Conqeuring my fears.

By now I hope that you know that I am God fearing, Muslim , Yoruba boy. Like all such boys I was brought up by my parents to be fearful of many things. Herewith a short sample of a considerably long list :

• God - Obviously. Because without fear of him I could end up in politics


• Pool,pond, sea - because I would drown


• Cars - because invariably there would be a crash and they would get the dreaded phone call


• Girls- because they would lure me into a life of sin even worse than being a politician


• Dogs - because they would invariably take a fancy to my soft supple skin, bite me, I would get rabies and invariably die a slow horrible death


• Horses - because once long ago someone's uncle's, sister's , mother's brother had been kicked and subsequently died


• Motorbikes - same as cars but with even more guarantee of the dreaded phone call


• Cats- because for no reason they would gouge my eyes out leaving me permanently blinded for life


• Smoking - Cigarettes would give me lung cancer. One whiff of the stronger stuff would turn me mad. The give away being the burning red eyes.


• America - because there was no better place to be exposed to all the above dangers so it was inevitable that I would end up dead there.

Needless to say I grew up with a few rational and some might say irrational fears. However, things have been changing. I have become a man. I have started to overcome my fears. The catalyst for this turnaround - Iyawo. Let me explain.

Iyawo is half Nigerian, half English. The Nigerian bit is Ibo and Christian. This combination apparently affords her protection from and insulates her against all the things that are meant to drive me to an early grave. She is fearless and as you know man has to be a man especially when his woman is more man than he. If you get my meaning.

I remember in the early days of our courting how I would gaze longingly at her as she whirled above my head in some funfair contraption or other. I can tell you that is not a good look for a man. Standing on the pavement and shouting up to his woman to be careful. Oh I saw the looks, the finger pointing and the muttering but I took it all in my stride. But slowly it started to get to me. After all am I fish or fowl?

So it was that we found ourselves in Dubai for some business do about 8 years ago. This is when I decided to take the bull by the horns. Not a real bull obviously because it would only gore me to death leading to an excuse for all our Yoruba relatives to come around and utter the dreaded words - "ki lon wanbe? Ta lo ron she? Ati so fun won pe ayo lon payon. Ehn. Bull. Oti o. (What the hell was he doing messing with a bull. Did we not tell his parents that it is this reckless joy that kills. See now. Who sent him message to the bull. I beg pass me some more small chops and the non alcoholic champagne so I can drown my sorrow".

Now on this trip the company was sparing no expense- actually they were, but that is why they just call it extras when it is itemised on your bill. We had access to the works. Massage, camel rides, 4X4 racing, swimming, diving etc. Obviously taking part in any of these activities would result in my demise but I felt it was now or never. After all if I failed and died in Dubai the people back home would only get sketchy details thereby preserving some of my macho visage. It was time to be a man so when Iyawo teased me about my lack of spine I decided to show her the caliber of man she had married. I decided to go jet skiing.

To put it in context. Jet skiing is a great sport. In my humble opinion the Best way to take part in it is to watch it on TV or worst case from the shore. Being strapped to a jet ski and set adrift in the ocean was well, suicidal. And so it was that after a brief introduction along the lines of "this is a jet ski, this is a life vest, this is the emergency cutout button" " I will be right over there on the shore if you need me" that I found myself conquering one of my greatest fears. I mean I don't even take baths for fear of passing out and drowning (as you do). I mean I take showers but make sure that the water pressure is not so great that I would lose my footing, cracking my head on the taps and you know dying. Again.

The thing is once you are strapped in it is hardly manly to then say "oh sorry mate. Big mistake. I just realised that I am a yellow bellied, lily livered coward". Especially with half naked women on the beach already admiring your manliness and all. No there was no turning back. It had to be done. So off I went but it soon became apparent that the jet ski functioned better when actually submerged in water. I therefore forced myself further out to sea. I must have gone a good ten or twenty feet out. (Don't judge me oh. Come try yourself and see). The feeling was exhilarating. I was on top of the world. I had finally conquered my fear of the sea. My fear of water. Nothing could hold me back. Except, it would seem, the rope that was used to keep the jet ski from floating away. Realising my error, the jet ski man (or bastard as I came to call him) calmly undid the rope allowing both the jet ski and I to travel much farther afield. He did reinforce the fact that he realised I was a novice and would therefore be keeping a close eye on me. Which was a comfort of sorts. I would have preferred both eyes but beggars.....

People, for a good fifteen minutes I threw caution to the wind and skied up and down the coastline. At one point I was so far out I thought I could see the Rock of Gibraltar but it turned out to be the hotel next to ours. But so what. I had finally conquered my fear. I was free. Half naked women shot me admiring glances as I made my way back to shore. Iyawo shot me warning glances as I made my way back to shore. One wave to them and you die.

Never one to let sleeping dogs lie (they will only get fleas which will work their way into my bloodstream and poison me) I decided to share another one of my phobias with Iyawo. See i have this great fear of being smothered between Pamela Anderson's breasts, whilst Beyonce is pinning me down and Mariah Carey is in the background in a bikini begging me to rub baby oil into her back. Iyawo, remain strangely silent on ways to conquer this one. She somehow thinks I need help. As if.