Monef In The City

Coming Back Out of My Shell

2011-08-24T15:20:00.005-04:00

Yes, I'm still here.

No, I haven't blogged in ages.

What is different this time? I will not be apologising for my absence. I have desperately missed blogging over the last couple of years and have often longed to. What kept me from doing so you ask? It certainly wasn't lack of inspiration. So much has changed in my life over the past couple of years that there has been ample material to mine for comedy, drama and all the other good stuff that goes with laying your heart bare on the Internet on a regular basis.

The difference has been a new found desire to protect my anonymity and keep my feelings and writing honest without hurting those closest to me. When I first started blogging, everyone who read it was anonymous. In time, friends and family found the blog and I found myself working too hard to censor my writing. It became too difficult to stay true to myself and write things that truly expressed my feelings. Everything I wrote felt trite. I eventually gave up trying, but I never forgot. I'm back to give it another shot.

I met a boy, fell in love, got married and am making my way through life. Still in the City, still Monef. I'm back y'all.

He's A Boy Now

2011-01-08T12:02:00.000-05:00

No longer a baby, he is now a boy. It is hard to believe that two years have passed by. Two years since his eagerly anticipated arrival brought us all to tears. Two years since we looked upon his countenance and were stunned to see so much of ourselves in this one beautiful boy. Two years since my mother called me as my sister delivered the first of our family's new generation to tell me that I was an Aunt. I wish him many more years of joy and happiness even though life doesn't allow me to always be there and experience everything with him. Happy Birthday Kiki, I love you to bits. Please try not to grow up too fast, I don't want to miss everything.

Book # 36 - The Postmistress - Sarah Blake

2010-11-15T14:59:00.001-05:00

The Postmistress by Sarah Blake

My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Oh this book, I found it quite unbearable to be honest. I have to say it was possibly one of the most boring and tedious things I have ever read. I know that calling something boring may often come across as a lazy critique, but I really don't think there is a more apt description to be had. The story is told from three different POVs, and although at first I found one of those perspectives more interesting than the others, eventually they all just meded into one big, fat ball of meh.

The characters were all frustrating and flat. Even when I was supposed to be feeling something for them, I simply couldn't bring myself to care enough. It is such a shame that given the time when this novel was set and the subject matter, the authour's 'voice' constantly got in the way of the story taking me out of it every step of the way. Doors are never just opened, they always shudder open. We never simply hear someone's footsteps, said footsteps always echo. It became incredibly tedious in a novel where the stores were flat and the plot was mediocre at best. All in all, it felt like much ado about nothing.

View all my reviews

I said yes

2010-07-03T15:15:00.002-04:00

He asked me to close my eyes and jump with him, into a world unknown to us.

He asked me to trust in him, now and forever more.

I didn't hesitate, I didn't think twice. Through streams of tears, with trembling hands, I knelt to meet him on the ground.

I put my hand on his as he remained stationary on bended knee. The word was a whisper upon my lips.

One word that changed our lives for ever.

One word with which I promised to cleave to him for all eternity...I said yes.

50 Books in 2010

2010-04-29T12:31:00.006-04:00

I wrote in my last post about needing to read more this year. Well, in true Monef fashion, I felt the best way to achieve this was to turn it into a project. I really hate it when I don't achieve my goals, so I figured this would serve as a massive motivating factor. Colour me surprised, I have been able to set a goal and follow through.

Thanks to the wonderful folks at www.goodreads.com, I elected to take on a challenge to read 50 books...by the end of the year. Last year I read 7, this year I would like to read 50. Seems ridiculous right? I have a full time job that requires copious amounts of travel as well as all the mania that comes with living in the city. However, I have been amazed at what a difference a concious decision like that can make. So far I have read 22 books this year. I seem to still just about be on track to achieve my goals, but I will seriously have to up the ante when I take some holiday time in the summer.

So far I have read a good mix of stuff, some fluff, some serious, some just plain old fantastic literary fiction. I have also managed to fit in one classic so far which makes me pretty happy. I would love to post book reviews as I proceed, but you know how I can be with the blogging these days...erratic to say the least. That said, I will keep you posted on my exploits. I may very well go back and review all I have read so far, who knows? This is the list as it stands for your enjoyment!

1. The Battle of the Labyrinth (Percy Jackson & the Olympians#4)- Rick Riordan
2. The Girl Who Played With Fire (Millenium #2) - Stieg Larsson
3. The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson & the Olypians #5) - Rick Riordan
4. The Girl who Kicked the Hornets' Nest (Millenium #3) - Stieg Larsson
5. The Hunger Games - Suzanne Collins
6. Catching Fire - Suzanne Collins
7. The White Tiger - Aravind Adiga
8. The Help - Kathryn Stockett
9. Naked - David Sedaris
10. Twilight - Stephanie Meyer
11. The House on Mango Street - Sandra Cisneros
12. New Moon - Stephenie Meyer
13. Eclipse - Stephenie Meyer
14. Breaking Dawn - Stephenie Meyer
15. The Thing Around Your Neck - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
16. The Eyre Affair - Jasper Fforde
17. Flowers for Algernon - Daniel Keyes
18. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society - Mary Ann Schaffer and Annie Barrows
19. The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
20. Snow Flower and the Secret Fan - Lisa See
21. The Time Traveller's Wife - Audrey Niffennegger
22. I am the Messenger - Markus Zusak

Navigating my Today...Finding my Tomorrow

2010-04-29T12:20:00.004-04:00

Yes, yes, I know; I don't blog anymore and it is a terrible thing.

I have no idea when the words dried up or why I stopped writing. The muse went away. Funny enough, I never missed it until it simply wasn't there. My dearly departed compulsion to constantly scribble was something I always took for granted. I thought it was as much a part of me as the birthmark on my left hand. That mark has been there for as long as I can remember, and it was how I learned to differentiate between left and right.

Even today, as a grown woman of 30, I look to my birthmark when faced with the question, "left or right?". It serves as my compass, Old Faithful I like to say. So also have literary pursuits been my guiding light. Throughout the cacophony of being a middle child in a family of three, the pandemonium of being 'different' in an adolescence of sheep desperately trying to be as alike as possible, and the mildly controlled panic that marked my journey of making my way through adulthood two cultures removed from my home base, the books and the pen have been my solace.

But something all that managed to change. Somehow I allowed life to get in the way. It started with the writing and then permeated the reading, until slowly but surely, my life was entirely devoid of literary pursuits. At the beginning of 2009, I declared that it would be my anuus mirabilis, and indeed it was. My beautiful nephew was born, I turned a big corner in my career and I fell utterly and irrevocably in love. Because 2009 felt so right, so perfect, it wasn't until the round up in December that I realised that I had only read 7 books the entire year. Seven. And I had written nothing. This from the person who used to pass entire weekends alternating between the library and Barnes & Noble.

I felt bereft, like my identity had sneakily left me when I wasn't paying attention and I immediately decided that 2010 would be different. I made a pact to read more. I figure there is no point in worrying about the writing at the moment when I don't even read enough. If I get back to devouring books, the writing will come naturally like it used to. The reading is my today...the writing is my tomorrow, wish me luck finding my compass.

2009-06-26T01:22:00.000-04:00

With the party people night and day
Living crazy, that's the only way
So tonight
gonna leave that 9 to 5 up on the shelf
And just enjoy yourself
Groove
Let the madness in the music get to you
Life ain't so bad at all
When you're living off the wall

May's Miracle: As You Are

2009-05-26T09:53:00.002-04:00

He says to me "I like you just as you are"
"Just as I am?" I ask not quite sure how to respond.

There is no script for this, I have never heard these words spoken so sincerely so early on the path.

I feel the warmth wash over me like sunshine on a breezy summer's day.

He looks deeply into my eyes and says it shun with firmness and conviction "I like all the parts of you, the little quirks that make such a beautiful whole. I like you just as you are, don't ever change anything."

I smile both inwardly and outwardly, May's miracle; he likes me, just as I am.

April's Miracle: Something New

2009-04-20T16:49:00.005-04:00

I felt his arm casually snake its way across my waist
His breathing slowed to an unsteady rhythm
I could feel the tension uncoiling through his body
The anticipation building for what he was about to do
A years worth of pent up longing
Of doubts and uncertainty, hesitation and nerves
Slowly he brought his face towards mine
His eyes held my gaze and we both stood there swaying
The world fell away and the room began to spin
His breath was a whisper upon my face
As his lips touched mine I felt a sharp jolt
Tingling current as his warm kiss drew the breath out of me
Though it lasted 5 seconds, it felt like a year
A precious gift, this first kiss

January's Miracle: +1

2009-01-30T12:35:00.004-05:00

The first in a series of miraculous events I will chronicle throughout 2009 to highlight the positive occurrences that have taken place in my life.

On a cold January morning, I received the call. I had been awaiting it for five days, yet somehow it caught me unawares. I heard my mother's voice on the other end of the line, "He is here". Even though I had known for several months that he would be arriving and despite the fact that I wasn't there to witness his grand entrance, her announcement brought tears to my eyes. My family is now +1. In January, our little miracle arrived in the form of my sister's first child, a bouncing baby boy.

My sister and I were born 22 months apart. It has always been very important to me to point out that she isn't quite two years older than I am. 'One year and ten months' I used to scream whenever she or anyone else tried to pull the seniority card. Being that close in age has positive and negative aspects, but the one thing that remains true good or bad is that we take life's turns at roughly the same time. Heading off to school, becoming a teenager, first kiss, first boyfriend - these things have all happened in such a way that I felt more than able to relate. What I am trying to say, and evidently not doing a very good job of, is that I can relate to most things that have happened in her life. The first major step she took that I have yet to was marriage, but somehow that didn't feel alien. Having been in love, I could obviously relate. Not to the actual act itself, but to the idea that it is possible to want to spend the rest of your life with one person.

With this most recent jump however, she is beyond my reach. She carried an entire other person for 9 months and pushed him out into the world. I cannot even begin to fathom the awe she must have felt when he was handed to her. To see herself, my brother-in-law and so many earlier generations of our family all mixed together in the features of one tiny infant is nothing short of astonishing. I have only been able to see him via the harsh medium of mega-pixels, yet somehow I feel the tug on my heart. I had no hand in creating this child, that was between my sister, her husband and God. Yet somehow I feel as though a piece of him belongs to me. I look at a picture of him and I feel as though we are communicating. Silent secrets that only he and I know or understand. My nephew. I am in love and I haven't even met him yet.

My Annus Mirabilis

2009-01-15T11:36:00.001-05:00

Is it too late to say Happy New Year? Probably, but when have rules or conventions ever deterred me? Happy New Year all. This time last year I laid out a series of intentions/resolutions that I intended to keep in 2008. Half of the things listed were tangible goals, the other half intangible. I will say that I tried valiantly to keep them, and even succeeded in a few areas - the intangibles were surprisingly easier than the tangibles - but not all. I had considered doing a recap/roundup of my achievements, near misses and complete failures, but decided against it. December would have been the right time to reflect on the year gone by; to do so now is counter-productive.

This year I am taking a new approach. Instead of listing my goals, this year I have a mission statement: 2009 is my annus mirabilis. It is my year of wonders, my year of miracles. It sounds very wishy-washy, but I want to focus on highlighting the good things that come my way in 2009, and so to do that effectively, each month I will highlight one event that I am grateful for. A miracle per month. It could be something small, it could be something very significant, either way, you will be reading about a multitude of things that I am grateful for this year.

January's miracle has already happened and while I haven't found the words to do it justice yet, I am searching when I find them you will read about it. Happy 2009.

No Longer At Ease

2008-12-07T16:26:00.001-05:00

Whoever said you can't go home, I am finally starting to accept that maybe they were onto something.

Perhaps it is the five year threshold that is proving to be more powerful than I would have thought. For the first time, I feel ill at ease in a city that I have long considered more of my home than anywhere else. It all just seems very foreign. Not the streets, or the people, but I have lost that ease that one usually has when you know exactly how things work. The familiarity that always greets me when I set foot in London eludes me this time.

It isn't frightening or even upsetting, it is just strange. To have to think really hard about what typical procedures are, it just doesn't come naturally anymore to do things the British way. There are all these little signs that tell me that I am struggling to hold on to something that doesn't really belong to me anymore. I am now firmly planted on the outside looking in. Still enchanted by London, but not really feeling a part of it.

Since I arrived in the UK over a week ago, I have had scores of people ask me what part of America I am from. They tell me I have an American twang tempered by a soft British accent. For some reason this makes me sad, I feel as though it should be the other way round. I find myself straining to hear my speech patterns even as I am engaging in conversation which makes for some very awkward encounters. In a bid to demonstrate my 'britishness', I can feel myself softening the flatness of my vowels, rounding my o's more deliberately. Much the way someone fresh off the boat would attempt to fake an accent to belong. This is what it has come to.

Will it always be this way? Or will I simply accept my fate as a global citizen, destined to belong nowhere in particular but feeling comfortable enough to be anywhere? I really don't know.

2008-11-13T17:17:00.001-05:00

Say You're One of Them by http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1033445.Uwem_Akpan">Uwem Akpan

My'>http://www.goodreads.com/review/show/37649874?utm_medium=api&utm_source=blog_review">

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
I picked ths book up on a whim, as I am currently trying to factor at least one African author a month into my reading list. It was quite an incredible experience. 'Say You Are One of Them' is basically a collection of six short stories, some very short, some rather long (almost novellas) but they all feel just right.

Each story is set in a different African country and they are always told from the perspective of a child. It was sad, joyful, moving and exhilarating all at the same time. Uwem Akpan has such beatifully graceful prose that even reading about genocide and religious conflict can seem ordinary and extraordinary all at once. This book would be an excellent selection for a book club, marre only by the fact that each story in itself has more than enough juice to support hours and hours of lively discussion.

We Did It.

2008-11-04T23:26:00.000-05:00

The champagne is flowing,
People are crying,
Singing, dancing in the streets,
President Elect Obama,
We can't quite wrap our heads around it.
We can't believe it has come to pass.
We need time to process it.
Barack Obama looked at us and said
"Yes We Can"
We took him at his word,
And yes, we did.

President Obama.
I cannot breathe.

Dixville Notch down, the rest of the country to go

2008-11-04T00:54:00.000-05:00

So the first voting results have trickled in from the resort of Dixville Notch, a small resort in the north of New Hampshire with a tradition of voting first in the nation - at midnight to be precise - on election day. The number of people actually casting ballots there is tiny, but it remains a fascinating little bit of tradition. Just the sort of thing to titillate a political junkie like me.

And so of course I stayed up till midnight to see which way the wind would blow in Dixville Notch (it usually blows republican), but this time it was worth it.Obama-15, McCain-6. Bring on the rest of Election Day!

*NaNo update - 4,400 words out of a goal of 50,000.

Cui multum datum est multum quaeretur ab eo

2008-10-28T16:38:00.000-04:00

Or in English, 'to whom much has been given, much will be asked of him'

Malcolm Gladwell, author of Blink and The Tipping Point published an article in The New Yorker magazine recently that I really appreciated. The topic in question was Late Bloomers: Why do we associate genius with precocity? He touched on something that has always coloured my perception of creative pursuits, the idea that if you don't become a shooting star at a very young age; it is over for you. I have often spoken of my love for writing and how I have abandoned it and picked it up again many times over the years. I have never really made a conscious effort to define myself as a writer, and I have never sought an audience for my work. Could that be as Mr Gladwell posits, because I am still honing my craft and as such remain unconvinced of my abilities? Or is it merely a lack of confidence and fear of being critiqued?

Am I supposed to be a writer? For some reason, I have never considered my literary pursuits worthy of a career, and yet I find myself drifting back to that question more often than not these days. It really has never occurred to me to seriously attempt to take writing beyond the confines of my journal previously, and now this blog. And yet, every time I read a short story or book by a new up and coming Nigerian writer, I find myself wondering why that cannot be me. In a sense, I suppose that blogging in and of itself is a step in that direction. I blog a lot less frequently (major understatement) now than I did in days gone by, because from time to time I go back to read my words and I cringe. I try not to post unless I have something worth saying, and even then, I like to try and choose my topics carefully. My blog is evolving from a pedestrian recording of everyday events in my life into a series of mini-essays.

I understand however, that to set myself on the path to success I must learn to take a more disciplined approach to my craft. I have never taken a Creative Writing class in my life, and I could certainly stand to benefit from doing so. That isn't the immediate problem though. The issue that sorely needs addressing is my lack of discipline. I constantly allow writer's block to defeat me, and go for months on end without writing anything. As soon as I put pen to paper again, I remember just how much I love it. How essential it is for my wellbeing.

Last year, I attempted to participate in National Novel Writing Month. A movement that involves thousands and thousands of people across the world working towards the goal of writing 50,000 words during the month of November. I failed miserably. I wrote a grand total of 1,783 words, a failure of monumental proportions because I essentially gave up less than halfway through. A year later, I am older, wiser and more aware of my shortcomings. I am ready to give it another go. On the 1st of November, I will once again enter the belly of the beast and attempt to write 50,000 words in one month. To achieve this, I will need to work at the pace of 1,667 words a day - or to be on the safe side, 2000 words per day.

I cannot promise to post regular excerpts as when writing that fast, a good deal of it will be worthless (there is no time to edit as you go), but I am hoping there will be some jewels in the rough that I can comfortably share on this blog. I cannot reach 50K without your encouragement, and hopefully anyone who reads this blog and hasn't been scared away by the constant writing droughts will pop by from time to time to push and goad me into achieving my goal. 50K, here I come, wish me luck.

Breaking Up

2008-10-20T20:13:00.000-04:00

Is so hard to do. The break up with the person isn't even the hardest part. The real toughie is saying goodbye to the illusion of the person that once was. And now, I am breaking up with a 29-year illusion...it doesn't get much tougher than that.

What could be harder than saying goodbye to yesterday? I'm saying hello to a series of tomorrows in which you no longer matter. Not like you used to. And even though your star which once shone so brightly for me has diminished gradually through the years, I never thought anything would put that light out permanently. For years now you have slipped further and further off that pedestal, but I was so sure you would figure out how to apply the brakes. And so I held steadfast, stayed true, certain that for all the cracks that appeared beneath your shiny surface our bond was unbreakable. But you proved me wrong. Fell right off the lofty apex of my expectations and slid ever closer to the precipce until suddenly, without warning, you dropped right off the edge into the abyss of my contempt.

A black hole in my heart I never thought you could occupy. I don't see any way back for us. It feels like the end. I've known disappointments in my life, many at your hand, but somehow this cuts deepest. Cuts right to the quick. Pierces the depths of my soul and fills me with a cynicism I had no idea I was capable of feeling. This is the legacy of our long running love affair. I look upon your face and I am overwhelmed by the loss. Staggered by the magnitude of your betrayal. There is no panacea for what ails me. I'm mourning the person you were, mourning the bond we had, mourning the person you could have been. It is over between us - once and for all.

My Mother, My Hero

2008-09-09T18:33:00.000-04:00

A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie. ~Tenneva Jordan

I've always loved that quote. I've spent many a moment trying to distinguish just what it is that makes my mother so special, and there it is, in someone else's words but I couldn't have said it better.

Growing up, I was definitely my father's child. It isn't that I didn't love my mother, I just regarded her as the disciplinarian, the sterner of the two, the one whose word was law. She was the one who made every attempt to be at Christmas concerts, sports days, ballet recitals, PTA meetings, birthday parties all the while holding down a full-time job and somehow, I was still my father's child.

Then I turned 14, and something strange happened. Puberty arrived later for me than most girls I knew, but brought with it an acute awareness that there was more to my mother than perhaps met my eye. Perhaps setting out on the path to womanhood gave me access to a window into her soul that had previously been veiled from me. I began to see more of myself in her, and with that awareness came understanding. And then, I looked around at all the other grown women I knew, and it dawned on me that my mother was indeed something very special.

I began to see her strength, even in the face of what must surely have felt like insurmountable obstacles. Her acute insights into the things that bothered me the most. Her uncanny ability to put a positive twist on every negative event in our lives. Her sensitivity always tempered with practical advice. Her unshakeable faith that things would work out, and her determination to do everything in her power to make it come to pass. Perhaps what I identified with the most was realising just how emotional she is. She is a woman of great passions, often moved to tears at the drop of a hat. She taught me that it was perfectly okay to cry, just as long as you remember to wipe away the tears and keep pushing on. She has become my rock, my solace, my sounding board, my best friend, but above all, she is my hero.

My mother's life has been a lesson in selflessness, one that it has taken maturity to truly observe. I look at my mother and I see reflected in her the essence of all that I hope to be. If I can grow up to be half as strong, loving, thoughtful, generous, kind-spirited, and yes, selfless as she is then I will truly be blessed. In the meantime, I will continue to be grateful for her presence in both my life and the lives of the many others she continues to touch.

Happy Birthday Mummy. The world is not big enough to contain all my love for you.

I wash my hands of her

2008-05-05T22:05:00.000-04:00

Last week, I had an experience that brought me out of blogger hibernation. I have been meaning to blog about it for a while, but I just couldn't find the words. It all started when I met up with a few friends for lunch. I hadn't seen them for a while, so it was a nice opportunity to catch up over a glass of vino.

Friends X and Y were both there when I arrived, so we grabbed a table and began catching up on old times while waiting for Friend Z. It was to be a celebration of sorts, Friend Z had sent us an email letting us know that she had finally gathered the courage to leave her abusive partner. I was cautiously optimistic, I've been down this road with Friend Z before only to have it go up in smoke, but she had already sent her two daughters back to the UK ahead of her to be with her parents. She was set to join them next week and was just tying up her affairs in New York. As we waited for Z to arrive, I began to compare the gift I had brought with what X and Y came up with. We laughed about how hilarious it had been walking through Hallmark trying to find an appropriate card. What was the sentiment behind a farewell like this? "We're sad to see you go, but glad you are getting away from that bastard?" I don't think Hallmark make cards for occasions like that.

Our laughter died slowly as Friend Z appeared at our table. She was sporting a purplish-green bruise on her cheek and a nasty cut on her upper lip. I could clearly make out the patches of concealer and foundation on her face, fighting desperately to cover up the marks of her partner's rage. There was an uncomfortable silence as everyone tried to smile whilst avoiding eye contact scrupulously. I gave up trying and summoned the waitress over to bring Z a glass of wine. I figured we could all pretend not to notice, after all, this would all be ancient history by next week. As the waitress whipped out her pad to take down Z's order, the other girls joined in and suggested we all get a bottle of champagne to celebrate properly. Z looked down at the table and quietly said "No. I'll just have an orange juice".

Y, who has known Z for the longest was taken aback, "You're not drinking juice, we are supposed to be celebrating. Who celebrates with juice?!" We went ahead and ordered the champagne, and continued making small talk, all the while scrupulously avoiding those ominous looking bruises. When the champagne arrived, the waitress poured everyone a glass and we all toasted Z and began to drink. Z continued chattering brightly, but didn't touch her drink. Eventually, I bit the bullet and sputtered "Z, what is up with you? You are not drinking, and you're acting kind of weird." Z looked me square in the eye and said "I didn't know how to tell you guys this, but I have decided to stay. I'm going to England next week to pick the girls up and then we are coming back to New York."

Everyone sat in stunned silence around the table. None of us knew what to say to that. Finally, X spoke up, "Where are you going to stay?" Z looked at her like she had lost her mind. "At home of course." Still not comprehending, X pressed further. "Is Abusive Partner moving out?" Z looked at us all, and casting her eyes down proceeded to tell us that they had decided to give things another go. She had discovered she was pregnant AGAIN.

I put a few bills on the table to pay for my drinks, and gathering my bag and coat walked out of the restaurant without so much as a glance backwards. I could hear them calling out to me as I wound my way through the crowd, desperate to get as far away from them as possible. As soon as I hit the street, I started running and didn't stop until I was 10 blocks away. When I was far away enough, I leaned against the wall of the building and started crying. My head was spinning. I couldn't see the crowds on the street or hear the traffic. As the roaring in my ears subsided, all I could see was Z's face as she looked me in the eye and told me that she was carrying that monster's seed, for the third time. Abusive Partner has been steadily beating Z for as long as I have known her. A spilt lip here, and a fractured rib there. I've blogged about it in the past, and wrestled with my conscience as I tried to find ways to be supportive, yet distance myself from the situation. And just when I thought the whole issue would be resolved, she was right back at square one.

Since that day, I haven't spoken to Z. I think of her often, and my thoughts are always interspersed with Tracy Chapman's lyrics:

Last night I heard the screaming
Loud voices behind the wall
Another sleepless night for me
It won't do no good to call
The police
Always come late
If they come at all

In my head, Z is the nameless faceless woman of Chapman's song, but I pray that her fate will end differently. I continue to say those prayers fervently but do so from afar, for to partake in any pretence of joy at the news that she will be welcoming another child into this nightmare would be utterly false. I can do nothing but try to get those lyrics out of my head and wish her well. I sincerely hope that one day the cycle will be broken.

A Winter without end

2008-02-27T18:21:00.000-05:00

Winter fatigue is starting to set in. You know, those long months when there is no end in sight and one begins to feel that spring is a mere figment of your imagination. The proverbial carrot dangled in front of your nose as the days drag on and months clock up mileage but still it remains cold, and dreariness refuses to loosen her grip on the city.

I always start the year feeling optimistic about the weather. In the beginning, winter is gorgeous, especially when I am watching the snowfall from the snuggly comfort of my couch. Even when I venture outside, I revel in the crisp crunch of my boots as they connect with the padded pavement. It is the closest thing to the childish delight of splashing in a puddle. Even the trees look majestic in their naked beauty and I pause and tell myself that maybe winter isn't so bad after all.

But then, two months into the year, reality takes root. The lingering chill is no longer fresh and pleasant. It is morphed into a bone chilling unpleasantness that only serves to underscore the misery permeating the air. The wind is merciless and relentless, turning every snowfall into a torrent of sleet and mayhem.

Most telling us the demeanor of the trees. Where they once stood proud and showed off their gently frosted tips, they now cower in terror. Tormented as the rest of us are by the neverending punishment of the elements. Logically, I know the end is in sight, but for some reason, this feels like a winter without end.

The more things change, the more they stay the same

2008-02-13T19:40:00.001-05:00

Last night I jumped into a taxi on my way home and was delighted to notice that the driver was listening to a political talk show. The results of the Democratic Primaries in DC, Virginia and Maryland were due to start coming in so it was nice to know that I could stay up to speed. As he wove his way through the Manhattan rush hour traffic like a lunatic high on speed, he began to offer up his opinions. It is such a rarity for a New York taxi driver to have a conversation with someone with someone other than his hands-free, that I welcomed the distraction and began to chat to him.

He started off by asking me what I thought about Barack Obama. I told him that I really liked the guy and thought he had the potential to be a great POTUS. He agreed with me, and instead of stopping while was ahead, chose to go on and wax poetic about why he loved Obama so much. "Obama is a great man because he is not like all the other black people in this country. He doesn't go about causing trouble, he is a good man and I hope he wins."
As much as I like Obama, and as much as I hope he wins, I was incredulous at the nerve of this taxi driver, chauferring me, a black woman, telling me that he likes Obama because he isn't like other black people. Cheeky bastard. Never one to back down from a confrontation, I asked him "What exactly do you mean he isn't like other black people in this country? What are black people in this country like?"

He sputtered and stuttered as he rushed falling over himself to explain, "I wasn't talking about people like you, I was talking about the rest of the African-Americans, they are all trouble makers."
I gritted my teeth at the sheer obtuseness of this idiot, "So let me get this straight, in this whole country, Barack Obama and I are the only decent black people, and everyone else is to be classed as a troublemaker by virtue of the colour of their skin?"

He then began to feign ignorance claiming that he didn't understand what I was talking about. Luckily for him we pulled up outside my house and the conversation had to be cut short. The damage was already done though, and there was clearly no tip in his future. I considered reading him the riot act, but felt too weary to even bother engaging. I paid the man and waited for my change down to the last red cent. He told me how he didn't mean to offend me and apologised for any incovenience, but I was still saddened. Saddened by the fact that an Asian man, an ethnic minority in this country didn't know better than to make sweeping assesments of an enitre race of people. Saddened by the fact that he seemed to assume that his commentary on how Obama and I were okay was some sort of compliment.

Mostly though, I was saddened that at a time like this when history is being made and perceptions are being reshaped in ways we never thought possible, all this man could see is that Obama must be some sort of anomaly, some sort of fluke that does not represent the reality of what it is to be black in America. I was saddened to see that the more things change, the more they stay the same.

10 Things I Love to Distraction

2008-01-31T22:31:00.000-05:00

In the interest of this list actually being enjoyable, I offer a disclaimer. God, family and friends don't count for my purposes. It goes without saying that I love them all.

1. Coca-Cola – I am a Coke fiend. Always have been, probably always will be. Not Pepsi, or Diet Coke or any other pretenders to the throne, Coca-Cola specifically. Full of calories and ice-cold. There is no better sensation than popping that can open and feeling those fizzy bubbles hit the back of my throat. I am a Coke lover for life. If I could deliver it directly into my bloodstream, I would. Seriously.

2. Manchester United – I have been red for as long as I have understood the concept of football. From the days of Sparky to the domination of Cantona. I love Manchester United so much that when they are on top I am joyous and when they are sub-par I am moody. Ronaldo is the sparkle in my eye, Ryan Giggs is my rock in the storm.

3. 2Pac – When I was younger, I was sure that hip-hop was not my thing. N.W.A did nothing for me, and Run-DMC made my head hurt. I was more inclined towards the smooth stylings of R&B and New Jack Swing. One fateful day, I needed a new tape for my Walkman having destroyed my Boyz II Men album, and the only tape my best friend had was 2Pacalypse now. It was love at first beat and I have never looked back since. I go through phases of loving different songs old and new. My current phase has me loving ‘Holla at Me’, but one thing remains constant, I love 2pac.

4. Joss Whedon – I have made no secret of my Buffy/Angel/Firefly obsession. I thought it was limited to the TV shows, but the arrival of the comics continuing the series has reversed that opinion. I recently went to a comic conference just to hear him speak, and in that moment, I knew I was lost. There is no witticism that this man spouts that doesn’t resonate with me. He is every closet geek’s dream come true.

5. Dodo – I would have said plantain, but that would be inaccurate. I love dodo specifically. As a child, I ate it with everything possible. As an adult, I understand that nothing in the world tastes better than fresh dodo and stew with a bottle of Coke.

6. Pop culture magazines – I anxiously await the arrival of my Entertainment Weekly subscription. As soon as I land in the UK, my first task is typically to hit up WHSmith and purchase Empire Magazine. If I won the lottery tomorrow, my first task would be to buy myself a seat on the EW board. Yes, I actually care that much.

7. Internet forums – This is somewhat of a cheat because my forum love developed through my pop-culture obsession, but I have since branched out. Political forums amuse me the most. There is nothing like an unpopular opinion setting the web aflame. I live for the banter. Okay, not really, but I come pretty close.

8. Gladys Knight – It started with an unnatural obsession with ‘Midnight Train to Georgia’ and culminated in full blown obsession with my discovery of ‘I’ve Got to Use My Imagination’. Gladys speaks to my soul. I have no idea why, but her inimitable growl transports me to a different place every time.

9. Champagne – Le bubbles make me sooooo happy. I know it is a cliché, but I really do love champagne. I’m not even a connoisseur, I don’t need Dom Perignon or Cristal, a glass of Veuve Cliquot does the trick. Lest I sound like an alcoholic, I shall refrain from further waxing poetic about the glories of champers.

10. Shoes – I left the most important till last, because I truly love shoes to distraction. Whenever I step into a shoe shop, I literally have a shoe-gasm. I love to drool over completely impractical footwear that I would probably never purchase. I gives me such a thrill to see a deliciously gorgeous pair sitting on a pedestal, and a shoebox is probably the single greatest invention of all time. There is nothing better than returning home form an arduos shopping trip and cracking one open to revel at the gorgeous footwear inside. God knew exactly what he wasdoing when he gave me size 8 feet, because if he hadn’t, I would probably be bankrupt by now. One thing is for sure, I love shoes to distraction.

Bad Vibes...

2008-01-07T22:55:00.000-05:00

I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's festered all weekend, squirming in my stomach, but I can't put my finger on why. I'm not one for supernatural phenomena for the most part (outside of Christianity, but that doesn't count), but I can't help but get the distinct feeling that someone I love somewhere, is in a great deal of pain.

It is completely irrational, but the sensation continues to gnaw at my consciousness. It is intent on propelling itself from the back of my mind where I have forcibly shoved it, to the forefront where it can displace everything else. At times like this, I wish I was much better at staying in touch with my peeps. Would I know for sure if something befell someone I care about? Or would I be forced to hear about it second, third and maybe even fourth-hand? Does any of this even matter? Or am I just driving myself crazy over what currently amounts to nothing more than a tingle down the back of my spine? I guess time will tell..still, bad vibes all round.

Right time. Right place. Right man.

2008-01-03T18:18:00.000-05:00

Even up in New York City where there will be no electoral scrambling until February, the excitement is palpable. There is a real buzz in the air and a sense that something dramatic is about to take place. Today the Iowans will caucus and we will see whether all the buzz and hype of the last year has translated into anything solid.

My first experience of the US electoral process was in 2004, and the difference this time is astonishing to behold. This time, nothing is cut and dried and everyone (well, almost everyone) is a contender to some extent. This is what I imagined when I was learning all about the lofty ideals of democracy in school. I know that there is a lot of standard politicking, empty promises etc. going about, but still, there is a sense that something very exciting is about to happen.

In 2004, I really didn’t care. It was a case of hoping for the most tolerable of the bunch. This time however, there are several capable people with varying strengths jockeying for votes. It feels more like a scene from The West Wing than modern day politics (for TWW fans out there, you will have notices the nod to the tagline of that great show in my title) I am actually excited at the prospect of a vote that doesn’t involve reality TV!

I cast my lot with Barack Obama, and for the first time since I moved to the US, I am saddened by the fact that I am ineligible to vote. I really think he has something very special, something one rarely sees in politicians these days. It is intangible (that appears to be my buzzword of 2008), but he really resonates with me. If I could, he would be my number 1 choice, but I do my part by persuading my friends who are registered voters that his cause is one worth supporting.
The political roller-coaster of a year has swung into action, I can’t wait to se how it plays out!

10 Things I Hope for in 2008

2008-01-02T17:53:00.000-05:00

Out with the old and in with the new! 2007 seems to have flown by in a blur, and I can barely remember any resolutions I made much less whether I kept them (well…I can think of a couple, but they are not very blog friendly). To kick off the New Year, I have decided to do another ‘10 Things’ list. These are not so much resolutions, as they are things I hope and pray for this year. I have decided to split my list into tangibles and intangibles. This way I can look back on the year, and if I have achieved the tangibles I’ll know I have a pretty good hit rate.

Tangibles

1. A driver’s license – It is nothing short of depressing. At the grand old age on 28, I do not hold a driver’s license anywhere in the world. It is beyond embarrassing. It makes me shudder with mortification. It must be rectified, and so top of my list of things I am praying for this year is a driver’s license.

2. Winter sports – The theme of this year for me is adventure. I want to try new things and take risks. In my world, this equals winter sports. I have lamented very often and very loudly about how much I hate winter, so this year in effort to enjoy the season more, I want to go skiing, or snowboarding…or both. Many a bruise and bump lies ahead!

3. Beaucoup de manuscripts – This one will really take some major determination on my part. Determination to replace my laptop, determination to save up for that shiny new Macbook I so desperately crave, determination to resist the temptation to procrastinate, determination to pluck up the courage to share my work with the rest of the world…whew! Well, I guess if it was easy, then it wouldn’t be on my list of things I hope/pray for.

4. An interesting stamp in my passport – This year I want to go to a country I’ve never visited. I want to have more than a typical beach vacation. More than a trip to a European capital of culture. Somewhere in Asia/Africa/South or Central America should do the trick. Cuba would be lovely, but who knows.

5. More American friends – I am living in a British/Nigerian bubble in the US. It is a bit of a shame really as I haven’t done this intentionally, it just happened that way. All my friends are Brits or other Nigerian people for the most part. I’m not saying I don’t know any Americans, but all the Americans I socialise with are either people I know from work or my roommates! Now is as good a time as any to reverse that trend.

Intangibles

6. Wisdom – This year I pray that I grow wiser. I am already intelligent, educated, well rounded and generally very smart. Some of my choices last year did not reflect this. I know we all make mistakes, but I pray for wisdom this year and hope that this will allow me to avoid some of the pitfalls that befell me last year.

7. Perseverance – I have commitment issues. Not of the relationship variety, but generally with a lot of other things. Too often I allow myself to become side-tracked by a new bright and shiny object. More often than not, I am too far gone before I realise that I have taken my eye off the ball. In 2008 I pray that I am able to focus and persevere to achieve my goals.

8. Courage – This year signals a lot of changes for me. I pray that I have the courage to take the right fork in the road ahead. I want to find faith in my choices and the ability to follow them through and have confidence in the strength of my convictions. I want to be able to look in the mirror and acknowledge that I am steering myself down a path of my choosing, regardless of the consequences.

9. A renewed sense of responsibility – Living in a different country from most of my family and friends affords me the luxury of neglecting to call my friends and family without having to feel guilty about it. I am able to forget birthdays and anniversaries because I have a handy excuse. I don’t want to be like that anymore. It really is not in my nature to be so thoughtless. I chalk it up to extreme laziness, so in 2008 I want to reprioritise. I want to afford my relationships with family and friends the importance that they deserve. I want to nurture my bonds with those who love me instead of testing them. I want them to know that I love them just as much.

10. Love – In 2008, I want to give love to those who deserve it. I want to treat it like the precious commodity that it is and hand it out accordingly. I want to be open to receiving love. I want to be able to distinguish between real love and the impostors who so often arrive bearing her hallmarks. Most of all I want to let my love for God, and my love for myself shine through in all that I do.

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE.

D-Day

2007-11-01T17:21:00.000-04:00

Today is the day. I have the rest of this week off work and the plan is to focus on my writing. My personal goal is currently set for 2,000 words per day. No mean feat when one is trying to get coherent narrative down. So far, I have 645 words and I hate them all. I am gazing longingly at the 'delete' button wishing I could use it.

I have to force myself to remember that my goal at this stage is not to create beautiful prose. It is just to get as many words as possible out there and let the story shape itself. It is quite a humbling experience, I haven't written fiction since I was fifteen. I have been told by experienced people that I will probaly hate the first 4,000 words of whatever I am writing, so I guess I just have to suck it up.

Oh well, 1,355 more words to go today ....

NaNoWriMo, Here I come

2007-10-22T12:40:00.000-04:00

I respect my mother more than anyone else in the whole world (seriously, the whole world). So when she chastised me a month ago for not writing, I sat up and took notice. She has never been the type of mother who believes that all her children are immensely gifted at everything. She is a realist, down-to-earth, pragmatic and a voracious reader. She told me that I was wasting my God-given talent by not writing enough, and that made me sit up and take notice.

I have always been a writer. It has taken many shapes and forms, but has always been in there somewhere. Studying engineering at University was a big deviation from that path, and truth be told, were it not for this blog, I am not sure I would have found my way back anytime soon. I never stopped reading though, that has been one of the biggest constants in my life. I go through roughly 2-3 books a week, and in extraordinary circumstances e.g. Pottermania or extreme boredom that quota can be ratcheted up to 4.

When I read something that truly resonates with me, my first thought is always “I wish I had written that”. This leads me to conclude that the drive to create prose is still within me, buried deep somewhere. The difficulty I face however is I haven’t written fiction in about 10 years. Writing is like a muscle for me, the less I exercise it, the creakier it becomes. And so I find myself writing clunky unnatural sounding dialogue. Words that make me cringe as soon as I type them. My inner editor is at war with my creative muse.

I think I have found the perfect cure for that malady. National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). NaNoWriMo is a creative writing project that was born in the San Francisco Bay area in 1999. The idea is to write 50,000 words in 30 days. You must begin on November 1st and finish on November 30th in order to ‘win’. There is no prize for winning (you get a printable certificate to say you won), so there is no point in cheating. The real prize is the personal gratification, and for me, the impetus to pour 50,000 words out onto paper as they appear in my mind without stopping to edit, structure or fret.

This is no mean feat, to achieve my goal, I must write ~2,000 words a day! I have trouble with keeping my blog up to date, so how on earth will I manage to complete this task? Plus I am still laptop-less, so I can’t really write on the go per say, unless I do it long hand. However, nothing ventured, nothing gained right? And so, I commit myself to writing 50,000 words in the month of November, and hopefully I will come out with some semblance of a story, something that is on its way to being a rough first draft.

I will keep you guys posted on my progress, as I will definitely need some cheerleading to help me cross the finish line. I would love to say that I will post excerpts of what I am writing as I go, but it might be too awful to share with the world. I will have to play that one by ear…in the time being wish me luck as I venture into the world of deadline-intensive creative writing. Let’s hope my mother is right about this…I trust her instincts, she is almost never wrong. Wish me luck!

The Box of Blackness

2007-10-19T13:06:00.000-04:00

It has been quite a while..I know...I'm trying to learn better discipline. Here you go...

Prior to my relocation to New York City, I never really took into account the fact that being black and being Nigerian are two very different things. By this I mean that although I was aware of the theoretical differences, I never really had any social or cultural experiences that served to ram the point home.

Over the past four years, having swallowed the red pill and ended up down the rabbit hole, I am looking at the world with fresh eyes and realising that in today’s society blackness is a double-edged sword. A weapon of devastating abilities that serves to provide one with instant inclusion and exclusion simultaneously…or if you are as apparently odd as I am, you can end up in no mans land.

At the risk of sounding judgmental, I have to say that the US is by and large a country built on labels. There are a lot of different boxes into which everyone supposedly fits. It is akin to a giant warehouse holding various goods; all packaged separately according to type to prevent any confusion. Mix anything up, and chaos ensues.

Based on my appearance, the label on my box reads: BLACK PERSON. In the BLACK PERSON BOX, we all listen to hip-hop and r’n’b exclusively, we love chicken, enjoy family reunions at which we have barbecue, skiing or camping is not an option for us, we all dress in Sean John or Baby Phat apparel, we are all for driving the biggest SUVs we can find with shiny rims and most importantly, we do not form serious relationships or friendships with anyone who is not in the BLACK PERSON box, unless they are in the LATINO PERSON box.

This arrangement always causes me to give pause and scratch my head, because as a product of Nigeria/England, I have never had my box described to me. I often run into problems because of this, causing the warehouse admin to attempt to shove me into another box they have created. This box is left on the side, as far away from the rest of the boxes as possible. It is ostracised because it is deemed to be some form of a contaminant. The label on this box simply bears one word: COCONUT. I cannot describe the contents of the COCONUT box accurately to you, as I have never deigned to take a peek inside. Whenever warehouse personnel attempt to shove me in there, I fight them off kicking and screaming.

For the most part, they seem to have learned their lesson, they now know to leave well enough alone. I am left to wander the halls of the warehouse, checking out box after box, as well as mingling with all the other renegades who choose not to wear any of the one-size fits all labels we are provided with. It takes some getting used to, and the initial sensation is one of loneliness and exclusion at the thought that you don’t belong anywhere in particular. Eventually though, this gives way to understanding. Clarity descends and you begin to realise that you do in fact, belong everywhere. This is something I would never have had the opportunity to learn, if I had allowed them to shove me in the box and close the lid. They would have locked me in there and thrown the key away forever.

The box is a dangerous place. Stay in there and the rest of the world will close it on you. You will be viewed, as the product of an assembly line, mass-produced and regurgitated for the world’s consumption, and stereotypes will prevail.

2007-10-05T23:41:00.000-04:00

I know it has been ages since I posted, y'all give me a moment. Technical issues (i.e. lack of a laptop) have prevented me from doing my thing. It won't be long now, I promise:)

The Seasons, They are A' Changing

2007-09-02T00:13:00.000-04:00

The arrival of winter in New York is very dramatic. He is harsh and cruel, all the while presenting himself as a wolf in sheep's clothing. He must be very aware of his sheer abrasiveness, because every year he remembers that he has to seduce us. In order to lure us into a false sense of security, he unleashes his right hand vixen: Fall.

She enters with the utmost subtlety, working her way into our affections with her delicate crispness and much needed freshness. She knows exactly what we need after the lambast of summer. By the time she first makes her presence felt, we are so happy to see her that we momentarily forget that she is a harbinger of the worst.

It is only when she begins to unwrap her bronzed tendrils from around us leaving the door wide open for Mr. Frost to take up residence that we become aware of what is happening. By that time, it is too late and we are stuck in a quagmire of snow, frost and bitter cold.

I am dancing with the vixen right now, but the ice-cold grip of Mr. Frost is at hand. I can see his shadow on every corner just waiting to pounce.

I HATE WINTER!

A Bit Schizo...But Its All Good

2007-08-31T08:50:00.000-04:00

I think all children are blessed with a touch of schizophrenia. At least in the beginning, until we exhaust ourselves trying to turn them into clones of what society tells us responsible adults should be. We then churn out these cookie-cutter largely homogenised people who have had every ounce of creativity and individuality wrung out of them and send them out into the world to wreak mediocrity on humanity. This is understandable; schizophrenia is just so damn scary.

I was definitely a schizophrenic child. In fact, quite a few elderly Nigerians would have also classified me as a pathological liar. Let’s just say that I much preferred living in my head to living in reality. Not because there was anything wrong with my reality, on the contrary, I had a fantastic childhood. I was simply one of those children given to wild flights of fancy. I also had a knack for making it believable, in other words I knew just how far to push it, and when to reel it in.

I used to sit for hours making up entire worlds in my head. These places were very intricate with specific mythologies, legacies and multiple friends who I sometimes brought back with me to the real world. After a long day of traversing the complex webs I had woven, I would sit down to dinner with my family and often carry on these unfinished conversations with an imaginary friend or two. Even in my fantasies my childhood friendships were often as fickle as can be expected from a 7-year old. My mother would look on, utterly perplexed by the odd child who insisted on carrying on conversations with people who did not exist.

When I was 9, I mastered the art of embellishment. I would take a seemingly mundane scenario and put my own spin on it, recalling the events with such dramatic flair, I defy anyone to be less than fully absorbed. All Africans have storytelling woven into their DNA, and I was no exception. The difference however, was that I began to put pen to paper and record these masterpieces. I wrote my first novella at 11, a habit that was to stay with me for most of my teenage years. Somewhere along the way though, one by one all my friends deserted me. I cannot pinpoint the exact moment when it happened, but I woke up one day and realised that I was normal. Existing on this plane solely, just like everyone else...an ordinary person. Perhaps it was going to a Science & Technology focused school that did the trick, or maybe I just got tired of explaining constantly that I wasn't psychotic, either way something or the other caused me to throw in the towel and close off the gateway to my imagination. The more likely explanation is that I simply grew up, but lately I have realised one profound thing...reality is completely overrated.

Maybe we all grow up and our imaginary friends desert us. These days, my flights of fancy seem limited to winning the lottery and being whisked of into the sunset by Mr. Tall, Dark & Handsome. But occasionally, when I am lying in the park on a glorious summer day, I hear a whisper in my ear. A smile stretches across my face as I say hello to my friends of yore. More often than not, we engage in full-scale banter for a minute or two before I look round and realise that everyone around thinks I am crazy. I return to earth with a thud, ignoring the look of hurt and disdain on the faces of my imaginary friends. I know what they are thinking; “Why are you ashamed of us? You should be revelling in the glories of a world entirely of your own making.” These are the pitfalls of being a grown-up, saying goodbye to the friends who have kept me company for as long as I can remember. Suppressing the urge to leap out of Brooklyn and into the gossamer-filled world just yonder. I can’t help but think that some of my favourite authors never said goodbye to these friends, they speak to them everyday and the results are breathtaking. Roald Dahl, J.K. Rowling, Phillip Pullman, Khaled Hosseni…..the list goes on and on.

I had an epiphany the other day, life is too short to spend all my time worrying about what other people think of me. As epiphanies go, I know it is rather simplistic and perhaps should have been more obvious to me a bit sooner, but better late than never. I have decided to wallow in the joys of my imaginary friends and all the characters that live in my head. I will give them free reign and let them grow, and then when they are mature enough I will share them with the world via my pen (or keyboard). Welcome back imaginary friends, I've really missed you.

10 Things That Irritate The Shit Out Of Me

2007-07-25T17:04:00.000-04:00

A few months ago, I wrote a post titled ’10 Things You Probably Didn’t Know About Me’. I really enjoyed writing it, and it has been one of my favourites so far, in fact I think I learned more about myself writing it than my blog audience did. As such, I have decided to come up with a regular ‘10 things’ feature. I would like to say I would do this on a weekly basis, but as my blog faithful know, I can less than…erm..*cough*..prolific. So although I will aim for a list per week, this might not always be the case. This list is about things that get on my last nerve, enjoy

1. Slow-mo pedestrians during rush hour. Whenever I get caught behind one of these people, I can feel the rage start to build within me till it comes to a slow boil and I have to physically restrain myself to stop from screaming ‘GET THE HELL OUT OF MY WAY!!!’. Tough life having to commute in NYC.

2. Flagrant abuse of whipped cream. Since moving to New York, I have been forced to learn the hard way that when someone asks if you want whipped cream with something, the correct answer is always no. To reply otherwise will always result in the utter obliteration of whatever you are attempting to ingest. I tried being slick and asking for just a little whipped cream on my frappuccino, but apparently this translates to 1/10 coffee and a massive gushing fountain of whipped cream that cannot be controlled. Moral of the story: Just Say No.

3. Cultural snobs. I get really aggravated when people look down their noses and laugh knowingly as I pull out my copy of Harry Potter and settle in to read. They sit back with a smug expression on their faces giving me the ‘poor thing, she obviously doesn’t know any better’ look. For your information, I know more than enough not to deny my self the pleasure of reading or listening to just about anything that takes my fancy. I know just as much DH Lawrence as JK Rowling, so don’t feel sorry for me. I am enjoying myself a damn sight more than you are at this moment in time.

4. Smug Married Nigerian Women. I have nothing against married people, in fact I intend to join the ranks of the normal variety someday, but these are not the folks to whom I make reference. I am referring to those bizarre women who are not much older than me that walk into a room and survey the single girls with a pitying stare while clinging for dear the life to their husband’s arm as he proceeds to spend the whole evening with his eyes firmly glued to my derriere. Should I then be so foolish as to attempt to engage one of these insipid dishrags in conversation, she will invariably ask, “Are you engaged?” When I shake my head to indicate that I am not she will always come out with the words that she has been dying to say since she first walked in, “Don’t worry, just have patience and your time will come. One day maybe you will be as lucky as I am.” Thanks, but no thanks lovie….how about you keep your lecherous ogre and I’ll keep my lunch in my stomach? Cheers.

5. Men who take up half of my seat on the Subway. Anatomy or not, there is no reason to sit with your legs so far apart. You are practically in the lotus position for crying out loud, and the last time I checked the subway car does not double as your yoga mat. Coming to think of it, I noticed that your subway fare was exactly the same as mine not 50% higher.

6. Trousers that don’t talk to shoes. It was a tough call between this one and Visible Panty Line, but the trousers won out because I am not sure how anyone can fail to notice how diabolical this looks. Fair enough, it takes a two-way mirror for those who refuse to embrace the thong to understand the impact of that V staring at the whole world. But all you have to do with the trousers is look down. They are not even close to touching your shoes!! They are exposing white socks!!! Hello? Horrific! Plus VPL at least provides a source of entertainment; the trousers sadly just make me want to cry.

7. Rude waiters who get upset when my tip is paltry. I have moaned about this in the past, so no need to go into too much detail. I maintain that in my book, a tip has a zero beginning point and goes up depending on the level of service you provide. I tip excellently for excellent service, well for good and what is expected for mediocre. If I get very bad service from you and you are rude, then your tip will be paltry. If you want a good tip then don’t be rude. My money does not exist purely for the express purpose of paying your rent; you have to earn it. And no, wagging your finger in my face and moaning about bloody foreigners will not sway the outcome in your favour.

8. People who take that whole ‘ignorance is bliss’ thing in a disturbing direction. Why would any self-respecting person choose not to arm himself or herself with as much cerebral ammunition as possible? It just seems odd to always want to be the least informed person in any situation. Would you jump out of a plane without a parachute in the name of being cute? Ignorance is not bliss, knowledge is power.

9. Text message politics. I really miss the days when life wasn’t punctuated with the politics of text messaging. You simply saw or called each other to talk. The rules were much simpler that way. You didn’t have to agonise over sending a message that could not be retrieved, you could simply hang up the phone. I love texting, not sure how I ever lived without it, but it was so much more fun when things where less open to hours of overanalyses.

10. Jodie Foster. I was hard pressed to choose between Jodie Foster and Jessica Simpson for this prized spot, but then I was forced to remember that Jodie has been irritating me for far longer than Jessica, plus boldfaced Simpson’s name for any reason would just be wrong on so many levels. Poor Jodie, I have no idea what she did to bring my wrath crashing down on her so, but whenever I hear her say “Dr. Lecter” from behind that clenched jaw, I feel the urge to smash in the screen. A sign perhaps then that she irritates the shit out of me

Binge drinking taxes? Seriously?

2007-07-16T08:35:00.000-04:00

Having read several reports on the proposal to impose a binge-drinking tax in the UK, I can only shake my head and wonder how we could possibly continue to miss the point so badly. The idea is to create a varying further number of levies on alcohol in the hope of discouraging young people from binge drinking. This money will go towards funding alcohol abuse programs etc.

While an admirable idea, it seems clear to me that this program cannot possibly hope to achieve its stated objective. It is the mindset of the people that needs changing in order to discourage bingeing, not the price. In other words, the issue is moral, not financial and the idea that further taxation will do anything apart from take even more money away from other needs is ludicrous. Those that insist on bingeing on alcohol will do so whether the price of a pint goes up by 7p or not. This isn't something that the government can tax into oblivion, so I don't believe they should even try.

A dedicated binge drinker will always find the funds to do so, there will simply be less money for food, etc. The incredibly high taxes on cigarettes have done nothing to stem the tide of teenage smokers. As a nation, or moral compass has gone awry of late and the celebration of mediocrity and is at an all time low. People have no respect for their bodies or minds.

I like a drink as much as the next person, but you will not find me puking my guts out on Oxford Circus at 10am. This is a choice that people have to learn to make for themselves. Otherwise we should increase taxes on junk food in order to combat obesity in the interest of fairness.

And so it came to pass...

2007-07-12T17:50:00.000-04:00

that on the 11th day of the 7th month, the heavens burst open and the wrath of God poured forth, drenching New York in a torrential downpour, the likes of which I haven’t seen since leaving Nigeria. The first daytime serious thunderstorm of the summer was spectacular to behold…especially as I was walking the streets of Manhattan when it happened.

At first it was merely spitting as I left my office. I was heading over to meet friends before going to Central Park. The plan was to have drinks and then watch Femi Kuti do his thing at Central Park’s SummerStage and be amazed as always at the dexterity of his dancers’ derrieres. I hadn’t made it halfway to my destination when lightening split the sky and thunder temporarily deafened me. I counted to 10 under my breath in the hope that I could somehow will the clouds to hold on to their bounty. By the time I got to 7, enormous raindrops and gusting winds were doing great battle with my brolly.

All around me I could hear people screaming and making mad dashes for cover trying not to get soaked and all I could think about was how utterly ruined my hair was going to be. The only time I ever rail against my ethnicity is when it rains. A storm is a glorious thing and I would love to be able to throw aside my umbrella, lift my face up to the sky and feel the cool stinging water wash over me taking with it the grimy nastiness of a day spent walking in muggy Manhattan. But of course, this is never the case. I hold my umbrella as close to my head as I can, trying not to let a single drop permeate the cover and frizz up the hair.

Needless to say it was to no avail anyway, by the time I made it to meet my friends I was soaked from head to toe with poodle hair on my head and buckets of water in my shoes. At that point I gave in to the hilarity of the situation, embraced it and it turns out….it was fun! We went on to the park and danced to the hedonistic rhythms of afrobeat for hours. We sat there as they screened a documentary on Fela and his trials and tribulations and I put my umbrella down and proudly rocked the poodle hair as the rain seemed to fall in unison with the sound of Femi’s drums.

i need a spark!

2007-07-09T18:22:00.000-04:00

I know my absence from the blogsphere has been rather conspicuous, so I'm grateful to everyone who has left comments asking where and how I am. To answer that truthfully, I'm fine...just dealing with a curious lack of inspiration and the worst case of writer's block ever.

I need a spark people!

I wonder if the long hazy summer days have anything to do with it...or maybe it is the fact that despite moving nearly 3 months ago I am yet to unpack my computer (note to self: must purchase laptop). Either way, something is missing at the moment because I haven't felt the need to take out my joys and frustrations on the keyboard, but at the same time I really miss writing. Maybe I should trawl for ideas on subject matter. If anyone has any, feel free to holla. But for now, there is no blogging going on because...I NEED A SPARK!

PS. Who knew blogging from a blackberry was so easy?!!

Dodging the Polish Mafia

2007-05-23T17:49:00.000-04:00

My week thus far has been consumed by encounters with the Polish Mafia. Is Monef okay? Is there is hit out on her? Is someone waiting to whack her with a kielbasa, I hear you ask? Not to fear, my Naija vexing is stronger than their Polish posturing. This all came about because I attempted to do that most straightforward of things, purchase a service.

My closest friend in NYC is moving apartments, and as that is always a tragic experience that should never be endured solo, I pitched in to help her out. The movers that I generally use were unavailable, so I took a dive into craigslist and hired the first available lot that looked like a regular price. Not an amazing bargain, but not overtly extortionate. That nice middle of the road territory that usually guarantees you safety, $60 per hour for two men with a van. We didn’t have much to move; a bed, a couch, a chest of drawers, a TV with stand and a bunch a miscellaneous boxes and bags. Two stops were scheduled, one in downtown Manhattan and one in Green point, Brooklyn. The whole exercise should have taken 1.5 to 2 hours at the most which is why I was fuming when 2 hours into the proceedings the half-wits were still loading the van and we hadn’t even made it to the first stop yet.

I decided to make it very clear to mover number 1 that he wasn’t dealing with a mugu:

Monef: Why on earth is it taking you guys so long to load this van?
Mover 2: Don’t talk to me, I am only here to help my friend out, it is his job.
Monef: Mover 1, why on earth is it taking you guys so long to load this van?
Mover 1: We are going to get it done. What is your problem?
Monef: Don’t even dream of copping an attitude with me mate, I am paying you for a service and out agreement does not include you mouthing off or taking the piss.
Mover 1: What does ‘taking the piss mean’?
Monef: All you have to do is observe yourself to get the gist of the matter. Anyway, I am not prepared to pay you to dilly-dally all day. It has taken you two hours to do 30 mins of work. This is unacceptable.
Mover 1: Okay fine, I will do better but I cannot get all this stuff into my van. Can you call a cab to carry the rest to Manhattan?

At this point rather than get huffy I figured I would just call the cab. And so we set out, in a mini convoy off to the storage facility. This was the least stressful part of the whole experience, and I should have known that it was not too last. At the facility whilst filling out the paperwork, Mover 1 decides to engage me in conversation yet again, and it went a little something like this:

Mover 1: So do you like Polish guys?
Monef: I like everybody, I am quite the open-minded chick.
Mover 1:But do you date Polish guys?
Monef: I haven’t dated any Polish guys so far, and trust me that is not about to change today.
Mover 1: But why? I am a nice guy.
Monef: You have got to be bloody kidding me. Can you get on with what you are here to do?

Mover 1 then makes some pretence at actually doing some work but within 10 minutes he is back again chatting away. He tells me all about how he was in Atlantic City gambling his life away when I called him and how he had to spend $50 on gas just to get back into town. My immediate thought is that this guy is having a laugh if he thinks that I am going to offset the costs of his debauchery. He then pays scrupulous attention to the cost of the storage facility and takes note of the neighbourhood that we are headed to afterwards:

Mover 1: So you live in Greenpoint?
Monef: Yes.
Mover 1: That is a really expensive place to live. I guess you are a high maintenance kind of girl.
Monef: I’m not quite sure what you are getting at, but if I have to tell you to keep it moving one more time it might get a bit Ajegunle up in this place.
Mover 1: What is Ajegunle?
Monef: Hiiiiiissssssssss.

By the time this whole shebang is over and done with and we are ready to move on to the next stop, Mover 1 comes up to me and tells me that everything so far has taken 3.5 hours and he wants $210 now before heading to the final stop. At this point I lose my rag. This mofo has done less than 2 hours work and wants me to pay him for 3.5 because he thinks that I am made of Benjamins? He is messing with the wrong girls. My friend and I tell him this and make it clear to him that we are not about to let him cheat us, at which point he decides that he is not releasing the rest of our stuff and he is not finishing the job. This of course leads to a Mexican standoff without the guns. Movers 1 & 2 set up shop in their van and my friend and I perch on a stoop while we proceed to see who blinks first for the next two hours. Yes, you read right…2 hours.

Eventually the NYPD swing by and attempt to negotiate, but the movers are having none of it. They insist on unloading the rest of the stuff there on the street and driving off. This seems like a bizarre choice to make, seeing as non-completion of the job will not elicit payment, but apparently that was what worked for them. And so my friend and I flag down a cab, get as much of the stuff as we can in and head home. Upon arriving at my place, whilst unloading this cab, who should happen to drive by but the movers? THE BASTARDS FOLLOWED ME HOME!!!! Heeeeeelllll no!

Fortunately, I have a picture of their license plate number and the NYPD came round again to check things out and make sure that they didn’t hang around. That said, Greenpoint is an extremely Polish neighbourhood, so for the time being I am spending my days (and nights) looking out for the Polish Mafia. I have of course warned them that they don’t want to see my Naija madness. I wasn’t kidding when I said things would get Ajegunle. If I have to, I will head out to Utica and grab some Oshodi boys to throw into the mix. They must be missing the area boy activity they engaged in back home, so I’m sure a good tussle would be welcome.

Moral of the story: All you sheisty craigslist movers out there, who are looking to cheat people, don’t mess with a Naija babe. I can smell your dodginess from a mile away and I refuse to be conned by the likes of you.

2007-05-10T10:13:00.000-04:00

Stop procrastinating, read your book. I'll be thinking of you enjoying the rain while I lounge in the sun...:)

10 Things You Probably Didn’t Know About Me

2007-05-04T16:42:00.000-04:00

1. I am an obsessive alphabetiser. I can be a rather messy person, but I am very particular about the numbers and letters. I catalogue almost everything I own both numerically and alphabetically. I find it quite soothing, and it gives me a sense of accomplishment but it tends to drive most people bonkers. My entire CD, DVD and book collection is painstakingly arranged in numerical and alphabetical order and I flip out if anyone disrupts the order. On the other hand every time I open my wardrobe, I fling all the clothes and shoes out in all directions! I have also been known from time to time to listen to my music in alphabetical order. Sad, I know.

2. I am a free association maven. My chain of thought tends to be very tangential and as a result, conversations with me can sometimes become akin to solving a crossword puzzle as I pick up threads and drop them with seeming randomness. There is usually a link running through them all, the sort of chaotic pattern that can only be determined after spending a reasonable amount of time in my world.

3. I hate chocolate. I do not share the obsession that the female population of this world seems to have with chocolate. It is too sweet, too rich and quite frankly far too pointless to warrant further discussion.

4. I love Britney Spears. For this travesty I have neither explanation nor recourse. I just like her, I can’t really say why. No matter what utter level of trashiness she sinks too, I cannot help but root for her. I’m not sure what that says about me, but hey there are worse things right?

5. I am a trivia queen. I have no idea what I did before Wikipedia cam into my life, and I don’t want to bother remembering. I read magazines painstakingly from cover to cover going through every article (I hate it when people just look at the pictures!) whether it is the Economist or Heat!

6. I am a certified cry-baby. Everything makes me cry I am just very good at hiding it. Certain songs make my eyes mist over whenever they pop up on my ipod, and I always take tissues to the movies cos you never know. As for day-to-day life, I get lots of dust in my eye as frequently as I can, plus my aura of confidence has people convinced that there is no way those could be tears in my eyes.

7. I hate Erykah Badu. Again, like the Britney thing, there is no logical explanation for this. She checks all the boxes, and judging by the rest of my taste in music I should really love her stuff, but for some reason she leaves me cold. I do love the fact that despite the most ardent efforts of the music industry to tell me otherwise, I cannot be programmed to like something.

8. I am an ITK (for all you non-Nigerians, translates as: know it all). I think I have been an ITK since the day I was born, and that is never going to change. In primary school, the popular girls’ cliques used to refer to me as ‘the dictionary’ with the intent of hurting my feelings. I found that quite amusing and thanked them for advertising my intelligence so I didn’t have to. My closest friend in NYC always refers to me with the catchphrase ‘too much book’. I love it!

9. I enjoy my own company far too much. I love spending time with Monef, observing how she has changed over time and revisiting her old haunts and pastimes. It isn’t necessarily something that I do too often (my mother always tells me that loners are losers, but I refuse to listen) but when I do, I always wonder what took me so long. *I know it is indulgent to refer to myself in the 3rd person but it felt appropriate!

10. I care far more about what other people think of me than I am willing to let on. Oh well, I guess the cat is out of the bag on that one, I am no different from most people in the sense that I just want to be loved.

Spring Is In The Air

2007-05-03T11:07:00.000-04:00

Umm….why did I spend 6 hours at the salon yesterday??!! Rage. There are times when I hate being a woman. Of course, on the plus side I can now look in the mirror without being frightened by what I see. Plus 4 guys told me how gorgeous I was on the way to work this morning, which is a new record for me. So I will make my peace with the precious hours lost to the curling tongs and move on:)

On the plus side, things are looking up weather wise in NYC. Spring is in effect and there are cherry blossoms galore popping up all over the city. The skirts are getting shorter, the tops are getting smaller and nail studios are doing brisk business again. This is my favourite time of the year, when you have months of endless sunshine stretched out before you like a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with scenes of bliss, pleasure and contentment. The walk home from work is made far more pleasurable by the smells of barbecues, the ringing of laughter and the sight of the cold frosty glasses of beer and margaritas on the tables littering the sidewalks outside cafes.
Brooklyn is a paradise in spring/summer. It feels like all is right with the world and nothing could possibly go wrong. Suddenly everybody seems gorgeous and filled with life. I think I am living in the wrong country if this is the effect that a simply change in weather has on me. When I step outside my apartment and into the sunshine, I am filled with a sensation akin to euphoria. That never happens to me in winter. Not even after the most beautiful snowfall (I really don’t care for snow), I always feel doomed in winter. Every problem becomes magnified x20 and every joy is tempered with the feeling that it might not last. I need my own private island, or at least a beach house (eyin guys, do you hear??!!)

However, I will take what I can get for now which is glorious days filled with excitement, relaxation and many frosty cocktails. A great reminder of all the reasons I moved to NYC in the first place.

2007-04-10T17:28:00.000-04:00

7-1!!!!

Nuff said.

How Dare They Have Sunshine in London?!

2007-04-09T17:23:00.001-04:00

I spoke to my sister who lives in London over the weekend and asked her how her day had been. She told me she spent it at the beach. I live in New York and I spent my day huddled inside avoiding the periodic snow flurries. Can anybody see what is wrong with this picture????? It is cold in NYC! I can pretty much deal with that, but it becomes very upsetting when I hear that the peeps in London have nice weather. Whenever things are grim here, I always take solace in the fact that the weather must be nastier in London, and now I don’t even have that to fall back on so I ask once again, WHAT IS THE WORLD COMING TOO?

In other news, I finally found a new place to call home, so God must have heard my web-based plea for intervention and saved me from the suckage of looking. I feel much better today than I did over the weekend. Fred told me to use my blogfam as in loco parentis so I will. I dislike being a grown up thoroughly because I have to budget. I don’t want to transition into a high-paying job in the private sector that has me working all hours because I love working for the government. Is that so wrong? At the same time, I don’t want to live like a pauper. I want to eat my cake and have it (where does that saying even come from?), evidently I can’t but that somehow seems unfair.

Plus guys suck. But that really isn’t anything new. Being single in New York City is just the worst. Not because I mind being alone, but because you are living the same cliché as millions of other young ladies, and I hate conformity with a passion. A young lady in her twenties who lives in New York and isn’t single is such a rarity, it is astonishing. Those who are dating are sharing their man with as many girls as he can handle without going bankrupt. Bizarre.

All in all though, things are well. All I care about right now is taking up residence in my new digs. It took being separated from all my earthly possessions to make me realise how attached I am to them. I cannot wait to wallow in the splendour of my closet and gaze upon the magnificence of my DVD collection. It should be a fun weekend!

Being a Grown Up Sucks

2007-04-06T18:53:00.000-04:00

It is official, I hate being a grown-up. So many issues to deal with, constant headaches and worrying. I am so over it. I wish I was still a little girl and I could call Mummy and Daddy everytime I needed to fix something, but the sucky thing about growing up is that you realise that Mummy and Daddy have problems of their own and evrybody is just trying to get by.

I wish someone could just sweep in and save me from this madness.

Winter Blues

2007-03-17T13:34:00.000-04:00

I am so over winter already. We have had some of the nastiest weather in the last 36 hours. Snow, sleet, rain you name it just pounded away endlessly and turned walking down the street into some kind of extreme sport.

That final stretch when the scent of spring is in the air and teh days are already getting longer but the mercury stubbornly refuses to rise can be the most exasperating of all. That is how I am feeling right now, exasperated. The mini-skirts and floaty tops are begging to be worn, but Mother Nature is having none of it. She plays a cruel joke on us by giving us temperatures of 68F one day and making us break out our snowboots the next.

When will it end pray tell?

Apartment Surfing

2007-03-03T20:01:00.000-05:00

The past month has been so hectic. I am currently in limbo, or apartment surfing for want of a better way to describe it. My landlord is renovating my apartment, so at the moment I have nowhere to live (no I'm not in a shelter, I'm crashing at a friend's place), still that makes it hard to keep my s*^t together and stay on top of things. The blogging will probably continue to be sporadic for another month or so, but I just wanted to say:

WHAT UP BLOG FAM???!!!

Here today, Gone tomorrow

2007-02-01T15:01:00.000-05:00

The salon where I get my hair done is in the heart of Brooklyn. Unsurprisingly, like most establishments that cater to an African and Caribbean clientele, it is a very colourful place. What is refreshing however, is that instead of getting attitude from them, they are among the friendliest and most interesting people I have ever met. One kid in particular, we'll call him M for the sake of his anonymity, could definitely be described as the life and soul of the party. He once showed me how to do the 'dirty whine' and put absolutely every woman in that place to shame. It was astonishing.

So naturally, when I went to get my hair done yesterday, I asked about M. "Didn't you hear?" my stylist asked, "He passed away two weeks ago." I was in such shock that I could barley make out the words. "How? What happened? Why?". My stylist told me that M had been in hospital after the New Year. He contracted some type of pneumonia, PCP. At those words, my heart dropped. PCP very rarely occurs without the presence of HIV. M was 19 years old and now he is gone. I have never had someone with whom I am personally acquainted have their life claimed by AIDS. It is quite a shock.

Yes, Yes, I'm a slacker....I know!

2007-01-27T18:34:00.000-05:00

Nkem tagged me ages ago, but I've just managed to pull my finger out. So here goes:

Four Jobs You've Had in Your Life

Upper Crust Dogsbody - I had the indescribable pleasure of working behind the counter/in the kitchen/wherever I was needed at the Fenchurch Street Station Upper Crust. It was a vital moment in my education, for it was there that I learned that the boiled eggs put in sandwiches do not come from inside a shell , they come from inside a bag filled with some dodgy aqueous solution with a scarily long shelf life.
Call Centre Monkey - I have had the pleasure of this mind-numbing, soul destroying job with far too many organisations to bother going into detail. I like to think it made me a better person, but I know that is just reaching!
Immigration Specialist - I worked in Immigration until about a year and a half ago. Lets just say that being on the other side of that counter totally changed my perspective.
Trade & Investment Associate - My current role, I'd tell you more but then I'd have to shoot you....

Four Jobs You Wish You Had

Singer - Not necessarily of the world famous variety, but just well known enough that I would never have to do anything else for a living. All those nights of hardcore partying put paid to those dreams
Writer - I was certain for a long time that I was going to be a writer, but life intervened. That is one ambition that I may yet realise.
Buyer for Harvey Nichols - Imagine getting paid to feel the pure satisfaction that comes with spending copious amounts of money...but without that sour taste the bank statement usually leaves in your mouth.
Minister of Education for Nigeria – I haven’t quite worked out what my policies will be, but I know that one of them involves ensuring every child is issued a library card at birth….there is nothing more off-putting than ignorance.

Four Movies You Could Watch Over and Over Again
· All the President’s Men – Always fascinating, even though it was made before I was born. This movie always makes me consider journalism, what could be more satisfying?

· Lord of The Rings – I will not even bother to break the trilogy down and choose favourites since it is one movie and therefore only as great as the sum of its parts. Suffice to say even though I have seen it at least 50 times, it never gets old.

· 25^th hour – In my opinion, the most engaging heartrending and profound piece of work ever delivered by Spike Lee. Besides, I find Ed Norton to be the most dynamic actor of his generation.

· A Bronx Tale – If I was making a list of greatest movies of all time, then this one wouldn’t be on it. But In terms of watching over and over again, I never ever get tired of this movie. I’m not sure if it is the music, or the fact that it is a coming of age tale but for reasons that I cannot explain I love it.

Four Cities You’ve Lived In

London – I believe I have gone into detail on numerous occasions of my love affair with London, so no need to get sidetracked here.
NYC – Not sure if I love it or hate it, it definitely depends on my mood. One thing is for sure, there is nowhere else on earth like it.
Lagos – I mention Lagos because I firmly believe that it is more than a city, it is definitely a state of mind.
Offa (Kwara State) – I could have mentioned some of the more exotic cities where I have taken residence, but it feels right that this section should be rounded out by the city known as “the home of sweet potato”

Four TV Shows You Love to Watch

Heroes – Undoubtedly the coolest thing to happen to American television in years. It is every comic fan’s dream come true and yet it manages to be so much more.
Buffy/Angel/Firefly – I group all these shows together because I pretty much love anything that comes from the brain of Joss Whedon so if I had to list them separately there wouldn’t be any room for ‘owt else!
The West Wing – Two words…Josh Lyman. There is no point in extolling the virtues of the West Wing, if anyone missed it the DVDs are a must have. Always brilliant, always challenging and sorely missed.
Prison Break – Because Wentworth Miller can go on the run with me any day.

* State of Play deserves a place of honour because it was the most fantastic drama I had seen on the BBC in a long time, but as it was a miniseries it didn’t quite fit the criteria.

Four Places You Have Been on Holiday/Travelled to

Barcelona – Simply awe-inspiring.
Barbados – Possibly the most expat-populated piece of square footage ever known to man.
Dijon – My mate went to school in Dijon for a while and lived with a French family, fun was definitely had.
48 US States and counting – Hawaii & Alaska are yet to feel the force of my presence. Somehow I get the feeling that Alaska may not be ready yet.

Four Websites You Visit Daily

BBC News – Can’t start the day without the word according to Auntie.
Wikipedia – I love doing random article searches, plus I am a free-association whore, so Wikipedia is the air that I breathe.
Television Without Pity – Their tagline is “Spare the Snark, Spoil the Networks”. Pure genius. Besides, I am a forum whore so of course I have to get my fix.
Empire Online – With my passion for film, that was pretty much a given!

Four of Your Favourite Foods

I want to say plantain, but it is more specific than that. It has to be dodo or there is no point. As a kid, my tagline was “No dodo, No hunger”. Not much has changed, nuff said.
Carnitas Burritos fresh from Chipotle. Accept no substitutes.
Pork soup dumplings, made fresh from the Excellent Dumpling House in Chinatown. Mmmmmmmhmmm.
Oddly enough I love Spinach, I really hate egusi, but efo riro is a thing of beauty.

Four Things You Won't Eat

Sweetcorn - Easily the most disgusting poor excuse for a vegetable out there.
Chocolate Ice Cream - I'm sorry but it just tastes too gross for words.
Mushy Peas - I will never cease to wonder whose bright idea it was to come up with such nastiness.
Tuna (of the canned variety) - It absolutely stinks, foul.

Four Things You Wish You Could Eat or Drink Right Now

Pepper Turkey Gizzards - freshly prepared by my mother is the only way to eat them.
Suya - Not the crappy variety that people in London try to come up with, the real deal...newspaper and all.
Fish & Chips - As soon as I left London, I developed an intense passion for fish 'n' chips.
Ribena - Impossible to get out here without paying through your nose for it.

Four Things In Your Bedroom

Guitar - I have both an acoustic and an electric sitting there gathering dust, I haven't played in over a year!
Fight Club poster - Like I said, it's an Ed Norton fixation.
Taz - I have a stuffed Tasmanian Devil toy. It is one of those version that vibrates and says stupid little phrases, it has amused me on many an occasion to the dismay of all those who are forced to listen!
DVD Box sets - I have box sets of virtually every TV series that I consider worth watching, hours of endless amusement!

Four Things You Wish You Had in Your Bedroom

Floor Length Mirror - That would be amazing, fewer trips into the hallway.
Walk-In-Closet - My closet is in the hallway, which is the single most irritating thing in the world.
Sound system with all the bells and whistles - Instead I have to make do with a crappy boom-box.
Plasma screen TV - I think it would blend in much better!

Four Things You Are Wearing Right Now

Ugg Boots - I wear them all the time, even when I don't have much else on.
DangerMouse T-Shirt - I am very attached to it.
Shorts.
Alice Band - Always fashionable, even at home!

One Place I'd Rather Be Right Now

Lagos - Just for one night, to see someone special.

One Fictional Place I'd Rather Be Right Now

Neverland - I'm pretty sure there are no bills to pay there.

Four People You'd Really Love To Have Dinner With

Wentworth Miller - He doesn't have to say anything, just sit there and look pretty.
My grandfather (on my dad's side) - I could really do with being enlightened.
Siobhan (my boss from my first call centre job at the Halifax, i can't remember her last name.) - purely to gloat and to clarify that her predictions that I would never amount to anything couldn't possibly be further from the truth.
Barack Obama - He would probably be a phenomenal conversationalist.

Four Things You Are Thinking Right Now

I have no idea what I'm going to wear when I go out tonight.
I could really do with a slice of pizza.
I should really go and pick up my laundry.
The next payday cannot possibly come soon enough.

Four of Your Favourite Things/People

La Familia - I hate being so far away from them all the time. Could really do with seeing mummy right now.
My girlz - Bessie mates are definitely among the best things to ever happen to me.
Oxford Street - On a Tuesday morning when most people are at work and I can shop till I drop.
Barnes & Noble - My favourite thing to do is to hit a bookstore and spend hours browsing, reading, buying, whatever.

Four People You Tag

The Curious Case of Mr W on the Piccadilly Line

2006-12-22T20:38:00.000-05:00

As promised, the follow up...

Having endured unspeakable horrors on my transatlantic flight (well not really unspeakable since they were the subject of my last post), I approached the Piccadilly line platform at Heathrow terminal 4 with relief. It was of course short-lived, because as I surveyed the tube map to double check my destination, I heard the by now all-too familiar voice of yet another of my esteemed fellow countrymen far too close to my ear for comfort, "Are you as smart as you are beautiful? Because if so then I am sure you can help me reach my destination."

I turned my head to see a little man, (probably 4ft 8 at the most) standing within what is universally known as one's bubble of personal space. I took a step back and asked him how I could be of assistance while choosing not to dignify his ridiculous come-on with any form if acknowledgment. "Well, I am trying to get to Canada Water to see my friend for the day, you see I have just flown in from Toronto and will be heading out to Nigeria tonight and I decided that rather than staying in a hotel, I would do some shopping and sightseeing." Why do people like Messrs W, X, Y & Z assume that I give a crap about their life stories? Why can't they just ask their questions and keep it moving? I considered asking him this, but recognised that it would only compound the problem. I dutifully turned my attention back to the map and described his journey to him, and then picked my suitcase up and walked off to take a seat and close my eyes for the 2 minutes before the arrival of the train.

Hearing heavy breathing in my ear, I looked up to see Mr W sitting beside me. "Can I help you with something?" I asked, genuinely alarmed that there are parts of this world where someone walking away from you is not enough of a hint that she doesn't want to talk to you. "Sister" he replied, " You don't have to be hostile, I just want to know you". By this point, I'd had it up to here with men who are old enough to be my father trying to tell me what mood I should or shouldn't be in. I was sorely tempted to flip him the bird, but recognised that even for me this might be a step too far, so I just ignored him and luckily for me, the train pulled into the station at that moment. The advantage of being a full foot and then some taller than Mr W was that he couldn't keep up with me as I bolted down the platform in an effort to grab a carriage as far away from him as possible. As I sat down and put my earplugs in, the carriage doors closed and I felt pleased with myself for accomplishing my mission. I was looking forward to a journey without any interruptions when I felt a shadow over my face, and looked up to see Mr W standing over me. How sad was this dude? He had followed me through the carriages, and now sat down beside me " All I want is to get to know you better and maybe we can be good friends." I looked him square in the eye and told him that I had all the friends I needed, but undeterred he plowed on.

He spent about 15 minutes telling me how rich he was and how he normally would not be caught dead on the Tube, but today was a one off to avoid traffic. He told me all about how rich he was and how he was very lonely and was on his way to Nigeria to find a wife, but now that he had met me he was seriously reconsidering that decision. I couldn't help myself and started laughing out loud. He seemed genuinely puzzled by my laughter and wanted to know what was so funny, so I looked up at him " I find it really amusing that for the last 15 minutes you have been yammering on endlessly about god knows what after stalking me all over the Piccadilly Line and you are now under the ridiculous impression that we have actually met, you don't even know my name!"

I carried on laughing uncontrollably for a good 10 minutes and Mr W, no longer quite sure what to make of ,me or my sanity stood up and made his way back through the door connecting the carriage to the next one shaking his head. I can't be too sure, but I thought a heard him mutter an "Onyoshi" or "Onyara" under his breath. As soon as he was out of striking distance, I sat up put my music back in and continued my journey in peace.

The moral of the story: All the ladies who frequently have difficulty shaking the persistent (for want of a more insulting adjective) wankers who want to get to know you, try a spot of insanity once in a while. Works like a charm:)

The December Sojourn

2006-12-15T08:55:00.000-05:00

Whew....I made it to the other side unscathed! Well, unscathed might be a bit of a stretch. I'm am still slightly traumatised by my journey over.

I am referring to the yearly trip across the Atlantic in December, traveling home for the holidays. There is nothing that I hate more than having to board a transatlantic flight in December. This is because it is guaranteed to give me all kinds of headaches, of the West African variety. I am one of those people who always catches the latest flight I can out of New York, in order to allow me to fall asleep at JFK and wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at Heathrow. This strategy works fine all year round until December rears it's head, and then all bets are off.

I found my seat on the lane with a fair amount of trepidation, but then noticed that both seats beside me and the one in front of me were empty. I heaved a sigh of relief, stowed my bags away and settled in prepared to sleep all the way to London. My bliss was short lived of course as two gentlemen soon walked up and claimed both seats next to mine. Still, I thought to myself, no need to assume the worst they probably want to sleep as badly as I do, after all it is midnight. But sadly, this was not to be the case. They introduced themselves to me and proceeded to tell me that they were on their way to Onitsha and Abuja respectively. 'That's nice' I said before popping my earplugs in and turning on my ipod in the hope that this would dissuade them from further attempts at familiarity. But of course, Nigerians are a resilient breed and all hopes of them taking the hint were dashed when the Mr X sitting beside me demanded to know why I was heading to London and not Nigeria. For a moment, I entertained the idea of telling him to shut up and leave me alone, but I am still hard-wired to show respect, even when people are seriously pissing me off!

I explained that I was spending the holidays with my family in London, and then for good measure threw in some information about how tired I was and finished it off with a dramatic yawn. This ought to have shut even the most pig-headed of people up, but Messrs X and Y were not to be deterred, and they went on some riff about youth of today and how they were losing touch with their roots. I simply nodded along and then just when it looked like they might just take the hint and bugger off, a new challenger entered the arena. Mr W who had taken his seat in front of me at some point without my noticing piped up. 'It is true, the young ones are the same in Ghana. Young lady, you should really have a better appreciation of your heritage.' I would have been able to let it go, had he not had the audacity to turn round and wag his finger in my face.

'I'm sorry, Messrs X, Y and Z......What have you done for your countries lately? Are you going back to be with your families or to demonstrate that you are big boys? Are you going back to give to your communities or to spend you 419 wealth in Saipan and Churrascos? Are you going back to encourage people to forge ahead or to attempt to put them down with your ill-gotten gains. If you are so abominably rich, what are you doing sitting back here in cattle-class with me? Shouldn't you be up there in first-class sipping some champagne, lying on an individual seat where you will unable to torture anyone else with your perceived truisms?'

Taken aback, Mr X looks at me and immediately falls back on the standard response of your average West African male over the age of 30 when he knows that he has been verbally shown up by a woman, 'No wonder you are not married. Which man will want a wife who doesn't know how to talk to her elders?'

'To be quite honest Mr X, your opinion is of no consequence to me as I have no intention of ever marrying or even befriending anyone who exhibits symptoms of the level of crass stupidity and ignorance that you have just displayed!'

Damn that felt good....Watching them settle back into their seats with shock on their faces, all the while shaking their heads, I felt a surge of satisfaction so strong it must have shown on my face. I understand the importance of respecting my elders, but some people just need a good showing up. Needless to say, they didn't bother me for the rest of my flight.

Of course, the minute I disembarked at Heathrow, I was approached by Mr W on his way from Toronto to Lagos........... But that is another story for another day!

Things Fall Apart

2006-11-21T17:52:00.000-05:00

It was early afternoon, about 10 minutes left until the lunchtime bell was due to go off and I didn’t think I could survive any longer. The only thing keeping my eyelids from drooping was the queer rumbling that appeared to be emanating from my stomach. I looked around the classroom and everyone seemed to be in a similar state. We had English Literature, but I had long finished my essay on Lady Macbeth and was just waiting fir everyone else to catch up. Mr Akyea looked and noticed the pallor that had fallen over the class. He asked us all to stop what we were doing and decided to read a bit for us. He opened the book in front of him and began to read:

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer
Things fall apart, the centre cannot hold
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.

I snapped to attention instantly and looked straight at him. In that moment, I felt a jolt of recognition and I know he did too, because as the lunchtime bell sounded, he requested that I remain behind. I walked up to his desk, wondering what he was going to say. He asked how I felt when he read that portion of the William Butler Yeats poem quoted in the frontpiece of Chinua Achebe’s ‘Things Fall Apart’. I wanted to answer him honestly but could not for fear of ridicule. Sensing my hesitation, he responded for me; “You felt complete awe, and a shiver went down your spine”. I looked up in surprise, and nodded mutely.
He told me that I reminded him very much of his youth, that he had also developed a great love of literature and oration at an early age, and that he always recognised that spark the minute he saw it in someone else.

13 years down the line, I am re-reading ‘Things Fall Apart’ for the millionth time, and as always when I turn to the first page, I can hear his voice booming as clear as if he were standing right next to me. I savour the words as though I speaking along with him and they take on such profound beauty that I am almost moved to tears. As I read the novel, I frequently turn back to the frontpiece and roll those words around my tongue. For some reason, doing this lends the story a new urgency, as though I have not already devoured it a thousand times.

I am passionate about reading, I always have been. I already knew that when I walked into Mr. Akyea’s class 13 years ago. What I learned from him however, was that the passion is there to be nurtured. Savoured as though it were something precious and wallowed in to utmost. That was the first time that I truly learned about passion in a Nigerian classroom. It was not to be the last time, but it was definitely the first and it played a significant role in shaping me into who I am today. Everybody has that one teacher who completely changed their life, I have several but the one I think of the most often is Mr. Akyea. The reason for this is that he was not a saint, nor was he someone you put on a pedestal and idolised. He was just real, and it was this honesty without hiding behind the traditional barriers of adults always being right and children always being wrong that made the literary exploration we undertook in his classes such a rare treat. Nigerian children could do with a few more Mr. Akyeas today.

On friendship

2006-11-16T18:06:00.000-05:00

I wonder if there is a formula for friendship, some hidden algorithm that causes everything to fall into place. Is that reading too much into what is possibly a chemical reaction? Why do we hit it off with some people but not with others? Why do we think we have hit it off with others but later come to find out that this is not the case?

Is it a cultural issue? Do different cultures define friendship via different parameters? I ask because in the 3 years that I have lived in New York, I have made and abandoned more friendships than I did in the 7 previous years living in London. This is quite an alarming attrition rate for someone who considers herself a reasonable judge of character. This disturbing trend forced me to question whether I was the one with the issues, however having since resolved the problem by editing my friendship roster I am forced to concede that it is not that simple.

Examining the 3 years in retrospect, I have come to believe that my cultural theory just might carry more weight than I had initially realised. I have come to believe that the African definition of friendship differs greatly from the European or American concept. I am well aware that this is a massive generalisation, and I am sure that there must be exceptions to the rule...but based on my daily observations, Africans have different expectations from a friendship than our European or American counterparts. I have had several serial "really close friends" in the last few years, people with whom I achieved a level of closeness that I assumed signalled a strong bond. I have never been so wrong in my life! What is disturbing about the dissolution of these friendships is that they have not exploded in passionate rage over an insurmountable disagreement, they have simply withered and died.

The most recent example has been dying slowly for over a year now, but came to a screeching halt recently when I recognised how unhealthy it was. I had a friend who I was really close to, and we bonded when we were both not so happy. Oddly enough however, the happier I got and the better things were going for me, the more distant she became. I found it quite hard to believe that any kind of close friend could have that attitude, but the evidence is irrefutable and I am forced to put the final nail in that coffin.

This is a problem for me however, as I have no intention of deciding how close to get to people based on ethnicity. It is a problem that I have no solution to, any ideas?

Lite

2006-11-09T13:17:00.000-05:00

I've been meaning to get round to posting for a few days now, but somehow or the other it just hasn't happened. After my whistle-stop tour of the UK, I came back to NYC..popped over to Philly for a few days and now am back in New York so I can finally take the time to exhale....and post!

The developments over the last few weeks have been coming thick and fast, Madge & David, Rumsfeld & Gates, Duke & Presidency etc. With so much of great importance to discuss and so little time, I have decided to focus my efforts on what is clearly THE most important recent news item....... Britney and K-Fed are no more!!

I wonder if the fact that Whitney Houston also recently chose to divest herself of her dead weight factored into Britney's decision at all. The circumstances do appear to be remarkably similar and perhaps noting the good reception enjoyed by Whitney, Britney was persuaded to go for it........ There is something to be said for having remarkably similar names!! Then again, maybe some savvy PA noted that this years midterm elections were bound to consume the airwaves here in the US and so perhaps it would be wisest to wait until that day, to reveal the news. Either way...comgrats!

Geordie-style

2006-10-17T16:48:00.000-04:00

I've been in Glasgow for the last couple of days, one word.......COLD! And now I have headed down to Newcastle. I had no idea it was so pretty! I now feel quite ashamed of myself for not making a better effort to see more of the UK! Anyway, I'm tired as hell..so I'll save the burning issues for another post, probably tomorrow.

Tube Stations I Hate...

2006-10-11T16:40:00.000-04:00

1.Monument/Bank
2.Bank/Monument
3.Monument/Bank
4.Bank/Monument

You get the picture right?! Absence often makes me forget just how much I hate that station, until fate intervenes and for whatever reason I have the misfortune of being stranded within the "Square Mile" with no other station immediately accessible. Then like the 'mugu' I am, I tell myself that it cannot possibly be as bad as I remember and so I take a deep breth and dive in. These are words that invariably come back to haunt me when I am spending 20 minutes on an endurance trek through that bloody rabbit burrow of a station just trying to get to the other end. Everything hurts, no wonder I was so skinny when I lived in London!!

You Can't Go Back Home

2006-10-09T18:39:00.000-04:00

Returning from ny brief hiatus from the blogsphere has been almost as bittersweet as a high school reunion! I never fully appreciated the level of bonding I feel for my blogging peeps. I turned my back for a hot minute and everything has changed. Obifromsouthlondon has left the building, VHS & Delot are no more, and Toometoblog (the ubernerd) is in Katsina!!! I feel like I have entered the twilight zone. It is all a touch discomfitting...thank God Nkem, Delot, Ababoy, Nneka, Dilichi etc are still doing their thing. I don't think I could take the shock otherwise! To all the peeps who have bowed out, moved on or taken breaks....thanks for enriching my blogging experience, you will be missed. I anxiously await the day when your itchy fingers drive you back to the keyboard.

Adieu

I'M BAAAAAACKK!!

2006-10-09T12:02:00.000-04:00

After two months of erratic blogging and absenteeism, I finally have a moment to stop, smell the roses and get in some much needed blogging! It's been difficult because I've been hopping from city to city, Vegas, Boston, London, the Algarve, and now back to London for this week.

Portugal was excellent, I have a nice week long holiday with my two closest friends and we sucked up every last available ray of sun in an effort to brace ourselves for the winter. Now I'm back to London for the rest of this week, no more 5 euro pitchers of sangria..however I do have a decent internet connection for a change!

I took the oppportunity of being a beach bunny to some much needed catching up on some reading. I got through Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun and Isabel Allende's The House of the Spirits. Both books while not quite beach-lite touched me and left me deeply moved. I was sorry not to have made myself acquainted with Allende's work sooner, and heartened by the fact that Adichie promises to be a literary tour-de-force. Both books drew such incredible parallels, and it is bizarre to read books that were written 20 years apart about 2 different countries on 2 different continents and see such amazing similarities in the brutality of human nature. Anyway, enough rambling. I just wanted to swing by to say.......I'M BAAAACK!

Ouch!

2006-09-16T21:33:00.000-04:00

Just to let you all know, if you ever find yourself in a bar in the MGM Grand Casino in Vegas, and the bartender offers you a shot of "Washington Apple", run like hell in the other direction! I certainly wish I had....I'm paying for it today.

I'll write all about the bizarreness and hijinks later.
x

27

2006-09-13T00:11:00.000-04:00

I turned 27 today!!!

It is a slightly surreal experience, I really don't feel a day over 14...and I'm sure most of my friends would call that a fair assesment. This year's birthday was sooooooooooooooooooo much more fun than last year. The thing that stood out the most for me though, was that I have never felt more loved!! Now that is an amazing feeling...I have the best friends and family in the world.

NB. That is not just the champagne speaking!

And now, its off to VEGAS BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!

God's Own Country

2006-08-25T17:03:00.000-04:00

K and I went to the Quad Theater last night, and saw a short film written and directed by a Nigerian. It was called God's Own Country. I was all excited at the beginning of the movie, I thought this ought to be authentic to say the least.
The entire length of the movie was 43 minutes, but that was 40 minutes to long for me. It was incredibly excrutiating, and more so because I was incensed that anyone would even attempt to pass this off as art. Nollywood makes no apologies for what it is, so when you pick one of those lurid DVD's up you know exactly what you are getting into. This however was different. It was all decked out in sheep's clothing, and it wasn't until the entire theatre was silent and the credits had begun rolling that the wolf bared it's teeth.
I would attempt to give a review, but that have to involve the existence of a plot to be strung together. The one bright note was the impressive cinematography, but of course that just brought the shoddiness of everything else into sharp relief.
To sum it up, that movie delivered an excellent metaphor, albeit unknowingly, it was an adequate representation of the 'Naija Way'. Brilliant ideas, grandiose ambitions, one or two talented people in the mix, a bunch of lazy uneducated louts making up the rest, several corners cut and voila.....idea la need!
The movie was definitely a microcosm of what is all to frequetly the naija experience......frustration.

Professional Networking Naija Style

2006-08-11T19:53:00.000-04:00

Nkem is in my head!!! His post today centred on the career choices ethnic minorities make with a Nigerian spin. I went to an informal naija networking event last night in Manhattan, and I may have been the only Government employee there. Matter of fact save for a few random attorneys and your odd engineer, the room was littered with people from the world of finance. Granted NYC is a natural destinantion for Financial Services professionals, but my fellow naija folks seem to be unusually obsessed with making that dough. So much so that they head straight for a profession that involves constantly being surrounded by money matters.

This probably stems from the Naija parent general perspective that you go to school to study Law, Medecine, Accounting or Engineering. Anything else will be met with a sneer. "What did you read?" people will ask with scorn. When you reply that you attained a PhD in International Affairs, they will put a fake smile on and say "I see". All the while praising God that they have 4 MBA's sleeping under their roof. Strange animal, that perception.......

NB. Off to Boston this weekend. Looking forward to a bit of a change from NYC, it's always nice to go away because the best part is coming back!

Reconciling the Vatican and moral responsibility

2006-08-08T20:30:00.000-04:00

I was going to blog about embracing my inner summer-bunny on the beach this weekend or something trite like that, however reading Ayoke's blog recently brought to mind an issue that has bothered me for quite some time.

I was born a Catholic and raised a Christian, this is not about my faith. I love the Lord, so I do not believe that he will love me any less for questioning some the practices embraced by the Catholic Church. We look to the Church for guidance and clarity, and as such the Vatican wields an enourmous power. However, as we all know...With great power comes great resposibility. I consider the current stance on the Catholic Church regarding HIV and the use of condoms a flagrant abuse of that power, and a lack of moral responsibility.

The Catholic Church has banned the use of condoms, going as far as telling the worldwide flock that condoms promote the spread of HIV as their porosity allows the virus to pass through and spread the infection. Not only is this scientifically inaccurate, it underlines the 'head in the sand' mentality adopted by the Church when it comes to issues surrounding abstinence. Case in point, the Catholic nun who advised her HIV infected choirmaster against using a condom with his wife under the pretext that condoms would transfer the infection to her. The wife has now been unknowingly handed a death sentence by.....her Church???!!! Can anybody else see what is wrong with this picture?

Statistics show that in several countries worldwide, the highest number of incidences of new infection is taking place amongst married couples. Banning the use of condoms is only compounding the issue. I understand the promotion of abstinence as the best solution, because it is. However, the reality of the world we live in is that one persons abstinence does not guarantee that their partner will follow suit. The promotion of immoral practices i.e blatant distortion of facts and untruths presented as factual evidence has been employed by the Church to attain what they perceive to be a moral goal. I would argue that all credibility has been lost, and Catholic Church is complicit in the battering of humanity by HIV .

The bible says 'thou shalt not kill'. If you give an order sentencing someone to death, in my mind and the eyes of the rest of the world that makes you a murderer. I have seen no evidence thus far of anything that excludes the Catholic Church from this category. The blood of millions is on the hands of the Church and no amount of dogma or rhetoric can wash it off.

Bubbles

2006-08-06T00:42:00.000-04:00

Oh the joy of 8 glasses of bubbly......
As I imbibe with the crunk rhythms engulfing me....
Embracing my inner summer-bunny....

THERE'LL BE HELL TO PAY TOMORROW!!!

On your marks.....

2006-07-31T17:39:00.000-04:00

Set. Go. Every morning (and evening), as I approach the subway station I hear those imaginary words in my head. There is the faintest crack of the starter pistol as I bunch up my feet in the customary flip-flops and grip my stilettos as tightly as possible. And then the race is on.
The first leg involves a mad dash down the stairs and some serious diving to be grab the last AM New York. As with all free newspapers, there is pretty much nothing of consequence to be found within the pages of this rag, but free is free. Having completed the first leg, and now precariously balancing my shoes, my coffee, my bagel and my free newspaper, I commence the second leg. This must be done faster and requires significantly more concentration as the general idea is to grab my metrocard between my teeth and swipe it while rushing through the turnstile before someone steals my ride. This is more of an art than anything else, as you have to tilt your body just so to get the right amount of torque for perfect manoeuvreability.
Now the race is half done and the adrenaline kicks in as my goal is in sight. To embark on the third leg, I weave as close to the edge of the stairs as possible and arrive on the platform.This is where I have to cross an obstacle course of screaming kids, exhausted parents headed for work, trendy hipsters heading to bed, anorexic models not quite sure what time it is and prissy uptown girls offended to be there. If I run this leg of the race correctly, then I end up at the front of the platform, on the spot that says 'STAND CLEAR'.
And now the finish line is right there, I taste victory as the train whistles into the station blowing my hair right off my face and clearing the way. I spy my desired spot, an empty seat in the far left corner of the carriage, with an air-conditioning vent strategically placed just above. I employ all the skills of visualisation taught by self-help gurus across the country (Dr Phil owes me big time!) seeing myself at one with that spot in the carriage. As the doors fly open, the road runner has nothing on me! Before you can blink, I have settled myself into the seat. I balance my coffee and bagel on my lap, open the newspaper to the sudoku puzzle and sit back to savour the fruits of my labour. A seat on the 20 minute ride to work.......aaah bliss.

The New York City Subway Marathon...I run it everyday, best way to get the blood pumping.

2006-07-26T17:31:00.000-04:00

Whoever said 'Youth is wasted on the young' definitely had me in mind. I'm having such a lazy extra-curricular month, one would be forgiven for thinking it was the middle of winter. But far from it, in actual fact the weather is beautiful at the moment. Not as hot as it was a few days back..just perfect...and yet what am I doing this evening? Cuddling up to a glass of shiraz and the finest Time Warner cable has to offer. No picnics in the park for me. I know in the middle of January, i'll think back to this day and kick myself...but for now, shiraz awaits!

Sizzling!!

2006-07-18T17:50:00.000-04:00

Even my bitterness is having a hard time manifesting in the sweltering summer heat in NYC. I find myself desperately wishing for a reprieve...it is sooooo damn hot!! We're talking about feeling like it is in the 100's...and there is no relief in sight. My landlord hasn't had the apartment rewired yet so there is no AC either, my only solace from the sweltering heat arrives in the form of the hours spent at work. And yet whenevr I start to moan I think of those poor people in Beirut and am grateful that all I have to worry about is the lack of air-conditioning. It really helps you put things in perspective.

Today I'm feeling .....

2006-07-15T10:59:00.000-04:00

bitter. I've been using Meshell Ndegeocello's soothing voice to help me through.

I stand ashamed amidst my foolish pride
'Cause for us there'll be no more
For us there'll be no more
And now my eyes look at you bitterly
Bitterly, bitterly

Bitter - Meshell Ndegeocello

Bribery or Tippery

2006-07-13T13:33:00.000-04:00

I want to start out by underlining the fact that I am not a cheap person. Matter of fact I'm generous almost to a fault, but at my own discretion.

One of my pet peeves is the US tipping culture. It annoys me because I fail to see how it is any different from slipping someone a backhander or a bribe. I mean, in addition to paying for goods and/or services you are automatically expected to pay a little something extra! Madness I tell you.

Case 1 - Restaurants, I am automatically expected to leave tip regardless of whether the service is good or bad. The rationale behind this is that waiters get really crappy pay and so they live off their tips. I can't stress how much I do not consider this to be my problem. The restaurant owner is essentially passing all of his costs on to me his patron. Surely the onus for ensuring the livelihood of staff should be on the owner as opposed to the patronage. It is outrageous that when I get poor service I still have to tip at least 18%. If I get good service I can then tip more than that. Senseless.

Case 2 - Delivery guys, If I purchase a piece of equipment or furniture I have to pay shipping and delivery costs. When the delivery guy brings it to me at home, I am however also expected to give him an additional tip. He informs me that he only makes money from the tips and doesn't get paid to deliver. Can someone tell me why I have paid delivery costs if I have to pay this guy again??!!

Case 3 - Hairdressers, manicurists etc. These people give me a price list when I come into their establishment. They tell me how much it will cost for them to provide me a service (it is usually extortionate). That however is not sufficient, I am now expected to tip everyone who has played a role in providing that service. The person who washed the hair, the stylist, the manicurists etc. Do I look like I am made of cash? If you feel that your prices are too low, then increase them or whatever, but I need a fixed cost to work with not a moving line depending on how many people you decide to use to provide the service.

Case 4 - Taxidrivers, In addition to paying the fare for my ride I am expected to give a taxidriver a tip. This one irks me big time. If a cabbie picks me up from the airport and therefore has to assist me with loading luggage then I can see where a tip might factor into the equation. If however he drives me 10 blocks down the street while yakking into his cellphone all the way, what exactly am I tipping him for?

Case 5 - Bartenders, I am expected to tip them $1 every time I buy a drink. I find this especially offensive in establishments that choose to charge $15 per drink. I am expected to shoulder all the staffing costs of their employees? Ridiculous.

Now in numerous countries in the developing world, (Naij comes to mind) you generally have to raise people just to get them to do their jobs. I am starting to see significant parallels between both cultures. Bribery and Tippery are blending into one as far as I am concerned. Why bother referring to it as a tip anymore? As much a they like to pretend it is optional/customary, what they really mean is that it is obligatory...Regardless of service levels.

Muffled Silence

2006-07-09T19:13:00.000-04:00

The anniversary of 7/7 stilled my pen...or keyboard, to be more accurate. As the hours went by and I had time to reflect on the brutal horrors of that day, the helplessness that was compounded by having an ocean between myself and my beloved city, I still didn't feel the release I needed. The outpouring of grief, remembrance, sorrow or memories. I was unable to find solace, words failed me. Many times, I turned on the computer but my fingers found no rhythm as they hit the keyboard.

Maybe it is because there are no words. There are only feelings, emotions run deep but remain indistinct. They are all blurred together, and I am unable to formulate a coherent sentence to convey what exactly it is that I am feeling. Perhaps it is enough that I do feel. In all the confusion, one thing retains clarity: We miss you, you will never be forgotten.

Magia

2006-07-05T10:25:00.000-04:00

I've always thought of fireworks as magical.
In spite of the stringent efforts of every physics teacher I have ever had and in defiance of common sense, I refuse to believe that there is a mathematical equation behind their beauty and mysticism. It was 4th of July yesterday, and like everyone else in the city at 9pm I headed out to watch the fireworks. I live right by the East River on the Brooklyn side, so heading to the little park on the end of the street was really no big deal. As I stepped out of my apartment building, I had a sense that this must be what the exodus was like. Throngs of people in high spirits, drawn to the waterside for the magic that was about to take place.
The gentrification of my neighbourhood has been steady and extreme, but every year on this day those who used to call it home always return to the spot where several generations of their family have watched the fireworks to keep the traditions going. I am standing next to a white-haired lady named Juanita who tells me that in the old days, they used to have their own concert in the park during the fireworks. They used to dance to the rhythms of Tito Puente and Celia Cruz under the midnight sky as it burst into searing colour. There was no hassle she told me, only jubilation. Everybody here knew each other by first name, so we all danced the night away and let it take out worries with it.
She tells me of how she and her family have been forced to leave the neighbourhood as prices have skyrocketed far beyond their reach. She explains that they are now forced to live in a new environment with new gangs and different rules.
She used to come back and visit often, but everytime she does another familiar face has disappeared. Now she says, there is no point in coming back here, it only fills her with sorrow as she sees the remains of all her yesterdays in tatters. It belongs to them now, she says. She means the rich kids with the $200 hair gel and $1000 distressed t-shirts. They leave Mummy & Daddy on the Upper East Side and move to Williamsburg to live out the illusion of starving artists, all the while driving the cost of real-estate further and further up. In their wake arrive the yuppies and the real estate sharks, development at any cost.
Tonight however, things are different. The air is filled with the sounds of people from all backgrounds singing, dancing and having a good time. Old friends hug each other, it has been a year since they last met and after tonight another year will follow before they meet again. Always on this same spot, always for the same reason. And on this day, all the distinctions in the neighbourhood disappear. Yuppies and Papis stand side by side watch the sky anxiously. All is quiet to avoid breaking the spell. And when the awe inspiring spectacle begins, Juanita whispers in my ear "Magia". I smile at her because the exact thought is running through my mind.
Fireworks are magical.

2006-07-03T11:35:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted in ages because I haven't really felt very inspired.

Today, I don't feel inspired, I feel deflated. After England's exit from the World Cup, I'm not really sure what I have to look forward to! Okay, that was somewhat excessively melodramatic. I am pleased to report however that I have been suitably impressed by Superman Returns, in fact it is probably almost enough to banish the horror of X3 from my mind.

I'm still not feeling inspired, I dont really think I have anything to say. This could be because instead of spending my entire day blog surfing, I have actually been working hard for a change. I thought I'd just swing by though to let readers know that all is well in Monefville...just a simple case of "cat got my tongue".

What's My Line

2006-06-14T18:46:00.000-04:00

Nationality/Identity is a distinctly odd thing. It is a question I get asked on an almost daily basis. Unsurprising really considering the fact that I am Nigerian, was born in Britain and am living in America but working at the British Consulate. The joys of globalisation!

For the longest time I identified far more strongly with Nigeria than I did with the UK, but maybe it takes being away from your country to really appreciate it. The 3 years that I have spent in New York have made me far more patriotic and I now feel more British than ever. I'm not really sure how to reconcile that. It's difficult to put my finger on exactly what provokes the feelings, all I know is that for the first time in the history of my existence I am in full support of England and her exploits at The World up. Is it because Nigeria is not participating this year? Who can say..Similarly I was overwhelmed when London was announced as the Olympic city for 2012 and when Kelly Holmes took double honours at the last Olympics I shed tears of joy.

Will I feel something for America when I leave here? Somehow I doubt it. Maybe it is down to the fact that my life in London is so heavily interlaced with doses of Nigeria that there is no real need or desire to separate one from the other. London, or "mini-Nigeria" as I like to think of it offers me the best of both worlds whereas New York leaves me adrift. As so many bloggers have queried recently, what is it that instills national pride? Is it the accident of birth? The amount of time spent residing somewhere? Or is it how the life-changing experiences we have in certain places. It is probably a combination of all 3 in my case. I was born in London. My adult life has been divided between NYC and London, although I did go to University in Leeds, I have evolved the most as person in New York and I am as Nigerian as the best of them...Accent not withstanding.

Maybe for me the solution is not to have to choose. I am as British as I am Nigerian. I identify very strongly with both countries, and hate being questioned or second-guessed on that....I'm the Anglo-Nigerian du jour.

Cats and Dogs

2006-06-08T22:29:00.000-04:00

It's been raining non-stop in NYC, gotta love that summer huh?!

Now I know what Noah must have felt like holed up in that damn ark. Where does the saying "it's raining cats and dogs" come from anyway? And what it really be like if it actually rained cats and dogs? How would that work?

You know I'm stir-crazy when I start chatting crap.

Adieu

2006-06-05T18:53:00.000-04:00

I am departing the lovely Pittsburgh until the next tradeshow bring me here to explore it's convention centres and hotel rooms, I didn't even get a chance to see the Andy Warhol museum!

You'll all be pleased to note that today I managed to avoid selection for random bodysearches.....must be the suit.

Queue jumping fogeys and random body searches

2006-06-04T22:09:00.000-04:00

I'm in Pittsburgh tonight after the most tiring long-winded arduous process imaginable. It takes about an hour to fly here from NYC, so why ladies and gentlemen when my flight was booked for 3.30 this afternoon am I just arriving here at 10 pm? Because domestic travel in the US of A sucks!

It all started when I got to LaGuardia airport. I consider myself a fairly seasoned traveller, and in all the time I have been taking to the skies I have never been selected for a 'random' body search. So it is fair to assume that my number would be up, it had to happen sometime. So after being ranomly body searched, I headed for my gate to board where I was told that due to a combination of over crowding and the exhorbitant fare American Airlines chose to charge me for this flight I was being upgraded to First Class. I grabbed my new boarding pass with glee, I love First Class even if it is only for an hour! As 3.30 approached I anxiously watched the clock and the desk clerk simultaneously, waiting for her to announce that we could begin boarding. At 3.25 she approached the microphone and my heart jumped with joy. Finally I would escape from the confines of LaGuardia (I spend far too much time in airports, so now they do my head in). Her announcement however dashed all my hopes, "The 3.30 flight to Pittsburgh has been cancelled due to exceptionally high winds".As I was trying to get to Pittsburgh for a WindPower conference the irony of this wasn't lost on me. I looked outside as she spoke, what on earth is this cow talking about???!! The air outside is as still and muggy as you would expect for a New York afternoon in June.
There was an immediate rush for the front desk with people falling over themselves to sort something out. I rushed up to the queue and got a reasonable spot, there were 3 people ahead of me and a million behind - they've obviously never had rush for food in a boarding school before, so they lack my skills at transporting myself across a room in the blink of an eye. As I stood there waiting my turn this sweet old lady came up to me and asked if this was the line for people trying to get to Pittsburgh. I replied in the affirmative and with that she promptly grabbed her luggage and squeezed herself into the line right in front of me. I was absolutely flabbergasted, how do I tell someone who is old enough to be my great granny to take herself to the back of the line? Evidently no one else knew the answer to that one either because besides a few exasperated sighs and moans no one said anything.
I eventually made it to the desk where I was told that they would be able to offer me the last seat on an alternative airline to Pittsburgh today (bet the people behind me wish they had spoken up now!!) however as it was US Airways, I would have to forfeit the upgrade....no more First Class.
By the time I arrived at the US Airways terminal, I was hopping mad with sheer frustration. What a waste of a Sunday afternoon, so I'm sure that when the agent at the check-in desk told me that I had been yet again been 'randomly' selected for a body search the thunderous look on my face shocked her. I finally made to my hotel room at 10pm and will have to begin this whole rigmarole agin tomorrow night in my quest to get back home. What did I take away for my experiences today?

- Blatantly senior citizens feel that they have a get out of jail free card that entitles them to randomly queue-jump, I didn't get the memo but I'm going along with it because I can't bear to be mean to a fogey.

- Clearly my body was looking particularly alluring today or the female security guards there must love me, there is no other explanation for 2 'random' body searches in 2 hours. Well there is, but I'm not really in the mood to open that can of worms.

And so from Pittsburgh I bid you, Goodnight and Good Luck.

Gutted!!

2006-06-04T03:35:00.000-04:00

I just want to say for the record that X3:The Last Stand is perhaps the most disappointing superhero movie I have ever seen. (Batman and Robin doesn't qualify as it is barely a movie, besides George Clooney as the Caped Crusader???? nuff said). I haven't wasted my precious eyesight on Catwoman so I cannot comment.

I eagerly awaited the release of X3, even dusted off my X-Men and X2 DVD's to set the mood. Broke out some comics and haunted every forum imaginable to get into the spirit of things and imagine how I was going to be blown away by this Dark Phoenix storyline. I'm not even going to tell you about the crapness...you have to see for yourself (did you catch the mini-fanwank?) I will however say that I went, I saw and I WANT MY MONEY BACK!

Sing me a new song

2006-06-02T21:27:00.000-04:00

I get truly fed up when every article I read regarding Nigeria begins like this:

'Nigeria, torn by religious and ethnic violence...blah..blah..blah..plagued by corruption ...blah..blah..blah'

Don't get me wrong, if the subject of the article is corruption or violence, then this really isn't that big of an issue. However, it seems as though whenever it comes to Nigeria or most African countries for that matter, the negative aspects are the immediate description of choice. It may well be an article about some footballing whiz-kid or peacekeeping troops being sent to Liberia, it makes no difference. The introduction will always be the same.

Quite frankly I am sick and tired of this attitude. To this end I have decided to create some introductions of my own for the 'developed' countries.

The USA - Home to the generation that coined the term 'axis of evil' thus throwing international diplomatic relations worldwide into utter chaos.....

The United Kingdom - This little island renowned for her football hooligans and happy slappers....

I could go further, but I think you all catch my drift. What would it be like if journalists worldwide prefixed every article they did on these countries with those statements? Never underestimate the power of perception. We know that religious and ethnic violence occurs in Nigeria as it does in much of today's world. We know that corruption is rampant in Nigeria just as we know that the US gives white collar crimes and political skulduggery a whole new meaning. The song and dance has become boring...sing me a new one.

Miami Baby!!

2006-06-02T08:30:00.000-04:00

Apologies for my long absence from the blogsphere, this was largely due to the fact that I was soaking up sun and fun in Miami baby!!!

Osa (in the green shirt) is getting married in July, so we threw her a bachelorette party in Miami. We had a fabulous time, did all sorts of things that I have no intention of telling you about and sent her on her way to married life in style!

Family: can't live with them, can't live without them

2006-05-20T22:16:00.000-04:00

There are those who will consider the subject of this post weird. They will wonder why at a time of so much international news of importance this was all I could find to write about, but I can't help it. I have family in town for the weekend, my two favourite aunts (all 5 of my aunts are my favourites, well maybe that's stretching it 4 out of 5) and my 19 month old cousin. This should be a joyful time right? So why can I not get the tension out of my shoulders? What is it about the arrival of family that makes me want to justify every decision I have made in the last 3 years. Why do I constantly need to explain myself to them? How come they can make me feel like I am 6 years old as opposed to 26? Is that why I felt the need to move halfway across the world from them? I have as much self confidence as anyone I know, why does that all vanish when they appear?
Family reading this, don't take offence, I'm merely attempting to understand the machinations of my ever more bizarre brain! It's definitely not you...It's just me.

Monef's Top 10 Most Influential Bloggers 2006

2006-05-11T13:13:00.000-04:00

After reading last week's edition of TIME magazine featuring the 100 most influential people: The People who shape our world, I decided to follow in their footsteps and create my own list of the people who have thus far shaped my naijablogging experience for better or worse. It will be quite interesting to do this again a year from now and see how much extended time in the blogsphere will have altered my perspective.

1. Jeremy: Naijablog - The Conduit
Naijablog for me and probably several other bloggers out there has had the biggest impact on my blogging experience so far. It led me down the path to the majority of blogs that I check on a daily basis. I am mostly fascinated by the fact that you never really know what sort of post you are going to find up, but I also love the philosophizing and heated debate that can almost always be found doing the rounds on Naijablog.

2. Nkem: African Shirts - The Educator
Nkem's blog has a profound impact on the way I view things. He can always be relied upon to provide the knowledge, but also shape the thinking. The writing is top notch, the perspective always original and the research absolutely staggering. Whenever he goes for long spells without posting, I get a little ratty!

3. Nneka: Confessions of the Mind - The Funny
I rely on Nneka to dish out the laughs. Her posts are always extremely refreshing, and she always manages to highlight the humour in almost any situation.

* Adaure came in a very close second for this spot especially because her ANTM wrap-ups constantly had me in stitches, but in the end Nneka won out overall.

4. Trae Days - The Drama
Trae can be relied upon to invariably bring the drama. In the short time that I have spent blogging there has been a fair amount of controversy surrounding Trae, this has more often than not led to several heated debates that have raged continually all over the blogsphere ensuring that there is barely a naijablogger out there who is not aware of him!

5.Dilichi: Thinking Out Loud - The Realness
Dilichi very often echoes my thoughts on her blog. Her posts very often resonate with me and encourage me to continue to share my experiences. She has a very no-nonsense approach and stands by her principles without necessarily coming across as unreasonable. Mad props.

6. Olawunmi: Silent Storms In An Ocean of One - The Heart
Olawumni's blogging reveals a tender and sensitive side not often seen in the blogsphere. His posts often invite you to read between the lines and explore the depth of emotion that led to their existence, and his skill with language only makes for more compelling reading.

7. Obifromsouthlondon: Soul On Ice - The Urban Guru
Obi's blogging provides such a varied and authentic experience that it is quite difficult to put into words. Its more than the music which is fabulous, you feel like you are genuinely on a trip, an experience to be savoured in it's entirety. That is no mean feat.

8. Chibs: Sugar is sweet, Pepper is peppery - The Beacon of Youth
Chibs was clearly born to write. Her narrative style is though thoroughly arresting, and webs woven with her words draw you in. I find myself wishing she would post more frequently, and that is always a good sign.

9. Toometoblog: A literary supplement to real life - The uber Nerd
This blog has me simultaneously mesmerised and amused. The rejoinders are almost as funny as the posts, and the observations are incredibly accurate and astute. Definitely one to watch out for in the future.

10. My last spot has to go to a set of pages that are no longer up, and thus have left a gaping hole in my blogging existence. Teju Cole's photography and tales of his recent trip to Nigeria proved to be a daily source of inspiration. The combination of beautiful B&W imagery and poetic lyricism gave me a warm and fuzzy feeling that I cannot forget, for that I am awarding those pages the "Gone but not Forgotten award".

That my friends concludes this year's list. Perhaps by next year this list will take me several days to complete due to the rich and varied blogging experience the year will have provided!

On Naija mothers

2006-05-09T17:47:00.000-04:00

Recently, the naija blogsphere has been abuzz with heated debate over the actions of the naijaman with comments flying back and forth about where various camps stand on his inherent behaviour. My involvement in the debate was prompted by the exchange between obifromsouthlondon and Soul and several other people gave their opinions and vice-versa. This whole issue had me thinking about the sacredness of mothers.

I know this subject is semi-taboo to some, but I just had to go there. As women, we know exactly what qualities we abhor in men. This is very easy to see, so why does all this go out of the window when it comes to raising the young men of tomorrow? If several Naija men are under fire for unacceptable behaviour, then I sincerely believe that their mothers should also be taken to task.

Let's be clear, I am in no way suggesting that fathers are not also responsible for the upbringing of their children, but I strongly feel that women are more sensitive to what qualities they desire in a man and as such, the onus is on them to ensure that their offspring reflect those.

BEWARE: Massive generalisation about to take place!

Naija mothers are quick to show their daughters how important it is to know how to sweep the floor and prepare ogbono. I would appreciate it if a little more of that time could be dedicated to teaching their sons how to address ladies.

Naija mothers are quick to tell their daughters how to act ladylike in order to snag a good man. I would appreciate if they spent more time teaching their sons how to be decent husbands.

Naija mothers are quick to talk about shameless girls and be glad that their daughters are not like that. I would appreciate if they spent more time rebuking their sons for their philandering ways.

Naija mothers are quick to adopt the philosophy 'boys will be boys'. I would appreciate it if they spent more time teaching their sons how to be men.

I don't think the phenomenon is exclusive to Naijamen and their mothers, I believe the issue in question has a much wider scope than I can cover in this post, but I chose Naija because that was what the previous debate focused on. It is important to note that for the most part, mysogynsts are not born..they are made. So when mothers are spending all their energy turning their daughters into ladies, it would be nice if they saved some for their sons. What is the point of raising all those ladies, if there are only beasts available for them to marry?

My Dream Job

2006-05-08T17:43:00.000-04:00

Pilgrimagetoself threw down the gauntlet and I accepted the challenge, so here goes:

My dream job

My dream job is on my mind 24/7 but I am reluctant to reveal the inner workings of the machine for fear that others will infringe on my plans. The general idea is to form a public-private partnered economic development agency. My focus will be on the Niger-Delta region.

Everyone who knows me will agree that I don't do mornings, so I would like my day to start at 10am, but I'm quite happy to keep going because there is nothing like the fire generated by genuine passion for your work.

An organisation on the scale that I have in mind needs bases in all the major economic powerhouses, so I will have identical offices in Lagos, New York, London, Mumbai, Tokyo etc. You get the gist. Although having a fleet of helicopters and private jets plus numerous vehicles would make my life easier, as an international jetsetter my carbon footprint will be the size of Everest. That means that based on my principles and respect for our planet, I'll be riding the bullet train from Lagos to Abuja, and taking the tram from my house to the office.

My attire will be dictated by my schedule, so if I am having a meeting at the corporate headquarters in Asaba, then my tailored Armani suit will be in effect. However if I am heading up to Kano to visit the corn fields and check on our ethanol refinery plant then I will be more than happy to don jeans and a t-shirt.

My clients/customers will be the whole world and the rest of Nigeria, who are just dying to get their foot in the door in the Niger-Delta, that hotbed of economic prosperity.

My core tasks will vary vastly depending on the global economic climate, my mission will always be to keep the Niger-Delta region on the front page of the Economist as they continue to marvel at the health of the beating heart of Nigeria.

The perks of my job will be numerous as I will be courted by Heads of State, Presidents and Kings the world over in efforts to secure my business, however they will be baffled to learn that in my organisation, it doesn't matter how much you try to ply me with gifts and priviledges....the contract will always be awarded to the best man for the job. Environmental blasphemy will not be tolerated.

My success will actually prove immeasurable as the changes in the region will of course give way to a knock on effect all over the country. In addition to economic prosperity, Nigeria will know a period of ethnic cohesion like never before, and even if I walk out not a penny richer...this my friends is reward enough for me.

New York City is like.....

2006-05-03T13:57:00.000-04:00

an errant boyfriend. Before I began my relationship with him, I was so in love. I would think about the brief flings we had previously enjoyed and know with certainty that we were perfect for each other. When I finally took the plunge and made the commitment to him, I felt that deep satisfaction that only comes from having attained something you have struggled long and hard to achieve.

We have now been together for almost 3 years. In that space of time, I have come to understand that my boyfriend is less than perfect. He is so beautiful to look at, but when you delve deeper you can't help but notice the ugliness that pervades his heart. He constantly makes promises that he cannot deliver on and exasperates me beyond belief, but just when I am about to give up on him, he goes and reminds me of why I fell in love with him in the first place.

Very often, he has a hard time keeping me fulfilled and I am forced to cheat on him with Lagos, Boston, Miami and my long time partner in crime - London. My boyfriend and I have several issues, but as soon as anyone attempts to bad-mouth him, I immediately jump to his defense. It is the classic love-hate relationship, but these days I think we are leaning more towards a better understanding of each other. I had an epiphany and realised that the reason we were having such a hard time was because I was constantly comparing him to London, my ex-boyfriend. Of course he didn't like that, It made him insanely jealous and sparked many a fight. Since then however, we have had long heart to heart discussions. I have learned to be more sensitive to his feelings, and he has realised that he has to be more understanding of my needs.

It looks like NYC and I will make it through the tempest after all.

A Letter to My Younger Self

2006-05-01T15:43:00.000-04:00

I noticed loads of people have been getting in on this letter to younger self lark as advocated by Oprah. After reading Adaure's letter, I've decided to also hop on that bandwagon.

Dear wee Efe,

I just thought I'd drop in on you to see how you are doing and give you the benefit of having navigated the rocky terrain that lies ahead. There is no clarity like that provided by hindsight, so listen up...This is important.

I know you feel slightly out of sync with the rest of the world, but don't worry most people do too they just hide it better than you. This isn't a bad thing, your ability to recognise that you are unique and embrace it is what will later set you apart from the masses. Take a moment to enjoy the beauty of your life, because every moment is precious and as ridiculous as it seems, you will not be able to hold on to this period in your life forever. I know you think that being so young is tedious, but trust me adulthood is not all it is cracked up to be..Except for the shoes.

Ignore all the people who tease you about being skinny, it isn't important and besides in a few years they will all be asking you for advice on how to lose weight. You have this tendency to believe that everyone has good in them, and this is a beautiful thing. It will very often lead to heartache, but don't let this frighten you. Through all that pain will come some of the most beautiful moments in your life and you cannot receive them if you aren't open to new things.

Pay more attention to the world around you. You spend so much time daydreaming with your head in the clouds that you often miss the little nuances that herald major changes in your world. I can't prevent the major changes, but I can assure you that you are stronger than you know and you have an uncanny ability to effect change. As our friend Peter Parker would say "with great power comes great responsibility" and to that end, you have to use your abilities for good. If you simply bury your head in the sand and hope it all passes you will end up living with regrets, and trust me, there is nothing worse.

Your middle-child syndrome will eventually go away, and you will stop feeling so invisible. Contrary to the opinion of that those nasty girls in school, you are not ugly..matter of fact you are beautiful. Mum wasn't just saying that to make you feel better. But the thing is, you will come to understand that all of that is irrelevant, and that you have already been armed with everything you need to succeed in life and become a fully evolved well-rounded human being. Believe it or not, down the road you will become fearless and the only person who can hold you back is yourself.

Keep living, learning and loving....the best is yet to come.

Love

Not so wee Efe

Man O War

2006-04-26T13:39:00.000-04:00

Memories are a strange thing. More often than not they lie dormant...Not forgotten, they are simply biding their time until some unwitting catalyst comes along and open those floodgates. After that there is no denying the onslaught, the rush of sensations so acute you can almost taste feel and smell them. This was exactly what I experienced when I read Jasmine's post on her recent trip to Shere Hills, Jos.

It brought back memories of 1995, the year of my trip to Shere Hills. I went to Secondary school at Adesoye College in Offa, Nigeria. It was definitely a pioneering institution, the founder Chief Adesoye called it "an experiment in excellence" and the dramatic results of his experiment can be seen all over Nigeria today. Chief Adesoye along with the first school Principal, Miss Ruth E Howard crafted a model for secondary education that is now ardently followed and improved upon continually all over Nigeria. They put a private boarding school in an extremely remote location, far away from all things cosmopolitan on extremely enormous grounds and gave us a natural setting in which to develop and grow as organically as possible. Pampered children had to learn how to be self- sufficient, but we never actually suffered. Among other things we were not allowed to go home during the school term and we only had a few Sundays on which our family was allowed to visit. We were not allowed to watch television, although there were chosen movie nights, and sometimes access to international news. But I digress, the point is that as part of their radical plan to shape us into leaders of tomorrow, they instituted a mandatory trip to the Man O War Bay at Shere Hills for orientation training.

The Man O War bay is a citizenship and leadership training centre often used by the military and NYSC . It became a ritual of passage in Adesoye College, students at the end of their fifth year went there for two weeks. The theory was that by the time you came back you would be more than ready to lead the school in your sixth year. The changes that the programme wrought on students were nothing short of incredible, and lifetime bonds were born in that place. That was where I became the person that I am today. Prior to going there, my self-consciousness knew no bounds, but there is nothing like sleeping in an abandoned school building on the floor with every other member of your set to relieve you of all inhibitions.

From mountain climbing to abseiling to rafting we were challenged physically and mentally in ways that I never realised was possible. We were split into teams for the duration of our stay with mixing along ethnic and religious lines and given numerous activities, including staging news programmes and embarking on "the plateau scheme". The "plateau scheme" was supposed to embody everything we learned while we were there and it was basically a scavenger hunt. We went of in our groups with maps, a compass and a cutlass and had to find certain markers and make it to the designated point by the end of the day. The first group to get there won the challenge and if any member of your team was left behind then you were disqualified.

As a Lagosian, this experience changed me for life, and the bonds of friendship with my classmates became bonds of kinship. They became my family, and still are today...all in two weeks. Jos is a magical place, and I am fortunate to have had that experience, so I am extremely grateful to Jasmine for rekindling those fondest of memories.

Who the hell kidnapped the damn Easter Bunny?

2006-04-17T16:22:00.000-04:00

A little more American bashing (I love you guys, honest!)

What do you call people who ruin Easter fun? Are they also humbugs? If I say they are humbugs, then so shall it be. It is bad enough that Americans are forced to go to work on Good Friday and Easter Monday, as I get Good Friday off I really couldn't care less what happens to the rest of them! HA HA!

However, what good is all that when there are no glorious Easter eggs to share my joy? The selection available is pitiful. I have to spend $30 for some random Godiva confection that tastes like crap....where's the fun? And where's the present? I miss seeing the outlandish displays at Sainbury's, rows of Easter eggs in every form of chocolate known to Cadbury's with every gimmick under the sun. I don't really like chocolate, but there is something special about cradling that humongous egg in my arms as I get ready to devour it.....this year there will be no such fun. So all you ungrateful so and so's in London....be sure to make the most of it.

PS In case you couldn't tell......I am still sleep deprived in the dying moments of my tradeshow with about half an hour left to go. This sleep deprivation + boredom + easter egg rage has led to the above whinge. Indulge me.

Somebody save me.....

2006-04-17T14:50:00.000-04:00

I have the Monday blues with a vengeance .......Help!!!

I am currently sitting behind the UKTI booth at the New York Biotech Association Annual Conference. This is no way to spend Monday when you haven't had any sleep for the last 36 hours! Granted it was entirely my fault, but I'm not sure the punishment is fitting. This weekend was a blast. The majority of Americans do not get any time off over Easter, so I was very grateful for that extra day and a half even though I'm grumbling today. On Friday, I went over to visit the Iyayi girls and ended up heading to home that evening with Isi, Jumoke and Chantal were we proceeded to dance up a storm till 5am. This made rousing myself on Saturday rather tough, but there was no alternative as I was due to meet up with K and Ugoma in town. Eventually, I was able to make it happen and we did a spot of shopping before returning my place to get ready to go out yet again.

The evenings activities included an hour-long stint at a poetry night that never quite came together and a gallery opening that seemed unusually overflowing with sleazy old men culminating in Yomi J and I spending some QT at APT. Suffice to say another night with limited sleep passed by and before I knew it, it was Sunday and I had to spend a few hours in the office before heading off to Long Island for Easter dinner with K's fam. We returned to NYC late that evening and headed straight back out to Guesthouse, and then finished up in Bungalow 8 where we danced the night away with Sienna Miller, Lindsey Lohan and friends. Of course by this time it was 5.30 am and I was due at the office at 6.45 to prepare for the tradeshow, so sleep never quite happened!

I know this is the craziest post ever and there is probably no one outthere who has a clue what I just wrote, but this is what happens when you are sleep deprived and then decide to chase that with 10 hours of listening to scientists tell you how they are planning on changing the world.

PS. I wish I could allude the name dropping to sleep deprivation, but that was mostly because I am a show-off who loves to point out how fabulous I am!

Grrrrrrrr

2006-04-11T18:11:00.000-04:00

Begin rant: I cannot overstate how much technical support inthe USA annoys me. Having used tech support in the UK as well, I can officially say there is a massive difference. I have been trying sort out issues with my wireless network for weeks now, and finally after holding on for 2 hours on several occasions I managed to get through to a human being. Now having worked in many a call centre myself, I know exactly how these things work. I refuse to believe that there isn't a massive board with red blaring numbers urging these minions to get a move on! When I finally got through to someone, of course she couldn't answer any of my questions. It took me 5 minutes to get her to understand the concept of USB. For the first time in my life I understood what people meant when they said "it was like pulling teeth". And so after an hour and a half of explaining all the trouble I was having and realising I was getting nowhere, I decided to throw caution to the wind and reset the router. Voila! Wireless connection....D-link, thanks for nothing. Get thy dumbass call centre over to India with the rest of you compadres. Call me crazy, but I'll take a tech-savvy person in another time-zone over a MacDonalds reject who didn't graduate from high school anyday! Here the rant endeth!

Days of Old

2006-03-30T17:48:00.000-05:00

Kids today have no imagination. I know this is a massive generalisation but as a close observer of loads of young uns, I can say that there is definite basis for that conclusion. Three summers ago, while I was babysitting my cousin he kept coming over to me telling me how bored he was. This boredom appeared to stem from the fact that his mother banned him from watching TV and playing computer games all day. Shock!! Horror!! What else is there to life? Imagine the look of shock on his face when I dared to suggest that he go outside and play! He actually informed me that he didn't really know what to do, so I told him to use his imagination.

This had him stumped. He had no idea what I was carrying on about, so I told him to make up a story. He got about halfway through the story when I realised that it just happened to be exactly the same as the Power Rangers movie I had been forced to suffer through the previous day. I threw up my hands in exasperation.

This is just so alien to me, because some of the most significant moments of my childhood were brought to me courtesy of my imaginary friends, and my wild flights of fancy. When I was five years old, I had my first major argument with most of my extended family. This was an argument that carried on until I was about nine and saw the light. It all started on afternoon in London, I was watching TV on my own for some reason. I don't really remember where everyone else was, but I watched on my own for quite a while. Eventually, my Uncle Ladi came out into the living room and asked me what I had been watching. I told him that I was watching a show about an old man who had a parrot named 'Kpookpaa'. He doubled over laughing at me and called all my aunts in to join in on the joke. My aunts and uncle patiently tried to explain to me why it was impossible that I saw a British show featuring a parrot with such a blatantly Nigerian name, but I wasn't having any of it. It was the source of much teasing and many tears until I turned nine and realised how ridiculous I must have sounded! It actually became a nickname for me that the family would use whenever I came out with some particularly fanciful tall tale, or just did something plain weird.

My Uncle still calls me Kpookpaa till this day, and in December when I went to Nigeria I noticed that he has started calling his 4-year old daughter 'Kpookpaa junior'. This is apparently due to the fact that she chatters on for hours on end and comes out with plenty of smart alec comments, just like me! The legendary imaginary parrot has become part of our family legacy and I'm proud of that.

Kpookpaa and all the other wonderful imaginary friends of my youth, I salute you. Thank you for many days and nights filled with joy and wonder. Thank you for allowing me to dare to dream. Thank you for keeping me company...But most of all thank you for teaching me about the power of imagination.

The age old question: Mac vs PC

2006-03-27T12:13:00.000-05:00

Okay peeps, I need a little help/advice. I'm about to purchase a new laptop. Not necessarily looking to spend a fortune, I just want people to chime in and give me their 2 cents on whether to go with Mac or PC. I prefer the user-friendliness of windows to os x but I'm not sure that this is reason enough to rule out Mac. Comments etc would be much appreciated. Ta.

March 31st draws nigh...

2006-03-24T15:09:00.000-05:00

The date has never really meant that much to me in the past, but now as the end of March approaches I can feel myself going crazy. The end of the financial year is causing me to pull out my hair (or what is left of it) in ways I never have before............I hope this doesn't mean I'm becoming an actual adult or anything...AAARGH!!

We're playing tag and it's me!

2006-03-22T10:05:00.000-05:00

I've been tagged by Nneka so here goes nothing! The rules of the game are as follows:

1. The tagged victim must come up with 10 different points of their perfect lover.
2. Need to mention gender of target.
3. Tag 8 victims to join this game and leave a comment saying they've been tagged.
4. If tagged again, there's no need to post a 2nd time.

The perfect lover for me....
1. He has to have a sense of humour (I can't stand sour-faced people who take themselves way too seriously!)

2. He has to know how to read something besides FHM....Ignorance is sooooo unattractive.

3. He has to know what a sponge and washing-up liquid are for...If he requires a beast of burden, may I suggest a visit to the farm?

4. He has to be secure in his manhood...There is nothing more depressing than being with someone who constantly needs to remind you both that he is a man.

5. Considerate

6. Open to new experiences

7. Willing to say no to his boys on occasion for my sake

8. A connoisseur of film and music.

9. God-fearing

10. If I can have all that and he's a cutie too, then I'm happy

N.B It goes without saying that boys shorter than me need not apply!!!

I'm tagging nkem, trae_z, obifromsouthlondon, Afrohomo, Lolus, c0dec, adefunke and boo.

Verily Visibly Victorious..

2006-03-20T15:00:00.000-05:00

In case the title wasn't a dead giveaway, I just saw V for Vendetta and all I can say is........ wow!! It's been quite a while since a movie managed to engage me on so many levels. I mean, movies usually seem to be under the impression that if they have a serious message or are tackling serious issues then they cannot be packaged as blockbusters and seen by a wider audience. This was some of the most audacious marketing I have seen in recent times sparking furious debate all over the US. I find this particularly encouraging as most of my generation seem strangely apathetic. I enjoyed last year's plethora of politically charged movies, Goodnight and Good Luck, Syriana, The Constant Garner etc, however this feels like much more of a gem. Perhaps it is because of the wealth of ideas (or what soem critics would call a lack of focus!). I found however that this meant that teh movie took me in sveral different directions at once and thatlong after I left the cinema, I continued to ponder the parallels drawn. If that isn't classed as powerful thought provoking filmmaking, then I don't know what is.

N.B : Don't be put off by the dodginess of Portman's accent (it sound's more SouthAfrican than anything else) or the fact that everyone feels compelled to shout "bollocks" every ten seconds it is definitely a movie worth seeing.

The Elephant in the room

2006-03-17T18:00:00.000-05:00

Being based in New York City, I'm sure you are all expecting the obligatory St. Patrick's Day post....complete with pictures of green beer and shamrock. That's not really my style though, I'd rather talk about something that has been bothering me for a little while. Anyone who knows me well will agree that it's only very rarely that I am speechless, but this is strangely one of those times.

I've often wondered how I would react if I found myself in my current situation, and I have to admit that the outcome is surprising. I grew up hearing about domestic violence as one of thestarnge things that crazy people did. It never occured to me that it was happening all around me on a regular basis. This is because within Nigerian culture there is often so much blurring of the lines, you don't always realise when behaviour crosses into the realm of abusiveness. I can recall standing outside a nightclub in London, seeing one of my acquaintances slap a mutual female friend across the face. More vivid however is the recollection that the boys present were congratulating him for silencing here. She doesn't know her levels, they said. She has too much mouth, they said.

My next most memorable encounter was my 21st birthday party. A guy I used to be friends with (he was also my ex-boyfriend's best friend)came to the party with his girlfriend. They had recently reconciled after being seperated for a while, and all seemed well with them. It was much to my shock and horror that a few hours into the party they began to have a huge fight which ended with him slapping her three times, giving her a bloody eye and a swollen face. I was outraged on her behalf, and horrified when my then boyfriend attempted to suggest that I should not intervene. I did what I thought was right and kicked him out, only to have the girl start crying "where is he going to go? Will he be alright?" As if I cared! She then chased after him, and in their twisted little fantasy, I became the bad guy.

That was a bitter pill to swallow, but I have since learnt my lesson. Imagine my surprise then, to find that here again in New York. As before, the current victim is well-educated with loving and supportive parents and a good network of friends to turn to, but still.......she allows him to treat her like this. I do not understand. My first encounter with his maniacal behaviour came about when she turned up at work with a black eye and fat lip. I asked her what had happened, fearing the worst( a mugging of some sort). She told me very matter of factly that she had upset her boyfriend (who also happens to be the father of her 2-year old child) so he punched her. I was very surprised that this would be taking place so I asked her about the child's safety, and her response had me in shock. She said "Oh she is too young to notice, and by the time she gets a little older, I won't be with him anymore." I have since been horrifed by the constant balck eyes, fat lips and horror stories. However it is definitely common knowledge that this is going on, and her closest friend clearly have no intention of doing anything about it. I had a long chat with her before christmas, telling her how I knew she could do so much better than that for both herself and her daughter and how she needed to get out. She agreed with me, and told me that she was plotting her move anyday now. I went away feeling certain that I had done my best. I spoke to her just a couple of weeks ago and found out that she is pregnant...again!!

I no longer know what to say or do. Everytime I see or speak to her it is like this massive elephant in the room. I sometimes wish I could be like her other friends and turn away, pretend I don't notice and say nothing. But that just isn't in my nature. I'm a mouthy little biatch...and I can't help it. If you are reading this, I want you to know how much I love you. But this cannot go on. I will not pretend that all is well while you hide your bruises under make-up. You have such a huge support system unlike several other women in your situation. My door is open to you anytime of the day or night. Call me.

Nnenna Love!

2006-03-16T17:47:00.000-05:00

Call me superficial, call me sad, I don't care I confess to being a big fan of the TV show "America's Next Top Model". This season however, I have a huge reason to watch. The girl who is currently regarded as possibly the most beautiful and gracious person in the house is Nigerian..from the title you know her name is Nnenna. I get excited by this because Nigeria is famous for many things, none of them particularly good. When I watch Nnenna on the show, I'm proud of the elegance she brings to the proceedings. I'm also proud of her Naija accent...and I love that she hasn't replaced it with any dodgy pseudo phone!!!

It really is that Windy!!

2006-03-16T14:30:00.000-05:00

I've arrived back in New York from Chicago in the wee hours of this morning. It's been a crazy couple of months, but I can honestly say that I've seen more of the USA in the last 2 months than I have in my two years of living here. Granted most of the time was spent in hotel rooms or board rooms..but it still counts!! Chicago was quite an interesting city. Very pretty and very clean!! They have a different garbage collection system from the one that NYC runs. The city has two levels and all trash collection and disposal is done on the lower level, leaving the upper level nice and clean!

The only thing I really didn't like about it was that Iit really was very windy, even in March! Far too cold for my liking!

Four Legs Good..Two Legs Bad?!

2006-03-08T14:05:00.000-05:00

Although this arrives a little late, it has been playing on my mind for a while. Although I was shocked by the violence sparked over the catoon furore, I have to admit that Western hypocrisy is causing me to look at everything through new eyes. I want to be clear, I still disagree with the manifestions of violence, however it has become increasingly clear that Europe and America seem to have one rule for them and another rule for the rest of the world.

Case 1 - Freedom of speech
It seems that freedom of speech is only applicable when convenient. So Europe can defend the printing of the offensive cartoons sreaming about freedom of speech and the importance of defending those freedoms, but when David Irving states his opinion on the Holocaust, he gets jailed?! Sounds like quite the double standard to me.

Case 2 - Democracy & Tolerance
It seems that in this day and age when democracy, freedom, equality an tolerance are the buzz words on every politician..again it's one rule for the west and another rule for every one else. Case in point is the P&O shipping fiasco dominating American airwaves. There is a massive outcry because a company based in Dubai will be taking over from P&O handling some US ports?! People are screaming about the threat to national security..crazy since P&O who currently handle the ports are foreign-owned anyway. In other words it's okay for foreigners to handle the ports if the are British, but Dubai who are staunch US allies are suddenly not to be trusted? Anglo-Saxon okay, Arab not?!?!

I'm just saying...people need to put their money where their mouths are...instead of swanning around asking for world peace, they should let their actions demand it.

Absent friends....

2006-03-08T11:47:00.000-05:00

I've been trotting the globe far to rapidly for the last month to catch my breath much less blog. I have however desperately missed blogging and look forward to posting on all my activities properly. Hopefully I'll get a chance to do that later this week. In the meantime, I just want to say.....It's good to be back....For now!!!

Him

2006-02-21T17:12:00.000-05:00

It's amazing how much I have come to care about him in such a short space of time,
I've known him forever, we've been friends for so long,
But lately it's so much more than that.
I don't really know how to express it in words,
Except to say that I am a much better person for having him in my life.
He keeps me centred, he makes me whole.
I love him so much more than he knows.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEETHEART!

London Calling...

2006-02-18T07:14:00.000-05:00

I'm back in London, again!!! It hardly feels like I left, but it's great to be back. I'm here for work blah..blah...blah..but I'm sure I can fit in some play. The flight over was also soooo much better than my last one. I'll never fly American Airlines again, BA is so much better. From the terminal at JFK till the minute you arrive at Heathrow, the whole experience is much less painful.

The most difficult thing about coming home though, is trying to fit everyone in with such limited time....juggling family and friends...here goes nothing!

2006-02-14T13:48:00.000-05:00

You Are an Appletini

Most of the time, you're a typical party girl / guy.
But when you get super sauced, you really up your sex appeal.

What Mixed Drink Are You?

The light at the end of the tunnel

2006-02-13T15:09:00.000-05:00

takeastandsmall
Originally uploaded by dedicatedshopper.

Just as the PTSD brought on by the shock of my re-immersion into winter was reaching catastrophic proportions, I came across this promo for X3! I am currently so excited, I cannot sit still. There is nothing like seeing superheroes from comics you read all your life brought to the big screen. It's dazzling. I hope the movie lives up to it's promise, but even if it doesn't...I've been sufficiently impressed by the power of make-up!