Outside its America.........

In the howlin' wind

Comes a stingin' rain

See it drivin' nails

Into the souls on the tree of pain.

Bullet the Blue Sky - U2

The trip had started bizarrely. Having taken the BA flight from Lagos at midnight and arrived in London in the early hours of the morning only to jump on to the BA flight to DC you could excuse me for being confused and discombobulated. See what happened was that the plane started taxiing and seemed to continue taxiing for a very long time. I was keep tracking of the engine sounds as I always do and waiting for the nose to lift before I could let out my customary deep breath. But no. Not this time.The taxiing seemed to go on and on. And on. Surely we must have run out of runway by now I thought to myself expecting us to go careering into some poor sods semi in Feltham any minute. And still I waited. It was only after a good ten minutes that I twigged that we were already in the air having taken off so smoothly I had thought we were still on ground. This was a new one for me but as I say maybe it was because I was tired.

We landed with a bang in DC and proceeded into the main hall where the ever efficient, super diligent, ever so observant and welcoming Dept of Homeland Security welcomed us into God's own country. Look my philosophy of life is very simple. Any person that has a 45 Magnum strapped to their waist can talk to me anyway they like. For as long as they like. Anytime. Left index finger in, right index finger out do the hokey cokey and spin it all around. No problem.

An hour later I was sitting in a taxi on the way to the hotel. Two things struck me on the journey. Luckily one of them was not the central reservation. Let me explain. My driver spent a lot of the time sending and receiving texts, yes while driving, and so it was that one point we were headed with full force towards the motorway divider until my violent coughing and clearing of throat brought it to his attention. Experience has taught me that swearing at people in America is not to be recommended as any Tom, Dick or Dirty Harry can whip out said 45 and before you know it the Alfas have to be gathered if you get my drift. The second thing was the violent manner in which he used his horn. I had thought that American cars only had horns installed for decoration and to ensure that an unsightly hole was not left in the steering wheel but this chap certainly knew how to use it. He was a homie so maybe that explains it.

DC is one of the greenest places I have ever been to and looking down from the bridge into the Potomac brings a lump to the throat. After three days of conferencing and being stuck in a hotel I finally got the chance to take in the sights - the White House, the Pentagon, The War Memorial? Nope. Straight to the Pentagon Mall to indulge in that good old Naija custom. Shopping for necessities which you can also get at home if you are prepared to pay double. After all its not like those monuments are going anywhere but have you seen how much they sell muesli at Shoprite? And where does one get reading materials for those long nights trapped behind our burglar proof gates?. I beg priorities, priorities.

The weather was at times extreme with bright sunny days disappearing into sullen, dark thunderstorms. At one point there was talk of a tornado hitting the town (and I'm not talking about Hilary, of whom more later). I strolled along sidewalks so clean I wondered why I had bothered to book a hotel. The vibe was good. The air was clean. I walked for miles lost in my own reverie. Iyawo has been going on about quality of life for some time now and I see what she means. The simple act of being able to walk without fear of being run over, on the sidewalk, or molested by any number of miscreants, is that not one of the fundamental human rights? If not then it should be.

The rest of the time I spent cowering in my room engrossed in their Cable TV (67 channels and nothing on - Bruce Springsteen). It was dominated by the Obama\Clinton docu drama. Oh what riveting television. On the one hand you have the masculine, tough talking, dominant, aggresive, manipulative candidate. And on the other hand Obama. Oh Hillary go home. The game is over. Accept defeat graciously. Write a book. Sort out your finances. You are in big debt baby. After realising, but not accepting defeat Hillary asked her 18 million supporters to contact her via email at her website to tell her what to do. Huh? And oh by the way leave a little sumthing, sumthing donation to help feed Bill and Chelsea. Oh how I laughed. Is she implying that she needs 18 million people to tell her the obvious? Ok please allow me to get the ball rolling.

Hillary you fought a tough and dirty battle. You threw everything you had into the fight. You lost. Go home. Get a grip. Obama owes you nowt. The choice of his VP is his. Not yours. Not conceding is bad behaviour but typical and expected. If he has any sense he will steer well clear. Bill however needs you. Apparently he has been getting Monica'd by various "campaign supporters" across the nation according to Vanity Fair. He obviously needs you close by his side. Very close.

Anyway back to the outside world as I head to the airport I am struck by the silence, the serenity, the sense of order, decorum, decency. The cabbie tells me that things changed after the ousting of Mayor "I swear I did not snort that white powder. It was the devil." Berry. The place is more secure, the neighbourhoods cleaner, house prices through the roof, great restaurants, sense of community. All this is due to a change to "The Management"? Surely this is the way it should be. Could be. Will be? in Naija. Soon? Ever?

Through the alleys of a quiet city street.

Up the staircase to the first floor

We turn the key and slowly unlock the door

As a man breathes into his saxophone

And through the walls you hear the city groan.

Outside, is America

Outside, is America

America.

Bullet the Blue Sky. U2

And so it goes...........

My mother swore.

So apologies for the silence but the wheels have been spinning and rubber has been burning and life has been moving at the speed of light. What? Another week gone by? You don't say. So much has been happening, is happening, was happening.

However this post is all about my mother. It all started with the death of one of her best friends as detailed in my previous post. The fact that this lovely lady was younger did not help matters. Bad enough when you are at death's doorstep at 72 but when 68 year olds are leaving you behind well it preys on the mind. And it has been preying on hers. So much so that she has been quite poorly. However this is not a shout out for sympathy.

Last week after knowing her for some 40 odd years I heard my mother swear and cuss for the first time ever. The reason for this was understandable. It was that old foe NEPA. Having been deprived of electricity for weeks and with both generators having decided to give up the ghost together she found herself having to sit out on the balcony all day just to breathe. Maybe it was unfortunate that I chose this very time to call her to check on her wellbeing. It was then that she swore. The dam broke. The years of quiet middle class respectability went out the window.

To be frank it was quite scary. It was only one line but still it was like a blow to the solar plexus. It was like I was speaking to a stranger. As is my wont I have spent a long time deliberating about this outburst and to be honest with you I am scared. Not for her. She will be alright Insha Allah. But for me. For my children. It seems so long ago we would be sitting in front of NTA and then all would go dark. "Ahh NEPA" we would all scream as we scrambled around for candles and torches and made our way outside to play various games or tell scary tales. We would also catch crickets and roast them as a snack. This is all a good thrity years ago!! Thirty years and yet here we are with my mother sitting on the balcony sweating because NEPA has struck again? After thirty years? Nothing has changed?

So I pictured myself thirty years from now. In the twilight of my years. Is this the fate that awaits me? Will my children phone me only to hear me cussing out the bastards that run NEPA \ the Government whilst I sit sweltering and bloated from the heat on the verandah of my home sucking in fumes from slow moving traffic? I feel ashamed. I feel I should have done more. I feel I should do more.I must do more to make sure it does not happen.

But what can I do?

Goodbye Aunty

My aunty, Mrs Jade Akande, passed away suddenly last week in her sleep. Her death hit me very hard but not as hard as my mother who is trying to be strong but we can tell that her emotions are boiling beneath the surface. What made my aunty special to me was not all that she accomplished but the humility and grace that she retained till the very end.

I now regret my procrastination in telling her something that I had wanted to tell her for some years. How proud I was of her. How she motivated me without knowing it. How I was in awe of her. How I became dumbstruck every time I was around her even though she was the most comfortable person to be around.

When I read about her organising the march for mothers following the Sosolido crash I was so proud but not surprised. She was one of those people that do rather than talk about doing. When planning my return to Nigeria one of the things I promised myself to do was to tell her to her face how proud I was when I heard about the March. But alas it was not meant to be.

I also wanted to ask her to be my mentor. To show me the way in making things better for others as she had done. Now I will have to find my own way. My own causes to fight. In her name. To honour her and to let her know it was not in vain. To let her know she left some torchbearers behind. I am sure I am not the only one.

Rest In Peace Aunty. May God be with you always.

Goodnight Entebbe.

The last thing you want to see. The absolute last thing. Let me be quite clear on this. THE VERY LAST THING YOU WANT TO SEE when coming in to land at an airport is the wreckage of a plane crash. This unfortunately is what welcomed us to Entebbe Airport in Uganda. This was the first thing that haunted me on the trip but it was not to be the last.

Considering I was already freaked out by the plane and crew that BA had provided for the trip this sight did nothing to calm my nerves. I suspect both the BA plane and crew had been pulled out of retirement for the sole purpose of delivering us to Entebbe. I'm not saying they were old but some of them were using the trolleys like zimmer frames (the crew that is). As for the plane.... well Insha Allah we took off and landed. Nuff said.

We were in Uganda to visit a charity that was set up to provide education to orphans (of which there are a lot due to the ravages of AIDS. We went through village after village where we would see children running around but no parents or at best only their grandparents). The charity itself was setup way outside Entebbe in a different town so we had a fair bit if travelling to do. We spent the first night in a hotel to acclimatise and then set off on the long journey.... to Shoprite. Yup Shoprite, where we bought various supplies and gifts for the kids. I should have stocked up on water and loo paper but more on that later.

The journey to the site of the charity was long and tortuous. On the way out of town I was actually quite amused to see the amount of activity going on in Entebbe itself. When I enquired why, I was informed that it was in anticipation of the Queen's arrival the following week for the Commonwealth Conference. Funny how governments can always find the money to spruce up the environment when dignitaries and more importantly TV cameras are expected. The streets were swept clean, the street lights fixed, not a single pothole in sight, government buildings painted, the works.

We arrived at the site and were overwhelmed by the welcome of the children. It was truly heartwarming and it was obvious some of them had not been this close to two Oyinbo ladies (Iyawo and a friend) and an extremely good looking chap (lol) for some time, if ever. This was the highpoint of the trip for me. If only I had known that then.

We were treated to a lovely but basic meal of rice and stew and also shown around the sprawling site which had started off as one building and had grown through donations into a nice little camp. We were especially impressed with the meticulous neatness of the kid's dormitories that even though they had to accommodate four kids to a room were immaculate. I silently wondered what the secret was. At dinner we were treated to a more formal welcome by the whole camp and were made to feel like stars (what with being on stage under bright lights,video cameras etc). Then it was time to retire for the night as we had a full schedule for the next day. We made our way to our two room guest shack (with sanitary bucket!) to settle down for the night. Being in the middle of nowhere there was no electricity so at 10pm it was lights out as the generator had to rest.

You will notice that I mentioned water and loo roll in one of the earlier paragraphs and then mentioned that we were fed on our arrival at the camp - twice. I also mentioned that there was a bucket in the shack for number ones. So this leads me on to a brief discussion of my scatological history. See I am as regular as clockwork. Rolex or Timex ain't got nothing on me. After breakfast. I go. After lunch. I go. After dinner. See you. Sometimes I even manage squeeze in a visit between those three. I am one of the unrecognised wonders of the world in that regard. So imagine my surprise to find that the camp could only offer basic amenities. Basically a hole in the ground in a hut on the camp's perimeter with little to no ventilation and flies, rats and other vermin as tourists and guests of the intrepid visitor. I mention all this for a specific reason so please bear with me.

I am not sure who woke up first -Iyawo or I, but it was clear that all was not well. We were hearing the most blood curdling screaming and wailing I have ever heard or hope to hear. Combine this with bursting bowels, a loo that was miles away and the overwhelming gloom of the darkness and you could perhaps understand how this was the second thing to haunt me.

Unfortunately it was not to be the worst. Or last.

To be continued.

The National Treasure.

So last weekend in my endless quest to give my kids the "Nigerian experience" (cue moaning and long sighs from back of car) I dragged them off to the National Theatre to show them around. We were lucky as there was nothing happening that day so it was deserted. We were even more lucky to come across one of the theatre's staff who gave us a guided tour of this spectacular but now crumbling edifice.

I was overwhelmed with nostalgia as I used to go and visit the theatre during my hols from school in the States and I vividly remember seeing Third World perform there. Coincidentally Iyawo was at the same show so it would appear she has been stalking me for some time.

As we wandered around this magnificent edifice it was heart breaking to see the state it had been allowed to fall into. The main hall where the shows were held was now a rotting carcass with so any holes in the roof that apparently when it rained outside it might as well have been raining inside. All the electrics had packed up, the electric moving stage was now totally incapacitated and the seats were either broken or the fabric had rotted off them. We had to tread carefully as some of the floorboards had rotted through and one wrong step......

In spite of this it was still breathtaking. Apparently it is spread over 7 floors!! and has several hundred restrooms. Iyawo was very taken (and was keen to take) with some of the beautiful and so solid carved wooden doors that were now literally hanging by a screw or a hinge.

As we went through the wide corridors, up and down the stairs and enjoyed the spectacular views of the neighbouring landscape through one of the balconies of the higher floors the guard continued to fill us in with the history of the place. Apparently it had been built by some Belgians in exchange for oil as we did not have the money to pay them in hard currency. It has its own Police station and Post Office and is located in the exact centre of Lagos to allow equal access from all corners of the state.

However due to a long running dispute between Lagos State and the Federal government over who owned it and who was responsible for maintainance it had been allowed to slowly fall into total disrepair. The good news is that a new administrator has been appointed to start reviving it and already there are some signs of work in progress. Some of the conference rooms are now being rented out for shows (the Vagina Monologues was staged there last week) , weddings and conferences and there apparently is a plan to bring the whole thing back to its previous glory. With its grounds, its vibe, the architecture and the feel of the place it could and should be one of the main tourist sites in Africa. I look forward to that day.

So if you ever have the chance I urge you to visit this piece of national treasure just to have a good look around. The architecture is still very stunning and some of the design effects are just spectacular.

Next week - The National Stadium. These kids will get the Nigerian Experience even if it kills me.

Oh there may be trouble ahead...

Oh my people.The time has come. The truth has come home to roost. The bird has flown the coop and other such alarmist phrases. As usual it started with the words every father learns to dread . "Dad we need to talk!!" our Eldest Daughter said in a manner that made it clear we were going to exchange more than pleasantries. My first action is to drag Iyawo somewhere private so she can give me the low down so I can determine if my heart (and wallet) will be able to handle the upcoming conversation. This time both would be greatly affected.

She wants to go clubbing with her friends, Iyawo confided nonchalantly. Now you know I love the woman but her oyinbo upbringing has totally ruined her. Clubbing ke? But she is not 24-25 years old yet as we had previously discussed? You know, when she was born? I enquired weakly. I mean the girl is only 15. She still has a good 10 years and several degrees to go before she can start going clubbing. I absolutely refuse and that is the last I want to hear of it.Clubbing ko.Clubbing ni. Nonsense and ingredient. End of story. Finito. Don't try me oh. No more discussion about the matter. Full stop.

And so it was that I waved her goodbye last Saturday as she made her way out clubbing with her mates. A collection of expats and locals all with car and driver at their beck and call. I tried to tell her that in my day but ZZZZZZZZZZZZZ. Not interested in the middle ages apparently. She already takes history at school.

So from me some final strict warnings:
Make sure you keep that phone on.
Make sure you text me every 15 minutes.
Make sure there is no smoking , drinking or bad behaviour.
Make sure you only go to one place and stay there.
Make sure if any man with a MOPOL escort tries to talk to you you shout "EFCC".

Actually maybe I should come with you I pleaded clinging on to her hem. She managed to brush me off after relieving me of several thousand Naira in the bargain.

Chei man dey suffer oh. I am outnumbered now. It is just me against these four women in the house. So what chance do I have? My son is not old enough yet to fight on my side and is prone to change allegiances at the mention of the word - doughnut.

So what is a father to do? Should I be letting her go clubbing in Lagos filled as it is with armed robbers, drink drivers, trigger happy cops and worst of all lecherous politicians? Or should I just do as she says and chillax (whatever that means).

Oh there may be trouble ahead..

Travelogue..............

Things have been hectic the last few weeks with two trips to London and and three days in JoBurg. All work related. Trust me, those that have to go through it understand. It is not as glamorous as it all sounds. So sitting here in our office in Berkshire with my head spinning I try to make sense of it all. So much has happened and I am sure there is so much to follow.

In no particular order – armed robbers on our doorsteps (well four doors down) last night. This is the call from Iyawo I dread the most when I am away from home. Thank God they kept their activities short and sweet. I wonder though how this has happened. Anyone who has been to Lekki recently will notice the number of brand new Jeeps (donated by the Lagos Government to the Rapid Response Team) rolling around, especially by the entrance to the Phase 1 gate and yet these madmen, desperadoes, call them what you like managed to come in and get out. It seems that shooting in the air is all that is required to clear the streets, the town, the city. I know for a fact that the Governor has been very focussed on the security situation in Lagos and whilst it has improved there are still too many of this type stories.

As predicted MYA gets to retain the Presidency. Anything else would have been lunacy and would have seriously set us back. The fact of the matter is that there would have been no point in re-running the elections with the same processes and procedures in place. So whilst it might have not been a big step for democracy, it certainly was for common sense. Something that has been lacking in our country for some time. Abi no be so?

NEPA continues to be the bane of our lives. We are still using up a 160 litre tank over a three day period as we are lucky to get 12 hours in a stretch. Sometime we can lose electricity three to four times an hour. What absolute madness and chaos. Here we are in 2008. The President has apparently gone to China to discuss this issue with them specifically. So please don’t be surprised that coming soon to a transmitter near you will be a whole bunch of Chinese worker ants who will strip down the whole infrastructure and recreate a newer, better model in no time. All the while speaking loudly and spitting on the ground after every sentence. I assume such a project will gulp ( I love that word) billions.

We arrive in the comedy club in JoBurg just as the man on stage goes into a dialogue about Nigerians and their overwhelming influence on the South African landscape. You know that when we land, man mi, we LAND. Comedian after comedian lamented about life in a mini Nigerian society. Oh how we laughed (nervously at some points) as some of the crowd were not exactly enamoured of our “influence”. It seems the women of SA are no longer safe. They are being attacked every day by strangers in luxury cars having the audacity to wave wads (of notes) in their faces and offer all sorts of outrageous things. Like stays at luxurious hotels. Per hour.

A man coming off the plane at Heathrow is apoplectic that the Custom’s agent has the audacity to touch him and ask for his passport. He waves his British passport around said agent’s face reminding him that they are both British. The agent takes him aside and I am sure quietly explains to him that there is British and then there is ……. Oh well I am sure they will agree to disagree.

Meanwhile on the same flight a man is checking his text messages on take off and when I point out that whilst I am quite prepared for him to put his own life at risk mine is worth far more than the text message. He gives me a scowl and grudgingly “switches” it off and stores it in the overhead locker. Said phone then rings continuously immediately we enter British airspace. He refuses to meet my steady gaze.

Sorry if this seems random and listless. This is one of the side effects of constant travel. Meanwhile I just want to get him to my wife, my kids, my bed, my Lagos. I miss them all so. On that note a weary traveller bids you farewell.