I was sitting at the salon having a manicure and listening to a plump lady telling her friends about her penny-pinching husband when the news of the battering of petite Rihanna by pretty boy singer ‘Chris brown’ came on air. Bewildered by the incident, I decided to take some time to read more about it on the internet. It was appalling to know that this was happening right in the heart of so much wealth and power. I was under the impression that if a woman were empowered financially and education-wise and could make informed decisions about her life, no man would be able to talk down to her not to talk of battering her.
Violence against women (VAW) is a battle that is being fought in Africa and the world at large; a battle we hope we will win. I must ask ‘Is man cursed to batter woman?” I am sure you would probably say not all men. That is true. I applaud men who know that they should not and would never hit a woman. As for the men who take delight in battering, belittling, and tormenting women, I see women who have been victims of violence sitting round a smoky cauldron containing your names and green slime. I see them throwing in potent spells that would emasculate you in all aspects of your life. Upon more meditation I see calamity in cursing you so I am forced to picture myself sitting before God almighty asking for a cure to the diseases that cause you to treat women as you do. The only solution is to establish rehabilitation centres to care for these men.
I find out that there are many civil societies that are safety nets for victims of gender based violence with focus on women. I, however, have not seen any rehabilitation centre for men who perpetuate these crimes. If these women are taken out of their reach they are certain to find other women, who do not know much about them, falling as their victims. When you analyze the root of causes of these behaviours you would find out that these men are as battered as the women they batter. If anyone is looking for a worthwhile venture, or a way of contributing to the society he/she could start up an organisation in which these men can be treated. I am in no way sympathetic to their plights, I am only stating the need to have a society where men respect and cherish their women and it is reciprocated without fear or anger.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
‘Marley and me’
Reading ‘Marley and me’ made me think about all the animal pets I have had. I come from a family of pet lovers. Let me correct that statement, dog lovers, because we had superstitions about cats and snakes were a no go topic as we saw them often and dreaded having an encounter with them in our backyard.
Growing up, we had different breeds of dogs. We never wanted the same breed twice. The only challenge was that the exotic breeds were very expensive. The first dog we had was named Sally the Santana or we sometimes called her Sally the superstar. She was Sally for short. She was a cream and brown-coloured local mongrel. (I call her a mongrel because that’s the closest name for her breed I could think off. The other would be ‘bingo’). In Australia the word ‘Mongrel’ is a derogatory term used to refer to an ill-bred man; a man of poor manners or morals. That is how I would describe sally. However, she was a loveable dog. We had fun running around with her and pulling stunts but she was way different from the Marley in ‘Marley and me’. She wasn’t much of a watch dog but she backed fiercely when friends come to visit. I cannot really remember how the end came for her but she suddenly vanished from our lives. Then we had another set of mongrels, we named then Jack and Jill. My dad gave out Jill to a friend just as you would give a basket of fruits to a friend who comes to visit. Jacky soon became bored because he was now alone. He would sit and stare into oblivion. Then there was the howling cry. It was quite chilling to the bones. I used to think it had seen a ghost or there were evil spirits around. Although Jacky was a sad dog, he was still a bit rambunctious when it was in the mood to play. However, things turned around in the following months.
During the Christmas season of that year, my father’s doctor gave him a big, smelly ram. The ram was tied to a guava tree in our yard and my dad used to cut the blades of the elephant grass for its consumption. At first Jacky was weary of the huge presence in the yard, but later he soon learnt to ignore it.
One day we woke up to see Jacky and Mr Stinky playing together. Talk about networking from different walks of life. You know how the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’, that was what happened to Jacky. He started to eat grass. I know that some dogs eat grass to regurgitate but this one was eating grass like it was dessert. Jacky would lie down beside Mr. stinky and chew away. We were amazed and saw Jacky as ‘the dog that thinks it’s a ram’. Dooms day reared its ugly head when it was time to kill Mr. stinky for the celebrations. Jacky ran away. We didn’t find him for days. When it came back home, he was not the same again. He refused to nibble on the well seasoned bones of Mr. stinky. All darling Jacky did was eating grass and wailing out loud. The wailing worse than the time Jill left. It avoided us and became a troubled creature. It started biting everybody and soon became a menace to ‘society’. Daddy, a giver at heart, gave out Jacky to another friend. Looking through the eyes of Jacky, we saw ourselves as we really were- ‘killers and eaters of ram alias Mr stinky.
An Uncle’s German Shepard had just delivered multiple puppies as was expected of dogs. We got a male dog which we named Prince. Another uncle got a female he named Sheba, after the queen of Sheba. Prince was ‘The Dog’. He was a playful but fierce dog. While I went away to a boarding house, Prince grew bigger and stronger. On visiting days, my brothers would tell me of how Prince attacked people, chased them, and tore their clothing. I was distressed because I knew this dog would not know me anymore. Coming home for the holidays was now a big issue. Prince, the proud Alsatian, never liked me. It would bark at me and push at the door of the kernel. My dad would say ‘don’t worry about that, once he gets used to your face he will calm down”. Prince never did. During the day time I would throw bones to it, prince would not eat. It would look at me sternly till I leave then it would sniff the bones before nibbling. My brothers however would throw this stupid dog a bone and it would run to catch it as if its life depended on it. After a year of trying to make the dog my friend, I gave up. It started to hate it like it hated me. I knew Prince hated lighted lanterns so I would toss a lantern at him when he was tied up. My brothers never played much with the dog because it was such a rough player. Its teeth were too sharp, its nails were like scissors, and the force at which it would jump on you was so powerful you would find you self on the ground in seconds. They couldn’t even take him for walks because he was stubborn and would cut its chain or he would threaten the passers-by who would swear at them and almost run into oncoming vehicles.
The long and short of it, Prince got bored and sad, my brothers got busy and I didn’t care. My dad suggested a play mate; we got coral. Coral was a nice, people pleasing German Shepard. She wore her emotions on her hoofs. Apparently prince liked her because they had some puppies together but you never know he was a dog after all. They had Major, then kiki which my dad used to pronounce as chi chi. Then Prince died. It was a sad time. We all looked very sober. My mother said she felt like shedding tears and I understood. On my part I was sad but I felt peace. No more feelings of being house arrested, no more fears about an animal that did not even have a soul. After the death of Prince, Coral, the female dog, became sober and died too. We gave Major out because we were tired of dogs.
After years without dogs, my brother got a Rottweiler. It was a change from the regular Alsatian. He was named Baron. Baron has a lot of self respect. Once you tell it to buzz off, it would leave but not scurry away like some boneless dog. Sometimes it would ignore everyone and at other times it would act indifferent and then give you a chase with its strong teeth ready to hook your legs from behind. I like Baron but I am not crazy about it. I might get worried if I don’t see it but I don’t worry about his feeding, bathing or emotional state.
Growing up, we had different breeds of dogs. We never wanted the same breed twice. The only challenge was that the exotic breeds were very expensive. The first dog we had was named Sally the Santana or we sometimes called her Sally the superstar. She was Sally for short. She was a cream and brown-coloured local mongrel. (I call her a mongrel because that’s the closest name for her breed I could think off. The other would be ‘bingo’). In Australia the word ‘Mongrel’ is a derogatory term used to refer to an ill-bred man; a man of poor manners or morals. That is how I would describe sally. However, she was a loveable dog. We had fun running around with her and pulling stunts but she was way different from the Marley in ‘Marley and me’. She wasn’t much of a watch dog but she backed fiercely when friends come to visit. I cannot really remember how the end came for her but she suddenly vanished from our lives. Then we had another set of mongrels, we named then Jack and Jill. My dad gave out Jill to a friend just as you would give a basket of fruits to a friend who comes to visit. Jacky soon became bored because he was now alone. He would sit and stare into oblivion. Then there was the howling cry. It was quite chilling to the bones. I used to think it had seen a ghost or there were evil spirits around. Although Jacky was a sad dog, he was still a bit rambunctious when it was in the mood to play. However, things turned around in the following months.
During the Christmas season of that year, my father’s doctor gave him a big, smelly ram. The ram was tied to a guava tree in our yard and my dad used to cut the blades of the elephant grass for its consumption. At first Jacky was weary of the huge presence in the yard, but later he soon learnt to ignore it.
One day we woke up to see Jacky and Mr Stinky playing together. Talk about networking from different walks of life. You know how the saying goes ‘if you can’t beat them, join them’, that was what happened to Jacky. He started to eat grass. I know that some dogs eat grass to regurgitate but this one was eating grass like it was dessert. Jacky would lie down beside Mr. stinky and chew away. We were amazed and saw Jacky as ‘the dog that thinks it’s a ram’. Dooms day reared its ugly head when it was time to kill Mr. stinky for the celebrations. Jacky ran away. We didn’t find him for days. When it came back home, he was not the same again. He refused to nibble on the well seasoned bones of Mr. stinky. All darling Jacky did was eating grass and wailing out loud. The wailing worse than the time Jill left. It avoided us and became a troubled creature. It started biting everybody and soon became a menace to ‘society’. Daddy, a giver at heart, gave out Jacky to another friend. Looking through the eyes of Jacky, we saw ourselves as we really were- ‘killers and eaters of ram alias Mr stinky.
An Uncle’s German Shepard had just delivered multiple puppies as was expected of dogs. We got a male dog which we named Prince. Another uncle got a female he named Sheba, after the queen of Sheba. Prince was ‘The Dog’. He was a playful but fierce dog. While I went away to a boarding house, Prince grew bigger and stronger. On visiting days, my brothers would tell me of how Prince attacked people, chased them, and tore their clothing. I was distressed because I knew this dog would not know me anymore. Coming home for the holidays was now a big issue. Prince, the proud Alsatian, never liked me. It would bark at me and push at the door of the kernel. My dad would say ‘don’t worry about that, once he gets used to your face he will calm down”. Prince never did. During the day time I would throw bones to it, prince would not eat. It would look at me sternly till I leave then it would sniff the bones before nibbling. My brothers however would throw this stupid dog a bone and it would run to catch it as if its life depended on it. After a year of trying to make the dog my friend, I gave up. It started to hate it like it hated me. I knew Prince hated lighted lanterns so I would toss a lantern at him when he was tied up. My brothers never played much with the dog because it was such a rough player. Its teeth were too sharp, its nails were like scissors, and the force at which it would jump on you was so powerful you would find you self on the ground in seconds. They couldn’t even take him for walks because he was stubborn and would cut its chain or he would threaten the passers-by who would swear at them and almost run into oncoming vehicles.
The long and short of it, Prince got bored and sad, my brothers got busy and I didn’t care. My dad suggested a play mate; we got coral. Coral was a nice, people pleasing German Shepard. She wore her emotions on her hoofs. Apparently prince liked her because they had some puppies together but you never know he was a dog after all. They had Major, then kiki which my dad used to pronounce as chi chi. Then Prince died. It was a sad time. We all looked very sober. My mother said she felt like shedding tears and I understood. On my part I was sad but I felt peace. No more feelings of being house arrested, no more fears about an animal that did not even have a soul. After the death of Prince, Coral, the female dog, became sober and died too. We gave Major out because we were tired of dogs.
After years without dogs, my brother got a Rottweiler. It was a change from the regular Alsatian. He was named Baron. Baron has a lot of self respect. Once you tell it to buzz off, it would leave but not scurry away like some boneless dog. Sometimes it would ignore everyone and at other times it would act indifferent and then give you a chase with its strong teeth ready to hook your legs from behind. I like Baron but I am not crazy about it. I might get worried if I don’t see it but I don’t worry about his feeding, bathing or emotional state.
Personally, I’m done with dogs. If another one comes into the house, good for it. It would probably die of boredom because we have all become very busy. Maybe if we had a poodle or one of the hairier breeds I would be excited again but my worries are well grounded. The ticks and other animal parasites that I find on the dogs when they have not had a bath in a while are not so appealing not to talk of the slobbering. Enough said about dogs, I don’t want dog lovers to have a go at my head for not showing them the love and care they require. In the future, if I really have a need to get a dog, I’ll get one that is cute, more poodle like and most importantly stuffed.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
Count Down To Valentine
Valentine is a special day set aside to celebrate love. It is a time to express love to family, friends and lovers. In Nigeria, this day is meant only for lovers but I stand to be corrected. For Business people, it is a special day for making ‘bad’ money on things that shouldn’t cost as much. Boxes of chocolate and perfumes are the greatest victims. On Saturday, the 14th, every restaurant, club, and space where people can hang out will be filled. The popular eateries such as Mr. Biggs, Tantalizers would be ‘busting at the seams’. When there are no spaces left, the smaller eateries – places where people do not normally converge in mass - get occupied. The most interesting thing is that people go in as couples. Every girl is hanging on to her guy and they always look so ‘happy in love’. The guy just takes his time treating her right and she is on her best behavior.
It has been a while since Valentine’s Day fell on Saturday. In recent years past, it had fallen on week days. This had reduced the ‘temperature’ of the day. Guys and girls could not get too hot because they knew that they would leave the office late and have to get up early and prepared for the ‘jungle struggle’ at work. This Saturday however, happens to be one in which people (normal working class people) have time for themselves and their loved ones. I sense that there would be action packed, fun filled entertainment in every corner of Lagos and the world at large. There would be lots of talk shows in honor of Saint Valentine (at least in the name of love). Raffles are already been drawn in the name of love and of course the radio stations would caress our senses with love music from soul to rock and with call in shows – “I just want to use this medium to tell Kevin that I love him so much and I can’t live without him”. The excitement in the air alone can give goose bumps and lonely Nigerians would get really pissed when they can’t just get a parking space at the mall.
All in all the end results might be:
1. Serious drunkenness that would lead to an excruciating hangover
2. Fights over the ‘girl’ because all her ‘boyfriends’ might get to meet themselves
3. Disappointments because the ‘girl’ you have been spending lots of money and gifts on tells you she can’t sleep with you
4. Shock and anger over the poor looking gifts the guy buys for the girl (no more lines like ‘I’m sorry I was too busy at work, shops had closed and this is all I could get)
5. Lamenting on the amount of cash withdrawn from the ATM and the fear of ‘hungry days’ yet to come
and last of all
6. Omigod! I think I am pregnant.
There are definitely more end results I just chose to dwell on the bad ones (don’t mind me, its not that bad. True love is in the air). Exciting isn’t it? I hope that you really have a good time. The financial situation in the country might make you try to ‘dull’ yourself but just have fun, spend quality time together, go to the beach, hang out in lovely hot spots on the Island and mainland and be nice to all. Happy Valentine’s Day.
It has been a while since Valentine’s Day fell on Saturday. In recent years past, it had fallen on week days. This had reduced the ‘temperature’ of the day. Guys and girls could not get too hot because they knew that they would leave the office late and have to get up early and prepared for the ‘jungle struggle’ at work. This Saturday however, happens to be one in which people (normal working class people) have time for themselves and their loved ones. I sense that there would be action packed, fun filled entertainment in every corner of Lagos and the world at large. There would be lots of talk shows in honor of Saint Valentine (at least in the name of love). Raffles are already been drawn in the name of love and of course the radio stations would caress our senses with love music from soul to rock and with call in shows – “I just want to use this medium to tell Kevin that I love him so much and I can’t live without him”. The excitement in the air alone can give goose bumps and lonely Nigerians would get really pissed when they can’t just get a parking space at the mall.
All in all the end results might be:
1. Serious drunkenness that would lead to an excruciating hangover
2. Fights over the ‘girl’ because all her ‘boyfriends’ might get to meet themselves
3. Disappointments because the ‘girl’ you have been spending lots of money and gifts on tells you she can’t sleep with you
4. Shock and anger over the poor looking gifts the guy buys for the girl (no more lines like ‘I’m sorry I was too busy at work, shops had closed and this is all I could get)
5. Lamenting on the amount of cash withdrawn from the ATM and the fear of ‘hungry days’ yet to come
and last of all
6. Omigod! I think I am pregnant.
There are definitely more end results I just chose to dwell on the bad ones (don’t mind me, its not that bad. True love is in the air). Exciting isn’t it? I hope that you really have a good time. The financial situation in the country might make you try to ‘dull’ yourself but just have fun, spend quality time together, go to the beach, hang out in lovely hot spots on the Island and mainland and be nice to all. Happy Valentine’s Day.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
The Morning Breeze
The rustling of the curtains at my window woke me up. I opened my eyes to see rays of beautiful sunlight peeping through my window. I smiled and rushed to the window. Closing my eyes, I took in a deep breath. As I sucked in the morning air through my nostrils the smile on my face began to fade and the skin on my forehead creased to form a frown. With an immediate and agonizing force I expelled the air sharply hoping and praying it had not contaminated my body or mind. I believed that a good conscious intake of fresh air in the mornings was important in starting a good day. A minute passed and I was still expelling the horrible stench out of my nostrils. I didn’t bother to find out the source of the stench, I knew the answer would find me, after all this was Lagos.
With annoyance I got ready for work. As I stepped outside, I was comforted to notice that people covered their noses. Since I started my day with a bad start I didn’t want to share the feeling alone. As I stood by the road side waiting for a cab to come my way, a lady standing close to me said “people are saying it’s the mortuary down the road. They have not had power for a while now” This meant that human bodies kept in there were decaying and polluting the air and nothing was being done about it. I was upset. I felt ashamed because I had come to the conclusion that it was either the open refuse dump not too far from my house that smelled or a truck carrying tons of fish had an accident. Never did it cross my mind that Human bodies were being robbed of dignity - no respect in death. As I stood pondering why our system was too poor or broken to accord people gone before us with respect. I wondered if I died whether my body would be left to bloat, decay and abuse the senses of mankind or not. I shivered, not of cold but of fear of what was to come.
As I pondered and sighed, the hooting of a horn startled me. A colleague was hollering at me to enter the car. I entered into his vehicle and shut the door. The windows were wound up and breeze from the air conditioning system attacked me. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. I exhaled gentle and smiled. I was going to have a good day after all.
With annoyance I got ready for work. As I stepped outside, I was comforted to notice that people covered their noses. Since I started my day with a bad start I didn’t want to share the feeling alone. As I stood by the road side waiting for a cab to come my way, a lady standing close to me said “people are saying it’s the mortuary down the road. They have not had power for a while now” This meant that human bodies kept in there were decaying and polluting the air and nothing was being done about it. I was upset. I felt ashamed because I had come to the conclusion that it was either the open refuse dump not too far from my house that smelled or a truck carrying tons of fish had an accident. Never did it cross my mind that Human bodies were being robbed of dignity - no respect in death. As I stood pondering why our system was too poor or broken to accord people gone before us with respect. I wondered if I died whether my body would be left to bloat, decay and abuse the senses of mankind or not. I shivered, not of cold but of fear of what was to come.
As I pondered and sighed, the hooting of a horn startled me. A colleague was hollering at me to enter the car. I entered into his vehicle and shut the door. The windows were wound up and breeze from the air conditioning system attacked me. I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. I exhaled gentle and smiled. I was going to have a good day after all.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
From Trifle to Marvel
To improve on our vocabulary, my friend and I read and memorised words from the dictionary in no particular order. We would jump from the list of 'B's to the 'y's and back to the beginning. Most importantly, we looked out for words that were interesting. Interesting meant that they were not commonly used words, easy to remember and easy to get people's attention when used.
On this particular day, we looked for such a word that meant 'nonsense'. So we searched, flipping the pages back and forth. We didn't hav a theasaurus but we made do with out dictionaries. After so much ado, we found the word 'twaddle'. Our excitement was killed when we experimented and it didn't give us the kind of response we wanted. We went back to our tables and searched. Finally, we found two other words- tosh and bosh. For the appropriate effect we waited for a time when lots of friends were around us - especially the guy friends we had. My friend brought up a topic and we asked the others for their opinions. When a guy gave us his piece we jumped at the opportunity - he was used to saying lots of things that do not make sense. We cut him short and chorused 'Tosh, bosh and twaddle'. We said it with a lot of attitude. Some guys smiled while others raised their eyebrows. The ladies were another matter. Some of them looked outrightly disgusted, some grunted while others just feigned indifference.
Later that night, we pondered on our 'project' and decided to move on to other 'projects' such as guys. Now, years later, whenever I listen to a speaker at a conference i wish silently that we had pursued our little 'project'. Words which are uncommon but used appropriately in speech still dazzle people and win some admiration.
Well, enough of my fiddlefaddle.
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