and muddy floors in its dark enclave. We walked round the corner and suddenly came face to face with our prime location, the house.

It far exceeded what we envisioned. It was a lonely, ramshackle, and almost lopsided cemented hut that was truly in the middle of nowhere even though it was still close to the rest of the village. It had two windows and two doors that all hung open giving it a free rather than welcoming look. The tin roof had almost rusted through and scratches from small animals could be heard scurrying across it from where we stood. The hollowness of the sounds they made gave the indication of the absence of any insulating ceiling. It didn’t seem to matter though as the surrounding shrubs and trees ensured a permanent coolness in the area. Its isolation was almost as though its occupiers had been ostracised for some heinous crime they’d committed against their society. Two dwarf cows were tethered to a nearby tree in the bush and were surprisingly lovingly tended to by two veterinary doctors who gave one and then the other injections. A half naked woman stood behind them caressing the bigger cow’s hind quarters concernedly. It was my guess that the cow was female because the woman seemed to stroke it with an empathy only a female can bond with another.

She turned out to be the matron as she welcomed us to her home, asking us what we needed and when she could come back and have her home to herself. Her age was indeterminable because she looked wizened and her face bore the ravages of life’s hard toil. Her ribs showed through her stretched skin and her shrunken breasts showed that she had suckled many - I wondered how many. My mind went to my mum’s seven children feat and whose boobs still looked good even after we, especially the boys, had drunk our fill. Perhaps she’d lost many in infancy. A sixish year old child squatted on a stool on the raised veranda staring at us and I wasn’t sure if it was her son or grandson. I was brought back from my reverie by the costumier who brought my costume – a ‘filthy’ white t-shirt(which effect was achieved with mascara and women’s foundation make up), blue trousers and rubber bathroom slippers. Then the props man handed me the shovels and Sneeze asked me to go and dig my grave.

It had just begun raining and my character was supposed to be in a trance while being compelled to dig a grave in which he’d bury his wife(Chioma) and child by an evil sorceress (Uche). The grave had already been dug halfway leaving me to do the rest so I jumped in, confident the softening rain would make my work much easier – I was much mistaken. My tooth fillings were almost jarred loose from the shock that reverberated through my body. I looked at the spot the shovel struck, uncomfortably near my exposed toes – I shifted them back – hoping to see an exposed root the real diggers had omitted to remove, and saw only red earth. Squinting my eyes, I sneaked a look at the camera hoping it wouldn’t sense my discomfiture and proceeded to cheat by hacking at the much softer sides of the grave. All that mattered, as far as I was concerned, was to seen shovelling red earth from the hole and look authentic on camera. I had to shovel for another ten minutes, carry the corpse of my character’s son lay him in the grave, cut, wait till he climbed out again and, on the roll of the cameras begin shovelling the soil back into the grave to cover it. In revenge, when the director finally shouted “Cut”, I ran over to Sneeze to give him a big hug and it was fun watching him flee for his dear crisp clean clothes!

I still wince with a little when I raise my arms to do little chores but I still smile at the memory of being in that quaint rural village with its simple happy folks, leisurely goats, friendly cast and crew and physical hard work. Till next week then. Have a great week everybody

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!

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!