Trouble's Been Doggin' My Soul...

In an earlier post on this blog, I described my refusal to leave the United States as me being trapped in an abusive relationship. I’d like to further the metaphor by contending that America itself is a vicious, psychotic, abusive boyfriend; one of those who ain’t want you around, but would be damned if he was letting your butt leave.

Last month, after months of tossing and turning, I bought a one-ticket back to my homeland. As most flights to Lagos do, mine had a stopover. Just for five hours. In Amsterdam. Naturally, I decided to go to the Dutch Embassy to go get the transit visa I assumed I needed for this brief foray into Schengen territory. First of all, let me say that the stupid embassy is set on a random hill (that this dummy had to climb in the noon-day DC summer heat), is full of nasty, unfriendly people and they all just make up rules as they go. So aaaanyway, after patiently waiting my turn, I get called up to the window and Madam asks me for my information which I gladly hand over; diligently filled-out forms, passport, money order. She glances at my passport, sneering at the sheer greenness of it, and then goes “Where is your current US visa?”

“Umm, Madam. I don’t exactly have one, hence the one-way ticket back to my mama house.”

“You don’t have one?”

“Nope, not unless – y’know – I got one while I was sleep-walking the other night and just clean forgot about it”

“Mmmm. Interesting. We cannot issue you a transit visa unless we can determine your legal status in the United States”

“What the f*@k?

“Mmmhmm, yes. That’s how we roll here at the Dutch embassy.”

“You understand that I’m going HOME, right? That I am leaving the country because my work authorization has run out (also known as What You’re Supposed To Do)? That I have no immediate intentions to a) return to America b) abscond in Holland? That you’re asking me to remain in the country despite my expired work permit because apparently, I cannot leave?”

“Yes ma’am, we understand all that. We just don’t really care.”

“Okay, so what would you have me do? My flight (fully booked and paid for) leaves in a week.”

“You’d best stop talking to me and start talking to Priceline, because your butt is not leaving through the Netherlands. Thank you and can I get the next customer please?”

There’s a little bit of embellishment in the dialogue, but I assure you, not as much as you’d think. The Nigerian in me wants to fight; wants to yell and scream; even wants to bust out the old faithful “This woman! Do you know who I am??!” The beefy Dutch security guard had me thinking otherwise. So there’s me crying in the street, hot, angry, confused.

It was clearly this anger, heat and confusion that made me think it would be a good idea to walk the few blocks to the Nigerian Embassy to see if my people would be able to help me out in this predicament. I wasn’t sure what I wanted them to do exactly, but isn’t that what happens in movies? You get stuck in some foreign land and bombs are going off everywhere, so you run to your embassy and you’re as good as home? Was I not in a very strange land? Were there not metaphorical bombs exploding all around me? I tried my luck.

They might have been able to help me. Maybe. I’ll never know for sure though because at 1pm on this Tuesday afternoon, the entire Consulate section was closed for Muslim prayers. No comment. After waiting in the air-conditioning for a half-hour, my cooled brain realized that I was on a fool’s errand and it was time to bust out. Hours of scouring the internet for information finally led me to a kindly gentleman on a message board who recommended I call my airline (DUH!). KLM-lady tells me that Embassy-lady is trippin’ and I would not even be requiring a transit visa at all as I am not leaving the transit area and am catching the next flight out. Several repeat calls to different KLM reps confirmed this.

But I’m pretty much holding my breath, crossing my fingers and systematically destroying my manicure until my butt is planted firmly in the seat of that 747 this Sunday.

Trouble, trouble, trouble, trouble...

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!

The Miss List

I started packing the other day in anticipation of the big move home and got to thinking about all the little things that i'll miss. I'm wicked excited about this move (most days), but I have my reservations. Here goes;

I’ll miss walking around downtown at 2 in the morning and not feeling the least bit threatened.

I’ll miss going to concerts and hanging out with rockstars afterward. (Okay, that only happened the one time, but damn was it fun and i've got the pictures to prove it!)

I’ll miss advanced movie screenings of small-budget movies that will likely never get a huge theatrical release. I'll miss 'volunteering' at the Tribeca Film Festival (otherwise known as watching free movies, collecting free swag while not doing a damn thang!)

I’ll miss New York

I'll miss making good money.

I’ll miss my winter coat, hats and scarves, even though I never thought those words would escape my lips. I’ll miss how snow makes everything beautiful.

Good God, how I’ll miss my friends.

I’ll miss hopping on the train and arriving where I need to be twenty minutes later.

I’ll miss steady, constant, fast Internet, not to mention steady and constant electricity.

I’ll miss Friday Night Lights, The Office, 30 Rock, Entourage, Real Time, Jeopardy, Chuck, Flight of the Conchords... (I watch waaaay too much television)

I’ll miss my siblings.

I’ll miss my independence.

I’ll miss Macy’s, and shopping in general.

Oh, my beloved Barnes & Noble!

I’ll miss not being able to wear that sexy-ass trench coat I bought two months ago in anticipation of the fall.

However, I will NOT miss not having a job, not having enough money, being depressed all the time, not having a dog, being plan-less and purposeless., being an interloper in what feels like home...

So I suppose there’s always trade-offs.

We ARE our Biggest Problem

So, we were at Community Development (CD) yesterday, and the coordinator came in to talk to us about doing better at developing our community (Maybe I should start with some background info).

Every corper has a day during the week when he/she is expected to show up at the designated local government area office to take part in 'real community service'. So, a corper could be in the traffic management group, or the environmental group, etc. At each meeting, you'd do something related to the goal of your group, for the benefit of the local government area you belong to. After meetings, you should get your CD card signed as proof that you were present.

Anyway, so the lady spoke against our non-chalant attitudes and explained that the only reason she gives us grief is 'cause we've completely abandoned the real gist of CD and are only concerned about getting our cards signed, and disappearing. She then asked us to talk amongst ourselves about things/projects we could take on and, you know, get busy with what CD is all about.

As soon as she finished talking, this nincompoop started making noise, asking the President of the group to do something about getting our cards signed. And I'm thinking to myself: 'is she an idiot, or just pretending to be one?' It may be safe to say here that I'm not an oversabi house-babe. I don't love going to these meetings. In fact, I think the entire program is a joke, because what it has deteriorated into is a far cry from what it was intended to achieve. Corp members live in fear in some states, and some others finish the service year and are left roaming the streets, looking for jobs. Let's leave that for another post. Now, where was I?

Yes. So, though I do not love the program I believe there is a correct way to ensure that it works in your favor. What if everyone of us was as selfish and short-sighted as this 'colleague' of mine? The whole world would be in a major regression. Did she think that the rest of us enjoyed sitting and wasting away? Hell, we were even trying to help by discussing projects and stuff. (We had to show her minutes of our discussion before she'd sign the stupid cards).

This, I believe, all boils down to the Nigerianness that we have to unlearn, for a better future for this country. Say Girl and I ended up in the same organization in the future, (though I'm sure we won't work well together), I would not entrust any responsibilities to her, because my understanding of her attitude is that she is unable to think of anyone but herself.

Maybe I'm thinking too deep, 'cause it's just NYSC right? That's easy to say, but the truth is that it's not just NYSC. There's a Yoruba proverb that says: Iri ni si, ni iso'ni l'ojo. (Someone please help me translate it verbatim), but the general idea is that you judge someone by the picture they portray of themselves. My mind doesn't put the situation in context, and say: 'Oh, she was frustrated, yada yada'.

Ok, lemme just stop.

Unashamedly Nice

My job involves quite a lot of face time with the general public so I occasionally run into people I’ve met through work. It’s always the usual “Oh, how far, can’t stop, see you later” kind of thing.

On one particular occasion last week, I was out with a colleague at one of our other branches and as we were walking past a conference room, a man suddenly got up and started waving and smiling at me. I had to look behind me because only a close friend would be that happy to see you and as far as I knew, I didn’t have a tall, good looking gentleman friend in his late thirties/early forties. If not for the fact that he was well dressed in a fine suit, I would have run away thinking he was a lunatic.

I moved closer to the conference room where he opened the door and finally explained that I had helped him out with a transaction a few weeks ago when he came to my office. Suddenly, I remembered the smile and it all came flooding back. It had been my first week on the job. Everything was still new and I was pretty slow dealing with customers. The normal reaction was always impatience or anger but this man was just so cool about it. I remember thinking he was weird because he was just so pleasant. Is that normal? Since when did I start to see rudeness as the norm! I was actually discussing this with ISHA and she noted that people are generally not that nice to each other anymore especially in Jand and Yankee. I got used to seeing people walk straight past a person clearly in need of help...like 'This is none of my business'. Over here, at least someone would stop and ask what the problem is.

The encounter was short, all he wanted to say was hello and ask how I was doing at work. He was so genuine. I really hope I gave the right amount of kindness back but to be honest I was just in shock, lol!

Life makes you a little cynical at times. There are actually nice, decent people out there and we don’t always have to be on the defensive.

He may not have completely restored my faith in mankind but with that little gesture, that man totally made my day.