Where are Thou...?

For thirteen days they hid under... praying, making supplication to the most high. Precisely ten years ago, Khali lost his father and an elder brother. The Israelis called it the "Grape of Wrath..." As the Israeli forces make incursion through wanton destruction in southern Lebanon...killing women and children, a friend of mine asked a dumb question..."is God/Allah partial...? I said... "what do you mean...? He then made reference to the sad story of Khali--a young Lebanese who lost his father and brother during an earlier (1996) invasion by Israel. In his rage, he asked why God/Allah would allow such oppression and killing of innocent children--especially babies. Why...?Why...? I reminded him of 9/11 and the July bombing of London in 2005. He went totally ballistic. F...ck the Americans and British people...they do not believe in God... But don't forget that in both incidence--9/11 and 7/7, there were 'supposed' christians and muslims...how do you reconcile that...? This 'nut' looked at me straight in the eyes and said..."they were all guilty by association..." So, how do you explain-- that for the umpteen time, the 'minute' state of Israel is able not only to pin the massive muslim states around her to submission, but defeat them collectively hands down...? Needless to add, that the 'infidel' Americans have somewhat restrained them (Israel) from an- all- out invasion. My friend became 'tongue-tied' for a moment. When he eventually found his voice, he concluded by saying..." I think there are TWO Gods-- Jehovah--God of the Israelis/Jews and Allah--God of the Muslims/Arabites... He said it... not me...

Odd But True...

A woman in Devizes, southern England, was awakened in the early morning hours by a telephone call. Hearing moaning, she thought it was an obscene call and hung up. When the phone rang again, bringing similar noises, she was about to hang up again until she recognized her daughter’s voice, yelling "Oh my God!" and followed by a man’s voice. Sure her daughter was being attacked at her home, mom called police, who sped to the scene to find the daughter quite willingly being ...uh... friendly with the man in her bedroom. In the throes of passion, the couple apparently accidentally pressed the "redial" button on the phone with their toes, connecting the boudoir to mom. "This is a warning for other people — if you’re going to indulge in this sort of thing, move the phone," a police spokesman said.


A university professor in Bologna, Italy, writing a paper on the sociology of love, checked his local library for books on kissing. Finding none in Italian, the library arranged for the interlibrary loan of four scholarly books on the subject — from Yorkshire, England. When the Yorkshire librarian called the Italian librarian to ask why the reputedly great-loving Italians didn’t have any academic books on such a basic topic, they retorted "Because we are far too busy doing it to write about it."

Claude A. Smith, 60, a black man housed in an Ohio prison, was in need of prostate surgery. Claude E. Smith III, 43, a white man who until recently was housed in another Ohio prison, is suing the state of Ohio for $3 million, claiming his prostate was removed in error when they sent for the wrong Claude Smith. He charges the operation left him impotent and without bladder control.

Paul Siemens, 18, of Chestnut Ridge, N.Y., graduated second in his class from Spring Valley High School. Despite having been accepted at Harvard to study biology, he has filed suit against the school district, calling their method of determining class rank "erroneous, arbitrary and capricious," and claiming that he would have been number one based on straight grade point average. The suit demands that he be made class valedictorian because in the future, graduate school entrance and grant awards will take his high school class rank into account, and he would be placed at a disadvantage by being ranked number two.This kid should go in for law instead of biology....

Researchers at the University of Southampton (England) have found that constant kneeling in prayer can cause arthritis of the knees. The study of 2,000 people found that excessive kneeling strains the knee, increasing wear of its cartilage. Most at risk are vicars, priests and nuns, the study said. (Reuters) ...While you’re down there, ask for money to pay for joint replacement surgery.

How Medicinal Is Your Urine...?

Of all the English words that try to explain the state of confusion in the form of embarrassment..., the one that fascinates me most is: 'tongue-tied'.

The adjective is so apt when you think of situations and events that have not only surprised you, but actually led to your embarrassment. To be 'tongue-tied'! What could possibly embarrass you to the point of speechlessness...?

Once I had walked into my best friend's sitting-room...lo and behold,his mother lay stark naked on the couch...
I was not tongue-tied, I screamed..."Jesus H. Christ"! I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I guess I said that a thousand times with my back turned.

Last night, after some pints of beer, I went to the 'gents' to relieve my urinary bladder that was threatening burst its seams...

I just started having my pee and feeling my bladder heave a sign of relief... when I noticed three white boys come into the toilet noisily.

One of them tapped me on the shoulder to draw my attention with these words: "I bet you haven't seen anything like this before.."

As I try to comprehend the import of his statement, he zipped down the fly of his trousers, brought out a monster-like 'willie' and started peeing.

It all happened in flash. One of the other guys just cupped his hands; scooped some urine from 'monster-like willie' and swallowed it...

Then, it was a free for all feast of happy urine drinking and splashing amongst the three...
I quietly and hastily left the loo before the idea of splashing their urine on me will occur to one and all...

When I got back to the bar, I narrated my ordeal to my South African companion...and all she could say was..."is that why you look as if you've seen a ghost...?"

I remained speechless! All I could say then was "...you act as if drinking and splashing urine amongst men or women(if I may add) is a normal everyday occurrence... is it? I asked her.

"Hey, relax... you're taking this too serious. In case you don't know, urine is medicinal..."
Somebody should please lecture me on how medicinal urine is...

And if urine is medicinal, is it another person's urine...? How safe is that?

What if the other person passing the urine has of the numerous urethra diseases like -- gonorrhea, syphylis or chlamydia...? How medicinal would that be...?

She too became 'tongue-tied'....

...Is it Really Good to be Back...?

I haven't been to the village in fourteen years--not because I dislike village life, but because, I have nobody familiar enough to embrace and accommodate me. Sounds very funny--isn't it?
But, thats the implication of having parents (from different cultures) who spent almost their entire lives abroad.
You are in the village as a matter of necessity. And you are like a baby learning everything anew.

You get introduced to every passer-by. This, somehow embarrasses you. Why, you do not know.
Then, those wrinkled hands of some hag--that you've always considered to be witches try to cuddle you--involuntarily, you cringe. They sense your action. But they don't say a word--instead, they look at your Dad straight in the eyes.
That look that says "its all your fault... you should have brought them to the village more often... that way, they need not be afraid of their kilt and kin..."

The village setting reminds you of the hilarous comic character called Nkem Owoh. The uptight economy has virtually turned everyone into greedy comedians. They all want more like Oliver Twist.
When you try to explain that the 'Pound-Sterling' is very difficult to get, they laugh...that kind of laughter that insinuates they understand-- but they don't; because they still continue to make these endless demands on you.

You are sympathetic. But you cannot solve all of their problems this one time...
To some, you make this empty promise...' I will send you more money when I get back...'
And to others you genuinely feel like helping...but, you are constrained by your tight budget...
So, you make the same promise...'I will send you some money when I get back...ok...

You are back. Your mortgage (loan repayment) is overdue. Your bills piled up--inspite of the fact that you were away for twenty-six days.
You sit down to reflect... but you don't feel relieved... because, you don't know which is better-- the agressive, needy villagers you fled from or the mortgagee and debt collectors whose embrace you ran into...

Speechless...!

When someone so close to you passes on after a bitter struggle with cancer,
you are mostly like to be silent...

When that person is your eldest sister and mentor for some obvious reasons,
You are most likely to remain shocked...

And when your eldest sister plays the role of your mother... because she is more,
you are mostly likely to be more confused...

But when she passes on; leaving three little kids with mouths agape...
you are most likely to cry...

At times like this Naomi, the only consolation, is in John Donne's word:


"Death, Be Not Proud"


Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

Strange...!

I have been down with this annoying flu for three agonising days...
Didn't go to work on Friday, Monday and Tuesday...
My having flu is always annoying because, any damn thing can and may trigger it.
Right now, my nose is making the run--attempting to leave my face...and I have so rubbed it, that the redness is like headlamp.
And I sneeze around thirty-nine times per minute... my head throbs and my ears are blocked and my breath comes in gasp.

As I sat behind my desk--face raised --so this watery catarrh would not drop on the papers, Tracy pops in her head..."hi ya"... she says...
Hello Tracy, I tried saying with my mouth... but very word comes out nasalized.

The police are here to see you was her next statement.
What...?
Two policemen are down-stairs with Justin... I think he is in alot of trouble...they wanno have a word with you...
Me...?" If Justin is in alot of trouble, what has that got to do with me"...I asked her...

We hurried down-stairs. And behold, the police were there for real--with Justin...and he had this strange look on his face...like a cornered rat.

My boss was the first to speak. She said... " officers, this is 'so-obscure'... the one in the CCTV recording".
I looked at Justin straight in the eyes and asked ..."Justin, whats going on...?"
One of the policemen reponded by telling me that for the past five months or there-about, Justin has been smoking 'weed' in the premises...
What has that got to do with me...I asked the officer...
We saw you with Justin on two ocassions in those recordings... and we want to know if you smoke 'weed' too.
For the first time, Justin opened his stinking weedy mouth and said..."officer, he doesn't smoke..."

Yes, ...I don't smoke cigarrette... let alone 'weed'....

That was the statement that saved me my job.

Justin was taken away. According the officers, he's been arrested for 'anti-social behaviour'...

Back upstairs, my boss asked the secretary to type Justin's termination letter. He will get that when he finishes with the police.

The bottom-line is that Justin has turned the car park within the work premises to 'a joint'--where he chills out during lunchbreak to puff his marijuana. He sits in his car while listening to some 'acid rock', and puff away...

Didn't know that the security men had warned him on one ocassion.
They called in the police.

How can any sane man bring marijuana to work and dare to smoke it within the premises....?
I never knew that Justin smokes 'weed'. What I do know is that, he is too quiet to be normal.

Too bad, it had to end this way.
What will he tell his folks back home?

Co-incidence...?

I do not actually believe in witchcraft or wizardry...what I however do know, is that some people are plain wicked.
Right now, I am too flustered to think straight and articulate what I intended to blog.
Someone very close to me called me last night: saying, the step-mom is dead. She died while giving birth. The baby too could not be saved.

That is not the source or cause of my anger.
I strongly suspect the father of this friend of mine to be a wizard. Hear me out.
The dead woman I mention above, is the third wife that has died through child birth in the hands of that man. My friend's mother was the first wife. She died while giving birth to her third child.

We used to be very close family friends until I moved to the UK.
According to my friend--who is trying to keep a wide distance between himself and the father, the man has married thrice within a period of twenty-four years and none of the women is alive. And he is just fifty -four.

A man's second wife dying through the same circumstances as the first may appear to many as a mere co-incidence.
But, for a third wife, the same man... no, this is one coincident too many.

Women, Politics and Blackmail...

...women are the greatest blackmailers when it comes to sour relationships and politics, Donny said.
I do not agree with this assertion. Because often times, men are of the opinion that women are second class mammals that can be sucked dry and left in the lurch.

Donny shakes his head--as if to indicate that I am lost or I have been swallowed by the whiteman's way of reasoning.

Look at it from this angle... he says. A man would always be a man. That is the way the good Lord in his infinite wisdom created us...

What's your point, I asked him.

My point is, women tend to resort to blackmail whenever a man says it is over. Why can't a man just walk out of a relationship when he's tired--like women do all the time.

But men walk out of relationships everytime-- don't they?

Do they? Show me a public office holder who walked out of a relationship freely and I will show a blackmailer.

Donny was now prepared to lecture me on this. The way he shifted and and adjusted his chair, I knew we were in for a long night...

Do you still recall Paula Jones and Monica Lewinsky and the Bill Clinton's affair...?
Of course. Who would forgot that beauty queen(?) Monica. A genuine Kanye West gold digger.

Good. Those two are the typical firebrand grave-are-sour vixen daughters of Eve. And I tell you what, most women... if not all, are like that or they have the suppressed potentials to act like Monica when a good bloke like you and I say its over.

No... no...no...no...Donny, I vehemently disagree...The Monica Lewinsky-vis-avis-Bill Clinton's affair, was the Republican Blackmail. A loser's trump card which actually backfired. You can't use that as an index to judge all other women...

Ok. Donny seems to concede. What you are saying by implication is that the Conservative Party are losing out and have resorted to cheap blackmail and character assassination with this Tracy Temple's bullshit...? Is that it...?

I don't get your drift. What has the Conservative party and Tracy Temple got to do with blackmail...?...I asked.
What I am saying to you 'idiot' is that women have allowed themselves to become cheap weapons of blackmail by dirty politcians.

The Monica Lewinskies and Paula Jones' and the Tracy Temples of the world are always there-- ready to be used.

Well, I think I am feeling sleepy....I don't know of being used, but I think they have every right to fall in and out of love-- as they wish.

Yes, it has everything to do with politics. It's not just love. These women are tough miners--searching for gold and publicity; with double edge sword-- ready to cut anything that stands in their financial way.

That is why I like Africans and their style of politiking. You can't use women to assasinate their characters--no matter what. They are allowed to have as many wives and mistresses as they can cater for at the expense of the electorates.

Women! Only God can explain how He created these creatures. One can forgive Monica Lewinsky for falling headlong over heel with Bill Clinton. He is cute and powerful then...
But how do we explain Tracy Temple's affair with the 'ape-like' John Prescott - the deputy Prime Minister.

And why is it now, that the local council elections are around the corner that journalists have decided to expose the sordid love affair?
Do you smell foul play!

Thank You!

I have never been known for quitting. What I do know however, is that, on more than one occasion, I have toiled with the idea of giving up this blog. Then, the thought was -- nobody reads this boring, jerky and random ranting of mine.

But each time I click on the sitemeter attached to the blog, I smile, seeing that one or two persons have stopped by to read my rather incoherent and obscure blabbing. To you, I say thanks for all the encouragement.

Those who have made each day of blogging worthwhile are those who not only stop-by, but say something valuable about the gibberish that I have been able to 'painstaking' articulate and post... Here I go again!

If not for these group of people, I would have permanently gone on a hiatus-cum-comatose...
Hey, you know who you are... and I say--" a zillion thanks"...

As I type this, a friend sitting by; asked..."why, in hell's name are you thanking these people..."
And I said,..."why not...what if there were no tomorrow to say a big 'thank you' to them..."

Does it really matter...?

Yes! I said.

As for those who used to stop by,but ceased to, for one reason or the other, I miss those invaluable comments of yours...

And I hope some day, you will have a change of heart and stop by again, and again...

Thank you!

Why Policemen Are Not Liked...

There are two professions I don't like. The army and the Police. I especially hate the police because of the lasting negative impression they left on my mind while living in Nigeria.
My perception of police men everywhere(?) is that they are 'no--do--gooders'...
When I was a young boy--fifteen, I supposed; one of my aunties brought his boyfriend home. She actually wanted my parents to know him.
After the introduction, there were the usual banters and small talks that acompany such meetings.

As soon as the young man left, my dad look at my mum quizzically. The look as I reflect on that scenario now could be interpreted as..."of all the young men available in the world, her choice has to be a policeman...?"
And from the little I gathered from their conversation, the ' military force'--including the police, are professions for the dregs and the not-so-intelligent people in the society. That impression hasn't changed a bit. In fact, it was re-enforced by the likes of Abacha, Mustapha and the numberous policemen at the ubiquitous 'check-points' in Nigeria.

That's exactly why the great Fela Kuti in one of his songs branded the military as 'zombies'.
There is no better term or adjective to describe military men --including the police. They are mindless zombies. Yes! Because in the face of acute suffering and poor working conditions, the policemen remain silent--especially in developing countries.
They are not expected to protest or as much as grumble. If they do, they are regarded as saboteurs.

A friend of mine would like to describe policemen and the army as 'professional prostitutes'. They flirt with any given government of the day.
When a despot rules oppressively, the police is used to suppress any uprising. Most people the world over see policemen as their enemies.
And the police force become the enemy of the people if/when they worship the king or queen or president or prime minister... as case may be.

When the people of a country or region say they do not want their leader--who happens to a be king any more, I believe such a people have a right to voice out this loudly in any form possible.
Policemen are part of these people. They cannot be different.

Some years back, Precisely in 1986, the people of Phillipine got tired of the draconic and squandermaniac rule of the president--Ferdinard E. Marcos. There was an uprising. When the uprising started, the police was used to 'try' the suppression of the voice of reason. They however failed woefully. At the end of the day, Ferdinard Marcos and his 'squanderholic' wife--Imelda fled the country. The people won. The policemen who tried to supress 'the will' of the people remained. They continued their services with the new leader loyally(?).

Since Thursday last week, the people of Nepal region have been protesting to see that their King Gyanendra, steps down. Gyanendra seized power from interim Prime Minister Sher Bahadur Deuba, who the king said had failed to quell a Maoist insurgency that has killed at least 13,000 people since 1996. Three of the pro-democracy demonstrators have been killed since the uprising. Police have been order to shoot at sight rioters who defy the curfew order. Over 70 pro-democracy protesters have been arrested and detained.

It is only a matter of time before the will of the people prevails. And it certainly will.
Then, the police who have somehow been opposed brutally to the uprising, will flirt with the new government. And whatever benefit accrues from King Gyanendra's remover will trickle down to the same senseless policemen. What a shame on the part of the policemen. If only they would become mindful; instead of being the zombies that they are presently.

Are We In A Sick World...?

It is really a sick world--isn't it? What is in a nine year old girl that a grown up 'pervert' enjoys continuously...?
He raped her several time over.
How did a nine year old girl endured the pain and tear of this wretched, sick animal in human skin...?
Who do we really blame here..., the 'careless' mother or the system that allowed a known pervert to roam freely...?
Can we hold the supervising officers responsible for this dastardly act...or blame the probation services and 'porous' judicial system here...?
It grieves my heart to read or listen to a story like this....

A PERVERT was jailed for repeatedly raping a nine-year-old girl — while he was supposed to be under supervision.
Kevin Hazelwood, 40, had been given probation after downloading porn, including photos of girls as young as three being raped.
He was put on the sex offenders’ register.
Yet within weeks of walking free from court in 2002 he had befriended his victim’s family — just to get at her.
Tattooed Hazelwood, from Brighton, became her babysitter and would take her to her room when her mother was busy with a new baby.
The nine-year-old endured attacks for three years fearing "Uncle Kevin" would otherwise abuse her tiny sister.
The fiend gave the girl presents and filmed some attacks to blackmail her into silence. But she finally told her shocked mum.
Hazelwood admitted six counts of rape and two of indecent assault, as well as assaulting another young girl in the 1980s.
He was jailed indefinitely at Lewes Crown Court and must serve at least five years and seven months before facing a parole board.
Judge Richard Hayward told Hazelwood: "You will remain a danger to young girls for the foreseeable future."
Outside court the victim’s weeping mother said: "He has crushed my world. But the courage my daughter displayed has been inspiring."
Sussex Police and probation services said in a joint statement: "We do a huge amount to prevent reoffending but can never entirely eliminate the risk an offender will commit another offence."

Give Your Advice Please...

When I wrote the essay or story on "What could possibly make you take your own life...
I was only expressing my innermost feeling in respect of the subject...."suicide"
I wrote that piece based on what happened two block away from my apatrtment--where a man took his own life.
I didn't know someone would be touched after reading it.
I received an email from someone,far away in India, saying THANK YOU.
And I tell you what, I am more than elated.

Check this out:

...I have thought of suicide several times over and over again. Only one thing keeps me from jumping in front of a moving train. fear. the fear that i may not die. and what would become of me if i cannot attempt to take my vegetated life once again. the burden i would pose to others.
I was born epileptic and have been a disgrace to myself and family. i have no friends. this because most people think epilepsy is contagious. i have attempted to drown myself once even though i know going near the water is dangerous.
then you asked in your essay; what could possibly make you take your own life?
i don't have a life. and i don't have a future. at twenty seven i look like an eleven year old boy. i'm retarded and i also have this constant seizure at least twice a week. what are my living for. is it not better to die than live?
i may still jump one day in front of a train, but after reading your blog, i thought may be i have a life afterall.
i may just try and see it through...
Gurauv.

What Does It Takes To Apologise...?

I sent an electronic device to Lagos through one of the courier services last Wednesday.
At the courier office here in the UK, I was told it will only take three working days for the item to be delivered to its final destination.

Today is Thurday- the ninth day since the item left the UK. My friend has not received it yet.
And because I have the tracking number, I decided to call the Lagos office since I found out from the net, that the item has arrived there.
I wanted to know what was delaying it from being delivered to its final destination.

I dialed the Lagos number....

Customers Services[CS]:...hello, UTSS courier services....

So-obscure:... hello, good afternoon...em, I sent an item through your services....since Wednesday last week...

CS:... do you have the tracking number...?

So-obscure:... yes please, I have the tracking number...

CS:... may I have the tracking number...?

So-obscure:..yes please....XYZ123456789

CS:... hold on....

Tick tock....tick tock....tick tock.....tick tock.... tick tock.... tick tock.... tick tock....

One minute.... two minutes.... three minutes... four minutes...

Couldn't take it any longer.... click! I hung up.

So, I waited for approximately ten agonising minutes and then dialed again....

Grrhh...grrhh...grrhh... grrhh...

Hello...UTSS courier services....

So-obscure: ..hello, I called earlier and someone put me on hold forever....

CS: what do you mean... I only went for five minutes...not forever...

So-obscure: ...excuse me[I was getting really angry now]...You put me on hold for five endless minutes and then come back without apologising...?

CS:...please don't shout at me o....

So-obscure: Is that an apology...?

CS: ...apologise for what...?

So-obscure:... for keeping me waiting for five 'fu...king' minute...

CS:.. please mind your language...

So-obscure:...JESUS CHRIST!... I demand an apology from you... for keeping me waiting....

CS:...see me see trouble o...ok, I'm sorry...

Gosh! I spent another wasteful six minutes to make her see reasons with me...and apologise. Where was she trained...?
The direct opposite is what we have here in the UK. Customer services will almost drown you with apologies and the word 'please'....
Honestly, if I had access to her superiors, I would have had her changed from that desk...
She succeeded in leaving a very bad taste in my mouth...
I will never ever use that courier services again. They lost a customer. Me.

What a System...!

"....I know it won't be much consolation, but that picture of Damilola carries such a force of sweetness that to see it, even now, is to be reminded there is good worth fighting for in the very worst places..."
Words of Allison Pearson of the Daily Mail after the the court failed once again to convict anyone of the gruesome murder of Damilola Taylor.

Schoolboy Damilola Taylor was stabbed brutally in the leg,and with a marble choked down his throat,he was left to bleed to death. He died minutes later in the hospital.

For six year now, the killers of this young lad have not be found.
Four youths were tried and acquitted of Damilola's murder in 2002. Three other young men were cleared of murder after a second trial at the Old Bailey in 2006.

Everyone, including the parests of the victim following this case is tired and disppointed.
Damilola had only lived in the UK for about five months. He was brought from Nigeria to attend school here. But that dream was cut short by some lunatics still on the loose.

One begins to wonder how he could have made such enemies at so short a time.
Or was he a victim of some sordid orgies- who derive kicks from seeing blacks suffer and die? Could he have been a victim of blood thirsty bullies from his school...who thought he should be taught a bitter lesson but never calculated it would lead to his death... ?

These, and many more questions remain unanswered even now... six year after the ever smiling Damilola fell and tried to struggle home leaving a trail of blood on his way. He never made it.
This case smacks of vengeance and open mockery of the legal and judicial system.

Or how else do we explain the flagrant behaviour of the accused during the first trial. According to Damilola's father, the accused openly mocked him and his wife during court proceedings. They continually made faces at them and laughed, chewing gums noisily without any form of discipline by the court. What kind of system is that... that allows the accused to mock the devasted parents of the victim openly...?
Richard Taylor, Damilola's father said..."I don't understand a system that can't bring the killers of my son to justice..."

I doubt if there is anyone out there who understands the system that allows the killer(s) of a ten year old boy...who had only spent between five months in the country to go or roam free...

Where lies justices...? Can the ordinary man or woman depend on this system...?

Figure This Out...

So I received this phone call Saturday morning... time, 6:07am [I was still feeling very very sleepy]
Grrh...grrh..grrh..
I groped for the phone. "Hello"...
And this tiny feminine voice at the other end said... "bros..."
Who...? I growled...
Shanti. [Shanti is my baby sister...19]...
Do you realise what time it is...? I yelled. Where're you..and what is it...?

Am at the police station... she said [I sprang from my bed almost immediately...]
What happenned...? I asked as I struggled to put on my trousers and shirt at the same... in the process, I fell and rose instanter.
The voice at the other end started fading..."am at the Bay station, when you get here, I will explain"[ and it look like she's been crying]. Then, the phone went dead.

Picked up my wallet and the keys. Dashed to Bay station in 37 minutes.
Went straight to desk officer. "Morning officer..."
Yeah, morning...replied the officer. How can I help you... he asked.
Mainwhile, I was trying to see the names on the notice-board... there was no Shanti...
Well officer, I am here in respect of my younger sister... her name is Shanti.
Shanti who...? The officer asked. Shanti Anderson I said.
He turned and started going through a list... "What was she arrested for..."
Officer, I don't know. I am here to find out.

The officer looked up and said... " am afraid there is no Shanti Anderson here...
I looked at him very hard...officer, are you sure...? Please double check because she called me about an hour ago saying she was arrested... and being detained at the Bay station...
Was there a number...the officer asked.
I brought out my phone and checked. Yes officer, there is a number. I showed it to him.
He looked at it and said...well, this number is not from here...

The officer was very helpful. He suggested I call the number with their phone...
So, I dialed the number. It rang...and the same voice[Shanti's] came on..."hello"...
Shanti where are you...? I'm at the station...[this time, I was yelling...feeling flustered and frustrated]
The voice at the end said..."bros, na April fool..."

What Could Possibly Make You Take Your Own Life...?

I had a discussion with a colleague of mine on death this morning. I wanted to know his opinion on the subject.
When I asked him what he thinks of death generally, the look on his face was that of someone who was scared.
He asked in turn... "why should we be talking about death of all the good things there are in the world to talk about..."
And I said well, "the reason why I asked him about death is because I want to know if he could kill himself. I mean, if he could commit suicide.
This time, it was the look of horror that registered on his face. He said..."what a question...!"
He paused for awhile. The silence lasted for about nineth seconds. Then, he shook his head as if to rouse himself from a kind of lethargy.
When he literarily woke up, he said..."to tell you the truth, I have never thought of suicide...not for once..."
And I said..."well, now, you've thought of it and deeply too...so what do you think...?" Is there anything in this wide world that could possibly make you take your own life...?
I decided to widen the scope for him further. Think. Anything. Be it love or love of parents, a worthy course, sickness, disability, or mercenary.... Think, I urged him.

This young man looked at me again. He turned my shoulder sharply and roughly so that he could see my face thoroughly.
He then asked..." is there something wrong...?" I responded in the negative. "Then why are you asking these 'funny' questions....I hope you are not planning to take your life...?"
I laughed. Me, take my own life. Never. And told him emphatically that nothing and I repeat nothing, in this wide world would make me take my own life. Nothing. I prefer to see life through. I would like to know how the curtail would fall. Not me pulling the curtail. I think he got the message.
Why the question on suicide then... he asked again.

I told him a young man who lived two blocks away from my apartment took his own life. He committed suicide. Since then, I have been pondering on what could possibly make a man hang himself. What could make a man force himself to the other of life when it is not his appointed time?
I asked myself several questions on this for days...
The men and women who commit suicide, are they aware that death on earth is not really the end of their existence...?
Do these people who take their own lives know that the first shock a dead man encounters is that he is still alive...though not on earth...? I don't think they know this...
If they do, then they would cherish life and endeavour to live it to its fullness...
Suicide is not an option...
This was turning into a sermon. So, I checked myself...

How Dare You Call Me By My Name...?

Being raised in African has its down side too. One of the most treasured culture there is respect. This is an unwritten code or law as it were...
As a young boy or girl, you are not expected to call your uncles and aunties by name. Not your elders. Its a taboo!
You are not expected also to call the married ladies who may be your neighbours by their names...that is if you happen to know their names...
In most cases, you don't know their names-even if you've lived together for twenty years...
Hence, you will often hear 'mama Tosin', 'papa boiboi', 'aunty Chinyere'...'uncle Emma', etc etc...

Some married men and women even extend this respect(?)... or what should I call it, strange(?), bizzare(?) thing to each other at home...
You hear a man calling his wife by the name of one of their children...'mama so-obscure'(quite mouth full) or 'papa Haruna..'.
This is irrespective of education. May be I should say irrespective of whether they went school or not.
The definition of an educated person is as polemic as the different religions on the face of the earth.

This culture of not calling elders by their names is affecting some us seriously.
When you work in Nigeria, the standard procedure of addressing your boss is 'sir' or 'ma'... as the case may be.
Here,(UK) things are quite different to a large extent.
When I was first introduced to my boss... 'she stretched out her hand and said..."call me Tracy"...
And each morning, it is..."hi so-obscure", and I would respond... "hello Tracy..."
Believe you me, it was not easy at first calling her by her first name just like that...
It was not easy for three major reasons: (a) my African upbringing (b) she is my boss and (c) she's about twice my age...

What beats me hollow is why some married men and women back in Africa do not call each other by their first names.
Why must it be 'mama Sikira' or 'papa Mumu'...?
What if they don't have children...what would they call each other...? And by extention, how would they be addressed by their neighbours- especially the children in the neighbourhood...?

PS:

CHARLES TAYLOR ESCAPED...?

Lets assume for assumption sake, that Charles Taylor was abducted by criminals from Liberia... otherwise, this is a huge mess and world-class embarrassment.

The American Idol...As seen By Me...

The american idol comes to us late. Some of us see the Tuesdays and Wednesdays editions on Fridays.
I love the host/presenter Ryan Seacrest. I usually enjoy the way he introduces the program...
The way he says..."this,is american idol" after the preamble...
The judges are also marvelous-especially Simon Cowell. he has been described as brutally honest.
Simon, has he ever sang...? I doubt. With those biceps like a weight lifter, I very much doubt,if he can sing.

Simon, is the most honest of the three judges in my opinion.
But the only problem I have with him is that he does not give words of encouragement like Paula.
Simon just says the plain truth- he doesn't care if the performer is hurt or not.
I think people will love him more if , he can lace his honest opinion with some words of encouragement.

One other thing I find appalling with the american idol is the elimination process.
Can some body tell me why the contestant who is eliminated have to be humiliated with the very song that cost him or her the contest...?
Why does he or she have to be made to perform the same song that cost them the contest...?
Why can't the losers be given the option of picking one of their best songs to perform since they are leaving...
The idea of repeating the very song that gave you the lowest vote, I find most excruciating and humiliating.

Anyhow, I still salute the courage of all the contestants in this reality TV show.
I love american idol!
I am predicting Katherine Mcphee, Mandisa, Chris Daughtry... to be the three top finalist...
What do you think...?

Ladies and Men...

I must admit;sometimes when I'm jobless or nearing that pinnacle of boredom, I do silly things.
Like last night...I was reading a book, but my mind kept drifting aimlessly from it...
Whenever I find myself in such a state, I go for a walk. But it was 1:58am and wet outside.
I had to confine my itchy mind in...
So, I put on the computer and decided to randomly search and read some interesting blogs.
Fed-up of politics-especially Nigerians'...

I wanted something new, exciting, sinister and comical at the same time. Rather rare and awesome combination you might say...
In my quest for excitement and flavour, something to stimulate my wandering mind, I discovered that alot of ladies do really blog- especially in the US.
Before my mind got bored of the process of viewing these blogs, I counted 178. All,belonging to ladies. Of these numbers, 97 have a central theme on men... the balance 81 were on some bullsh**t like yours and mine.

It is either they 're talking about the ex-b/f who is franticly making a come back or how he was snobbed in front of the night club while everyone was paying attention.
If not that, then it is how he snores at night shaking the foundation of the building.
Ladies sure like to talk about guys.
While guys talk politics and how to move the world forward or break it through wars. What a difference!
My mind is finally bored of read these blogs... I'm going to bed.

Who Can Interpret This...?

I do not attach much importance to dreams. Often times, when I dream, I don't remember same in the morning. I just go about my normal or abnormal duties/chores/boring routines and all whatnot.

When I was younger, I used to dream of horrible creatures chasing me. They were frightening. Once, my grandma advised me to always try and stretch out my legs whenever I'm having these nightmares. It worked.

Now as an adult, I don't like stretching my legs to cut short the terrifying dreams. I like seeing them through. In fact. I enjoy them now. And because I love horror films alot, the more terrifying these dreams are, the more enjoyable they become.
Recently, I had this frightening dream that I was being pursued by President Olusegun Obasanjo of Nigeria...

Dreams are very funny phenomenon... becuase, how I got to 'Aso Rock'-where he resides will continue to be a mystery. But I was there. What preceded my coming before his excellency's presence is a little bit hazy now.

There I was at the same table with OBJ. Though, he looked rather very old and pale. I was relaxed as if it was the usual thing to sit before a 'president' and a retired general.
I remember telling him that Nigerians are not happy with him. In response, he said shut-up..."you that have been away for over twelve years... how do you know that Nigerians are not happy...'oloshi'...

I said what? ..."you are the one 'baba'... who is 'oloshi'... you, who have decided to make the presidency your personal property...
From no where, about sixteen Goliath like men came after me. Instead of 'baba' to respect himself and allow his 'rottweilers' do their job, he sprang up with a surprising agility be-lying his age and look...

Then, the seemingly abominable happened. The president stumbled and fell flat on his 'pot-belly'...
On my heels were these giant guards chasing tirelessly. 'Aso-Rock' is a maze. Too many corridors and doors.

I could not tell whether I was on the first or second or third floor... they all look the same. And I was being sucked into a vortex...I meandered left, then right which tailed at cul-de-sac...
My heart was pounding. And I waited for the worse...
Then, I opened my eyes...I was on my bed, in my room. Dreams. They will always be dreams....