My father and I were on our way to visit an aunt when we got into one of those quintessential Lagos face-offs at a 4-way stop. No one wants to let anyone else go and the people who decide they want to be mature and take the high road regretted it instantly as allowing any space means that some other genius can poke his car’s nose (or wheeled contraption) into it. After about 45 minutes of swearing for people and their ancestors we wiggled out of the situation with my father still fuming uncontrollably. As I tried to calm him down he utters that inevitable sentence “that’s how Nigerians behave!”
I hate that statement, being a blind patriot and nationalist aside, I hate that people use it as though they are not part of the qualifier that they have just grouped the people in. Tell someone about how you almost got robbed “That’s how Nigeria is” or about how you got into an argument at the bank because you were frustrated and just wanted to go home- “is it not Nigeria?” It doesn’t matter the offence; no one wants to hear both sides of the story. The conclusion is standard- you were right and everything that went wrong was Nigeria’s fault hence “that’s how Nigerians behave.”
So I thought about letting the statement go, my father is stuck in his ways but then I re-think because hey! This man is going to impart wisdom on my children and I don’t want him telling my children that Nigerians behave any certain way. So I go on a rant of how this statement alone creates an inferiority complex in our people and why the people that use it remove themselves from the problem so they don’t feel a responsibility to fix it. As I found my stride in my argument about to reach a denouement that could only be perfected by the national anthem I heard my father snore quietly in the front seat. I tap him in disbelief “Daddy, are you sleeping?! He smiled and said “Sorry sweetie, what did you say?!”
“Don’t worry- that’s how Nigerians behave...”
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
The seige
My house has been under seige. Our movements have been monitored and we have had to keep a watchful eye in order not to piss off our captor. You see, there is a mouse in the house. That's right...a mouse and it has been there for about four days or at least that's as long as i've known it was there. I've nicknamed him the captain as he cannot be taken down; Poisoned bread apparently doesn't work, sticky paper seems to be be his friend and humans are just entities that he has to deal with on a daily basis. He has eaten parts of my saltine crackers, a snickers bar, I think some plantain chips and a bit of my shoelace.He actually resides in the kitchen between the cooker and rack where we keep the plantains but he vacations in my closet within the shoes from time to time.
Four days ago at about 2am, I was watching television and I heard it...that all too familiar rustle from a corner in my room. I stood on my bed and scanned the room and there he was, all of the size of a big pencil eraser (you know the one that was half white and half black but the black part never worked). He didn't scurry or run, he walked, actually, he meandered across the floor towards the wall that was close to my bed. That was all I needed to see to flee into my father's room in a distressed state. He promptly told me to "Go deal with it" so I woke up the housekeeper instead.
Our housekeeper is about 40 years old and is used to these distressed calls from me. After he cleared the sleep from his eyes he walked somberly behind me probably remembering the happy times in his life before I came to be in it. After baricading himself in my room and making a series of loud "mouse-catching" sounds he emerges and says he has baricaded the mouse in my closet (where I keep my lotion and deodorant) and so I should probably not open it until the morning when he will be in a better position to catch it. Though distraught, I am comforted by the fact that it is at least quarantined and I go to bed and have dreams of mice running through my hair.
I spent most of the next day ashy, musty and outside of the house ( which apparently translated to our housekeeper to leave the animal in my closet). I get home at about midnight to find that I still cannot open my closet. Soon, its 2am and i'm on the phone with a friend and I see the captain through the corner of my eye. He squeezes himself out of the closet, scurries accross the floor and squeezes himself under the door into the hallway. After the shock has worn off I tell my friend that i will call her back I contemplate screaming for my father but decide against it as he will probably feel a serious urge to throw something at me (It's ramaddan so I wouldn't want to test him).
The next morning, as i was getting dressed for work i decided to get something from the kitchen and who else is there but the captain- having a morning stroll around the plantain rack probably on his way to get his morning newspaper. He sees me and makes a cartoon like dash behind the cooker. That was the last I saw of the captain. I hear tell that three days later he was found dead with no possible traces or cause of death; most just said natural causes.
Sometimes I sit in my room with the window open and when a breeze blows through and I hear a little rustle I always sit back and sigh and wonder if Tom from Tom and Jerry was really the bad guy after all.
Four days ago at about 2am, I was watching television and I heard it...that all too familiar rustle from a corner in my room. I stood on my bed and scanned the room and there he was, all of the size of a big pencil eraser (you know the one that was half white and half black but the black part never worked). He didn't scurry or run, he walked, actually, he meandered across the floor towards the wall that was close to my bed. That was all I needed to see to flee into my father's room in a distressed state. He promptly told me to "Go deal with it" so I woke up the housekeeper instead.
Our housekeeper is about 40 years old and is used to these distressed calls from me. After he cleared the sleep from his eyes he walked somberly behind me probably remembering the happy times in his life before I came to be in it. After baricading himself in my room and making a series of loud "mouse-catching" sounds he emerges and says he has baricaded the mouse in my closet (where I keep my lotion and deodorant) and so I should probably not open it until the morning when he will be in a better position to catch it. Though distraught, I am comforted by the fact that it is at least quarantined and I go to bed and have dreams of mice running through my hair.
I spent most of the next day ashy, musty and outside of the house ( which apparently translated to our housekeeper to leave the animal in my closet). I get home at about midnight to find that I still cannot open my closet. Soon, its 2am and i'm on the phone with a friend and I see the captain through the corner of my eye. He squeezes himself out of the closet, scurries accross the floor and squeezes himself under the door into the hallway. After the shock has worn off I tell my friend that i will call her back I contemplate screaming for my father but decide against it as he will probably feel a serious urge to throw something at me (It's ramaddan so I wouldn't want to test him).
The next morning, as i was getting dressed for work i decided to get something from the kitchen and who else is there but the captain- having a morning stroll around the plantain rack probably on his way to get his morning newspaper. He sees me and makes a cartoon like dash behind the cooker. That was the last I saw of the captain. I hear tell that three days later he was found dead with no possible traces or cause of death; most just said natural causes.
Sometimes I sit in my room with the window open and when a breeze blows through and I hear a little rustle I always sit back and sigh and wonder if Tom from Tom and Jerry was really the bad guy after all.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Where is your handset?
I have an aunt that I visit so often that I have her gateman’s phone number. So a few nights ago, I decided to pay her a quick visit. The generator was on so there was no point knocking on the gate, I could have been screaming bloody murder and no one would have heard me. Naturally, I called the gateman but the phone told me, very politely, that his phone was switched off. I called a few more times, for good measure, and then decided to leave. Just as the car was turning around, I see the gateman running down the street waving his arms frantically for me to stop. He gets to the car and apologises profusely, “I called you now, your phone is off” He smiles and says “my battery don die, you for call me on my GLO, but sometimes network no dey”
I like the fact that everyone in Lagos has a cell phone actually scratch that I LOVE the fact that everyone in Lagos has a cell phone. You can get in touch with anybody, anywhere without even leaving your house. This is a particularly calming thought for me because I remember people who would make pilgrimages from places like Ikorodu, dress their children in matching ankara and come to visit my parents at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning just to be sure that we were at home when they got there.
The savvy Lagosian patron has a plethora of choices for phones but it seems that all stakeholders at the Nokia corporation have each put at least two children through university with their revenue from Lagosians alone. As with everything else in Lagos there are rules and I believe I have mastered the top ten:
1. In order to solidify your big boy status you must have at least 3 phones and one of them has to be a blackberry
2. You must and I repeat, must have enough money on your phone at all times to be able to flash (in case of emergency)
3. If someone does not answer the phone the first time you call them, call them incessantly and on their different phone lines. I mean, no one minds getting 30 missed calls just because you wanted to say hi
4. It is always ok to call someone in the middle of the night because it’s free
5. The best way to show that you care about someone is to send them credits but this might backfire if the person doesn’t use them to call you
6. You can always get out of trouble by saying “you called me? When? It must have been network problems...my phone didn’t ring”
7. Text messages are a legitimate way to invite your closest friends and family to an event
8. When you are making a phone call volume control is non-existent
9. Your phone’s obnoxiously loud D’Banj ringtone should never be silenced( even at the movie theatre)
10. The people who are the most succinct when they call you will become Wole Soyinka narratives when you call them
To this end I implore, for my next birthday I don’t want to go out to dinner or for you to send me flowers just show up at my door with nothing but a bouquet of MTN recharge cards and a smile.
I like the fact that everyone in Lagos has a cell phone actually scratch that I LOVE the fact that everyone in Lagos has a cell phone. You can get in touch with anybody, anywhere without even leaving your house. This is a particularly calming thought for me because I remember people who would make pilgrimages from places like Ikorodu, dress their children in matching ankara and come to visit my parents at the crack of dawn on a Sunday morning just to be sure that we were at home when they got there.
The savvy Lagosian patron has a plethora of choices for phones but it seems that all stakeholders at the Nokia corporation have each put at least two children through university with their revenue from Lagosians alone. As with everything else in Lagos there are rules and I believe I have mastered the top ten:
1. In order to solidify your big boy status you must have at least 3 phones and one of them has to be a blackberry
2. You must and I repeat, must have enough money on your phone at all times to be able to flash (in case of emergency)
3. If someone does not answer the phone the first time you call them, call them incessantly and on their different phone lines. I mean, no one minds getting 30 missed calls just because you wanted to say hi
4. It is always ok to call someone in the middle of the night because it’s free
5. The best way to show that you care about someone is to send them credits but this might backfire if the person doesn’t use them to call you
6. You can always get out of trouble by saying “you called me? When? It must have been network problems...my phone didn’t ring”
7. Text messages are a legitimate way to invite your closest friends and family to an event
8. When you are making a phone call volume control is non-existent
9. Your phone’s obnoxiously loud D’Banj ringtone should never be silenced( even at the movie theatre)
10. The people who are the most succinct when they call you will become Wole Soyinka narratives when you call them
To this end I implore, for my next birthday I don’t want to go out to dinner or for you to send me flowers just show up at my door with nothing but a bouquet of MTN recharge cards and a smile.
Monday, June 29, 2009
A minor rant- Phonecalls
People don't seem to share the same sentiment that 9am is the first "Godly" hour. Why do people think it ok to call you at 6am and not just once but multiple times. Some people even have the gall to "flash" you and expect you to wake up and call them back...what the fudge man?!
Six degrees of separation, ha!
My uncle flew to Abuja to attend the wedding of his bosses cousin's son who was also his distant cousin on his mother's side. I am not related to this person because I am his relative on his dad's end. This wedding in Abuja also had the Lagos leg of the tour; you see the bride is Hausa and the Groom, Yoruba (kudos to making Wazobia a reality).
Now, my friend, who is Yoruba on one end and Igbo on the other, said he was going to Abuja to attend HIS cousin's wedding. I found out that his cousin was the bride which makes me wonder where he got a Hausa relative. I wonder how long it will be before we start growing extra appendages and acquiring superhuman abilities from all the very close genetic breeding going on.
Well, put me down for a third boob or glowing in the dark...
Now, my friend, who is Yoruba on one end and Igbo on the other, said he was going to Abuja to attend HIS cousin's wedding. I found out that his cousin was the bride which makes me wonder where he got a Hausa relative. I wonder how long it will be before we start growing extra appendages and acquiring superhuman abilities from all the very close genetic breeding going on.
Well, put me down for a third boob or glowing in the dark...
I forgot to post this...
Now I don't know about you but it seems that when travelling sometimes I feel that I am being treated like a second class citizen by some of these airlines. By sheer luck I was upgraded on my flight out and I got to enjoy the luxuries of the leeches in power and the owners of franchises. I slept like a baby and enjoyed meals that would require way too much effort in my own kitchen but alas the dream didn't last and on the way home I was returned to my pitiful existence of peanuts and shared in-flight entertainment.
It has to be said that not all economy class cabins are horrid symbols of society made to make you feel inadequate and an underachiever but the Delta airlines company is a very different story. I know, I know- I should have known from the beginning but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt before I write them off for all eternity so I tried them out. I mean, direct to Atlanta, no stop over, no transit visa and as the South African voice on DSTV says- no wahala.
I am now a personal believer that there was a meeting at the Delta Airlines office that summised “we don’t need that- send it to Nigeria, they’ll take anything.” It’s safe to say that I'm going to write them off for all eternity. Horrible service, horrible accommodations- actually horrible everything. I felt as if I was being punished for not being in the upper class cabin....note to self, marry rich ;)
It has to be said that not all economy class cabins are horrid symbols of society made to make you feel inadequate and an underachiever but the Delta airlines company is a very different story. I know, I know- I should have known from the beginning but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt before I write them off for all eternity so I tried them out. I mean, direct to Atlanta, no stop over, no transit visa and as the South African voice on DSTV says- no wahala.
I am now a personal believer that there was a meeting at the Delta Airlines office that summised “we don’t need that- send it to Nigeria, they’ll take anything.” It’s safe to say that I'm going to write them off for all eternity. Horrible service, horrible accommodations- actually horrible everything. I felt as if I was being punished for not being in the upper class cabin....note to self, marry rich ;)
Monday, June 15, 2009
What did you bring for us?
After my two weeks of relaxation and rejuvenation, I was ready to come back and take over the world. I have come back to this socially acceptable harassment of what did you bring for us. This morning my tailor, who only comes to my house when she wants to expedite a payment, came over at a quarter-past eight o’clock. Seeing as I was in mid work dress mode, I threw on a robe and went to see her. When I asked her why she was there she said she wanted to make sure I was home to ask what I brought back for her.
I have only been back for a few days and the first thing everyone I have seen has asked me is “what did you bring for us?” When I say everyone, I mean, most of the people in my office including the young man who operates and services our generator, the people who look after my house, our driver, my uncle’s driver and the people who run the chemist near my house.
The average travelling individual is allowed to take 2 bags with a linear dimension up to 158cm and weighing up to23 kilograms each. You can also have a small bag of carry-on luggage that can be 56cm by 45cm by 25cm at most, oh and a purse (not withstanding your chromosome branding)
Now, I explain this to you because even if ALL these people were in my sights to buy things for, who do I look like Yar’Adua’s next governor-entrusted kid? If you add up all the people in my family from both sides the numbers are going into the hundreds. I will leave out friends and significant other for the sake of argument but financial restraints notwithstanding, where the hell am I supposed to put it all?
I finally rifled through my un-unpacked bags and found two Snickers bars at the bottom. I then had to apologise to her that I had not brought her more and when she seems content with the fact that the chocolate was just to placate her and she was worthy of more she left. I wondered what kind of delusional self-importance allows your tailor to harass you before your first cup of coffee for a present that she was not entitled to in the first place. If I had that kind of confidence I’m pretty sure I would rule the world
I have only been back for a few days and the first thing everyone I have seen has asked me is “what did you bring for us?” When I say everyone, I mean, most of the people in my office including the young man who operates and services our generator, the people who look after my house, our driver, my uncle’s driver and the people who run the chemist near my house.
The average travelling individual is allowed to take 2 bags with a linear dimension up to 158cm and weighing up to23 kilograms each. You can also have a small bag of carry-on luggage that can be 56cm by 45cm by 25cm at most, oh and a purse (not withstanding your chromosome branding)
Now, I explain this to you because even if ALL these people were in my sights to buy things for, who do I look like Yar’Adua’s next governor-entrusted kid? If you add up all the people in my family from both sides the numbers are going into the hundreds. I will leave out friends and significant other for the sake of argument but financial restraints notwithstanding, where the hell am I supposed to put it all?
I finally rifled through my un-unpacked bags and found two Snickers bars at the bottom. I then had to apologise to her that I had not brought her more and when she seems content with the fact that the chocolate was just to placate her and she was worthy of more she left. I wondered what kind of delusional self-importance allows your tailor to harass you before your first cup of coffee for a present that she was not entitled to in the first place. If I had that kind of confidence I’m pretty sure I would rule the world
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