Another good ‘fortnight’ to all my good people. The dreaded night arrived; the night my mettle as a monarch with the royal dance steps would be tested, the night that would validate this talented artiste as a competent carnival scion or ridicule this ‘bloody’ actor who thinks just because he’s some celebrity he can jump out of nowhere to come and wrestle the crown from those in the know and in the system and have actually worked hard to get where they are. I could see it in their eyes as we made our way to our stand past some other stands. The blaze of colour across the length of the different stands was amazing. The vividness of colour went even beyond the spectrum – red, scarlet, fuscia, rusty brown, turquoise, lime green, lime yellow, colour that would shame the brightest plumed parrot or peacock. It was a pleasing rarity seeing people take absolute pride in their work even if it was going to be showcased for just a fleeting night.
I hid under the shade of the mermaid costume that my queen was to strap unto her back away from any possible person that might recognize me, biting my lips and almost my nails as I went through my routine on that damned vast stage and her theme music I would regally dance to while pushing the winged cart all over the place over and over again in my mind. Then it was our turn. I was already strapped in complete with my bow tie, robe, sceptre and orb. I wheeled myself out close to the ramp I was to push myself up only to face a huge barrage of flashing light bulbs. There was a solid wall in front of me, of dark figures from which the blazing eyes kept winking. I fought back. I just stood there staring at them with a stolid baleful look in my eyes, my face set as flint. I know how I looked because I refused to give them anything until I’d finished the dreadful business of the night. I wasn’t going to waste the precious reserve of energy I’d built up that evening only to burn myself out when the rubber hit the road. My band leader came up to me, a worried look in her eyes, and asked me if I was okay and I told her I was fine and wheeled myself up the ramp unto the stage to the booming voice of our narrator and my theme music feeling the weight of every one of my band members on my shoulders.
I got unto the stage and immediately began executing the ‘M’ formation I’d so diligently rehearsed without my props or costume in my head. I tried to dance in rhythm to the music and at the same time tried to manoeuvre my winged wheeled throne and quickly abandoned the dancing bit feeling very silly. Seeing the vast waves of faces looking up at me and the bright lights looking down at me from around the stadium, I made for the front end of the stage and quickly found myself looking over its edge at the dark abyss miles below me. Almost panicking at the thought of toppling over and having the ‘obong’ and all his regalia landing unceremoniously in a heap among his ‘subjects’, I made to turn back towards the centre of the rear stage to execute the second stroke of my
‘M’ formation only to find I couldn’t turn. I tried again and still couldn’t move! Subtly panicky and smile still frozen in place, I cast surreptitious glances at both ends of my wings to see if they’d been caught by the overhead cables but they were free. I then saw the wings fluttering and realised what had happened. The huge wings had caught the attention of a hearty breeze and the resultant drag prevented me from turning. After straining for a lengthy while of about half a second, or two, I obeyed my wings and turned back to my audience, my tight smile now straining against my ears and wondered how I was going to get out of the mess.
It was at that moment I remembered who I was; the obong! These were my subjects in front of me – the judges, the governors, everyone! This was my stage, I wasn’t answerable to anybody, I wasn’t bound by any stupid rules; I made them and tonight I was going to bend them to my will! Turning and facing the right side of the stadium, I lifted my hand and waved as sedately as I could, my smile softening into a benevolent one. A huge roar rose from that side of the wall. I tried to turn again and found myself rewarded with a gentle push from behind towards the place I’d previously aimed and found I only had to struggle mildly to turn around again to make for the left side of the stage. I waved again, this time with a million watts on my smile and got an even greater roar in response. I moved to the centre front stage and showed myself off in full splendour. It was rapturous. I turned, left the stage, went down the ramp into another waiting wall of flashing bulbs exploding in front of me and answered them in kind with my thirty two, sorry, thirty one pearly whites. My band leader came and hugged me tightly telling me how unbelievably regal I looked on stage and how she couldn’t believe it was the same person who had been fooling around on stage earlier in the afternoon.
Suffice it to say we won the coveted king award, among the numerous awards we carted away in the course of the competition – and it was fierce; a product of dedicated teamwork from everyone in our band of whom I was merely the icing. All that is nothing compared to what is happening on the other side of the world, Haiti. Let us spare a thought and many prayers, if that’s all we can offer, for our brothers and sisters across the lake. I haven’t been brave enough to even conceive what it would be like having almost everyone I love or know being wiped out in a matter of minutes. May God never let compassion and empathy die in our hearts. This post is dedicated to all Haitians, living and asleep, God be with you. Have a great week everyone.
PS: I am most likely to end my carnival experience here but if, and only if, you my dear ones want a post on the carnival proper then please do let me know. Otherwise you can let me know through your questions what you’d like me to write about so we can feel more connected with one another. One love!
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
The Carnival 'Too'
Good week everybody. I’m sure everyone’s begun the year with that typical sombre look that always heralds the aftermath of an indulgent festive season. Most patriarchs or matriarchs of families bear that look of, “I shouldn’t have eaten that much! How in “$@#’s name am I going to lose this fat?” Or, “You’ve done it again, Father Christmas! Gone and given all your money away to grabbing relatives that would sooner pour wet concrete than throw in a rope were you to be stuck in a hole! How are you going to pay the children’s school fees now? God, shoot me dead if I ever, ever go to that village again for Christmas!” Fortunately, for now, I have no such worries; I’m still single but heck, who knows, might have enjoyed my last Christmas of irresponsibility and by God I did, hopefully, go out with a bang! So, where was I?
I sneaked out of the hotel in disguise and jumped straight into the waiting arms of my friends who were waiting for me in the parking lot. I made sure I dived into the car before the three sisters knew what hit them and before we began smothering one another with hugs and kisses. The reason for sneaking out? Well my reason for being in Calabar was supposed to be kept secret and to hide my identity, I was to remain in the confines of the hotel until the carnival was over. Try entrusting a tuber of yam in a goat’s care! The congregation of even the mildest hedonists, sorry, revelers would not have forgiven me if I’d stayed cooped up in that glorious tomb during such a festive haven. We went to the cultural centre first, I think it was because one of the girls had a stand there, to have a drink or two. I, for some reason, stuck to water for the duration of my time there. I tried some ram suya but abandoned it almost immediately on account of the meat being too tough. Why people love to punish themselves I’ll never understand. They might as well season it with salt and pepper and eat it raw; that way you know you are suffering for suffering’s sake. But, being in the company of such a bevy of beauties more than made up for the lacklustre stimulation provided by the beverage and I really hammed it up as they jostled one another for my attention. Hehehe, king of the hill! We went to one other bar, where I stuck to my water before being dropped off at the hotel at about 1am. There was a sticky moment on our way to the hotel though. A friend of theirs, who offered to drop me off at the hotel before dropping them off at home, while at the steering wheel, suddenly turned back to me and asked how I was. I said I was fine hesitantly, observing he had a knowing look in his eyes. “Do you remember me?”, he asked, a smile playing on his mouth. “I, I’m not sure…” I hesitated. “We met at Annie’s baby’s dedication”. And then it clicked! “Ah, yes I remember! How you dey now?” And then I sank my foot in it. “How’s Christie? She didn’t come with you?” I could kick myself in the shin ten times. What if he had a girlfriend among the five ladies that were with us? What trouble had I brought upon him? “She’s in Lagos .“ was all he answered, and smoothly too. I slept very fitfully that night because Christie happens to be like my baby sister; always extorting money for phone cards from me and gives me a lovely hug and a smile whenever I go to see her in the bank. But, that is a matter for another day.
The next day dragged in at about ten in the morning. I had a lazy breakfast with the ubiquitous twins, Uti and Ajibade, the two rascals shown in the pictures with me in The Carnival 1, before going off to the stadium for the dress and tech rehearsals in preparation for the night’s kings’ and queens’ competition. Our band leader, the senator, came with us and made sure we were comfortable with the size of the stage. The stage. I had been stumped by that phenomenon once before in university and I was not going to let it happen to me again. This time I drank in the vastness of the intimidating arena and also made sure I was well accustomed to its every corner. As if that wasn’t enough our leader came up to me with the theme music for my appearance and told me I would have to dance to the rhythm with the grace fitting for an obong (king)! Me, Kalu, that am famed for dancing with two left legs, dance to the rhythm? Well, I tried to do as she asked and got laughed at to derision for my troubles. I looked at the senator and saw the genuine fear in her eyes. “Aunty”, I said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, I never go into anything and expect to lose. I will uphold my own end of the bargain. Don’t mind these faithless hooligans”. I know she didn’t believe me but hey, what else could I say?
The kings’ and queens’ competition that night? Well that will come, hopefully, at the same time next week. In the meantime, have a blessed week everybody!
I sneaked out of the hotel in disguise and jumped straight into the waiting arms of my friends who were waiting for me in the parking lot. I made sure I dived into the car before the three sisters knew what hit them and before we began smothering one another with hugs and kisses. The reason for sneaking out? Well my reason for being in Calabar was supposed to be kept secret and to hide my identity, I was to remain in the confines of the hotel until the carnival was over. Try entrusting a tuber of yam in a goat’s care! The congregation of even the mildest hedonists, sorry, revelers would not have forgiven me if I’d stayed cooped up in that glorious tomb during such a festive haven. We went to the cultural centre first, I think it was because one of the girls had a stand there, to have a drink or two. I, for some reason, stuck to water for the duration of my time there. I tried some ram suya but abandoned it almost immediately on account of the meat being too tough. Why people love to punish themselves I’ll never understand. They might as well season it with salt and pepper and eat it raw; that way you know you are suffering for suffering’s sake. But, being in the company of such a bevy of beauties more than made up for the lacklustre stimulation provided by the beverage and I really hammed it up as they jostled one another for my attention. Hehehe, king of the hill! We went to one other bar, where I stuck to my water before being dropped off at the hotel at about 1am. There was a sticky moment on our way to the hotel though. A friend of theirs, who offered to drop me off at the hotel before dropping them off at home, while at the steering wheel, suddenly turned back to me and asked how I was. I said I was fine hesitantly, observing he had a knowing look in his eyes. “Do you remember me?”, he asked, a smile playing on his mouth. “I, I’m not sure…” I hesitated. “We met at Annie’s baby’s dedication”. And then it clicked! “Ah, yes I remember! How you dey now?” And then I sank my foot in it. “How’s Christie? She didn’t come with you?” I could kick myself in the shin ten times. What if he had a girlfriend among the five ladies that were with us? What trouble had I brought upon him? “She’s in Lagos .“ was all he answered, and smoothly too. I slept very fitfully that night because Christie happens to be like my baby sister; always extorting money for phone cards from me and gives me a lovely hug and a smile whenever I go to see her in the bank. But, that is a matter for another day.
The next day dragged in at about ten in the morning. I had a lazy breakfast with the ubiquitous twins, Uti and Ajibade, the two rascals shown in the pictures with me in The Carnival 1, before going off to the stadium for the dress and tech rehearsals in preparation for the night’s kings’ and queens’ competition. Our band leader, the senator, came with us and made sure we were comfortable with the size of the stage. The stage. I had been stumped by that phenomenon once before in university and I was not going to let it happen to me again. This time I drank in the vastness of the intimidating arena and also made sure I was well accustomed to its every corner. As if that wasn’t enough our leader came up to me with the theme music for my appearance and told me I would have to dance to the rhythm with the grace fitting for an obong (king)! Me, Kalu, that am famed for dancing with two left legs, dance to the rhythm? Well, I tried to do as she asked and got laughed at to derision for my troubles. I looked at the senator and saw the genuine fear in her eyes. “Aunty”, I said, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Don’t be afraid, I never go into anything and expect to lose. I will uphold my own end of the bargain. Don’t mind these faithless hooligans”. I know she didn’t believe me but hey, what else could I say?
The kings’ and queens’ competition that night? Well that will come, hopefully, at the same time next week. In the meantime, have a blessed week everybody!
Thursday, January 7, 2010
The Carnival Won
Good celebration week everybody. I hope everyone’s week was just as colourful as mine – never mind that I haven’t slept for more than ten hours in the past five days. It has been a very interesting week for me; from experiencing things I haven’t experienced since my tramping days in secondary school – I walked for nine hours and still bore a grin all the way - to modelling clothes on the catwalk. I’m back in Lagos now and am fully rested. My main headache is trying to put my experience in Calabar on paper in the best narrative way.
I will not bore you with the details of my journey from Lagos to Calabar. The truth is, there really is little to write about it except to remind myself of the anger and irritation I felt at the flight delays that are synonymous with Christmas holidays in Lagos when people try to travel down south. The jostling, hurling of abuse - and getting sprayed in the face in the process - bribes and ... The hotel, when I finally did get to Calabar, was nice and comfy and I quickly settled in and reminded myself that there was still work to do. The sweaty nightmares I’d had in the weeks before of the heavy burden I’d be carrying on my shoulders and being forced to smile as I walked hundreds of kilometres to cheering crowds I wouldn’t dare drop dead from exhaustion in front of, were going to have their prophecy validated, or not, that night as I went to try out my costume. Oh, did I forget to mention that I was to be the king of the band I was representing, to be in direct competition with the kings of other bands in the carnival and this was to be taken oh so seriously? So seriously that I was squirreled into a secret room, sorry hall, in the basement of the hotel where there were about twenty different seamstresses hunched over their machines and spinning furiously away as though the devil himself bore down behind them with a curly hydra headed whip. There were heaps of coloured twisted nothings or should I say i-know-not-whats in the far corner of the hall as the senator, the leader of the band excitedly showed me my orb and sceptre I would be using on my throne. She also helped me decipher the different layers of the heap of leather, textile and wire by showing me what they were for; costume for the children’s band, the mermaid’s tail, drapes for the truck and so on. All this I looked at and listened to with just half an ear – all I wanted was to see what load I’d be hauling for the length of my time on the streets.
I met with Daniel, an amiable shirtless Trinidadian who had designed the throne I would be hauling about. Let me regress a little. The reason for my anxiety and trepidation was because I was told that I would be carrying my own throne that was designed in such a way that it would seem that I was sitting on it. The import of it meant that I would, while hauling that heavy contraption about for tens of miles, look like a true king, relaxed, smiling and waving at his subjects while concealing the strain and stress seething underneath the mask. I had enough reason to be worried – I take my work seriously when I am committed. If I had committed myself to being the king of the band, I was going to be a true king all the way – no short cuts or quick fixes! The first question I asked Daniel when we were introduced to one another was to be told how many kilograms I would be hauling about and he said to my utter relief, no more than ten. My heart grew even lighter when he told me that instead of carrying the weight, I would be pushing the throne while walking along. Crimson butterflylike wings spanning about twenty five feet from one end to the other were attached to both sides of the throne and I got into it and walked about in it, in the darkness of the hotel’s courtyard of course – too many spies about, testing the wind resistance of the wings.
It was a much happier and relieved man that went upstairs to have a shower, change and check out what the balmy Calabar night had to offer now that most the headache had gone away. A drink with friends, go clubbing or go seeking out local thatched out of town taverns to sample fresh palm wine and bush meat or fish were on the menu as I pulled my baseball cap over half my face as I sneaked out the hotel lobby thirty minutes later.
The rest of the story, are they not to be revealed in the weeks to come where I hope to exhaust the experiences and delights I had with different people in the wonderful city called Calabar. I also wish to, once again, apologise for the late entry of this post; I have been inundated with a backlog of work that has been waiting for me and I had to attend to them to free my brain to attend to you my good people. Welcome to a new decade and have a great week everyone!
**More pics to come! Just having problems uploading them to my laptop**
I will not bore you with the details of my journey from Lagos to Calabar. The truth is, there really is little to write about it except to remind myself of the anger and irritation I felt at the flight delays that are synonymous with Christmas holidays in Lagos when people try to travel down south. The jostling, hurling of abuse - and getting sprayed in the face in the process - bribes and ... The hotel, when I finally did get to Calabar, was nice and comfy and I quickly settled in and reminded myself that there was still work to do. The sweaty nightmares I’d had in the weeks before of the heavy burden I’d be carrying on my shoulders and being forced to smile as I walked hundreds of kilometres to cheering crowds I wouldn’t dare drop dead from exhaustion in front of, were going to have their prophecy validated, or not, that night as I went to try out my costume. Oh, did I forget to mention that I was to be the king of the band I was representing, to be in direct competition with the kings of other bands in the carnival and this was to be taken oh so seriously? So seriously that I was squirreled into a secret room, sorry hall, in the basement of the hotel where there were about twenty different seamstresses hunched over their machines and spinning furiously away as though the devil himself bore down behind them with a curly hydra headed whip. There were heaps of coloured twisted nothings or should I say i-know-not-whats in the far corner of the hall as the senator, the leader of the band excitedly showed me my orb and sceptre I would be using on my throne. She also helped me decipher the different layers of the heap of leather, textile and wire by showing me what they were for; costume for the children’s band, the mermaid’s tail, drapes for the truck and so on. All this I looked at and listened to with just half an ear – all I wanted was to see what load I’d be hauling for the length of my time on the streets.
It was a much happier and relieved man that went upstairs to have a shower, change and check out what the balmy Calabar night had to offer now that most the headache had gone away. A drink with friends, go clubbing or go seeking out local thatched out of town taverns to sample fresh palm wine and bush meat or fish were on the menu as I pulled my baseball cap over half my face as I sneaked out the hotel lobby thirty minutes later. The rest of the story, are they not to be revealed in the weeks to come where I hope to exhaust the experiences and delights I had with different people in the wonderful city called Calabar. I also wish to, once again, apologise for the late entry of this post; I have been inundated with a backlog of work that has been waiting for me and I had to attend to them to free my brain to attend to you my good people. Welcome to a new decade and have a great week everyone!
**More pics to come! Just having problems uploading them to my laptop**
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Asaba!
Hello and a good week to everyone and a not so good one to myself. Why? Because I just lost all the data I have been compiling about my trips to Asaba and Umuahia! Where am I going to start now, and at such short notice at that? I’m so angry with myself. I’m also wondering if it got lost when the computer decided to automatically update itself – I usually leave it on standby so I can continue where I left off. I just feel like smashing something especially this stupid laptop but alas, all my eggs are in this goose. So I’ll swallow and get on with it as best as I can.
First of all let me commend all who live in Asaba on their hardiness. That town is hot! Bleedin’ ‘eck! It is super hot! It is so hot you can even chew on the air itself. If there was ever a time I appreciated water, it was in that town I did so. To try any other drink in that town with a view to assuaging your thirst is a quest in futility. Let that girl who calls herself Frieda come and brag about her inferno of a town to me again and she’ll see what fiery wrath I have in store for her – yes she’s from Asaba! I still can’t talk, and that’s unusual for someone who talks as much as I do. Every step one took in that heat was equivalent to a mile trekked on a cool day. It was so hot one had to sit near an air conditioning system to keep one’s thoughts from evaporating. Scientists say if one goes without water for three days that one could die but in this town, that has the river Niger right beside it, twelve hours without water would certainly kill me – I don’t know of others. And then the work, I was shooting a movie, was so heavy because I had very limited time to work on the set making it very tasking, especially with the three thousand plus watt lights we were using to work. And they wonder why we actors are so touchy – they don’t have to stand the heat.
Respite came at night though; I made sure I sampled all the joints the lovely town – at night – had to offer. I first went to a point and kill joint called Y2K where they had one of the most humongous catfish I have seen in a long time. I picked out the biggest there and went to our seat as they carted the protesting sod away. When it arrived on a platter, all grilled and steaming in a bed of roast ripe plantain and garlands of red hot peppers, onions and lime an hour later, I remembered my main purpose for coming to Asaba. I don’t think my head ever rose from bending over that platter until I was done licking my fingers and my chops. In fact I don’t remember a word escaping the lips of any three of us that seated at that table except to call for more beer or tissue for our eyes and noses. That wasn’t all; I made time for isi-ewu (goat- head) and bush meat pepper soup and palm wine before I left. Now you see why I am so healthy?
Alas, I was to go back home the next day as I had to catch the morning flight to Owerri the next day. My plan was to charter one of the state taxis to take me to Benin where I could hop on a flight to Lagos. A friend of mine took me to the park to get one but to our disappointment they were all gone save the private taxis who swore to me they were a comparable choice of means of transport. Looking doubtfully at their cars, I asked one of the drivers if he had air conditioning in his car to which he swore blind that he did, and had just serviced it the day before. We haggled, agreed on a price for an air conditioned vehicle and set off on our journey. He then pleaded my indulgence so he could get some fuel at a nearby petrol station and then we would be on our merry way. I assented and when we filled our tank, we went on our merry way, with the windows still wound down.
Excusing his forgetfulness, I reminded him to put the A/C on, to which he apologised and turned a few knobs while winding the windows up he then inserted a CD in the stereo and the car was filled with gospel music extolling the graces of God and how he (the driver sang along with the singer) longed to follow His righteous path and statutes. It began to get considerably warm in the entombed car and I remarked as such. The driver suddenly bent over the vents, felt this way and that with an incredulous look on his face, exclaiming he’d never had an experience like this before in his fifteen years of driving commercially. He then proceeded to dig into the glove compartment, brought out his mobile phone and began to look through it. Before I could remind him that he was about to use a mobile phone on a highway, he had already begun to hurl abuses on ‘whoever’ was on the other end of the line about why the miscreant didn’t fill his a/c unit with gas and now his customer was sweating it out in the back of his car. He then turned to me and apologised profusely swearing this had never happened to him before. I put him at ease and told him it was okay, all I needed was for him to get me to the airport on time for my 1.30 flight. We did get there on time and on getting my luggage out, I paid him the agreed (a/c) sum. He looked at the money, then at me and asked if I wasn’t going to give him a little something for the pains he took to rush me to the airport on time! Nigeria, we hail thee! Have good week everyone. I’ve missed you all!
First of all let me commend all who live in Asaba on their hardiness. That town is hot! Bleedin’ ‘eck! It is super hot! It is so hot you can even chew on the air itself. If there was ever a time I appreciated water, it was in that town I did so. To try any other drink in that town with a view to assuaging your thirst is a quest in futility. Let that girl who calls herself Frieda come and brag about her inferno of a town to me again and she’ll see what fiery wrath I have in store for her – yes she’s from Asaba! I still can’t talk, and that’s unusual for someone who talks as much as I do. Every step one took in that heat was equivalent to a mile trekked on a cool day. It was so hot one had to sit near an air conditioning system to keep one’s thoughts from evaporating. Scientists say if one goes without water for three days that one could die but in this town, that has the river Niger right beside it, twelve hours without water would certainly kill me – I don’t know of others. And then the work, I was shooting a movie, was so heavy because I had very limited time to work on the set making it very tasking, especially with the three thousand plus watt lights we were using to work. And they wonder why we actors are so touchy – they don’t have to stand the heat.
Respite came at night though; I made sure I sampled all the joints the lovely town – at night – had to offer. I first went to a point and kill joint called Y2K where they had one of the most humongous catfish I have seen in a long time. I picked out the biggest there and went to our seat as they carted the protesting sod away. When it arrived on a platter, all grilled and steaming in a bed of roast ripe plantain and garlands of red hot peppers, onions and lime an hour later, I remembered my main purpose for coming to Asaba. I don’t think my head ever rose from bending over that platter until I was done licking my fingers and my chops. In fact I don’t remember a word escaping the lips of any three of us that seated at that table except to call for more beer or tissue for our eyes and noses. That wasn’t all; I made time for isi-ewu (goat- head) and bush meat pepper soup and palm wine before I left. Now you see why I am so healthy?
Alas, I was to go back home the next day as I had to catch the morning flight to Owerri the next day. My plan was to charter one of the state taxis to take me to Benin where I could hop on a flight to Lagos. A friend of mine took me to the park to get one but to our disappointment they were all gone save the private taxis who swore to me they were a comparable choice of means of transport. Looking doubtfully at their cars, I asked one of the drivers if he had air conditioning in his car to which he swore blind that he did, and had just serviced it the day before. We haggled, agreed on a price for an air conditioned vehicle and set off on our journey. He then pleaded my indulgence so he could get some fuel at a nearby petrol station and then we would be on our merry way. I assented and when we filled our tank, we went on our merry way, with the windows still wound down.
Excusing his forgetfulness, I reminded him to put the A/C on, to which he apologised and turned a few knobs while winding the windows up he then inserted a CD in the stereo and the car was filled with gospel music extolling the graces of God and how he (the driver sang along with the singer) longed to follow His righteous path and statutes. It began to get considerably warm in the entombed car and I remarked as such. The driver suddenly bent over the vents, felt this way and that with an incredulous look on his face, exclaiming he’d never had an experience like this before in his fifteen years of driving commercially. He then proceeded to dig into the glove compartment, brought out his mobile phone and began to look through it. Before I could remind him that he was about to use a mobile phone on a highway, he had already begun to hurl abuses on ‘whoever’ was on the other end of the line about why the miscreant didn’t fill his a/c unit with gas and now his customer was sweating it out in the back of his car. He then turned to me and apologised profusely swearing this had never happened to him before. I put him at ease and told him it was okay, all I needed was for him to get me to the airport on time for my 1.30 flight. We did get there on time and on getting my luggage out, I paid him the agreed (a/c) sum. He looked at the money, then at me and asked if I wasn’t going to give him a little something for the pains he took to rush me to the airport on time! Nigeria, we hail thee! Have good week everyone. I’ve missed you all!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
A Plea
Good week everybody! I don’t know why I feel very optimistic about life as I sit here in spite of the challenges that surround me today. I hear and listen with pleasure to the muezzin with the typically eastern lilt to his voice calling the faithful to prayer. This is actually my favourte part of the early morning when I’m in any part or predominantly Moslem city especially when I’m securely ensconced in sleep, a bit like the early morning downpour when you’re snug in bed. The only snag here is that the taxi will be coming to pick up any time from now to take me to Asaba for work. I’m bleary eyed from having no sleep at all and Frieda worried sick that I’ll be hurled into a ravine on the way, all thanks to our roads that have more craters than the moon itself. Bless ‘er! It’s my fault actually; packing at the last minute and trying to rush through my script brought me to this despicable point.
Long and short of it all is that this little whining missive is all I can cough up today my good people and next week’s post might be a little late but I will let you know what happened in Asaba especially the grilled fish on a platter with roast plantain and tomatoes, lime and onions I’ll be feasting on at least twice whilst I’m there. Okay, I need to rush off and shave – can’t believe I almost forgot to do that. Oh yes, and my traveling iron too – the prices they charge in hotels just iron a shirt!. Don’t mind me, I’m writing all this stuff down so I don’t forget to pack them as well. Okay guys gotta run. Hate traveling by road so wish me a safe trip guys. Have a wonderful week ahead everybody and love you guys! Bye!
Long and short of it all is that this little whining missive is all I can cough up today my good people and next week’s post might be a little late but I will let you know what happened in Asaba especially the grilled fish on a platter with roast plantain and tomatoes, lime and onions I’ll be feasting on at least twice whilst I’m there. Okay, I need to rush off and shave – can’t believe I almost forgot to do that. Oh yes, and my traveling iron too – the prices they charge in hotels just iron a shirt!. Don’t mind me, I’m writing all this stuff down so I don’t forget to pack them as well. Okay guys gotta run. Hate traveling by road so wish me a safe trip guys. Have a wonderful week ahead everybody and love you guys! Bye!
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
My Court of Appeal
Good week everyone! Thank you for all your responses. Interestingly enough, Frieda and I had a little spar over that post as well, arguing about the veracity of the events I related. Don’t worry, it was good natured; in the mutual knowledge that I had stretched my facts a little in revenge for the upper hand she always has in our ‘debates’. It was a good laugh though, especially in the irony that most people were on her side even when I tried to turn it to suit me. Thanks!
This week I’m going to annoy her even further but I will need your feedback and support so she can see reason in what I’m trying to propose. We’ve had an argument on this issue before and she at the time refused to see the big picture that would be to the benefit of us both – the benefit of living life to the full! I want to buy a motorbike! No, it is not the suicidal speedos that go so fast that the wind gives you a grotesque grin by stretching your lips right back to your ears and make your cheeks flap like a flag on a happy day. A safety record on those fiends is to retain all your limbs and spine – not necessarily all your skin - after at least ten crashes, and that’s in a year. I’m talking about the big massive touring bikes that you actually have the time to slot in a CD or ipod, cruise along the highway and drink in the scenery around you. With these beauties, there’s no need for those hideous cocoon like helmets that make one look like an alien but has one shaped rather like a cap that’s strapped just under the chin. I first saw it on George Clooney and fell in love. Plus one can pose much as he wants to, as bikes give one the cool aura that cannot be replicated anywhere else.
I had gone to pick up my invitation card at the studio for the wrap up Tinsel party when Alex, one of the directors on set ran up to me to gleefully drag me to see his new toy. He had bought a Suzuki bike earlier on – it had an automatic transmission- and it was an absolute steal. It was so pretty and at the same time very frugal. I had salivated on the time I’d cut in half in Lagos traffic with it and proposed buying it to Frieda. Hm, na wa O! I don’t know why women always love to end a matter before understanding the beginning at least. She began by panicking and mourning my death which she could clearly see and attacked me for threatening to cut short the plans we have together. Did I know how many people died from motorbike accidents? I, being naturally cool headed and logical, told her that I would not get on any bike unless I was fully trained to do so, until I’d learnt to ride in a manner that wouldn’t harm me or people around me. Besides I wasn’t like all those okada riders (commercial motorcyclists) who leave their brains at home and have a chronic aversion to patience and stopping for anybody except to pick up passengers. I was a responsible young man who has a desire to build and fend for his family and so wants to live long and healthily. She won that round and the matter was rested.
Alex’s new bike was a roaring beauty – 750cc of gleaming chrome and studded plastic seats, complete with an orgasmic throb from under the seats. I could imagine carrying my lady on the pillion – if she go gree! The best part of it, he told me was that he belonged to a club of bikers that had two groups – the speeders and the tourers. He belongs in the tourers’ They always train members in the club and safety is their watchword. They even have a fifty six year old lady who has just joined and is taking lessons in riding! The best part? They periodically go en masse on tours around the country; from Lagos to Maiduguri in the northern part of the country or to Bayesla in the south or even take an eight day tour to circumvent the country. Could you imagine the possibilities that could come from such an experience? The brotherhood, the invaluable insights one could garner from experiencing new cultures and meeting diverse tribes never known before? Imagine the countless stories and experiences I’d share with you my good people about people, animals, sights, smells and sounds and foods? Speak for me my brethren. I have come to you first so you can convince Frieda to let me join this club. Let this slogan reverberate in your psyche – Safety is their Watchword – and consider that I have chosen wisely and am not a madman waving brands of fire about. I’m going to face madam with my second proposal but first I’ll pray, post this article, wait till evening or tomorrow morning before I tell her. Hopefully, I’ll be able to refer her to your favourable comments for leverage. So go on, Speak hands for me! Have a great week ahead everybody and a happy Sallah weekend to my Muslim brethren – actually me too because I’m going to start looking for whose house I’ll be eating ram at this weekend!
This week I’m going to annoy her even further but I will need your feedback and support so she can see reason in what I’m trying to propose. We’ve had an argument on this issue before and she at the time refused to see the big picture that would be to the benefit of us both – the benefit of living life to the full! I want to buy a motorbike! No, it is not the suicidal speedos that go so fast that the wind gives you a grotesque grin by stretching your lips right back to your ears and make your cheeks flap like a flag on a happy day. A safety record on those fiends is to retain all your limbs and spine – not necessarily all your skin - after at least ten crashes, and that’s in a year. I’m talking about the big massive touring bikes that you actually have the time to slot in a CD or ipod, cruise along the highway and drink in the scenery around you. With these beauties, there’s no need for those hideous cocoon like helmets that make one look like an alien but has one shaped rather like a cap that’s strapped just under the chin. I first saw it on George Clooney and fell in love. Plus one can pose much as he wants to, as bikes give one the cool aura that cannot be replicated anywhere else.
I had gone to pick up my invitation card at the studio for the wrap up Tinsel party when Alex, one of the directors on set ran up to me to gleefully drag me to see his new toy. He had bought a Suzuki bike earlier on – it had an automatic transmission- and it was an absolute steal. It was so pretty and at the same time very frugal. I had salivated on the time I’d cut in half in Lagos traffic with it and proposed buying it to Frieda. Hm, na wa O! I don’t know why women always love to end a matter before understanding the beginning at least. She began by panicking and mourning my death which she could clearly see and attacked me for threatening to cut short the plans we have together. Did I know how many people died from motorbike accidents? I, being naturally cool headed and logical, told her that I would not get on any bike unless I was fully trained to do so, until I’d learnt to ride in a manner that wouldn’t harm me or people around me. Besides I wasn’t like all those okada riders (commercial motorcyclists) who leave their brains at home and have a chronic aversion to patience and stopping for anybody except to pick up passengers. I was a responsible young man who has a desire to build and fend for his family and so wants to live long and healthily. She won that round and the matter was rested.
Alex’s new bike was a roaring beauty – 750cc of gleaming chrome and studded plastic seats, complete with an orgasmic throb from under the seats. I could imagine carrying my lady on the pillion – if she go gree! The best part of it, he told me was that he belonged to a club of bikers that had two groups – the speeders and the tourers. He belongs in the tourers’ They always train members in the club and safety is their watchword. They even have a fifty six year old lady who has just joined and is taking lessons in riding! The best part? They periodically go en masse on tours around the country; from Lagos to Maiduguri in the northern part of the country or to Bayesla in the south or even take an eight day tour to circumvent the country. Could you imagine the possibilities that could come from such an experience? The brotherhood, the invaluable insights one could garner from experiencing new cultures and meeting diverse tribes never known before? Imagine the countless stories and experiences I’d share with you my good people about people, animals, sights, smells and sounds and foods? Speak for me my brethren. I have come to you first so you can convince Frieda to let me join this club. Let this slogan reverberate in your psyche – Safety is their Watchword – and consider that I have chosen wisely and am not a madman waving brands of fire about. I’m going to face madam with my second proposal but first I’ll pray, post this article, wait till evening or tomorrow morning before I tell her. Hopefully, I’ll be able to refer her to your favourable comments for leverage. So go on, Speak hands for me! Have a great week ahead everybody and a happy Sallah weekend to my Muslim brethren – actually me too because I’m going to start looking for whose house I’ll be eating ram at this weekend!
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