Fight the power!

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It feels like just yesterday when I was told by my guardian in Lagos that I was being shipped off yet again but this time to my new owner. I was excited. I was finally going to be out of my carton box and into the hands of the next doctor, lawyer, architect, or Nobel Prize winner. I expected so much but I equally had so much to offer. You see, my parents (Hewlett and Packard) sent me out to make a difference in someone’s life. Among my friends, SONY, Dell, Asus, Samsung and LG I was the ENVY of the pack: with my soft touch backlit keyboard, chrome finish, Beats Audio, fingerprint scan, 12GB RAM and 1 Terabyte of storage.

The hot climate of Nigeria has been nothing like the cool US climate I’ve been accustomed to from birth. I’ve even heard rumours before my arrival in that the Internet connectivity in Nigeria was slow and that data bundles usually got depleted quickly. I even heard that WiFi wasn’t common in a lot of urban areas – that’s unthinkable. I wondered what my new owner would be like. After I arrived at a high-rise building on the Marina skyline I wondered if I was on my way to the CEO!

My first impression when my carton box opened and I saw this bald guy with glasses beaming down at me I thought, ‘Who the heck is this bald guy with glasses beaming down at me?’ ‘Does this guy have big teeth or is he just really happy to see me?’ ‘Is he handling me with extreme care or is he touching me inappropriately?’ ‘Look at his desk?’ ‘I hope this guy is the one who’s only going to charge me up and hand me over to my true owner’. Alas, after the whole ceremony of his colleagues coming to pet me (and congratulate him), I realized that wherever this guy was taking me after work would be my new home, whether I liked it or not. But I had a backup plan.

There was this thing one of the other laptops in my former warehouse told me – If you didn’t like a particular owner fight the power button. Basically if someone tried to press the power button after a full charge I would simply resist and keep my monitor screen off. After several failed attempts what usually happened was that the irate owner would call the local supplier and ask for either a replacement or a refund. I had never subjected any potential owner to this ordeal before but I was bracing myself just in case.

We got to his apartment late in the evening (not that I had a curfew in the first place) and he unwrapped and mounted me on his dining table. His place looked quite neat and decent but I didn’t want to get sentimental or weak right before possibly having to ‘fight the power’. As he went into his bedroom perhaps to get out of his work clothes, I scanned the dining table and noticed a few business cards, a note pad, tissue box, cuff links and this colourful little book lying on its front cover. I noticed the name on the book binder and I recall it was an unusual name I heard earlier in his office when his colleagues asked who owned the laptop. This was beginning to seem a lot better than I had hoped. I read the synopsis on the back and confirmed that he was indeed a writer. For me, that meant I wouldn’t be neglected. I would get more attention than his TV, social media or his girlfriend(s). I would be his first thought in the morning and his last thought at night. Life was going to be bliss.

Fast forward 3 months later and this facade couldn’t be any further from the truth. He hasn’t touched me or so much as even looked at me since he started his new job role. It seems to be taking so much of his time. He comes back later than usually and goes straight to bed. Even with the WiFi on prefers to browse on his smartphone and not on me like he used to. I’m suspecting that desktop I saw when I first arrived at my owner’s office. I think he’s cheating on me. And if he doesn’t typing something on his so-called crazy blog I WILL fight the power for real this time.

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My best kept secret…revealed

MEMy debut book, The Crazy Nigerian is now available! (Look ma! I did it!) In order to get your copy of this gut-busting, action-packed memoir of my memorable mishaps and misadventures, then just keep reading. Soft paperback and E-book version available on Authorhouse, Amazon and Barnes & Noble. You can enjoy The Crazy Nigerian on your Nooks, iPads and Kindles if paper isn’t your thing. In Lagos, my book is currently available at Terra Kulture bookshop, The Hub Media Store (Palms, Lekki), Silverbird lifestyle Victoria Island and soon to hit other local bookstores so watch this space.Be sure to leave your comments here or alternatively you can send them to dcrazynigerian@gmail.com. Alternatively you can call +2347032024019 or send a BB message to 284D7BB7 to speak to the Crazy Nigerian in person. You can show your support by going to ‘Like‘ my Facebook fan page ‘Tonwa Anthony’. Crazy videos coming soon! Comments & criticisms also welcome…(yikes!) Follow @dcrazynigerian for crazy updates and crazy articles.

**EXCLUSIVE: ENJOY MY CRAZY NIGERIAN VIDEO! http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1ugqU9hbpfo 😀

To read my latest blog post just look below this one. Thank you.

I must be related to Forgetful Jones

I had over 5 hours of sleep last night. I woke up early, I had a warm bath and sat down to a delicious egg sandwich whilst watching the highlights on Sky News. I put on my shirt and tie, packed some lunch and an apple, before grabbing my jacket and car keys. It didn’t occur to me up until I was halfway to my office (which is on the other side of the f***ing southern hemisphere) that I realized that I had forgotten my work shoes.

In case you’re wondering if I was barefoot then the answer is ‘No’. I was wearing bathroom slippers (and now you must be really confused). There are two reasons why I choose to wear bathroom slippers to drive: 1) They’re way more comfortable than work shoes  2) Refer to reason 1. I know it’s all my fault but I have a perfectly good explanation for this debacle. *Puts on his silly Sherlock Holmes hat and shoves a pipe in his mouth, trying to look suave* It all started last Friday night…

I was rather famished after closing from work so I decided to nip down to the local supermarket for some grub. Normally I would take off my shoes and wear my trusty ‘ol slippers for the long voyage home but it slipped my mind after trotting in and out of the supermarket. I arrived at my apartment absolutely knackered and walked indoors with my work shoes still on. On Saturday I went to my automobile to pick out my slippers and by Monday I wore them to drive – thinking that my work shoes were already in the car. Elementary my dear reader, elementary!

Well, my colleague made my Plan B come to life as he was able to salvage a decent pair of size 11’s to wear after calling him before resumption time (what are the odds of him sharing such a rare shoe size?). I had to wear my slippers at the office for the first 2 hours because my colleague came late (because he had to mend an open sole and have the shoes polished). ‘Awkward’ does not even begin to describe how I felt in my suit and slippers. I was glued to my seat for obvious reasons. Glad that’s over though. Now where are my slippers…? Oh for f*** sake!!!!

Dealing with Bad Breath

He’s coming to talk to you. You’ve already made eye contact so you can’t avoid him. He stands very close and you simultaneously attempt to break your own record for holding your breath (which was a pitiful 17 seconds on your last count). As he emits his toxic breath he is using all the dreaded syllables in the English vocabulary: ‘Hey!…How are you! What of the family? …fantastic!” You’re almost beginning to lose consciousness and you’re desperately looking around the office to see if there is any colleague who can bail you out – but to no avail. You make up some excuse in order to be…excused – you just told a lie…but it was worth it. You breathe a sigh of relief and paranoia kicks in as you start checking if your own breath stinks. 

We’ve all been there. The problem is that some culprits don’t even know they have bad breath (Where’s a pack of Altoids when THEY need one???). Would you blame their family? friends? colleagues? I wouldn’t. It’s your personal responsibility to be hygienic. Sadly, hygiene is also a choice. I’m not aware of any law imposed in any country that says you must brush and floss your teeth at least twice a day or face the Electric Dentist’s chair. Babies are not born with bad breath nor is it inherited in the genes. Bad breath (or Halitosis) however is a serious condition which if left untreated can have the following consequences:

  1. A (drastic) drop in ‘face-to-face’ friends (Figures in social sites in Facebook and Twitter can be misleading)
  2. Remaining a singleton (and narrowing your choice of partners to only those with a bad sense of smell)
  3. Unwanted accolades that you may never hear about (because they’re said behind your back e.g. Dragon Breath)

Sometimes it may not necessarily be a medical condition. It might just be that the sufferer doesn’t clean or brush his tongue properly (and it has to be all the way to the back!), he/she may just have a stubborn piece of food e.g. meat stuck in their teeth for over a day, and even bleeding gums (symptom of Gingivitis) could cause a real stinker. Interestingly, Healthjockey.com claims that bad breath is caused by stomach ulcer bacteria. Never fear! Help is at hand… 

Mouthwash should never be underestimated, though natural remedies (like consuming lime squeezed in water or eating fresh yoghurt regularly) are recommended by some medical experts. Sweets, chewing gum and strong mints are temporary solutions which may mask bad breath for a while but risk morphing it into a potential nuclear weapon of mass destruction. But the best personal advise I can give is to get a medium/hard toothbrush and brush your tongue and teeth properly twice a day. By all means seek medical advice from your dentist.

Finally, how would you tell someone he or she has bad breath? This is one of many questions that has baffled experts and philosophers for decades (nah, I’m just kidding…for centuries). Well, there has not been any conclusive answers so far but may I suggest subtle hints like:

  • Offering chewing gum, sweets or mints (and tactfully insisting on them accepting the offer even when they refuse)
  • Asking them what they just ate (and hoping that their answer would prompt you to say that you can still smell it)
  • Chipping in your conversation that you are seeing the dentist soon (then asking them when their next visit will be)

Do let me know your experiences with bad breath mongers. Let’s join hands in making this world a safer place to breathe in. In the words of Bugs Bunny, ‘That’s all folks’ 😀

(Insert name) – A lil’ proof = x

Source: eu.wiley.com

Ok, for today’s post I’ve decided to put up an algebraic equation or a conundrum of a crazy sort. What is ‘x’? E.g. 4 – 3 = x, therefore x = 1 (Get my drift?). There’s a prize for the winner with the correct answer so think carefully before you attempt this. I wonder if you need any clues…hmmm.

Being the gentleman that I am I’ll offer you just three:

  • The answer is not a number
  • It has 9 letters
  • You are only part of the answer

N.B – The correct answer will be posted before midnight.

Good luck!

New post at The Other Side

Tea with Gadhafi

It was a turbulent flight into Libya – hovering at thousands of feet for hours as UN fighter jets argued over my complete disregard for the no-fly zone imposed on the war-stricken country. Unfortunately I didn’t get the memo. Alas I seized a rare opportunity to land when the fighter jets had to return to base for refuelling. I passed the desert where Gaddafi was believed to have been born. The air was filled with dust and smoke. Pro and Anti-Gaddafi protesters were in various streets giving bloody exchanges in broad daylight while police officials looked on. Army tankers were operated by civilians and teenagers were wielding sophisticated assault rifles. I caught a glimpse of vandalized barricades and then I saw the abandoned corpses…I suddenly wanted to turn back and go home but my mission had to be completed. As the only person crazy enough to accept this mission, I needed to find out if there was anyway to convince Gaddafi to stop the killings and reach an agreement that would please the Libyan people – their lives depended on it.

I made my way to Gaddafi’s palace and I was escorted by armed bodyguards – not your everyday hefty Club-bouncer types but beautiful women whom I pray you would never have the misfortune of underestimating. They were rumoured to be deadly and quick to take care of any dirty business for their beloved dictator (So I did a good job of keeping my eyes off their assets). To my surprise we didn’t sit in the grandeur of hs lavish living rooms or terraces but in a large tent covered in lace pillows and mats made from raffia palms. There he was – Gaddafi in his elegant attire and that dazed look he wears so well like he was trying to recover from a never-ending hangover. We exchanged our Salaam Walekum-Walekum Salaams with a millisecond embrace. He motioned for me to sit and the bodyguards forced me down by my shoulders. It was going to be an interview like no other.

As I was trying to figure out the most comfortable way to fold my legs on the mat Gaddafi was brandishing a torch (don’t panic)…a Blackberry Torch. When I asked if we could start the interview he asked me to give him a few minutes while he finished chatting with al-Megrahi, also known to the world as The Lockerbie bomber (and there I was thinking he was chatting with his son).  I sipped on the aromatic  tea that was laid on a tray in front of me and almost felt right at home. Once he was through I told him what the media was saying about him – he didn’t care. I told him that the Libyan people were not happy that he usurped power for over 40 years – he didn’t see the big deal. I asked him if he ever thought of handing over to anyone, even his son – he looked confused. He didn’t say much and when he did I barely understood him (I can’t think why he didn’t allow me to come with someone who could translate gibberish).

One thing that he made clear was that it would be a cold day in hell before he would be overthrown in his own country, and that if the people could not show their gratitude towards him then he would have to show them discipline. He then asked me, out of his curiosity, whether I was Pro-Gaddafi or Anti-Gaddafi. I looked around at the hostile faces of the bodyguards. I remembered that I was on unfamiliar terrain with no guarantee of a safe return home. I knew what I wanted to say but I also knew what I had to say if I wanted to make it out of his tent alive… 😦

How would YOU respond in that situation?

Sources: who2.com

*New post on The Other Side: The Tourist – A true story*

Entry #79 – Love Thy (Noisy) Neighbor

I am a law-abiding citizen. I pay my rent on time and I also pay my taxes. I love my mum and dad just as much as I love OREO cookies and I’ve won The Best Brother Ever Award 3 years in a row, courtesy of my two lovely younger sisters. I don’t expect much from people…even when it’s my birthday. What I do expect from my neighbors, however, is some peace and quiet when I return from a hard day at the office!

I live in a very big compound with 11 other tenants in their respective apartments. Unfortunately 3 of them drive me up the wall (some more frequently than others). Ladies and Gentlemen, I would like to present to you the 3 neighbors whom I have tried my best to love with all my heart (honest!).

The Prayer Warrior:

Gender ~ Female

Age ~ 20-something

Marital Status ~ Single (and I think I know why)

Number of kids ~ None

Noise-ometer ~ 7/10 (Very Loud)

Offence(s) ~ On random mornings and nights I would hear this woman chanting prayers and speaking in tongues. It’s quite scary to say the least. It sounds so violent that you actually first think about calling the police to report a case of domestic abuse. The shouting can last for up to 30 minutes and sometimes even longer. I wonder if she has any friends…hmm…maybe just on Facebook.

The All-Nighter:

Gender ~ Male

Age ~ 30-something

Marital Status ~ Single

Number of kids ~ None

Noise-ometer ~ 8/10 (Very Loud and Constant)

Offence(s) ~ Whilst every other sane neighbor usually puts off their generators before going to bed, this guy runs his generator till the fuel runs out. Perhaps if the Nigerian government got their act together and provided uninterrupted power supply then we wouldn’t need generators in the first place. But in the meantime I expect this neighbor to show a little consideration for others by switching his generator off at 12am max. He goes to work the following day so how the hell does he sleep through that constant drone? Maybe I’ll just go ahead and buy those Pioneer headphones I’ve been Googling and see if they’re really sound-proof…

The  Human Megaphone:

Gender ~ Female

Age ~ 30 something

Marital Status ~ Widowed

Number of kids ~ 3

Noise-ometer ~ 9.9/10 (Extremely Loud, Constant and Annoying)

Offence(s) ~ Where do I begin? She screams all day. She is obviously lazy because she reduced her teenage niece to a maid. She comes out of her apartment and just when she realizes she’s forgotten something she starts screaming her niece’s name at the top of her lungs…right beneath my bedroom window whilst I’m still sleeping! At first I felt sorry for her because she is a widow but that changed after one late night at about 1am when her sisters-in-law paid her a surprise visit. They banged on her door for an hour and outrightly accused her of driving their brother to an early grave. It was like trying to sleep while The Jerry Springer Show was on. I also have doubts as to the rightful owner of her car because she sure doesn’t know how to unlock it without triggering the car alarm…every single time. I swear she’ll give me a heart attack one day. And don’t get me started on her three screaming kids!

Well I hope there really is a Santa because this Christmas I’m wishing for peace and sanity in my neighborhood. Do you think you could live with my neighbors? 😦

Entry #42 – One man’s trash…

prism…is another man’s treasure? Well I’ve got a Nokia 7900 Prism that says ‘NO!’ – thats if you want to keep beating the life out of it everytime it freezes when a message comes through it. I can vaguely remember how I strolled into the Nokia shop barely a year ago, coughed out N70,000 (which is over £200 or over $300) and was one of the ‘privileged’ few to be pouncing around town with a phone which got quite a lot of  ‘Ooh! Nice phone!’, ‘It’s unique!’, ‘I haven’t seen this before!’, (Hindsight – thanks to you gawkers I didnt return the phone sooner to get a refund).

It was as slim as kate moss, black as Whoopi’s lips, had more colour theme choices than Amy Winehouse’s make-up artist (oops, I forgot she does it herself), and boasted more tricks than Harry Potter’s wand. Well I was tricked alright.  I was tricked into thinking an engraved Aluminium casing was mega cool. For N70,000 I should be getting at least Titanium, shouldn’t I? For N70,000 I should be getting not just 1GB of built-in memory but 3GB! For 70,000 bleeping Naira I should be getting more than a 2 mega-pixel camera, FM radio and bluetooth – bluetooth! What genius came up with THAT term? The next pushy salesperson that offers me a ‘BLUETOOTH’ will get a ‘BLACKEYE’.

I will not be ripped off again (Aaaaargh!!!) I shall not succumb to the…oh my…could it be? Could Nokia be entrancing me yet again with a nonsenical technological blunder utterly unworthy to be categorized as a cutting-edge mobile phone? Its so slick…stylish…kinky…qwerty…look at it slide…the screen is huge…how much is it? How much? I think I’m falling for the E75…shh, I just can’t help it. I hate you Nokia…making me spend my money…and in 8months I know this’ll be trash too…but for 11years now when has that ever stopped me 🙂

Entry #38 – Feeling peckish

Earlier today I was just craving for a bit of toast, which I dont eat regularly. And I suddenly had a flashback to the early 80s when I heard this peculiar song by Streetband (A UK group). The song is kinda irritating now when I hear it but as a kid it made me laugh for whatever reason beknown to me. Was it the way the lead singer, Paul Young, was just chatting away throughout the song, the cheesy chorus, the crunching sounds of someone biting through toast or was it just the monologue-rap with the corny beat and the silly sound effects…wait, I think I hear the kettle boiling! Well, I’m going to share this excruciating audio experience with you, my inquisitive readers. Get your butter knives out and lets make…

Entry #37 – My affair with 4 women

lipsWomen – a mystery to some, a weakness to many (men and lesbians, that is). I too have fallen prey to the clutches of the female species. I vaguely remember one particular woman who locked me down for about 9months. I felt trapped. I wanted to break free but at the same time I wanted to stay. I was so confused that I had to have a third party separate us. I actually cried my eyes out but today we’re still in touch and on good terms.

The second woman whose birthday was on 27th June (so if you’re reading this, HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!) was one whom I shared a Mr. & Mrs. Smith relationship with…literally. On one occasion she chased me round the house with an 8-inch kitchen knife – she couldn’t catch me though (phew!). We have an understanding now and we’ve learned to keep our distance – I’m in Nigeria, she’s in Great Britain…

The third woman who messed with my mind was like a brother to me…the brother I never had…actually, I wished she was a boy…okay I know how that can confuse you right now. You probably wondering, ‘…but I thought he liked women!’ I do…and I’m not bisexual either. Let me break it down: 1st woman – My mother; 2nd woman – my junior sister; 3rd woman – my baby sister.

Yes, my ‘affairs’ with all these women still continues and I’m not done yet. I mentioned ‘4 women’ in my post title. Well in 2010 the fourth woman I deeply love will be the one I’ll spend the rest of my life with…God willing 🙂

Entry #34 – Homewreckers

fingerLadies and Gentlemen, an invasion is upon us! In the 21st century a new evil has befallen planet earth. The shape-shifting creatures of the damned lurk into your very households whilst you watch the news, sip your tea, and  pick your nose. These venemous scum leach unto the married couples of our time and cause havoc and destruction in a systemmatic manner. They are more commonly known as… Homewreckers

So how do you know if you’ve been stung by a homewrecker? When she notices a hotel receipt in his jacket and she hasn’t been to one with him…ever. When he stumbles across his wife’s missing earring by the couch in his best friend’s apartment. When she looks through his mobile phone and she reads the text/SMS, ‘I can’t wait to see you again.Same time tomorrow?’ 

Maybe that’s all a bit too obvious. What about bad drinking habits, gambling, drug addiction, Job loss, Ponzi schemes and hard earned stocks & investments taking a nose dive? What about family ties? Blood is thicker than water, right? What if your mother-in-law (who’s a pain-in-the-neck) comes to live with you? ‘NO WAY!’ I hear you say? What if your partner doesn’t want you to put her in an old people’s home? What then?

But I guess the most deceptive and destructive of all the Homewreckers is the Internet…and the blogworld plays a massive part alongside Facebook, Ebay and Free Porn. Guys who spend more time clicking the mouse than kissing the spouse soon become victims of a home about to be bulldozed, metaphorically speaking.

CrazyNigerian’s Final Thought: Fellow bloggers, if you have a partner then spend less time blogging. And if you don’t have a partner…spend less time blogging 🙂

Entry #33 – Mystery Myths

pandaGrowing up (with a relatively unhealthy addiction to TV) I was under the strange impression that ALL chinese men could fight martial arts – I mean right from toddlers the moment they could walk, all the way to old timers right before they needed hip replacements. Even a fat China man who couldn’t bend over to touch his toes could still claim to have a black belt in Karate, Judo, Taekwundo and (after his  nightshifts as a club bouncer) is a part-time Ninja assassin…and you wouldn’t want to stick around to find out. Well actually who am I kidding – a fat China man doesn’t need martial arts knowledge…there’s always the Sumo option i.e. can’t fight ’em, sit on ’em.

I’ve wised up since then. I don’t believe the myth about the boogie man living underneath my bed. Who invented that crap name anyway? The Boogie man sounds like a mythological creature that comes out from under your bed alright when the lights are out and starts strutting like John Travolta to ‘Night Fever’ – whats there to be scared of? I’d like to see him dance me to death (er, I’d rather not actually).

What about the myth that all black guys are well-endowed? I’m an average black man but if I’m the only one getting those ‘enlargement’ emails in my junk box then there’ll be cause for concern. There’s the myth that blondes get the most attention – but is that with or without the silicon? How about aliens? Has anyone actually been to Area 51? I escaped from there years back and the U.S government has probably relocated the other aliens to avoid a case where I come back to infiltrate and expose the conditions ‘we’ were subjected to…you have no idea – what I went through would make captives in Guatanamo Bay look like they were on a fun-filled holiday retreat 😀

Entry #32 – Mouth to mouth

mouth2mouthWhat’s in a kiss? Saliva? Sure! That’s if it’s a wet kiss. But if your partner has gum problems or uses a very soft toothbrush then there’s probably some blood to go with that saliva (Urgh!). If you’ve just had dinner before that kiss then there’s probably a whole bunch of food particles swimming through a bloody saliva stream all the way down your oesophagus (okay, stay with me here). If your partner has protruding teeth then there are probably some braces to go with that slimy blood pool. Thinking about dry-kissing instead, eh? I don’t blame you.

I for one like to think that I’m a smooth kisser…you know, those sedative-type kisses that leave lips numbed to sleep. I believe a perfect kiss should be timed, literally. A kiss that lasts for 2 seconds is way too short and a kiss that lasts for 20secs can quickly become a drooling grueling task of endurance (c’mon, that’s a lot of bloody plaque saliva/exchange).

Anything between 10 and 15secs is ideal. With practice anyone can time a kiss…kinda like knowing your body-clock – you just instinctively know when to wake up sometimes. Tongue kissing should ALWAYS be avoided in the morning…yes, even if you’ve brushed the night before, downed a bottle of Listerine, chewed a pack of Wrigleys Extra and recently became the face of Macleans ads.

If your mouth is closed for over 5hrs after all that I’m willing to bet that your breath isn’t exactly a trip to the Alps (unless you sleep with your mouth open…but I’d be worried about what could crawl in). And the next time you save someone from drowning and you need to give him or her mouth-to-mouth please don’t stick your tongue in…that’s a tongue-in-cheek moment if I’ve ever heard of one 😉

Entry #31 – Rhianna vs Amy Winehouse

rvaThey’re both music artists and they are both critically-acclaimed in their own right. Though at first site they may seem very different, they’ve got quite a few similarities. Lets take a look at and then you can decide for yourself:

Both have sung about Rehab but only Amy has actually checked into one – When they tried to make her go Amy shouted ‘NO! NO! NO!’ and Rhianna shouted ‘ELLA ELLA, AY AY AY! But surprisingly it was Amy who got sent to rehab.

One isn’t black but can sing the blues while the other has been beaten black and blue.

One used to date Shia Lebouf and later released her hit single ‘Disturbia’ whilst the other would leave you in that state if you were dumb enough to date her.

Both wear make-up but one looks like she applied it whilst in a high-speed car chase.

Dabbling in Raga, Techno, R&B, ballads and Pop, Rhianna’s singing choice is all over the place. But Amy sticks to one music genre (It’s her hair that’s all over the place).

One has publishers ready to put her face on their magazines whilst the other has a boyfriend who is ready to put a magazine over her face.

Finally, both have been seen on-screen getting raunchy with fellow popstars – Rhianna with Justin Timberlake, and Amy Winehouse with (even I don’t believe it!) Eminem

Bravo ladies! Keep doing your thing 🙂

Entry #27 – The Anatomy of Vomit

When I woke up this morning I had no idea that I’d be writing about this – that is, until I heard a female colleague of mine at the office heaving away in the ladies restroom. It sounded like a cow being strangled with barbwire and at the same time being raped by a pig. The excruciating sounds gave me concern because this was far beyond food poisoning or choking on a McTasty (those burgers are HUGE!!! not available in Nigeria tho).

Now rumour has it that the ‘heaver’ was trying for a baby recently so could it be a simple case of morning sickness? You can never tell. Perhaps what’d be more interesting (for me) would be knowing what the vomit looked like – was it brown, yellow or a mixture of both? was it runny, chunky or clear like dog drool? was it pungent, ammonia-esque, or akin to a block of sour cheese which 3 days ago used to be the semi-skimmed milk for her cereal.

Well curiousity never really killed the cat, did it? In fact it’s the curiousity thats killing me. The images of vomit in my head (ok, that didn’t sound right) are probably worse than the actual thing. I’m off to the loo to find out 😛

Entry #26 – Man U, 0-2, boo hoo!

I’m not a biased sports commentator nor am I a Barcelona fanatic on a trouble-finding mission, but I must say that I was quite busy sending commiseration text messages (I wasn’t rubbing it in, honest). I just wanted them to know that they had a shoulder to cry on. But its a harsh reality that in every competition, in every battle, there’s a winner and a loser. There’s just no two ways about it. What amuses me is the way some of the football players ‘cross their hearts’ before the match – Is that to say that they were praying that their side wins? What about if the opponents crossed their hearts too? Shouldn’t they have a fair chance of winning too? As a matter of fact, what does crossing the heart really symbolize anyway? Protection from demons? (Yeah, the opponents). Or could it be protection from a loss to their opponents. Either way I don’t think God intervenes, though I’m pretty sure He knew the result way before Eve offered Adam that dodgy apple.

There’s always a winner and a loser. Even when there’s a tie in a match, it always has to end in a sudden death situation and then the dreaded penalty shoot out. Why bother? Because two teams cant share one trophy, thats why. Two rival fan clubs cant walk hand-in-hand singing a combined ManU-Barcelona footie anthem. Its like the sci-fi movie Highlander – there can only be one.

So the next time you’re thinking , ‘Winner vs Loser’ think Obama vs McCain, Kanye West vs 50cent, Osama Bin Laden vs George W. Bush, Sober judge vs O.J Simpson, ‘Traumatized’ teenager vs Michael Jackson, Angelina Jolie vs Jennifer Aniston, Federline vs Britney Spears, The People vs Larry Flint, Ned Flanders vs Homer Simpson, Agent Smith(s) vs NEO aka The One, Nigerian, Interrupted vs … 🙂

Entry 25 – Wisecracks

I’ve just had one of those days where pretty much everything I heard, saw or felt could be linked to the word ‘shit’. On my way to work for instance, I was driving with a sore head and a runny nose so I obviously felt like shit. I was caught up in a stretch of road traffic partly caused by a diversion plus traffic caused by panick buying of petrol amidst scarcity scares. By the time I arrived, I looked at my watch and saw I was 30mins late and I simultaneously uttered, ‘Shit!’. The meeting I had with my boss and my marketing team was also pretty shit. We didn’t rake in a lot of funds today and couldn’t stop some customers from withdrawing huge sums for their personal use. It was like being at a Spanish Inquisition. As my boss went from questioning one marketer to another I couldn’t help but think that he also had the word, ‘shit’ on his mind – why wouldn’t I think so when he kept going to each person, ‘…so, what came out from your end today?’ ; )

…Shit ending wasn’t it? C’est la vie!

Entry #23 – Aaachoo!!!

All this who-ha about swine flu. Has anyone asked how this came about in the first place? Did a farmer accidentally ingest the mucus of a sick pig after it sneezed without a hanky? Did some twisted nymphomaniac with an animal fetish get too intimate with a pig and develop a brand new H1N1 virus? I’ve heard it all and the names just keep getting more and more ridiculous – Chicken Pox, Mad cow disease, Bird Flu/Avian flu and now Swine flu. What next? Iguana flu? Why don’t we take it upon ourselves to keep the vicinity of these animals clean and thus protect them and ourselves? Why don’t pig farmers take a cue from the American SWAT team – the moment you see a pig so much as sniffle you put a bullet through its head and incenerate it with a flame gun. And if you must eat the damned swine then make sure that bacon is fried till its dry and crispy – that medium-rare/bloody/pink-thing is not posh anymore (its a downright stupid ploy that tricks you into thinking eating raw meat is okay – and that also goes for sushi!) Look, I love bacon just as much as the next guy so whilst farmers are culling ‘sick’ pigs I would like to appeal that the carcasses are shipped to Nigeria  – thats way too much barbeque meat to waste 🙂

Entry #19 – Special treatment

I went to a wedding in another state in Nigeria – Oyo state. It was supposed to be a 3 hr drive from Lagos but ended up being 4hrs with all potholes we had to dodge. The wedding was quite grand and I was served the best dishes, wine and got exceptional service…or at least I thought so. I looked to the table beside me and they were getting everything I didnt – they got big succulent fish…I got small pieces of tough beef, they got alcohol wine from South Africa…I got grape juic in a wine bottle both made in Nigeria, they got chilled soft drinks, but though I was served mine first, they were warm – obviously their’s was stored close to ice.

I didn’t want this experience to spoil my road trip but I must admit it hurt a bit. As if to compensate me and those at my table, we all got gift items/souvenirs of the wedding to take home – a dish and a couple-name engraved tea mug all in a recyclable nylon bag(not bad eh?). On leaving the shindig, getting into my car, I noticed a gentleman no more well-dressed than myself but carrying a luxurious branded shopping bag of premium goodies. Life is not fair at all…

But on the upside, My blog will soon have more than 1000 views, yay!!!

Entry #14 – A stockmarket with a twist

Okay, the idea is pretty simple. Forget the convetional company stocks & shares. How about shares based on real people? Obama shares, Madonna stocks, Beckham securities, Federer bonds. It sounds ludicrous but wouldn’t it be more fun? You could naturally keep up with the news on your portfolio by listening to CNN, SkyNews, ESPN, MTV News, etc. and you would be able to know how well they’re performing. You wouldn’t have to wait for your broker to tell you when to sell or when to buy. After recent happenings, today I’d be selling all my Brown shares in the US and the UK (Chris and Gordon) and investing more in Beyonce, Jonas Brothers and SpongeBob Squarepants.

I guess the only problem would be how much value you would put on all these celebrities in the first place. Hmm…I’ll have to go back to the drawing board 😦

Entry #12 – The Good, the Bad and the Old

When I think about growing old a number of thoughts spring to my mind: Grey hair, Arthritis, Denches, walking stick, strollers, flat flexi-shoes, copious amounts of medication/suppliments, thick-lensed eye glasses, frail fingers, sagging ear lobes, wrinkles, slow-motion body movement, talking gibberish, forgetfulness, old people’s home, intensified OCD, grumpiness,  long naps, chicken soup, tomato soup, brocolli soup, cauliflower soup…well if you haven’t got teeth at 80 and you don’t want to get food stuck in your denches then soup’s what you’ll probably lean to reluctantly…it’s a scary thought.

It doesn’t mean I want to die young and still have a fine looking corpse. I want to have children, I want to watch them grow, I want to guide my children through life and ensure they grab opportunities I missed in my youth, I want to attend their weddings, I want them to have my grandchildren, I want my children to take care of me but not to point where I seem like an absolute burden, I want to have my whole family close by, I don’t want to be alone when I die…

..xTx..

Junior High – 3rd year

I was doing pretty well in school and after I made my transition from JSS2 to JSS3 I said goodbye to those dreaded grey hot pants I sported for 2years – I went all out on baggy ‘Bermuda’ shorts (roomy for the crotch and 2 inches below the knee, yeah baby!). I wasn’t part of the Stingray generation and I ‘misplaced’ my US army bag, although with hindsight I wish I had auctioned it today on eBAY… shame. I was carrying leather (and sometimes plastic) folders which seemed cooler (Cool guys didn’t walk around, like hunchbacks, carrying tons of textbooks). The only problem was that I risked getting punished for not bringing some of those humongous textbooks to class (so on those fateful days I’d wear my baggy shorts with some newspaper padding inside my boxers to reduce the ‘koboko’/cane impact) – the sacrifice of trying to be cool, eh?

Prices of snacks and drinks went up steadily but fortunately, so did my pocket money. I recall those trips to ‘Uncle Tony’s’ kiosk where he sold these dodgy-looking (but surprisingly tasty) hamburgers (mmmm…) and next door to him was the meatpie lady whose pies seemed to be getting smaller but more expensive each year. On days when I wanted to flex/pose/show off/act up/broadcast, I would mosey on down to ‘Mama Nike’ and get some deliciously marinated peppered chicken. The truth was you ended up enjoying the bone more because there was hardly any flesh on it in the first place, yet the cost of 1 piece of her chicken was equivalent to buying about 4 meatpies. So when you asked a girl to join you for lunch you always secretly hoped that she would not opt for the rip-off chicken – otherwise, no lunch for you that week (or you risked being known as a ‘Percher’: Someone who walks around during breaktime trying to get a cut out of people’s meatpies going, ‘Abeg, make I cut?’)

Physically I had changed tremendously. It was not just the bounce in my step (It took months to perfect this without making my butt stick out) but my voice was deeper, I was taller (for an average 13yr old of course), and I was growing unwanted hair in the strangest places…Anyway, that was the least of my problems. I was more concerned about the sour relationship that I had trapped myself in – not with any girl in my school…with my pimples.

Anytime I had started making some progress whilst ‘toasting’/chatting up a fine girl, days later a bloody ripe pimple would spring up on my face and steal the spot-light (no pun intended). If that wasn’t bad enough my pimples, unlike other boys’ pimples, would appear on ridiculously annoying areas – I’ve had one on the centre of my chin, the centre of my forehead (no offence to Indians), by either side of my lips (I said ‘side’ not ‘on’!), etc. The worst-placed pimple was the stubborn one I had bang-in-the-middle of my already broad flat nose – It was like looking at a ripe cherry on a dark chocolate ice-cream sundae…without being the least bit appetizing.

One of my many battles in school was therefore to find an immediate cure for these grotesque skin protrusions. I tried everything: toothpaste, squeezing, pricking, but what worked best for me was Mentholatum/any medicated balm the night before. You’ll know it has worked when the girl you’re chatting with tells you (after staring at your nose throughout your conversation) that you need to wipe ‘something’ off your nose – see! My pimple was working against me as usual.

Other battles I encountered were the Popularity contests. It seemed a big deal to get your name into the school magazine or the yearbook with some cool accolade; ‘Cutest junior boy’ (I wish), Best dressed junior boy (not being sore but I was robbed), etc. I was just known amongst my JSS3 set as the one who talked to the most girls, including girls in the set above me (SS1), thanks to my cousin in that set. I had ‘Haters’ in my set who couldn’t understand how I would sometimes be invited to parties hosted by SS1. Those Haters must have hated me even more when my cousin and I partook in one of the school’s variety shows and danced our way to fame as The Hype Boys (my ‘school fathers’/choreographers/mentors were the Too Hype Boys for obvious reasons). I became a (little) celebrity overnight and it boosted my rep just a little bit 😀

Only one thing stood between me and Senior status – my JSCE exam. To me that meant either repeat wearing Shorts another year or proudly walk in Trousers. .The pressure was now on!

 

..xTx..

Entry #10 – Unfaithful

I have to come clean on this because it’s been eating me deep inside. I used to have an affair with Facebook. It was fun at first – the pics, the applications, the groups, and of course friends from my teenage years. But recently I’ve been seeing WordPress.com. She seems to understand me better. She gives me everything I need (widgets, stats, HTML shortcuts) to make me happy. I’ve introduced some of my friends to her and they like the effect she’s had on me. Sometimes when I’m busy at work she gathers up all the statistical data I need to analyze my blog performance. I hope Facebook can understand. It’s nothing personal but I can’t change how I feel. We can still be friends and I’ll visit once in a while…but I’m with WordPress.com now – no hard feelings FB J   

Junior High – 2nd year…

I.S.I (International School, Ibadan) was where I first learnt how someone could be under constant pressure…just about every single day of his/her secondary school life. And I’m not talking about pressure to excel above the pass mark (which, then, was about 40% in all subjects)…no, I’m talking about the pressure to be cool, ‘bam’, ‘hard’…if you were linked to any of these accolades back in the day then your ‘rep’ was off to a good start…supposedly.

 

Now the problem I had was that I didn’t fit the bill particularly. I had a small tennis-ball afro which wasn’t cool enough, overly smart shoes which weren’t ‘bam’ enough, and a group of friends I rolled with who were not ‘hard’ enough. As a ‘day’ student (i.e. a student who doesn’t reside in the school’s hostels during the term) I was already screwed because the ‘boarders’ (those students who do reside in the school’s hostels…) were automatically catapulted into ‘hard’ status. I don’t think I’ll ever know why.

 

Maybe it was because you’d see one guy wear a different pair of ‘pumps’, moccasins and Tims for 2 straight weeks – I was baffled! How could one kid have close to 14 pairs of shoes? But I soon learnt that boarders had a sharing culture – they exchanged just about everything. So of course you could seem to have so many clothes, shoes, schoolbags…oh my God…I just remember I had a hideous schoolbag.

 

It was called a ‘U.S army bag’ – Trust me, it didn’t look as cool as it sounded. It was the size and shape of a 14-inch box TV – perfect for those tons of textbooks which I carried but would hardly have to read. Mine was black with all the different colorful badge prints and miniature flag images. It even had an ID number, yet I didn’t feel anything close to being a boy scout. Instead, as I walked around the school grounds with the crushing weight of my backpack I felt like Quasimodo – the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

 

My cousin (the eldest of the three, who was in JSS3 at the time) used to make fun of me – at home and at school. We didn’t quite get on initially but during my stay at his mum’s place I started trying to emulate his style as much as I could. He was like the big brother I never had. He would help guide me through this transition from Pee Wee Herman to ‘Cool’, from Inspector Clousseau to ‘Bam’, and from N-Sync to ‘Hard’. First stop – the barbershop.

 

My cuz and I went to the local barbershop and said hello to the natives. I was corrected abruptly. Hello = Not cool. Hi = cool. What’s up = cool. How far! = Razz but way better than Hello. Anyway, I got into my chair and looked up at the charts to see what was on the menu. Skinned (Oh, HELL no!), Bobby Brown slant (not brave enough), The Punk (hmm, now there’s an idea!) It was a kind of square-cut with a puffed top (View pic: Kadeem Hardison a.k.a \’Dwayne Wayne\’ in teen comedy, \’A Different World\’ ). It was one of those I-love-my-mama-but-she-don’t-tell-ME-what-to-do haircuts. It commanded respect. I loved it. I got my first pair of Reebok pumps too. I even started wearing cologne (with a cologne-drenched handkerchief in my top pocket just for good measure).

 

I was ready to re-enter I.S.I with new a found sense of courage. At break time it was ‘cool’ to be seen having lunch with a (pretty) girl. After managing to save up a decent amount of pocket money I asked a girl to lunch, she agreed, and we took a pleasant stroll to the kiosks to get our soft-drinks and snacks. As I sat on a ledge with her I was excited because I could feel eyes on me…not hers, my peers. They were filled with awe and probably a little jealousy. I savoured this moment. But mid-way through my conversation I felt like either I had coughed up a fur ball or Barry White’s ghost was trying to use me as a medium to convey a message. Perfect! Just as I was trying to break my way into the ‘In-crowd’ my voice decided to break its way into Puberty.    

 

..xTx..

Entry #8 – Monday Moan

I hate road traffic on Monday mornings, I hate Sunday evenings because I’m thinking about Monday, I hate Monday Meetings, I think Monday used to be called Moanday or perhaps even Mournday, I hate Monday because I carry over things from last Monday, I hate that after Church on Sunday the first sin I commit is usually on, wait for it, MONDAY!!! I hate that I can never choose to fall sick on a Monday. I don’t want my birthday to ever fall on a Monday. I do not plan to marry on Monday, yes i think it’s safe to say that I HATE MONDAYS!!!!!

Now where did I put my Monday medication… 😮

DPS – Daily Problem…Solved

Here at DPS we believe that problems can be solved. Not all of them! Just the daily ones. 
 
Life is too short to be lumbered with problems that constantly eat at you day in day out. If you went for a check up with your doctor they would almost certainly check your BP (Blood Pressure). Well at DPS we believe it’s just as important to check your DP (Daily Problem).
 
For the past 2 years we have conducted extensive research on common daily problems (DP) and have come up with solutions which have been tried and tested. We also give you alternative solutions which may vary in usage, depending on how daring (or insane) you are. Our advice comes with a No Money-Back Guarantee. Don’t be alarmed though. DPS doesn’t charge anything. The solutions we tirelessly slave to develop are handed to you on a platter for free!
 
We have been flooded with requests for solutions to their DPs from the highly technical to the downright bizzare but we don’t discriminate. Everyone and I mean Everyone will get a workable solution which we at DPS aren’t afraid to test on your behalf. Here are just a few DPs that we’ve highlighted…

I’m always late to work. No matter how hard I try to wake up I never seem to leave on time. I’m so sluggish when my alarm rings and I can even sleep through it. Please help me!…R.K (Leeds)

^^Don’t worry, you are not alone. Tip: Put your alarm clock at one end of your bedroom so that you’re forced to get up to put it off. This method will only be effective if your alarm tone is loud and annoying. You’ll soon be up and about in no time!

Quick solutions:
> Sleep early = Leave early
> Get a friend, who wakes up early, to call you Mon – Fri
> Watch a good horror movie the night before but have an Energy drink ready by day
> Have a shower the night before and dryclean in the morning (not to be done regularly!)

Everytime I buy chewing gum my colleagues at work exhaust my week’s supply in one day. They don’t usually return the favour but just wait like vultures for the moment a stray chewing gum packet is playing dead on my desk. How can I combat this daily problem?)…N.N (London)

^^ Hmm…you go out & buy, they come & say Hi. You chew the gum, they ask for some…yes, a popular DP. Tip: Without having to lie, observe this scenario – ‘Ooh, can I have some gum?’ You say, ‘Mmm, I want some too. Let me see who might have some’. But if the pest already knows you have gum and he/she is a persistent offender, you say ‘I think its high time you get some this time, don’t you think?’. The act of sharing is not to be discouraged but there are people in the world who are ready to take advantage of you on a daily basis so take action!   

Quick solutions:
> As the ‘chewor’, ask the ‘chewee’ what gum flavor he/she hates, then buy that one
> Stop chewing everytime the chewee wanders by.
> If caught chewing and approached for gum, just say ‘I’ll buy some more later’
> Offer an alternative you know they’ll refuse e.g. chewable vitamin C, (yuk!)

I am getting sick and tired of having long power supply shortages. I can’t plan my inhouse activities the way I want e.g. setting recording times on my DSTV cable, Ironing my clothes, Freezing my leftovers, etc. Apart from noisy generators, what else can I do to get constant electricity?…O.U (Nigeria)

^^ I can imagine what you must be going through and I’m happy to inform you that there is an answer.Tip: Buy an inverter. It isn’t noisy and it is a good investment if you like constant electricity. When public power supply returns then it charges your inverter for you. You can buy as many as you need depending on your budget and how much you want to power up. Unlike gens, these can be kept neatly indoors. Go on, live a little!

Quick solutions:
> Move to Ghana…It isn’t quick but it’s your closest source for 99.9% power supply

Some of my friends keep flashing me. I’m always having to call them back and then they start to talk on my credit talktime. I don’t flash people because I think its irritating. If I don’t call back they flash again and again till my battery starts running down. How can I put a stop to this madness?…F.E (France)

^^For the benefit of first-timers, the term ‘Flashing’ describes when you get a phone call from someone who cuts the line/connection just as you answer it. A professional flasher can disconnect your call in under 2 seconds. The aim – to let YOU call them back and save them THEIR money. Telecom giants also face a dilemma whereby they don’t know how to make money from such break-neck speed calls. Tip: DPS recommends you sacrifice the cost of 1 text and send a simple message as follows: ‘CALL ME WHEN YOU HAVE CREDIT’. This is most effective because they’ll call back and  speak to you for at least 1 quick minute. Try it for yourself!

Quick solutions:
> Switch your phone off for 5mins, put it on and Eureka! 1 new message
> Flash them back to acknowledge their flash (not highly recommended as it may go on for a while)
 

**In the next edition we shall tackle more DPs and also accept solutions from the public to help others. We respond every (other) week with a fresh edition of DP solutions for your benefit so feel free to subscribe for subsequent updates. Check your DP today and lets solve it 4 u!**

For more information or if you want to send in your DP, leave a comment below
 
OR
 
call him on 0800-1-DPSOLVED
>
>
>
DPS…Daily problem? Solved.

 

 
Disclaimer: In the event of defamation, physical harm or financial loss, DPS will not be held liable for paying any damages or other form of compensation. All solutions to DPs are to be used (or not) at your own risk. If you are unhappy with any of the solutions provided after your first trial, then do not expect a refund – you did not pay for the advice in the first place!

All rights reserved 2009.

Entry #5 – Jokes at the office

A colleague of mine got me in stitches yesterday when she narrated an incident that took place at her church. Her aunty had been nodding during the sermon…I beg your pardon…nodding off to sleep during the sermon, when the preacher decided to switch the topic. He asked the congregation that if they knew they had been involved in witchcraft, charms or an occult then they should ‘STAND UP’ for prayer. Unfortunately my colleague’s innocent aunty suddenly snapped out of her slumber, hoping she would not be caught out for not rising to her feet – Problem was…she was the ONLY ONE on her feet and she didn’t even know why she was standing up, nor did she understand why she got the most shocking looks from members of the congregation, especially her niece and kids with her!

Apparently she still regrets the events of that Sunday service – she feels compelled to keep explaining to people at her church that she is not a witch 😀

Lost In Translation

The English language is not as complicated as some of us think it is – of course HUMANS make it complicated just like everything else; relationships, gender, sexuality, etc. But getting your point across (in English) to an English speaker couldn’t be that difficult, could it?

I remember once when I was travelling on London’s underground I encountered a loud-mouth sitting opposite me. She was screaming down her mobile phone whilst the train was still overground. She was trying to get an alpha-numeric code (excuse me, letters and numbers) across to the recipient but she may as well have been a Scottish stammerer stuttering through a mouthful of hot potatoes…

‘…t! t! I said T not D…T! T! T! Can you hear me? I said T o! I DIDN’T SAY D…No! we are not saying the same thing! T for Tayo…Eh heh…yes…Wait o, did you say Dayo?…NOT D! T-T-T- HELLO…HELLO?…’ – She lost reception just as I was beginning to lose my mind.

Anyway I’m sure most of us who’ve booked airline/railway tickets are not bemused by the coded lingo the sales reps smack unto our eardrums i.e. R for Romeo, G for Golf, T for Tango, S for Sugar, F for Freddie, etc. You could save yourself a whole lot of saliva if you tried. After all, isn’t the important thing to be heard and understood?

The Internet has captured the shorthand generation of SMS pundits who now marade chatrooms with their lol, lmao, rotf, rotflmao, brb, gtg, ttyl, wtf, tgif, l8r, gn8 and the ‘not so popular’ myob. These codes have transpired into everyday use and MUST be understood by all.

I only have one instance in my life where the English Language did not prove useful – my JSCE…in Yoruba. I still remember the way my paper remained blank whilst I stared at the Essay question which said something about writing on my first day at secondary school (I think). I looked to my left and I looked to my right but no one was ready to let me sneak a peak. I did the only thing I could think of at that point…do a written plea (in English) and hope that the examiner would be sympathetic enough to let me sail through. It was way back in 1993 when I was 13 but it went a lil something like this…

‘Dear Sir,

I am from Rivers State and I speak Ijaw. You can even look at my name. I do not understand Yoruba at all and the teachers always taught us in Yoruba and I did not understand what they were saying. Please I am begging you to please take pity on me and let me pass this exam. I would be so grateful and I am sure you have a kind heart. Thank you so much. God bless.’

I still laugh about the whole thing and even now in Lagos I’m speaking Yoruba at a very basic conversational level. Even when I struggle to speak some people choose not to hear – I’ve been referred to as Tanwa and Tomiwa and I deliberately chose not to respond. If you were born ‘Kehinde’ and you allow people in Jand to refer to you as ‘Kenny’ then dont complain!

In conclusion, the English Language is still evolving and a good grasp of it could make all the difference in nailing that job interview, courting your future partner, getting picked to be the Best Man, receiving a standing ovation for a speech, and not to mention, writing a damn good persuasive letter…which reminds me – I almost forgot to state my Yoruba JSCE result…

 

I got an F9.

 

…yes, you guessed it! I failed.

 

..xTx..

F.E.A.R (contd.)

…Maybe it was the Bad cop’s AC that was malfunctioning or the prospect of having to (effectively) sign my life away. But whatever it was, that heat was hotter than N1000 Suya consumed at 12noon inside a jam-packed Moluwe…in stand-still traffic.

Where’s a lawyer when you need one? I had practised all damn night for this interview and even went online to study common interview questions. I was now in a 1-2-1 situation with a guy who invariably wanted to do a 1-8-7 on my 4-1-9, lying ass. There was no way I was going to commit to bringing N200m during my 6 month-probation! Even armed robbers were not making that kind of salary, were they?

In those last few seconds, as I stared at the contract and the BIC biro lying next to the dotted lines, I imagined what my life would be like on a daily basis – it sure beat any scary movie I’VE ever seen! You wake up in the morning…stressed. Drive to work…stressed. Sit at your desk…mega-stressed because you sure aint going to get N200m just by staring at your laptop. You shudder at the mere sight of your boss because you know what’s coming next: ‘T’! How much have you brought??? – Thats how your boss responds each time you say ‘Good morning’, ‘Good afternoon’, ‘Good evening’ or just when he sees you in the office and not outside begging marketing. I snapped out of my daydream. This is not how my life would end, I thought. What would the conman in Thomas Crown Affair do? I had to think and think sharpish. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks (EUREKA!)

Me: Wait, I still have another interview with your Regional Director so maybe after…
BC: It doesn’t matter. Just sign.
Me: But what if… he gives me a higher target? (giving my ‘I told you so’ facial expression)
BC (Ponders) Ok, when you finish come back and see me.
Me: Phew! (I think I’m going to be sick…)

I went across to the RD’s office and to my surprise the interview, just like the AC, was pretty cool. He didn’t mention anything about ridiculous financial targets or death warrants commitment agreements. We had a nice chat about the responsibilities in the new role and how I was expected to drive my end of the business – consumer products of the electronic variety. At the end of the interview I timidly asked if I had to see anyone else (knowing full well that Bad cop said I should see him when I’m done).

RD: No, our HR will get in touch with you soon.
Me: (In my mind, yaaay!) Thank you.

Now it was time for the hard part – my getaway. You see, there was only one staircase that led downstairs but it was right by the Bad cop’s office. The office had large windows so I knew he would see me if I tried to bypass him. I wish I could say that I summoned about 20 other guys who dressed like me and had agreed for us to all wear bowler hats to confuse Bad cop (Thomas Crown Affair) but sadly, I’m not that well connected. Instead, I waited in a corner and took a deep breath…then I walked past…head down, really fast.

BC: (Door opens) Wait! …Hey-ssssssss! …wait! ….Oga! Abeg, help me call that man…Wait! …ssssssss!!!

As I exited the building with supposedly deaf ears I looked across to my dad’s driver who was parked near the bank’s gate. As I began to jog to the car I prompted him to start the engine (just in case Bad cop was making his way behind me). The driver must have been thinking 1 of 2 things when I jumped in shouting, ‘GO-GO-GO-GO!’ – Either I had come to the wrong bank and was late for my interview elsewhere OR I had just stolen millions (ahead of my intended target). We fled the scene and like Sodom & Gomorrah I didn’t dare look back.

About 2 weeks later I received a letter from that bank. I opened it, prayerfully, hoping it wasn’t one of those ‘Unfortunately…’ letters. I breezed through the first paragraph which was purely introductory. By the time I skipped to the second paragraph and read just 4 words, ‘We are happy to…’ I went ballistic. I vaguely remember popping open a bottle of wine after going through my remuneration package and jubilating with my family. Everything conveyed in my offer letter was more than satisfactory. I still did about 3 detailed searches on the letter for any dotted lines linked to the dreaded ‘commitment agreements’ until I was absolutely certain that there was no hidden catch.

Consequently I accepted the offer. I was to resume in March 2007, allowing me enough time to get myself together with regards freighting my stuff, evading gym and internet subscription payments, applying for last minute UK loans, a last glance at the Red Light District, etc. I was looking forward to grabbing this unique job opportunity by the neck and asking it ‘Who’s your daddy, b**ch?’ I had faced my fear and God rewarded me with my F.E.A.R.
…In 2009, however, I have come to terms with a new fear…

 

F.E.A.R.S – Finding Eligible And Religious Spouse

The saga continues… 

..xTx…

F.E.A.R

Of all the fears in the world there’s only one I dreaded the most. It was not bankruptcy, failure, death, a terrorist attack or even the future invasion of flying cockroaches. The only thing I really feared when I left London and arrived in Lagos (Dec, 2006) was my F.E.A.R (First Employment After Return).

On boarding the Emirate flight from Heathrow I experienced worrisome levels of anxiety. I was fidgeting and twitching like a drug addict looking for his last Ecstasy pill – I was a nervous wreck. As I fastened my seatbelt I only watched the air steward’s safety demo so that I could pinpoint the location of the nearest emergency exit…and make a desperate run for it.

It was a long shot, I thought: Quitting my banking job, abandoning my friends, clubs, bars, restaurants, gym, constant electricity supply, and all for what? A chance to settle down in my motherland and make my own little impact, that’s what. I guess the initial panic I encountered stemmed from the subconscious comparisons I was making – McDonald’s…Mr. Biggs, Quaker’s Oat-So-Simple…Golden Morn, Oxford Street…Shoprite, London Energy…Bi-monthly electricity supply, British Gas…Half-empty Gas cylinder, Starbucks…Nescafe + Three Crowns milk, HMV…Street Hawkers, …etc. Some passengers around me were praying so I prayed too. Sadly my prayer wasn’t answered – the plane still took off.

‘There goes my emergency escape plan’, I thought. I sat back and meditated during the long flight, trying to reassure myself that everything would work out for the best. Once I landed it seemed peculiar that I initially boarded alone but on getting off there was 3 of us: The Optimist, Me and the Pessimist. It was a struggle, bumping into each other amidst the luggage. But soon after checking out of Murtala Muhammed Airport I felt really positive with my return. The Optimist and I got into a car-hire and drove to the family home (I had earlier handed over the Pessimist to Immigrations…no bribe required).

Back at home, my dad had arranged a couple of meetings through some of his clients in the banking world. He had handed the baton over to me and the rest of the race was mine to win. Damn those bank interviews! One of them was actually an Endurance test – at least that was all I stuck around for. After an exhausting bench-warming marathon, despite being told to come for interview at 10am, I got up and just walked out. I gained nothing. Instead I lost 3 strands of scalp hair, 5hrs of Nintendo gaming time, and both my ego and my ‘yansh’ were deflated. That bank called 1.10pm to tell me that ‘the panel’ was ready to see me. I remember hissing though it wasn’t meant out loud.

The other bank I went to for interview gave me a more interesting experience. It was the ol’ Good cop-Bad cop routine (with a Naija twist of course). I walked into the good cop’s office, suited and booted, only to be asked 2 questions: ‘What do you have to offer?’ (Pretty normal question) and ‘Why on earth would you want to come back and work in Nigeria?’ (Wetin consign you sef!). Notwithstanding, I answered. He scribbled. I gave him my best smile. He gave me a squinted look then he scribbled some more. Note to self – No more Eddie Murphy smiles.

The Bad cop held true to the title. He made me wait 30mins in his (Prison cell-sized) office. Well if your office was half the size of the Good cop’s then you’d be mean too. Anyway, being mean is still better. This guy was brutal:

BC: What is your CABAL size?
Me: I beg your pardon sir?
BC: Ah-ah! Your CABAL in your last banking job?
Me: Sorry sir but could you please explain what you mean by ‘CABAL’?
BC: Ah-ah!?…(looks at my cv) Oh ok, you worked in LONDON, I see. So, what was the volume on the accounts you managed? Give me the naira equivalent.
Me: I don’t have the exact figure…but it was a lot.
BC: How won’t you know? You should know! It is your responsibility!
Me: Okaaay…?!@#
BC: So how much are you committing to bring to this bank?
Me: ‘Committing’ sir?
BC: Eh-now…give me a figure.
Me: (2-minute silence) what figure is reasonable sir?
BC: (Laughs) you should be the one to tell me. What level are you applying for?
Me: SBO (Senior Banking Officer)
BC: So you should be able to do at least N200m…that’s even too small, but you just arrived, abi?
Me: (Gulp followed by adjusting my neck-tie for air supply) Y…….es.
BC: So how are you going to achieve this N200m target?
Me: Er…I…have…connections…
BC: eEEehn! Like who? (Gets out his pen and opens his diary/notepad)
Me: I have like 5 top clients, Nigerians, whom are planning to move their accounts to Nigeria (bullshit). They have thousands of pounds (more bullshit). They also know contacts that I can speak to in order to get more funds for the bank (…bullshit overload).
BC: Mm-hmm. (Scribbles) So you should be able to bring N100m within 3months, eh?
Me: I…should be able…to do that, sir.
BC: Whats the problem? Are you okay?
Me: Nothing…Is it hot in here?
BC: No. You’re just not used to Nigerian heat yet. Sign here…
Me: Er…Sign what?
BC: Your commitment agreement.
Me: (In my mind, ‘F**********K!!!’)

To be continued…

..xTx..