Evidence of Stress

Hi Blogsville! Howz the week been? Mine was quite eventful, yup, eventful. Let's see: i went to work, then ummm, i went to work some more, and then i went to . . . . work again! Ok, i'm not so good at being sarcastic so i better can it. At least i'm at home today - told my supervisor i had anus-ache (i've complained of all the other aches before - head, stomach, shoulder, waist, feet, eyes, nose, mouth, you name it). Of course there's still one more ache to complain of (teeheehee!); the day i complain of that one, they'll give me 3 months leave with double pay!!

See, there's this thing i always come across in novels, mostly ones with a bit of romance (i don't read plain romance; too simple and unrealistic for me); its about this thing were a guy sees a girl (or vice versa) and he/she somehow forgets what he/she was doing or talking about. I never really agreed with it - at least, not with the way it's usually descibed. Well, it happened to me this morning - i couldn't believe it!

I was out to buy bread for me humble breakfast. Now, there's this place i always buy from, i'm used the little scamp of a kid whose always selling. But this morning there was another chic as well. I actually thought she was buying something - like me - but then she asked what i wanted. I don't know how to explain this, cos i have absolutely no intention of "chyking" her (una know wetin be chyking, abi?), but I was quite intrigued by her brisk efficiency (frankly, that other kid was the personification of sluggish). Ok, so i tell her what i want, and she gets the loaf of bread, packages it in a black polythene and places it in front of me. Meanwhile, my mind is somewhere else wondering if she's related to the owner of the shop, maybe the younger sister or eldest daughter, but she ain't so pretty, well her smartness more than compensates for that, plus she wouldn't be so bad if she smiled more - and for that matter why isn't she smiling? Mmmh, well, guess she's the serious type, way too serious if you ask me ....

I suddenly realize that i'm the only customer left, and the girl is now giving me odd looks. I smile at myself, pay and go away. Now, what da hell was i thinking going off on that crazy mental tangent?

Maybe its stress shaa. I'll probably complain of that critical ache next monday after all.

Arrogant Little Puppy

Maybe it's writer's block, i don't know but i've been meaning to put up something for ages now. Each time i start out, i take this long look at my barren blogpage, and then i go: "Aww meehn, i'll do it later." Well, right now, i'm stuck in the hospital - bad case of malaria - with nothing better to do. So, i'm finally doing it; problem is, it doesn't have much substance.

I think i hate hospitals. I know i never really liked them, but right now i think my dislike has gone up an extra notch. But what i hate most is being ill - being weak and frail and having to bear all those pitying looks from people - like yesterday when i was puking like . . . like, well, i don't know. See, please don't misunderstand me, i know those looks are outward evidence of the compassion that they feel for me... but still, i really detest those looks; it makes me feel like a rain-beaten puppy. Sounds arrogant, yes, but i really don't appreciate feeling like a rain-beaten puppy.

Anyway, the good news is i'll probably be discharged today - right after i collect the blood-test results from whoever it is that is handling it. I was pretty winded when they collected the blood sample yesterday, but i distinctly remember telling the male nurse that i'd like to see the results as soon as possible. Since then, each time i inquire about it, i get something in the line of "oh, that test! Ok, i'll get it as soon as it's out", or "relax, get well first..." and so on. Well, i intend to get that result before i leave. Maybe they're hiding something, a HIV+ result perhaps....

I'm ok now shaa, but i have a bone to pick with my friend M; called him and asked if he could help get me a change of clothes from my house, and this scalawag of a dude said he was in church and can't help. Church my hairy behind!! Your friend is in the hospital, and your excuse for not helping is that you are in church? What do you think God will say when he sees you, pat you on the back and give you a villa in Paradise? God damn.

That's about it, blogsville. Now lemme go and see about that blood-test....

Na Who Born D Magga??

Walahi,this one was too mush! I just couldn't stomach it, i had to break my "blog-fast" to post this.

Abeg, how many of y'all read the Guardian Newspaper last sunday? Renown columnist and intrepid journalist, Reuben Abati, woke up in the morning and decided he needed to widen his scope of journalistic activity. Guess were he decided to re-test his writing skills? The Nigerian music industry (can you imagine it?!). Well, little did he know he was officially on a long ting. I mean, i respect Mr. Abati's blunt and smart analysis of our nation political/socio-economic terrain (i no go lie, d guy na one smart journalist), but mehnn, Oga Reuben really blew it this time. Wtf was he thinking writing that - excuse my french - bullshit?? Anyway shaa, i won't start repeating the 95% crap he wrote now (you can read it here if you want), but basically - summarily - inna nutshell, the magga just has an issue with naija hip-hop. Talk about a GENERATION gap.


Ok, so i thought i was the only dude pissed off, hahahahaa, little did i know what storm was brewing. First thing monday morning, Banky W (a.k.a Mr Capable) replied with a well-thought out rejoinder. God, it was su-weeeet! And the best thing was my man Banky just stayed respectful and diplomatic (no brother-hating and dissing and all that shit). Me love you, Bankii!

Not so with "Big-Boy" el Dee; nna-eh, the nwa-guy use Baba Abati wipe floor o! I read his response to Abati on naijarules.com, and LWKMD! Chineke, elDee vex no be small.

But the final funeral ceremony to Mr. Abati's piece, however, happened on (yep, you guessed right!) Nairaland.com (for the record, nairalanders are crazy; you just don't f**k with'em) My people for Blogsville, unu hu ihe NLers mere dis guy, they finish the man eh, nothing remain again! I laffed so hard, my stomach began to hurt. One poster put it very quaintly: E don be for Abati! Seriously, i started feeling sorry for the old fella; Abati isn't a kid in the world of journalism, why in God's name did he have to go and write such shit? Any idiot would've known crap like that was gonna hit naija youths on the crazy nerve.

Well, one last thing before i sign off: Shit like this is the reason lizards shouldn't try to fly. Damn it, nyagga, stick to whachu know best!

School 1977 vs. School 2007

Hello blogsville! Long time no see. I'm here now shaa...
Saw something on Nairaland, was quite funny. Here, read for yoself:
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School 1977 vs. School 2007

Scenario 1: Johnny and Mark get into a fistfight after school.

1977 - Crowd gathers. Mark wins. Johnny and Mark shake hands and end up mates.

2007 - Police are called, Armed Response Unit arrives and arrests Johnny and Mark. Mobiles phones with evidence of fight are confiscated. Both are charged with assault, ASBOs are taken out and suspended even though Johnny started it. Diversionary conferences and parent meetings conducted. Mobile phone video shown on 6 internet sites.


Scenario 2: Jeffrey won't sit still in class, disrupts other students.

1977 - Jeffrey is sent to the principal's office and given 6 of the best. Returns to class, sits still and never disrupts the class again.

2007 - Jeffrey is given huge doses of Ritalin. Counselled to death. Becomes a zombie. Tested for ADHD. School gets extra funding because Jeffrey has a disability. Jeffrey drops out of school.


Scenario 3: Billy breaks a window in his neighbour's car and his Dad gives him the slipper.

1977 - Billy is more careful next time, grows up normally, goes to college, and becomes a successful businessman.


2007 - Billy's dad is arrested for child abuse. Billy is removed to foster care and joins a gang. Psychologist convinces Billy's sister that she remembers being abused herself and their dad goes to prison. Billy's mum has an affair with the psychologist. Psychologist gets a promotion.


Scenario: Mark brings cigarettes to school .

1977 - Mark shares a smoke with the school principal out on the smoking area. (Not in Naija)

2007 - Police are called and Mark is expelled from School for drug possession. His car is searched for drugs and weapons.


Scenario: Mohammed fails GCSE English.

1977 - Mohammed retakes his exam, passes and goes to college.

2007 - Mohammed's cause is taken up by local human rights group. Newspaper articles appear nationally, insisting that making English a requirement in school is racist. Civil Liberties Association files class action lawsuit against state school system and his English teacher. English is banned from core curriculum. Mohammed is given his qualification anyway but ends up mowing lawns for a living because he cannot speak English.


Scenario: Johnny takes apart leftover firecrackers, puts them in a model plane paint bottle and blows up an anthill.

1977 - Ants die.

2007 - MI5 and police are called and Johnny is charged with perpetrating acts of terrorism. Teams investigate parents, siblings are removed from the home, computers are confiscated, and Johnny's dad goes on a terror watch list and is never allowed to fly with American airlines ever again.


Scenario: Johnny falls during playtime and scrapes his knee. His teacher, Mary, finds him crying, and gives him a hug to comfort him.

1977 - Johnny soon feels better and goes back to playing.

2007 - Mary is accused of being a sexual predator and loses her job. She faces three years in prison. Johnny undergoes five years of therapy; becomes gay.

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And Nigeria.

1977 - Someone plans a coup and takes over the government. Steals all the money. Nothing Happens

2007 - We get to elect government into office. They steal all the money. Nothing happens.

Well at least, things stay the same in Nigeria!

Constant Tin Soldier

Nnaa mehhhn, i can't remember when last my life was this busy; fact is, i'm not even sure i've ever been this busy. Shooo! Come see work o. From 8am to 5pm, i dey inside cover-alls dey sling drill-pipes, run from one inspection company to another to check status of our tools. And when it's not that, na so-so run up and down, photocopy this, laminate that, update this file, update that one, type up that report, arrange tool-list for this load-out, prepare delivery note...

For the last two weeks i've been at my work-place EVERYDAY - saturdays and sundays included! The last time i complained to HR (that was like four months ago, while i was still on their stupid training), my boss heard of it and read me the Riot Act. Kay9, please explain to me in very simple terms what you meant by "being over-worked". In fact, i want it in writing, in black-and-white! Put it in writing what exactly you meant by "being over-worked", because i really don't understand that phrase. And i want it on my desk within 10 minutes! I was stunned. Chineke lekwa! Is this what happens when people complain around here?? Nnaa, jee-jeely, i typed up the letter with "i'm very sorry" and "i sincerely and humbly apologize" all over the place, and submitted to him. Thankfully, it ended there. I learnt my lesson shaa; if you don't like the system, kindly hand in your resignation letter. What with economic crunch and all, the resignation letter will be gladly accepted.

But my wahala no end for office o, PH itself come be another ye-ye useless town join. Come see hold-up! Morning, afternoon, night - twenty-fcking-four hours of the day! By the time i get home, it's already like 6.30 - 7pm. I'm already gassed-out; the only thing in my head is to go to bed. I close my eyes, next thing it's 5.30am and my nokia phone alarm is screeching its head off. Grudgingly - grudgingly, see, coz if i waste time, my colleague's car will leave without me, and then o kara m njo. (lol) So grudgingly, i get up, brush, bathe, dress up, wait for the car, then on to the waiting traffic jam. The life of the Constant Tin Soldier; even eke-uke never had it this bad. I no even get time for my precious blogsville. O dikwa somehow!

Dear God

Dear God,

I believe in you. I don't care what new theory scientists have cooked up; I believe that you exist, God, and that the entire universe is a product of your hands. The rising sun, the twinkling stars at night, the cry of the new-born babe, the smile in the eyes of a beloved one - all these tell me that you exist.

And so, my dear father, I have come to talk to you. I want to tell you that I am grateful for all you have given me: my parents, my brothers, my life, my swift education, my job...

God, I admit I get carried away every now and then, success getting into my head, but I always try to remind myself that I’m not that exceptionally smart, or intelligent, or anything… And what if I am? Heck, so are half a million other people. It’s just plain luck – plain, dumb luck. And why all this luck? Simple, my Father in heaven loves me.

Dear God, I regret to say that I’ve never really been a role-model child of yours. I try to convince myself that the 10 Commandments is more or less out of sync with today’s world, but… but I know I’m just looking for excuses to justify my actions. I get angry easily. I’m as stubborn as a mule. I have a terrible temper. Sometimes, I say things out of turn, mean things. I am fly and flip about the most serious issues in the bible, like sex and being born-again. I like to think that I’m generous, but deep down, I think I am the most stingy and calculative person in my father’s house.

And I don’t pray enough.

The list goes on and on….

Dear God, I am sorry. A part of me wants to think that I haven’t really offended anybody, I know – I know that I have offended you. My dear Father, I am very sorry.
In all honesty and truth, I can’t swear never to do the things I have mentioned here. But I promise that I will try. I will try as hard as I can to be a better man. A better man for You; a better man for my family; a better man for my friends; a better man for my country. Through Your grace, I will succeed.

In Jesus’ name I pray.

Amen.

It lasts and lasts and lasts!

This post was prompted by NiceAnon's post, Curiosity Killed The Cat. But it is not about curiosity, no, NiceAnon has done justice to that. Rather, it is about something much simpler: Imperial Leather. Cusson's Imperial Leather..... the soap that lasts, and lasts, and lasts. Boy oh boy, did i hate that soap!

Between 1994 and 2001 when I finally escaped into the university - yes, I actually escaped! Home had literally become Hell - things weren't exactly smooth for my family. Area General's biz was going south, and no matter how hard he tried the darn thing just refused to change course. So a new decree was promulgated: the "Decree of Conservation". No more wastage. No unnecessary sweets and biscuits. No more watching the telly unless it was NTA Network News. No more using toilet paper unless you really REALLY needed to. Mehhn, no be small ting-o. Long before I encountered the Law of Conservation of Energy in physics and chemistry, I knew what it was all about.

Next came the "Decree of Scarce Resources and Opportunity Costs". This decree became the 10 Commandments that determined what was bought in our house. No article which had a cheaper and/or last-longing variety was ever purchased again. And so, my brothers and I - five of us then, no girl, thank God - were introduced to the wonderful world of Cusson's Imperial Leather, the soap that lasts and lasts and lasts!

Nna-eh, that soap refused to finish! We will use it and use it and use it, and yet it would still remain. Long after all the scent and goodies in it had evaporated or gone wherever they go to - usually in less than two days after the soap was bought - the soap itself would still remain. Mind you, it was all of us using it-o: dad(Area General), mum, myself, #2, #3, #4 (who was always demanding for biscuits), and little #5 (whom i swear was heavier than Yokozuna), plus the occasional aunt or uncle. All of us would attack this soap, yet it ALWAYS lasted for at least two weeks. One bar of toilet soap! Chineke e kwela ihe ojo! (God forbid bad ting!)

Around 1999/2000 shaa, Area General's affairs improved somewhat, and we slowly - sloooooowwwwwwllyy eased off to Premier soap (the family size brand), then Lux, and much later Dettol and Delta. I used to worry that mum was using the same soap with us until I found out she'd been buying her own special toilet soaps all along. Good for her. And good thing too I didn't have a sister; if it'd been hard for me, I wonder what it would have been for her, using the same soap with everyone else in the family - and Imperial Leather at that!

Area General still buys the darned soap up till now, but he uses it alone - for weeks on end, cos the frigging thing still lasts and lasts and lasts.... :D