Frustrations of a Fattie...err...Foodie.

This is how things went in my house at meal-times. Dinner was ready, you were hungry, you went in the kitchen, grabbed a plate, put food in said plate and ate it. (This routine only varied slightly on Sundays when lunch was served at the table and eaten as a family). In general though, in my house, if you sat around waiting for anyone to invite you to eat, you would die. Quickly, painfully, certainly.

This is why I don’t understand this phenomenon of “Come and join me to eat”. I never noticed it before I left Naija (i\m sure it existed but I never noticed it), but apparently, it is the height of rudeness to grab a plate of food and not offer some of whatever it is to the people in your immediate surroundings. Doesn’t matter what food it is (it could be things easily shared like cookies, or frigging eba and okra), doesn’t matter who the people are (your boss, a complete stranger, your co-worker who is intent on spreading his latest bout of viral plague) and it certainly does not matter if you’re starving and barely have enough food for yourself. The reason it does not matter is that it is also considered the height of rudeness to accept such an offer. So let me get this ish straight. It’s rude of me not to offer but it’s rude of you to accept said offer. So what the hell are we all doing?

I was chastised this week for walking into the office with my regular breakfast sandwich and having the gall to begin to eat it without so much as a thought towards anyone else.

Co-worker: “Nawa o. SongSmith. You’re just a Chop-Alone sha”

Me: “I’m sorry. I’m a what?”

Co-worker: A Chop-Alone. You didn’t even offer anybody. And you know what they say about he who chops alone. He dies alone.”

Me: “Is that right? And how many of your closest friends and family were you planning on taking with you when you die because you offered them a piece of your sandwich?”

Co-worker: **backs away slowly**

I don’t like this custom. I think it’s disingenuous. I think it’s annoying. I think it’s insincere. If I genuinely would like you to have a piece of my Snickers, I will offer it in the hopes that you accept. If I would like to eat my Snickers by myself, I would like to be able to do so without being threatened with a solitary death.

That’s all. Now, I’m hungry. Gimme your lunch. It’s rude of you not to. No home-training.

6 Reasons that 'Hand Sanitizer' is the 2nd most important item in your purse.

I don't understand, mehn. Is it that there are no germs in Nigeria? Or people just go around with that 'Dirty no dey kill African man' nonsense? I see things sometimes, and I'm like, what the ...??!!

Anyways, you have to agree with this list:

1. Solo in your office wipes him runny nose with his right hand, rubs the right hand on his chair, or shirt, and then handles a file that you have to pick up after he's done. *Gag*
   
2. Baba Risi the taxi driver steps out of the cab, while you're in traffic to weewee, then he has to give you change when you're getting down from the cab, and his hand 'has' to brush yours.
   
3. Santos runs his hand through his dandruff infested hair, and grabs your hand tightly, because that's what people do when they salsa - they hold hands.
   
4. Iya Ibukun sells you some boli (roasted plantain), takes time out to 'dislodge a wedgie' and then hands you your change. (I always tell myself that the coal fire burns out all possible germs from the boli. Same goes for roasted corn, and suya).
   
5. Bright, your driver, scratches his underarms/armpit and then opens the door for you from inside the car. What to do when you want to let yourself out at your destination?
   
6. Mr. Mohammed never washes his hands after using the toilet. Yet, he 'must' touch all the door knobs, shelves and furniture that you use.
   

Maybe I'm a germaphobe...

I think the #1 most important this is your eye pencil. I kid. Your cellphone (with credit on it).

A Life Uncommon

We often get incredibly cynical in this town and who can blame us? Those of us lucky enough to remember the last vestiges of Nigeria’s glory days have watched things slowly and steadily devolve into an unrecognizable mess. We’ve watched those few of us brave enough to stand up for what believe in get Dele-Giwa’d and Saro-Wiwa’d. My generation has been taught to sit down and shut up, to get with it or get the hell out.

Much to my own chagrin, I became comfortable with that notion as well. I moved to Yankee and when there was a cause I believed in, I signed petitions, I hoisted signs, I put my money where my mouth was. But as soon as I moved back to Las Gidi, I backed away into my quiet corner, content to accept the status quo in exchange for the safety of my life and limb.

This is why when a fellow Youth Corper asked me to join in her efforts to abolish the ridiculous pregnancy tests we were all subjected to at camp (refresh your memory here), I was skeptical. “Who would listen? Who would care? Who would do anything? Would the three or five of us be able to kick up enough of a fuss as to a) get the attention of anyone in power and/or b) get them to give a rat’s ass?”

Ladies and gents, it is with incredible pride that I tell you today that, according to the NYSC newsletter, owing to “media backlash”, the pregnancy tests are no longer being offered as of the first batch of 2010. Following articles and editorials published in The Guardian and Next newspapers and incredible support from online readers, NYSC has been forced to cancel this farce with immediate effect and automatic alacrity (shout-out to New Masquerade!). They didn’t go down without a fight, I should point out. The State Coordinator issued a rebuttal to the newspaper claiming that our original article was full of lies and that the tests were performed in the most hygienic of conditions and with the utmost care. (The poor dear probably really believed that, as a hurriedly-dug hole in the ground most likely represents the height of sanitary sophistication to him.) Following an even angrier response to his rebuttal than to the original article itself, the pregnancy tests were quietly and swiftly done away with.

I’ll leave you with a line from a song that has been on repeat in my head ever since I moved back home and have been confronted with “principle versus practicality” decisions almost every day.

“And lend your voices only to sounds of freedom
No longer lend your strength to that which you wish to be free from
Fill your lives with love and bravery
and you shall lead
A life uncommon.”

-- Jewel

We’re either a part of the solution or we’re a part of the problem. No middle-ground. Here’s hoping future NYSC batches will continue to pay it forward. Maybe we can snatch back this program, if not the whole damn country, from the grip of ineptitude, greed, cronyism, nepotism, vulgarity and flat-out stupidity