The Golden Penny

A penny for your thoughts! I’ve often wondered about the meaning of the ancient idiom; if my thoughts are really that cheap. Would I really sell them for that amount to disclose to my mum that I played hanky panky with our neighbour’s daughter as a teenager, or own up to my elder sister to being responsible for the rapid depletion of her Mills and Boon collection just to impress the object of my affection at the time? Never mind the more serious thought of coup plots, impending adulterous affairs and births of million dollar enterprises. Then again, lurking behind every idiom and proverb is some sliver of truth, and this I have sought to make sense of in this post. After many agonising days of soul searching, I finally found the clue to breaking the code to ascertaining the true value of the basest/cheapest thought hiding in plain sight; the penny’s age.

Good week everyone! One of the channels I love to watch the most on our local cable network is the Crime channel. The material there is so fascinating; the different motives people have for killing their loved ones, colleagues, strangers, range from lust for money to mercy killing and fits of rage or jealousy. Of particular relevance to this post is a documentary I watched about the British great train robbery which took place in the sixties. I’m not quite sure of how much was stolen by the robbers but I think it was in the region of three million pounds sterling. What I did find out in the course of the documentary was that after the robbers shared their loot equally, each one ended up with the sum of approximately two hundred and fifty thousand pounds each; an equivalence of three million pounds of this day’s currency. This means that the value of the pound sterling is approximately twelve times what it is today. You’re probably wondering where I’m going with this but please just bear with me for just a moment. My father bought a house in Liverpool in the sixties for about fifteen hundred pounds. Today houses in that borough go for prices that range from a hundred thousand to a hundred and fifty thousand pounds sterling. So, for the sake of greed, even though the house is his no more, I would say that the value of the pound as regards the real estate market has to date increased a hundred fold. My extensive research has shown that the origin of the topical idiom lies somewhere in the sixteenth century.

This is where arithmetic and interest come in. Since a penny is a hundredth of a pound, it is safe to say that a penny in the sixties would be worth a pound sterling in Liverpool and twelve pence in the general areas of England. Shoot me if you want to but I will say my piece ‘cause this is my spot. If then, in the past fifty years, the value of the penny has increased by between 1200% and approximately 10000%,by how much value has the penny increased in the past five hundred years, given the idiom’s inception in the sixteenth century? It is at this point that my mathematical prowess begins to falter so I’ll hazard a rough estimate and add two zeroes to come up with a value ranging between a hundred and twenty pence and a thousand pence. In other words, the value of the basest human thought ranges between one pound twenty pence and ten pounds sterling in today's currency! Quite elementary my dear Watson!

In conclusion, I hereby call for an advocacy for the amendment to the idiom “a penny for your thoughts” to “to what currency value are you amenable to exchanging your thoughts”. This, I feel, will sustain this venerable idiom for millennia to come, on account of its ability to seamlessly pass through currency borders, and its ability to blend with whatever inflation rates that may exist in our increasingly global world. Just a thought, and I’m giving it away for free! Have a great weekend everyone!

May the 18th

A great week to everybody! It’s my birthday today and I’m on a high – and I haven’t even had any coffee or coke (cola!) yet. Ah, if I try that one, I’d probably splatter my brains on the ceiling from jumping up and down! Right now I’m, as I write this, listening to the classic seventies of James Brown, Aretha and it’s not helping me any ‘cause I can’t sit still. Something tells me I’m not in the right mood; I should be reflective, brooding over all the things I am yet to accomplish but should have. Frieda says I am in unusually high spirits today, claims my last two birthdays were very hard on her because I was very testy and moody and that I almost bit her head off at every turn. What could be more absurd? Me, gripe and moan and whinge?! Then how come I can’t remember anything and only she can. Abeg, go and sit down, finder of storms where there aren’t any! Goes to show I have a godly and childlike mind and don’t bear grudges or remember past sins and such like. On a serious note though, I’ve been wondering about the road that lies ahead of me in the next fifty years, or if my Good Father decides to cut my journey short for a one on one rendezvous, what will be in store for me. More and more frequently, a dream I had many, many many years ago, at age seventeen, keeps coming back to me.

For some months before the dream, I had been contemplating my life in general; whether I wanted to live a ‘boring’ structured and orderly long life, or whether I wanted to live a fast, free, dangerous adrenaline fuelled life and die young at say, thirty five. The latter seemed a lot more attractive because the thought of growing old and decrepit after years of toiling didn’t seem the most attractive way to take a bow off the stage. All I’d have to do was live life on the edge, and crash and die romantically like James Dean did on the fast lane. That fateful night I spoke of, I slept and had the first of many unusual dreams.

I’m not sure what it was I was doing in my dream but knowing what I usually like to do in my dreams, I was probably playing some romantic hero, trying to save some damsel in distress, maybe to make up for what I don’t usually do in real life. What I do remember, however, is that I was suddenly caught up in a whoosh and I found myself hovering somewhere in space with an endless star studded velvety blanket all around me. I wasn’t however really interested in the stupefying splendour all around me as I was instinctively aware of another presence about me. It didn’t inspire me with fear; it was a presence I recognised instantly and it also seemed to cocoon me from the extreme sphere of nothingness, cold and weightlessness that surrounded me. I somehow felt as safe as a baby in his mother’s womb and yet it felt like I was waiting for something to happen. It did, in a voice.

It wasn’t a deep rumble, or a harsh crack of a whip. It was gentle, like my inner thoughts that are always whispering, except that, unlike my thoughts, this one was soothing and made a lot of sense. It said, “I’ve brought you out here for a reason. Look out there in front of you. What do you see?” I looked, and a really beautiful round orb the size of a large marble, the blue glow around it shimmering bluer than all the fires the brightest sapphire could ever muster. “That’s the earth.” I ventured. “Good. Now look all around you and tell me what you see?” I looked around me. “The universe?” “You are correct. It said. “Now look further, look to see if you can find where the universe ends.” I looked and looked but there seemed to be no end to the dark mass. “It doesn’t seem to end.” I said, waiting for what was to come next. “You are correct again. Now look at the earth again and compare its size with the size of the universe all around you.” “The earth’s size is overwhelmingly insignificant in comparison to the universe’s size”. “Gooood. You see that earth that is so small and can be squashed at any time? That is your life as it is now. The universe that never ever ends is your life that you will live when you leave the shell you are living in now.

The little earth you see in front of you is the most important gift I have given you because it is what you do on that earth that will determine the kind of life you will live in this universe that never ends. The earth is your school of study, where you will study. If you pass the examination afterwards you will go down one path, but if you fail, you will go down another. Whatever the case may be, you will never die; you are of Me, a spirit, you can never die so be very careful with the choices you make on earth. For your gift I have given you time, so you can use the period to accomplish all you need to do to invest in your future afterwards. The little suffering in that little earth is a microcosm of the eternal suffering that lies afterwards while the little pleasures in the same earth is also a microcosm of the eternal pleasures that lie beyond it. Note however that the experiences that lie in the different eternal paths are undiluted and pure; they will neither mix nor intersperse with one another. I enjoin you to use my gifts well; if you pass, you will spend the rest of your endless life in bliss but if you fail, you will spend the rest of your endless life in anguish. if you know how to pound, you’ll pound the food in the mortar. If you don’t know how to pound, you'll smash your knees with the pestle.” And then I woke up.

I don’t know what may happen tomorrow, and I do feel somewhat bashful about sharing this with everyone as I don’t like coming across as a ‘sipiri spiri’ (bible basher) person. Then again one main reason I opened up this blog was to share my thoughts and experiences to those who care to read them. Feel free to make of it what you will. Phew! Now that’s outta di way, I can go back to answering all those delicious hearfelt messages on my blackberry and fb! Oh, and someone promised me a very good dinner of semovita and stockfish and snail infested bitterleaf soup! “Be still my rumbling belly!” Have a great week everyone!

The Dark Side

A good week to everyone and I hope your Easter was not as uneventful as mine was. Mine was spent in the trenches on set playing a debauched reverend father, an absolute disgrace to the cloth. I don’t know why but I seem to be playing mostly bad guy roles in movies these days but what I do know is that I revel in it. Playing the bad guy is always exciting. It gives me the opportunity to delve into the minds of these social deviants, knowing full well I could easily have been one of them. I think the other bit about it that fascinates me is feeding the curiosity to know what living life without boundaries is like, to be governed by one’s own rules to the absolute exclusion of the Deity’s. I think it kind of gives me a look into what I would have been like on the other side, if I may be so bold as claim to be on the right side.

I wonder if mothers will still hold out their babies for me to kiss when my dark side starts coming to light. You may laugh it off and think I’m being trivial but I assure you I am talking about a very real factor here. Movies, I believe, and the actors, and the audience have the threads of belief and perception running through them. The difference is that while some people leave the reality of the story they’ve just watched behind on the conclusion of the movie, others refuse to let them go and sometimes lose sight of where their boundaries lie. In short, this group of people could range from attacking ‘bad guy’ actors on the street to being obsessive stalkers. Hmm, let’s see how it goes.

Sadly I couldn’t get to vote today; I overslept from yesterday’s near overnight ‘s shoot. I’m just hoping my favourite man for the guv’s job, Fashola, wins again. Thanks to him the plague called traffic in Lagos has been brought down a notch or two. Now I’m packing my stuff to go away for the rest of the week. Hopefully I’ll have something eventful to write about it when I get back. till then, do have a great week everyone!

Just voted! Yaaaay!

Phew! Just got back from the first segment of the voting process, accreditation. It was blissfully simple, quite unlike the shoving and unruly mayhem I envisaged. Everyone was orderly and the unruly thugs I half expected to turn up and disrupt things were nowhere to be found. Oh, and even better news. On my way back, I met one of the estate officials and asked her what was to become of the rubbish heap that was dredged up from the drainage ways and their disposal. To my delight she informed there were already plans for a tipper truck to come on Monday to cart them away. Humble pie has never tasted so good. My apologies to my wonderful estate and her officials; we have shown ourselves to be a breed apart from the norm!
I finally got to vote in the second segment of the voting process at about a quarter past one pm after spending just forty five minutes in the queue. I feel so chuffed (pleased with myself) being the first time I’ve ever voted in my life – don laff! The last time I tried to do so was when I was nineteen and was turned away on the basis that I looked underage (fifteen) despite my spirited protests. The fact that I didn’t have any id on me didn’t do much to help my case.
Anyway whichever way the votes swing, I will eternally be satisfied that I actually took an active role in making a statement regarding how I want my future in this country as its citizen even if it’s just in a little small way. I’m also proud of the way the elections were conducted on the grounds – free of harassment and peaceful, even heavily pregnant women were relaxed at the venue. Much kudos to the Nigerian government for a job well done – so far. Let’s wait and see. Have a great Sunday everyone!

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!

LWKMD!

I just found out the meaning of the ‘word’ lwkmd two days ago! I’m so excited! You people will not understand. I have seen that voweless abbreviation everywhere on social network boards and have spent countless seconds trying to figure out the meaning of the cryptic message known only to the initiated. I have tried everything from “laughter won’t kill my(I couldn’t figure out the ‘d’) to “love weekend, knowsay me down”, I never for once suspected it the code would be in Pidgin English – “Laff wan kill me die”! Non Pidgin speakers should be able to figure out the meaning. If you still want the translation in English, try “I have heard that laughter is the best medicine but this?!” I don’t care what anyone says, I have just added another feather to my cap. One never knows when it may come in handy. I could be stranded on some desert island and have just a chance to send an SOS, then I’d replace the code with HWKMD to buttress the severity of the situation, hoping that someone who’s read this post is at the command console. I’m sure you lot can figure the ‘H’ bit out. Hello everybody! Forgive me for hardly but I have to get on before I lose what’s in my head to write. Nigerians will not kill me, not in this life nor the next to come! Listen.
Recently, in a drive to create a safer and cleaner environment in our estate, we, the inhabitants decided to put up money and erect security gates at both ends of the estate, hire night security guards to patrol the estate at night, mount street lamps and finally, clear the drain ways, otherwise known as ‘gutter’ in Naija. All projects have been completed except the last which is somewhat in progress as I write. The drain ways have been dredged and driving down my little estate, heaps of blackened earth can be observed lying along the sides of the gutters in long rows broken only by concrete slabs on which vehicles are driven by their owners into their compounds. The work had gone on for two days and they finished on Tuesday the day before yesterday. On noticing that no move was being made to cart the rubbish away, my neighbour asked some of the labourers when they were going to dispose of the mess to which they replied that they were only contracted to dredge and not dispose and walked off. Some things are simply beyond my comprehension. It is like cleaning a house of all its rubbish, pile the rubbish in a corner and watch while it is being kicked about the house to spread the filth all over again. We, my neighbours and I then paid them to clear the heap in front of our building in the hope that the adjoining houses would take our cue and do the same.
I came back this afternoon to find the men diligently shovelling wet earth into waiting wheelbarrows. I smiled to myself, said a hearty hello to them and made to buy some biscuits in a nearby shop. One of the men hoisted one of the barrows up, his face tense as his bare shoulder and arm muscles strained with the effort. He finally got the single wheel rolling and my eyes followed him to wondering how far he would be able to push the heavy vehicle before stopping to rest. Pushing that load out of the estate was not going to be an easy feat. I didn’t have long to wait; he staggered all the way to the building next to mine, complete with its dull black wet heap in front, and dumped his load right in its mass! Una no go kill me! Nuff said. See you tomorrow. Nkem, two days to go!

Binniversary

Hello guys! A great week or weekend to everyone! Would you believe it?!! It is two years last week that my blog started! I don’t know what to say. What I can say though is that I find it hard to believe that I have actually had a thing or two to write about in that space of time. What this means is that I may actually have something to write about or I may at the end of the day be a closet chatterbox. Seriously, if I had known that I would have had to come up with something almost every week of the year, I’d have chickened out of the project. This is where I offer my very hearty thanks to my beloved manager Nkem who trusted her instincts from the very first email I sent her. Even now I’m in her black books for not striking the hot iron to herald my binniversary(?) – I knew the computer would have a problem with this word – it already has that ugly red error line underneath it. Fine, my blog’s second anniversary.

The events in the past week have reminded me of a proverb my late dad told me once. I’ll write it in Igbo first. O bu mgba mgba, ka o bu okpo okpo? O bu ya ka nwanyi ji ukwu dimkpa gbaa n’ala! Don’t you just love my language? Okay, it translates thus: should I wrestle her or should I punch her? That’s how the woman hurled the great man to the ground! I can almost see the dazed expression on your faces, especially Nkem’s. I’ll explain.

A renowned wrestler in a community once had a sore disagreement in the marketplace with a woman who was so furious with him she challenged him to a fight. Incredulous, he stared at her and scornfully accepted the challenge. As she circled him in the centre of the spectators that were quickly gathering around them, he stood arrogantly declaiming his dilemma to everyone. How was he to deal with this upstart? He had broken the backs of renowned wrestlers from other villagers and here was this mere woman come to challenge him. How was he to deal with this situation? What tactic was he to use? If he boxed her, she’d probably expire from just a blow to the head! If wrestling, he could turn her into a paraplegic just by hurling her to the ground. As he stood there pondering aloud his dilemma to everyone with an ear, the woman rushed at him , grabbed him by the ankles, pulled with all her might and sent him crashing to the ground! In the Igbo culture, if during a fight one’s back is thrown to the ground, that one is vanquished regardless of how badly beaten the opponent may be. Suffice it to say the woman carried the day. A lesson in indecision.

You guys should by now know I love my culture dearly; it’s also one of the reasons I still mourn my dad’s passing till today; I missed out on a lot of things I could have learnt from him before he left – stuff I would have shoved down your throats and everyone else’s who’d give me a listening ear. Frieda calls me a dinosaur because I use proverbs that 'make' no sense whatsoever when I use them to summarise a point I’m making. You see, proverbs are the spice with which we season words. Like stew to white or even jollof rice, or gravy to mashed potatoes and steak, or afang soup to pounded yam are proverbs to speech.

All this rigmarole is just to tell you that I had so much to write about in the past weeks I couldn’t make my mind up on what to write about as it’s always rewarding to get feedback from you guys.- yes, we crave love too. O bu mgba mgba ka o bu okpo, is what has put me in trouble with Nkem for not hammering out the maiden post of my blog’s second anniversary last week. I will be decisive and choose okpo for my next post. For my punishment I’ve been compelled, against my better judgement, to put out a post everyday for the next four days. I am being pushed to the edge, of the stream, here. Let’s see who will drink that murky water! Have a great week everyone!