Welcome to my Blog

Welcome to my Blog

Just asking a simple innocent question..........

I'm sure you must have said it too, or even come across some one who has asked you a silly question (or made a stament) before or a retort that was equally silly.

Here goes.........

Man comes back home after work to meet wifey at home. He opens the door, wifey sees hubby stepping into the living room....

Wifey: Honey, you're home.
Hubby: No, I'm still parking my car outside.

Two friends: Fred: Can we arrange to meet tomorrow?
Richard: You mean next day?

And this is one of my favourite. Why is it that when a person wakes up from sleeping, someone still asks Are you awake? (mmmm.....I guess he could be sleep walking whislt making coffee in the kitchen) Or you nudge someone sleeping on the sofa (who was snoring loudly) and you say to them.....

"Bro, can you go and sleep in the room?"
"I wasn't sleeping"

I recall an incident a friend told me when he went to the states. He was speaking to this guy and the following conversation ensues.......
"Where you from?"
"I'm from England"
"Really?" (duh! remove your ear wax, he didn't say Pakistan)
"hmmm"
"Do you know Dave?"

Check this one out...... White guy to black african guy.

White guy: I'm sorry to have to ask this, but I heard you guys live in tall trees, is that true?" Black guy: yes, its true.
White guy: Oh my gosh....I thought you might be offended. But....forgive me for asking, but how do you guys get up there?
Black guy: oh...it's no problem. We simple take the lifts.

The silliest is when you are waiting for the bus and someone asks "Has the bus come yet?". If the bus came would I be standing here, donut? Or When people say while watching a film "did you see that?". No to$ser, I paid £8 to come to the cinema and stare at the floor.

Here is another one....

Guy: When are you expecting?
Woman: Am not. I'm fat.

PC to naija guy (stopped for traffic offence)

PC: Can you identify yourself, please?

Naija: Who? You mean me? (A naija person is not truly naija unless he reponds to a question with a question)
PC: Yes sir
(Naija man takes PC to side mirror of car and says to PC): "That's me"

Techical analyst: I understand your PC is not working
User: If it was working I wouldn't have to call you.

Technical analyst: Ok. Has your PC got any power.
User: No. It's not switched on at the mains.

Here is another one.....

"I've got three birds, a monkey and er....a hamster"
"Gosh....what a collection. Do they all make noise?"

Guy to (identical -note the emphasis) twin sisters. "Are you twins?"

Ohhhh......I love these kind of people. They sometimes make your day rock.

The Janded babe vesus the Naija Guy debate

I have always been fascinated about the interesting debate relating to how “janded babes” don’t understand Naija guys and vice versa. This debate has since continued unabated. Invariably, Naija men seem to bear much of the flak. “Janded Babes” complain that Naija men are only interested in one thing. Er….em, lemme see now. I am busy cudgelling my brain to determine what that could be. Yeeessss, I’ve got it. Yippee!!! My bad! How could I not have known?

When a man meets a woman, he’s only interested in one thing: knowing her name. Why? It’s probably because when he was growing up his mum admonished him for talking to strangers. So in a bid to sound overly courteous when he meets a woman, he has to display some well taught manners (Of course mummy taught him – who best to learn from?) and ask her name.

Corollary to this issue is the fact that some men don’t know how to step up to “janded babes”. Guys, to be serious some of us are found wanting in this regard. I mean, how can a guy step up to a girl at a party (noticed that the girl was sitting next to an unoccupied chair) and utter these embarrassing words: “Scuz me, is anyone siddon for here?” or “It appears as if I have acquainted with your face before”, ….. or, “Oh baby! I am infatuated to become your lover”, or this immeasurably witty chat up line… “Hello baby, see your rosy cheeks looking very infectious. I am sure you are beauty since Mama born”

And oh yes! According to “janded babes”, men don’t know how to treat them. We take them for granted. We ignore them. We don’t get in touch with their feelings. Simply put: men don’t understand “janded babes”. One wonders how Baba Ekaete in days of yore managed to “toast” his wife without flowers, without taking her out and without stroking her lovely plaited hair whilst she was lying on his lap. Even if she did put her head on his lap, presumably after one minute, he would be “ready for action”. And instead of Mama Ekaete to play ball, she would probably say “Wero (wait o) I ron do. I wan make you hold me, das all. Ekaete go soon return from yonsion o”.

Could this probably explain one of the reasons why there is a serious dearth in women trying to forge a relationship with men (or why some women purportedly “swing the other way”)? Little wonder then that some women who are Single and Readily Available (SRA); Single and Still Searching (SSS); Single and Desperately Searching (SDS); Single Mother and Searching in the Voice and Loot newspapers (SMS); Still Single and Approaching Menopause (SSAM) are watching furtively at their biological clock with baited anticipation that Mr Right (if there’s anything as such), Mr Six Pack, Mr Appealing, Mr Manageable or Mr Slow Coach will eventually come their way.

Evidently, the two sexes speak in different languages and get mixed signals when understanding and communicating with each other. Let me reprise some few lines which I am sure has made the rounds on the web in the past. If a man makes a decision without consulting his wife/girlfriend, he is a chauvinist. If she makes a decision without consulting him, she’s a liberated woman. If he asks her to do something she doesn’t enjoy, that’s domination. If she asks him, it’s a favour. If you get a promotion ahead of her, that is favouritism. If she gets a job ahead of him, it’s equal opportunity. And so, this chasm of not relating properly has appeared progressively hard to bridge.

However, in order to diffuse the looming confrontation whenever such problem rears its ugly head, it seems conveniently easy to forget that both genders are created distinctly. We think differently and we sometimes appraise issues from different viewpoints.

FACT: Women can be emotional and sensitive beings. They moan (not that type, duh!). They sulk for ages at the slightest bit of frustration and inaction. The latter is more evident if they want something from a man. When it is apparent they won’t get it, they then resort to manipulation or emotional blackmail to obtain or fulfil that need or want.

And their dramatisation of events deserves an Oscar. How a woman can cry for breaking a nail is still beyond me. Another one is when their mascara is running at 30 miles an hour at a party and they make an excuse to go powder their “nose”. Mmm…the connection? Also why do women need a support group to go to the restroom? I can’t imagine a guy saying this to his male counterparts at a party (Assuming all of them are heterosexual males): “Hey guys, I’m about to take a leak. Any one wanna join me?” I am certain even if one of the men had diarrhoea and he felt a gastrointestinal distress inside his bowels, he’d stay put, even if he has to suppress any uncalled for “gas emissions” that would inevitably “open the floodgates”.

I’ll not even begin to understand how it feels like to be a woman. I guess it’s not easy - much as it is not easy to be a MAN as well. But let’s face it, the tide has changed noticeably for women and deservedly so. Gone are the days when women had to fight hard for their erstwhile sovereignty. Women are now independent. Good for them. They own their own house, cars, hold down a great job, wear designer clothes and own more than 70 pairs of shoes, some of which they’d probably NEVER EVER wear; juggle work and family and still be a mother and housewife- if there’s still some energy left.

Today the giant strides they have made is a testament to the hardwork, struggles, days of abject neglect, poverty, inequality, abuse – some of them faced then and regrettably today, in the patriarchal world we live in. Observably, I wonder why such prominence is not accorded to some men whose wives/girlfriends abuse them physically and emotionally.

But hey, men are not to be left out of the equation as well. “Janded babes” need to understand that Naija men too have issues that we deal with. We are by no means perfect. We are sometimes vulnerable. We have our faults, and it takes a real man to own up to them unashamedly and to go further as to apologise when he’s wrong. We have needs too. We need hugs. We want our fingers and toe nails clipped. We want our backs massaged; we want women to block our ear lobes with sweet nothings. We want you to say you love us, not always expecting us to say it to you.

Some of us are still Mummy’s boy at heart but still display some machismo when required. Maybe that’s the reason why some men are like government bonds, because they take so long to mature.

Fact: Some men find it difficult to show their emotions. They don’t know how to communicate romantically without lifting some lyrics off Barry White, Mario, or Usher, if at all. And the bottom line is this: men simply don’t know what women want. I suspect, too, that on occasions, “janded babes” are at a loss as to exactly what they want from a man – this is in stark contrast to what they want in a man.

Conversely we need to embrace the concept that relational problems emanate from a source. If the head is rotten, the body decays so goes the old saying. So let’s start from the foundation. A man has to be a leader and exhibit the qualities of someone who is revered – not just adorn the ceremonial title of a “leader”. A man has to have an executable vision for himself as well as his family. He has to know where he is going and how to get there.

Perhaps all the afore-mentioned epitomises some of the angst “janded babes” feel towards Naija men. They don’t want a man who is going to be an excess luggage – a liability, or a vagabond, coach potato, lazy drinking, wife beating, secretive, olodu “419” of a guy. They want a man who should lead rather than being led. It has to be said though that where women are missing the point is trying to play the role of a man in a relationship. This is not possible, and no real man will stand for that, unless he has “Mugun” written on his forehead or is the “hold my cloth for me” type.

It won’t be far fetched to say that some of them have some of the traits of a man. They are dominant, pushy, bossy – add any apt adjective of the male persona to describe them, and you won’t go amiss. This type of woman will not take any rubbish from any man. If there is one big issue men cannot relate with women, it is about lack of RESPECT towards their men.

Submissiveness, if one has to be brutally frank, is one major area that some women still struggle with. But women should realise that submissiveness to your man should not reach the point where you can’t walk, talk or go out of the house. This bears all the hallmarks of an abusive relationship.

However, it has to be recognised that biblically, men have been spiritually ordained to be the head of the house and women to be our helpmates. In the main, if men can’t be allowed to be the “King of their domain”, there will be cracks in the relationship. To obtain that respect though, a man does not have to beat his chest to proclaim he is the man of the house for people to know. That respect has to be earned. And one of the salient aspects of a good leader is one who leads with purpose. To this end, a follower will only respect a leader if they believe in his vision. So, it takes two to salsa.

Further still, for men to relate with women, don’t try and understand them. This is because you won’t no matter how hard you try. This equally applies to women. For starters, women have a thousand and one mood swings, men have one. The best both genders can do is to bring out the best each other rather than dwell on the negatives or by trying to change your partner.

Instead of showing apathy, intolerance, stubbornness and an unwillingness to relate with them, we should treat them as “children” (not meant in a derogatory way) and show some patience. It is admittedly difficult, giving the hostile and confrontational outburst that will inevitably happen. But it isn’t, in my opinion, improbable.

Yes, they will change their minds a hundred times. Yes, they will get angry if we forget (men have always been accused of being forgetful) important events. Yes, they will get angrier when they talk and we ignore them. Yes, they will continue to nag incessantly about men pressing the toothpaste in the middle and forgetting (see - that word recurs again) to put the toilet seat down. Yes, they will annoy us by continuously interrupting us when we watch sports on the box.

Yes, they will sometimes “fake” it or complain about having a headache (but whose fault is that really? Go figure). Yes, they’d probably insult our manhood by chuckling if we hit the “homerun” in one minute. Yes, they will always drive us up the wall by waking us up in the middle of the night and uttering these five dreaded words; “Honey, we need to
talk”. But in the main, love them are loathe them, women are still to be treasured.

Women too need to stop fronting. There is no Denzel Washington look alike lurking around. If you are fortunate enough and he comes calling, he may not be rich or may not treat you right. Love is not enough. You must be willing to compromise your principles, without changing your personality.

In passing, both genders need to realise that there is no perfect relationship. Realistically the only perfect couple is one in what the wife is blind (she won’t be able to see her husband’s faults and nag incessantly about it); and the husband is deaf (he won’t be able to listen to her nagging).

For those of you still looking for a partner, keeping searching and keep waiting for the right man, babe. There is still light at the end of the tunnel. Just make sure it’s not a train coming at you.

Reliving my yankee experience (written in 2001)

This piece was written after my second visit to the states. Althought the first visit was memorable, the second one was crazier, more fun and comepletely blew me. My second visit was was rather brief, but there was a lot to reminisce about. One thing that has really fascinated me about yanky was the unbridled "hype" surrounding its entity. Undoubtedly, it is an entity. And as most people who have visited yanky would attest to, the hype" is real.

Even since America gained independence from Britain in 1776, the country has been appropriately dubbed the land of the free; God's own country; where dreams come true, etc Each time I had the profound pleasure of visiting yanky, it's as if I was completely "hijacked" into the future. Everything seemed surreal, lavish and spontaneous. In fact the unpredictability of the place knows no bounds. Just imagine, I saw someone driving his car with one leg out of the car window. Car-azy or what? I heard another story of a guy always mowing his lawn at 3am; people shouting and talking whilst watching a movie at the cinema; street parties being held in the summer; and I saw men who plait their hair (I guess another fashion craze - "Asakasa" (improper conduct) and who wear their pants way below their navel, etc

Observably, people in yanky can be so "LOUD". Often times, they adopt an uncompromising attitude that enables them to say exactly what's on their minds, devoid of embarrassment, shyness or intimidation. I've heard stories that anyone being stared at for too long in buses or trains, will inevitably incur the wrath of that person, who will spit out their venom along the lines of "Whatcha y'all looking at?" If that person has the audacity to answer back in a negative manner, the person being stared at simply says, "Yeah! Yeah! Wha'rever" - whilst shaking their heads sideways, hissing nonchalantly and gesticulating in a dismissive way.

Americans, it seems almost conclusively, have a penchant for suing other people big time. For instance, when people cross the road and there is a car coming, their casual and pedestrian leisurely walk really irks me. Ha! I've been told they do it on purpose sha, because if they get hit, na lawsuit wahala be that resulting in a big payout. It reminds me of Naija where people do exactly the same thing. The only difference is that they are careful to do this only when a posh car, like a Benz is coming - hence the popular saying, "gbami ki ndi olowo (hit me and I'll become rich).

And there is the car chase in yanky as well. If the cops chase you for a minor traffic offence and you enter another county they have no jurisdiction over, they simply turn back. Mmmm......try that one in jand. If you like, commit the offence in London and do speed racer go "kutuwenji", the British police will be on your heels. Well, I guess after all these years, I am immersed myself with the conservative lifestyle of the British.

Nothing, and absolutely nothing, prepared me for the shock, the excitement and the uncertainty surrounding the lifestyle in yanky. I thought I had seen it all after being subjected to an endless dose of Springer shows, but more was to come. Londoners on the forum, have you noticed how everything happens first in America. The films, music, the talk shows, the sitcoms, fashion and slang's, all seem to take second place here in England. Even Nigeria beats England to it. It goes without saying that America seems to dictate the pace of events globally.

And oh....how I love the time difference of six hours (normal GMT) in most states in America, and nine in California. So for instance, if the cock crows "Kukurukuuuu!!!" to signal the dawn of a new day in England, you guys in yanky are still in bed. Damn. Life is unfair sha.

Anyway, as soon as we touched down at JFK airport after flying Virgin Atlantic from London Heathrow ( I tell you, folks, I'll always fly VIRGIN anyday. There was so much legroom, it was unreal. And here was me thinking it was going to be very tight), we were greeted with a distinct, but various blend of the American accent, albeit, it was unmistakably that of New Yorkers. It actually deserves a little citation here. The city that never sleeps......it was so good it had to be named twice.

How could I possibly feign ignorance of the beautiful American cities/states whose names not only sound exotic, but natty as well. I mean names like Alabama, Chicago, Atlanta, Ohio, Michigan, Las Vegas, LA, DC, Jersey, Philly, Cinci"natty", Oklahoma, Missouri, Colorado, Tennessee, Oregun, etc. Admittedly, if anyone visits America and stays in only one state, it's as if they didn't go to America. There's something so attractive about others states that just make you want to venture there. Even other countries have that attractiveness about them. Let me pick Italy.

For exkandle, you have Milan, Sicily, Rome, Tuscany, Naples, Brescia and Florence. Contrast that to our dear old England and you'll find London serves as the only appealing name on most people's lips.

I hardly find any Naija showing enough enthusiasm about visiting Leeds, Newcastle, Southampton, or say, Coventry. It just doesn't have the same ring as the ones in the states. If there's one thing I fell in love with, it's the American accent, especially that of Californians. Oh...., the drawl can send me into a self-induced trance anyday. It is much unlike the British accent that seems as if one is talking with a hot yam stuffed in one's mouth. Speaking about accents, I cannot fathom why some Naijas (in America) unashamedly try to speak like Americans.

True, for any foreigner wishing an American (the "shons of the shoil") to fully understand their grasp of certain pronunciations, they need to inject a semblance of voice and pitch intonation similar to the way Americans pronounce theirs. If they get away with it successfully, fine. It's the one's that don't who, invariably, invite a little disguised chuckle from me. Why on earth must you pronounce quarter as quara; fifty as fiti; computer as compura, party as pari, etc, especially someone with a thick Ijesha, Ibadan, Akwa Ibom or Igbo accent?

One Naija guy who was trying effortlessly to impress me with his academic background blurted out by saying he was studying Inranational Makering. Wouldn't it have been nice to find an old fashioned naija proudly proclaiming he/she was studying "Melesin" (medicine)? This same old-fashioned naija would almost certainly have pronounced Bill Clinton's State exactly the way it was spelt, instead of Ar..kin....saw.

Perhaps, this same group of Naijas, new to the initial intricacies of the Internet, would phone up his pal one day and say "Una bros, Kedu. Oginni!, I bin email you yesterday, but na ya answering machine pick am up? Eniwe, how body?"

Okay, that aside. What is inherently wrong in breaking away from the conventional norm of doing things? Admittedly, some people who do will be ridiculed. So what! Speaking about norms, aren't the yanks so good at creating theirs. Oh.....they believe they know it all. Yet some of them unwittingly bask in their ignorance by showing utter disdain for other cultures, when in reality, they haven't even stepped out of the states before.

One white guy I met in Long Island, mildly amused I was from England, asked me how often we hold elections to elect the Queen of England. Everything is so different about the States, "Innit" (forgive me for employing the use of an English cockney phrase that simply means; "Isn't"). They write their dates backwards (yeepa!). Funny though, there is nothing progressively backward about America.

Having said this, how ironic for their president to have a last name called Bush - this coming from a civilised country. Going back to the "differences", Petrol is called Gas; Dustbin is called Garbage; "Baluwe" and "Shalanga" (Toilet and Bath) is called Restroom; Cheque is spelt as Check; Programme is spelt Program; Semi is pronounced as Sema-i. The letter "Z" replaces the letter "S" in organisation; similarly the letter "U" is omitted from Colour; Pampers is called Diapers, Trouser is called Pants, etc; If it were possible, the yanks would completely change the grammatical syntax of the English language as well.

To be continued.

Step properly.......or hit the road

Guy likes babe - The dating game

One of the peculiarities of the dating scene that has really intrigued me, time and again, is when boy meets girl – and is tongue tied or worse still, can’t release some “to die for” lyrics that will blow the babes head off and take her to space (no, even in her sub-consciousness, she doesn’t want to go there yet – no one to savour the moment with afterwards) and make her go weak at the knees.

So what is it about the dating scene that has been dubbed the litmus test particularly for any man who stands any chance of winning the affection of a babe? Of course, it helps to know whether the guy achieved this under the influence of alcohol or not – coz some guys need this for confidence. Either way, the words that stray from his lips will strictly determine his prowess at chatting up a babe - as long as his alcohol breath doesn't suffocate her.

The Move

Well, it starts by stepping up to the babe in question and “toast” her until she drools helplessly from the mouth; her head spinning like a pendulum; she forgets her name momentarily; her heart beat races faster than a speeding bullet; she’s in cloud nine – then she’s in heaven and wants to stay there, then she forgets she’s hungry; then suddenly she goes weak at the knees, she starts to shake, then butterflies flutter uncontrollably in her stomach; her head becomes light; her pupils become dull as her eyes looks as if she’s about to pass out.

And she’s even “crazier” if the guy happens to throw in some foreign seductive words like “Ragazza. Bella. Siete così bei. Quando esamino i vostri occhi e la sega la scintilla, ho saputo che un brivido funzionerebbe giù il mio corpo intero. Ed il vostro sorriso, così reale, interessa ogni battimento sano del mio cuore”. (Italian)

(Translation: Girl. You are so beautiful. When I look into your eyes, and saw the spark, I knew a shiver would run down my whole body. And your smile, so real, affects every sound beat of my heart).

Oh, sugar. At this stage, the babe would have thrown all caution to the wind and just want to grab the guy and “devour” him. Now that is what I call falling head over heels in love. But by then, either by lust of love, the babe would have fallen for the guy. Perhaps, this is every babe’s fantasy of an ideal way to fall in love once they’ve found their prince charming.

Disclaimer:

Ha! oma shame o. Guys, don’t take my word for it. I would love to have said that this formula works all the time, if at all. But it doesn’t. Even a self acclaimed playboy will not always get a particular babe he fancied. The thing is this guys: If a babe doesn’t show any inclination of “falling” for your lyrics, it may not be you. It could be bad timing on your part; the babe may have just come out of a stormy relationship; she now prefers women; she’s a tease and just loves to flirt or she’s washing her hair or doing her nails.

Or quite simply, it could be you. Yes now. Why not, if not. It could be your bad breath that would succeed in letting the poor babe have a throbbing sore throat. It could be your negative vibes. Do you see her as someone dateable in the long term or you see her as a “Chinese takeaway”? Trust me, babes have radars and can read this a mile off. Perhaps, it could be your dress sense or lack of it. Are you dressed for the part? Have you got a pot belly and wearing a tucked in shirt? Or are you wearing jeans with white socks, brown shoes and blue textured native attire?

How does your hair stand out? Like Don King's? Nicely cut without any drawing of map of Africa etched on your head? Or you have a Bob that is a throwback to the seventies? No biggie. But, how often is it washed? How about B.O? Do the flies get excited when they see you and follow you about?

In particular, what lines do you come up with when you step to a pretty babe? Could it be that your lyrics are indigestibly boring? Is it the conventional orthodox lame remark of “Oh baby, you da bomb. Is your dad a terrorist?” Or a disconcertingly stale statement such as this one: “I hope you have a library card, coz I’m checking you out?”. Or some Christian chat up lines “The Lord said I should come and speak to you”, or “Sister, the Lord said I should pray for you. How about holding a night vigil at my place?”

Case study one: The Story of how a guy stepped to a babe….

Let me recall the story of one guy who tried every trick in the book to get this girl to go out with him to no avail. Yet the guy did not give up. You know how girls are; they want to make you wait. As long as they are turning you down with a smile, and stopping to chat with you (even if they as walking off), you are still in with a chance.

Eventually the babe acceded to his request and they agreed on their first date, which happened to be at the babe’s house. Unfortunately for the guy, her elder bros/sis were at home and to make matters worse he had suddenly developed a running stomach (he made the mistake of eating some food with hot pepper) on the back of this okada motorcycle that was bumping up and down the road leading to the babe’s house..

As soon as the guy approached the girl’s house, there was this slight traffic congestion. Since the guy couldn't hold it much longer, he decided to get off and make a run for it to this girl’s house. He got there, and without exchanging too many pleasantries with the girl asked where their restroom was. The girl was taken aback by his agitated state and pointed him to the direction of the restroom. He got there, opened the door and the poor guy let loose with thunderous sounds of "parap..pah..pah..paa..pah…pooooh! .....gbooooh..... puh....poooh!!!" (Mixed with the symmetrical sounds of farting – the scud missile one) and groaning coming from the toilet.

As soon as he finished, he breathed a huge sigh of relief. But he hadn’t anticipated what would happen next. He knew he was not having a good day when he discovered that there was no tissue paper to clean up after “downloading” so many “megabytes” of junk.

Anyway, he improvised and used a discarded cloth to do the business. The worse part was, even before the guy opened the door to the toilet, the smell emanating from inside the restroom was starting to envelope the whole house. As soon as the guy opened the door to peep and see if it was okay to come out, he heard the elder brother of the girl saying, ".....se eni ti o fe ni yen, to fi orun igbe ba gbo ile je" (Is that whom you are going out with? His excrement is polluting the entire house)

To cut the long story short, the guy was so embarrassed that he still had to walk the "hall of shame" past the living room where all eyes were. He never went out with the girl after that.


Case Study two: The girl’s turn to step to a guy….

This guy had been “shadowing” this babe for ages in his neighborhood. The babe knew the guy fancied her, but after waiting for him to make the move to no avail, she decided to take the bull by the horn and approach him. Apparently all her friends were all hooked up with a guy and she was the only one left out. The babe wore one of those "horn rimmed " pair of glasses that was too big for her face. It made her look rather studious and only succeeded in driving all the guys away since they didn't want a babe that will be discussing Chemistry with them. But for some reason, this guy found her attractive. Thank goodness! She it appeared as if she wasn’t going to be left on the top shelf for long gathering dust.

On this fateful day, the babe walked up to the guy and said “Hi, I’ve always been seeing you around”. Now, this opening line should have broken the ice. Instead of the guy to take the cue and start off the conversation and make his intentions known or at least find out her name (not that he didn't know her name. He even had a “dossier” compiled about her), the only thing that came out of his throat was a very dry toad like - croak response of “really?”

And guess what he did next? He walked simply away. Later he questioned why in heavens name he acted in that manner. Of course, the girl took him for a snob and stopped talking or even looking at him again. Ten years later, they bumped into each other and laughed about the episode.

Case study three: My own first experience

There was this girl I fancied in our neighbour hood as well. She was dark skinned, slim and walked as if her feet never touched the ground. My friends knew I fancied her and they had been nagging me for weeks to talk to her. I said no, I would write her a love letter instead.

So one evening, as I was hanging out with two of my friends (one of blessed memory), this babe walked past us. She knew that at least one of us fancied her, but she didn’t know who. My heart danced for joy. One of my friend’s said I should “corner” her before she went into her house. I said no - "my eyes are pushing me" (shy).

Guess what these guys did next? They threatened to speak to her and inform her that I fancied her if I didn't go into her house now and "toast" her - which was the slang then. Peer pressure or what? As soon as I heard this, something just said go inside her house and speak to her. What’s the worst that could happen? Unknown to my pals, my heart was thumping loud, partly due to excitement and party due to nervousness.

As I went into the babes house, through the back, I fervently hoped her parents wouldn’t find me lurking behind the house. What would be my excuse? Without any prepared statement, I was certain I would be stuttering to string any meaningful sentence together. It was a big yard and as I searched hoping to find her little brother to call her out, I also prayed he wouldn’t go inside the house and say in a loud voice “Aunty, a man is asking to see you outside”.

Anyway, in that tentative moment, as I was uncertain what to do if I didn’t find her little brother, I saw her. I wanted to turn back, but the babe had already seen me. My legs turned to jelly. I couldn't move and I couldn't speak for what seemed to be an eternity. My heart beat began to thump as if it was about to burst. I was shivering as if I had a cold. But she just looked at me and smiled, hoping for me to say something.

Instead of meeting her gaze, I briefly stared coyly at my feet. What was I aiming to find? Please ask me o. I even coughed to clear my throat, but really I was buying time. If only, a voice from inside her house could just call her to say her attention was needed, I would have been glad.

My mouth was open defenselessly, but no words came out. As I mustered the courage to utter some words, my lips began to quiver. Finally I said in Yoruba.........(I don’t know why) "Er...em.......ha, …ermm…Bola, mo fe fe e, so gba abi o gba" (Bola, I want to go out with you. Do you agree with my request or not?”).

As soon as I said this, I heaved a huge sigh of relief. It was as if something had been lifted off my chest.The girl looked at me and attempted a laugh but quickly suppressed it. She then said she'll think about it and let me know. Gracias! You should have seen the way I vanished from her sight hoping I had accomplished my mission, even if it was half way done.

When I returned outside to meet my friends, I didn't know I would be subjected to the "Spanish inquisition". They had been waiting impatiently for my return in a bid to hear the “411”. When they saw me smiling, they were surprised since I didn't spend up to five minutes in the babe's house. My "toasting" must have been either straight to the point, or I didn't speak to her at all.

When I told them, thinking I had done myself proud, my friend’s burst into laughter. It was the kind of laugh that left me completely embarrassed. It immediately wiped the smile off my face. I was teased relentlessly. The news spread to other friends and they too didn’t cut me any slack. That stigma of “So gba abi o gba” stayed with me for while and I wasn't even able to chat up the girl again until she left the neighbourhood.

The tip

Let it be borne in mind that there is no blueprint formula for stepping to a babe. It isn’t rocket science. Not surprisingly though, it is an art that needs to be perfected well. After all, as the saying goes, if you keep doing the same thing you will get the same result.

Guys, don’t feel intimidated when you see a pretty babe, step up to her. Cut out the shyness. After all, the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Even if she wears an angry look on her face, it might just be her demeanor. Or she might simply be fronting. Look out for the tell tale signs.

And choose your moment well. I reckon a babe could tell if they liked a guy (not necessary date him in the end) in seconds by his charm, his poise, approach and his ability to strike up a conversation with her and sustain it. But don’t over do it guys.

Babes love a smooth talker. But when you control the entire conversation, especially when it revolves around you, it smacks of self-centeredness. And babes find this a turn off. Again, look for the signs. If she’s looking at her watch repeatedly, yawning, looking disinterested or makes an excuse to go “powder her nose”, give up. No PR guru can resuscitate your yarns for you at that moment. Sometimes it is not what you say (it could well be on a different occasion), but how you say it that will do the trick.

Aside from being a smooth talker, babes also love a guy who oozes confidence and an aura of manliness. Be yourself though. Don’t claim you have a May Bach coupe when you drive a Honda Civic. Don’t claim you work for Goldman Sachs as an Investment banker when you work at Pizza Hut. You can imagine if your photo I.D dropped to the floor at the moment. Don’t claim you are a born again Christian when you only attend church on New Year’s Eve. And don’t claim you live in St John’s wood when you live in Peckham.

Seriously, it’s time for a social re-engineering of how to step up to babes the right way. Remember you are a salesman. You have a product to sell – YOU. Are you dateable? What qualities do you bring to the table? What is your pitch? Finally, the deal only gets done once you obtain that elusive phone number from the babe.

Although, I hasten to add, that whilst men have retained that natural instinct to make the first move on women, there is nothing stopping women to step up to a man she fancied as well. If an opportunity presents itself, grab it. If it is lost, there is no sub story of “ngbati ngabti” (Making excuses). No “sme sme”(time wasting). It can’t be regained again.

On the whole, women still have that unfettered discretionary power to reject the advances of any man, regardless……..Cue to this scenario. After all the hard work, the guy who succeeds in obtaining a babe’s phone number walks off with a smile on his face. He congratulates himself on a job well done. After all that fronting and playing hard to get, he finally got her. Who did she think she was, trying to be vain, talking posh and shaking everything mama gave her.

STOP PRESS: The phone number she gave him is fake.

I miss you old man

The pain that engulfs my heart is like a searing heat penetrating deep within my soul when my heart beats. You passed away like a light snuffed out before my eyes. You were not that old. So why? Tried as I could to believe it was not true, tears swell my eyes. Yet, the tears fail to drop as I still cannot properly grieve, although my heart yearns for you to come back as it feels the breeze, of the imminent rain that is about to fall, maybe then can the drops of my tears fall, as it blends eternally with the rain.

I miss you old man. I desperately need to see you again, To rekindle the good times we had will be my gain. But alas! I know it would not be a futile exercise even after you’re gone knowing fully well that reality is just beginning to dawn, about the fact that your absence does make my heart grow fonder.

I miss you old man. The great legacy you left behind endeared you to everyone who knew you And your love, admonition and breathtaking presence were just simply you. I miss your jokes, our usual banter, our discussions and all the things we had in common. How could I forget your formidable voice, your wit, wisdom that you displayed time and again.

If anyone saw you they saw me, a remarkable resemblance which was not uncommon. I miss you old man. As I take a cursory look back, I know if I were I choose a father again, there would be no competition. Which is why I know wherever you are, I know you can see me and the loved ones you left behind, and I know I will see you again.

I miss you dearly old man. Please wake up! It's time to wake up! Stop sleeping. I still want to sip from your well of wisdom. I am lonely. I want you to talk to me, but your words are not forthcoming. Perhaps, you will stir, move or smile but even your eyelids are not twitching. Still give me a sign, to convince me that it's all but a dream.

I miss you old man. I still think about you every now and again. Can the pain ever go away? Words alone cannot sustain that painstaking feeling of abject loss. My heart stutters intermittently because of this, but it is not empty because I know you will always have a special place within the confines of my heart.

Adieu popsie....Rest in the perfect bosom of the Lord.

Reliving my yankee experience (Conclusion)

On another day, (by this time, I had summoned the courage to go out on my own) I went to a mall in Queens. It was summer. And there was a sea of faces out and about. There was so much to see, and I don’t just mean the shops in the mall. Some of the women were scantily dressed, a man would have to make the extra effort not to be fixated at the sexy clothing the girls were wearing. Every sizeable shape of women was wearing shorts, decked in designer specs and trudging along mindful of the stares from the men.

In front of the mall, traders displayed all sorts of products, from dubbed DVD's films and recorded artiste songs to household and hardware products on the floor. After doing a bit of window shopping, I went into this particular shop. As I stood in this shop reading the back cover of the latest Sidney Sheldon masterpiece, I overheard – not that I wanted to eavesdrop, but what they were discussing was rather amusing – two African American women talking.

One of the ladies, a mixed race beauty, tall, slim with a curvy figure and a lovely smile that could melt butter, started off in a whispery voice.

“Hey, Shaniqua, see that fine brother over there? He gat a lovely behind and he cute too”
"Where he at?"

"12'o clock"
My heart began to leap with excitement when I heard this. It was as if I had just won the lottery. The drama continued. Shaniqua, a robust but er…ok, rotund babe checked me out and said: “Mmm! Mmmh! Mmmh! Brother where you been? Come to me baby. Oh! my gad, and he gat dimples too?”.

The book I held in my hand nearly slipped off to the floor. I’m glad that what she said didn’t contain “Jazz”. I was being spoken about as if I didn’t have a say in the matter. Of course, if I were to choose, the choice would have been obvious. The thoughts played in my mind. I just said nah! Their boyfriend's were probably hanging around the corner. And I didn’t want any trouble. Imagine if their boyfriend’s were Tyson look-alikes, bear chested with rippling muscles, a menacing face and gold plated tooth? I am sure they won’t entertain any “paddy in the jungle” plea from me. I would have been toast. It would have been a bad move anyway. Still, I was their trophy and they were “fighting” over me. My head began to spin with greater excitement. I was in heaven.

“Girlfriend…..puleeeeese” the mixed race babe protested. “Don’ even go there, Shaniqua. I saw him first”

Yes, Shaniqua. She saw me first. I thought to myself. Keep quiet jare. Na by force. Why don’t you join the queue? By this time, I was smiling inwardly. I checked out my clothing. It was okay. I adjusted myself and posed with a pretentious disposition. One of the employees of the shop, walked down the aisle, stopped to stack some more books on the gondola in front of me. She then turned to me and flashed me a smile.

“Do you need any help sir?”
“Oh..no. I’m fine”. Please scoot.
“Ok, lemme know if you do. That’s a good book you gat there”
"Thanks". I know. I displayed a fake smile that barely left my throat. Can you go away now please? I peeped a little as she placed the last book on the gondola and walked away. I wasn’t even sure if she genuinely came to stack some books or wanted to help with any purchase enquiries that I might have. Yet another one? Must have been my expensive after shave. Oh, what a day I was having. Where’s Halle Berry then?

“Tanisha why yu gat to be like this. Yu trippin right? Wha’ bout Tyrone?” reeled the voice of Shaniqua as I continued to listen to the drama unfolding.

Do babes actually fight over men like this? This was new and exciting. At least, I wasn't doing the chasing this time around. And the fun part was I could play hard to get. Oh! What power to wield in such a time as this.

“Tyrone jes my baby daddy. But I gat to catch me some fun. Yu gat a problem with that?" Tanisha countered.
“Jes' Tyrone? Girl, you gat three baby father’s and I ain’t gon’ let you have this one. He mine”
“Yeah, how e gon feel when e knows ya’ll on welfare sitting on yo behind all day doing jack?”

Just then, a little black boy no more than four, was whining at his mum to buy him some sweets (sorry Candy). It appeared that the mum didn’t give in to his demands, and the poor frustrated boy started crying. I felt pity for him but wanted him to stop crying. Jeez! Wrong time. Wrong place. I couldn’t even hear what was been said anymore, so I had to strain my ears to listen. Who said men don’t gossip? The only difference is I didn’t set out to fish for this information. And secondly, when men talk about it, it is called an informal discussion and exchange of thoughts.

I looked at the boy, about five feet away from me, and I wanted to just go over and tell him to hush. I couldn’t do that. Or should I just buy him the candy? Maybe that would appease him. Again, I couldn’t do that. The Mum obviously was teaching him some morals and it would be wrong of me, a stranger, to undermine her authority and the strong message she was sending out to her kid.

Another thought occurred. Should I simply move over to where the babes were and pretend I was browsing another product? But if I moved closer, they’d probably stop talking – and I didn’t want that. Suddenly the cries of the boy subsided as his mum scolded him for the first time. Mmm…some parents would have taken the kid out of sight and beaten the black out of him. Seconds later, the boy stopped crying altogether as both he and his mum left the shop. It was at this point that I rejoined the conversation.

“Whaever! Is tha’s the way gon be then?" Shaniqua asked
“Yeah, yu gat that right. I ‘mo check him out” Tanisha retorted.

Phew! I couldn’t take it any longer. A whole me from Jand, causing katakata like this in Yankee? See, if only Jand babes are a little forthcoming once in a while….... My head was so swollen that the only thing that could mess things up right now was if I tripped inadvertently and crashed into the revolving lightweight gondola that housed the books in the shop. That would be the ultimate shame.

As I placed the book back, pretending to pick up another one, I looked in their direction, hoping they were going to give me a wink – only to see them looking past me and admiring one fine guy at the back aisle. I looked over my shoulder to check out the yeye competition. And much as I hate to admit it, the competition was good. Who asked the bobo to come into the shop anyway, at the precise moment? I shook my head as to jerk my self back to reality and convince them that it was me. But it wasn’t me all along. I hurriedly walked out of the shop. The two babes had unwittingly contrived to spoil my day. I sulked big time.

Don’t you get that feeling when your holiday comes to an end, you still want it to continue? Unless of course it was a regrettable one. Well, as with all good things, there has to be an end.

On my return to London the hot weather was awaiting me. That's amusing. Isn't the weather the same acronym used to describe the British? Yes, the weather here can be unpredictable. It can be sunny one minute, raining the next, bitterly cold the next, and before you know it, hailstorms might be falling from the sky. Hence, it is true to say the British can be jovial, irritable, stand-offish, and display traits of eccentricity and buoyancy all in the space of five minutes. As we Naijas here in Jand jokingly say, it would be a shame if one were to be afflicted with the British weather syndrome.

Subsequently, the British take pride in knowing they have a sense of humour as well. Yet, I watch their sit-coms, and stand-up shows and everyone in the audience laughing at their jokes, and I'm like saying to myself "where's the joke?” Sometimes, the humour is so dry, I fail to get the meaning behind the joke and some of the adverts being shown here. And I know I'm not the only Naija, incapacitated by this tawdry drivel called comedy. Although I must concede that there are some few good comedians and sit-coms on view. But only a few.

Meanwhile, I was crossing the road the other day and noticed that, compared to Yankee roads, the roads are narrower and that the British are among the few countries in the universe that still drive on the right side of the road. As I attempted to cross the road, I noticed a car coming towards me, and I decided to walk casually. Make I hear "gbosa" and I would have hit the jackpot. I thought to myself. But as the car approached, it appeared the driver wasn’t going to slow down. Meeeen, you can’t imagine how I raced to cross to the other end of the road. We no go see "bad day, devil drink water" kind of experience. What if the driver didn’t stop? Who knew if the driver was excessively drunk or "high" after sniffing "gbana" (cocaine).

In the Bus one day, I was carrying a bit of shopping and as soon as I boarded the bus and proceeded to put my shopping in the apartment provided. Not surprisingly, the driver of the bus did not budge. He waited for me to finish unloading; waited for me to fumble within my pocket for my pass and showed it to him, before driving off.

Back in the states, I remember on numerous occasions, in a similar situation, where the bus driver will drive off whilst expecting you to come back to him to show your Metro card (or pay) after you've settled down. Maybe I should have done the same thing; sat down relaxed and take my time before I showed him my Pass.

Of course, I knew he wouldn't drive off. He would wait. And all I expected him to say, after minutes of frustration, was "Please, you haven't paid yet".

Silence. Na dog abi na goat hin dey talk to.

"'scuse me, I said you haven't paid" Silence again from me.

By this time, all the passengers were busy staring at me, thinking I'm a potential fare dodger. "Can you......", the bus driver began to protest again.

"Hey, for real, stop sweating me meeennnn! You gat a problem?"

"I said you haven't...."

"No shit. I heard you the first time, man. I 'mo show you my Pass in a minute, you know what am saying. Chill out, man".

And turning to the passengers, I said. ".... And whatcha y'all looking at? Abeg, face front, dammit".

On reflection, Britain is a bit slow paced for the lifestyle of Yankee. Somewhat pedestrian. But Yankee is without its faults too. The Yankee experience was more of an eye opener. Of course, having been there a couple more times, I am still confronted with crazy scenarios. But, I guess, where ever you lay your head at the moment, is where you call home.

Glad to be back………….for the time being, that is.

Succumbing to culture shock in Jand!

Prelude

The first time I came to England, I was so looking forward to my visit that when my late Dad, who wasn't known to be emotional, hugged me, the shock didn't immediately register. My mum usually cries bucket loads at every given opportunity, but on this occasion she was calm. As I bade farewell to my family in my crisp three piece suit with leather briefcase, I still didn't feel any pang of emotion sweeping through me. I had slept very well, but got up very early than normal to catch what would turn out to be my first and last flight with Nigeria Airways.

I saw Dad leave for work. My mum, accompanied by a close friend of mine, drove me to the airport. As soon as we got to MMA, we settled down and loitered in the airport lounge and chatted in the process. I was too excited to feel hungry, not that I had any appetite in the morning anyway.

As the time ticked away, Mum and my friend gave me a last minute hug ( I expected my mum to cry at this stage, but she didn't - she probably did later), wished me a safe journey and I watched them as they disappeared out of view. It then dawned on me that I wouldn't be seeing the people closest to me for a long time yet.

The weather had been threatening all morning to rain. The sky itself was still showing signs of dullness matched with a combination of white harmattan mist. Then it happened - the announcement in the terminal boomed into the speakers with a thick accent saying "Good morning, Ladies and gentlemen. This is an announcment for flight A351H to London Heathrow. Due to bad weather conditions, the flight is now delayed indefinitely until good weather visibility returns. Further announcements will follow later. Thank you".

I sat there thinking "Ohhhh...why now? I want to go to London o". I watched on the screen where various flight information was displayed and true to the announcement, it had "Delayed" on majority of the flights. So what do I do to kill time? I had no book at hand. Instead I settled for one of the Naija dailies that I bought from one of the terminal stalls. At the same time, I took a cursory look at the weather outside. Still no change. Conversations from fellow travellers circled me, but I was not in the mood to eavesdrop or even make a contribution. My mind was elsewhere. Even the contents of the newspaper I was reading wasn't digested properly.

I checked the time on the board, and 30 minutes had lapsed since the first announcement. I was beginning to feel agitated. I stood up and paced the floor, taking a few strides to the left, and back to the right - each time, fixing my gaze on my briefcase. Then I sat down again and returned to reading the newspaper.

Another 30 minutes went by and I checked the weather outside. It was now clear. Excellent, I thought. I wondered when another announcement would be made to clear our plane for take off. The announcement didn't come until another 25 minutes. Hooray! Jand, here I come at last.

The Experience

Even before the Pilot announces the information on the intercom, you'd probably know you are approaching your country of destination - in this case, Jand. You start seeing bright colourful lights and beautiful landscapes (assuming you arrive at night) below you and no matter the season, you will no doubt experience a chilly atmosphere - a stark contrast to Naija where you look down from the plane and you will almost certainly see a rough and uneven landscape.

And if you were already dozing, you will be forced to wake up due to the unbearable heat. And you will not fail to notice that some areas on that landscape you have just viewed from the plane are dark. "Oh! My God", you pray - "Let them not take the light in our area o" - you mutter inaudibly to yourself. Welcome to Naija.

Surely, you know you are in London when the Airport officials refrain from asking you "Oga wetin you bring come?". You trudge on blissfully, basking in the knowledge that you have finally arrived in London.

You stand in the queue. (Mind you, no one is jumping the queue and no official is carrying five or six passports in his/her hands and taking it to the front of the counter to be stamped on behalf of some VIP or a passenger who just happened to tip him/her).

Yet you are surprised when no official delays you unnecessarily or seeking to obtain "egunje" (bribe) from you, or an official examining your British passport and looking suspiciously at you and asking, "Are you sure you are the one in the photograph?", "Can you stand in the corner there?I need to take your passport into our office to see oga", .............

Strange as it may seem, you are not feeling any heat at all whilst standing in the queue. Everywhere is cool. Your luggage arrives without unnecessary delay, since the entire luggage is being driven by a cargo and not being pushed by two hefty men. Three flights arrive at approximately the same time, yet there are enough trolleys for every passenger. No official instructs you to go outside the airport to pick up trolleys because they've run out of trolleys inside the airport.

Finally, you make it past Customs, still no hassles. No one asks, "Oga wetin you chop remain". You make it to the visitors area and you are glad someone was there to welcome you and take you home. But whilst coming out of the airport, something funny keeps lurking in your mind. Ah......you remembered. Airport touts do not approach you with the saying "Oga, welcome sir , make I carry your luggage?".

Unlike in MM airport in Lagos -You hear one tout say to another tout as he attempts to take your luggage, "My friend, abeg clear. Na me get here first. If you no leave dat luggage, I swear I go wipe ya face and if ya teeth no fly comot my name no bi Igodalo". Survival of the fittest eh! Okay, you let the bully take your luggage and once he loads it to the back of the car for you, he hits you with a bombshell. He expects you to pay him in pounds! Pounds? Yeah! they grow on trees, don't they?

On the way home, you are puzzled that "area boys" did not ask you to tip them. Lagos is a different scenario. You are confronted by six "area boys". All of them are tall, ugly and looking with menacing eyes. They start singing your praises.

"Oga mi sir, more blessing. Ti e oni baje. Ama run awon ota e ni jeje ni. Iwoyi next year, na multiple visa. Americana Londoner, surely stopping over briefly in Naija and shuttling back to London. Ha! see your rosy cheeks na, looking very infectious. Oga with fighting pounds and dollars overriding every currency in abundance. Father, ko ni re yin o !"

You grudgingly take in all the encomiums (which you are sure had been perfectly rehearsed and probably said many times) and do what is expected of you by giving them 200 Naira. The gang is not pleased. Unashamedly, they retort by saying "Oga! Emi Emi laye mi. Se elebi lepe wa ni?" (Translation - They are indicating nonchalantly that the money is not enough.)You reel off more Naira notes and hand them another 300 Naira.

Again, they don't appear to be contented. They reply by saying "Oga mi, owo ija le le yi o !"At first, you don't understand what they meant. Then it finally dawns on you. With the money you have just given them, you cannot possibly expect 6 of them to share the money equally without beating each other into a pulp.

Of course, they expect you to give them some more money. If you refuse, they could turn nasty and smash your car or take it forcibly from you. You back down by giving them another 100 Naira to make them happy. "Baba rere!" They hail you once more, "Wa gbayi, Ese se nso ro ni! Eto te se fun wa ara ni o. Yo se! "- (Translation -You can go!). You look back at the incident and as if you have just been held hostage and granted amnesty, you laugh inwardly to yourself whilst feeling relieved as well.

Back in London .....

You wake up the next day and you are still nursing that inward feeling of uneasiness and happiness. You had a peaceful sleep but you are surprised that the neighbourhood was very quiet. Mmm...not a single sound disrupted your sleep. There was no Aladura clanging the bell in the early hours of the morning and ranting, "Edi de, e gba dura - Ijoba olorun ku si dede". Also, no sound emanated from the Mosque blaring "ALLAU WAQBA !!"

Afterwards, you jerk yourself to reality that you are indeed in London. You stare out of the window, Pako in mouth and a bedroom wrapper round your neck and covering your body.You admire the scenario surrounding you and you begin to sing while chewing your Pako- "Ose ose o, ose o, ose Baba. Ope lo ye o" (Thank you father. You deserve to be Praised).

Your gaze meets that of a neighbour across the street. She is an elderly white lady who is baffled that you are singing to yourself, "chewing a stick" and wearing a funny attire. She shakes her head uncontrollably and concludes you are a weirdo. If looks could kill, you definitely got the message and realise only then that you are in London.

It's afternoon and the sun is up. You perch on your window watching the movements of people as they go about their business. One thing strikes you as odd. Something is amiss. Then you realise that no one is hawking "PURE WATER", or "wan buy PA-PER", "FOYIN ! FOYIN !", "Pombe pombe e ", "Langbejina o", " Fine Bread", "Olosan yin na ti de o". "Elewa aganyin ti de o". etc. Further still, there is no "Shume" (show repairer). No "Ejika ni shop" Mobile tailor). No "Eleran" (meat seller). And then it continues to dawn on you that you are in London.

You decide to go out after being in London for a week. After all, you deserve a "Stroke" out. Yet, something warns you that such inadvertent mistake will be sniggered at in London. You realise you are meant to say "Stroll" and you accept the need to adapt quickly to the English culture. Everywhere is clean. There are no gutters about. And there is no visible refuse dump on the streets or main road. Unlike Naija, there are notable places in Isolo, Mushin and Aguda where the refuse dump is SOOOOO BIG, you wonder how on earth people in their right minds choose to dump waste on a major road. And the saddest thing is that people living in the area are not perturbed or disturbed by the filth. There are several restaurants opposite the refuse dump and people eat and drink oblivious to the sad surroundings they live in. It would seem as if they do not have any perceptive means with which to smell the terrible (e bi ma gbe mi (vomit - type) of filth.

Worse still, they even feed babies out in the open filth. If that is sad, what can be said of people who climb to the top of the dump looking for re-sellable items. They are even closer to the dump than people on the streets. Can they not perceive the smell?

But I digress. Back to London. Bravely, you enter a bus and embark on a short ride. Mmmm. That's funny. People are not rushing to enter the bus - and the usual stampede for seats is missing too. "Iya Rashida, ewa joko si yin" (Iya Rashida come and sit next to me). People actually queued to enter the bus. Noticeably, no one is hawking in the bus trying to sell you a special product that happens to cure every ailment afflicting the human anatomy - from Lakuregbe to Ofinkin, Ara riro, Iba, Otutu, Igbona, Jedijedi, Ifo, eela, Lapalapa, Akokoro, Efori, etc...(With fondness, you remember Zebrudaya's rendition of advertising the detergent soap power - "weda it are doti of baby napi or doti of mechanic uniform, the new improved elephant blue detergent are have powerful to washdeep down and abolish all the doti........from now on, go to bi purchase the new improved elephant blue detergent - even plus including missus").............

Also the conductor did not rant about his destination. "Ikeja keja keja. Anthony ma wole o. Wole pelu change e ni o, ma so yin po ni o. No change fifty Naira o. Maalo moto. Wo egbe e ? Wole kanleeeeeeeeee". (Ikeja keja keja. Anthony passengers don't board. Make sure you enter the bus with the exact money, as I haven't gt any change. Driver, you can go) You are amused.
You recall with nostalgia that most drivers in Naija drive like maniacs - majority of whom do not bother to wear a seat belt. They convert a two lane carriage way into four, sometimes five. They don't give way. They don't know what a T- Junction is and that the car on the motorway has the right of way. There is traffic congestion all over the place due to accidents, a driver going fast or a driver engaging the gear but not his brain.

You start listening to irate drivers shouting:

"Mister man, you are a bloody fool, 'comon MOVE your wretched car out of the way";"Sharrrap!! Iwo na you are a bombastic nincompoop";"Han! Han! Tori olorun. Who park this motorcar for here and go? Be it who, he, she or her is a silly buffoon";"Do you know whom you are taking to?";"Hen hen! Na your name dem dey take collect money for bank, abeg comot for road make man pass"; "Can't you bus drivers learn how to be courteous on the road and give way? This won't create any unnecessary congestion";"Ha! him dey blow grammar, wo! make I hear gbosa for my car, na hin be say you don see trouble";"Se you blind? Can't you see I can't pass";"Igbanladogi e, Iyen ni mo fe teba ti, jo yi wo e soun jare";"Na for farm you take learn driving? See as e dey drive like craze man";"O de maalo oko asewo"; "Ni se ni ko wa fo";"Ogbeni, ma je ko wo le o. Ma na gede para o " , etc.

Some drivers don't even bother to signal before changing lanes. And it is a ritual to blare the horn when overtaking any car - an indication to the opposite driver that he should be aware of the car next to his. Consciously, some drivers even leave the hazard lights on for the entire duration of their journey. This is supposed to be a fashionable thing now. And I thought initially that the hazard light is only to be used during an emergency.

In England, you find that driving generally is orderly. As the bus journeys on, the bus is stuck in a traffic jam. Ah.....Careful, you don't want to be heard saying "go slow". Again, there are no hawkers trying to sell you their wares. Also, the indiscriminate hooting of car horns is no where to be heard. Mmmm. There's more. There are no "agberos" or area boys to demand "land" money from your bus driver.

Funny still! There are no illegal road blocks. No Policemen shouting "Oya, park. Wey ya particulars". And even if you do have them in your possession, you are likely to hear this remark, "Oya, come go open ya boot", If he's satisfied with his "search", he may look your car over, desperate to find a fault with it and say, "Oga, you no get wiper ", (as if it rains that much in Naija), "Oya, which ones now, see me"- invariably, he is implying that he wants a bribe.The Police not only take "Egunje", they now take it from you openly. It is a known fact that in Naija, the Police IG instructs his men to deliver something in the region of 30, 000 Naira everyday to him. Any surplus, be it 10k, becomes theirs. But they must not fail to deliver the purported 30k to their boss. Danfo/molue drivers bear the brunt of this unfair set up. All over Lagos, these buses have to fork out 20 Naira everyday to policemen as they embark on their journey. Their car is marked so that when they come back on that same route, they don't have to trouble them for a second fee.

Back inside the London bus, you witness two teenage kids indulging in a passionate kiss, and you stare at them with mouth agape. You realise that act you are seeing before your eyes in the bus is alien in Naija. Some two streets away, you decide to get off the bus. You are almost tempted to say "owa o", before realising you only need to press the bell to alert the driver of your intention to get off the bus. Mmm. You wisely copied the last passenger's move and got out in the middle exit doors instead of the entrance door. Other commuters alight without any problems. People are not indulging in "Bolekajas" (bus) by saying;

"Ma demu le gbe e"; (I'll stab you)"Meshionu (shut up), my friend speak English, I no understand Yoruba. Na who you wan cheat? Abeg give me my change""Conductor, o de wa gbe ru mi," (conductor, please come and assist me with my load) "Awon wo lofe sopo, ti nba send e ni left, oju e ma be ni" (I'll punch you if you don't give me my change) " Mister man, look as you "mash" my shoe", "You lucky say I dey fast. Yeye man, just carry your trouble go""Ehen! when you get car for home unko! Na me say make you enter bus, abeg no nak me tori o say you be staff, cuz you nefer pay me" etc.......

By now you are thirsty and need a drink. You enter a shop and you are immediately confronted with the enquiring eyes of an Asian shopkeeper. He looks at you suspiciously. You pick out a drink and realise to your dismay that you don't have enough change on you. A thought creeps to your mind. " Mallam, I no get change. I go settle you later". What if the man protests?

Another thought creeps to your mind. "Mallam, abeg chill. I go pay you later, Allah". Suddenly, you realise with resigned indignation, that you are not in Naija. Finally, you scramble for some coins sufficient enough to buy you that drink. Four hours later, nature calls. Your bowels are full and your bladder needs emptying. You look around for a convenient spot to deposit the contents. As you undo your zipper against a wall, three white passers-by stare at you disbelievingly at what you are about to do. In a flash, you quickly pull your zipper back up and walk off realising for the umpteenth time that you are in London. You say to yourself "ha! Naija kare jare". (well done, Nigeria)

It is now dark as you make it back home. The light is still on. It has been like this for a month since you arrived. The water too is constant. And there is hot water too. No one knocks on your door to ask "Broda, semo le ri sibi sugar ni be yen" (can I have some cubes of sugar).

After a month in London, you start to mimic the way the English speak with words like "Na mean" and "innit" "na wharam saying", "Yeah mon", "wo sapping", "I'm gonna and I wanna". And some American colloquial phrases like " Ya! All, Whatever!".

Your accent changes overnight and you start speaking like an Englishman and start pronouncing words, albeit tongue twisting them with difficulty - such as saying "Twenny", "Compura", "Inranet", "Sariday", "Nu York Siri", etc.. You change your name from; Tajudeen to Dean; Or from Sherifatu to simply Sherry;Or from Chukwudi to Chuck; from Polycarp to Paul; from Toyin to Tony; from Lekan to Lee;from Jimoh to simply Jim; from Sesan to Sean; from Bilikisu to Billy; from Mulikatu to Katie;from Sidikatu to Cindy; from Moriamo to Maureen; from Alani to Alan; from Rafiu to Ralph;from Ramoni to Ray; from Ogoluwakitan to Keith, from Aborishade to Boris, Gbenga to Ben,Morufu to Murphy and so on............... This is all in a vain attempt to appear posh.

You are privileged to be invited to a dinner. You sit next to your pal and you get served vegetable salad for starters. Everyone starts eating away. You make an effort to eat a mouthful of salad but the taste does not agree with you. You carefully and skilfully spit it out without anyone noticing.

Still everyone continues to eat their salad - by this time your friend has nearly finished his. After a few minutes, you can't take it anymore and you ask your friend, "Una, abi dem cook ya own", - referring to your pal's salad.

What a shame! You are now in London. Frankly speaking, you would have preferred "gira", "ogbono" or "isiewu" to the set up in front of you. But your lifestyle is about to change. Your thinking, your personality and your overall outlook to life will merge inevitably with the British culture. And as long as you remain here (assuming your papers are valid and you are lucky not to be deported), your psyche will remain unchangeable. That is until you return to Naija and conformity with the British culture remains an inescapable reality. This is because you are now in London.

Reliving my yankee experience (Part 2)

Sooner or later, I knew I would embarrass myself someday – and yours truly obliged. It happened when I went with my buddy to his friend's house in Brooklyn one day. As we sat down kulee in this guy's house (after trudging some streets in Manhattan and Flatbush shopping on this rather humid day), he asked my buddy and myself in Yoruba what drink we would like to have. By this time, my throat was so dry I discarded all "formalities" and said Coke would be ideal for me (and jokingly inferred that I would very much prefer the black one). As soon as I said this, I noticed a smug expression on the guy's face that was immediately replaced by a coy grin. He then turned to ask my buddy the question, and to my utter dismay, he replied by saying SODA.

Now folks,” soda” in Yoruba is an exclamatory question that literally translates as: "Is it good?" So as soon as the guy turned away after saying "Okay", (this was I thinking he had answered my buddy’s question by saying "yeah, the drink's fine") I wondered why he would ask such a ludicrous question. It then dawned on me almost immediately that SODA represented all forms of drink, be it Coke, Fanta, "soft drink", "mineral" or "refreshment".

As I remarked earlier, it wasn't my first time in the States, yet I had a lapse of memory of certain norms that understandably, I am not yet immune to. Probably, I need to reside in America for about six months to fit in properly. Just the other day, this neighbourhood dude, aware I was visiting from England, wanted to become overzealously friendly with me. Of course I knew he was straight, as I had seen him a couple of times with his girlfriend. Ergo, I go come let one dude chat me up. Even if she was a “babe”, I still have to be cautious as the "babe” might turn out to be a guy.

Nonetheless, I wasn't going to let my guard down. This is America where people have a predilection of doing crazy things, with scant regard for the accompanying consequences. So this guy came up to me and said: "Sup dawg. Hi doin'. Me and me homies gon' shoot some hoops today. You down?"

As soon as I heard the word "shoot", my heart skipped a bit. What with the sporadic drive-by shootings occurring on a daily basis in America. Huh! Huh!! Mba! Since I did not want to entertain the thought of any trouble, I said "no thanks".

"Okay, man. See ya lera", he retorted.

As I watched him leave, I quickly dashed towards the house panicking like mad. Hen! Person no dey see fire for inside well. ME! Ibon? (Gun?). Tufia! 'coz if I hear gun shot "peren", I would race frantically away in top speed. Even Maurice Green (the World record holder at the time) could not have caught up with me - wind assisted or not. What was I supposed to do, as there was no one presently at home then? On reflection, I thought maybe I was on Candid Camera, but shikena, I wasn't about to wait to find out.

At that precise moment, an array of indecisive thoughts began to pervade my mind. Should I call the cops? What do I tell them? That some poor "hoops" as he called them were going to get shot today. I had never encountered anything like that before. Meeeen!! (ALA Chris Tucker), the guy even had the affront to tell it to my face. What boldness! How could he adopt a cold and indifferent attitude towards the life of another human being? Some people are heartless o.

Wait o! Didn't the guy say "you down!". Hen! Was I next? What could I have done to the guy? It's not as if I made a pass at his girl ke. To cap it all, he said, "see you later". Is this some kind of sinister joke? It's like him saying, "Have you been shot today?" And I replied NO. And he replying by saying "see you later". Meaning what? Usually, I like suspense. But this was certainly an exception I could do without.

Anyway, as soon as I opened the door to the house (in moments of panic or when you are about to quickly do "Number 2", why do doors fail to open on time?) and entered. By now I was sweating profusely. I was pacing the living room (what do yanky peeps call it?) back and forth and couldn't sit still for much longer. As the minutes ticked perilously away, in what seemed like an eternity, it saddened me that "some souls will be lost today". Then it happened. In my moment of confusion and indecision, I was startled to hear the lock of our doorknob turning. In that instant, you could hear a pin drop. The silence was palpable. I knew I had no where to hide or run.

Who said men don’t scream? Well, I was about to do just that when the door opened and it turned out to be my buddy. The sigh of relief that engulfed me and the calmness that enveloped the whole living room made me want to shout for joy. I hugged him immediately without saying why, whilst ignoring the blank expression on his face. I quickly replaced my fear with a macho stance as I narrated everything that transpired between the guy and I......and it wasn't pretty.

Still halfway into my narration, my friend belted out a lengthy irritating (Eegbe sort of) laugh that had me even more confused and equally angry. He said "hoops" was a colloquial ghetto phrase for basketball, and by "shooting", he meant playing basketball. And by saying "you down", he simply wanted to know if I would like to join them. You guys can't really apportion any blame on me. It could have happened to anyone.

On another occasion, I was in a car with a friend (oops! Buddy) of mine driving along Jamaica Avenue in Queens, one sunny afternoon - whilst listening to Ja Rule's stylish hit single called "Every little thing that you do" - and we were hungry and decided to go into Burger King. On the way in, I noticed a "nutritionally inflated" guy, who was also "gravity challenged", trying to wriggle his way through the doors of BK.

I even half expected the alarms in B.K to go off – not as a result of any imminent danger, but as a signal to B.K staff that their most valuable customer (MVC) was around. I could just picture the B.K staff scampering around hysterically trying to get his gigantic meal ready before he managed to get in through the doors by screaming: “HE’S HERE. HE’S HERE. BIG D IS HERE. OUTTA MY WAY. MOVE IT!! MOVE IT!!”

But really, what was he doing in BK? Isn't he making any concerted effort to lose weight instead of pilling it on? Mmmh! As with all things, I guess size does matter after all, although in a more complimentary way, I hasten to add. Anyway, I dare not laugh (and I am really bad at this) because one single blow from this guy, if landed flush on my jaw, might send me into coma. But before then, I would need to have relied on my buddy to pick up my scattered teeth off the floor from the impact caused from the blow.


With hindsight, I don't know if would have preferred a bear hug to a blow - probably the former. In America, I seem to notice that if people are big like “Orobo”, they are really big. And if they are thin as “Lepa Shandy”, they are really thin.

Anyway, I digressed unintentionally. As I stood in the queue (oops! Line) while my buddy was busy parking the car, I decided to tease this Black brother on the opposite line to me by sounding American. I hoped it worked 'coz I had really tried hard at mimicking the American accent. I just wanted to find out first hand how it felt to sound American.

"Hey gee, 'sup" I said, as a heightened sense of trepidation gripped me. I even offered him the "knuckle" handshake.

The guy looked me up and I fervently prayed he wouldn't pull out a gun. If he did, I think I would have stood transfixed and pissed myself, walai. Imagine if he had said in a guttural aggressive voice, "What! Yo gat a problem?"

I would have replied by saying, "No ....no.....I .I.....was....s..s..s.ss...ss...

er....em.....jus...s.ss.s...........gonna....ask...what ti...me...it ......was...ss". But he didn't.

"Hi doin", he replied, reciprocating my greeting gesture.

Encouraged by this, I changed my posture and I said "Listen man, I'm kinda lost, for real, man. I 'mo try get to “Ndigboville” (just plucked out a name sha)......., been cruising around town, but kin't seem to find the gaddem place, you know wha' am saying. You gotta clue, 'coz I dunno and gatta hustle there real fast man, know wha' am saying".

I felt good after saying this and wanted to watch the guy's expression. At least, if I was adjudged to be American for one day, I would be extremely pleased with myself.

"Yo from England, right?", the guy asked. Damn.
"Yeah, that's right", (But really, I was so disappointed the guy had burst my bubble so easily by deciphering my accent straightaway. I guess I'm not adept at mimicking accents properly after all).

"Yo said you trying to get to Di.....bo Ville, here in Nu York siri?"
"Yes"
"No man. Do ya mean Nashville?"

"No. Ndigboville"
"Gerrout' of 'ere, man", he said with a chuckle.
"No. I can't. Me buddy and I have actually come into BK to buy some food before we leave"
"Diboville? Yeah right. Man yo shitting me?" he replied sarcastically.
"No. NO SHIT" (As soon as I said this, I hoped my words were not prophetic. Coz' if it came to pass.........) The guy, still chuckling to himself, turned to face three Hispanic guys at the back of the line. ( I noticed that when Americans make fun of you, they laugh hysterically non-stop)

"Hey, do y'all know where Diboville is in Nu York siri", he asked.

The three guys shook their heads sideways, and continued with their silent conversation.

"Sorry dawg, can't help you", the guy said with resignation registered on his face.

Unruffled, I masked my embarrassment with a considerable degree of composure and proceeded to buy our food. Just when it appeared to be my turn to be served, one of the staff of BK said I should go to another cash register. I said but I haven't purchased my food yet, so why would I need to pay for something I haven't bought. He wasn't sure what I meant.

Later, he explained the cash register was where I needed to purchase and pay for my food. Cash register? Mmmm.....here in England, we refer to it as cash till. I placed our orders by requesting for two big whoppers with cheese, chips and two large drinks.

The attendant gave me another enquiring look and said, "Chips? Do ya mean fries?"

"Yeah, chip fries" I realised I had put my foot in it again.

"What drink would you like, sir?”

Since it had been on my mind all day, I said "Kunu", without thinking.

To be continued...................