Saturday, August 30, 2008

Sometimes, I do fold them.

You were there, in that big space where you always are. You had taken up all the space as usual. I picked you up, so heavy...but I picked you up and then I rolled you all up...I rolled and rolled until you were as small as a folded shirt. Then when you were small enough, I saw you no longer took up so much space. I stuffed you in the cupboard in the tiny corner. Where all the other men are. You should be happy I folded you so carefully. Some are not folded at all. Some I just dump inside. All crumpled with stains and all, so you should be happy I folded you as gently as I did. You know the other one? The one before you? I never folded him...I jumped on him a couple of times and then I made holes in him with a cigarette, then I just dumped him in. I don't even know if he is still in there, he is quite unrecognizable now...sometimes, I am not sure. I saw the neighbor’s dog the other day with something in his mouth that looked like him... but I am not sure. You, I was so very careful because maybe sometimes I might want to look at you...I might want to remember how good it great it felt...that’s why I am so careful with you, that’s why you are folded. I are just like the rest of them..cruel...mean...selfish...sometimes I really think that’s what you are but late at nights, when nobody is looking, I take you out and wrap myself in you, oblivious to the the rest of them. You don't know me anymore, cos that’s what happens when you are locked in the cupboard. Days will pass, and you will not remember me. Months will pass and I will also be ...just like the rest. I wonder if there will be a time when I will see the dog playing with you and I will not care. You will be full of holes and stains and I will not bother to fix you up? You will become ...rags..nothing more...will I use you to clean my window? Will I use you to clean my shoes? I don't want to think of the time when you will become rags...for now, I want to think of the times when I will take you out of the cupboard at nights and fold you in the mornings...sometimes, I do fold them.(can't embed)

Thursday, August 28, 2008

He is really waiting for me....really!

The right side of my mouth is still swollen and Johan is still very handsome with his big polished wedding band. He shook my hand before I left. Thanks. That helps alot. I was there twenty minutes early, to take the drug that knocks me out...we are not old fashioned like the States...laughing old fashioned. Here, I drink something...nasty, bitter...terrible...then wonderful, great, beautiful. I lie on the bed and he puts some screenlike blanket over my body...with an opening for my nose and mouth. I settle into the warm cocoon...I don't see him and he does not see me. Johan is young. He uses computers for everything. He is so modern and new. He has so many new gadgets and is always talking about new things. He has a TV screen on his ceiling. Last time, I watched the history of some boring town.

This time, I could not see the TV, because of the blanket thing. I remember my first meeting with Johan...almost six years ago...he was even younger then and more handsome. I had cancelled three times...he sends me texts now reminding me of my appointments...sometimes he sends letters...our relationship has really progressed, even he has noticed how great we are together. I mean six years ago,I told him, to his face, that we can never have such a relationship. You see, I thought it would hurt his feelings...I mean I did not even enter his office for this sensitive conversation but stood at the doorsteps...clutching my bag.

He has been patient. Really. He is perhaps one of the most patient men I have in my life. I really think he cares. I am now doing things I never thought I showing up for an appointment twenty minutes before. I think he is happy with me too...sometimes I think we could actually take this relationship to the next not being so drugged...I thought I was ready for this...but when I cancelled twice again...we both decided to keep the drugs in.

Update: The drugs have now worn off...and now comes the memories...I don't think I ever want to see him again. Ever.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

I dont know why I find this so hilarous.....

From the Guardian Nigeria, part of an interview with the Lagos immigration boss

What are the most important features of the e-passport, and how can it be preserved?

The public should not believe that once 'Visa Refused' is put at one corner of the passport, the international document is useless. The passport is as good as the one coming out of the press. What we are saying is this: 'this document is very sensitive, keep it the way you keep your birth certificate.'

If you can keep your birth and professional certificates sacrosanct, away from cockroaches and water, why can't you keep your passport safely; if you can keep your holy books, the Bible and the Koran, from damage, you can as well keep our national symbol neat, not in a nylon bag.

Women keep it in their handbags containing cosmetics. You cannot do that! If you have an e-passport, and you have your degree certificate, you can keep them together. If you respect your degree certificate, I don't know why you cannot keep this one.

What is the greatest danger to this document?

The obvious danger one can inflict on it is staple pin; it is not supposed to be stapled to any other document; you do not apply pin on it because of the sensitivity and the chips in-built and already activated for verifications by other missions and agencies of other countries that are ICAO-compliant.

This passport is such that any other country that is under ICAO must have the software to read the passport. So, what you see physically is not what is embedded in it; everything about you is in it. If you present it somewhere else, within 30 seconds, the person is looking at the total you - your fingerprints, your eyelids and everything.

If you wanna read the whole thing, go here

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Saturday night with music, Happy weekend!

Raisins and thoughts...

Eating raisins...while others cry for the loss of a mother, a father, a childhood, guns and bombs, scars and tissues....I am eating raisins. I wonder why I am not there, crying among the unfortunate, am I a better person than they are? Certainly not. My good deeds are yet to be written about and I know not if they affect anyone. So I watch the news and avoid your eyes...don't look at me like that, I would help if I could...does thinking about you help? I think of you often...misery...and poverty...I think of you, but mostly, I run away from you. It is scary to be near you...I am not as brave as many around the world. I could do more....more than I age long brownie principle of "one good deed a day" is no longer enough...I thought it would be...I mean...I do try...but it does not get to you does it? Even if I help an old woman cross the are still hungry and your child still will not get to I avoid your eyes...I will pretend my "one good deed a day" somehow manages to get to you, through the mystery of the beautiful circle of humanity...maybe the old woman I help will be so happy, she'll send a donation to red cross and then red cross will buy some food and then your neighbour would get a carton and because you are so good...she will share it with you? That thought makes me happy...maybe I can eat my raisins and think of you eating and your child finally smiling again? That would be something!

Thursday, August 21, 2008

Level Don Change - Gordons(abeg, foward to 1:55 u go jump all the adverts dem)

For friends that we never appreciate enough.

I am a lucky girl
even in the most dire of times
I manage always to find a friend
even when my company is no good
you manage always to stay with me
even when sometimes all I can do is cry
you manage always to make me laugh
with my snivelling nose, you say you admire me
with my bleeding heart, you think I am brave
even when I have nothing good to say about the world
you manage somehow, to bring out the good in me
so now that you are long gone to bed and I sit and think of you
you with your dry jokes and funny humour
you that ask me if I'll be okay when you are gone
you that tell me I'll be okay a million times when clearly I am not
I think of you and all I can do is ask my self
"how did I get so lucky?"

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

My body dey phone me....

My baby - Tony harmony So two years ago, this song made the rounds in Warri and I just knew the chorus which i used to sing to annoy everybody sister finally found it. Oh so razz and sweet.

We'll live on rice and be free spirits....

1. Savings?

2. How well do you know Asia?

3. Yoga?

4. How high will you get?

5. No sweethearts?

6. Will you really come back?

7. Farmer?

8. Vegetarian?

9. No worldly goods?

10.Will you really miss the penis/vagina?

When you answer the above questions, lets plan.

Monday, August 18, 2008

Many Rivers To Cross

This song came into my head I was packing...well, not really, all I had was an underwear, my toothbrush, my passport, two novels(for the road)a make-up case, and my laptop. So basically, that is how I was gonna run away. I was gonna just take off, not tell anybody, possibly end up in an ashram in India or a monastry in Ireland....somewhere, I will find peace and quiet and discover my true purpose in life...oh, I forgot, I took my ipod as well...just incase I had to sit and wait in train stations or something...

So...what happened was that I ended up drinking beer and watching an african movie on a roof top...a South African movie...drum...quite good....then I had to run to get the train...I came home and unpacked...the underwear, the toothbrush, the passport, the two novels, the make-up case and the ipod...

Saturday, August 16, 2008

Edith Piaf - Mon Dieu - 1961

Was at a tribute concert for Edith Piaf...and now I can't get her out of my head.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

The frustrating recipes of Mr.Chow

Mr.Chow had lived in the same house for thirty years with his wife, everybody on the street of goatskin knew that and everybody in the town of catskin knew that too. Now, of course, the street and the town was not always named goatskin and catskin but that is what Mr chow called it and that was what everybody allowed him to do. On the 5th day of august, a young man named Nache sauntered into the street of goatskin. Nobody knew if that was his real name but that is the name he told the first resident of goatskin he met. Nache said he had come all the way from the other side of town (which Mr. Chow called pigskin)to find a solution to his problem. He said goatskin was famous for solving the problems of young adulthood and that is why he had come.

" will be needing Mr. Chow" said the first resident of goatskin.

"I heard all my problems can be"

"Yes, you will be needing Mr.Chow's frustrating recipes" replied the first resident of goatskin and duly described the house of Mr.Chow which was at the very end of goatskin street.

The young man had not gone more than ten meters when he encountered the second resident of goatskin.

"Are you seeking Mr. Chow?" asked the second resident of goatskin.

"Yes, I will be needing a frustrating recipe"

"Ah! won't regret it; there is his house, the house with red bricks and a yellow roof"

When Nache reached the end of goatskin, all seven residents were already gathered in front of Mr.Chow's, including first resident and second resident.

Mr. Chow himself was chopping pieces of meat on a brown chopping board. He smiled when he saw Nache and invited him in for tea which his wife brought in on a tray.

Nache soon found himself pouring out his soul to the old man and the residents of goatskin.

"I mean...I just want to break up with her...but I do not want to really do it"

The residents nodded and Mr. Chow said “A very wise choice, to break up with someone and not really do it".

"Is this possible?"

Mr. Chow smiled as the residents of goatskin smiled back in encouragement.

"You ask if it is possible? Nothing is impossible with my frustrating recipes...but first, you must promise to do exactly as I say"

Nache promised with grave solemnity and a couple of goatskin residents acted as his witnesses.

"First of all, you must cease all contact immediately with this woman...but only for a certain period of time"

"For how long?"

"Forty-eight hours, not more, not less"

"Then what?"

"Then, you wait until you see she is worried...a good sign would be when she sends an angry message. Do not reply a pleading one, or a sad one, or an upset must be an angry one...that is the sign that contact should be initiated"

Nache was scribbling furiously on a piece of paper that second resident had provided him with.

"Now, when you get the angry message, you wait for another twenty-four hours, and then, you send a nonchalant message back...nothing important"

"And what if she replies?"

"Now here, you have to be very careful, this is the reply back and tell her you will contact her "later" not specify when"

"And do I contact her?"

"No...But anytime she sends a message, (do not under any circumstances talk to her in person or by phone) reply with the word "later"

"And then what?"

"And then nothing. You leave her to get frustrated. This is one of my most famous recipes, it never fails. In a matter of hours, she will be frustrated and never even want to hear from you again"

Nache thanked the residents of goatskin and Mr. Chow and promised to do as he was advised.

Two weeks later, Nache was back on goatskin with a basket of fruits for the residents of goatskin. As they sat eating bananas and oranges on the porch of Mr. Chow's house, Mrs. Chow called out to Mr. Chow, for the fifth time from behind the house "Mr Chow! I will be needing your help again!", and Mr.Chow dutifully got up from his seat and when to the back of the house for the fifth time.

When Mr Chow returned, Nache asked "Why don't you try one of your frustrating recipes on her, Mr. Chow?"

"Why would I want to do that? I love Mrs. Chow, I will get up a hundred times if I had to"

"Maybe you can give me a recipe for love" asked Nache

"Mr. Chow does not give out love recipes"

That was the last time any of the residents of goatskin saw Nache. Although, of Nache's girlfriend who had been the victim of Mr. Chow's frustrating recipes, the residents saw every day. For not only did Mr. Chow give out frustrating recipes, but he also gave consolation recipes...and first resident had followed Mr. Chow's recipe to the latter and soon enough, there was an eighth resident on goatskin street.

Friday, August 8, 2008

The sewing machine...

I looked through the old books, there was nothing worth buying...the best of Ian flemming...but I did not feel like Ian flemming, so I left the books and looked at the sea....birds...I left the paintings. I caressed chairs and tables...brown wood...I could not look at plates and kitchen ware...the room had an energy...there is something so personal about peoples plates and personal...too I left the room...back to furniture...more tables, and shelves and then I saw old heart leapt with excitement...that was it! It was perfect, too perfect...exactly what you wanted...and I wrote the sms...

"Hehehehe! You won't believe what I have found! An old singer sewing machine! It’s exactly what you described...just twenty dollars...should I get it?"

I pressed "send"....but then the most mysterious thing happened, the phone wanted me to write a number...what does that mean? Your name is always there...right there....what was the meaning of this? So I pressed "send" again...but again, the phone wanted a number...or perhaps a name from my contact list? I sighed with exasperation...and tried to find your name...but your name was not there...then I were not there anymore...

So I deleted the message and even though it was pouring rain, I walked all the way home...without the sewing machine.

Give me a chance to go and I'll take it.....

Feeling like

Thursday, August 7, 2008

And it has started...

The Nigerian Military has attacked a village in Delta state...looking for militants. Read the story here.

P:S:You would think that BBC would cross check simple facts like "state capitals"...the capital of Delta state is Asaba, not Warri as mentioned in the article.

Wednesday, August 6, 2008

A sack of garri and two pennies

Chop...chop...chop...don't think, just chop the onions...chop...chop...chop...good nice cuts...chop...chop...chop...

"I'll give you a penny for your thoughts" she said.

Chop...chop...chop...yes, thats it, nice pieces, almost too perfect for any food...chop...chop...chop...

"I'll give you two pennies for your thoughts" she said again.

I looked up from my "chopping",is it possible for anybody to look so beautiful even when dying? She was beautiful....even the cancer could see that, she was the most beautiful woman I knew...and she did not even have hair....

"Do you have anything else I can chop?"

"Do you want to help with the sallad? Lots of things to can make a greek you can chop and chop".


"So, is two pennies not enough?"

"It's like a sack of garri"

"What is?"

Was this all I could think of? A sack of garri? why not cement? or stones? or even sand? but garri?

"The weight on my shoulders"

"What is garri?"

"You know...cassava...the one you ate in Brazil?"

" that what its called in Nigeria? garri?

"No, no, cassava is cassava there as well...but then its ground and dried and fried...I think...then its garri"

" whats in the sack on your shoulders?"

"Yep...a fucking sack of garri"

" I see why two pennies can never be enough for a sack of garri"

Chop...chop...chop...yes, thats it, don't think, just cut everything, nice square pieces...

"Mine is a sack of coffee beans"

I looked up at her...

"Coffee beans?"

"I guess its cultural...yours is garri, mine is coffee...I had a dream yesterday...I think I know when I am going to die"


"On exactly two o'clock"

She was looking at me...with pleading eyes...

"Its a pity, I will be out of town then"

Chop...chop...chop...don't think, don't think, don't think, don't think, don't think....

She died at exactly two o'clock on a wednesday afternoon and on her gravestone was inscribed:

"Two pennies can never be enough for a sack of garri".

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Human nature

Mabel was sitting on the bed, her legs spread out and her laptop in the middle. She drank straight from the vodka bottle and said the words her room mate needed to hear "you are a damn fool".

"I don't understand human nature...I really don't" mumbled Sandra, the room mate who was the "damn fool".

"I it really possible to switch your feelings off and on like that? I is that possible?"

"I'll tell you" replied Mabel, who was talking without looking up from her laptop..."I 'll tell you, so you can stop fooling yourself in this world. It is simple: People do not mean what they say or say what they mean. You my dear, are living in a world that doesn't exist"

" the hell can you love somebody...then just stop...just like that...I is that possible?"

"Pure human nature my dear...human beings are the vilest of creatures on planet earth"

Mabel was now staring at herself in front of the mirror, doing an erotic dance of sorts.

"How do you do it Mabel?...Live like this? Without any man? any relationship?"

"My darling, the penis is the most useless thing on planet earth. We give it far too much credit for going in and out of a hole only to collape uselessly like a deflated balloon...there is nothing sexy about a part of the human being whose honour is determined by a woman's pussy asshole...take your pick"

"So are you a lesbian then?"

"I am just as disgusted by that part of a woman that needs the thrusting actions of a soon to be deflated balloon to feel whole"

"But...why did he say he loved me? why did he say all those things? how can he say he loves me and now I am nothing...a nobody...just like that? where did all those feelings go?"

"No where, my dear"

Mabel was back on the bed, trying to polish her toe nails with the most horrible orange colour Sandra had ever seen.

"Why do you insist on using that colour? Its really horrible....I just don't get it...I mean...just like that?"

"Why do you insist on being impossible? Okay, let me help you out, so what really happened?

" he loves me...but somebody else loves him too...and now he loves her...just like that"

"And what is there that is so confusing? You see the problem is, you are thinking like a human being...think like an know, mating season...all the your case...competing for the soon to be deflated balloon, what rule comes to mind?"

"Survival of the fittest?"

"Now you are thinking, you see my darling, you lost...again, if I may add"

"So...that woman won?"

"Yep...she played her cards right, timing, circumstance...she did all the right things....she knew the, you are a were sitting here...she won"

"So I am the loser?"

"With a big should learn the game, if you want to play, or you don't have to me...I don't win and I don't lose"

"But do you live?"

"With animals? No. When you meet another human being, please do tell me".

Monday, August 4, 2008

Live and learn(this song has been on my mind all day)

Music, here (still having problems posting videos)

I came home in the morning
And everything was gone
Oh what have I done
I dropped dead in the hallway
Cursing the dawn
Oh come on sun
Why must I burn
I’m just trying to learn

I stared into the light
To kill some of my pain
It was all in vain
Cause no senses remain
But an ache in my body
And regret on my mind
But I’ll be fine

Cause I live and I learn
Yes I live and I learn
If you live you will learn
I live and I learn

Got kicked in the head
So I started a fight
Cause I knew I was right
But I learned I was wrong
I remember a slaughter
I remember I fought
For the money I brought
I got blistered and burned
And lost what I earned

But I live and I learn
Yes I live and I learn

I got, I got it now
She’s got, She’s got it now

I came to on a corner
With some help from a man and goddamn
I don’t seem to have learnt
That a lady in need is guilty indeed
So I paid and got laid in return
And I don’t know what I’ve learned

Well you get what you give
And hell yes I lived
But if you live as you learn
I don’t think I'd be learned
Oh with the sun in my eyes
Surprise, I’m living a life
But I don’t seem to learn
No I don’t think I can learn

Sunday, August 3, 2008


I am tired of trying to love you
trying to make you see that I love you
trying to make you see what I see in you
trying to always be there when you call me
trying to make you be there when I call you
but you are never there when I call you
and so...I have become tired of all that is you...
I am tired of trying to love you
I am tired of you.

Okay... brace yourselves people...this is the hottest thing ever discovered...I swear...

So, I am minding my business on a sunday morning, listening to my music and feeling pretty good with myself when my friend loomnie sends me the link to his blog, well, well, and what made me fall off my chair in shock? those of you hungry for information, knowledge, history of Nigeria...dont have an orgasm...but here it is, impossible, but so true: The National Archives of Nigeria

By the way, right now I am totally much to learn...I don't even know where I am gonna start...

P.S: Well done Loomnie, this your aproko business is actually...ehnnn really useful....hehehehehe. Good job.

Sunday morning and listening to oldies....

Yeah, I guess one of the best habits I inherited from my father (and yes, sunday morning is the best time ever, from the time you wake up to...lets say...lunch...but if you are not gonna do anything all day...then the whole day is not bad either!)...I was gonna post some oldies, but unfortunately youtube is being impossible(anybody else having that problem?). Anyway, so instead here is a link of what I am listening to right now. Have a great sunday people, lots of love!

Friday, August 1, 2008

The soup, the book and...him

Sometimes, when tears choose to arrive, they give no warning signals. That is why Susan was as startled by their appearance as the poor teenager at the cash register.

"Is there something wrong? Can I help?"


Susan paid for the two candles she had bought and hurried away from the watchful eyes of the teenager. That the tears had chosen to make its arrival in the middle of a transaction was more embarrassing than the fact that Susan was not sure of why she was crying. She tried to think of what kind of feeling this was...this feeling that threatened to choke her....

She thought of that soup...that soup she had seen in her cook book...the one that was filled with lots of exotic spices and names of fruits she had never heard before. She remembered how excited she had been to cook it...she had starred at the page of the cook book many nights...and by the end of the year; she had almost memorized the names of those foreign spices. She did not want to cook the soup just like, every single ingredient had to be there. She bought the spices over the months, ordered a few over the internet and waited for that special day. It had to be a rainy day...when there was nothing better to do than cook. So she waited for that day and dreamt of how great the soup will taste. That is why when she found herself pouring the soup down the drain on her special rainy day, the feeling that had overcome her was not the disappointment of the soup, but the feeling of the loss of those beautiful nights she had spent dreaming of it.

Then Susan thought of that book...the one she had saved to read on a peaceful day. She bought the book and kept it on her shelf...where she could see it often and fantasize of how great it would be to read the book. It was not a book to be read on trains, or buses or in front of the T.V. It was a book to be read on a special day, when the weather was just right, on a bench in a park or by the sea with the soft sound of waves nearby. That is why when she heard the explosive sound that left her mouth as she shut the last page of the book, it was not the feeling of dissatisfaction with the poorly written story that left her mouth but the loss of all those days she had sat dreaming of reading the story on a perfect day.

Then she thought of him...him that chose her. Was it because of that feeling? That feeling that always comes with the loss of a dream? Was that why she was crying? For those nights spent dreaming of him...he that had now disappeared into the arms of another the way her soup had disappeared down that drain...and the supporting a pot of flowers in her that what this feeling was all about?

As she wiped her tears, Susan was sure. It was not the dream she was crying for, or the loss of was because she had loved him...the dream was all it was...a dream...but him...he was real..and she had loved him.

And a little Coelho...

When you start to climb the mountain of your dreams, pay attention to what is around you. There are, ofcourse, precipices. There are almost imperceptible cracks. There are stones polished so smooth by rain and wind that they have become as slippery as ice. But if you know where you are putting your foot, you will see any traps and be able to avoid them.

From "How to climb a mountain" (from the book, Like the Flowing River by Paulo Coelho)