I know I have been absolutely awful with this lately; I guess I have been too busy / tired to collect my thoughts and reflect. My apologies.
Over the last couple of weeks, I have had the opportunity to work with people from all over the world, and though I have teased others (see last post), I have to admit my own geography and general knowledge has been put to the test. Even when I know the small city, on a hill, in the most random part of Finland, it’s quite challenging for me to keep a conversation going with someone I have nothing in common with. Once you get through the usuals: Weather (Yep its stupid cold here in comparison to pretty much every other part of the world); What office you work out of; your experiences there, your preferences in food, music, liquor even (when you get really stuck) etc etc. the rest is sorta extremely difficult.
A personal philosophy of mine has always been “better to remain silent and thought a fool, than speak out and remove all doubt”, I don’t know where I picked that up from, because neither of my parents are like that, nor are my brothers, I may have to hire a shrink one day for me to untangle that one. I keep a lot of my opinions, thoughts, musings, ideas, and jokes to myself, as you can imagine not the best tool to be working with in situations like this, where you have to get to know people to be able to work with them effectively.
Though it has been challenging , it has also been such a great learning experience, it’s awesome to see how social styles and working habits are shaped by our environments, cultures, races, religions, and all sorts of things I won’t list (just because I don’t want to risk political incorrectness). Sometimes I have looked at team members and thought “geeeeze, disaster has a passport” (though technically the people I am referring to here don’t need a passport to get this far), and other times I think “how profound” (when I’m judging a book by its very unappealing cover). Everybody does things differently:
• Some people use humour as an entry into conversation
• Others talk too much to cover up their insecurities – trust me the way they talk 19 to the dozen you completely overlook the fact that they have large growths on the corner of their noses
• Others deafen you with their silence
• Some people have permanent standoffish facial expressions
• Others overwhelm you with their kindness
• People overbear you with their depth of knowledge in one area
• Groups of people are unnecessarily loud, everything they say must be screamed at the top of their lungs
• Some people plan everything – “lets go to dinner”, “yes, lets”, “ok how should we go there, maybe we should go up the stairs, and walk along the corridor, or maybe we should go outside the building cross the bath and re-enter on the bottom floor, or maybe we shouldn’t have dinner now”, “it’s just dinner dude, let’s just start walking, no need for a song and dance”
• People seek approval from every possible source before they make decisions
• Some people are VICIOUS about everything (Nigerians)
• As my man Pharell will say, some people are “Mr. Me Too’s” ... “Everything I say, you say “Me Too””
To cut a long story short, whoever you talk to, work with, play with around the world, they all have their own way of doing things, they have their insecurities, and like me they have their personal philosophies, based on their own life experiences and environment. We are all refugees of something, seeking safety in our social styles, and perhaps the best way to interact with each other is to get lost in the details.
Xoxo.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
From Sub-Sahara to Sub-Zero
All the way from the tropics, I have landed myself in Chi-Town in the bleak mid-winter, still decorated with the debris of its worst (or rather most severe) blizzard in a decade, and in all truth it has been a SHOCK to my system.
As much as I hate to admit it, I think I am a bonafide Nigerian: The concept of cold and winter is now so foreign to me. However I only have myself to blame for how cold I am right now, because before I left ‘Uncle P’ was telling me to pack long johnnnns, and tons of thermals, and naturally I was like “eiweeeee, I don’t have those”, his response: “oh, so you are tryna look cute in arctic conditions” ... turns out he knows his village better than I do, this cold is paralysing, definitely too cold to try and look cute, too cold to even try and look just aite....It’s all about keeping warm regardless of what’s in vogue. I can totally understand those Nigerians you see at Heathrow now, wearing tea cosies on their heads and turtle neck jumpers under their buba and iro, topped off with one of those ghastly felt looking scarves; the cold whey catch them, na only them fit understand.
But even more “Nigerian” of me, I just haven’t got the patience for ignorant oyinbos (you know, the sort that haven’t ever left their home country and have weird concepts and beliefs about the outside world). Believe it or not almost every person I have spoken to has asked me if I speak Nigerian, I have been asked when I learnt to speak English, If this was the first time I have seen snow, and one girl even announced on a microphone that she wants to visit Africa (South Africa specifically) because she really wants to see monkeys walking on the street. Someone asked my colleague if her mode of transport was elephant. As though all that was not bad enough, today some girl comes up to me grinning from ear to ear and says: “I was so fascinated when you spoke earlier, because before now I never knew there was a country called Nigeria”. Of course when all these comments were made, I smiled politely, maybe even laughed a little, but all that was going through my head was: “abi kiru iranu le leyi” (and yes I did actually think it in Yoruba, but for the none Yoruba speakers, I was thinking – “WHAT KIND OF RUBBISH IS THIS”).
All this jetlag has got me thinking how ironic it is that most Africans look to the western world, mostly to Europe and the United States as the beacons of all knowledge, superior, and as my grandfather would say, (Yoruba speakers pardon my spelling), “e gba keji olorun”, i.e. after God is the white man, but truthfully when it comes down to it(and after all these comments I have heard), the Africans, Indians, Chinese are far more technically sound, and fully exposed.
I have spoken to a lot of people since I’ve been here, and my mind has really been blown away by the quality of some peoples thoughts, and ideas, particularly one Indian chap, and one Korean girl. Quite frankly it took a lot of “active listening” for me to follow these peoples conversations, but when I did I was wowed, they had sound business acumen, they knew how to apply their knowledge, and articulate it, they knew about the world, the way it works, ideas on how it could work better, they could even discuss random topics like music and theatre in different geographical locations, they were well rounded. But when I think about it people (myself included) normally overlook these guys, because their command of the English language is not so great, but when they hear big big fone and grammar, thick American accent, plum in the mouth English, they sit up, even if that person is talking a pile of rubbish.
That seems to be the way the world works, we judge a book by its cover, and we rate the content of what someone is saying by the accent they are speaking in. I guess that is why we have so many Nigerians putting on God alone knows what accents that make them sound like they swallowed a pineapple whole and it got trapped in their throats. If the objective of faking accents is in order to give the illusion that we are intelligent, I believe I may start to speak with an Indian or Chinese accent (As it happens I do quite good impressions of both... I am way ahead of the curve, so when u hear me spitting one Indian or Chinese fone, don’t watch me, watch tv).
Missing Lagos, the sun, my family, friends, and my own bed.
Xoxo.
As much as I hate to admit it, I think I am a bonafide Nigerian: The concept of cold and winter is now so foreign to me. However I only have myself to blame for how cold I am right now, because before I left ‘Uncle P’ was telling me to pack long johnnnns, and tons of thermals, and naturally I was like “eiweeeee, I don’t have those”, his response: “oh, so you are tryna look cute in arctic conditions” ... turns out he knows his village better than I do, this cold is paralysing, definitely too cold to try and look cute, too cold to even try and look just aite....It’s all about keeping warm regardless of what’s in vogue. I can totally understand those Nigerians you see at Heathrow now, wearing tea cosies on their heads and turtle neck jumpers under their buba and iro, topped off with one of those ghastly felt looking scarves; the cold whey catch them, na only them fit understand.
But even more “Nigerian” of me, I just haven’t got the patience for ignorant oyinbos (you know, the sort that haven’t ever left their home country and have weird concepts and beliefs about the outside world). Believe it or not almost every person I have spoken to has asked me if I speak Nigerian, I have been asked when I learnt to speak English, If this was the first time I have seen snow, and one girl even announced on a microphone that she wants to visit Africa (South Africa specifically) because she really wants to see monkeys walking on the street. Someone asked my colleague if her mode of transport was elephant. As though all that was not bad enough, today some girl comes up to me grinning from ear to ear and says: “I was so fascinated when you spoke earlier, because before now I never knew there was a country called Nigeria”. Of course when all these comments were made, I smiled politely, maybe even laughed a little, but all that was going through my head was: “abi kiru iranu le leyi” (and yes I did actually think it in Yoruba, but for the none Yoruba speakers, I was thinking – “WHAT KIND OF RUBBISH IS THIS”).
All this jetlag has got me thinking how ironic it is that most Africans look to the western world, mostly to Europe and the United States as the beacons of all knowledge, superior, and as my grandfather would say, (Yoruba speakers pardon my spelling), “e gba keji olorun”, i.e. after God is the white man, but truthfully when it comes down to it(and after all these comments I have heard), the Africans, Indians, Chinese are far more technically sound, and fully exposed.
I have spoken to a lot of people since I’ve been here, and my mind has really been blown away by the quality of some peoples thoughts, and ideas, particularly one Indian chap, and one Korean girl. Quite frankly it took a lot of “active listening” for me to follow these peoples conversations, but when I did I was wowed, they had sound business acumen, they knew how to apply their knowledge, and articulate it, they knew about the world, the way it works, ideas on how it could work better, they could even discuss random topics like music and theatre in different geographical locations, they were well rounded. But when I think about it people (myself included) normally overlook these guys, because their command of the English language is not so great, but when they hear big big fone and grammar, thick American accent, plum in the mouth English, they sit up, even if that person is talking a pile of rubbish.
That seems to be the way the world works, we judge a book by its cover, and we rate the content of what someone is saying by the accent they are speaking in. I guess that is why we have so many Nigerians putting on God alone knows what accents that make them sound like they swallowed a pineapple whole and it got trapped in their throats. If the objective of faking accents is in order to give the illusion that we are intelligent, I believe I may start to speak with an Indian or Chinese accent (As it happens I do quite good impressions of both... I am way ahead of the curve, so when u hear me spitting one Indian or Chinese fone, don’t watch me, watch tv).
Missing Lagos, the sun, my family, friends, and my own bed.
Xoxo.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
#-*?/Unexpected Service Error, please reboot #-*?
I may be speaking from a place of complete frustration, but I believe I am well within my rights. Nearly three years in Lagos and I haven’t flipped out yet. So there is a lot of pent up anger, I have been described as passive aggressive, so I am about to flip the script to the other kinds of aggressive.
Have you ever purchased any kind of product in Lagos?? (I don’t want to speak to speak for the rest of Nigeria, but I have a strange feeling it may apply) Physical product or otherwise, I am sure you will agree that you will inevitably be met with some form of service failure, a display of incompetence, a bunch of hyenas flaunting their ignorance as though it were a jewelled 24 carat crown.
Service is something we don’t have a clue about in Nigeria, and quite frankly we don’t even care. No Nigerian wants to see themselves as a servant, “Olorun ma je o, e mi Oluwadunsin? Servant? L’aye mi” A nation full of Diva’s too proud, too much, too swagged out to serve another person. All I have to say to these baboons, working behind our tills, working in organisations with service driven products: IF YOU DONT WANT TO DO THE JOB, QUITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!! Hand in your resignations letter, and carry your unreliable, incompetent, *****fill in the blanks***** backsides home to sit in a dark room alone where you belong. If you have no people skills do not work in a customer facing job, lock yourself alone with a mirror, since clearly your company is the only one you require, and attending to the needs of your customers is apparently superfluous to your job description.
Months and months of accepting poor service delivery finally came to a head when a travel agent started giving me the lip because SHE hasn’t booked a ticket I informed her about nearly a month ago, and 2 days before my departure she is telling me her server is down. I can no longer sit back and spend my hard earned money for below sub –standard service. I used to just accept it, take it, in my head say: well this is Naija what more should I expect. Well that’s exactly the problem, because we accept it they keep doing it, they have been so comfortable getting paid to sit on their arses in air conditioning, gisting while they “browse” facebook, and flip through City People. This doesn’t just happen in chicken republic, it has trickled into every organisation in the nation: in big global firms, with domestic staff, in our government, hospitals, everywhere where there are people doing work and not computers.
I have often wondered why once my ‘rents are out of town all the house help become very relaxed they don’t care to do anything, they come when they please, leave when they please, and generally take the mickey. So I watched what my mum did differently from me: She SHOUTS! That’s the solution, the woman barely remembers how to talk in normal tones because she is so used to shouting at everyone, but guess what, IT WORKS. I employed the same strategy with Miss I-come-to-work-but-all-I-do-is-faff-travel-agent, don’t think it had the same effect, my brother said it was because my shouting had too much ‘phone’ , but it made me feel a lot better sha, that was my night cap last night.
So what is my advice, start shouting, otherwise you will continue to hear the following:
• “Ehnnn I don’t have credit so I can’t make the call” – Excuse me lady it is your job to make the call, so go to your neighbourhood aboki, and buy yourself some credit
• “Please wait I’m painting my nails, I can’t press the till right now, my nails are wet” – Do not make me jump over the till and come clap you across the face
• “This film is sweet, let me just see what happens to Sule after his madam catches him stealing meat from the pot before I take your rollers out” – Is this your living room? No! Its a hair salon, turn off AMY (Africa Magic Yoruba) and come take me out of this steaming hot drier
• “Sir, I can’t take this wrong order back to the kitchen, it will be a problem, you have to eat it” – T.O, I think you remember this one, and as we said to the guy at the time “problem for who?????”
• “We’re unable to take that order, ostritch no dey” “how about chicken?” “e don finish” “beef?” “no ma” “vegetables?” “na one small carrot wey we get” “so what can I order?” “ma, we can cross the road and help you to buy pure water” – enough said
• And.... the biggest service failure of them all MTN. “Ehnnn the ‘network’ was faulty so nobody was able to make calls, it is not just you experiencing the problem” – Excuse me for pointing this one out, Why call yourself a mobile phone operator, if your ‘network’ is always faulty, go into making “Yello” greeting cards if you cannot provide me with any signal
Don’t be scared to use your angry voice, I just found mine, and trust, it is satisfying.
P.s. Happy Birthday to my bwoyyyyyssss J.S and Kiki.
xoxo
Have you ever purchased any kind of product in Lagos?? (I don’t want to speak to speak for the rest of Nigeria, but I have a strange feeling it may apply) Physical product or otherwise, I am sure you will agree that you will inevitably be met with some form of service failure, a display of incompetence, a bunch of hyenas flaunting their ignorance as though it were a jewelled 24 carat crown.
Service is something we don’t have a clue about in Nigeria, and quite frankly we don’t even care. No Nigerian wants to see themselves as a servant, “Olorun ma je o, e mi Oluwadunsin? Servant? L’aye mi” A nation full of Diva’s too proud, too much, too swagged out to serve another person. All I have to say to these baboons, working behind our tills, working in organisations with service driven products: IF YOU DONT WANT TO DO THE JOB, QUITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!! Hand in your resignations letter, and carry your unreliable, incompetent, *****fill in the blanks***** backsides home to sit in a dark room alone where you belong. If you have no people skills do not work in a customer facing job, lock yourself alone with a mirror, since clearly your company is the only one you require, and attending to the needs of your customers is apparently superfluous to your job description.
Months and months of accepting poor service delivery finally came to a head when a travel agent started giving me the lip because SHE hasn’t booked a ticket I informed her about nearly a month ago, and 2 days before my departure she is telling me her server is down. I can no longer sit back and spend my hard earned money for below sub –standard service. I used to just accept it, take it, in my head say: well this is Naija what more should I expect. Well that’s exactly the problem, because we accept it they keep doing it, they have been so comfortable getting paid to sit on their arses in air conditioning, gisting while they “browse” facebook, and flip through City People. This doesn’t just happen in chicken republic, it has trickled into every organisation in the nation: in big global firms, with domestic staff, in our government, hospitals, everywhere where there are people doing work and not computers.
I have often wondered why once my ‘rents are out of town all the house help become very relaxed they don’t care to do anything, they come when they please, leave when they please, and generally take the mickey. So I watched what my mum did differently from me: She SHOUTS! That’s the solution, the woman barely remembers how to talk in normal tones because she is so used to shouting at everyone, but guess what, IT WORKS. I employed the same strategy with Miss I-come-to-work-but-all-I-do-is-faff-travel-agent, don’t think it had the same effect, my brother said it was because my shouting had too much ‘phone’ , but it made me feel a lot better sha, that was my night cap last night.
So what is my advice, start shouting, otherwise you will continue to hear the following:
• “Ehnnn I don’t have credit so I can’t make the call” – Excuse me lady it is your job to make the call, so go to your neighbourhood aboki, and buy yourself some credit
• “Please wait I’m painting my nails, I can’t press the till right now, my nails are wet” – Do not make me jump over the till and come clap you across the face
• “This film is sweet, let me just see what happens to Sule after his madam catches him stealing meat from the pot before I take your rollers out” – Is this your living room? No! Its a hair salon, turn off AMY (Africa Magic Yoruba) and come take me out of this steaming hot drier
• “Sir, I can’t take this wrong order back to the kitchen, it will be a problem, you have to eat it” – T.O, I think you remember this one, and as we said to the guy at the time “problem for who?????”
• “We’re unable to take that order, ostritch no dey” “how about chicken?” “e don finish” “beef?” “no ma” “vegetables?” “na one small carrot wey we get” “so what can I order?” “ma, we can cross the road and help you to buy pure water” – enough said
• And.... the biggest service failure of them all MTN. “Ehnnn the ‘network’ was faulty so nobody was able to make calls, it is not just you experiencing the problem” – Excuse me for pointing this one out, Why call yourself a mobile phone operator, if your ‘network’ is always faulty, go into making “Yello” greeting cards if you cannot provide me with any signal
Don’t be scared to use your angry voice, I just found mine, and trust, it is satisfying.
P.s. Happy Birthday to my bwoyyyyyssss J.S and Kiki.
xoxo
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Love and Marriage
“Love and Marriage,
Love and Marriage,
They go together like a horse and carriage
This i’ll tell you brother,
You can’t have one without the other”
That Frank Sinatra tune has been buzzing in my head all week, which is quite funny because that is quite the opposite of what obtains in Nigeria, it’s completely spun on its head, distorted in every possible way. Our Nigerian theme tune goes more like:
“Lot and Marriage,
Lot and Marriage,
It’s an institute you CAN disparage
This i’ll tell you brother,
If you have a bad lot,
You’ll still make a good marriage”
I really did try to make that rhyme, I just lack the patience, but I think I made my point, in Nigeria love is the least of your considerations when you are getting married. On the top of the list for down this neck of the woods:
1. Money , Owo, Ego ... Either he has it, you don’t, or you have it, and the thought of moving to the other side of the ‘Brooklyn bridge’ after you get married sends shivers down your spine, so you have to ‘shine ya eye‘ for someone that comes “readymade”, 7 bedroom mansion in banana island, Audi q7, a spare Toyota Prado in case petrol in the q7 ever drops below quarter tank, use of his father’s private jet if you ever need a weekend get away to Sao Tome, 2 great danes that he got from South Africa that only drink harrods milk.... etc. etc. Bottom line regardless of the fact that he may be the Hunchback of Notre Dam, regardless of whether he is an axe murderer, with enough personalities to send you to a loony bin before you hit your 30’s, regardless of whether you care more for Hitler than you could ever care for him, if his bank account is similar to an obese teenager, bulging at every seam, you’re good to go!!!!! You hit jackpot when he “iced your second finger”.
2. Pressure. I have seen so many people get married to any Tom, Dick or Harry because they got fed up of people saying: “When will we be informed?”, “We hear destination parties are now the vogue, where will we travel for yours”, “Aunty agbaya, always the bridesmaid, never the bride”, “We don’t want a 30 year old miracle, better bring him now”, could go on forever but last one, and this is what my God Mother says too me every time... “I have warned you o, it is whoever finds first, if you find him for yourself I will accept, if I find somebody before you, then...”. So far as you do wedding, people tend to forget that they have to spend the rest of your life with this person, and as my Dad pointed out they don’t do pre-nup in Nigeria because the woman gets nothing anyway, so it really is for life, I think most people are just numb to this fact, so they go ahead and plug their round peg into a square whole, and endure the discomfort for life.
3. Circumstance. For whatever reason, and I say this with no judgment at all, people get married because they are pregnant, cause it’s what their parents want (yeah some parents pick wives and husbands, as though picking out your clothes when you were younger wasn’t bad enough), they are about to be cut off by their rents, they want to move up the social ladder – they are just tired of being the third wheel at all the “it” parties, they want their invite in their own name .... Mrs Shokolokobangoshe
4. Beauty. Some people just get married because they want a trophee wife or husband, no more than an accessory, a hair piece, a jewelled broach, a painted peacock: Just like a Hermes Birkin bag automatically gives status to a primark dress, their Beaurifulllll wife or Handsome husband changes their status to – “O ti de”
I don’t know if I have just watched far too many period dramas and Disney movies, but all that sounds like a nightmare to me, it would be akin to waking up on the set of criminal minds with no escape route, and I’m the victim. My friend D.O. always says love isn’t enough for marriage, and to a certain extent I do agree with her, but in Nigeria love has been completely removed from the equation, and replaced with the other accompaniments, The turkey has been taken away, fed to the dog, and people are focusing on whether there is enough cranberry sauce. To me it seems very silly, I’d rather just wait till my “Olowo Ori Mi” really is the Olowo ori mi, than be pressured to sacrifice love for money, circumstance and aesthetics.
Xoxo.
Love and Marriage,
They go together like a horse and carriage
This i’ll tell you brother,
You can’t have one without the other”
That Frank Sinatra tune has been buzzing in my head all week, which is quite funny because that is quite the opposite of what obtains in Nigeria, it’s completely spun on its head, distorted in every possible way. Our Nigerian theme tune goes more like:
“Lot and Marriage,
Lot and Marriage,
It’s an institute you CAN disparage
This i’ll tell you brother,
If you have a bad lot,
You’ll still make a good marriage”
I really did try to make that rhyme, I just lack the patience, but I think I made my point, in Nigeria love is the least of your considerations when you are getting married. On the top of the list for down this neck of the woods:
1. Money , Owo, Ego ... Either he has it, you don’t, or you have it, and the thought of moving to the other side of the ‘Brooklyn bridge’ after you get married sends shivers down your spine, so you have to ‘shine ya eye‘ for someone that comes “readymade”, 7 bedroom mansion in banana island, Audi q7, a spare Toyota Prado in case petrol in the q7 ever drops below quarter tank, use of his father’s private jet if you ever need a weekend get away to Sao Tome, 2 great danes that he got from South Africa that only drink harrods milk.... etc. etc. Bottom line regardless of the fact that he may be the Hunchback of Notre Dam, regardless of whether he is an axe murderer, with enough personalities to send you to a loony bin before you hit your 30’s, regardless of whether you care more for Hitler than you could ever care for him, if his bank account is similar to an obese teenager, bulging at every seam, you’re good to go!!!!! You hit jackpot when he “iced your second finger”.
2. Pressure. I have seen so many people get married to any Tom, Dick or Harry because they got fed up of people saying: “When will we be informed?”, “We hear destination parties are now the vogue, where will we travel for yours”, “Aunty agbaya, always the bridesmaid, never the bride”, “We don’t want a 30 year old miracle, better bring him now”, could go on forever but last one, and this is what my God Mother says too me every time... “I have warned you o, it is whoever finds first, if you find him for yourself I will accept, if I find somebody before you, then...”. So far as you do wedding, people tend to forget that they have to spend the rest of your life with this person, and as my Dad pointed out they don’t do pre-nup in Nigeria because the woman gets nothing anyway, so it really is for life, I think most people are just numb to this fact, so they go ahead and plug their round peg into a square whole, and endure the discomfort for life.
3. Circumstance. For whatever reason, and I say this with no judgment at all, people get married because they are pregnant, cause it’s what their parents want (yeah some parents pick wives and husbands, as though picking out your clothes when you were younger wasn’t bad enough), they are about to be cut off by their rents, they want to move up the social ladder – they are just tired of being the third wheel at all the “it” parties, they want their invite in their own name .... Mrs Shokolokobangoshe
4. Beauty. Some people just get married because they want a trophee wife or husband, no more than an accessory, a hair piece, a jewelled broach, a painted peacock: Just like a Hermes Birkin bag automatically gives status to a primark dress, their Beaurifulllll wife or Handsome husband changes their status to – “O ti de”
I don’t know if I have just watched far too many period dramas and Disney movies, but all that sounds like a nightmare to me, it would be akin to waking up on the set of criminal minds with no escape route, and I’m the victim. My friend D.O. always says love isn’t enough for marriage, and to a certain extent I do agree with her, but in Nigeria love has been completely removed from the equation, and replaced with the other accompaniments, The turkey has been taken away, fed to the dog, and people are focusing on whether there is enough cranberry sauce. To me it seems very silly, I’d rather just wait till my “Olowo Ori Mi” really is the Olowo ori mi, than be pressured to sacrifice love for money, circumstance and aesthetics.
Xoxo.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Lost Art of Conversation
Before anybody says anything, I will be the first to admit that I am guilty (to a certain extent) of whatever follows, so I’m not being hypocritical or anything, just pointing out observations.
Recently I had to take a trip to some off endzzzzzzzz location with a friend, well to me it was like the edge of the earth, but apparently that is some people’s daily commute. The driver drove, and we sat at the back and had a conversation, all the way up to the north pole, we talked about everything from the serious (politics), to the random and irrelevant (oranges that were being hawked on the side of the road), and it was very refreshing. But the truth is my blackberry battery had died, so at that point all I could do was talk, had that not been the case I would have robbed myself of a great conversation, because inevitably somebody would have bbm’ed and i’d have to reply, there would be something interesting “trending” on twitter, a funny chain email would have come in that I couldn’t resist reading, something would have distracted me from fully committing to a chat. For a split second it made me think: social media really is the devils spawn (I don’t really think that, but at the very least it must be some miniature daemon that is not naughty enough for the devil to send on runs, so he just keeps him facing the wall with one hand up and a laptop and blackberry in the other hand). Social media has robbed an entire generation of the ability to appreciate the “Art of Conversation”
If we were to calculate the amount of time the average (average privileged) Nigerian spends on their blackberry, iPhone, android (just u Kiks), other brand of smartphone, it would probably be around one to two thirds of their waking hours. Bb messenger, twitter, facebook, WhatsApp, kik... U name it, a whole cyber social network at your fingertips, an opportunity to either express yourself, be 100% who you are, no airs no graces, or to create some sort of false persona and live out the life of the person you wished you were, and nobody will question you. I have spoken to people that have really creased me up, had me rolling on the floor in laughter in “cyber space”, then bumped into them in real life, the 3 dimensional world and they had the humour of a corpse, watching ants crawl up and down a wall for 2 hours is more entertaining than hanging with them for 5 minutes. Whether this is because they are shy or because they are not really who they are in cyberspace, I am in no position to judge, but somehow the cat got their tongue, the same tongue that was talking 19 to the dozen on the other end of a phone screen, is now short of words.
It’s always so remarkable to me when I’m in London, having dinner with friends, and there isn’t a single phone on the table, oyinbos no dey commot phone for pocket, they don’t check who tweeted what, if there is a red light flashing, who just changed their profile picture to something controversial, they just dey chop their food, and ‘conversate’ dey go. I often joke around about having social anxiety (sometimes its not a joke sha), but it is almost par for the course, we spend so much time on our phones that the thought of social intercourse begins to nauseate and terrify us, and we quite simply are incapable of talking without being able to cut and paste, erase, re-type, spell check, use a thesaurus, thinking about what we want to say a hundred times over, making sure to tailor it to what the person we are ‘socialising’ with wants to hear, using overly aggressive wit, saying things we dare not say otherwise, because we can, forced gallantry, etc etc. We can be whoever our keypad allows us to be, but once it is taken away, very few people know how to behave, they morph into shrinking violets, or they bring out their ak47 and load it up with 500 rounds of pure bull *h**, sort of like verbal diarrhoea, they burst into nervous chatters, but it isn’t true conversation.
Real conversation is truly an art, and one I have made my study. It is uninhibited, raw, and real. It is being able to say what’s on your mind however stupid, it is being able to crack a joke that nobody else but you finds funny, it is not tiring under the pressure to be interesting, it is throwing in the odd conversational hand grenade – saying something unexpected, it is talking about nothing, but the other person understands perfectly, it is a connection of minds, it is a communion, it is give and take, it is the noblest of team sports. Like a painting, no two conversations are the same, each painter uses a different stroke, a different pallet, and has a different style ... His “CONVERSATION” is his own unique “ART”.
Xoxo.
Recently I had to take a trip to some off endzzzzzzzz location with a friend, well to me it was like the edge of the earth, but apparently that is some people’s daily commute. The driver drove, and we sat at the back and had a conversation, all the way up to the north pole, we talked about everything from the serious (politics), to the random and irrelevant (oranges that were being hawked on the side of the road), and it was very refreshing. But the truth is my blackberry battery had died, so at that point all I could do was talk, had that not been the case I would have robbed myself of a great conversation, because inevitably somebody would have bbm’ed and i’d have to reply, there would be something interesting “trending” on twitter, a funny chain email would have come in that I couldn’t resist reading, something would have distracted me from fully committing to a chat. For a split second it made me think: social media really is the devils spawn (I don’t really think that, but at the very least it must be some miniature daemon that is not naughty enough for the devil to send on runs, so he just keeps him facing the wall with one hand up and a laptop and blackberry in the other hand). Social media has robbed an entire generation of the ability to appreciate the “Art of Conversation”
If we were to calculate the amount of time the average (average privileged) Nigerian spends on their blackberry, iPhone, android (just u Kiks), other brand of smartphone, it would probably be around one to two thirds of their waking hours. Bb messenger, twitter, facebook, WhatsApp, kik... U name it, a whole cyber social network at your fingertips, an opportunity to either express yourself, be 100% who you are, no airs no graces, or to create some sort of false persona and live out the life of the person you wished you were, and nobody will question you. I have spoken to people that have really creased me up, had me rolling on the floor in laughter in “cyber space”, then bumped into them in real life, the 3 dimensional world and they had the humour of a corpse, watching ants crawl up and down a wall for 2 hours is more entertaining than hanging with them for 5 minutes. Whether this is because they are shy or because they are not really who they are in cyberspace, I am in no position to judge, but somehow the cat got their tongue, the same tongue that was talking 19 to the dozen on the other end of a phone screen, is now short of words.
It’s always so remarkable to me when I’m in London, having dinner with friends, and there isn’t a single phone on the table, oyinbos no dey commot phone for pocket, they don’t check who tweeted what, if there is a red light flashing, who just changed their profile picture to something controversial, they just dey chop their food, and ‘conversate’ dey go. I often joke around about having social anxiety (sometimes its not a joke sha), but it is almost par for the course, we spend so much time on our phones that the thought of social intercourse begins to nauseate and terrify us, and we quite simply are incapable of talking without being able to cut and paste, erase, re-type, spell check, use a thesaurus, thinking about what we want to say a hundred times over, making sure to tailor it to what the person we are ‘socialising’ with wants to hear, using overly aggressive wit, saying things we dare not say otherwise, because we can, forced gallantry, etc etc. We can be whoever our keypad allows us to be, but once it is taken away, very few people know how to behave, they morph into shrinking violets, or they bring out their ak47 and load it up with 500 rounds of pure bull *h**, sort of like verbal diarrhoea, they burst into nervous chatters, but it isn’t true conversation.
Real conversation is truly an art, and one I have made my study. It is uninhibited, raw, and real. It is being able to say what’s on your mind however stupid, it is being able to crack a joke that nobody else but you finds funny, it is not tiring under the pressure to be interesting, it is throwing in the odd conversational hand grenade – saying something unexpected, it is talking about nothing, but the other person understands perfectly, it is a connection of minds, it is a communion, it is give and take, it is the noblest of team sports. Like a painting, no two conversations are the same, each painter uses a different stroke, a different pallet, and has a different style ... His “CONVERSATION” is his own unique “ART”.
Xoxo.
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Nigerian Hustle
The Nigerian Hustle. Hard coded. Genetically predefined. Programmed. Whether you have just one drop of Nigerian blood, or your only claim to an exotic line, is that your uncle (by marriage) had a great grandfather that was from one remote village on the backside of Nassarawa. If you have that Nigerian blood, you have that “Nigerian hustle”. Full stop. Some tribes / ethnic groups more than others, I won’t mention any names o, but our “wheeler / dealer” brothers sabi hustle more than my own “owambe” party throwing people. But we all hustle.
Because of my need to get places asap for work engagements I have developed a small habit (not voluntary of course) of taking taxis, or shall I say “climbing taggzzzee”. I’m not talking red cab, or corporate cab, or one of those aje butter type of taxi o, the real deal, yellow, furry seats with ticks most likely buried inside, cracked windows that don’t wind down or up, locks don’t work, forget AC (that is just a dream), car is so old it doesn’t have a radio, gear box almost falling off... you get the picture. I got in one of these again on Friday, this time not to get to and from a client, just cause, I needed to go home from work, my car was being serviced, it was closing time, and somehow sitting in this tagzzeee was far more attractive than milling around the office. My phone battery had died, I didn’t have a book, so it was me, my thoughts, the dusty Lagos breeze, and the tagzeee driver with his blood shot eyes . He didn’t really speak much English, just Yoruba, so I opted for my thoughts as opposed to an entire conversation in my fonetisized-yoruba...
...Watching this guy alone, made me think... He had probably been up since 3 a.m.; had his morning rice dished out from a plastic container that once perched on the head of a street side hawker (who had probably been up an hour before him, to make her wares for the morning); he had probably given his housewife with 6 or so kids a daily allowance of 500, max 1000 Naira to get the kids to school (ah I forgot GEJ and his awesome government shut those down for a month ... woops), and make his evening meal; he had probably gone to fetch water from a nearby reserve (by reserve I really mean a neighbourhood well or one of those fountain tap things (I’ve seen all sorts on my morning drives to marina) to wash his ride; he had probably (on an average Nigerian day) been in a queue to buy petrol for his daily runs; and now he was driving me from my office in VI, to some location in Ikoyi; after my drop he will probably do 15 – 30 more runs - till about 1130; he will head home to Iyano woro, or some other off endzzzzz location; he’ll eat whatever meal his wife has prepared; he will go to bed, without air conditioning, internet, dstv, a night cap, or a late night blackberry chat. That was his life, at least that’s what I imagined it to be. His life was a HUZZZZZZZZZZZZLLLLEEEEEEEE!!!! As he wiped his brow with a filthy rag that he kept in between the drivers’ seat and the passenger seat, I thought to myself, this guy represents the “Nigerian Hustle”. The Americans have their “American dream” but what we have in these ends is the “Nigerian Hustle”.
Whether you are rich or poor, privileged or unfortunate, educated or illiterate, if you are a Nigerian, you are a national born HUSTLER, or HUZZZZLER. And I don’t know about you, but I am bursting with pride at that fact. The dictionary defines a hustler as: “a shrewd or unscrupulous person who knows how to circumvent difficulties”. Life in Lagos, Nigeria as a whole may be difficult, tough, but we have already been designed to overcome the difficulties. Individual levels of ‘unscrupulousness’ and ‘shrewdness’ may vary from one man to the next, but in however small a dose, it exists....My hustle may not be the same as “Sumbo the tagggzeee driver” (yeah I made up that name), but all the same I hustle, I hustled when I did NYSC (when I ‘served’), I hustle at work every day, I hustle through traffic, I hustle at airport queues, I hustle to make it to where I’m going in life. You all hustle. OBJ hustled to make it to where he is, Tinubu for sure hustled, and the guy still dey hustle, so did Otedola, Adenuga, Dangote, Jewel by Lisa, Moments with Mo (whatever her name is, Mo I guess), Kanu the football guy, D’banj, Wande Cole, and Lynxx hustled onto that pepsi ting. Pretty much everybody in our history is a hustler, apart from Goodluck, he just has good-luck (that one na another story, I won’t go into it).
The hustle may be out of circumstance or because of yearnings, but I challenge you to find a lazy (is that the opposite of a hustler?) Nigerian. Whether it is for 419 (often the case) or honest to God hard work, we are generally quite diligent, Machiavellian, resilient, and I was about to say wise but let me not take it too far, ko le to yen. But I think it is really great, it blows my mind actually when I see a huzzzler huzzzzzzling.
I honestly think that talent doesn’t get you to where you’re going in life, it may be what keeps you there, but what gets u there is HUSTLING. So if you have allowed your Nigerian hustler gene lie dormant, biko, wake it up...
Keep the “NIGERIAN HUSTLE” Alive.
DISCLAIMER: I am not promoting 419 ooooo! Please don’t go and misquote me oooooo! This my own kind of hustling is working hard to get to where you wanna be. Its like seeing an okada you want to climb, and you ‘pick race’ ‘pursue’ ‘am, make nobody else come climb ‘am before you. What i’m saying is ‘pick race’ and ‘pursue’...
Xoxo.
Because of my need to get places asap for work engagements I have developed a small habit (not voluntary of course) of taking taxis, or shall I say “climbing taggzzzee”. I’m not talking red cab, or corporate cab, or one of those aje butter type of taxi o, the real deal, yellow, furry seats with ticks most likely buried inside, cracked windows that don’t wind down or up, locks don’t work, forget AC (that is just a dream), car is so old it doesn’t have a radio, gear box almost falling off... you get the picture. I got in one of these again on Friday, this time not to get to and from a client, just cause, I needed to go home from work, my car was being serviced, it was closing time, and somehow sitting in this tagzzeee was far more attractive than milling around the office. My phone battery had died, I didn’t have a book, so it was me, my thoughts, the dusty Lagos breeze, and the tagzeee driver with his blood shot eyes . He didn’t really speak much English, just Yoruba, so I opted for my thoughts as opposed to an entire conversation in my fonetisized-yoruba...
...Watching this guy alone, made me think... He had probably been up since 3 a.m.; had his morning rice dished out from a plastic container that once perched on the head of a street side hawker (who had probably been up an hour before him, to make her wares for the morning); he had probably given his housewife with 6 or so kids a daily allowance of 500, max 1000 Naira to get the kids to school (ah I forgot GEJ and his awesome government shut those down for a month ... woops), and make his evening meal; he had probably gone to fetch water from a nearby reserve (by reserve I really mean a neighbourhood well or one of those fountain tap things (I’ve seen all sorts on my morning drives to marina) to wash his ride; he had probably (on an average Nigerian day) been in a queue to buy petrol for his daily runs; and now he was driving me from my office in VI, to some location in Ikoyi; after my drop he will probably do 15 – 30 more runs - till about 1130; he will head home to Iyano woro, or some other off endzzzzz location; he’ll eat whatever meal his wife has prepared; he will go to bed, without air conditioning, internet, dstv, a night cap, or a late night blackberry chat. That was his life, at least that’s what I imagined it to be. His life was a HUZZZZZZZZZZZZLLLLEEEEEEEE!!!! As he wiped his brow with a filthy rag that he kept in between the drivers’ seat and the passenger seat, I thought to myself, this guy represents the “Nigerian Hustle”. The Americans have their “American dream” but what we have in these ends is the “Nigerian Hustle”.
Whether you are rich or poor, privileged or unfortunate, educated or illiterate, if you are a Nigerian, you are a national born HUSTLER, or HUZZZZLER. And I don’t know about you, but I am bursting with pride at that fact. The dictionary defines a hustler as: “a shrewd or unscrupulous person who knows how to circumvent difficulties”. Life in Lagos, Nigeria as a whole may be difficult, tough, but we have already been designed to overcome the difficulties. Individual levels of ‘unscrupulousness’ and ‘shrewdness’ may vary from one man to the next, but in however small a dose, it exists....My hustle may not be the same as “Sumbo the tagggzeee driver” (yeah I made up that name), but all the same I hustle, I hustled when I did NYSC (when I ‘served’), I hustle at work every day, I hustle through traffic, I hustle at airport queues, I hustle to make it to where I’m going in life. You all hustle. OBJ hustled to make it to where he is, Tinubu for sure hustled, and the guy still dey hustle, so did Otedola, Adenuga, Dangote, Jewel by Lisa, Moments with Mo (whatever her name is, Mo I guess), Kanu the football guy, D’banj, Wande Cole, and Lynxx hustled onto that pepsi ting. Pretty much everybody in our history is a hustler, apart from Goodluck, he just has good-luck (that one na another story, I won’t go into it).
The hustle may be out of circumstance or because of yearnings, but I challenge you to find a lazy (is that the opposite of a hustler?) Nigerian. Whether it is for 419 (often the case) or honest to God hard work, we are generally quite diligent, Machiavellian, resilient, and I was about to say wise but let me not take it too far, ko le to yen. But I think it is really great, it blows my mind actually when I see a huzzzler huzzzzzzling.
I honestly think that talent doesn’t get you to where you’re going in life, it may be what keeps you there, but what gets u there is HUSTLING. So if you have allowed your Nigerian hustler gene lie dormant, biko, wake it up...
Keep the “NIGERIAN HUSTLE” Alive.
DISCLAIMER: I am not promoting 419 ooooo! Please don’t go and misquote me oooooo! This my own kind of hustling is working hard to get to where you wanna be. Its like seeing an okada you want to climb, and you ‘pick race’ ‘pursue’ ‘am, make nobody else come climb ‘am before you. What i’m saying is ‘pick race’ and ‘pursue’...
Xoxo.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Garden Variety
Garden Variety
I have recently discovered that my kryptonite is mediocrity / incompetence. Unlike Superman, I have more than one in typical mortal fashion. Anything average, standard, common, ordinary, unexceptional, it just does my head in. It irritates me, it’s like being hammered across the head in the same spot for 3 days without end. Unfortunately for me I happen to live in a city, a country that celebrates mediocrity.
“Oh Fashola fixed a road that had craters larger than those on the bomb stricken roads of Afghanistan, he is such a great governor”. Excuse me... let me not talk sha, but...
“Oh I was stopped by a police man and he didn’t greet me with “Aunty do weekend for me nah”.”
“I went to the hospital and they had a steady power supply for the 3 hours that I was ‘admitted’ there”
“Ah can you imagine I drove past a state school and it had all its windows in tact”
“Would you believe I flew in from Abuja and my flight left on time, and on top of that I now got to Lagos and the conveyor belt was working”
“I left my passport at MMA immigration desk, and when i noticed a week later, I went back and it was still there.”
“O ga o, petrol queue no dey this last few weeks” ....errr we are amongst the world’s largest oil producers
.....Sorry guys, but in case you aren’t privileged enough to know, or you have been living in Lagos sized bubble, all these things are GARDEN VARIETY.... There is nothing special, nothing good, nothing to write home about all these things, they are mediocre, they are what we are to expect as the barest minimum. I see NO reason why we should celebrate them. I really don’t.
Garden Variety Politicians: Your state governor (no names, no states) may be way ahead of the curve when compared with other states, because he is delivering 15%. However he is responsible for every person that dies in a public hospital, or on a state road, or due to a fire ambulance not arriving on time, or to an electrical fault, or for every child that goes without an education becomes an armed robber and meets an untimely death... and when you put it like that that makes him no more than a serial killer. I’ll give credit where credit is due, but I think we need to start stretching our expectations of our politicians, and demanding for what is constitutionally our right!!!! If the Governor only wanted to deliver 15% he should have taken a job as an office secretary.
Garden Variety Security Officers: If you are wearing one of those hideous black uniforms, it is actually your job to ensure that the rest of the population are secure from antisocial behaviour, acts of terrorism, road traffic offences, and so on (actually embarrassed I just used that phrase – and so on). I will not celebrate you, if you stop me ask for “my particulars” and neglect to ask me for sonme Azikiwe’s (Naira notes, like Benjamins – u get?). If you want to beg, there are tons of plastic eva bottles floating around the Lagoon, help yourself to one, get some fairy (what’s the Nigerian version sunlight soap or something) and join the crop of people that are washing cars on Akin Adesola.
Garden Variety Educational System: I think I am being very very kind here, because Garden Variety is quite generous. Our educational system is beyond useless, the teachers cannot pass the tests that they set the students. This is just not acceptable, why should anybody accept this. Education is the bedrock of society, if this fails (which it has), everything thing else will fail (which it has)
Garden Variety Healthcare: Again, very generous. Hospitals are constantly on strike, other state hospitals are making cutting edge medical discoveries, mean whilst we are jumping for joy at the fact NEPA didn’t take light during an operation.
I’m not putting Naija on blast here, but it troubles me deeply that we are so blinded by the mediocre, that we can’t even see we need to expect more and demand more. What we celebrate is quite frankly not worth celebration, and we are hindering national growth by accepting the mediocre we have as the best we’re gonna get.
I promise my next few posts will be more light hearted than these last few with political undertones, but I think it is important to realise that we all have a part to play in the development of Nigeria, and what better time to say it than the run up to voters’ registration. Your vote gives you a voice, without a voice your expectations are impotent.
Xoxo.
I have recently discovered that my kryptonite is mediocrity / incompetence. Unlike Superman, I have more than one in typical mortal fashion. Anything average, standard, common, ordinary, unexceptional, it just does my head in. It irritates me, it’s like being hammered across the head in the same spot for 3 days without end. Unfortunately for me I happen to live in a city, a country that celebrates mediocrity.
“Oh Fashola fixed a road that had craters larger than those on the bomb stricken roads of Afghanistan, he is such a great governor”. Excuse me... let me not talk sha, but...
“Oh I was stopped by a police man and he didn’t greet me with “Aunty do weekend for me nah”.”
“I went to the hospital and they had a steady power supply for the 3 hours that I was ‘admitted’ there”
“Ah can you imagine I drove past a state school and it had all its windows in tact”
“Would you believe I flew in from Abuja and my flight left on time, and on top of that I now got to Lagos and the conveyor belt was working”
“I left my passport at MMA immigration desk, and when i noticed a week later, I went back and it was still there.”
“O ga o, petrol queue no dey this last few weeks” ....errr we are amongst the world’s largest oil producers
.....Sorry guys, but in case you aren’t privileged enough to know, or you have been living in Lagos sized bubble, all these things are GARDEN VARIETY.... There is nothing special, nothing good, nothing to write home about all these things, they are mediocre, they are what we are to expect as the barest minimum. I see NO reason why we should celebrate them. I really don’t.
Garden Variety Politicians: Your state governor (no names, no states) may be way ahead of the curve when compared with other states, because he is delivering 15%. However he is responsible for every person that dies in a public hospital, or on a state road, or due to a fire ambulance not arriving on time, or to an electrical fault, or for every child that goes without an education becomes an armed robber and meets an untimely death... and when you put it like that that makes him no more than a serial killer. I’ll give credit where credit is due, but I think we need to start stretching our expectations of our politicians, and demanding for what is constitutionally our right!!!! If the Governor only wanted to deliver 15% he should have taken a job as an office secretary.
Garden Variety Security Officers: If you are wearing one of those hideous black uniforms, it is actually your job to ensure that the rest of the population are secure from antisocial behaviour, acts of terrorism, road traffic offences, and so on (actually embarrassed I just used that phrase – and so on). I will not celebrate you, if you stop me ask for “my particulars” and neglect to ask me for sonme Azikiwe’s (Naira notes, like Benjamins – u get?). If you want to beg, there are tons of plastic eva bottles floating around the Lagoon, help yourself to one, get some fairy (what’s the Nigerian version sunlight soap or something) and join the crop of people that are washing cars on Akin Adesola.
Garden Variety Educational System: I think I am being very very kind here, because Garden Variety is quite generous. Our educational system is beyond useless, the teachers cannot pass the tests that they set the students. This is just not acceptable, why should anybody accept this. Education is the bedrock of society, if this fails (which it has), everything thing else will fail (which it has)
Garden Variety Healthcare: Again, very generous. Hospitals are constantly on strike, other state hospitals are making cutting edge medical discoveries, mean whilst we are jumping for joy at the fact NEPA didn’t take light during an operation.
I’m not putting Naija on blast here, but it troubles me deeply that we are so blinded by the mediocre, that we can’t even see we need to expect more and demand more. What we celebrate is quite frankly not worth celebration, and we are hindering national growth by accepting the mediocre we have as the best we’re gonna get.
I promise my next few posts will be more light hearted than these last few with political undertones, but I think it is important to realise that we all have a part to play in the development of Nigeria, and what better time to say it than the run up to voters’ registration. Your vote gives you a voice, without a voice your expectations are impotent.
Xoxo.
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