I am beginning to enjoy sleeping these days and it gets a bit scary. I used to only sleep in the day time if I was ill but these days especially on weekends, I appreciate sleep like it's running out of fashion. Well, I do tend to sleep very late on weekends but it's amazing how much I prioritise my alone time now, sleep time over other forms of leisure. And as I sleep, I hear the words of a song that advices 'don't sleep all you want' tee hee hee. I am loving it though.
So much so that I now attend evening mass which was something I never used to do. The reason being that I may want to go out in the evening. But what happened? I went to evening mass one evening and that was it, I was hooked. I used to go for 8am mass and then 9.30am mass but then that all changed late last year, it began with me no longer even feeling like going to church and so I didn't and then I decided to go to the evening mass one Sunday and I found it very soothing. I wasn't late because there was no traffic like in the mornings, I got to sit inside the church and I quite enjoyed the sermon and in 45 mins it was all over and I felt like I had just breathed some fresh air! This is how church should make you feel. Rejuvenated.
Now, as a result of this new routine, I have some outfits I haven't worn in a while. I don't have to dress up any more to church, there is no formality about evening mass, every Sunday for the last couple of months it appears like I wear the same pair of jeans but it feels very liberating and therapeutic, free from all the hula baloo and social obligations that comes with morning masses. I enjoy good company but sometimes I just want to be alone, especially at church.
I am quite looking forward to the weekly Sunday therapy sessions now. I cannot say I was really at church for all those years I sat outside the church lost in thought and self conscious of the huge number of eyes that watch you go by as you head for the offering or holy communion. All that is past tense now.
Oh did I tell you, I love myself again, we have settled i.e me and myself. I have still not found the driver's license but hey 'it's not that serious'.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
I hate myself today
I know hate is a strong word but that's how I feel today.
I am really pissed becos last yr i used 4 phones. 2 went funny and the other 2 were lost when my bag was stolen at Clarkes shoe shop on oxford street in london in the summer. So of course i bought another phone in July, then the phone started acting up in december and i refused to change it bcos of how much i had spent on phones in the whole yr. then i managed it even though it was a pain in the behind. but in january when we were going to abuja for a retreat i figured it was important to not use a messed up phone there so i bought a cheap 5k phone to take with me through the retreat. then guess what happened the 5k phone died on me, i tried everything and it wont come on and then i tried to revert back to the other phone number 1 and that didn't come on either so i had 2 dead phones in abuja, what a coincidence. so i rush downstairs to the MTN store to buy another 5k phone, so that is how by january i had bought 2 phones. then my dad's driver said his phone was stolen so i gave him one of the 5k phones and reverted back to phone number 1 as i had gotten someone to somewhat fix it, then it started acting up again anyway then my mum got concerned cos they couldn't reach me so she was convinced that the phones sold in nigeria weren't the same quality so she got my dad to buy me a phone in london and so he did but it was a sony ericson which i had never used b4 so i took my time, and just kept it aside and then a colleague convinced me to buy a blackberry since i was always on the go and so i did- so by february i had bought 3 phones but after using the blackberry for a week i realised it was not for me esp after the battery died and the phone didn't come on till the next day hmmm so in annoyance repacked the blackberry and reverted to the phone dad gave me- that is phone number 4 right? and guess what i just lost it. Amidst the credit crunch and tight budgets. now this is why i am angry, i was complaining of last yr but this yr is only march and see what has happened with me and phones. that's why i am pissed off at no one but myself cos i think the phone must have dropped off when i rushed out of my car yesterday evening. the phone is pretty light so if it fell i don't think i would have noticed.
Today I get to MTN in the morning to get a new sim card, I have not decided what I am going to do about the phone. I still haven't sold the blackberry but I have a feeling I will be angrier if I revert back to using it. and guess what? at the MTN counter they ask for my ID card and yours truly cannot find her driver's license! i am angry, pissed off but the worst thing is that i am angry at myself! no driver's license! when did i lose that one! turned my wallet upside down and nothing! ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhh!
I am really pissed becos last yr i used 4 phones. 2 went funny and the other 2 were lost when my bag was stolen at Clarkes shoe shop on oxford street in london in the summer. So of course i bought another phone in July, then the phone started acting up in december and i refused to change it bcos of how much i had spent on phones in the whole yr. then i managed it even though it was a pain in the behind. but in january when we were going to abuja for a retreat i figured it was important to not use a messed up phone there so i bought a cheap 5k phone to take with me through the retreat. then guess what happened the 5k phone died on me, i tried everything and it wont come on and then i tried to revert back to the other phone number 1 and that didn't come on either so i had 2 dead phones in abuja, what a coincidence. so i rush downstairs to the MTN store to buy another 5k phone, so that is how by january i had bought 2 phones. then my dad's driver said his phone was stolen so i gave him one of the 5k phones and reverted back to phone number 1 as i had gotten someone to somewhat fix it, then it started acting up again anyway then my mum got concerned cos they couldn't reach me so she was convinced that the phones sold in nigeria weren't the same quality so she got my dad to buy me a phone in london and so he did but it was a sony ericson which i had never used b4 so i took my time, and just kept it aside and then a colleague convinced me to buy a blackberry since i was always on the go and so i did- so by february i had bought 3 phones but after using the blackberry for a week i realised it was not for me esp after the battery died and the phone didn't come on till the next day hmmm so in annoyance repacked the blackberry and reverted to the phone dad gave me- that is phone number 4 right? and guess what i just lost it. Amidst the credit crunch and tight budgets. now this is why i am angry, i was complaining of last yr but this yr is only march and see what has happened with me and phones. that's why i am pissed off at no one but myself cos i think the phone must have dropped off when i rushed out of my car yesterday evening. the phone is pretty light so if it fell i don't think i would have noticed.
Today I get to MTN in the morning to get a new sim card, I have not decided what I am going to do about the phone. I still haven't sold the blackberry but I have a feeling I will be angrier if I revert back to using it. and guess what? at the MTN counter they ask for my ID card and yours truly cannot find her driver's license! i am angry, pissed off but the worst thing is that i am angry at myself! no driver's license! when did i lose that one! turned my wallet upside down and nothing! ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooohhhhhh!
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Tales from Alcatraz
I woke up this morning with a blinding headache. I think I must have been dehydrated from yesterday. I had no breakfast, crackers for lunch, plantain chips on my way home from work and dinner when I got home. I think I only drank 2 glasses of water yesterday considering all the crackers I ate for lunch and the plantain chips. I must drink more water. I try but I really do not like to drink. I know it's good for me but I don't thirst.
Now I also woke up with an idea. This writing dream of mine. When will it happen? How do I begin, what should I write on. I am talking about the book I have been dreaming of writing since I was a kid. A novel would be tough for me knowing that I get bored quite easily or should I say I like to work on a variety of things as opposed to doing one thing for a long time. Hence my reason for preferring HR Consulting to HR Management people always ask me what the difference is and I say one is external and the other is internal. As a consultant, you are not necessarily an employee of the organisation although you could be, you work on projects for your clients, you work with their management and the affected teams. As HR Management you are part of Management, you are an employee of the organisation, you manage the HR department and carry out day to day and HR related projects yourself or with the aid of a consultant. I have been both. I prefer being a HR Consultant. HR Management drained me. It was like being a mother before my time. My boss would say 'I am the daddy and you are the mommy' and I hated when he said that and I would retort 'I am no one's mommy'. How could I be mommy to kids the same age as me. Oooh there were times I really needed a mommy myself:-)
So back to the crux, the idea right? Now since we have agreed that the novel idea may not work because of my consultant profile, i.e. the need to work on a variety of things. I have always been comfortable with the idea of writing a collection of short stories. The upside for me is the gratification that would come from completing each story rather than waiting till the end of the novel. So I thought 'Tales from Alcatraz? What do you think?
Now I thought I could write about Alcatraz aka Prison aka boarding school. The stories will revolve around my experiences in boarding school. Do you think it would fly? I figured that if I was to embark on this project I would have to take a trip to Owerri where the school was to boost that memory of mine. My memory isn't that great but I have found that certain things have just stuck about those days. Even as I type I have memories of the school gate, the classrooms, the biology lab, the farm, the staff quarters, the assembly, the quadrangle... oh boy so many of them. So what do you think? Do you think it will fly, fly fly?
I am already laughing in my mind gosh I am somewhat excited. The things I can remember are exciting me. So what do you think, what do you think, WHAT DO YOU THINK???
Now I also woke up with an idea. This writing dream of mine. When will it happen? How do I begin, what should I write on. I am talking about the book I have been dreaming of writing since I was a kid. A novel would be tough for me knowing that I get bored quite easily or should I say I like to work on a variety of things as opposed to doing one thing for a long time. Hence my reason for preferring HR Consulting to HR Management people always ask me what the difference is and I say one is external and the other is internal. As a consultant, you are not necessarily an employee of the organisation although you could be, you work on projects for your clients, you work with their management and the affected teams. As HR Management you are part of Management, you are an employee of the organisation, you manage the HR department and carry out day to day and HR related projects yourself or with the aid of a consultant. I have been both. I prefer being a HR Consultant. HR Management drained me. It was like being a mother before my time. My boss would say 'I am the daddy and you are the mommy' and I hated when he said that and I would retort 'I am no one's mommy'. How could I be mommy to kids the same age as me. Oooh there were times I really needed a mommy myself:-)
So back to the crux, the idea right? Now since we have agreed that the novel idea may not work because of my consultant profile, i.e. the need to work on a variety of things. I have always been comfortable with the idea of writing a collection of short stories. The upside for me is the gratification that would come from completing each story rather than waiting till the end of the novel. So I thought 'Tales from Alcatraz? What do you think?
Now I thought I could write about Alcatraz aka Prison aka boarding school. The stories will revolve around my experiences in boarding school. Do you think it would fly? I figured that if I was to embark on this project I would have to take a trip to Owerri where the school was to boost that memory of mine. My memory isn't that great but I have found that certain things have just stuck about those days. Even as I type I have memories of the school gate, the classrooms, the biology lab, the farm, the staff quarters, the assembly, the quadrangle... oh boy so many of them. So what do you think? Do you think it will fly, fly fly?
I am already laughing in my mind gosh I am somewhat excited. The things I can remember are exciting me. So what do you think, what do you think, WHAT DO YOU THINK???
Sunday, March 8, 2009
90 days in Alcatraz
My mother was furious, she had been away when I had taken the common entrance exam and passed to enter a Federal Government College. My father on the other hand, was not keen on me leaving home so he had enrolled me into a local state school in Lagos. I had heard horror stories of boarding schools so I was on dad's side on this issue.
But Mother was back now and she wasn't having this for her first daughter, as far she could see, my father had enrolled me into a farm yard school with a stable for a classroom. She couldn't get over the fact that the classrooms had zinc roofs and no windows or doors, just a gap on both sides of the room for cross ventilation. But I liked it there, it seemed like a natural progression from Primary school. For one thing it was across the road from my primary school, the driver still dropped and picked me up and I was the ajebutter kid on the block. Besides, this school was co-educational and this Federal school Mother wanted to send me to was an all girls school, yuk! Well, today was my last day there, my mum followed me to say my last goodbyes and pick up the last of my possessions. We bumped into Mrs Adeniyi a heavily built, very black woman with shifty eyes. I despised her, and had every reason to.
My mum was explaining to her how I'd be leaving for boarding school that weekend and blah di dah when Mrs Adeniyi's chubby fingers reached out to my chest and grabbed my left breast, feeling the small swollen area that I had developed in the last couple of months. Talk about infringing privacy laws!' Ah Madam, you need to buy her a brassiere…she has breasts o…'My mum had disagreed at first and argued that I was too young and that my breasts weren't big enough yet. I was glad. But not for long as the following day my mum returned from the market with some zebra crossing patterned bras.So you see, Mrs Adeniyi was the reason why at 10 years of age, I entered secondary school wearing a bra.
I didn't cry when my mother dropped me off and left. Now I know why. I was saving up my tears for a rainy day…and many of those days came to pass. Nothing had prepared me for the events that followed. I wept. I wrote home and pleaded with my parents to set me free of the torture I was going through. My face was constantly tear-stained.I was weak. I had never had any responsibility in my life and this way of life was proving too difficult for me to deal with. I couldn't comprehend the rules of this new institution. At first, it all boiled down to my carelessness, I had hung all my clothes outside and not collected them before Saturday inspection. That was the last I saw of all my school and day uniforms. I had lost everything including all but one of my underwear. For the rest of the term I was dressed in my 'outing uniform'.
Then I got smarter, but was still outsmarted. The stealing began, my locker was constantly broken into, and so my mum sent me a combination lock. It didn’t resolve the problem because the thieves had moved on from the padlocks to the staples and then to removing the nails off the back end of the lockers. I just couldn't win. I gave up and again I wept. The interesting thing was that the thieves in this instance were well known, in fact they didn't pose any puzzles as to their identity as you'd expect thieves to operate. Instead you could go and speak to them personally and inquire if they had stolen your provisions. And so I waited in a queue with other girls to confirm whether or not the chief suspect had stolen my last tin of Milo. We were addressed one at a time.
'No o, I didn't steal your own'
'Ehm … yes, I stole your own'
'Ekene (my first name), I didn't steal your own o! Go and ask Mercy Ikeduru'
And so I did, I went searching for Mercy who contrary to what her name implied was far from merciful. Her attitude was aloof and to be quite frank I don't know why I had bothered. But I trotted down to the classroom area where I heard she was. When Mercy wasn't stealing, she spent most of her time by the fruit tree 'plucking fruit' with the aid of a metal rod. This fruit was to be sold for a profit during 'night prep'.
' Kelechi said that you stole my Milo' I demanded.
'E heh… and so? '
Why had I bothered?
In my junior days we lived according to classes. Apparently, the bullying had got to extreme levels and as a result junior girls were separated from senior girls. Regardless, senior girls still came to fetch us in our dorms and worse still, once you got into their dorm you never got out. Green house was a dreaded dorm; it was the form 6 dormitory. Seniors, they scared the daylights out of me. Why where they so big? Maybe things changed later on but I could have sworn that some of them were bearded with muscles that would put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame.
Another thing that baffled an innocent girl like moi was the nakedness that flaunted the place. They often walked around the place topless and had their bath everywhere else but the bathroom. The bathed on the front lawn, the corridors, the back lawn, but never in the bathroom. The senior dormitory was always an experience. On one occasion I had barely stepped in when I heard the dreaded words,
' Hey come here, that junior girl…'
Well, I was in a senior dorm so there was no guessing who was being referred to here. I clumsily headed towards her, my chubby legs supporting me as I walked briskly toward this big senior.
' Go and fetch me drinking water from the main tap…' she placed her jerry can between my fingers.
' What's your name?'
' Ekene ' I was almost whispering.
'Eh heh are you Ekenedilichukwu's daughter? I hear she's in you set'
Yes, she was in my set but do you think her father would be dumb enough to blow her cover and name his daughter Ekene, I thought.
'No' I replied, my eyes looking in every direction but at her.
' Are you listening to me… look at me...' she demanded.
But I couldn't, her humongous boobs were in the way. She was topless, I just couldn't look.
That term I was glad to return home, back to civilization. I returned home with nothing but an empty suitcase, a packet of omo and a few bars of Premier soap. For the first time in my existence I was thin. A week after my return home I fell very ill, the doctors diagnosed 'resistant Malaria' as I was not responding to treatment (I still believe it was triggered by the Jane Fonda work out I had done with my mum the previous night). I wasn't sure which hurt more, the drip in my arm or the fact that my cousin's wedding was in a week's time and I might miss being a flower girl. All my Dad could say was 'Man proposes, God disposes'I knew deep down he blamed my mum for sending his little girl to that 'prison yard' of a school. I lay critical in hospital for three weeks and as if this wasn't enough suffering for a poor child, I had lice.
But Mother was back now and she wasn't having this for her first daughter, as far she could see, my father had enrolled me into a farm yard school with a stable for a classroom. She couldn't get over the fact that the classrooms had zinc roofs and no windows or doors, just a gap on both sides of the room for cross ventilation. But I liked it there, it seemed like a natural progression from Primary school. For one thing it was across the road from my primary school, the driver still dropped and picked me up and I was the ajebutter kid on the block. Besides, this school was co-educational and this Federal school Mother wanted to send me to was an all girls school, yuk! Well, today was my last day there, my mum followed me to say my last goodbyes and pick up the last of my possessions. We bumped into Mrs Adeniyi a heavily built, very black woman with shifty eyes. I despised her, and had every reason to.
My mum was explaining to her how I'd be leaving for boarding school that weekend and blah di dah when Mrs Adeniyi's chubby fingers reached out to my chest and grabbed my left breast, feeling the small swollen area that I had developed in the last couple of months. Talk about infringing privacy laws!' Ah Madam, you need to buy her a brassiere…she has breasts o…'My mum had disagreed at first and argued that I was too young and that my breasts weren't big enough yet. I was glad. But not for long as the following day my mum returned from the market with some zebra crossing patterned bras.So you see, Mrs Adeniyi was the reason why at 10 years of age, I entered secondary school wearing a bra.
I didn't cry when my mother dropped me off and left. Now I know why. I was saving up my tears for a rainy day…and many of those days came to pass. Nothing had prepared me for the events that followed. I wept. I wrote home and pleaded with my parents to set me free of the torture I was going through. My face was constantly tear-stained.I was weak. I had never had any responsibility in my life and this way of life was proving too difficult for me to deal with. I couldn't comprehend the rules of this new institution. At first, it all boiled down to my carelessness, I had hung all my clothes outside and not collected them before Saturday inspection. That was the last I saw of all my school and day uniforms. I had lost everything including all but one of my underwear. For the rest of the term I was dressed in my 'outing uniform'.
Then I got smarter, but was still outsmarted. The stealing began, my locker was constantly broken into, and so my mum sent me a combination lock. It didn’t resolve the problem because the thieves had moved on from the padlocks to the staples and then to removing the nails off the back end of the lockers. I just couldn't win. I gave up and again I wept. The interesting thing was that the thieves in this instance were well known, in fact they didn't pose any puzzles as to their identity as you'd expect thieves to operate. Instead you could go and speak to them personally and inquire if they had stolen your provisions. And so I waited in a queue with other girls to confirm whether or not the chief suspect had stolen my last tin of Milo. We were addressed one at a time.
'No o, I didn't steal your own'
'Ehm … yes, I stole your own'
'Ekene (my first name), I didn't steal your own o! Go and ask Mercy Ikeduru'
And so I did, I went searching for Mercy who contrary to what her name implied was far from merciful. Her attitude was aloof and to be quite frank I don't know why I had bothered. But I trotted down to the classroom area where I heard she was. When Mercy wasn't stealing, she spent most of her time by the fruit tree 'plucking fruit' with the aid of a metal rod. This fruit was to be sold for a profit during 'night prep'.
' Kelechi said that you stole my Milo' I demanded.
'E heh… and so? '
Why had I bothered?
In my junior days we lived according to classes. Apparently, the bullying had got to extreme levels and as a result junior girls were separated from senior girls. Regardless, senior girls still came to fetch us in our dorms and worse still, once you got into their dorm you never got out. Green house was a dreaded dorm; it was the form 6 dormitory. Seniors, they scared the daylights out of me. Why where they so big? Maybe things changed later on but I could have sworn that some of them were bearded with muscles that would put Arnold Schwarzenegger to shame.
Another thing that baffled an innocent girl like moi was the nakedness that flaunted the place. They often walked around the place topless and had their bath everywhere else but the bathroom. The bathed on the front lawn, the corridors, the back lawn, but never in the bathroom. The senior dormitory was always an experience. On one occasion I had barely stepped in when I heard the dreaded words,
' Hey come here, that junior girl…'
Well, I was in a senior dorm so there was no guessing who was being referred to here. I clumsily headed towards her, my chubby legs supporting me as I walked briskly toward this big senior.
' Go and fetch me drinking water from the main tap…' she placed her jerry can between my fingers.
' What's your name?'
' Ekene ' I was almost whispering.
'Eh heh are you Ekenedilichukwu's daughter? I hear she's in you set'
Yes, she was in my set but do you think her father would be dumb enough to blow her cover and name his daughter Ekene, I thought.
'No' I replied, my eyes looking in every direction but at her.
' Are you listening to me… look at me...' she demanded.
But I couldn't, her humongous boobs were in the way. She was topless, I just couldn't look.
That term I was glad to return home, back to civilization. I returned home with nothing but an empty suitcase, a packet of omo and a few bars of Premier soap. For the first time in my existence I was thin. A week after my return home I fell very ill, the doctors diagnosed 'resistant Malaria' as I was not responding to treatment (I still believe it was triggered by the Jane Fonda work out I had done with my mum the previous night). I wasn't sure which hurt more, the drip in my arm or the fact that my cousin's wedding was in a week's time and I might miss being a flower girl. All my Dad could say was 'Man proposes, God disposes'I knew deep down he blamed my mum for sending his little girl to that 'prison yard' of a school. I lay critical in hospital for three weeks and as if this wasn't enough suffering for a poor child, I had lice.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Poetry Time
I went online to a site I used to post actively on from the period 2000 till about 2002 http://www.naijaryders.com/. It was really a laugh, I laughed so hard as it brought back so many good memories of good ol' clean fun. I sorted the posts and was able to read through all the threads I had contributed to. And guess what? I found some of the poems I had written there. So I copied them. I always like to remember what exactly I was doing or involved in at a given time, it helps me figure out what may have inspired my writing. I concluded that I am someone who is a feeler. I tend to write about emotions and feelings. They do not have to be what I am feeling at the time but something I have felt before or imagined to feel. I am also a thinker, so I tend to philosophise situations. But all in all, the best thing about poetry is your poetic license. I love the fact that you can ramble on and not make sense. It may rhyme, it may not. It may inspire , it may not. It may be you, it may be your alter ego. The freedom you get from that license feels great! Free! Free! Free!! That's what I love about fictional writing and poetry, your imagination is king! Enjoy!
Maybe I…
Read too hard
Reading between the lines
Failing to grasp the obvious
Dream too hard
Dreaming so much about how it could be
Failing to see how it is.
Cry too hard
Crying so hard about the pain
Failing to appreciate the gain
Laugh too hard
Laughing so hard at the funnies
Failing to laugh about money
Feel too hard
Feeling so much at a time
Failing to distinguish the touch
Search too hard
Searching so hard for the treasure box
Failing to spot the diamond ring
Love too hard
loving so much of him
Loving too little of me
Maybe I..
Glass heart
Handle with care, it's fragile
Tread lightly, it's broken
Approach carefully, it's untamed
Look discretely, she's ashamed
Ask subtly, she'll confide
Act hostily and she'll hide
Speak eloquently, she'll desire
Work diligently and aspire
Laugh sincerely, she needs a friend
Love completely, don't pretend
Glass heart Part 2
White? Not this heart
This is the dark heart
aka the black heart
Stained by treachery
Nightmares of debauchery
Thin? Not this heart
This is the fat heart
Full and warmly clad
The song is of love
of a far more lasting kind
The dreams of bliss
of a far more soothing kind
Tear drops that wash the dark heart clean
Dead words that ricochet to lands unseen
Dreams of a love that's so concealed
Fearing words that may shatter my whole being
Handle with care it's fragile
The glass heart aka the dark heart
Yes, the black heart
Copyright 2001-2009
Maybe I…
Read too hard
Reading between the lines
Failing to grasp the obvious
Dream too hard
Dreaming so much about how it could be
Failing to see how it is.
Cry too hard
Crying so hard about the pain
Failing to appreciate the gain
Laugh too hard
Laughing so hard at the funnies
Failing to laugh about money
Feel too hard
Feeling so much at a time
Failing to distinguish the touch
Search too hard
Searching so hard for the treasure box
Failing to spot the diamond ring
Love too hard
loving so much of him
Loving too little of me
Maybe I..
Glass heart
Handle with care, it's fragile
Tread lightly, it's broken
Approach carefully, it's untamed
Look discretely, she's ashamed
Ask subtly, she'll confide
Act hostily and she'll hide
Speak eloquently, she'll desire
Work diligently and aspire
Laugh sincerely, she needs a friend
Love completely, don't pretend
Glass heart Part 2
White? Not this heart
This is the dark heart
aka the black heart
Stained by treachery
Nightmares of debauchery
Thin? Not this heart
This is the fat heart
Full and warmly clad
The song is of love
of a far more lasting kind
The dreams of bliss
of a far more soothing kind
Tear drops that wash the dark heart clean
Dead words that ricochet to lands unseen
Dreams of a love that's so concealed
Fearing words that may shatter my whole being
Handle with care it's fragile
The glass heart aka the dark heart
Yes, the black heart
Copyright 2001-2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Blogging, it really didn't start today
It just occurred to me that I started blogging in year 2000. I had this website called 'my y2k joint'. I remember as the year hit year 2000. I promised I would revisit my writing so I wrote a number of short stories and blogs which I published online and I remember it was on a free website called xoom. com. For some strange reason they folded up yes the site vanished from the face of cyber world and there when my site and my writings. now the interesting thing is that I still have the stories in hard copy and still working on transferring them to soft copy to republish them. I think it would be a good read, to see how much or not I have changed in the least 9 years :-) time sure does fly.
I met a friend last year who asked me if I still blogged and the language seemed so foreign, I thought ‘blogged?’ He then turned to his friend and said, 'this lady started blogging even when people didn't know what blogging was’. I still didn’t get it then. I guess what I knew was that I had a website which I wrote stories on, most about my life and my thoughts on funny issues. I had funny titles like 'Ashewo na ashewo', 'the price of gari', 'journey to Alcatraz'. Gosh, you must be thinking what was I on then. I will post them again; one by one and you can have a good laugh yourself.
I have just always had this dream of being a writer. I don't think it was ever meant to be my primary profession but my first memories of writing is a children’s story I wrote and I must have been about 7 years old. I wrote the story and then I created the book myself with illustrations on the opposite pages. I can’t even remember what the story was about I just vaguely remember the illustrations were of a girl with spiky hair that resembled medusa. When I finished I remember folding it and stapling it into a booklet. Then I presented it to my dad who said he would have it published. I am still waiting till today.
My next real attempt came in secondary school where I started writing an autobiography in my 4th year. I lost that somehow and abandoned ship for a long time till the 'y2k joint project' after which I abandoned ship again, then I wrote 2 short stories the year after and the last attempt was in 2005 where I went through a phase and wrote several (4) articles which were professional based. Well so far this year, I have revised one of my articles and it will be published in the next coming weeks. Because I am an HR consultant, it's on 'Managing high tech employees'. My writing competes with other things which I also enjoy; my hr career, a constant quest for knowledge, consulting, imparting knowledge through training, seminars and workshops and making a difference. The ideal for me will to be successful in all the aforementioned areas.
Notorious without a Doubt...
Now it’s becoming crazy, as though this is a movie review blog or like I am some kind of film addict. I go through phases and this is just one of them. I can assure you I like the movies but I am in no way a movie buff. Now I know that does not explain how come I have managed to watch 4 movies at the cinema in the space of one week. I stress again this is a movie phase I am going through and I will explain today’s case at least. Today was unusual. It’s Kelechi’s wife’s birthday and he calls to ask if I would be interested in seeing a movie, I jump at the idea because I had not planned anything else. As it goes, he asks if I could go with his wife to the movies so that he can run his errands and meet up with us later for another movie. Yes, I ended up watching 2 movies; we went on to see the movie called ‘Doubt’. I really wanted to see it cos the preview looked like an all familiar plot of a catholic priest that likes small boys and the nun who is out to get him. Anyway, I won’t even go into the plot but there hasn’t been a crappier ending in a movie in a long long while.
After the movie, we decide what movie to see next as we wait for Kelechi, between us we had seen most of the movies so we are down to 2 movies; Notorious and Underworld. Now although the preview for Underworld said thriller, the image looked like horror and I will never intentionally watch a horror movie. My imagination is too creative and I have still not recovered from the days of 'The Exorcist' and I am not about to give my imagination anything more to play with to my detriment. So we agreed to wait till Kelechi arrived to break the tie. As soon as he arrived we presented our dilemma (well I was sure of what I wanted to see) and Kelechi’s view was straight up. He said ‘let’s go and see the movie with black people. You know I am all for black people.’ Without any hesitation we went ahead and bought tickets for Notorious. Now I had already asked what it was like from my sister and she said it was better than expected. So I had fair expectations. Now, it was a movie on the life of the notorious BIG, definitely one of the best rappers that ever graced the earth to some the ‘best’. It was funny in some bits but it was really a sad movie in the end as we all know Biggie is shot at the end. Arrrrrrrrgh! My sis told me that Lil’ Kim didn’t attend the premier because she didn’t like the way she was portrayed. I don’t blame her at all. Within the first 5 minutes of her appearance in the movie, let’s just say I wouldn’t have gone for the premier if I were her. Faith Evans on the other hand was presented as ‘Faithful Faye’. Angela Bassett stars as Biggie’s mum and as usual is typecast to act the hard black woman who has suffered in her life time, single parent trying to raise a kid by herself. I need to see Angela in a softer role. Those roles can only leave one so bitter.
The best part of the movie are all the songs, it really takes you down memory lane, reminded me alot of my Uni days and how we rocked to Biggie and 2pac simultaneously amidst their east coast, west coast war till we watched them both die. Trust yours truly lagosians we were singing the lyrics to the songs. It was nice to test those lyrical skills again. The guy did have a way with words. It was interesting to see the inspiration for the different songs and inspiring to see how dreams can become reality. It was a story but a very short one. How someone could live just 5 years in his career. It brought back memories of the feud between 2pac and Biggie and how it just seemed like a big joke that ended up bad. I heard some songs I didn’t think I would hear again the Lil’ Kim rap in the ‘get money’ track by Junior Mafia, did you ever think you’d hear that name again? Junior Mafia! It was fun listening to songs like Juicy, Sky is the limit, who shot ya, but I can’t remember hearing the songs ‘one more chance’ or ‘mo money, mo problems’. Puffy’s portrayal was funny. Now, I was reminded of how puffy always used to butt-in on the mic spoiling Biggie’s rhymes. We figured that since he was the producer they couldn’t tell him to back off. Even after the movie ended we stood watching the credits and listening to some more Biggie. It was a good movie. Better than the previous one without a doubt but it was also a sad movie to watch. To see a dream become reality and to watch it disappear in such a short time was painful. He was 24 when he died, what a waste of a life it seemed. But I choose to look at the bright side. What he did in his last 5 years a lot of people have not and will never achieve in their lifetime. I miss Biggie, he can’t be replaced , he really was in a league of his own. So that is the story of how I watched 2 movies back to back in one day. There’s always a first time.
Now, there are weird things that happen at the cinema in Nigeria and without a doubt it must be cultural. We talk at the movies. I don’t mean in hush tones, people actually talk and other people do not seem to mind. I mean this is not talk about the movie, this is talk unrelated to the movie. I went to the movies once and a couple behind me talked the entire time, they seemed to be settling an issue which they came to discuss at the movies of all places. I can’t forget cos it was my first and last time at the citymall cinema in Onikan, the place was freezing cold, uncomfortable and as if that wasn’t bad enough there was a power failure right in the middle of the movie. I cannot forget that day because it was Bat man, the dark knight. I couldn’t believe it when I found out how much cheaper it was to see a movie there, I guess I soon got to find out why. There were only 4 of us in the theatre and 2 of them were in an intense conversation and left somewhere in the middle of the movie.
Now I don’t mind commentary because I know I am guilty for that too but at least I am concentrating on the movie. Now the talking is quite bad. How bad? People pick up their phones at the movies in Lagos, and I mean they pick I up and have their conversations comfortably. I would send a text, I wouldn’t’ pick up my phone at the movies but in Lagos people do all the time. How bad is it? On one occasion, my phone being on silent, had the light flashing because someone was calling me. Now, because I was at the movies, I didn’t pick up; my plan was to wait for the phone to stop flashing then send a text or just return the call after the movies. Now there was a lady sitting next to me who had been on the phone having a conversation about a boy that just pissed her off, now her call ends and I guess she was bored and she sees from the flashing light that someone is trying to reach me, she nudges me and says to me ‘your phone is ringing, pick it up.’ Now remember we are at the movies. I was weak; I just said thanks to her and ignored the call.
The other thing we do well at the movies is give commentary. It’s like the kind of commentary you hear on DVDs when you play it with the commentary. Lagosians somehow think they are the movie producers. They exclaim loudly, they give applauses, they talk to the actors on the screen, advise them on what to do and decisions to make. We are just an unusual bunch. A lot of times it is funny stuff I can’t lie that it isn’t fun, but the talking loudly or answering your phone at the movies that is so wrong.
After the movies, I leave and meet up with Ugo who I haven’t seen in yonks. We catch up and talk about what I have been up to and how I have disappeared from his radar and how I should reappear.
I have to give this one to Biggie, for giving me the fond memories and lyrical blisses. And if the movie is anything to go by in terms of his last days on earth, I am convinced that he is in a better place. Any life that can be celebrated after death is truly a life that touched the souls of many.
May your BIG soul rest in Peace.
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