Life on Mars

I arrived in the US as a naive, highly inquisitive, very excited 13 year old in my beige Rayon suit and nylon shirt with the psychedelic designs and my patent leather black shoes. I, along with the other transit passengers was whisked from JFK to LaGuardia (or was it vice versa?) via helicopter (no advance warning oh.) to catch my onward flight to Ohio. Everything was a blur, mad, unreal. A small taste of what was to come.

I started in the local high school almost immediately where I was one of maybe five black students but the only one from the "motherland". I scared them small with my accent and I think my reading of a page of literature in English class in that first month will probably stay with those lucky enough to be there for life. They probably still talk about it at the school reunions. Along with the very tight flares and unwieldy platforms that I once showed up in on the misguided basis that I looked "cool, man". One wrong move either way and it was either a broken ankle or give up any plans for having children.

Life after school revolved around homework, going to films, watching TV and taking long walks around the campus where we lived. It also revolved around finally having access to my one downfall in life. Cakes, cookies, candy, chocolate. See mum used to work at NTC on Marina and everyday after school we would "pop by" to visit her on the way home. This visit normally involved totally bypassing her floor (after all I can see her at home, abi?) and heading straight for the canteen which stocked all the finest delicacies and sweets and the latest comic books. If the place had a bed I would never have left.

Anyway, one day after school, in the US (please keep up) I went home, got my laundry and made my way to the laundry room which was in the basement of the block where we lived. I threw the washing in the machine, along with the soap powder, got it going and decided that after all this hard work and effort I deserved a treat. I made my way over to the machine and bought myself a Mars bar. I slowly unwrapped it looking forward to the sheer bliss of it and then my head exploded.

As I bit down and chewed on the sticky chocolate the room started to move and swirl. Everything turned rubbery. The colours became most vivid. The sounds much too clear. I slumped against the wall and dropped the bar. I traced my way to the elevator and pushed the button. I crawled in when it arrived and by this time I was in a cold sweat. I fumbled my way to my room where I collapsed into my bed after putting the aircon on full blast. My heart was palpitating, colours swirled around in my mind, I felt myself floating. My head was pulsing, my heart thumped in my chest. All I could see in my mind's eye were these swirling psychedelic colours and shapes. They were very intriguing, they way they kept moving around, changing shape and form and hues.

I lay like this for God knows how long before I finally came to. At first I wondered if it had all been a dream but the soaked sheets were evidence to the contrary. And so it was that I discovered life on Mars.

A Hard Rain is Gonna Fall....

Talk is cheap. I know that. I was always the quietest one in my social circles. I was viewed as an oddity. An enigma. An old soul in a young man's body. I once went a month year barely uttering a sentence to the people I lived with.

I wrote a poem about words back then. I only remember these lines:

Some people throw words around

like left over currency

after a cheap foreign holiday

I guard my words like diamonds and gold

for they are the currency of my soul.

I am content to just be. To listen. And listen some more. But deep within me the emotions churn. The facade might be calm but the interior is aflame. So much so that sometimes I break out in a hot sweat.

So what is this all about? It is about the need for change. The need to do something. As the comments on my last post have revealed we are now getting to the stage where words are no longer enough. Enough words have been written and printed to flatten the Amazon rain forests and yet we are where we are. Or even backward. So now what? I also realise that whilst we sit here on our blogs postulating and agitating for change there is only a small minority of us. After all how many people in Nigeria even have access to the internet? Well, it is my field so let me tell you - less than 5% of the population. And that's being generous.

So what to do? How about a million (man) march? Would that make any difference? Could we even garner a million in this days of apathy? How about a strike by civil servants? Would that get support? How about a petition delivered to Aso Rock? Would it even get to the door? What do we have to do as citizens of this great country to get

- constant power?

- proper education for our kids that does not cost an arm and a leg?

- proper healthcare - ditto the above?

- transparency in government?

and that's just for starters. Another poem

Someday a hard rain is gonna fall

and strip us naked one and all

where will you run when its falling down?

where will you hide when it's raining all around?

Hard Rain, Hard Rain.

In my view we have run out of hiding places. We are exposed. It's raining all around. Hard Rain.

All that you have is your soul.

Oh my mama told me
'Cause she say she learned the hard way
She say she wanna spare the children
She say don't give or sell your soul away
'Cause all that you have is your soul

Tracy Chapman- All that you have is your soul.


I have been silent over the past few weeks only because I have been silenced by my environment. My defences have been breached by the various news reports official and unofficial about the state of this once great nation. I still have not learned that one must not take it personally. But then again maybe I never will.

Where do I start? Is it the apparent waste of N800m (yes million) by the Chairman of NDDC to a sorcerer to get rid of his rivals. He was alleged to have been ordered to burn N250m (yes million) as part of the ritual.

Is it the unofficial fund raising for Obama in Lagos that raised over N400m (yes million)? Does Obama need fundraisers from Nigeria? Is he not already the best funded Presidential candidate ever? Could the average man on the streets of Naija coping on less that N500 daily do with some of that money? Or does he have to run for US President to get access? Who are the big boy and girls who were prepared to make these donations whilst ensconced in the cosy confines of the Muson Centre. Did they drive through the streets of Lagos to get there? Did they notice the poverty along the way or is it the case that they were in their blacked out SUVs with the proverbial convoy and sirens.

Is it the total lack of visibility of our fearless leader. Yar Adua, Yar Adua. Wherefore art thou Yar Adua? My love for you at the time of the elections is quickly dissipating. Absence is not making my heart fonder. In the last year I have only had the opportunity to see you once on TV. All other times I have to rely on grainy photos in grainy papers as you meet and greet some contract seeking parasite or other. Where is the State of Emergency on the energy sector? The agricultural sector? The aviation section? The financial sector? The telecoms sector? The public sector?

Apparently we now have about $64bn (yes billion and yes dollars) in reserve due to the generous price of petrol. What are we reserving it for? A rainy day? Everyday I wake up and look outside my window and I see the thunderstorms. Can you not hear it from the deep seclusion of Aso rock? Do your advisors not tell you about all the people drowning out on the streets?

Is it the fact that my very own people continue to let me, and ultimately themselves, down on a daily basis? Where the me first mentality has overtaken everything? Where anything for the boys is now the byword to life? Where progress can only be measured in the size of the contract?

Is it the fact that we went to the Olympics and came back defeated? (Put the football to one side. We should have won the Gold. We beat those boys before and we could have done it again.) What happened to the funds for the athletes? How many athletes went to the Olympics? How many "officials" accompanied them? Why is no one asking questions? Why is no one doing the maths?

Is it the fact that I turn on the telly to see a formerly disgraced Governor being chased and surrounded by journalists who are seeking his views on National matters? Has the man even finished with his own case? Is he still not a criminal? And a thief? Yet he has the audacity to be seen out in public? He seems to have gained the weight back. the good life is evident in his face. I guess it was all a misunderstanding. I suspect he will run for Governor again at the next elections.

These are truly the times that try men's souls. They are certainly trying mine.

The Boys are back in town....and in business.

CHELSEA 4- PORTMOUTH 0.

The first half was the best Chelsea display I have seen in 5 years. Even when I was at the Bridge every weekend. Even when Gullit was in charge. Even in the days of Mourinho.

And then of course Man U (who??) failed to beat the Geordies. The look on Fergie's face. Priceless. Squeaky bum time and its only the first game of the season?

Oh what a weekend!!

On behalf of all Chelsea fans.....

It would appear that Wayne Rooney and some other members of the Man Utd team picked up a "virus" on their money grabbing, empire building "tour"of Nigeria (i.e. in and out of Abuja). Apparently the poor dear and his colleagues were sick to their stomachs (i assume this is the same way the spectators felt), laid low and were unable to train after getting back to the UK.

According to squeaky bum Fergie - "I doubt if we'll get Rooney fit for the start of the season with the virus he's had,'' Ferguson said. "It's a virus he picked up in Nigeria and it's not a nice one, but quite a few have had it. It's such a bad virus and he's got to be training to be fit.''

Whilst I did not realise that there were nice viruses that one could pick up, I would nevertheless just like to extend my sympathies to these guys (no sincerely). Really. Honestly. Trust me. I mean it.

Though next time I am confident that the Chelsea Abuja Supporters Club will ensure that the "mixture" is more powerful. Cough. cough.

I would also like to point out that no such fate seems to have befallen the mighty Portsmouth. Draw your own conclusions.

The Premiership Season starts this weekend. Bring it on.

Customer Service. Naija stylie.

I phone a hotel nearby that prides itself as 3 star to make a booking for a guest. The receptionist that answers asks me for the guest's name which I duly giver her. She then asks me for how many nights which I again confirm. She then quotes me a price which is different from he brochure in my hand. She tells me that this is for a different type of room. I explain that this tyoe will suffice. And she promptly hangs up.

Thinking we have been accidentally disconnected as is common here I ring back. She answers again.

Me: I think we were cut off.

She: No. I hung up.

Me : But why now?

She : You told me the name of the Client, you confirmed the number of days required and you already knew the price. So what else?

Me : A thank you would be....

She had hung up. Charming.


I call a very local estate agent in Ajah from whom we are looking to rent a room. We have a discussion at which I manage to get him to lower his rates. We arrange to meet the next day. Before he hangs up he says: Thanks very much for your call. I really look forward to seeing you in our offices tomorrow and I look forward to serving you and doing business with you. I really value your custom.

And there you have it. Naija. You just never quite know what to expect.

A slow descent into hell...

Over to my sister in law's house to say hello. My family complain that they used to see me more when I was travelling back and forth from the UK than now that I am based in Naija. I explain that the trip from the UK to Lagos was a lot easier than the trip from Lekki to Suru-Lere. Those who have experienced the Lekki traffic know what I mean.

Anyway after catching up with a few pleasantries I ask whether she has managed to find another job being as she is fed up with her current one and then she tells me this story. Apparently not too long ago at a Zenith bank branch the manager was upset that sales targets were not being met and therefore decided that punishment had to be meted out. The punishment took the form of asking all the staff to get on their knees. Like you know back in primary school. More astonishingly they all complied!! We are talking about adults here. Some were parents. Some had actually acquired their degrees through legal means. On their knees. Apparently afterwards one of them resigned and has now acquired a lawyer. My sis in law is not sure what the claim will be.

At another bank branch apparently the manager needs a walking stick for her mobility. Word has it that when she gets frustrated she uses this as a whip to get the staff to sit up and take notice. Imagine being flogged at work. In a bank. What do you tell your friends and family when they ask you how your day was? This is not counting the numerous stories of these bank marketeers that are prepared to drop more than their principle(s) in order to reach ever demanding targets. Or sleep with the boss. And his wife.

Yesterday we were on the Lekki expressway on the way to the beach. Out of nowhere appeared a white pickup that forced us into the inside lane towards the kerb where people scattered helter and then skelter to avoid certain you know what. The pickup was closely followed by a dark blue 4 x 4 carrying the usual rag tag boys in blue. As I watched open mouth the lead car forced a car against the outside kerb and another few inches and the driver would have hit the divide at speed leading to a front tyre explosion. And God knows what else. I asked my driver to try and catch up with the perpetrators but they were going at such a speed it would have been impossible to do without risking our lives and other innocent ones. So they got away with it.

In the lead car driven by a Nigerian was a white man. In the back of the truck was some black fibre as used in the deployment of telecoms services. And it struck me that my fellow countrymen are readily prepared to kill their fellow man, woman and child in order to help a white man get his fibre to site on time. What price communication?

How can we have any sense of self worth when we are being sold out so cheaply by our very own?