Saturday, 16 May 2009

Job Seeking 101

Hi peeps!
I copied this (the post, not the pic) from a nairaland.com post by Ariblaze (a.k.a Blaze a.k.a Rantalot a.k.a Sir Rantster). I hope he doesn't mind.
Well, even if he does, whadda heck? He can take a flying dive in the Atlantic. Or better still, I can copy it back to nairaland for him! :D Enjoy.

----------------------------------------------------



Next time your application for a job is rejected, just type this up and send to them:


Dear [Interviewer' s Name]:
Thank you for your letter of [Date of Interview]. After
careful consideration I regret to inform you that I am unable to
accept your refusal to offer me employment with your firm.
This year I have had been particularly fortunate in receiving
an unusually large number of rejection letters. With such a varied
and promising field of candidates it is impossible for me to accept
all refusals.

Despite [Firm's Name]'s outstanding qualifications and previous
experience in rejecting applicants, I find that your rejection does
not meet with my needs at this time. Therefore, I will initiate
employment with your firm immediately following graduation. I look
forward to seeing you then.

Best of luck in rejecting future candidates.
Sincerely,
[Your Name]

Wednesday, 13 May 2009

The Farafina Book Tour: 2nd Stop - IBADAN



9 WRITERS, 4 CITIES: The Book Tour hits Ibadan Cambridge House, Onireke, Ibadan, Saturday May 9, 2009
Tuesday, May 12th, 2009

The event which held at the now memorable Cambridge House in the Onireke area of Jericho, had in attendance the distinguished Professor Ayo Banjo (two-time Vice Chancellor of the University of Ibadan and a world-famous grammarian) as the guest of honour. The host, Joop Berkhout, is the former publisher of Spectrum Books, and a delightful host of the evening of readings, signings and literary interaction.

The programme began at 3.00pm with a journey down memory lane, as the host narrated the history of the Cambridge House and its first and most famous occupant, Christopher Okigbo. The poet and then representative of the Cambridge University Press had lived there before he left in 1967 at the beginning of the Civil War. Professor Banjo took over from Joop Berkhout with a reading from the text of the speech delivered at occasion of the dedication of Cambridge House to the memory of the seminal poet by his brother Pius Okigbo. In fact, most of the activities of the day centred on the Cambridge House and its most famous occupant. The poet polemicist, Odia Ofeimun, later read a poem from his first collection, dedicated to the memory of Christopher Okigbo, while veteran broadcaster Lindsay Barrett also did the same. A plaque at the entrance to Cambridge House is dedicated to Christopher Okigbo.

The first author to read from his work was Tade Ipadeola, poet and lawyer, author of A Time of Signs and The Rain Fardel, who read from his two works of poetry. One of his poems is a dedication to Odia Ofeimun. According to the poet, his motivation to write came mainly from his upbringing which had books littering every room in his house. A second motivation came at adulthood with his introduction to the works of Odia Ofeimun.

Then there was Jumoke Verissimo who read from her debut collection, I Am Memory. Jumoke – it goes without saying – was a captivating performer whose pregnant pauses and smooth reading cadences took the audience on an enchanting ride on the curves of love poetry. First she read “Ajani”, then “I am Memory”, and the audience broke into loud applause. For Jumoke, writing was all she had always wanted to do since childhood, and as a confessed shy personality, writing was to her a most comforting medium of expression.

Next was Eghosa Imasuen, author of To Saint Patrick, who had travelled all the way from Warri to be present at the reading. Speaking at a get-together after the event, Eghosa, who was born in Ibadan but who had never been to the city since birth, claimed to have gone into writing with a healthy dose of inferiority complex which he claimed helps the writer maintain a cool head that constantly seeks improvement. His book is an alternate history of Nigeria, written with a bold look at the “What Ifs” of our recent history. Responding to Anwuli Ojogwu’s attempt to tag him permanently into that category of writers-of-alternative-history, the medical doctor/writer immediately objected, saying that he didn’t write alternative history but wrote it. One would imagine that his next book would not have to be the alternative history of the United States Election 2008 like someone had cheekily suggested.

Toni Kan, Lagos-based poet and story writer, read a story from his book of short stories, Nights of the Creaking Bed, to rounds of applause. He had first read from his latest poetry collection, Songs of Absence and Despair, which in his words, was inspired by his observation of helpless women in a long line of Western Union collection point in the bank, and his own overwhelming feeling of loneliness while on a writing grant in Germany. His collection is published by Cassava Republic.

The next writer to read was Abimbola Adunni Adelakun, who read an excerpt from her book, Under the Brown Rusted Roofs, a novel that was longlisted for the NLNG’s Nigerian Prize for Literature 2008 and the ANA Prize. Her book tells a tale of many things in the city of brown rusted roofs, and the excerpt which the author read got the audience roaring with laughter. If there was something that Bimbo succeeded brilliantly at in this work, it was dialogue. The author, in portraying a notorious godfather of Ibadan politics, captured the crude politicking of the Molete palace that has come to define Ibadan and its way of life. Speaking before her reading, Bimbo stated that her motivation to write came primarily from a challenge by another writer Professor, Femi Osofisan, who had said at a public lecture at the University of Ibadan that writers from the city had a responsibility to tell its many stories to the world.

The famous poet of The Poet Lied fame, Odia Ofeimun, read next from his three new books, (the republished) The Poet Lied, Under African Skies and Dreams at Work. First was “All my vision vexed”, which he wrote while fleeing to Ghana from the newly created republic of Biafra in 1969. With an angry tone but lucid beautiful writing, the poem expressed the frustration of a citizen with a once functional system that had crumbled before his eyes. He next read a poem to the memory of Christopher Okigbo, before his final rendition of a poem written totally in Nigerian Pidgin English. Entitled “Pidgin Soup”, the poem took on a life of its own in the mouth of Odia like “palm oil on a dish of hot boiled yam”. “Pidgin Soup” was a wholly pidgin poem that sought to celebrate the language as an alternative to the “big grammar” of English language. Odia’s lively performance and the musical effect of his deep baritone voice left the crowd exhilarated at the end of his reading.

Igoni Barett took the floor next to read from his collection of short stories entitled From Caves of Rotten Teeth. His first reading was “A Loss” which tells the story of a young man who had lost his wallet and discovered the fact only after he was in a bus with a scary conductor. Then the poet and editor, Amatoritsero Ede, took the floor to read a second story from the collection, this one entitled “Letters”, which was a moving story of a mother, her child and a runaway father.

The final reading for the day was by Lindsay Barrett who, interestingly, is also the father of Igoni. He prefaced his reading with a long, moving story about his relationship with his writer son Igoni, whom he said he reconnected with only after about 17 years of contact. Lindsay Barrett was a veteran broadcaster in the sixties who had come to Nigeria from the Caribbean and decided to stay. He also told stories of his encounters with Wole Soyinka, Christopher Okigbo and the famous writers of the time. In a tribute to his son, Lindsay Barrett confessed to having been very impressed so far with the progress of his son’s literary career. Lindsay Barrett then read “Rivers”, a poem about the NigerDelta (where he is now based), before finally reading his tribute to the late academic, Femi Fatoba, who was his friend.

Overall, it was a well-attended programme, which had in the audience Professor Dan Izevbaye of the University of Ibadan, the musician Beautiful Nubia, poet and editor Amatoritsero Ede from Canada, and publisher Ayodele Arigbabu, among many others. There were informal autograph sessions for the signature seekers, and there were books to buy, as well as the latest issue of Farafina magazine. The train of the reading writers now heads back to Lagos for another reading on Sunday, May 17th at The Palms, before moving to Warri and Benin. There was an informal after-event on Saturday night which brought together the teacher and author Sola Olorunyomi, poet Benson Eluma, Amatoritsero Ede and poet Remi Raji. Also present were Toni Kan and Eghosa Imasuen. At the Staff Club of the University of Ibadan, over soft music and refreshments, the day ended amidst discussions of literature, music and politics.

Report by Kola Tubosun

Culled from http://blog.farafinamagazine.com/?m=200905

Monday, 11 May 2009

Extended Vacation

I made my last post to this most beloved blog of mine approximately 2 months ago. Between then and now, there’s been ZERO posts. And the reason: Yours sincerely had taken an extended vacation. Yep, an extended vacation – from blogsites, from forums, from Facebook – in fact, from the entire bligging internet. I was just so tired of it all.

Okay, by now you are probably thinking that there’s more to this “vacationing” issue than I’m letting on. Well, you’re right. With my right hand on my chest, I humbly and sorrowfully hereby confess to the following sins:
1. I confess that the reason I joined Facebook was to make contacts and pull a sizeable (Nigerian) audience;
2. I confess that the reason I joined Nairaland.com and many other forums was to publicize my novel and other write-ups;
3. And lastly, I confess that (oh, so sad) the reason I created Kay’s Corner was to make some dough off Google adsense.

See, it was all an entrepreneurial idea from the start. And after running Kay’s Corner for more than eight months without making even a lousy fifty cent (my apologies, Mr. 50cent!), I decided it wasn’t worth the stress, hence the vacation.

But now, I’m happy to announce that I’ve come to a realization. A realization that money is not everything; that dough is not all there is to life. I have an eight-to-five job, so I’m not exactly so bad off. Plus I do love blogging – so why not just do it for the love of doing it and blog my heart away?

Well, all that said, I have come up with a brand new “me” – fun and happiness first; lulu.com sales and millions of 50cents (heeheehee!) from adsense can come later. Yes, fun first, money later. Just do me a favor: don’t repeat it to anyone that’s read Rich Dad, Poor Dad, or loves Warren Buffet! in the mean time, though, my adsense advert is still running (lol!).

Ciao!

Thursday, 19 March 2009

FURY

It burns like fire
In the pits of consciousness
Setting the blood ablaze.
It’s a primal force,
A fireball of red thunder
That strikes and rolls across
All in its way.

In its grip,
Angels become demons
Peacemakers see blood red
And reality turns scarlet fuzzy.
Like the legendary salamander
It consumes and consumes
Till it consumes itself.

It’s a demon that possesses
One and devours all;
It’s a screaming dragon
Called fury

Wednesday, 28 January 2009

Bad Work Day

I spent a horrible day at work today. I made the erroneous decision of spending the night at the office to clear up the back-log of paper work that'd been accumulating on me for almost a week now, and then I spent the whole of today behaving like a fish out of water. Highly embarassing, I tell you. Problem was, the idea didn't seem so erroneous when I was thinking it - and why should it? There was internet access and steady power (something I never have in my house), plus there was a shower in the tool yard, so I could clean up early in the morning.

Everthing went easy peasy, and I cleared my table. Even did some extra work online on my blogsites and FX account. And then morning came and another - today - came. I just wasn't prepared for it. I was stressed out with staying awake all night (I did grab some winks that night, but it just couldn't substitute a warm, cozy bed). My head felt two sizes bigger; my boss' voice sounded louder than usual - to me anyway; and my colleagues seemed to have decided that today would be World Screaming Day. Coffee was no good, in fact it made everything worse. Then around 2p.m, I acted out the grande finale: I nodded off while standing and taking notes on a job. Luckily, my supervisor saw me just after I jerked awake. After that, I quietly went to HR and complained of "general debility". They let me off - thank God!

Sunday, 25 January 2009

Funny Pain - a poem


He came from the west
Blue-eyed and bright-eyed,
Like the others before him
Quite grown-up, yet so young.
He was by our indifference mystified
And our levity stumped;
We only ‘amened’ his libations
– What could it hurt?

Confounded at last
And befuddled, he asks:
“Why do ye suffer so, and still
“Smile so?”
But our grins just stretch wider
Belying our bleeding souls
For having aged in our cribs
We are young, yet oh so old.

“Look-ee here,” we say,
“Look, behold the slums and cities
This here land you see
Is the land of Funny Pain.
Our first-borns eat their shares
And ours, too, then speak glib
Refined tongue-in-cheek
While we, the children of lesser gods
Swallow bitter spittle, and
Guffaw in misery.”

Wednesday, 31 December 2008

The Fish Sword

When I was eleven years old, I choked on a fish bone. My mum used to make iced-fish stew for dinner every Sunday then, and my favorite part of the fish was the head. Only God in heaven knows why l liked it – I certainly don’t remember – but after that episode with the bone, my love for it diminished considerably.

We were having supper that night – mum, dad, myself, and my three elder brothers. As usual, I was playing with my fish, dissecting it like a surgeon performing an operation. Now, there is this bone that no little boy who ever ate a fish head misses. It looks like a sword. When I got to it, I carefully extricated it and waved it at my brothers.

“The fish sword!” I proclaimed happily.

Chidi and Ifenna, my eldest brothers, ignored me, but Emeka got interested at once. He hadn’t quite lost his fascination with fish heads.

Dad sighed from across the table. “It beats me what you boys find exciting about a fish head,” he said.

“Stop playing with your fish,” mum chided.

“It’s a sword, mum. A fish sword!” I told her.

“You’ll soon choke on it,” she replied, looking away.

Thinking how dense mum was, I plopped the bone into my mouth, chewed slightly, and swallowed. Seconds later, I choked on the bone.

“Get a cup of water!” mum cried, rushing quickly to my side. I was gagging and coughing and holding my neck, trying effortlessly to dislodge the bone. Ifenna suddenly appeared beside me with a cup of water. “Drink!” he screamed.

I drained half of the cup in an instant, and then stopped to check if the bone was gone. It wasn’t. “It’s still there!” I cried.

“Finish the water!” mum told me. “Swallow it forcefully!”

I upturned the cup into my mouth, swallowing hard.

“Is it still there?” mum asked, visibly worried. “Is it still there?”

I felt my throat. Yes. Yes, it’s gone… no! “No, it’s still there!” I shrieked, getting scared now. “Mummy, it’s still there!”

“More water!” she cried, and my brothers scrambled to get it.

“Easy!” dad said with his deep voice, getting up from his seat. “No need to get hysteric.”

We all looked at him, hoping he knew something we didn’t. Dad picked up an unfinished plate of rice, scoped up some with a big spoon, and asked me to open my mouth. I did. He upended the spoon’s load into my mouth. “Chew the rice a little and swallow hard,” he advised me. “It should force the bone down.”

I did as told and swallowed.

“Now drink some water.”

I did.

“Is it gone?” dad asked, looking expectant. “It’s gone, right?”

I started to nod my head, but a sharp pinch in my throat stopped the motion. Everyone was on tenter-hooks, looking at me eagerly. A whimper of pain escaped from my lips – and they all started scrambling around again.

A bout of coughing seized me and I doubled over, holding my neck and chest. Dad suddenly grabbed me and smacked me hard on the back. Instantly, something gave in my throat, flew out through my open mouth and hit a glass cup on the dining table. And I stopped coughing. Everyone was silent for a while. Then, Chidi picked up the glass cup and pried the thing that had flown out of my mouth off it. It was the fish sword.

“Still want this?” he asked me solemnly.

“No,” I replied, shaking my head. Emeka giggled nervously, and soon everyone was laughing.