Do Something!

I just saw photos from my friend's Spring Break trip from Urbana-Champaign, IL to her home country of Sierra Leone. She took home some supplies for kids in a school there. You should see the looks on their faces. (http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.730300561664.2121171.200304693&type=1).

I know people who come home on holiday to spend money and show that they have 'hammered'; yet they'll be first to ridicule the Nigerian Government and blame them for poverty in this country. I am not a government advocate, just a simple citizen who believes that sometimes, 'even a sick man has to scratch his back by himself'.

While we are praying for Nigeria to be better, let's play our part and help out where we can. Join a Charity Organization (for e.g. http://www.facebook.com/thisishowwedoNG), donate to your alma mater, help provide mosquito nets for a small community, volunteer your services at after school programs, be a mentor and continue to fight against corruption and pray for peace in Nigeria.

So Help Us God!

Tips for Lagos Living.

Here are a few tips that have helped me, one small way or another, to survive in Lagos. It's been two years since I moved back, so I guess I have been well schooled. I'm still learning sha. I figure these may be useful to a potential move-back-er too. Also, feel free to add your own tips in the comments section.

1. D.I.Y (Do It Yourself): The average Nigerian is looking for a JJC (Johnny Just Come - if you didn't know this, you need a proper Naija-fication) to take advantage of. And you know we like forming, especially when we have small money - you change jobs from an Okokomaiko-located one, to a VI-located one, and we won't hear word again. All of a sudden, Mama-Put disappears from your dictionary. Lol. (Don't mean to diss you if Okoko is your hood, consider it a figure of speech :D). Anyways, my point is, you can save a lot of money by doing some things yourself or making cheaper decisions. No one is going to stop talking to you because you were on an okada. In fact, the person that stops talking to you because you have an okada 'customer' is a goat. What I am saying is, bring your lunch from home once in a while (I went to drink/eat(?) some watery peppersoup at one upscale restaurant that other day for N1,500.00. My friend paid, but SMH). Buy your own relaxer and hair extensions at the market before going to the salon; the salon owners add shop rent and transport money to the one you buy from them. The examples are endless; I'm sure you get the gist. You are allowed to get a driver sha, just be sure to pay him well.
2. Lose the accent, Embrace razzness: Area boys can smell ajebota from miles away. A friend of mine suggested practising razzness in front of the mirror everyday. People will take advantage of you when you show them that you're 'not from around here'. Don't be alarmed though if you find out that people become spawns of Patrick Obahiagbon when you tell them that you studied abroad - "Why have you refused to remove the currency from where it is being trampled upon?" Na 50 pa wey dey ground Oh. D tin don tear sef. i con tink an tink an sey wetin bros e de Obahiagbon about? (Eko no dey carry last. Lol. In the words of the owner of this blog: Don't. Waste. English.)
3. Plan for more than one source of income: A side hustle, a small business venture, a mutual fund, an investment;  whatever it is sha, make sure it's legal. Companies are somewhat unstable in the Nigerian society. Many people are complaining that their companies don't have money to pay salaries. While this doesn't happen across the board, a safety blanket is NEVER a bad thing.
4. Bring a little of your old life into your new life: a). Clothes, Shoes, etc - except you are not a Primark/Old Navy/Outlet Mall shopper like me, and you don't mind spending N 30,000.00 ($200 or £120) on a good pair of jeans (There are cheaper alternatives, have no fear); b) Your favorite appliances - blender, hair styling equipment, etc; c)A Fall jacket/pullover, Hamarttan dey get as e be for these zones o. In fact, if you will be in the North, just bring your Winter coat. There must be at least one Nigerian car-shipper in your area. Depending on how much time you have, you can send the things you won't need for a while through them. It's not an Under-G arrangement, some of them run actual shipping outfits, so it's legit.
5. Start job-hunting before you move back: Connections rule Nigeria; use the ones you have. Recruiters tell you that they make selections based on merit, but don't be surprised to find out that the person sitting next to you in the interview hall didn't even write the pre-selection test; Her uncle's best-man is the second-cousin to the niece of the GM's PA. When you get in, you will do everything in your power to show your employer that even if you wrote the test, they would have selected you.
6. Bring your boyfriend: Guys need not worry about bringing their girlfriends. The market is already more competitive than it should be. If you bring her here and you don't marry her, you don cause wahala be dat.
7. Each day, ask God for more patience than He gave you the day before, you'll need all the patience you can come across. If your blood too dey hot, Naija go make you hug transformer. 

I hope that with these few points of mine, I have been able to convince you and not to confuse you, that farming is better than brick-laying. Thank you. (Key in 'skirt-brush curtsey')


:D!

The Nigerian Rat Race

You see I had to specially qualify this rat race, because if I'd simply written 'The Rat Race', all you Western-World-Living folk would have started nodding about experiencing the same thing. Big. Fat. Lie. There's the Nigerian Rat Race, and then every other kind.

I was just about to bbm the other contributors and scold them for not posting, when I remembered that one of them is outta town for work-related matters, one is prolly not home from work yet, and the other is most likely too tired to even look at her phone. It's a quarter to 11, at night, as we 'speak'.

I'm writing this post on my phone, 'cause I don't even feel like looking at a Computer right now. What's the point if you spend more time going to and coming from work, than you do actually being AT work. A comedian cracked a joke about a guy who went to drop his woman at the airport for her trip to London. After her plane took off, he got into his car to embark on his trip to Ajah. It so happened that girlfriend called dude just as he was getting to the third roundabout, that her flight landed safely. It may be funny, but I won't be shocked if someone has experienced this.

Oh, and God help you if your company is a one man business. You can't complain about working late all the time, because the boss'll tell you that the work hours listed on your appointment letter were only gotten from a template. 'You stay at work as long as necessary, my friend. What? You live in Festac and the Office is in Ikorodu? And you don't have a car? Well, I'm sure you're not the only one. Think of all the people who don't have jobs. Suck it up!'

See but what is interesting is that people don't quit. They'll keep waking up at 4am so that they can get to work on time. They keep responding 'Yes Sir' and crying in the toilet so they can keep their jobs; money is so important.

. . .

I can't think anymore. The electricity just went out.

Visit http://naijabloke.blogspot.com, then follow the series till the end of this month.

This Is Lagos - Part 1

There are a few things you can't not know about, or experience in Lagos:

1. Heavy Traffic: We can never say enough about Lagos traffic. One of the radio stations here asks commuters to call in during rush hour and describe the traffic situation wherever they are. There are different grades: a) 'Bumper to Bumper'. b) 'This go-slow tie wrapper o'. c) (There's also something else that involves witches that I don't quite remember). Anyways, go-slow gat Lagos like white on rice. Now, some may argue that I don't really have a say in traffic discussions, because I live in VI, work in Dolphin, and I'm always going against traffic. Still, I write on behalf of people who have to travel between Magodo and VI, or Ajah and Surulere daily. Not fun. And you may not always 'see' the reason for the hold-up. I think people just plan from home that they''ll drive slowly until they get to one off-ramp, and then pick up the pace after that spot. Oh, and tell me why people don't use their brains when they're driving?! We're on a 2-lane road yeah? One going, one coming. Someone please explain to me why I'll now see people forming a third lane in the middle!!! I mean, I can't blame them, those of us who are 'queueing up' are obviously stupid and don't have a life ambition. Do they not know that both lanes would still have to merge into one??!! Nigerian road users have taught me that common sense is NOT common.



2. Iya Basira: I'm assuming you know the song that goes by this title. If not, take a break, listen/watch here, and then come back (Ok, the video is not fantastic, but you get the gist). One thing I love about Nigeria is that a man who says he can't get anything to eat is definitely not trying. You can get a deliciously satisfying meal of Jollof Rice, Dodo, a cube-sized piece of meat, and a bag of pure water for N100.00. You may be posh and not be the pure water type; you can upgrade. See, I used to think myself posh, and would stop at one of the upscale eateries on Adeola Odeku Street in VI, for a sandwich, everyday. The chicken-slapped-on-two-slices-of-bread-with-tomatoes-lettuce-and-'special'-mayo, started out at N380. I would fill-up with a huge flask of tea and tell myself I had a good breakfast. When it was increased to N420, I told myself it wasn't too bad a price hike, besides that sandwich is the truth. The first time I paid N500 for that thing, was the last time I ate it. It's not like I didn't eat the oh-so-satisfying N50 Agege bread at camp. (I need to stop lying to myself that I'm posh). I understand that with buka situations, people complain about cleanliness of the food, serving areas, servers, etc. You just have to 'survey the land', and make sure you're not eating idoti with your food. I was ordering a piece of chicken at a so-called posh eatery on Akin Adesola Street in VI, when I spied the server licking the mouth of the salad dressing bottle after serving someone from it. Of course, I yelled at him. There goes your clean upscale restaurant. Imagine how many times he's done that crap. And to think I used to order their salad all the time. Maybe that's why I'm not as slim as I'd like - saliva-spiced salad dressing.



3. Area Boys: I grew up in Festac Town, Lagos. During my nursery school years, the school bus picked me from the front of my house and dropped me at the same spot everyday. There was a playground right in front of my house. We went on strolls in the evenings. We did our shopping at Tejuoso market, which was really good then, from what I'm made to understand. I didn't know what the words 'area boy' meant. I lived a suburban life. I remember one time (I was 5 or 6) when my Grandma got us excited about going to the Bar Beach. We tried on our beach shorts, halter tops, and thong sandals everyday, and sang to all our friends about the beach trip we were looking forward to. D-day, Granny drove us to the beach, parked about a mile from the water (Ok, half a mile), and pushed down the locks of the car. We were going to watch the water from the car, because of area boys! I still get mad when I think about it. I never again got to enjoy a beach till I went to Takwa Bay when I was in SS2! Area boys run Lagos. They are the horse trainers at the beach, so you pay them N1000 when you ride the horse. They 'watch' your car when you park at the designated parking spaces of EmberCreek (it doesn't matter that the place hires guards), so you pay them N200. They wash your car windshields even when you don't ask, so you pay them too. In Lagos, monkey/ode/I dey work, baboon dey chop. What baffles me is how they believe they have a right to your money. When the driver picked me up after the salsa class yesterday, the guy who was 'watching' the car (though the driver only got there about 5 minutes before I walked out), called me stingy because I never give them anything. What the ...?! Why don't you find a job punk! Being the nice person that I am, I apologized and said I only had N10.00. He said, 'Oya give me N50'. Obvoiusly, I wasn't communicating.
   
   
   
4. Shopping: I have been decongesting my wardrobe without recongesting. Now, I don't have clothes to wear to work anymore. I can't go to Lagos stores to buy clothes, because I still convert prices on clothes tags to their dollar equivalents when I want to shop. NOTHING will make me pay N15, 000/$100 for a blouse, except I don't plan to wear anything else with it. So, I really haven't done any shopping since I moved back. On my 'New' list I have: 6 pair of shoes, 1 polo shirt, 1 blouse and 1 freakum-dress. Finish. I need to fix that, because... Let's just say I need new clothes. I was recently introduced to the upscale part of Balogun market where you can be sure that the clothes you're buying haven't been worn before. There are also those people who bring stuff in from Yankee and Jand when they travel though. You'll see them lugging suitcases in the trunks of their cars. They help a lot, and they're not very expensive. Another trick - regularly find yourself some very good material, and a very good tailor (all the best with that), and customize your wardrobe with TailorLoRan designs.
   

The Fabulous Life ... of Nigerian Celebrities

(I should pay royalties to E!)

I must start this post with a small tutorial. Nigerian celebrity-ship is nothing like what you're used to in the Western world. Celebrities abroad are defined by what they do - movies, TV, music, fashion/modelling (sometimes), etc. Celebrities in Nigeria are defined by who they know, what their last name is, where they party at, what kinda clothes they wear, how many times they've travelled out of the country, what kinda car they drive, etc. Celebrities in Nigeria may not be known by everyone, as long as the tabloids know them, we're straight.

Classic example: I was at a bridal shower last weekend, and we played a game called 'Celebrity Couples'. The idea was to write the names of as many celebrity couples as possible before the aloted time ran out. While we were scoring one another's responses, there was a heated debate about a certain Nigerian Celebrity couple. There was one other person (besides the person who listed them), who knew about the couple. When asked why they were celebrities, she responded - 'I see them in CityPeople*, all the time!' Gbam! (That's my new favorite exclamation. Lol).

I've been trying to figure out how it works, and I think I have a theory now. Say you attend a show in Lagos, a fashion show for example, where all the big names - Stella Damasus, Patrick Doyle, Genevieve Nnaji, Dare Art-Alade, etc - are present, you can be sure that paparazzi will be there. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how important the Celebrity status is to you), you're looking supa dupa fly, and you get a few of your photos taken, when the photo is to be printed in his tabloid, the photo editor makes very good use of the '2° of seperation' phenomenon, finds out your life history and publishes it. He's also smart enough to put in juicy gist that'll make people want to find out more about you. You've become a celebrity, just like that!

Now, I don't have issues with people who like to be in the public eye, I'm just a little concerned about the kind of spending/lifestyle 'skills', that mark the celebrity territory. I understand that there are so many stupendously rich people in Nigeria, who can spending millions of dollars (yes, dollars), without blinking. I also know that there are those people who apparently live this fabulous life 'on credit'. I only have one question - WHY?!

Why's it important to spend so much money on the lace *aso-ebi for someone else's daughter's wedding? Why is it a taboo to 're-rock' outfits or jewelry or accessories (they weren't made to be disposable anyways)? Why, oh dear me, why is what other people think about your outfit important (except you need the Fashion Police of course)?

Sigh.

*City People is a popular Nigerian Tabloid
*Aso-ebi - literal meaning 'clothes/outfit of the family. Refers to outfit worn by friends and family of the celebrants at events - weddings, birthdays, burials, etc.

Vernacular

My parents always comment that one of the mistakes that they made while raising my siblings and I is that they didn't make Yoruba our first language. (They're trying to repair that now, because we read the Yoruba Bible and Daily Guide every morning at devotion. I must say that it's working).

When I was younger though, so many kids thought it was razz to speak in your mother tongue. Everyone wanted a British accent; and the 'wrist dangle' to go with it.

Fast forward to March 2009 when I was at NYSC camp, everyone spoke Yoruba! (We were at camp in Oyo State). I remember getting into an argument with one naughty girl who want to bump my water pail from the line, and I gave her a piece of my mind - in clean unadultrated Yoruba! I was so proud of myself.

It's very interesting that understanding, and speaking, the native language of wherever you're at is rather necessary for progress. I remember a friend of mine telling me that he wasn't able to rub minds with the important powers, and climb up the ladder, at his pretigious job in Abuja because he didn't speak Hausa very well. I thought he was being delusional till I started noticing it for myself. Some traders at the market in Festac won't be nice to you if you don't speak Igbo. The money changers at Federal Palace Hotel respond to their Hausa speaking customers better. The taxi driver who took me to Festac one day, dropped the attitude and started smiling at me when he heard me speak Yoruba on the phone. (I might have paid N300.00 less if I'd negotiated the price in Yoruba).

I have also heard that when you put your (real) foreign, or an I-have-hot-yam-in-my-mouth, accent foot forward, it's very likely that people turn their noses up at your because they believe you're being pretentious and rubbing your traveller self (or foreign movie watcher self, depending on where you gained your funny accent from), in their faces.

I can't say that it is fair that people are responded to based on how they sound. I just think it' interesting that as much as we want to sound like the foreigners, it's how well we know our own local languages that counts. I have a friend whose accent is British, laced with American, and they're both genuine. (Lol). He raps Yoruba sharply too. It's real sexy.

Before & After

I would like to apologize on behalf of all of us who run this blog. I'm not sure what our excuses are, but really, we've been away for too long, and that's not acceptable. We're supposed to be giving you blow by blow accounts of our experiences at home, but with all the time spent in traffic, at work meetings, going through NYSC bruhaha, and on the highly coveted sleep, we open our eyes, and Bam! it's February, 2010.

I have good news though, Drops of Glamour and I are about to complete our NYSC programs (on February 11th); give Jesus a wiper(a wave)! This completion is the koko of my little schpill today.

NYSC is a good program in the sense that for about a year, you have a steady job and steady income, and, you know, a sense of being 'useful'. You can hang up your job hunting suit, and if you're lucky you won't need it anymore.

Now, the problem is the 'if you're lucky' clause in that last statement. I started my NYSC program in March last year. There are people who finished up at about that time and are still job hunting. I'm not even sure what can be done differently, given the conditions of the job market right now. However though, what's the point of going through the gruelling NYSC camp experience, enduring one year of dealing with those shady peeps at the LGA, and then ending up right where you started (knocking on office doors and hoping someone finds you attractive enough for a job?) What's the point if the 'after' is not so much better than the 'before'?

It's even worse for some people because when they were green out of college, with no experience, etc, the rejection letters they received were justifiable. After a year of experience, and mingling with the real world some, what acceptable excuse is there? You could say it's like what to expect after an internship; still I argue that with NYSC on one's belt, you've supposedly given yourself the qualification that 'opens doors for you'.

I'm not expecting every company to retain the Youth Corpers who serve with them; (some of them already tell you from the beginning that you shouldn't expect them to automatically keep you after the Service Year).

What do we do about all of these highly qualified people? I mean, NYSC is 'such a big deal'! One of my friends got fired last year because of some discrepancies during his service year, about 8 years ago! What more do you need after B.Sc., M.Sc. MBA and NYSC?

The Nigerian Market

I should be talking about something serious, like the 'Nigerian' guy who tried to bomb a plane in the US on Christmas day. Honestly, I have my doubts about his true identity, because we all know, Nigerians love life too much to consider things like suicide. Haven't you heard about the Nigerian who wanted to kill himself? He hung himself from the waist, because "that neck own too dey pain person". I mean, I'm just saying... Anyways, I'm in too good a mood to write out what needs to be said about Nigeria today. It'd be too depressing. That said, RIP Mariam Babaginda.

Anyways. my topic today has different topics:

1. The Nigerian mobile market: I mean like the market in traffic. Honestly, they've taken street trading to a whole new level. My Dad was on his way to Ife, in Osun State one day, and he forgot his glasses at home. He bought a new pair somewhere on the highway. I mean I understand Gala, Fanyogo, Bananas and even windshield wipers, but Glasses, really?! On a serious note though, I read recently that the government is trying to get these traders off the streets, for safety reasons. My question for the government is, 'What are these people supposed to do with themselves now?' A good number of them are degree-holders who were not able to find regular jobs. Thankfully, they made better choices than those who took to armed robbery. I'm cracking my brain for ideas to help these people if they really are swept off the streets. Please lemme know if some genius plan occurs to you.
2. This thing about change: I think I talked about this on my other blog sometime ago. At this point, if I put together all the change that I was told to 'come back and collect' I can buy this pretty good Range Rover that I spotted a few hours ago. I think it sounds like the guy will gba my oju with this deal, (see me talking like I'm going to buy it tomorrow). I really want a car though, and what's wrong with being hopeful? What was I talking about before sef? Yes, change. So, as I was saying... I don't get it. How can you run a business and not have change? Oh and then, the really bold one would now encourage to 'buy something' with the change. Something? I look like a vending machine abi, so I have too much money and I can overlook 'mis-spending' N850.00 because you can't find me money? Mschew!
3. 'Buy from me or else': My cousin and I are driving home from work and this guy selling phone credit begins knocking on my window hard enough to crack it just a little bit. He's so sure that the reason I've not called him, is not the obvious one of my not needing any, but simply because I'm ignoring him. He expects that as soon as I look up and see him, I'd suddenly realize that the N1500 I just put on my phone will miraculously expire in the 15 minutes it'd take me to get home. Oh also, one of my pet peeves is being touched by people I don't know. Handshakes are 'alright', but like don't hold my arm or waist or anything like that. So, you can only imagine my reaction when someone selling men's shirts at the market grabs me by the arm and pulls me towards his store...

Lemme just stop.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New 2010 to you all!

Talk to you in the new year!

A Very Under-developed Community Development Program

This intro is for people who are not familiar with the NYSC program.

In addition to the primary assignment that each Corper is given (mentioned by SongSmith in the previous post), depending on where that job is, you'd have a Local Government Development Area where you'd meet once a week, with other Corp Members, for Community Developement. There are different groups - Charity, Enviroment/Beautification/Sanitation, Dance and Drama, etc. As a part of each group, you're supposed to develop projects, in line with the concentration of your group, that would help develop your Local Government area.

* * *

Now, except playing errand girl and making trips to the bank for a CD coordinator counts as some sort of community development, I believe that this entire thing has been a waste of the last 30, or so, Wednesdays of my life.

Yesterday (Wednesday), we actually did something 'useful' - we walked around the LGA and picked up trash and stuff; generally cleaned the environment. (And then I did a quick bank-run).

Don't get excited though, 'doing something' is just one very small bit of the hoopla. You have to get your CD cards signed too! They have these yellow and green cards that you have to present for the coordinator's signature every week, as proof of attendance. You would think they were the ones that signed N 1, 000.00 notes.
"Who said all of you should come upstairs? See how this place is hot and smelly. Oya, down! Everybody!"
Then she'll shout through the window from the second floor (third floor American nomenclature, lol. It took me almost 6 months to get it right when I just got home) - "Five people should come at a time to sign their cards".
If she sees five and a half people - "You people don't want to leave this place today. Everybody downstairs!"
How this helps community development is something I'm still trying to wrap my head around.

All of us who hoped the NYSC program would give us an opportunity to work for a better Nigeria would just have to make sure we survive this year of torture first, and then find other ways to develop our comminuties, and country as a whole. I can't decisively say that the NYSC program should be scrapped, because I think that it can serve a very good purpose. It just has to be totally restructured.

Oh, and then, everybody likes to get 'settled'; as in "You, Corper, when you're leaving you'll settle me o. All the work I did for you - signing your card, doing your clearance. In fact, your debt is serious, you're my daughter's namesake".

See me foolishly thinking she was just doing her job...

To Serve, With Love Pt 1

I am extremely grateful to be writing this blog post from the relative safety and comfort of my own home, Milo in hand and Michael Buble in ear. You see, I have just recently escaped from the NYSC Concentration…err, sorry…Orientation Camp in someplace called Iyana-Ipaja. I’m impressed with myself; I survived a good solid five days before bolting for the security-clad gates. There’s really only so much a girl can take.

First and most offensively, there was the matter of the pregnancy test. See, if you’re pregnant, you’re not allowed to serve. If you can’t serve, you can’t work. If you can’t work, you starve and you die. So there’s great incentive for an expectant mother to try to pretend that she was not in the family way. As such, each female is expected to submit herself for a pregnancy test, performed in the most sanitary of conditions and by the most capable of medical professionals. Or standing over a ditch filled with someone else’s urine, outdoors in the compound of the NYSC camp with three apparent market-women screaming “WHERE IS YOUR PISS?? IF YOU CANNOT PISS, PLEASE LEAVE THIS PLACE!” at you. Same difference, really.

After overcoming this minor indignity (read: most dehumanizing thing you’ve ever, ever done), you’ve got a registration process ahead of you that you can expect to last no fewer than seven hours and which consists mostly of filling out triplicate versions of the same form seven times and taking verbal abuse from the power-hungry wenches manning each booth. At some point, you get your uniform, which, remarkably, has the ability to be both too big AND too small for you. (If it fits you perfectly, please return immediately. There has clearly been a grave error). The uniforms appear to have been crafted by a tailor who is simultaneously blind, finger-less and very, very stupid and to whom the concept of button-holes and zippers is clearly foreign. It seems perfectly clear what’s happened here. Money’s been appropriated to the purchase of uniforms for the nearly 100,000 corpers that must pass through the program every year, but has probably gone to outfitting someone’s house in Mayfair instead.

On to the matter of your sleeping accommodations. When I was in college, I had a roommate. A perfectly lovely girl from Seattle whose only annoying quirk was the fact that she had to live with me. You see, the room was just so SMALL! How could two people be expected to live in there? My NYSC dorm-room was just about the same size, only instead of just the one roommate, I had twenty-seven. Twenty-seven. Well, there WERE twenty-seven until about Day 3, when I came home to find they’d moved in the fifteenth bunk-bed bringing the grand total up to a nice round thirty. With four such rooms on each floor, this meant that 120 girls were sharing four bathrooms. This in turn meant that in order for all the girls to be ready in time for the 5am drill (and by ‘ready’, I mean showered, dressed and made up because who doesn’t need makeup for a 5am drill??), preparation had to begin at about 2:30am. Not such a problem, unless your roommates were having a good ol’ time gisting about who Bioye was or was not sleeping with back in university till 1am EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. Of course, when you realize that water stopped running in all the bathrooms by Day 2, you’ll have to factor in another hour for all 120 girls to fetch water from the borehole. So long story short, you’re not sleeping in camp. Sleep when you’re dead.

Stay tuned for part II

Sounds of Silence

Love that song by Simon and Garfunkel. It's like 10.00 at night and its dead quiet outside. NEPA just got turned back on in my neighborhood so there is not a sound from a single generator. Strangely also, there are no horns going off and no huge trucks passing by. There is no ruckus going on outside from the people who normally chose to have night time arguments directly outside my house....it is just so QUIET!

Is it completely ridiculous that this made me terrified for a couple of minutes. I've gotten so used to the noise of Lagos that it has become so normal! I swear I was frantically turning off my lights and trying to stare out the window to discover some kind of alien invasion. (We have an inverter which is why I didn't notice the nepa thing immediately)Africans, especially us Nigerians do not believe in doing anything quietly. We must shout and make noise no matter what, lol.

On a side note, there are a few people I wish I could revoke their right to speak. People who don't deserve the right to speak until something that makes sense wishes to come outta their mouth. Crazy tactless individuals who say things like "only people who have no faith in God get sick and take medicine. Medicine is for non-believers". I'm a Christian and I really take offense when people make comments like that. This person should thank their lucky stars that nobody in their family has a life threatening illness...let's see how long it will take for them to run to a hospital. I believe you go to seek medical help and pray to God or whatever you believe in that it all works out for the best.

Anyway, after that little rant, I'm off to savour this rare moment as I am sure it won't last for much longer. Thank you Jesus for this beautiful and divine silence.

Have a blessed weekend.

I'm Lovin it!

I could write down 100 things I HATE about living in Lagos...but I won't. Instead, I'm focusing on things i love about it.

I love the fact that Nigerians do not hide their religion. I don't know what it's like elsewhere but British people generally don't like talking about God and they really don't like any form of religious expression. This seems to be especially the case among youths. Look, I'm not one of those people that want to shove christianity down people's throats but I love the fact that in Naija I can say "God bless you" and not get funny looks like I've just killed your mother. I like having people to discuss anything spiritual with...whether its about doubts i may be having, a need for encouragement or if I'm feeling blessed and i just want to tell someone about it. I even have these conversations with my Muslim friends!

I'm so thrilled that I can get my hair done for the equivalent of 10 pounds or less in Lagos. When i was in England, I would spend close to 45 pounds to get a weave which meant that I could only change my hair once in a blue moon....every 3 months to be exact. For someone as restless as me, that was very annoying. I'm obsessed with my hair, I really do believe that a woman's hair is her crowning glory. You could be Miss Universe but if you have F-ed up hair, just forget it! That is all anybody will notice. The versatility of African/African American hair is both a blessing and a curse for me. You can do WHATEVER you want! Relaxed, braids, weave (straight, curly, kinky), natural...the list goes on. Having choices is great but that just makes me want to try it all (At the same time if i could, lol). I'm the type of person that asks my stylist "So for next time, do you think Rihanna's new haircut would look good on me?" to which she would reply "Honey! I'm not even finished yet and you're already planning your next do". Nowadays I change my hair as often as I like...braids, curly hair, straight, coloured, whatever! I'm rocking a short crop right now but you know I'm already planning my next trip to the salon :-)

I reeeally love having a group of friends again. I've met lots of nice people since I've been back and also reconnected with some old friends. It's nice having people to hang out and confide in.

I'm NOT loving the fact that I have a splitting headache right now from Malaria which is the reason I'm cutting this short!

I Asked For It...

I know I wrote a woe-is-me introduction and gave you the impression that moving back home was the best thing I'd done in a gazzillion years. Well, umm... I'm going to tell you a secret. Don't tell anyone; promise?

Bring your ear very close to the screen: "I miss being a couch potato."

You know the problem, it's this whole 9 - 5 bruhaha. (Or as it is in my case, 8:35 till anytime between 5:30 and 7pm). Lemme lay it down like it is.

Couch Potato-ism:

1. All I was doing was job hunting. I could afford to miss my alarm, on the days when I set it.
2. True that I was broke, but every bonafide couchpopato knows that you must have someone you can be mooching off of (you should be someone's parasite). I had one of those, and God bless her heart. I miss her so much. She worked and made money for both of us. I got used to not paying for anything, that my wallet got missing in my room, a few times.
3. I had too much time on my hands. I could afford to braid my friend's hair and do some mall hopping in the same day. And maybe crown it with dinner with my sugar-mama (babe who was spending money on me in '2').
4. I could spend time talking to my friends, on the phone, in person, or on messenger. We would just sit in the grass with sunglasses, sipping on smoothies, at 2.45pm. They were prolly between classes or taking a late lunch break, while I was just, you know, being...
5. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen. I love to cook, bake and experiment in general. So, there was always time to make another cake, and cook for my friend's boyfriend's sister's best friend's 'Girls Night In'.
6. I had time for things I really enjoyed - singing in the choir, bowling, baby-sitting, handcraft, wakadugbe (walking around, visiting people), writing, TV, and those other things that I don't have to feel bad about doing, even without a reward.
7. Even other people allowed me to be irresponsible. They knew I wasn't working, so I wasn't expected to give them gifts on their birthdays, or contribute to pot lucks, or pay for myself at a restaurant, or pay my own phone bill. (I love my friends!)

J-O-Bism:

1. What a catastrophe to miss the alarm.
2. I have my own personal parasites now. They are called younger siblings.
3. It took me three days to braid my hair myself, and I even had a weekend o. I haven't bought even a pair of slippers (as in 'Dunlop' salubata) since I moved back.
4. I'm always invisible on Yahoo messenger, always 'Busy' on Google chat and I don't remember my MSN password. The last time I had a smoothie was in March. I used to scold people for ignoring calls, I am now a PRO.
5. This is how my kitchen trips work: In the morning, I pop in to pick breakfast, when that's available; I always make myself a cup of tea. In the evening, I pop in to 'place an order' for dinner. Once in a light green moon, I'll bake, or make pancakes, or something I have a very bad craving for - like Spaghetti Bolognaise. (There should be a light green moon tonight...)
6. My 'trips' are seriously dulled by the fact that the 'older ones' think that they always need to know where I'm going. I mean, my G'Mama pratically followed me to a house party last night! (I'll whine about that later).
7. Irresponsible fire! I have to make a budget, and stick to it! It's exhausting.

I mean, I won't exactly say 'bring back the days of joblessness' but like do we have to work every week day?

...Cos I'm A Naija Boi!

Ha! And now I finally BLOG! This is a first, so I’m gonna try to do it differently. Lemme know what y’all think. You might understand why I get a tad too analytical occasionally and always give disclaimers even when speaking :D. Here goes…


Prelude

My father and I have developed a rather interesting relationship. For each major step in my life, he always provides advice and balanced, yet convincing, arguments. Decisions on specifics are generally left to me. Each decision I take however needs to be backed with solid reasons based on HARD facts to carry him along. Umm…yea, he’s a lawyer.

As some of you know,“¯I’m a 9ja boy!¯” to the bone <Big ups Eldee>. So it’s always been my intention to return home. “When” was always the issue. Just before graduation in December 2006, I had interviewed with a few companies who were offering all sorts of wonderful packages, but my then-efiko heart was yearning for graduate school. So I shunned them. I mean, my soon-to-be alma mater was offering me free graduate education with research assistant position and I’d been accepted into one of the best graduate engineering schools (hereafter, µBGES) around. What more could a pre-op efiko ask for?

Small problem: µBGES doesn’t start till the fall semester. But alma mater begins right away.

·Act 1, Scene 1 – The Decision

Light bulb! I get an ingenious idea.

Me, thinking: “Why don’t I attend alma mater now and then go start at µBGES in the fall? Costs me nothing to attend alma mater, no?”

ÉI discuss with dad. Dad thinks it’s a decent idea. Note: “decent idea” generally means “I’ll get back to you on that one.”

After three weeks of vacation in New York (# 5 on my Miss List), yours truly begins engineering graduate school at alma mater.

ÉDad calls.

Dad: “My guy, how far na? What about coming to Nigeria for the next six months until it’s time to go to µBGES? I don ‘rrange one joint like that plus like some 3 babes join for you.”

Me: “Ah pops, I don’t really understand Nigerian girls y’know.”

Dad: Small tin. You know say you be Yankee boi na. E go easy. Nuttin do you.

********** CUT! **********

Sorry guys, that’s not really part of the script. Getting carried away here; uh…let’s do this again.


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********** ¸ ACTION! · **********

After three weeks of vacation in New York (# 5 on my Miss List), yours truly begins engineering graduate school at alma mater.

É Dad calls.

Dad: “Hey son, how about coming to Nigeria for the next six or seven months until it’s time to go to µBGES?”

Me: “Okay…that’s new…but what will I be doing there?”

Dad: “Well, I’ve arranged something for you. They should be calling you soon.”

Me: “Umm…I have other ideas. Lemme go think on it and I’ll get back to you.”

Honestly, I don’t want anything more! But I need to prove to him that it is the best option, all factors considered.

I carry out a comprehensive cost/risk analysis of all my options in preparation for my discourse with dad. Indulge me.

Cost vs Risk
1. Accept a job and work Low cost Low risk
2. Stay at alma mater Moderate cost Low risk
3. Return home High cost High risk


*Cost: Cost of travel, settling, fees, bills, etc
Risk: visa/immigration status (always a bitch eh?)


Me: “Look dad, I’ve done all my analyses and clearly, coming to Nigeria is the worst idea based on facts.”

Dad: “True, but I want you to come back and have a look-see. Check out the system. I’ve organized an internship for you at a multi-national where you’ll have firsthand view of the Nigerian business environment. See if it’s something you’d be interested in.”

Me, thinking: “God, after just 1 week of school, the mere fact that I had to sit through another class with even worse efikos (some undergraduate sef) immediately after graduation cantankerously and effectively nullified any elation I had experienced when I collected my B.Sc pali.”

No friends. Everyone has graduated and left respectably.

Apartment-search wahala.

No money for pocket. (As we all know, 9ja parents don’t send money once they hear you’re working. Doesn’t matter whether na $5.15 per hour at 10 hours a week you dey do.)


Me, thinking: “Omo mehn, I’m out! Back to the comfort of round-the-clock food service, driver, little or no expense, major cash inflow from the ‘rents, and just generally flossing. Nice!”

But wait.
Brothers and sisters, did I mention that my father is a lawyer? You HAVE to come correct. Verify and counter-verify contractual agreements before entering them cos mehn… you can be screwed over for your own carelessness.

I made sure I listed like 10,000 concerns, all of which he assuaged. Then:

Me: “OK, so this means you will bear the full cost of my flight, stay and return?”
Dad: “Yes.”
Me: “…and give me a whip to get around?”
Dad: “Yes.”
Me: “…and get me a job?”
Dad: “Yes.”
Me: “…and support me if the money I earn doesn’t cover all?”
Dad: “Uh…yes.”
Me: “…and pay off my credit card debt?”
Dad: “Uh…yea, that’s taking it too far. Na you carry gbese…pay it off yourself!”
Me: “Haha! OK! I’m in!”

a Call the special friend who doesn’t think too highly of the decision.
a Tell a few other buddies.
a Send off parties.
a Move two-thirds of my stuff to the H.
a Pack the remaining one-third in 2 suitcases.
a Kill off phone, water, electricity, etc.

The special friend drives me to DFW for the final goodbyes.

Me: “Hey, you know what? I’ll call you everyday. Plus I’ll be online all the time so we can chat. It’s like an extended vacation! I’ll be back on Aug 6! See my return ticket now.”


…little did I know!