I cry Africa

I watched Blood Diamonds earlier this week, then re-watched Hotel Rwanda just yesterday, then I recalled Sometimes in April and for the first time in my life, I feel African. I know it's absurd to say that and I guess I have always thought I felt African, perhaps because I am indeed African and I have never thought of claiming otherwise, I have simply found it more suitable to be Nigerian or a blue passporter when appropriate, but this feeling is different.
I have always had a problem with people summing me up to African. In the US, it appears to be a form of lazy assessment. Africa is vast! There's the West, East, North and South. There are over a thousand peoples, cultures and languages. In Nigeria alone, we have over 200 distinct languages. So yeah, I have never been pleased with being asked questions like "Do you speak African?". No I don't, seeing as there is no such language. (No the question was not refering to Afrikaans). Even other Africans who have been in the US long enough ask the same dumb questions. Pure ignorance. I am often critical of the big western news agencies, but no matter how biased their analysis, they still do a good job of identification.

In any case, what made me feel more African this time around was the fact that I imagined all the attrocities, the war and the hatred, the tears and sadness and death...on Nigerian streets. I often place myself in other people's shoes to curb myself from acting the judge or from simply lacking understanding, but for the first time, I imagined Rwanda, Sierra leone, Darfur and Somalia, Ethiopia to be Nigeria. I imagined the Hutus to be Yorubas, the Tutsis to be Hausa. I completely recreated it all in the Giant of Africa and it felt hopeless. Could it happen so? That is another discussion for another day. Nigeria has suffered from Biafra and it appears fresh in her mind; fresh and regrettable.

But, imagine yourself stuck in Lagos, no commercial flights, parents and other family members long gone. Younger teenage brother enrolled in the militia, killing innocents, watching people get hacked. Hundreds of people crumpled up in Ikoyi Hotel or run down Hotel Bobby. Militia cars decorated with leaves, kind of like the way it used to be in Lagos during riots. Scrambling for necessities and bribing gunmen for protection. Traveling out of the question, wondering how family afar fares. Trying to get through to Ghana, Togo or Cameroun, all borders and bridges barricaded and fortified. Driving on top of hundreds of dead bodies massacred when trying to escape through the back roads. Wearing the same rags for days, weeks, months, kneeling for brainwashed 11 year old boys drunk and high, weilding matchetes and guns. Girls raped.... Just imagine it in your home if you're African and not from one of these places already and then you will really feel African.

I remember a lady I worked with over Christmas when I was in college. She had escaped to the US from Sierra Leone with two of her children, but now remarried. She has no idea what happened to her husband and her oldest son and yet had somehow managed to live on.

Is Africa truly cursed? Or are we just the dull ones? They have just accelerated dooms day (end of the world as we know it) thanks to global warming and yet we're still poor, suffering and smiling in Africa. I mean, when the world started we were primitive, behold, will it now end with us still being primitive?

More current events:

Large condoms for S African men!

Ok, this is truly funny. perhaps this is a conspiracy disguised; a continuum of sorts. Would you believe that "condoms too big for Indian men" and "Large condoms for S African men" are vying for the top spot on the most emailed articles on the BBC website for today?

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/4155390.stm

Hahaha.
You know it's funny, so laugh.
LMAO!

Ok, back to the books for me.

Current Events.

I have taken it upon myself to "fill us in" on the latest breaking news'.

The headlines read:

Flatulence leads US jet to divert!
Gosh! Where should one start? So this woman has a little gas problem while on an American Airline jet. She doesn't go to the bathroom, it is suggested that she might have a medical problem preventing her from quickly accessing the bathroom to do this, or perhaps a medical problem that makes her gases well, a little more offensive than usual. Anyways, to cover up the odor, she lights up a match!

Words elude me. Perhaps we should all just pray that we never have whatever she has that made her prefer lighting up a match in the air versus just letting her gas flow through. Perhaps the gas was more lethal? Hey, I don't know.


Indian men have puny penises!
No I'm not trying to be obscene. It is in fact a fact. There are numbers and all to support this conclusion. You just check out the article on the BBC website, if you haven't already. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/south_asia/6161691.stm

Now that you are convinced I will commence.

So, I haven't heard about the exiling of the writer just yet. Perhaps they don't get BBC in India or something, but surely, the men don't know that the entire world is now aware that the average Indian has a smaller penis than his counterpart in well, say...Nigeria for instance :) (Nigerian men owe me for this).

If you ask me, it was not a necessary result to divulge to the rest of the world. As it is, Indian men are not comfortable asking for extra small when they go into cvs, so how the heck do you want to "encourage" them any further with this publication? I mean, if it is completely crucial to communicate this to Punjab (I use Punjab as I would Tom, Dick, Harry, Gbenga, Chucks or Ali), why don't you write him a personal letter or leaflet or something.
Of course the age old argument of "it's not size that matters" comes into play. Mehn please! But, I am willing to crank and crank and hypothesize as to how we can "elongate" our brothers' battered egos.

Ahhh! so here's what I came up with, how about resizing? I mean, in China, a "L" shirt is like an American "s", so why don't they just resize the things. For instance, an Indian "XL" will in actual fact be a Nigerian M. An Indian "s" will be a Nigerian.... Wait! No, we won't have that size. But that doesn't matter. Punjab will not know the difference.

But seriously, maybe this is all vanity anyway. I mean, doesn't it shrivel up when people die? So in the end, no matter how well endowed you were you will leave this world looking just like Punjab. Of course I hear for fifty dollars extra one could have the mortician play around with a paper, scissors and well, the..hmm...appendage before viewing.

Would you believe, as I was pondering on the dilemma facing our Indian sisters, yeah sisters was not a typo, S. Patel walked past my learning room. Honestly, my eyes where fixated on one "tiny" spot. Patel goes, "hey Z, what's up?" and I reply "obviously not much". brother hasn't read the article because he went "I understand". I laughed as I thought to myself, Nah! I bet you don't.

Stupidity Points

Ah, if you're wondering what stupidity points are, please, make sure to deduct five points from your balance at the end of my explanation.

So, we are all given stupidity points to carry us through life. Well, men are given a generous thousand points, which they often run out of by the age of thirty, while women are allocated a mere in comparison, three hundred points. You start to redeem your points from the age of eight. Prior to that you are allowed to be as stupid as you want without penalty.
Here's how it works. Every time you are stupid, whether by act, word or thought, you "redeem" your points. As a man, you are only allowed to be stupid as far as your allocated points will carry you, same for the woman. Points also vary by culture, race, nationality and background. (yeah yeah, call it prejudice, it's just the way it works. I didn't make the system).

When you run out of points, men take note, you are then downgraded from a regular human being to a moronic human. At that point, your choices are very limited. You can decide to remain a moron, or you can "buy" points from those who have it in excess (often females). People like moi have used a meager one and one quarter point (yes, I will deduct an extra five points from my balance for that statement), so I have enough to "sell" to the men around me. You know, kinda like the commodities market. The higher your points are though, the more you realize you need to reserve it for emergencies, at least till you clock forty, then you can start "helping" men become regular human beings as you clearly surmount others and take your place among the superior. Hence the common knowledge that men often become "mature" at forty while women become "wise" at forty.

If you need to check your point balance, go to a quiet place and reflect on your day. I think you will be able to gauge, if you're honest with yourself anyways, how many things you could have done better...multiply that by your age minus eight.... Yep! I thought so. You're already a moron. Damn!

Yes! It's male bashing, so what? It's my blog!

Palm wine sound...

Fela could not have said it better; JAZZ!
There's something about jazz that's intoxicating reeling you into an endless soothing Ecstasy.
I often use Jazz to detox after a tedious week.
I start off in my car before I get home. It's like a moment at the spa. You can feel the tightness melt away slowly as the tracks change. An hour later, I get home well rested and ready to take on the duties of super mom.

That reminds me, I visited the spa the other day for a full body massage and a mini facial. I thought the body massage was good till I experienced the most exhilarating facial ever. Ok, so it all started with the lady complimenting my skin (Yes, I have the most beautiful skin ever, all by the grace of Almighty God) and then it took off.
She rubbed my face with a whole bunch of lotions, ointments and scrubs all as expected and then she must have just rubbed stuff on my face like the tenth time massaging my face in such a caressing way that I started to fall asleep...right before I woke up with a jolt. Sister girl was massaging my chest. I mean, yeah, I'm here at a massage parlour (gosh! why does parlour suddenly sound like brothel) but I am in the mini facial section. Whada...?
In any case, she kept going and going and lower and lower as she kept complimenting my skin. I was thinking in my head "whoa! My full body massage wasn't this intense!" She lifted my neck and worked through my shoulders, neck, blades, back.... I mean, I couldn't help but wonder if she was a lesbian.

About forty minutes later she finished up with my face again, gave me my clothing and excused me. I dressed up with my mind completely blank and walked out. "Gosh, the outer room is so friggin bright, who turned up the sun". I found my other half waiting for me even though I had left for my facial before him. He went on to tell me he had finished his facial and had been waiting for me for a while. He then told me about his mini facial that appeared to have been truly "minimized" and how his masseur used a combination of three ointments and scrubs on him, left him in the room and came back ten minutes later to dislodge him from the table. "Damn! look at him looking even blacker, and isn't that some left over scrub by his ears?" I was thinking. I exhaled and couldn't help but relish what wonderful mini facial I had received as I walked out with Massy's card in my hand. "Let me see, am I free next Friday?"

Dilemma...

I am a good girl!
Nah! You don't get it. See, I am not "self proclaiming", I actually mean it. I have always thought being good was a choice of mine. You know, that I was in total control and chose to be good most of the time versus being evil. Here's what I just found out, It's not a friggin' choice! I AM GOOD! In human standards anyways. Point is, it is woven in my DNA and I cannot be bad even if I wanted to. Of course some of those who know me will disagree with this ;) but blah. I have been most terrible these past year and I look at the "terrible" things I have entertained and...well, they just don't trouble the bad radar. Everyone around me is much worse!!! So why does that bother me you ask? Quite frankly, I don't know. I don't envy "bad" folks; ok, well maybe I do sometimes, I mean bad has been the fad for a while now, and well, sometimes I feel like getting in on it too, but perhaps a more truthful reason will be the fact that I do not have the desire to retaliate or to hurt. (Think of Junior, son of senor senor in Kim possible, to those that indulge in cartoons like me.) And oh, when I do retaliate I am so quick to apologise and forgive and.... While I'm apologising or forgiving someone who has earned my passionate hatred I can often hear my head screaming "Stop darnit!" but I never listen. When I eventually sum up the fume to leave someone in my black book I feel guilty. Oh and when I eventually stop feeling guilty about blacklisting someone then I feel guilty about not feeling guilty.

What the heck is going on?

Rough, untamed yet sexy: Vernacular

Too often, the images of seduction, romance and sex are western, usually English or French; with the local language of coercion, teasing and suggestion having all but disappeared among the African westernized elite and educated this is not surprising, yet a small collection of men find it rousing to rustle the educated Nigerian woman with an unexpected bout of racy vernacular.
Why could it be such a turn on when a man or woman tells you what he wants to do to you in Ibo, or Yoruba, or Hausa...or murmurs romantic jargon in your earlobes as he tickles you? Perhaps it is the fact that it is unexpected, now different from the norm, or perhaps because our native tongue is a lot more descriptive? The R-rated words consuming a lot more vowels than the average word? Or, try this, the fact that you imagine this man as a half naked African in the jungle fighting off lions and hyenas, or this woman as a half naked African sashaying across the bank of the river in the moonlight (yes, the western man has imprinted in our minds forever the image of the African prior to colonization as half naked)?
Don't let western culture encourage you to discount yours. The minstrel shows of back in the day are clear indications of the envy the western world possesses in regards to the African. With their faces painted black, they swagger and poke fun at the black man, acting carefree, vulgar and deliriously happy. That was the image they had of the black man. We have now thrown that away for stiff shirts and ties. I am not saying shirts and ties are not appropriate for a certain time, but even if just for the sake of variety why don't we embrace this carefree and lascivious part of our culture?

Today I challenge young African men and women to take the risk of speaking to their object of affection in a language more suited in our age to poke jest, fun, and gossip about the oyinbo couple right in front of us in the queue. I could be a lot more graphic about what you could say, but my blog is strictly PG. Regardless, you should get the ball rolling and turn up your imagination if you really want to try this anyway. Oh yeah, before I forget a prerequisite is the ability to understand said language at least somewhat.

Oh what the heck! The French language can turn anyone on regardless of the ability to understand. Go ahead and speak your language to your American wife. If it backfires you could always tell her it's a french dialect. Vous comprenez?

My class trip

So I met a bigot at the factory tour orchestrated by the operations faculty. The tour guide was completely oblivious to the reaction of the group he escorted through the facilities as he ranted on.
As the tour began, he started out with an innocent illustration about one of their products. Asking questions and displaying product parts he had completely captured the attention of the entire group. So his next statement was, well, loud and clear in a silent room. "...some of you or your husbands have drills..." Yes, before you say I overreacted, or perhaps misconstrued the whole thing, I did give him the benefit of the doubt. That doesn't change the fact that the statement implicitly implies that only the men in the group, or perhaps the husbands of the ladies have and use drills. OK, no big deal.
Then we moved on to the assembly line. His next statement confirmed exactly what he suggested earlier on, that he was indeed a chauvinist. "You will notice there are mostly women here, well that's because there are tiny bits and pieces in the assembly line; women are generally better at things like that, moreover it doesn't require any strength. You just put together tiny parts".
"Hello? Anybody in there?" I found myself asking? I couldn't help but wonder if his skull was stuffed with bubble wrap. Now, I wasn't personally offended, but felt he was unnecessarily inappropriate and iniquitous. At this point I expected more displays of ignorance, but the next incidence was even worse.
We moved on to the warehouse and Mr man continued on his apparently well comfortable path. "this is the worst job ever" he said, referring to the men packaging the products that were heading out "all you do is stuff boxes and tape them up.... This side of the glass wall gets paid on an hourly basis, the other side of the glass wall are salaried workers". At this point I threw my hands in the air! The folks packing the products were less than a stone throw away; they could clearly hear him, but he had no regard for them. Dumb bigot!

So we finished up the tour and went to interview the panel of top executives and that was when I saw him. Whoa! He was middle aged, but you couldn't tell (he told us, and after calculations, it must be true) and he was the only black man in the panel. Nope, that wasn't what impressed me. He expressed himself most eloquently and damn if that didn't demand attention and respect from everyone. He had a confident and deep voice, he was handsome and well chiseled and he looked like he was thirty. His hair was cut military style, flat on the top, but full enough. His shoulders...he must have been in the military. Then I thought to myself, "Wait! Don't these folks manufacture plastic surgery equipments and implants? And didn't he mention the fact that he had a good rapport with the champion surgeons? Oh damn!" Oh well, the rest of the group didn't seem to care too much as to why he was hot and smart. Good enough! Men was I proud of being black.

That was how the day went. It was fun after all. I had earlier resigned to the thought of a boring day out at a factory, but it turned out interesting and enlightening. I wonder if I can skip recap tomorrow.

On religion

Scandals in the church.
As I ponder on what the hell is going on, I can't help but feel some sense of betrayal. Actually, I have never heard of pastor Ted prior to this sex scandal, but I still feel betrayed knowing that he professed a bible believing faith (notice there is a distinction between bible believing faith and simply religious faith).
The rest of us are what you could call students, not saying it is an excuse to sin, but a lot more weight is placed on someone who refers to himself as a teacher. Drugs? Prostitution? How do you reconcile?
Taking a step back, is it possible that he succumbed to a battle that was fashioned to personally destroy him? Or, was he just plain conniving? Who knows? May God in his infinite mercies forgive us all, both student and teacher, in Jesus' name. Amen

On to a broader issue...here's a question I have been pondering for years now. What exactly is freedom? Quite frankly, I don't know and there is not one response that satisfies me as of yet. I mean, can one actually achieve complete freedom? There is a transition between stark bondage and proportioned freedom. Think of a number line. You move from negative towards positive, but you never hit zero. You get in the proximity and then you go right back to extremely negative numbers. Here's where I am going with this: When you "perceive" that you are absolutely free, you find that you are enslaved to this so called freedom. Once again, we return to bondage.

Now, on freedom AND religion (not freedom OF religion).
Why is it that most of the "free" people of today (yep, the western world) insist on identifying with a religion they cannot tolerate? It has now become the right of people (freedom) to refashion religions that are as old as age itself (hyperbole) to suit their lifestyles.
This is how I see it, if the bible says homosexuality is a sin, you better agree that you're sinning if you indulge in same sex activities and call yourself a Christian. In the same vein, if the Quran says there should be a Holy Jihad, you better be yielding your instrument of conversion or perhaps war if you confess Islam. If you don't agree with these issues as is found in the great books though, then why not just transition into a new age religion? Like say, Scientology?
Here's another one, why must Catholic priests get married? If you want to be married as a priest then go protestant. You knew the law was there before you confessed Catholicism, so why is it now your right to get married? Or why must the church marry a gay couple? Or pray tell, why is the episcopal church trying to run it's own mission? Now, there's nothing "wrong" in what it confesses, but in the context of the bible it is dead wrong.
No wonder the west is considered a basket of infidels. I don't see a Buddhist monk clamoring for satellite TV or insisting to get married have kids and move them into the monastery.

The new definitions of infidel as it applies to today's world.
1. Infidel: A person whose life has an adverse relationship with his or her faith with the knowledge of such a relationship and yet no remorse.
2. Infidel: A person who professes a faith and yet opposes everything the faith holds true.

*feeling guilt pangs. It appears definiton 1 capture most of the human race every once in a while. Including yours truly?
God truly is merciful.

Zombie

In the wise words of FELA,

Zombie oh Zombie...
tell am to go straight, na jooro jaara jooro
No talk no stop no sense, na jooro jaara jooro
tell am to go kill, na jooro jaara jooro
No talk no stop no sense, na jooro jaara jooro
go and kill jooro jaara jooro
go and die jooro jaara jooro
put am for reverse jooro jaara jooro
Zombie way na one way, jooro jaara jooro
Attention, quick march, double up, salute, open your hat
stand at ease, fall in, fall out. Ready!
Ooooooooooooorrdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!

Obviously, I have encountered one of these creatures these past couple of days.

So, I set my bra on fire...

Well, not really, but I very well might have. I was protesting, it was a show of anger, defiance, power....

So here's what I did,
I tossed my pills in the toilet and flushed them down the drain! Damn right I did! And you know what that implies right? Since babies are not in MY plan anytime soon, putting it lightly, it means you ain't getting none.
Ahhhh! It was exhilarating, intoxicating, and gosh it was frighteningly delicious and yeah, it felt so damn good; ALL pun intended.
But here's where the plans kinda got screwed over.
See apparently this feel good feeling can be a sorta, well...turn on. Ah! You think I mean for the object of my annoyance right? Yeah yeah, him too, but more so for me. The power was driving me.... I know how powerful figures feel now. I mean, I was on cloud nine operating under the influence. Talk about precarious.

Here's how it got worse,
I endured a three hour full course seduction in the middle of the night. A true test to one's self control. My pride would not let me give in, actually now I think about it and it really was the thought of the floating little pills in the septic tank. I messed up, I was trying to exert power by allowing him to get so far, but not all the way, after all I had been immersing him in cold water successfully these past few weeks, talk about power drunk. But like all absolute monarchs, yeah, I consider myself the absolute monarch over me and everything in and on me, you eventually "overdo" it, just like I was about to. But what the hell is the matter with him too? He knows I'm off the pill. I couldn't help but wonder if he was trying to spite me. Of course it gathers that I should fear the little baby makers more seeing as I was contemplating hitting the road. But oh gosh! It hit me, it just hit me! No not that! How nice it will look on his portfolio for the world to know he conquered me. In such a barbaric way at that. My resolve got stronger. I must have shoved him to the floor at least 3 times, wait, I think 5 times. Yes! I deserve huge credit for that. But he deserves even more credit for his resolve. He couldn't be fended off. And then he kissed my ears! The ears! That was cheating! Everyone knows the ear is my weakness. I should have sent him right out soon as he walked in and if I didn't want to, well actually, I couldn't tell he was in the room till he was right on top of me, but I could have used some politely scorching words to douse whatever fire was possessing him. Ah! Here's a nice phrase that would have worked just fine "come off it!".

Oh well, I didn't do any of those things. Needless to say, I am heading to my doctor's right after class. She has the prescription for my morning after pill and ortho tri cyclen lo waiting for me.

The Nigerian Palava

Recalling a required text for my JS 2 literature class I couldn't help but bemoan the prolonged length of the Nigerian curse called Greed. "Bribery is a canker worm eating into the very fabric of our nation." A direct quote from the book, that I unfortunately cannot remember the title of (actually, the only thing I remember about the book is the quote), but interchange the word "bribery" for "Greed" and you have the Nigerian plague.

Understand this, well, it's my candid belief and I am extremely convinced of its accuracy, that every problem Nigeria faces today emanates directly or indirectly from greed.

A plane crashed just recently in Abuja.
It's all just so perplexing. You look at basic macroeconomics, you know, GDP, unemployment, consumption, investment...You look at basic microeconomics, you know, supply and demand...and you think to yourself, this is like "econ for dummies", surely Nigeria has skilled economists who can clearly tell that all they have to do is XYZ to bring the nation out of the dumps. So why does Nigeria never take such a step?
This same nonchalant attitude is what has led us to the third plane crash in the nation within a friggin' year! In a country where there are no typhoons or hurricanes, earthquakes, volcanoes...why the f* do we insist on destroying ourselves for a few under the table tips. I tell you that plane crash could have been avoided if someone wasn't greedy somewhere. Yep! It could have been the pilot, or the managers, or the owners, or the airport authorities, or the Nigerian aviation department, or the importer of the planes...who knows, but greed lies there somewhere.

They say the pilot was warned of weather conditions before he took off. Well, yeah! The weather made the plane crash two seconds after take-off! Right!

And so I lament the state of the Nigerian corporate demeanor. Seeing as we have all now become so accustomed to greed that we have come to expect it at every establishment and social situation, one can only hope that a divine intervention changes the tide before more people perish.

God let this be the last plane crash in Nigeria this year. Whatever lessons we ought to have learnt from this incident as a nation, do not permit to elude us. Biko, save us from this Nigerian Palava called greed. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen.

Sexpectations!!!

Men would love to believe that they do in fact love sex more than women. I am yet to find one who believes otherwise, regardless of the age. Even little virgin boys believe they crave it more than their female counterparts, so is this true? Has science proven this to us, or has pure statistics revealed who the sex fiend really is between the two sexes? But wanting sex is not the problem here, wanton sex is.
If a man wishes to tell himself that boning a lusty and promiscuous experiment inclined waif and his concomitant insatiable appetite with his sexual partner with whom he voluntarily partnered with is normal, albeit wrong (no one argues the right or wrongs any more, now it's "everyone does it, I'll outgrow it soon" just like in middle school, that prevails) are we expected to folds our arms and concede to the penis? Men are visual beings, so they are easily turned on by viewing. That is to say, all they have to do is walk down the street to get an erection and well be ready to implant their seeds in an unsuspecting passerby, but what of women? Check this, statistics show that openly lesbian women desire sex as much as openly gay men.
The female libido as suppressed as the phallus shaped world has made it is still a threat to the male being. Hence, circumcisions, stoning to deaths, negative tags and so forth, but, In a society without inhibitions and biased expectations, the woman being will be free to express herself sexually.

Dare I challenge men to encourage their women to express themselves a little more? Ah! I sense panic. Yes, the male being should panic. Suppression never equals disappearance. The female libido is fiercely potent, especially in a conducive environment when the female is allowed to think, imagine and breathe. The female is turned on through her mind, well, and some visual aid too, aren't we all?

I am not interested in telling men how they should behave. What I am saying is men should get ready to accept a generation of their female counterparts that not only appreciates sex, which is without doubt a beautiful thing, but also feels it is normal to maintain a catalogue of sexual hobbies and mates. Female sexual liberation will soon manifest into an awakened libido that matches that of the human male. But instead of this leading to an experience that can be termed as evolutionary, it will take the human race back to much archaic times as far back as when mice ruled the earth. Soon the alpha male will find that he cannot contain the woman. It will seem calculated as abruptly the trend that the male has led and happily accepted will expand and craft a planet of unbridled self destructive indulgence.

Whoa! Deja vu. Perhaps my blog is outdated?

KamiKaze. Divine Wind

There's still no explanation to the divine coincidences that awoken the typhoons that wiped out the Mongols twice as they approached the tiny island of Japan with the intention to invade and defeat. Well, I guess an explanation, probably as good as any is, well, coincidence, or the meteorologists of today perhaps could have warned Kublai Khan of his ill fated quest, but for the sake of captivating and intriguing history let's assume it really was divine.
So why did Japan attempt to relive these divine experience through artificial "divine winds"? I would say it was doomed to fail from the start no matter how successful it seemed initially. I'm talking about the kamikaze bombers during the world war II. I wonder if I would have thought it really divine if it hadn't failed, but then, did japan really plan on winning the war that way or simply on stalling the inevitable? The Kamikaze's did major damage on U.S. ships by the way. I digress. Here's where I was going with my talk on the divine wind...

I think we all do this at some point in time. We forget we refer to certain situations as divine and instead crank up our will power, rev up our agidi, otherwise known as strong head (necessary to succeed), and get down and dirty. After several foolproof attempts fail and only succeed at creating conundrums, we then go back to the drawing board, regurgitate our ideas and rechew, yes, ruminate.

I returned to school on Monday, and gosh, how different it is to be back in the middle of a semester, seeing new faces and finding the curriculum and books have changed. So, as the week comes to an end, I, and hopefully you, will take a step back and look at those things we have given God credit for that we are now trying to replicate on our own. Let's make next week a lil' easier shall we?

Yoruba [yáwrəbə]

(plural Yo·ru·ba or Yo·ru·bas)

1. member of W African people: a member of a West African people living mostly in Nigeria
2. W African language: a Niger-Congo language spoken in southwestern Nigeria, Benin, and Togo. Native speakers:20 million.

So, I happen to be a member of this tribe (I detest the use of the word tribe, it has been known to be used to characterize exotic peoples as wild, uninformed and, quite frankly, daft), but I also feel vainly satisfied when I imagine the fear that must have gripped the colonial masters and their counterparts the first time they set eyes on the nappy haired spear wielding tribes man. Yes, I am sure the tribes man was also gripped with fear, but this is my blog and I get to antagonize or ridicule whomever I want to.
In any case, I have recently, let me see, by recent I mean the past 9 years, fallen in love with my culture and language. To the surprise of my father I have become an avid fan of Fela, Tunde, I.K. Dairo Senior, Orlando Owo and some other older generation artistes. The most surprising part of it all perhaps is the fact that I didn't grow up listening to these genre of music, except for Fela's Afrobeat, and really they ought to be just as unfamiliar to me as they are to my siblings.
So what happened?

I moved to the U.S.

I find that most Nigerians who find themselves suddenly enthralled by their culture abroad were not completely exposed to it in the first place. I barely remember watching NTA and other local Nigerian channels. I'm sure my parents would have loved to get us acquainted to them, problem is, the channels were never clear enough and so they reverted to cable and satellite services. In a country like the U.S. where foreigners view the culture simply as technology(politely saying that the results of a melting pot is grossly looking cultureless goo), it very quickly dawns on even the most clueless foreigner that he does have a culture. No matter how faint it is in him, he finds that he exhibits it in class, at work or wherever he goes. It is up to him of course to expand upon it if he so chooses or to allow it to quickly begin to decompose and well, eventually liquefy in the pot.
Furthermore, a frequent traveller tends to appreciate both his home and the foreign places he travels to. Rather than dwelling on the negative sides of the different places one tends to visit enough places enough times that the comparison becomes not only clear, but one now starts to miss them. Yeah, I mean the comparisons, thus the places anyway.
Back to the issue.

Aha! Yes! So now, I am a lot more fluent in my native language than I have ever been at any point in my life. How did I do it you ask?...music. With a language that is so tonal as the Yoruba language is, you can often interpret words based on the pitches of the syllables. Also, the use of vowels in certain words play a good role in tipping you as to the shape, texture and manner of objects.

I am currently listening to a cassette that I "borrowed" from the trunk of an older family member. As I have translated it, the lyrics appear to be speaking about one's enemies who sit by one's blessings. It then asks for God to get them busy with other issues pertaining to themselves seeing as they have spare time at hand. I happen to find it very hilarious and quite entertaining. I also happen to say Amen to that everytime I hear the song. I'll share:

Eni to duro
Sibi ire ayo mi
Jesu, bami wase fun se.

As it were, I am only fluent when speaking. On paper though, well...the above is what you get.

60 seconds in climax

I was driving through a particularly scenic back road by my house yesterday. I looked at the narrowing road and the never ending bowing trees that seemed to admire me and my intrepid today, then at the moving clouds and gosh, it was so beautiful. I had never appreciated any image so beautiful. I imagined cherubs floating on the clouds. I could spell my name and my lover's with the little clouds that had broken apart. It was quiet and blissful.
And then I wondered how many pixels would make it look so beautiful in still image.
Yep! Technology never fails to ruin the moment, wihch lasted approximately 60 seconds. At 70 miles per hour though, not surprising.

Act 5

Yes, just as expected, uncouth Cruella called my father in-law and he endured her barrage of insults and threats. She didn't fail to wave her juju around once again. Oh but what's unexpected is, get this, she lied! Talking about me calling her to harasss her...something I would have loved to do initially when I heard of her attempts at cowering and commanding.... Well I didn't get to and I lost interest. Oh yeah, and now I hear Deville's good friend, the orchestrator, has been kicked out of her home. In the end, you can't be mad at people who literarily insist on being a fiend in your life. What's interesting is I don't interfere in other people's lives, but lately some people insist on knowing what goes on in my life. Hmmm...perhaps I should step up my prayers. Here's how I see it, if the hostile community is happy they will stick to themselves, another way to look at it, if the hostile community encounters enough problems, they'll be too busy disentangling themselves to bother me.

Well, all in all, believe it or not, I expect good memories from all this.

Juju

Juju: [joo joo] noun: ju.ju.ism

1. object with supposed magical powers: an object revered among some West African peoples for the magical powers that it is thought to possess
2. spell effected by juju: a spell put on something or somebody by means of a juju. Also known as spiritual wickedness in high places.

So a woman who has waltz uninvited into my life along with her daughter have decided to threaten me with juju. I hear about these things, actually, I watch it on tv, I don't think I've ever heard of an actual instance, but yeah....
I would tell you the whole story but it is too long, and quite frankly I have not only forgotten most of it but recalling it all will surely piss me off. But I'll hint ;)

Let's call the woman Cruella and her daughter Deville.

Act 1:
Deville interferes with my life as often as she can even though I barely know her. I think she got a rush off doing that, don't ask me why. She'd call me with unknown numbers and drop calls, She'd attempt to hack into my email account, actually once, she sent me an email pretending to be one of my friends. This interference goes on for 3 years. She had summed me up and figured I was no threat to her agendas.

Act 2:
And then a few weeks ago I found some remnants of her interference in my car. I tried to get an understanding of why, how, what and where, but all I could come up with were lies. Eventually within a few hours of hot air, cuts and bruises, I pass on this object to a few friends. I woke up the next morning with a heavy heart. I should not have sunk to her level I thought. While she relished interfering with my life and I wished I could slap her silly, it appears she was invited...well, or this juju that Cruella in waving in the air was in the works a while ago.

Act 3:
Cruella wakes me up in the middle of the day and asks for damage control and peace. I think to myself "all I've ever wanted is peace". I didn't have the heart to tell her the only damage control possible was Deville changing her approach to life. She hangs up the phone after talking to me for hours. By the weekend she had gotten my father in-law's number and proceeded to harass him, with everything you can think of, including juju. My first thought was "Wow! In flesh and blood?"

Act 4:
She keeps harassing my father in-law even though I seemed to be the object of her anger. Eventually, my mom gets word of the threats and decides to let Cruella know it was enough seeing as she seemed to have found her niche of full control to manipulate and cower others. My mom calls Cruella and Cruella starts to threaten once again with juju. Obviously, she doesn't know my mother or father. A few minutes, perhaps an hour later I get a call from Deville's good friend who has allowed herself to be an orchestrator of meetings. Knowing I will never call her and have never called her, she still felt inclined to call me and ask me not to call her. She hung up the phone and I got the feeling she simply wanted to experience some weird satisfaction from that. I was going to ignore her completely after all she was happy, but I thought to show her the foolishness of her actions so I texted her. A summary of the text: I will never call you, you know that, don't call me again either. Oh, did I mention she went off about how my mom cursed Cruella? Apparently she gave my mom Cruella's number and Cruella went off with the juju remarks. Knowing my mom, she must have told her the juju will work right back on her and her own. She didn't like that too much, so she called Deville's good friend and reports to her about the incident. I'm pritti sure she forgot to mention her juju threats, but she told Deville's good friend that my mom cursed her.

Whew! That was a stretch!

I would say you should look out for Act 5, but I doubt there will be any. If there is any it will most likely be in the realms of the spirit. You know, juju vs. God? I'm pretty sure Cruella will not be talking to my mother any time soon and my mom will not be interested in talking to her either. Although she might revert back to her comfort zone and keep up her harassment of my father in-law and my better half. Who knows.

With all sincerity I now have pity and compassion for Deville. I hope she repents and overcomes any hurdles that come her way. I hope all involved repent. I have. Cruella though...well, even the hearts of kings are in God's hands. Maybe if she goes ahead with her juju and it falls on her head she will then repent. I just hope she does.

As for me, I have since moved forward.

Humility or humiliation

I'm Nigerian. My dad appears to be the only Nigerian that embodied a wholesome picture of what a human being should be; thus, he is my only mentor from that blessed nation.

And now to the issue:
I have endured a barrage of adult interference in my life like never before in the recent weeks and it seems to me as though the adult suggestions are nothing less than humiliating. Perhaps this is as a result of the apparent generational gap "I like to make excuses for people, who usually do not deserve it, don't ask me why". Being the explicitly truthful person that I am, I communicate that to them...the next thing I know, "Pride" becomes the anchor of the rest of the discussion.

I have never thought of myself as proud. I cannot stand proud people, especially when unbeknownst to them, you are more successful in whatever it is they are boasting about, or you could care less. I am quite friendly, seeing as I'll rather make friends than enemies that makes sense, but what could make someone tag me as proud, or in need of humility? Perhaps the fact that I have been independent ever since I could be, or the fact that God has granted me success in the things I have set my mind to has made me uniquely confident that whatever situation arises I can conquer by the grace of Almighty God? For whatever reason, I refuse to be humiliated. Don't assume that means I have not endured my share of humiliation because I have. All I have decided to do now is put an end to it. It's as though it suddenly hit me, all these Nigerian's stressing me out with their "suugestions" are not going to live my life for me. For all I know they could pass on tomorrow. Will I then go wag my finger at their corpses?

Outlet

Ahhhhhhhhhh...(exhaling)

So, I decided I needed an outlet for the issues of my life that used to weigh me down. "Out of your heart flows the issues of life" That is a direct quote from the bible.

In any case, I will be more frequent as the days pass. I just wanted to set this up for now. Wish me success.