Saturday, June 28, 2008
I have just had a really stressful day. Hmmph!
My 11i classes have officailly started today and I goofed while creating a user so I got waaaay behind in class. Really annoying, nd then I forgot the praticals textbook that made me look stupid (funny how I had March's edition of ELLE magazine, Ben Okri's Songs of Enchantment etc. in my bag instead)...I had to stay behind after class for twenty minutes to finish up. Easy Peasy.
Truth is- for those familiar with Oracle DBA- it's much more easier when you have the book on your lap to guide you...try closing the books and doing all the practicals on your own, the english language disappears. Really.
The classes aside. I think I'm starting to suffer depression.
Has pain become such a huge part of your life that you expect it to always be there, because you can't remember a time when it wasn't?
Blogging is doing me a great deal of good. I never talk about my problms but at least, in blogville, I get to acknowledge that I have them.
I'd be glad to turn a fresh page, to begin writing my destiny all over again, from scratch...if wishes were horses...
All I have is my life, as it is. There's no going back i guess. But every new day is a new chance...
a fresh start...
I'm still too stupid to find out which way to turn...
Left ...or right...?
Or just go back?
I came across Esquire's poems and I asked to borrow one...
I like this one alot.
OFF THAT RADIO JARE
Off that radio jare
Na so so lie lie he go dey talk
Off that radio jare
If President Yar'Adua go Russia
He go talk am
If Commissioner’s wife go Conference
He go talk am
If Russian submarine sank into barren sea
He go talk am
If Wole Soyinka come back from West Indies
He go talk am
Mama Sikira son go Sri-Lanka
He no talk am
Mr. Francis go farmer fertilizers’ bank
He no talk am
Papa painter wife born new pinkin
He no talk am
I go Agege Yesterday
He no talk am
Off that radio jare
As published by The Guardian Newspapers and MakeImpact magazine
Sunday, June 22, 2008
This past week, I have swallowed approximately four truck loads of shit…deep shit. Soon, I’ll be unable to take it anymore, not one more drop or I’d just burst. When I do burst, it won’t be all the ingested shit, flesh and blood that will be splashed. No. All that’ll be left of me will be salty water. Tears. I really should learn how to cry. I have heard that it helps.
I’ve got so many problems than I can't handle on my own, really. And I just can’t share. For me, a problem shared is a problem doubled. I’m a great listener (my sister, Lala, may not agree), I listen for a living…to anybody…anything. I guess that’s why I have so many problems: some of them aren’t even mine.
Anyways, this post isn’t about my problems…really. Blogger.com’s database cannot handle a fraction of my issues. Lol.
School’s out till September and I haven’t had any luck finding a holiday job…so for lack of better things to do, I found myself going through old stuff from way-back-when.
I almost never throw things out; notes, cards, letters, bookmarks, little papers with roughly scribbled words that mean something, everything.
Anyways, I found a will. Really, I’d almost forgotten about this thing o. It’s sooo funny, I really can’t believe I actually wrote this thing.
Five years ago, I was diagnosed with appendicitis. I was fourteen years old, the dormitory prefect and exams were around the corner, baddest time to fall ill. I read a lot of John Grishams in my secondary school days, I remember vividly I was halfway through The Testament.
All I thought I ever owned that really mattered to me was in the hostel...my friends.
I knew everything would turn out well somewhere at the back of my mind (or my dad wouldn’t let me go through wit it). The morning of my surgery, the doctor re-scheduled from 9am to 2pm, I was really really really nervous, I couldn’t read or watch T.V so I thought about dying, really thought about it…then I got a pen and paper and I wrote this (but t’was just to have a laugh at the end of it), funny I didn’t find it again till yesterday.
As I read this will, i was amazed atmy stupid sense of humor in my state at that time.
Last Will and Testament of Woomie.
I have appointed Ezi (my bestest friend) as executor of my estate. My assets are to be distributed as follows;
1. My pink and white bed sheet and pillow case go to Pizza. (Pizza's real name was Tobi, she was a champion bedwetter so we nicknamed her Piss-er and funkinized it...she had no idea)
2. My blue bucket and the other small green one go to Vivian, so you people can sleep till 5 am. (Vivian had this old rusty iron bucket that made sooo much noise, she was an early riser)
3. My Account and Commerce notes go to Ogundipe, Economics and Further Math notes go to you, and Biology note to Sandra, Give Mosunmade the rest and you can use my Yoruba note for your sketches. (i hated yoruba, my teacher had no idea, i was fairly good at it but i couldn't stand her. Ironically, i was her best student and 'friend' but we fell out)
4. My green traveling box should be sent back home, to my mother. (it was a Samsonite, a beauty...a bribe. I never really wanted to be a boarder)
5. My day wears, school uniforms, pj's and sport wears go to Queen. (she was the only one as big/bigger than me in the school, she was short...scary...and cute)
6. Give mummy my shampoo and tell her I love her ('Mummy' was what we generally called the matron)
7. My plates and cutleries go to Ororoo Pam, really. (she ate from this stainless plate that i couldn't feed my parrot in and she had no spoons, claimed they were stolen, so she 'protested' in the dining hall with her hands)
8. Ask Harmony if she truly saw Tokunboh using my back-scratcher on her vag, if she says yes, let her squat and fly for one period and then she can have it. Stupid bitch. (Tokunboh was and still as I've gathered is an annoying goat, i had this back-scrather, a carved plastic hand that i used to reach and itch down my back in my seasons of heat rash and break outs, Harmony sees everything and doesn't really lie, she caught Toks 'brooke-ing' herself with my back scrather, I was going to address the issue but i was ill...trust Ezi)
9. Give Harmony ALL my gel pens, colored pencils, and the math set. Ezi, everything! And u can give her the hot yellow one I lent you too. ( Harmony had talent, and Ezi needed a new partner in the event of my death to design the halls for our social gatherings and make birthday and thank-you cards for everybody)
10. My Tiky 20 eraser should go to Foslic and tell her she can have my bed space and the alarm clock. (not that she needed the alarm clock, we both were programmed to wake up at 5 mins to four, 5 mins before my alarm went off EVERYDAY)
11. Eh hen! Give Vivian my mattress o. (she spent her nights on the cold floors...long story)
12. Check my blue Mudd bag and give Ibk my new panties. Only the new ones o. And my stockings. And the bag too. (the greatest pest that ever lived, she'd beg you for the wierdest things...)
13. Give Kemi my rechargeable lamp. (My school daughter...Her's was broken)
14. Give Iheoma my Pressing Iron. (Another school daughter...she did the ironing anyways)
15. Tell that selfish that Toyosi she can read my Beyond Scandal and then give all my novels to my sister. (a worse book freak than me, she could read through an earthquake...champion suprise ruiner, i never let her read my novels before me)
16. Give my Modern Biology to Amaku and give the rest of my books to my cousin Yetunde in Hazoume’s class.
17. I stole that comprehension and summary text answers from Miss Emerewune (YAY), it’s in my box (313 is the pin), now everybody can stop scoring zero. Just cross your T’s and dot your I’s. And if you don’t want it, give it to Sandra to share with the others so you can keep you place at the bottom of the English class, Mother-in-Israel. (This our teacher, may her soul rest in peace, was impossible to please...I stole this answer booklet because that was our only way out...really it was)
18. Throw a room party and share my food (not the Kellogg’s stuff, give that to Vivian and my blanket too), don’t invite anybody from Room 4. Keep the Peanut butter for yourself and give Toyosi my garri. (Room 4 held their on party in secret, we actually invited 8 of them in the end when we couldn't stand their tears. Vivian again...long story)
19. Oh! Give my walkman to Okunsanya. (it was practically her's already)
Swit, I can’t remember everything jare, but share the rest of my stuff as you like...I trust you. Don’t be your usual mean self…lol. You can keep my white jacket (ur prayers have been answered) and give Ivy the red sweater...tell her she begged me to death.
I love you sooooo much but you can share the rest of my love equally among everybody.
Tell Lola and Foslic to remember to put extra pepper, salt and crayfish in the porridge and rice (without our extra help, the food in that dorm would have been a waste, everyday). Eh hen! Give mummy the rest of my water.
Be nice to everybody for me, and tell Bola, Sarah, Lolo and Aminat to please try and improve, for my sake. Oh! Give my Milo to Ms Anorexic and tell her I love her.
Love everybody for me. You can make it to the merit list, I know it...please don't sleep too much. That's the best thing i'm giving you, my space...share with Harriet, Ify, Philo and Sandra. You and Sandra should adopt all my school daughters, please. Forget about Ibk and Tosin Hazoume, they're big girls now. Please take care of Kemi, Iheoma, Ose and Sherifat, they can't squat and fly for too long.
Hey! And don’t cry too much, I am with y’all meen. Peace.
PS: my worst fears have been confirmed, I have died a virgin. (I remember exactly who I was thinking of when I wrote this...I'm laughing my ass off)
PIC: A card/bookmark Ezi made for me...from front to back.
After my surgery, my class, the WHOLE class , six teachers and two vice principals came to visit me at the clinic. Every single student wrote me a letter (or signed on someone elses's), I was busy reding and re-reading for three days. I had some complications afterwards with my stitches, I could've died...but I just couldn't, all the letters reminded me of the great life I was missing out on. I made it back to school after the 3 month long summer holiday, not full recovered, but around all my friends, it only took a few days, just like I told my folks. It's not really medicine that works, it's a will power to just be well...because it's hurting your loved ones to see you in a sorry state.
This will gets the award for the stupidest thing I ever did (one time I sprayed Baygon right in our Kerosene lamp…but this beats that). I decided to e-mail it to Ezi, just for the fun of it. Funny how I thought all these little little things were important. Truth is, it wasn’t really the food and stuff I was thinking about when I decided to give these things away, all I wanted was to share the love. I went to school with the best people in the world. A mixture of everything...good, bad and downright ugly. I was blessed. Oh! What I would give for one more day…just one. Finding this note yesterday admist all of this shit landing all around mehas done me a deal of good...I know how to be happy, I remember, I just need to try harder.
Anyways, back to the present. Now, about my problems...
Friday, June 13, 2008
Like many human beliefs, the fear of Friday the 13th (known as paraskevidekatriaphobia) isn't exactly grounded in scientific logic. But the really strange thing is that most of the people who believe the day is unlucky offer no explanation at all, logical or illogical. As with most superstitions, people fear Friday the 13th for its own sake, without any need for background information.
The superstition does have deep, compelling roots, however, and the origins help explain why the belief is so widespread today.
There have been a number of events known as "Black Fridays" in history. Usually, these events are devastating.
Some historians propose that the origin of the "Black Friday" was the simultaneous arrest of hundreds of Knights Templars on October 13, 1307 (Friday), to be later tortured into "admitting" heresy.
Today, the concept of Friday the 13th has been extended through the 'black Friday' concept to incorporate anything really bad that happens on a Friday.
The fear of Friday the 13th stems from two separate fears -- the fear of the number 13 and the fear of Fridays. Both fears have deep roots in Western culture, most notably in Christian theology.
Christians have traditionally been wary of Fridays because Jesus was crucified on a Friday. Additionally, some theologians hold that Adam and Eve ate from the forbidden fruit on a Friday, and that the Great Flood began on a Friday. In the past, many Christians would never begin any new project or trip on a Friday, fearing they would be doomed from the start.
Sailors were particularly superstitious in this regard, often refusing to ship out on a Friday. According to unverified legend (very likely untrue), the British Navy commissioned a ship in the 1800s called H.M.S. Friday, in order to quell the superstition. The navy selected the crew on a Friday, launched the ship on a Friday and even selected a man named James Friday as the ship's captain. Then, one Friday morning, the ship set off on its maiden voyage... and disappeared forever.
Ultimately, the complex folklore of Friday the 13th doesn't have much to do with people's fears today. The fear has much more to do with personal experience. People learn at a young age that Friday the 13th is supposed to be unlucky, for whatever reason, and then they look for evidence that the legend is true. The evidence isn't hard to come by, of course. If you get in a car wreck on one Friday the 13th, lose your wallet, or even spill your coffee, that day will probably stay with you. But if you think about it, bad things, big and small, happen all the time. If you're looking for bad luck on Friday the 13th, you'll probably find it.
Is Friday the 13th a particularly unlucky day? I think it could be, if you believe it is. Just as some prophecies are self-fulfilling, some beliefs are self-validating.
PS: Covenant University, Ota holds their convocation ceremony tagged (as usual) The Release of Eagles today, Friday the Thirteenth defying all myths and legends...Congrats Eagles.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I like this prayer a lot.
Most times I find myself reciting it as a reflex
In beauty it is finished.
Growing up in my family, I have been confused by religion, the concept of God, science and reason.
I have searched in speakable and unspeakable places alike for ways to exercise my faith.
I have found no answer.
I believe in God.
I am in love with God.
However, I am in doubt...most of the time.
I remember a time when, as a fresh un-corrupted teen, i'd spend most mornings in church, simply talking to God, praising Him, loving him.
I'd spend five evenings a week, in church, doing God's work.
I was strong, unshaken in my faith.
I was born again.
At first, it felt really really good. I was at peace...I was at peace, first with my body, and then with my soul.
Things started to happen, bad things...then they got worse. The brethren'ld call at my house and tell me not to doubt the Lord's doing, it was a test of faith.
Then I said to myself, 'If this was what it felt like to be born again...I want none of it...NONE...at least not now'
I had no problem implementing my decision, as far as religion was concerned in my home, to-each-his-own.
My mother is a deaconess...be not decieved by this however...it is just a title...no more, no less.
I am in awe of my father...
My father is a St. ...he is strong willed...yet so soft...he is...my father.
There is only one God...there can be only one God.
Monday, June 2, 2008
When we first moved to L.C.H.E, i wasn't excited about anything, at all.
We lived on the outskirts of Lagos prior to our relocation that was home-for real-but then, armed robbers sorta chased us away.
Anyways, my mother came home in one of those days when we'd had-it-up-to-here with the area and it's security (or lack of it) and said she'd found out about L.C.H.E's, I was fresh out of high school and looking up universities at the period, I thought it sounded Ivy League-ish so the first thing I asked was, 'How much is it???' then she said, 'about 120,000 p.a give or take', getting kinda excited, i exclaimed, 'really! it's far far cheaper than high school! , how long is my course??? where is it???', then she gave me her you're-sucha-fool look and said, 'we are moving, dum dum!' , 'oh!'
Moving homes is supposed to be like a big big decision but my parent's made theirs in three days, actually, it was the longest notice we've (my sis, bro and i) had from them, the shortest was one day.
As it wasn't even a school or anything like it, i didn't bother to find out what L.C.H.E meant before we moved, i didnt care. I was expecting the worst anyways, (it's what my mother suggested) so i wasn't really suprised to find this:
(we just recently got the blocks painted)Every block has got six flats, in my zone (zone is a term for 'a cluster of as-many-as-possible blocks' with a chairman, a financial secretary and one or two PHCN transformers), the flats vary from two to three bedrooms, K,T&B (kitchen, toilet and bath).
Anyways, for mail's sake (I LOVE snail-mail, even if it's just bank statements) , i found out that L.C.H.E meant Low Cost Housing Estate, and i wasn't really suprised, duh!
This place is really strange most of the time. Every day, almost nothing changes. Recently, i realised that it's always the same routine.
‘EEEEE RROONU PIN WA DAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!’, every morning I wake up to a preacher’s voice. The woman’s a screamer, but then, her voice is not as loud as the bell she ties to the yellow belt on her white church garment.
‘EEEEE RROOONU PIN WA DAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!’ (Repent),
I have lived here for over three years,but, everyday, I wake up really shocked, wondering what exactly is responsible then I hear the very pesky voice again, ‘OLOHUN NNN BOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!’ (Jesus is coming!!!), this goes on for 30 minutes max and then she moves on to another zone.
This woman is the quietest, most tolerable and most considerable one of all the preachers in my estate: she doesn’t carry a mega phone.
I snooze for another thirty minutes before the guard dogs go off on themselves. These dogs are the worst, most uncontrollable monsters in the world…and they’re programmed to start barking to death at exactly 5:00am (for about 10 minutes) every single day! This queer behavior baffles me. How’s it possible get these dogs to do this??? My neighbor says there’s some African magic involved. I don’t care; I hate what these little monsters do.
By the way, did I mention that the vigilantes ring a giant bell every hour from 1:00am till 6:00am??? Once at 1:00am; twice at 2:00am, etc etc. Just so we all know that they’re at work every night and don’t delay their monthly salaries.
‘Breedi re butter re’ (here’s bread and butter), “EEE RA BUREDI, E PO TEA O” (buy bread and make some tea). ‘Aaagegee BREAD!!!’ The first bread seller in my zone announces her resumption. If there are 200,000 people living in my estate, 30,000 people sell Agege bread, another 160,000 help them earn their living.
They (the bread hawkers) are omnipresent (in the scorching sun and the heaviest rain), every time (except when you actually need to buy their bread like crazy).
When I hear the first bread-song, I know it’s time to wake up.
‘E KAA RO OLOGI DE O!’ (Good morning, the pap seller is here), ‘E KAA RO OLOGI N KI YIN O!’ (It’s the pap seller greeting you oh!). If when I hear this, I’m still in bed, I know it’s really time for me to get up. They don’t last as long as the bread sellers or the preachers, sometimes, if I don’t listen carefully, I miss them, or mistake them for the bread sellers.
‘GBAAAANNN!!!! GABAAANNN!!!!! GABAAAAAAANNNN!!!!! KOLE KOLE!!’, I can feel every annoying thump right in my head. If I’m still in bed when they come, the crazy sound beats me wide awake and I’m up for the day, that’s it!
These garbage packers are the most self centered MOFO’s to have have ever walked the face of the earth…but they’re useful when they serve their purpose once in a while; which is getting me out of bed and clearing my garbage container.
If I'm still in bed when they come, the crazy sound beats me wide awake and i'm up for the day, that's it!
Sometimes they come earlier, or later, give or take; they start around 7:30. THUMP! THUMP!! THUMP! THUMP THUMP THUMPTHUMPTHUMP THUMP!!! They’re the shoe-shiners, they don’t say anything, they just bang on their wooden makeshift stools hanging over their shoulders. They polish a pair of shoes for 10naira, glue soles back for about 20naira and above, depending on the extent of the damage, anyways, they’re there to treat sick shoes.
But whenever I need them, I stay away from the Hausa ones; they don’t know anything, the Ghanaian guys are the pros.
Think of any hawk-able thing in the world, it’s sold between this time. The fish sellers, pepper sellers, mobile tailors (obi-omas), plantain sellers, yoghurt vendors, Barcelo-niggas ( these ones are the funny ones, they sell these things they call ‘Ghana buns’, mostly to little kids), traditional drug vendors, p’on be p’on be (knife sharpeners), come-buy-papers (these ones BUY papers from people and then re-sell to their own customers), crayfish sellers, even more evangelists (with deafening loudspeakers and mega phones, making salvation seem really unattractive) etc, etc.
Ironically, the estate is as quiet as any neighbourhood can get. Once you can get past all the buying and selling and simply mind your own business.
After 6:00pm, when all the young football-playing boys and the ten-ten girls have retired to their flats, the lovers come out. This is the real show. My estate is a typical player's playground. These guys have at least one girlfriend in each zone, really. I wonder if the girls are blind or simply don't want to face the truth.
Surprisingly, it's the teenage fathers that these girls find more attractive. Many of them (the boys) don't like to go to school, they have day jobs at the different cyber cafes around. And I see them doing pretty well. No one has made me the judge o, so I just mind my business.
What happens after 10:00pm??? I cannot see...I can only hear from my room; the music from the loudspeakers (the DeeJays are half as much as the bread sellers) and I imagine the nighttime lovers doing their did. Enticing the girls with chicken suyas (the mai-suyas are half as many as the Dee Jays, lol) and other eatables. Around 11:30pm, the noise stops. Everybody goes home, and i get ready for the female preacher's alarm tomorrow.
My estate isn't really fun (for me) but it's safe...we don't even have a cop shop, i guess we don't need one.