The Pain of Rain

The past weeks have been characterized by the hot weather. The intensity of the heat has been excruciating to the extent that people started to think they would suddenly be struck down by a stroke or some unimaginable diseases and their prayers have been ‘let the rain come, oh Lord’. We all know however that the man upstairs does things in order. He granted the rain at the appointed time.

When the sprinklers of heaven were turned on, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. The days were gentler on the brain and skin while the nights caressed us till we floated into the dreamlands. The rain came down to wash our pain away. Some folks however use the rain to their advantage. They expect the rain to wash their physical pain as well. They toss their refuse into the rain so that the flowing waters will carry them away. And it does. The major setback however is that the rain washes it away from them to the streets blocking the drainage and causing the flooding of the streets. When the clouds are clear again and the sun starts to peep, the refuse are seen on the streets constituting a nuisance. The rain is then made an accomplice in propagating disease everywhere. This is really sad because these selfish folks will always be around. Do we then pray; ‘let the rain go, oh lord’? If we did and it was granted, the crops would suffer, rain water harvesters have to find another means of water supply and we would be toasted like the smoked fish Mallam Adamu sells to his customers; darkened and stiffened by heat.

Let us appreciate the rain because it is a gift. Encourage a neighbour to stop the habit of throwing dirt in the rain, to be more kind to the earth and to respect everyone’s right to live free from diseases and unnecessary pain.

Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby. ~Langston Hughes

Somebody's Butt

When I was young (I still am by the way), there were lots of jokes flying around. Every kid knew how to crack one. I would hear my brothers crack jokes and I’ll cram them repeating it to myself in other not to forget. When it was play time at school the next day, I would crack the jokes and make my friends laugh. There were different kinds of jokes moving around back then. Some were related to the physique of people, some the mother tongue and others were country related. I remember one that goes thus:
There were three men in an airplane. One was an American; the second was Japanese and the last, a Nigerian. The American wanted to know when the airplane reached America so he brought out his hands and felt the snow. ‘Yes’ he said ‘this is America’ and he notified the pilot who let him alight. The Japanese put his hand out of the window and his hi-tech wrist watch exclaimed ‘This is Japan.’ When it was the turn of the Nigerian, he didn’t know what exactly to do because the weather varied across states and there were no development of hi-tech wristwatches. So he pondered until he got an idea, he put on his wristwatch and put his hand out the window. Within twenty seconds the wrist watch was snatched off his wrist and he exclaimed, ‘pilot, this is Nigeria.’

It was so funny back then. We would laugh and roll on the floor. There were many more like it over the years. As I grew I moved on to more productive jokes. All the jokes about Nigeria being the centre of robbery, indiscipline and stupidity wore out like tired expressions. Some were still hilarious but trite nonetheless.

Recently, I was watching a favourite program, Saturday Night Live, and the guest artist was Anne Hathaway. She started by telling us a joke of how she broke off with her Italian boyfriend who was some days later arrested for fraud. After a while she met this Nigerian prince on the internet who made her happy. She shared things about herself with him including her social security number. She also sent him a CD plus a hundred Dollar bill as a birthday gift.

The audience in the show laughed. It seemed funny to them but I couldn’t laugh. It was more of a reality check for me. She said that about my people. I was upset at first, almost attempting to dislike her but then I thought ‘I don’t blame her, that’s what some Nigerians do.’ They have tarnished our image at home and abroad and the poor, unproductive and crippled system that we have has not made enough effort to revive it. We have become the butt of many jokes. Nobody likes to be made fun off except in situations when it is a matter so trivial and there is nothing that can be done about it. As a kid it was cruel, as an adult it is childish. But when you give people reason to make fun of you then I think they are justified.
I look forward to the day when Nigerians would be respected, when we can hold our heads high at home and abroad. When different people from different walks of life would see a Nigerian and say ‘you are a Nigerian? Wow, that’s great.’ Personally I look forward to hearing jokes like this:

There were three men in an airplane. One was a Nigerian, the second, Japanese and the third an American. The Nigerian wanted to know when the airplane reached Nigeria so he brought out his made-in-Nigeria Mobile phone that displayed the coordinates to indicate that they were flying over Nigeria. ‘Yes’ he said ‘Pilot, this is Nigeria.’ The Japanese put his hands out the window and his hi-tech wrist watch announced ‘this is Japan’. When it was the turn of the American, he brought out his terrorist-detecting device which was made in china that said ‘你说阿富汗?’
‘That must mean America.’ he said and alighted only to find out that he was in Afghanistan. The pilot had already flown away and young able-bodied men with turbans on their heads surrounded him shouted ‘Allahu arkbar.’

(The joke is not exactly funny but it just gave me an opportunity to get back at Anne Hathaway in my mind. Bear in mind that I love her dearly.)

Paraskevidekatriaphobia

Have you heard the word ‘Paraskevidekatriaphobia’or ‘Friggatriskaidekaphobia’? Well, if you haven't, it is a morbid, irrational fear of Friday the thirteenth. That’s today’s date. Don’t get spooked yet, an event that will occur today would do that. Let me call it Frigga for short because the full name of the phobia requires a lot of mouth muscle manipulation.

Frigga is the most popular myth of our century. Do you know that there is no real origin of this myth? According to Wikipedia, there is no written evidence for a "Friday the 13th" superstition before the 19th century. The earliest documentation occurs in an 1869 biography of Gioachino Rossini:
[Rossini] was surrounded to the last by admiring and affectionate friends; and if it be true that, like so many other Italians, he regarded Friday as an unlucky day, and thirteen as an unlucky number, it is remarkable that on Friday, the 13th of November, he died.

Do you know that many hospitals have no room 13 (not in Naija anyway, we don’t even have enough hospital rooms); while some tall buildings skip the 13th floor and some airline terminals omit Gate 13?

I’m sure, if we went down to the dusty and creepy libraries of old we would find something concrete about Frigga's history. What you wouldn’t find in the library is me.
That’s enough on the history (or no history) of ‘Friday the thirteenth’ superstition. If you get spooked in any way today or you witnessed any unusual occurrence – like a dog wearing sunglasses or a monkey beckoning to you - please feel free to tell us about it. Don’t get spooked, just have a great day.

Who Do People Say I Am?

Jesus asked his disciples, ‘Who do people say I am?’
They answered, ‘John the Baptist; but some say Elijah, and others, one of the prophets’
Jesus asked ‘Who do you say I am?’
Simon Peter answered, ‘You are the Christ’
Simon Peter recognized Jesus for who he really was. I understand from that passage of the holy bible that Peter had watched Jesus closely and could tell that he was not from this world. Other people also had an idea of who he was. They all thought highly of John the Baptist and Elijah and therefore thought highly of Jesus since they associated him with the great prophets. This passage of the bible struck a chord in my head because of an incident I witnessed.

An Intern in a corporation was asked by a staff to carry his backpack to a specified location. The intern did this without hesitation or questions. Thirty minutes later, the staff was seen marching back to the office, his face was distorted by anger. He went straight to where the intern was sitting and jacked him up.
‘Where is my Laptop? And what did you do with my three phones and documents?’
He brandished slaps across his face and began to drag him by the trouser to the security office. People had gathered to watch the scene and after the staff had given a recap of how the intern stole his things they joined in the castigation.
His vindication came when about 7 staff of the department who he worked with directly ran out to defend him. They fought the staff on his behalf. They insisted that he could not have done what he was being accused of. A senior staff shouted ‘This young man can never do that. Stop dragging him’
This went on for a while, the security intervened and the staff was asked to leave the boy. A moment later the staff went into his office and found out that he had picked up and given the intern someone else’s backpack – there were other staff that had the same backpack. He had accused the intern wrongly and had to apologize. The following day, the staff of the intern’s department demanded a formal apology from the staff. This staff went round the offices and to the security apologizing. The boy was vindicated and all those who were part of the ‘crucify him’ party also heard of his vindication. They apologized duly, giving excuses for their actions.

I marveled at the way the intern’s departmental staff defended him. They had seen him work. They had studied his behavior. They knew who he was. A hardworking, honest and humble young man. I admired the intern more because all through the accusation, he was still very respectful and did not fight back. He only tried to defend himself by speaking out.
If you were caught up in the same or similar ‘boat’ as the intern, will you be defended? Will people stand up for or against you? Will your Peter say ‘you are the Christ.’? Who will people say you are?

MAN I CURE OR MAN I CURSE?

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.

‘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.

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.

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.