Hello all, this is the end of the Eko Corper series, it seem rather ironic that i'm ending as the new corp year is starting for some and a friend recently lost somebody to the people in my final story, I hope this note is not too painful for you.
Thank you all for being supporting and attentive.
Everybody who has ever had an encounter with an okada (kinda like taxi motorcycles, not as glamorous as it sounds) has complained. I remember the first time I got on an okada, it was about 4 months ago, not long after I came back from camp and it was one of the most exhilarating of experiences. The wind in your hair the swerving in and out of traffic, getting to places at half the time, I felt I had found the transport of my future, I was wrong. Now I cannot stand the blasted thing, they are out to kill me, and mine, and as I tell them ‘my mama only get two pikin, I no go let you kill me for am’.
The reason for my tirade against okada’s is that in the last month on last count I have had 4 near death experiences with them. Now I know you all think I am a drama queen, but I am not exaggerating this time around, they are really out to kill me.
Event number 1 – okada in a pot hole
I was on my way to work and as those of you who have read my blog will know, the road is not exactly paved with gold, or to be honest, paved at all. So as one must do on such occasions I got on an okada. I’m sure most of you will say this was my first mistake, I agree, but give me a way of getting to work without getting an okada, and does not involve me spending money I don’t have, or getting a car with money I do not have, and I will probably kick your backside because I did not think of it.
Going back to my story, now, I don’t know if this man had or had not taken his ogogoro, but whatever it was, brother man ran straight into a pothole. I don’t mean he maybe did not see it, the pot hole was in front of him, okada man was looking in front of him, saw the pot hole and still drove into it. Being the nice generous person I am put my hand on his back as he went into the pot hole, and he tasted sand while I shouted at him.
Event number 2 – okada crashing into car I was in
This story is like a number which if you ever lived in Nigeria in recent times, you would know or have heard about. I was in a car going on a job assignment, and what happened, well an okada shot out from the front of a packed truck, without looking at the road. The sound as he hit the car was sickening, it was made even worse because the idiot of an okada rider was carrying a passenger who broke her ankle because of his bad driving.
When the incident happened, I jumped out of the car and was about to rain all types of hell on the idiot’s head, but some friends with me calmed me down and we checked on the girl who was alright, except for the broken ankle of course. It wasn’t that I was angry necessarily, you kinda get used to this type of thing in Nigeria, but it was company car, and the buggers are not paying me enough to afford to repair one of their cars.
Event number 3 – okada I was on trying to outrun a danfo bus
Another okada story which I cannot believe I was involved in. OK, it was about 6am on a Monday morning, I was making the exodus back to Lekki from my parents house, and had to take the okada from the front of my estate to the ‘bus stop’. Well to cut the long story short, (actually the story is not really that long) the okada rider decided to race a danfo. I started screaming, shouting ‘my mama only born 2 pikin oh, no kill me for her’. The sound of my screech must have shocked him out of his delirium, so he stopped, either way, I got off the bike sharpish, and did not pay him. This pikin no be fool.
Event number 4 – okada man fighting with me because I told him I did not know direction he was taking me.
Now last but not least, the okada rider who I am sure was trying to kidnap me, but for my big mouth, I might have ended up as a sacrifice. What happened was I was going from where I live in Lekki to the main gate as I usually do, and I got an okada, this follows the same course of my day. What happened that day on the other hand, is a tale for legends.
I got on the bike, and halfway through the journey, the okada man turned into road I did not know. I kindly asked him what the hell he thought he was doing and he told me he was taking me to my destination. Oh no you are not I said politely of course, he thought I was joking until the shouting (at each other began since wanker would not stop the bike) began.
Either way we eventually ended up where I was going after 30 minutes, this journey is not meant to take more than 10 mins on a bad day, and the sun was shining on this day and we had been lucky with rain, so explain to me what he was trying to do with the extra 20 mins. On arrival at my stop, I was prepared to walk away but since I was surrounded by a lot of okada riders I thought, fine pay the arsehole, (it is not a good idea to try to walk away in such a situation, murder, death, kill not being part of my immediate plans at the time) which I attempted to do, but first I asked him for my change.
Mr Man refused o, he said that I should give him the money, that he had carried me and that he wanted the money before he gave me my change. Now my mama didn’t raise no fool, so I let him know in no uncertain term that he was a liar and an cheat and I would rather face the wrath of a thousand okada riders than pay him without getting my change first. Our argument brought the attention of the okada riders on us, and one of them got into the mix and played mediator. He basically said that Mr man should give my change to him and I should give my money to him, which I did and he would do the swap, you know I don’t trust nobody, you should have seen me snatch my change from mediator’s hand.
That sorted out the money issue, the problem was as I packed my bags ready to continue the day he had ruined, Mr okada started cursing at me, telling me I was a witch and would not succeed. I got mad and went all Yoruba on him calling him olori buruku, oloshi, asiwin and other Yoruba insults that I knew and my mother had used on occasion.
So you tell me am I being paranoid when I say these suckers are trying to end my life. Then again, it could be that they read the blog and decided that they decided they needed to make my life more interesting. I’m not sure, but I hope to find out soon.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
You don’t know from embarrassed. August 27, 2007
So the day of the robbery is now forever noted in my mind has happened, and my mother has decided my life is no longer my own. I understand how she feels, she does not feel safe, and since she cannot protect me by keeping me tied to her apron string, she has decided to follow me to all the NYSC/ reposting things that need to be done.
Don’t get me wrong I really appreciate the NYSC part because it means that all the things they’ll not do for me they will do for my mother. The other part of it is that she would see for herself all the things I have been going through, that she I don’t think she really believed. Either way on the endless journey to find somewhere to get posted, we went to MITV. Now you know I ‘m not one to name locations of places other than the NYSC and some clubs, but I need to name these *people* because they are full of ***t.
I arrived at MITV with my mother, it was the day of my CD, and we had gone to the secretariat to explain the situation to the state coordinator, so I was in my kit as well. When we arrived, we went in search of the relevant people to speak to, and boy did we found her. The *woman* kept us waiting for nearly an hour, when she said she would see us in 5 mins, but we were the ones asking for something, so we waited. When she finally arrived, we saw it as an opportunity to present our case; she saw it as an opportunity to insult me and my mother.
The first thing she said when we explained the situation to her was to ask that if I got a job for N450000, would I go to Lekki? Well I answered yes, because I would be able to buy a car and would not have to worry about 75% of the things that have happened to me. She then went on to say that my mother should not have followed me to them, despite our explaining the circumstances that made my mother come up with me, she continually tried to undermine and humiliate me. Being the gobby person that I am, I deflected it, I explained to her the situation and just to discombobulate her told her of my experience and education. You should have seen her face fall, the witch looked as though someone shoved her big gob up her backside.
My mother was so pissed off, she kept saying that she only had 2 children and was not about to let one of them end up dead because of naija.
I tell this story because this week has taught me a lot about how much crap I can take. The job with another organisation that I felt was in the bag, seems to be falling through because the person in charge can’t make up her mind. The second organisation, are also stuck between the ‘I am important and have control of your life syndrome’, which means they are taking their sweet time about letting me know if they are willing to accept me.
As per usual I am feeling less than up to par, and any luster that naija had or has is fading rather quickly. So if you think you have had an embarrassing experience, just consider me, my mother who followed me to a possible job interview and the insult we faced at the hands of a woman who could really do with going to a good hairdresser.
(Now for current news)
Post NYSC, would you know it but I actually have power over this *woman’s* life, as my ‘exalted’ position now puts me in direct contact with her boss who is always willing to do what I say. As for the *woman*, when I go to their office, she brings me drinks…….. never, ever forget that the person you step on today to show your might you might end up serving drinks in the nearest future. Ain’t life grand!!
Don’t get me wrong I really appreciate the NYSC part because it means that all the things they’ll not do for me they will do for my mother. The other part of it is that she would see for herself all the things I have been going through, that she I don’t think she really believed. Either way on the endless journey to find somewhere to get posted, we went to MITV. Now you know I ‘m not one to name locations of places other than the NYSC and some clubs, but I need to name these *people* because they are full of ***t.
I arrived at MITV with my mother, it was the day of my CD, and we had gone to the secretariat to explain the situation to the state coordinator, so I was in my kit as well. When we arrived, we went in search of the relevant people to speak to, and boy did we found her. The *woman* kept us waiting for nearly an hour, when she said she would see us in 5 mins, but we were the ones asking for something, so we waited. When she finally arrived, we saw it as an opportunity to present our case; she saw it as an opportunity to insult me and my mother.
The first thing she said when we explained the situation to her was to ask that if I got a job for N450000, would I go to Lekki? Well I answered yes, because I would be able to buy a car and would not have to worry about 75% of the things that have happened to me. She then went on to say that my mother should not have followed me to them, despite our explaining the circumstances that made my mother come up with me, she continually tried to undermine and humiliate me. Being the gobby person that I am, I deflected it, I explained to her the situation and just to discombobulate her told her of my experience and education. You should have seen her face fall, the witch looked as though someone shoved her big gob up her backside.
My mother was so pissed off, she kept saying that she only had 2 children and was not about to let one of them end up dead because of naija.
I tell this story because this week has taught me a lot about how much crap I can take. The job with another organisation that I felt was in the bag, seems to be falling through because the person in charge can’t make up her mind. The second organisation, are also stuck between the ‘I am important and have control of your life syndrome’, which means they are taking their sweet time about letting me know if they are willing to accept me.
As per usual I am feeling less than up to par, and any luster that naija had or has is fading rather quickly. So if you think you have had an embarrassing experience, just consider me, my mother who followed me to a possible job interview and the insult we faced at the hands of a woman who could really do with going to a good hairdresser.
(Now for current news)
Post NYSC, would you know it but I actually have power over this *woman’s* life, as my ‘exalted’ position now puts me in direct contact with her boss who is always willing to do what I say. As for the *woman*, when I go to their office, she brings me drinks…….. never, ever forget that the person you step on today to show your might you might end up serving drinks in the nearest future. Ain’t life grand!!
Saturday, February 21, 2009
They stole my laptop, and nobody came to help me!!!! August 27, 2007
I was going to put in this edition of the blog, all the things that okadas and the riders had done to me. I was going to detail the near kidnapping, the burn on my leg, and the danfo incident where I fell out of the moving bus because the driver changed gear abruptly. I was going to detail it, and don’t worry that will soon come but I have to tell this story first.
What incident I hear you ask, well to put it simply, I was robbed and beaten by two men on an okada. .
I’m not sure I let you know, but due to holidays and co, I had to move from Lekki back to Ikeja, the place of my weekly exodus, my parents home, the place I had hoped to escape, but more on that later. What this move meant was that I had to wake up at 4.30am and leave the house at 5.45am to get the staff bus from Maryland for 6.30am.
On this particular morning, (22/08/2007) I left at the usual time and had walked about 15 minutes to go and get the bus, when suddenly out of nowhere, an unlit okada drew up in front of me. Before I knew it one of the men on the bike leapt off grabbed hold of my laptop case and demanded I give it to him. Me being the hard headed heifer that I am said NO, I had seen something shiny in his hand, but I was so angry I just said NO again and started screaming for help.
Don’t get me wrong, I was not being brave, but I was in a lit place and less than a few steps from me, there were about 20 people men istanding doing nothing, so when I screamed I expected some help. Anyways, to cut a long story longer, he started pulling at the bag and I held on, shouting for help, screaming for help. When he saw that I was not going to let go, he started punching me, I fell to the ground, and he started kicking me, but I held on, it cost me a lot of money to buy that laptop, I took out an overdraft that I am still repaying to buy that laptop. Eventually the strap of the bag broke and the man jumped on the bike and they drove off.
Now this is the unfunny thing, less than two seconds after these men rode off, about 4 people approached me asking if I were alright. They started asking if someone stole something from me, how horrible these okada men were, what was wrong (at this point I was howling and saying I wanted to go back to England, there was a lot of snot). When they started to say all of this, well you know me, I turned and screamed at them, telling them they were evil, seeing me struggling and crying for help and nobody coming to my aid, I went on for a bit. I mean I was holding onto that bag for about 2 mins, in fact I thought to myself during the struggle that this man did not have a gun or knife, because if he had he would have killed me. Either way I turned to them and told them that they were wankers and that they should go fuck themselves, and went back home, crying and broken
It has been a rough couple of days, because of the incident, I have to leave my place of work, its just not safe trying to get to work in the morning. The only way to get to work and have any money at the end of the month is to take the staff bus, and the bus leaves at 6.30am on the dot. So my mother in her infinite wisdom has decreed that I have to work closer to home, her argument is that she only gave birth to 2 children and that she holds each one in one hand each so nothing will happen to them. I understand the motivations, and I am in agreement, but what still boggles my mind is the fact that I screamed for help and no-one came.
I know that I am to blame, after all I took my laptop with me in a place my sister tells me is one rung up from hell, but like all other victims I never thought it would happen to me. Its just something you hear happen to other people, and it is a rather old and useless tale to tell. I feel really demoralized, I keep being told that I should not have fought, what if they had a knife or gun I could have been killed, but you know in a way I wish I had been.
You see all I am aware of at the moment is that my life is destined to be a punching bag to the world, knocked around here, left to suffer there. England, Nigeria, all I am able to do or be is a victim of life,( boy would Femi be proud of me quoting his song title in my depression I have become a tale in one of his songs). I am trying to put on a brave face, they keep telling me that at least I have my life, and that I should increase my face value, the problem is that I AM VERY UPSET. Yes, I am and ANGRY, at myself mostly, I should have known better.
Gotta go, I won’t be able to update as often as before, you know, as I told you my laptop has been stolen and the place I could get wireless connection is a thing of my past. Don’t miss me too much, I will be back soon, I just need to go and lick my wounds of which they are many and bleeding.
This naija life hard o, if things continue this way, I go end up naija girl, before you fit say OLE.
Don’t worry, I am just a bit depressed at the moment, but looking back, this is not a new thing, so look out, because when I get back on this super highway, I would be driving like a danfo driver high on ogogoro with titles such as:
Is ambition ever too much?
Can you justify being second best?
Would you accept a boob job for a present?
Men and their machinations - ok so this one is an ongoing thingy!!
Look out for Okada don kill me o
What incident I hear you ask, well to put it simply, I was robbed and beaten by two men on an okada. .
I’m not sure I let you know, but due to holidays and co, I had to move from Lekki back to Ikeja, the place of my weekly exodus, my parents home, the place I had hoped to escape, but more on that later. What this move meant was that I had to wake up at 4.30am and leave the house at 5.45am to get the staff bus from Maryland for 6.30am.
On this particular morning, (22/08/2007) I left at the usual time and had walked about 15 minutes to go and get the bus, when suddenly out of nowhere, an unlit okada drew up in front of me. Before I knew it one of the men on the bike leapt off grabbed hold of my laptop case and demanded I give it to him. Me being the hard headed heifer that I am said NO, I had seen something shiny in his hand, but I was so angry I just said NO again and started screaming for help.
Don’t get me wrong, I was not being brave, but I was in a lit place and less than a few steps from me, there were about 20 people men istanding doing nothing, so when I screamed I expected some help. Anyways, to cut a long story longer, he started pulling at the bag and I held on, shouting for help, screaming for help. When he saw that I was not going to let go, he started punching me, I fell to the ground, and he started kicking me, but I held on, it cost me a lot of money to buy that laptop, I took out an overdraft that I am still repaying to buy that laptop. Eventually the strap of the bag broke and the man jumped on the bike and they drove off.
Now this is the unfunny thing, less than two seconds after these men rode off, about 4 people approached me asking if I were alright. They started asking if someone stole something from me, how horrible these okada men were, what was wrong (at this point I was howling and saying I wanted to go back to England, there was a lot of snot). When they started to say all of this, well you know me, I turned and screamed at them, telling them they were evil, seeing me struggling and crying for help and nobody coming to my aid, I went on for a bit. I mean I was holding onto that bag for about 2 mins, in fact I thought to myself during the struggle that this man did not have a gun or knife, because if he had he would have killed me. Either way I turned to them and told them that they were wankers and that they should go fuck themselves, and went back home, crying and broken
It has been a rough couple of days, because of the incident, I have to leave my place of work, its just not safe trying to get to work in the morning. The only way to get to work and have any money at the end of the month is to take the staff bus, and the bus leaves at 6.30am on the dot. So my mother in her infinite wisdom has decreed that I have to work closer to home, her argument is that she only gave birth to 2 children and that she holds each one in one hand each so nothing will happen to them. I understand the motivations, and I am in agreement, but what still boggles my mind is the fact that I screamed for help and no-one came.
I know that I am to blame, after all I took my laptop with me in a place my sister tells me is one rung up from hell, but like all other victims I never thought it would happen to me. Its just something you hear happen to other people, and it is a rather old and useless tale to tell. I feel really demoralized, I keep being told that I should not have fought, what if they had a knife or gun I could have been killed, but you know in a way I wish I had been.
You see all I am aware of at the moment is that my life is destined to be a punching bag to the world, knocked around here, left to suffer there. England, Nigeria, all I am able to do or be is a victim of life,( boy would Femi be proud of me quoting his song title in my depression I have become a tale in one of his songs). I am trying to put on a brave face, they keep telling me that at least I have my life, and that I should increase my face value, the problem is that I AM VERY UPSET. Yes, I am and ANGRY, at myself mostly, I should have known better.
Gotta go, I won’t be able to update as often as before, you know, as I told you my laptop has been stolen and the place I could get wireless connection is a thing of my past. Don’t miss me too much, I will be back soon, I just need to go and lick my wounds of which they are many and bleeding.
This naija life hard o, if things continue this way, I go end up naija girl, before you fit say OLE.
Don’t worry, I am just a bit depressed at the moment, but looking back, this is not a new thing, so look out, because when I get back on this super highway, I would be driving like a danfo driver high on ogogoro with titles such as:
Is ambition ever too much?
Can you justify being second best?
Would you accept a boob job for a present?
Men and their machinations - ok so this one is an ongoing thingy!!
Look out for Okada don kill me o
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
My little Cortina 15/08/2007
Thank you for all your support, over the last few days, don't worry the past week will soon become a note!! lol!
I have a carrrrrr. I have a carrrrr, I have a carrrr. Okay so it is the jalopy of jalopis, in fact jalopies would move ten thousand miles away from it, but I have a carrrrr. It is my mother’s probably as old as me Mitsubushi Lancer, yes a Lancer. It farts, the interior looks like something out of the black lagoon and it is kinda rusted, but it is mine. In as much anything given to you by your Nigerian parents can be yours (I have been subtly, not quite so subtly told that I cannot drive it to the island, so they think).
What else about the jalopy, I am thinking of calling her Princess Farts-a-lot, but that is kinda predictable. I took it to the mechanic/ body people, and they told me it would cost N60000 naira (proxy £250) to fix it, this they tell to a girl who has not managed to save a kobo on her £50 salary.
I can’t say that I have been having a lot of fun recently, but then my life has not been a total bust either. Going home for the weekend, visiting friends, I have made some new friends, but they are all leaving and pissing off to the states and England respectively, wankers. I am going to be in a music video though, this friend of mine, is making a music video and I do not have to be a booty girl.
Now I mention this because most of the offers I have had to be in music videos have been for me to be a booty girl. I find this very funny because I have no booty to speak of and I don’t really look like a booty girl, I’m more the ‘you look like my mother’ kinda girl. This is not good since I am not married; do not have kids and well you know if you have read the other blog thingys you would know that I am actively looking. For what you might ask, well if I knew that I probably would not be looking. Anyways that is me for now.
I have a carrrrrr. I have a carrrrr, I have a carrrr. Okay so it is the jalopy of jalopis, in fact jalopies would move ten thousand miles away from it, but I have a carrrrr. It is my mother’s probably as old as me Mitsubushi Lancer, yes a Lancer. It farts, the interior looks like something out of the black lagoon and it is kinda rusted, but it is mine. In as much anything given to you by your Nigerian parents can be yours (I have been subtly, not quite so subtly told that I cannot drive it to the island, so they think).
What else about the jalopy, I am thinking of calling her Princess Farts-a-lot, but that is kinda predictable. I took it to the mechanic/ body people, and they told me it would cost N60000 naira (proxy £250) to fix it, this they tell to a girl who has not managed to save a kobo on her £50 salary.
I can’t say that I have been having a lot of fun recently, but then my life has not been a total bust either. Going home for the weekend, visiting friends, I have made some new friends, but they are all leaving and pissing off to the states and England respectively, wankers. I am going to be in a music video though, this friend of mine, is making a music video and I do not have to be a booty girl.
Now I mention this because most of the offers I have had to be in music videos have been for me to be a booty girl. I find this very funny because I have no booty to speak of and I don’t really look like a booty girl, I’m more the ‘you look like my mother’ kinda girl. This is not good since I am not married; do not have kids and well you know if you have read the other blog thingys you would know that I am actively looking. For what you might ask, well if I knew that I probably would not be looking. Anyways that is me for now.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The NYSC are back with their wahala August 06, 2007
So as I am sure you are aware, I have not updated the blog about NYSC for sometime because it has just been the routine of hell, so there was not reason to get all hot under the collar, but I had to write this one.
Why you ask yourself, well you would never in your life, guess what they did to me now, believe me it is like a bad industrial video about lint, I know stupid and senseless. For those of you who have and have not read the blog, you would be aware that I am doing my NYSC and as such am always financially strapped and depend on both my wages from my job and my NYSC stipend. You will also be aware that because the NYSC loves us so much, our stipend is paid at least a month in arrears. So what happened this time you ask yourself, well, simply put, the NYSC, stole my money!! um uh they did!!!
Let me explain, my stipend is meant to go in to my account at approximately the middle of every month. Now my bank being MY BANK messes up and does not pay until the 3rd week. I have started to get used to it, I budget for that week when all my fellow Corpershuns have gotten their loot and I look on enviously, but this month things went a little askew.
The month had been very expensive for me, by the 3rd week I was broke, I had spent some unbudgeted monies on Princess Farts A Lot (more on that later) and all I had left on me was N500. Knowing my bank and their foolishness, I waited till Wednesday to go collect my money, only to be told on arrival that I had not been paid for the month.
My face was a work of art, the first thing out of my mouth was, ‘They haven’t paid, are you sure’, they confirmed they were. It would seem that while the NYSC had paid my friend and other Corpers, mine was the only hold out in the bank. So why was mine the only one left out? They of course were non responsive or the wiser, (customer service in naija should really be worked on), and all they could say was that nothing was showing up on their system regarding my money. They then suggested that I either come back on Friday or go to Surulere, (main secretariat).
Now since I had only N500 on me the chances of me going to Surulere and getting back to Lekki was near impossible, I decided that since I had a lift for Friday, wait till then, they would have paid me, right, i mean why shouldn't they?
Come Friday having managed to scrimp and starve myself half to death so that I can still have some money, (by the way i must have looked good because everybody was complimenting the wide eyed look of hunger as,'baby you so fine', ejits, it was hunger!!) I went to the bank, only to be told the money had still not arrived, my stomach dropped. The look on my face would have made a grown man cry I’m sure, I was so distraught, angry, lost and hungry (remember the scrimping and starving).
Feeling dejected, on arrival, at the secretariat, I did not even go to my CD, my first stop was the accounts office where I explained my situation, and they basically said that the reason was as simple as I hadn’t signed some form that they did not give me. So like a good little girl, I toddled off to sign said form, I returned to ask when I would now get paid, and they told me that the woman who could give me the answer was not yet in, this was 10.30am (civil servants in Nigeria sure are enjoying life oh). So I waited and waited, and between my CD and her frequent absences from the office I did not get to see her until 3.45pm, when she was already half out the door.
Being the dogmatic sort of person that I am I insisted on telling her what has happening, and she told me the real the reason I had not been paid. The reason according to her was that my bank had been changed. Yes I’m not kidding; even I could not make this crap up. This woman told me that my bank account had been changed without my permission, and I had not been informed of this change because, until I came to ask they did not see a reason to let me know. The funny thing (if you are a fan of irony) is that I am not the only person who this has happened to, at least 500 other people where facing the hold. At first I was so shocked by this that I did not ask why this had been done, but when I came to my senses, I was informed that someone had complained to the state coordinator they had decided to change the banks and the reason nobody was informed is that they figured we would eventually find out. How thoughtful of them.
I am tempted to sue the NYSC, but this would be an exercise in futility I have been told, because, well this is naija, so i just withdrew the money from my bank account and went to buy sorely needed food.
Sometimes life does not hand you lemons for lemonades as much as pelt you with all kind of crap that you cannot salvage.
Updated 10 minutes ago - Comment - Like
Why you ask yourself, well you would never in your life, guess what they did to me now, believe me it is like a bad industrial video about lint, I know stupid and senseless. For those of you who have and have not read the blog, you would be aware that I am doing my NYSC and as such am always financially strapped and depend on both my wages from my job and my NYSC stipend. You will also be aware that because the NYSC loves us so much, our stipend is paid at least a month in arrears. So what happened this time you ask yourself, well, simply put, the NYSC, stole my money!! um uh they did!!!
Let me explain, my stipend is meant to go in to my account at approximately the middle of every month. Now my bank being MY BANK messes up and does not pay until the 3rd week. I have started to get used to it, I budget for that week when all my fellow Corpershuns have gotten their loot and I look on enviously, but this month things went a little askew.
The month had been very expensive for me, by the 3rd week I was broke, I had spent some unbudgeted monies on Princess Farts A Lot (more on that later) and all I had left on me was N500. Knowing my bank and their foolishness, I waited till Wednesday to go collect my money, only to be told on arrival that I had not been paid for the month.
My face was a work of art, the first thing out of my mouth was, ‘They haven’t paid, are you sure’, they confirmed they were. It would seem that while the NYSC had paid my friend and other Corpers, mine was the only hold out in the bank. So why was mine the only one left out? They of course were non responsive or the wiser, (customer service in naija should really be worked on), and all they could say was that nothing was showing up on their system regarding my money. They then suggested that I either come back on Friday or go to Surulere, (main secretariat).
Now since I had only N500 on me the chances of me going to Surulere and getting back to Lekki was near impossible, I decided that since I had a lift for Friday, wait till then, they would have paid me, right, i mean why shouldn't they?
Come Friday having managed to scrimp and starve myself half to death so that I can still have some money, (by the way i must have looked good because everybody was complimenting the wide eyed look of hunger as,'baby you so fine', ejits, it was hunger!!) I went to the bank, only to be told the money had still not arrived, my stomach dropped. The look on my face would have made a grown man cry I’m sure, I was so distraught, angry, lost and hungry (remember the scrimping and starving).
Feeling dejected, on arrival, at the secretariat, I did not even go to my CD, my first stop was the accounts office where I explained my situation, and they basically said that the reason was as simple as I hadn’t signed some form that they did not give me. So like a good little girl, I toddled off to sign said form, I returned to ask when I would now get paid, and they told me that the woman who could give me the answer was not yet in, this was 10.30am (civil servants in Nigeria sure are enjoying life oh). So I waited and waited, and between my CD and her frequent absences from the office I did not get to see her until 3.45pm, when she was already half out the door.
Being the dogmatic sort of person that I am I insisted on telling her what has happening, and she told me the real the reason I had not been paid. The reason according to her was that my bank had been changed. Yes I’m not kidding; even I could not make this crap up. This woman told me that my bank account had been changed without my permission, and I had not been informed of this change because, until I came to ask they did not see a reason to let me know. The funny thing (if you are a fan of irony) is that I am not the only person who this has happened to, at least 500 other people where facing the hold. At first I was so shocked by this that I did not ask why this had been done, but when I came to my senses, I was informed that someone had complained to the state coordinator they had decided to change the banks and the reason nobody was informed is that they figured we would eventually find out. How thoughtful of them.
I am tempted to sue the NYSC, but this would be an exercise in futility I have been told, because, well this is naija, so i just withdrew the money from my bank account and went to buy sorely needed food.
Sometimes life does not hand you lemons for lemonades as much as pelt you with all kind of crap that you cannot salvage.
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Saturday, February 7, 2009
Eko Corper - Midnight calls, yes they are the bane of my existence August 01, 2007
Hello all, sorry I have not been reporting my daily grind in Lagos, Eko, the Realisation (I am trying to find a new name for Lagos, so you might be faced with numerous variations for a while). Having said this, I did say you will have to get along without me for a while, so you had to deal, try being me trying to get a life. Yeah!! Not easy I tell you!
Anyways, the topic of this scintillating episode of nigerorbust is….. Midnight calls, or should I say nightmareville. Now midnight calls have become the bane of my existence, if I did not know better, I would say that MTN decided to do this just to make my life a misery. What normal person with work the next day has time to call you at 1 am. In this case in point, it is one of my obviously jobless, friends who is having way too much fun with NYSC. I mention this because over the last few nights, I have been inundated with midnight calls. Ok so I know it is free to call during the early hours of the morning but give a girl a break, I have to wake up at 5.00am and I am not a happy bunny in the mornings anyway so why stress me out!
I will admit that I am slightly at fault in all of this, after all I could just put down the phone, or say get of my effing line, I need to sleep, but this is not easily done for two v important reasons.
1. When I have cut off the line in the past they call back, now I have even gone so far as to turn off my phone (I don’t do this normally because I fear that I might be attacked in my dreams and I will need a conduit to shout into) but the buggers call so many times that by the time I wake up, my log is full. Also not withstanding, it is those night I turn off my phone, that someone I have not spoken to in yonks calls
Okay so it is only one reason, but I think it is valid.
I’ve been having a night of it for the last few nights though, other than the midnight calls, my insomnia has started up again (like a cold that is determined to send me to the madhouse) I am up till all hours of the night trying to entertain myself. This is not as easy as it sounds. For one thing the DSTV box (cable for you Oyinbo sorts) is upstairs and the female half of the family member I am staying with is obsessed with Home Movies (Nigerian movies) and is not happy with anybody changing the channel from African Magic.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not against Nigerian Movies, but there is so much you can take of story lines that revolve around evil women, finding God in the depth of your wickedness, and olde worlde naija. So I am stuck with terrestrial television, most of which close at 12am and the rest are showing guess what ******home movies******* someone please shoot me.
Secondly, since I can’t watch television I’ve been forced to read my 15 times read books, and watch my 100 times watched DVD’s and listen to my 100000 times listened to songs again, and try to calm my mind. This is not helped by a new situation in my life, a man who I so do not want is after me. He seems to find the sight of me baggy shirts and shorts the spark to get his juices flowing. So imagine the amount of space I have left in my bed at the end of the night.
I hope you all have some advice for me about getting to sleep, because my pretty brown eyes are getting very puffy and I am set to run down the street naked from exhaustion during the day. Now I am writing this at just past 2am, I do not feel sleepy so you guys are enjoying the fruit of my insomnia, be v grateful.
Anyways, the topic of this scintillating episode of nigerorbust is….. Midnight calls, or should I say nightmareville. Now midnight calls have become the bane of my existence, if I did not know better, I would say that MTN decided to do this just to make my life a misery. What normal person with work the next day has time to call you at 1 am. In this case in point, it is one of my obviously jobless, friends who is having way too much fun with NYSC. I mention this because over the last few nights, I have been inundated with midnight calls. Ok so I know it is free to call during the early hours of the morning but give a girl a break, I have to wake up at 5.00am and I am not a happy bunny in the mornings anyway so why stress me out!
I will admit that I am slightly at fault in all of this, after all I could just put down the phone, or say get of my effing line, I need to sleep, but this is not easily done for two v important reasons.
1. When I have cut off the line in the past they call back, now I have even gone so far as to turn off my phone (I don’t do this normally because I fear that I might be attacked in my dreams and I will need a conduit to shout into) but the buggers call so many times that by the time I wake up, my log is full. Also not withstanding, it is those night I turn off my phone, that someone I have not spoken to in yonks calls
Okay so it is only one reason, but I think it is valid.
I’ve been having a night of it for the last few nights though, other than the midnight calls, my insomnia has started up again (like a cold that is determined to send me to the madhouse) I am up till all hours of the night trying to entertain myself. This is not as easy as it sounds. For one thing the DSTV box (cable for you Oyinbo sorts) is upstairs and the female half of the family member I am staying with is obsessed with Home Movies (Nigerian movies) and is not happy with anybody changing the channel from African Magic.
Don’t get me wrong, I am not against Nigerian Movies, but there is so much you can take of story lines that revolve around evil women, finding God in the depth of your wickedness, and olde worlde naija. So I am stuck with terrestrial television, most of which close at 12am and the rest are showing guess what ******home movies******* someone please shoot me.
Secondly, since I can’t watch television I’ve been forced to read my 15 times read books, and watch my 100 times watched DVD’s and listen to my 100000 times listened to songs again, and try to calm my mind. This is not helped by a new situation in my life, a man who I so do not want is after me. He seems to find the sight of me baggy shirts and shorts the spark to get his juices flowing. So imagine the amount of space I have left in my bed at the end of the night.
I hope you all have some advice for me about getting to sleep, because my pretty brown eyes are getting very puffy and I am set to run down the street naked from exhaustion during the day. Now I am writing this at just past 2am, I do not feel sleepy so you guys are enjoying the fruit of my insomnia, be v grateful.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
8 months and counting July 16, 2007
Hello all, sorry I have not updated in a few days, but I have been going through a change, yes, I have turned from fully human (it think I was at one time) to part fish. I have grown gills and fins, to survive naija. Over the last few days, we have had rain, which automatically means that my area of work and living is surrounded by water.
While all of you probably think that all I do is complain about naija, I have to say that naija has its good points, it is just not basic living facilities. Naija has my family, most of them, it has new friends I made in camp and at work (yes I am capable of making friends in Nigeria thank you very much). Naija has the new clubs I have discovered where you can LOUNGE if you wish to and dance if that is your wish, Naija has all these hot, hot, steaming guys that I have found, and for the first time in my life I am getting crushes. I know I am too old for crushes, but damn, they seem to be making them foiner down here. Regardless of all of the above, Naija has my mother and her cooking. I say this despite the fact that I think it is that woman’s mission in life to drive me bonkers.
It is now going on 8 months since I have been in Nigeria, and looking back, I cannot believe I have survived so far. Most of the time, I seem to be covered in mosquito bites, because I live and work in Lekki, so you know that should even a bit of rain fall we are inundated with the nasty little buggers. The rest of the time I am missing all my friends in England, shoe shopping at House of Fraser, going to Starbucks, wandering around Borders, watching 5 movies back to back, you know the usual things.
Despite all this, I have been having a wonderful time in naija , my usual run of old men hitting on me is ongoing - I call it a usual run, because there is no place in the world I go where some dirty old man does not ask if I’m a prossie. No I do not look or dress like one (all the time), but I have yet to find a place on this earth that I have been to that this proposition is not made to me. Either way should I ever decide to go with an Aristo, (rich men who like youngish legal girlies) I can say with head held high there are many men who would do my bidding. The only problem with that is my mother and father knows everybody in Nigeria, and if I am not related to them in some obscure way, they probably went to school with my parents. Sad or what.
On the flip side of oldies but goodies, I have been crushing and have been crushed by some foine young men (yes they are legal). I don’t know what it is, but when I was in England, most of the guys I dated were Spanish, French, and Brazilian - yes they were all white. But since arriving back to Nigeria, all I see are these hot black guys, all hues of brown, sharp faces, ambition, righteous brothers who are just too much for my sensitive little heart, and I am crushing like mad. If you’re good, I might break out the champale (yes it’s like champagne only paler) do like a glamour puss and tell you all about them in every little individual detail……… but that would bore even me, so you are saved the hardship of reading and me of writing.
So what else is going on in my life other than guys, NYSC and lack of light…. Let me think…….well I am still working, I have discovered La Cachette (oh v chi chi), and I have been to this new club Jazz Sessions, which is kinda cool, and that’s about all. Walliah this is the truth of my life, I NEED TO GET A LIFE!!!!
I have no life, all I do every day is wake up, go to work and sleep. On weekends; I make the hazardous trip back to Ikeja to see my parents like a good little girly then make my way back up to Lekki on Monday. I have got to go get a life, having said this, I am dumping you guys for a few days but don’t get cocky, I will be back, I just have to go find my fun. See you’ll l8r……….
While all of you probably think that all I do is complain about naija, I have to say that naija has its good points, it is just not basic living facilities. Naija has my family, most of them, it has new friends I made in camp and at work (yes I am capable of making friends in Nigeria thank you very much). Naija has the new clubs I have discovered where you can LOUNGE if you wish to and dance if that is your wish, Naija has all these hot, hot, steaming guys that I have found, and for the first time in my life I am getting crushes. I know I am too old for crushes, but damn, they seem to be making them foiner down here. Regardless of all of the above, Naija has my mother and her cooking. I say this despite the fact that I think it is that woman’s mission in life to drive me bonkers.
It is now going on 8 months since I have been in Nigeria, and looking back, I cannot believe I have survived so far. Most of the time, I seem to be covered in mosquito bites, because I live and work in Lekki, so you know that should even a bit of rain fall we are inundated with the nasty little buggers. The rest of the time I am missing all my friends in England, shoe shopping at House of Fraser, going to Starbucks, wandering around Borders, watching 5 movies back to back, you know the usual things.
Despite all this, I have been having a wonderful time in naija , my usual run of old men hitting on me is ongoing - I call it a usual run, because there is no place in the world I go where some dirty old man does not ask if I’m a prossie. No I do not look or dress like one (all the time), but I have yet to find a place on this earth that I have been to that this proposition is not made to me. Either way should I ever decide to go with an Aristo, (rich men who like youngish legal girlies) I can say with head held high there are many men who would do my bidding. The only problem with that is my mother and father knows everybody in Nigeria, and if I am not related to them in some obscure way, they probably went to school with my parents. Sad or what.
On the flip side of oldies but goodies, I have been crushing and have been crushed by some foine young men (yes they are legal). I don’t know what it is, but when I was in England, most of the guys I dated were Spanish, French, and Brazilian - yes they were all white. But since arriving back to Nigeria, all I see are these hot black guys, all hues of brown, sharp faces, ambition, righteous brothers who are just too much for my sensitive little heart, and I am crushing like mad. If you’re good, I might break out the champale (yes it’s like champagne only paler) do like a glamour puss and tell you all about them in every little individual detail……… but that would bore even me, so you are saved the hardship of reading and me of writing.
So what else is going on in my life other than guys, NYSC and lack of light…. Let me think…….well I am still working, I have discovered La Cachette (oh v chi chi), and I have been to this new club Jazz Sessions, which is kinda cool, and that’s about all. Walliah this is the truth of my life, I NEED TO GET A LIFE!!!!
I have no life, all I do every day is wake up, go to work and sleep. On weekends; I make the hazardous trip back to Ikeja to see my parents like a good little girly then make my way back up to Lekki on Monday. I have got to go get a life, having said this, I am dumping you guys for a few days but don’t get cocky, I will be back, I just have to go find my fun. See you’ll l8r……….
Monday, February 2, 2009
Have most Naija women been sexually assaulted? July 04, 2007
As I sit here writing the next installment for nigerorbust, I have just come back from work, it is 10.30pm and I have just spent 2.30hrs trying to get down the Lekki motorway. I mean a little rain, okay a lot of rain, causes floods that debilitate the city. This is nothing compared to the pot holes or better yet sink holes, they are huge and look like a crater on the moon, man, dem Fashola folks need to do something about the messed up state of Lagos everything. But enough bitching, I am just feeling a bit wonky, and I have had this weird thing a friend of my told me last night in my mind all day. This friend midnight called me, can you believe that s**t and we started talking. Now I told him to piss off because I have to get to work the next day, but the talk was just too sweet, anyway during our long talk, he told me that all his Nigerian girlfriends and female friends have claimed to be sexually abused.
Yes, that is what he said. The first thing I told him was that he must have very bad luck, I mean what are the chances that most of the Nigerian women in your life have been sexually abused, he must have been lying. But then he went on to tell me that this women had faced the abuse in their own homes, fathers, uncles, in some cases brothers, and all I could do was open my mouth in shock. Don’t get me wrong, I am aware that sexual abuse happens in Nigeria, but it was so shocking to find out that it was this prevalent, so I decided to take up a bit of an experiment. To find out if I was just naïve or if there really was anything to this claim, I spoke to a few of my Nigerian friends, and the stories these girls told me were harrowing.
One girl I spoke to told me of having suffered abuse at the hand of her father for 7 years, and it wasn’t something that was secret, her mother knew about it and did nothing. Now to see this family you would think butter would not melt in their mouth, they are stand up, upright church folks and they ruined this girl. Another friend of mine told me of the uncle who always told her to stand in front of him while he rubbed himself against her, she found it funny, but thinking about it, it kinda messes you up. The most shocking thing for me was the discovery that another male friend of mine had been sexually assaulted.
This particular friend had been raped repeatedly by his uncle between the ages of 5-7 and he told no one until this man died. For a country as homophobic as Nigeria, I was shocked, not just by the raping of my friend but by the reaction of those around him, they wanted him to keep quiet and protect the uncle’s family.
I don’t know it seems the older I grow, the more shocked I am about things that are going on around me. Maybe I should just grow up, but I wouldn’t want to if it means I would not be shock at such
Just a quick update on my birthday, nothing much happened, I have turned the grand old age of 2*. Yes folks I am all grown up, I have turned a ……….., it is my …….. jubilee and that feels older than I ever expected. By now I had planned on retiring, while living off the interest of my vast wealth, gotten through wily business deals, or unexpected inheritance. Boy can you believe say I don be big girl.
As I am now getting older, I felt it was time to ask myself a v important question, am I any wiser? I don’t know, I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ve gotten wiser since I turned 16, so that’s * years of being stupid, I am pretty sure I can last a few more years before gaining any more wisdom. My B’day was boring, I know party animal that I am you obviously expected swinging from the chandeliers and all, but nothing, absolutely nothing exciting happened. I got some extra sleep which was sorely needed, I was going to throw a party, but that involves money, cash, mullah, loads of ricky mullah, which is as scarce for me right now as dry land in Lekki.
The day wasn’t all bad though, a few of my friends came to surprise me at home and we all just hung out, talked and bitched about what else NYSC, and other things. (NYSC is not all that is on our minds, just about ¾’s of it). One of my friends who is also facing the money drought in lieu of a present baked me a cake, which I greatly appreciated, particularly as it was PINK with butter icing. Yummy, yum yum.
I am hoping though that this new year (I count new years from the day after my B’day) good things happen, and opportunities come aplenty. Enough of the smoke up my arse, to everybody who has had a birthday, those who are yet to have one and those who are having one on the same day, have a great day, lot of love good wishes and wisdom………
Yes, that is what he said. The first thing I told him was that he must have very bad luck, I mean what are the chances that most of the Nigerian women in your life have been sexually abused, he must have been lying. But then he went on to tell me that this women had faced the abuse in their own homes, fathers, uncles, in some cases brothers, and all I could do was open my mouth in shock. Don’t get me wrong, I am aware that sexual abuse happens in Nigeria, but it was so shocking to find out that it was this prevalent, so I decided to take up a bit of an experiment. To find out if I was just naïve or if there really was anything to this claim, I spoke to a few of my Nigerian friends, and the stories these girls told me were harrowing.
One girl I spoke to told me of having suffered abuse at the hand of her father for 7 years, and it wasn’t something that was secret, her mother knew about it and did nothing. Now to see this family you would think butter would not melt in their mouth, they are stand up, upright church folks and they ruined this girl. Another friend of mine told me of the uncle who always told her to stand in front of him while he rubbed himself against her, she found it funny, but thinking about it, it kinda messes you up. The most shocking thing for me was the discovery that another male friend of mine had been sexually assaulted.
This particular friend had been raped repeatedly by his uncle between the ages of 5-7 and he told no one until this man died. For a country as homophobic as Nigeria, I was shocked, not just by the raping of my friend but by the reaction of those around him, they wanted him to keep quiet and protect the uncle’s family.
I don’t know it seems the older I grow, the more shocked I am about things that are going on around me. Maybe I should just grow up, but I wouldn’t want to if it means I would not be shock at such
Just a quick update on my birthday, nothing much happened, I have turned the grand old age of 2*. Yes folks I am all grown up, I have turned a ……….., it is my …….. jubilee and that feels older than I ever expected. By now I had planned on retiring, while living off the interest of my vast wealth, gotten through wily business deals, or unexpected inheritance. Boy can you believe say I don be big girl.
As I am now getting older, I felt it was time to ask myself a v important question, am I any wiser? I don’t know, I don’t think so. I don’t think I’ve gotten wiser since I turned 16, so that’s * years of being stupid, I am pretty sure I can last a few more years before gaining any more wisdom. My B’day was boring, I know party animal that I am you obviously expected swinging from the chandeliers and all, but nothing, absolutely nothing exciting happened. I got some extra sleep which was sorely needed, I was going to throw a party, but that involves money, cash, mullah, loads of ricky mullah, which is as scarce for me right now as dry land in Lekki.
The day wasn’t all bad though, a few of my friends came to surprise me at home and we all just hung out, talked and bitched about what else NYSC, and other things. (NYSC is not all that is on our minds, just about ¾’s of it). One of my friends who is also facing the money drought in lieu of a present baked me a cake, which I greatly appreciated, particularly as it was PINK with butter icing. Yummy, yum yum.
I am hoping though that this new year (I count new years from the day after my B’day) good things happen, and opportunities come aplenty. Enough of the smoke up my arse, to everybody who has had a birthday, those who are yet to have one and those who are having one on the same day, have a great day, lot of love good wishes and wisdom………
Friday, January 30, 2009
Near death on Ikorodu Road July 02, 2007
Hi all,
What I want to tell you about, is my near death experience on the Ikorodu road Lagos.
Now where to start, ok, for those of you who have read this blog, you would know that the last Friday of every month is general cd, the usual crush of people, trying to sign a piece of card that I really don't see the use for, and after that, the exodus back to the mainland to spend the weekend with my parents.
So on this particular Friday I was jejely sitting in the bus going down the Ikorodu road, having suffered the rain, hold up and very interesting smells of my fellow passengers, when suddenly I hear 'pop, pop, pop'. To be honest I thought it was either kids messing around or a car backfiring so I paid no attention to it, suddenly I see people running down the road, and the person next to me shouting that people were firing shots. Me being me, I was like no its just kids..... suddenly more 'pop, pop, pop's', the driver jumped out of the bus, he was halfway down the road nearly back at the third mainland before I could blink, and 3/4's of the bus passengers had jumped out after him and were running back the Ikorodu road.
I at this point crouched down in the bus, I had considered running with the rest but I had my big bag with me, and I was NOT leaving it. Lets be honest, I am not the sort of person who leaves my bag in a fire, and I was not going to do it just because some yahoo's were shooting. Beside I cannot run fast without a bag, so imagine me with this bag, therefore I felt my only option was to remain in the bus. Having said this, I was rummaging in my bag, getting out my videophone to record the moment for you wonderful people. I started bobbing and weaving trying to get some good shots and find out exactly what was going on.
Then out of nowhere, I see the police shooting at the pipes they had put next to the road, and people running round a corner. All of this happened less that 20 feet away from me, and lasted about 10 mins. Was I scared, no; I was more frustrated that I did not know what was going on. Either way the passengers came back, and the driver was finally found already back on the third mainland bridge and we continued on our way.
It turns out that the reason for all the shooting was that two separate gangs of area boys were fighting over control of the bus station around the Palmgrove area, started shooting at each other, and the naija police joined the fray with guns blazing.
Looking back I am terrified that if not for I don’t know what, I could have died, all because I decided to come back to naija for NYSC.
What I want to tell you about, is my near death experience on the Ikorodu road Lagos.
Now where to start, ok, for those of you who have read this blog, you would know that the last Friday of every month is general cd, the usual crush of people, trying to sign a piece of card that I really don't see the use for, and after that, the exodus back to the mainland to spend the weekend with my parents.
So on this particular Friday I was jejely sitting in the bus going down the Ikorodu road, having suffered the rain, hold up and very interesting smells of my fellow passengers, when suddenly I hear 'pop, pop, pop'. To be honest I thought it was either kids messing around or a car backfiring so I paid no attention to it, suddenly I see people running down the road, and the person next to me shouting that people were firing shots. Me being me, I was like no its just kids..... suddenly more 'pop, pop, pop's', the driver jumped out of the bus, he was halfway down the road nearly back at the third mainland before I could blink, and 3/4's of the bus passengers had jumped out after him and were running back the Ikorodu road.
I at this point crouched down in the bus, I had considered running with the rest but I had my big bag with me, and I was NOT leaving it. Lets be honest, I am not the sort of person who leaves my bag in a fire, and I was not going to do it just because some yahoo's were shooting. Beside I cannot run fast without a bag, so imagine me with this bag, therefore I felt my only option was to remain in the bus. Having said this, I was rummaging in my bag, getting out my videophone to record the moment for you wonderful people. I started bobbing and weaving trying to get some good shots and find out exactly what was going on.
Then out of nowhere, I see the police shooting at the pipes they had put next to the road, and people running round a corner. All of this happened less that 20 feet away from me, and lasted about 10 mins. Was I scared, no; I was more frustrated that I did not know what was going on. Either way the passengers came back, and the driver was finally found already back on the third mainland bridge and we continued on our way.
It turns out that the reason for all the shooting was that two separate gangs of area boys were fighting over control of the bus station around the Palmgrove area, started shooting at each other, and the naija police joined the fray with guns blazing.
Looking back I am terrified that if not for I don’t know what, I could have died, all because I decided to come back to naija for NYSC.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Eko Corper Pt 4: The end of one, the beginning of another July 19, 2007
I started in my place of work with some positive feeling; the only thorn in my side was that I had not been told exactly how much I would be paid, all I was told was that they were negotiating on the amount of N10000 a month. For those of you who think the amount of N10000 is a lot, in conversion it is about 45 pounds or 70 dollars a month, this when my transportation cost in the month came to N15000.
So I started work in April, but before I could start work my parents suggested I move to a family member’s house which was closer to my place of work, but more on that later. I was very angry having to make this move, I mean, the imposition on this poor people, and you know people do not do things for you in naija that you do not have to pay back someway. Anyways, most of my work for the first month was a disjointed mixture of what I call ‘going crazy slowly’. I could not do anything worth while so I took to bothering people to give me something to do, for my sins I became known as someone who was willing to work and do the job well, but this did not protect me from one of my greatest battle on the frontline of the organisation. GETTING PAID.
Now according to my employers, my pay day is the last day of the month, so the faithful day, I arrived at the HR office like a good little worker ready to get my pay, only to be told that ‘our organisation does not have youth corpers’. First I smiled, then I got mad, first of all over the last month I had to put on with so many indecent proposals from co workers, Demi Moore had nothing on me. I faced insults from useless Ajegunle type people who because they feel insecure about their position in life only felt vindicated when belittling others. When all is said and done, do I not deserve to get paid for the work I have put in, and do I not deserve extra for all the other stuff, well I knew the extra was not going to come, but at least GIVE ME MY MONEY
Despite all of this, I persevered and after many hours of shouting and being alternately sweet and bitter, I was told when they checked out their records that guess what, yes they had youth corpers. The problem it turns out was that they had not determined a figure of pay and that this process would take a few more days. So I waited, not for one day, or two days, instead I waited 3 weeks to get paid. I kid you not, I was pissed, royally, I was asking myself, “how you can negotiate on such a pitiful sum when the owners of the organisations carry this amount of money on them as change to dash to the poor slobs who litter their surroundings”.
I had had to humiliate myself just to get paid repeatedly going to the HR office asking about the process, nobody telling me anything, by the time I got paid I was broke before the money arrived in my hand. I mean I had to pay back all the money I had borrowed from people, I had used all my savings and I was hanging on my last N500. In fact I had already written a ‘letter oriburuku’ telling the whole useless lot of them what I thought when I got the call that my money had arrived, you should have seen sprint, Carl Lewis could not have caught me. At the time, I was close to slapping one person who was like ‘well why don’t you ask your parents they sent you to England they are rich you do not need the money’. If not for the good manners my mother raised with me the person would have been looking at me from the flat of their arse.
My employers were not the only ones negligent in their role to corpers, the NYSC (unsurprisingly) are as bad as my employers regarding pay. While I had on good authority that the corpers money for April came in on the 2nd week in April, I was not paid for April until the last week in May. At one point I was so broke, I had to walk nearly three miles to get from my home to the bank because I could not afford the transport fare. (This would explain my new svelte look, suffering agrees with me, in fact I was told I reeked of wealth at the height of my suffering)
All of this was going on while I was trying to get the NYSC to pay me and relocate my community development assignment. My LG had decided to give me a CD on the mainland, this while having been assigned a job, having had to secure a house and leaving my friends and family to move on the island. This meant that once a week all the money I had saved from moving to the island was spent going back to the mainland to complete my CD, I think by now you know my mantra, Yes I was Pissed, mad as hell.
This was not the end of my woes, no, once a month, corpers are meant to go and clear themselves, but the funny thing is there is no set day or week in which this is to be done. No email is sent out, no phone calls made, the only way you know you are meant to clear yourself, is if a friend lets you know that it is taking place, it is basically a good old fashioned heard it through the grapevine.
Now let me paint you the scenario, over 1000 young people who have rushed out of whatever job they are doing, to come to the LG scrambling on the floor trying to find their files (The floor is the NYSC’s filing cabinet). Once they get their files they are forced to queue under the sun to get the file checked out and verified, this is then followed by another verification in a room about 12 by 12. Now do not let this get you down, you and about 70 people are squashed into this room, trying to get re verified, while the rest are standing in the sun getting cancer from the rays. When this is done, you then have to get your CD card signed, another queue in the sun, my May clearance lasted 5 read it 5 hours, why, there is no organisation.
Now don’t get me wrong, others were in the same situation or worse, but how any institution can claim success when every moment frustrates your customers is beyond me. Over 60% of youth corpers who pass out cannot find jobs and to make matters worse the money which is meant to sustain the service is being stolen by officials. All of this is happening while the same officials stealing the money are asking for bribes from people who have little to nothing.
I say youth corpers of Nigeria revolt; let them know you will no longer take bad service, bad food, bad manners and horrible organisation. Let them know that you know you have the power and are not afraid to use it, tell them to shove the blasted certificate up their collective arses. Having said this nobody wants to put a poker up the NYSC’s arses because they are afraid they will not get their passing out certificate, and after suffering this way for the last year, I can understand that, but the system is redundant, produces no results and is rife with corruption. THERE HAS GOT TO BE A BETTER WAY THAN THIS.
Well that is it so far for the daily grind of being an Eko Corper, but this blog is not just about being a Corper, it is also about surviving in Lagos, and let me tell you, there is more to come. If you thought you lived in the Ghetto (Geeto), or know what the ghetto is, you need to come to Lagos, the whole city as a Geeto, even the Lekki’s of the world as a friend of mine said is a rich man’s ghetto.
This is not the end of my NYSC experience, or even my Lagos experience, watch this space for more on what happens in my nigerorbust experience.
So I started work in April, but before I could start work my parents suggested I move to a family member’s house which was closer to my place of work, but more on that later. I was very angry having to make this move, I mean, the imposition on this poor people, and you know people do not do things for you in naija that you do not have to pay back someway. Anyways, most of my work for the first month was a disjointed mixture of what I call ‘going crazy slowly’. I could not do anything worth while so I took to bothering people to give me something to do, for my sins I became known as someone who was willing to work and do the job well, but this did not protect me from one of my greatest battle on the frontline of the organisation. GETTING PAID.
Now according to my employers, my pay day is the last day of the month, so the faithful day, I arrived at the HR office like a good little worker ready to get my pay, only to be told that ‘our organisation does not have youth corpers’. First I smiled, then I got mad, first of all over the last month I had to put on with so many indecent proposals from co workers, Demi Moore had nothing on me. I faced insults from useless Ajegunle type people who because they feel insecure about their position in life only felt vindicated when belittling others. When all is said and done, do I not deserve to get paid for the work I have put in, and do I not deserve extra for all the other stuff, well I knew the extra was not going to come, but at least GIVE ME MY MONEY
Despite all of this, I persevered and after many hours of shouting and being alternately sweet and bitter, I was told when they checked out their records that guess what, yes they had youth corpers. The problem it turns out was that they had not determined a figure of pay and that this process would take a few more days. So I waited, not for one day, or two days, instead I waited 3 weeks to get paid. I kid you not, I was pissed, royally, I was asking myself, “how you can negotiate on such a pitiful sum when the owners of the organisations carry this amount of money on them as change to dash to the poor slobs who litter their surroundings”.
I had had to humiliate myself just to get paid repeatedly going to the HR office asking about the process, nobody telling me anything, by the time I got paid I was broke before the money arrived in my hand. I mean I had to pay back all the money I had borrowed from people, I had used all my savings and I was hanging on my last N500. In fact I had already written a ‘letter oriburuku’ telling the whole useless lot of them what I thought when I got the call that my money had arrived, you should have seen sprint, Carl Lewis could not have caught me. At the time, I was close to slapping one person who was like ‘well why don’t you ask your parents they sent you to England they are rich you do not need the money’. If not for the good manners my mother raised with me the person would have been looking at me from the flat of their arse.
My employers were not the only ones negligent in their role to corpers, the NYSC (unsurprisingly) are as bad as my employers regarding pay. While I had on good authority that the corpers money for April came in on the 2nd week in April, I was not paid for April until the last week in May. At one point I was so broke, I had to walk nearly three miles to get from my home to the bank because I could not afford the transport fare. (This would explain my new svelte look, suffering agrees with me, in fact I was told I reeked of wealth at the height of my suffering)
All of this was going on while I was trying to get the NYSC to pay me and relocate my community development assignment. My LG had decided to give me a CD on the mainland, this while having been assigned a job, having had to secure a house and leaving my friends and family to move on the island. This meant that once a week all the money I had saved from moving to the island was spent going back to the mainland to complete my CD, I think by now you know my mantra, Yes I was Pissed, mad as hell.
This was not the end of my woes, no, once a month, corpers are meant to go and clear themselves, but the funny thing is there is no set day or week in which this is to be done. No email is sent out, no phone calls made, the only way you know you are meant to clear yourself, is if a friend lets you know that it is taking place, it is basically a good old fashioned heard it through the grapevine.
Now let me paint you the scenario, over 1000 young people who have rushed out of whatever job they are doing, to come to the LG scrambling on the floor trying to find their files (The floor is the NYSC’s filing cabinet). Once they get their files they are forced to queue under the sun to get the file checked out and verified, this is then followed by another verification in a room about 12 by 12. Now do not let this get you down, you and about 70 people are squashed into this room, trying to get re verified, while the rest are standing in the sun getting cancer from the rays. When this is done, you then have to get your CD card signed, another queue in the sun, my May clearance lasted 5 read it 5 hours, why, there is no organisation.
Now don’t get me wrong, others were in the same situation or worse, but how any institution can claim success when every moment frustrates your customers is beyond me. Over 60% of youth corpers who pass out cannot find jobs and to make matters worse the money which is meant to sustain the service is being stolen by officials. All of this is happening while the same officials stealing the money are asking for bribes from people who have little to nothing.
I say youth corpers of Nigeria revolt; let them know you will no longer take bad service, bad food, bad manners and horrible organisation. Let them know that you know you have the power and are not afraid to use it, tell them to shove the blasted certificate up their collective arses. Having said this nobody wants to put a poker up the NYSC’s arses because they are afraid they will not get their passing out certificate, and after suffering this way for the last year, I can understand that, but the system is redundant, produces no results and is rife with corruption. THERE HAS GOT TO BE A BETTER WAY THAN THIS.
Well that is it so far for the daily grind of being an Eko Corper, but this blog is not just about being a Corper, it is also about surviving in Lagos, and let me tell you, there is more to come. If you thought you lived in the Ghetto (Geeto), or know what the ghetto is, you need to come to Lagos, the whole city as a Geeto, even the Lekki’s of the world as a friend of mine said is a rich man’s ghetto.
This is not the end of my NYSC experience, or even my Lagos experience, watch this space for more on what happens in my nigerorbust experience.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Eko Corper, Pt 3 Hell in LG June 25, 2007
So I just about survived the three weeks in one piece, and you would expect that at after living in such unconscionable conditions, better care would have been taken once corpers had left the camp, (LOL) you would be wrong!!!!
What happened instead was the decree by the NYSC that corpers should on the day of their release, go to their places of primary assignment. They insisted upon this despite the late hour of receiving posting letters, lack of feasible transportation for those who had never lived much less been to Lagos, and the lugging of camp paraphernalia to possible places of employment. In addition to the lack of all of the above, they also insisted that corp members were to report to their Local Government office ASAP, to register their attendance of above posting.
I am not a good Corper, not only did I not go to my place of primary posting immediately, I went home, had a nice long bath, ate copiously, loosened my very dirty hair washed it three times with hot, cold and hot water and slept in a nice air conditioned room. Then I prepared to go to my place of primary posting.
Going to the place of primary assignment was arduous, it was like a pile of puppies snapping at each other’s heel for a good seat on buses that last had seats, never. To cut a long story short, I was nearly robbed (if I did not run, it would have been a corpse writing this to you), I fainted, and I discovered that no amount of perfume in the world can get rid of a man with v bad body odour. To make matters worse my place of Primary assignment was in Lekki, and I live in Ikeja. These places are polar opposites, and it takes a lot of time, money, sweat and holding on to a bus seat of indeterminable history to get there. More insulting than everything put together (I know you are wondering ‘what could be worse’) it would cost all of my wages from my employer and about half of my NYSC stipend to get there, this is not counting food.
So you survive the camp, survive the journey to your place of primary assignment, finally get back home and scrub everything from your body again and use so much hot water to get rid of the animals living in your hair, get some well deserved sleep on a bed that does not reek of sweat and you think to yourself, well things will start to look up now. WRONG
After getting to my place of primary posting, (I was luckier than most, I got accepted immediately) I had to go back to the Local Government. Now I had started to look much better than I had in camp, so as you can imagine, many people were shocked at my new fabulous look which very quickly wilted while waiting on another queue at the LG.
When I arrived at the LG, and the ‘Ladies’ (and I use the word ladies lightly) found I schooled abroad, and would you believe this, those heifers told me things will go easier for me if I gave them mobile phones and/ or phone credit. What surprised me the most was my lack of surprise, instead the overt push for bribes just made me smile and B.S. them with my ‘Aunty I am a youth corper, and the service haven’t paid me, where would I find money sheh’. My response earned me an extra 2 hours just to get my paperwork processed.
Like I said I was lucky I got accepted immediately, some of my friends got rejected so they had to go through the rigmarole of reposting. Till today 12/06/2007, some of my friends have still not been posted they are involved in the usual rounds of queuing and giving bribes to influence their postings…………….
What happened instead was the decree by the NYSC that corpers should on the day of their release, go to their places of primary assignment. They insisted upon this despite the late hour of receiving posting letters, lack of feasible transportation for those who had never lived much less been to Lagos, and the lugging of camp paraphernalia to possible places of employment. In addition to the lack of all of the above, they also insisted that corp members were to report to their Local Government office ASAP, to register their attendance of above posting.
I am not a good Corper, not only did I not go to my place of primary posting immediately, I went home, had a nice long bath, ate copiously, loosened my very dirty hair washed it three times with hot, cold and hot water and slept in a nice air conditioned room. Then I prepared to go to my place of primary posting.
Going to the place of primary assignment was arduous, it was like a pile of puppies snapping at each other’s heel for a good seat on buses that last had seats, never. To cut a long story short, I was nearly robbed (if I did not run, it would have been a corpse writing this to you), I fainted, and I discovered that no amount of perfume in the world can get rid of a man with v bad body odour. To make matters worse my place of Primary assignment was in Lekki, and I live in Ikeja. These places are polar opposites, and it takes a lot of time, money, sweat and holding on to a bus seat of indeterminable history to get there. More insulting than everything put together (I know you are wondering ‘what could be worse’) it would cost all of my wages from my employer and about half of my NYSC stipend to get there, this is not counting food.
So you survive the camp, survive the journey to your place of primary assignment, finally get back home and scrub everything from your body again and use so much hot water to get rid of the animals living in your hair, get some well deserved sleep on a bed that does not reek of sweat and you think to yourself, well things will start to look up now. WRONG
After getting to my place of primary posting, (I was luckier than most, I got accepted immediately) I had to go back to the Local Government. Now I had started to look much better than I had in camp, so as you can imagine, many people were shocked at my new fabulous look which very quickly wilted while waiting on another queue at the LG.
When I arrived at the LG, and the ‘Ladies’ (and I use the word ladies lightly) found I schooled abroad, and would you believe this, those heifers told me things will go easier for me if I gave them mobile phones and/ or phone credit. What surprised me the most was my lack of surprise, instead the overt push for bribes just made me smile and B.S. them with my ‘Aunty I am a youth corper, and the service haven’t paid me, where would I find money sheh’. My response earned me an extra 2 hours just to get my paperwork processed.
Like I said I was lucky I got accepted immediately, some of my friends got rejected so they had to go through the rigmarole of reposting. Till today 12/06/2007, some of my friends have still not been posted they are involved in the usual rounds of queuing and giving bribes to influence their postings…………….
Eko Corper, Pt 3 Hell in LG June 25, 2007
So I just about survived the three weeks in one piece, and you would expect that at after living in such unconscionable conditions, better care would have been taken once corpers had left the camp, (LOL) you would be wrong!!!!
What happened instead was the decree by the NYSC that corpers should on the day of their release, go to their places of primary assignment. They insisted upon this despite the late hour of receiving posting letters, lack of feasible transportation for those who had never lived much less been to Lagos, and the lugging of camp paraphernalia to possible places of employment. In addition to the lack of all of the above, they also insisted that corp members were to report to their Local Government office ASAP, to register their attendance of above posting.
I am not a good Corper, not only did I not go to my place of primary posting immediately, I went home, had a nice long bath, ate copiously, loosened my very dirty hair washed it three times with hot, cold and hot water and slept in a nice air conditioned room. Then I prepared to go to my place of primary posting.
Going to the place of primary assignment was arduous, it was like a pile of puppies snapping at each other’s heel for a good seat on buses that last had seats, never. To cut a long story short, I was nearly robbed (if I did not run, it would have been a corpse writing this to you), I fainted, and I discovered that no amount of perfume in the world can get rid of a man with v bad body odour. To make matters worse my place of Primary assignment was in Lekki, and I live in Ikeja. These places are polar opposites, and it takes a lot of time, money, sweat and holding on to a bus seat of indeterminable history to get there. More insulting than everything put together (I know you are wondering ‘what could be worse’) it would cost all of my wages from my employer and about half of my NYSC stipend to get there, this is not counting food.
So you survive the camp, survive the journey to your place of primary assignment, finally get back home and scrub everything from your body again and use so much hot water to get rid of the animals living in your hair, get some well deserved sleep on a bed that does not reek of sweat and you think to yourself, well things will start to look up now. WRONG
After getting to my place of primary posting, (I was luckier than most, I got accepted immediately) I had to go back to the Local Government. Now I had started to look much better than I had in camp, so as you can imagine, many people were shocked at my new fabulous look which very quickly wilted while waiting on another queue at the LG.
When I arrived at the LG, and the ‘Ladies’ (and I use the word ladies lightly) found I schooled abroad, and would you believe this, those heifers told me things will go easier for me if I gave them mobile phones and/ or phone credit. What surprised me the most was my lack of surprise, instead the overt push for bribes just made me smile and B.S. them with my ‘Aunty I am a youth corper, and the service haven’t paid me, where would I find money sheh’. My response earned me an extra 2 hours just to get my paperwork processed.
Like I said I was lucky I got accepted immediately, some of my friends got rejected so they had to go through the rigmarole of reposting. Till today 12/06/2007, some of my friends have still not been posted they are involved in the usual rounds of queuing and giving bribes to influence their postings…………….
What happened instead was the decree by the NYSC that corpers should on the day of their release, go to their places of primary assignment. They insisted upon this despite the late hour of receiving posting letters, lack of feasible transportation for those who had never lived much less been to Lagos, and the lugging of camp paraphernalia to possible places of employment. In addition to the lack of all of the above, they also insisted that corp members were to report to their Local Government office ASAP, to register their attendance of above posting.
I am not a good Corper, not only did I not go to my place of primary posting immediately, I went home, had a nice long bath, ate copiously, loosened my very dirty hair washed it three times with hot, cold and hot water and slept in a nice air conditioned room. Then I prepared to go to my place of primary posting.
Going to the place of primary assignment was arduous, it was like a pile of puppies snapping at each other’s heel for a good seat on buses that last had seats, never. To cut a long story short, I was nearly robbed (if I did not run, it would have been a corpse writing this to you), I fainted, and I discovered that no amount of perfume in the world can get rid of a man with v bad body odour. To make matters worse my place of Primary assignment was in Lekki, and I live in Ikeja. These places are polar opposites, and it takes a lot of time, money, sweat and holding on to a bus seat of indeterminable history to get there. More insulting than everything put together (I know you are wondering ‘what could be worse’) it would cost all of my wages from my employer and about half of my NYSC stipend to get there, this is not counting food.
So you survive the camp, survive the journey to your place of primary assignment, finally get back home and scrub everything from your body again and use so much hot water to get rid of the animals living in your hair, get some well deserved sleep on a bed that does not reek of sweat and you think to yourself, well things will start to look up now. WRONG
After getting to my place of primary posting, (I was luckier than most, I got accepted immediately) I had to go back to the Local Government. Now I had started to look much better than I had in camp, so as you can imagine, many people were shocked at my new fabulous look which very quickly wilted while waiting on another queue at the LG.
When I arrived at the LG, and the ‘Ladies’ (and I use the word ladies lightly) found I schooled abroad, and would you believe this, those heifers told me things will go easier for me if I gave them mobile phones and/ or phone credit. What surprised me the most was my lack of surprise, instead the overt push for bribes just made me smile and B.S. them with my ‘Aunty I am a youth corper, and the service haven’t paid me, where would I find money sheh’. My response earned me an extra 2 hours just to get my paperwork processed.
Like I said I was lucky I got accepted immediately, some of my friends got rejected so they had to go through the rigmarole of reposting. Till today 12/06/2007, some of my friends have still not been posted they are involved in the usual rounds of queuing and giving bribes to influence their postings…………….
Friday, January 23, 2009
Eko Corper Pt 2 (Surviving NYSC CAMP) posted July 17, 2007
Arrival at the camp was a shock to the system, not least because of the queues (and I use the multiple term here on purpose) stretched out in front. The reason was plain to see, it was the lack of manpower and organisation, this lack of anything, organisation and otherwise was to prove unimaginable as time went by. No food was provided for the corpers while we were waiting because we had not been registered, there was no shade where we sat, stood or otherwise fainted in the burning March sun while the NYSC took its happy time registering us. As such, we had to get the only food available which was from the Mami (camp) Market, and the marketers obviously used to this little game saw the arrival of the corpers as a financial boon, and did their ample best to make sure we felt the pinch from the beginning.
Photocopying cost N10 for one copy (it is N5 outside camp), glue, stapler, tippex and other essentials that the NYSC did not tell us to bring, or provide for us ranged in price from N5 – N20 depending on who you spoke to and at what time you spoke to them. Things went from bad to worse when at about 10 pm some market sellers started selling big bottles of eva water for N200 (N100 outside). Due to the lack of any provisions being laid down for us, we were forced to part with money we did not have, and as no other options were available we were forced to spend the money just to get some water, and food.
The indignities visited on us did not end there, after a full day of sun, cramps and money haemorrhaging; (and believe me I was bleeding badly), I was informed after finally getting to the registration desk that the NYSC were unable to register me, you ask yourself why, well let me enlighten you. As a foreign student, I needed my passport to proceed, not just my NIGERIAN PASSPORT, but also my BRITISH PASSPORT, and I would have to keep hold of it in CAMP for ID (Lagos camp I was told is not known for its honest corpers or staff, so you can imagine my fear). The pity of this was that they did not tell me this when I was applying to join the Service, neither did they mention it in the many announcements made on the PA system and they definitely did not put up any signs indicating this. So at 10.30pm, I had to get on the phone with my parents asking them to bring my passports, to the camp, and I am sorry to say that as the night wore on, I got a better idea of what the NYSC would turn out to be.
Still unregistered, I was unable to get a bed or a mattress, so I had to spend the night sleeping on 2 plastic chairs pushed together outside, (trust me when I say that, that was the best 2 night sleep I would get for the next 3 weeks). The NYSC, managed to squeeze 32 people, 16 bunks into rooms better able to accommodate 24 at the most. The rooms, bathrooms and toilets were filthy and we had to pay the NYSC cleaners to clean it to useable condition, something which it turns out is impossible to achieve. The fire safety of the hostels were non existent, to leave the room you had to squeeze )( out of your bunk corner, then try to make your way past the bunks put in the middle of the room. Finally if you survive the obstacle course prayfully make your way to the door and hope that in the dark someone had not poured water or something else on the floor. Stumble down the unlit passage way tripping over, poo baskets, wet floors from drying clothes, people sleeping in the corridor because they could not get a room, then you arrive downstairs. At that point you start to understand how people could die in the stampede that occurred during the sinking of the Titanic, because at the exiting gates when not lock to keep we poor girls virginity (most of us had lost it yonks ago thank you v much), you are caught in a crush of epic proportions which makes a football game in the middle of a riot seem like a little disturbance.
The crush of people is something that I will never forget, I wake up with nightmares thinking of the crush. Every occasion brought about the crush and the queues which lasted for hours in the sun. Meal times were always late, and was badly cooked (this makes sense because of the N2500 assigned for each corpers meal for the day I am willing to bet only about N50 was actually spent to feed each person, I can never eat beans again in my life because of the NYSC). Filling out the book of life made you feel you were spending your whole life trying to get this done, getting the transport allowance, through all of this, the lack of organisation was glaringly obvious.
The indignity of the NYSC to this point was only surpassed by the kit which was given to us. The best way to described it is a crotch itching, badly made, to big or too small uniform which you as a youth corper had to repair at the grand price cost of ******N400 to take the sides in or N1200 to add a bit of fabric to it*****. Clothes that fell apart when you washed them and split when you wear them once, shoes that stared to break apart the first time you wore them. The inadequate amount of the clothing provided meant another business opportunity to the marketers who started selling white shirts at N1000 and shorts at N1200.
Life in the camp did not improve, from the lack of adequate water, both for drinking, bathing and washing, life in the camp could be best described as hell. The conditions in the camp were so bad that members of staff and army officers likened it to nothing they had ever seen or experienced……. I’m guessing hell!!!
Photocopying cost N10 for one copy (it is N5 outside camp), glue, stapler, tippex and other essentials that the NYSC did not tell us to bring, or provide for us ranged in price from N5 – N20 depending on who you spoke to and at what time you spoke to them. Things went from bad to worse when at about 10 pm some market sellers started selling big bottles of eva water for N200 (N100 outside). Due to the lack of any provisions being laid down for us, we were forced to part with money we did not have, and as no other options were available we were forced to spend the money just to get some water, and food.
The indignities visited on us did not end there, after a full day of sun, cramps and money haemorrhaging; (and believe me I was bleeding badly), I was informed after finally getting to the registration desk that the NYSC were unable to register me, you ask yourself why, well let me enlighten you. As a foreign student, I needed my passport to proceed, not just my NIGERIAN PASSPORT, but also my BRITISH PASSPORT, and I would have to keep hold of it in CAMP for ID (Lagos camp I was told is not known for its honest corpers or staff, so you can imagine my fear). The pity of this was that they did not tell me this when I was applying to join the Service, neither did they mention it in the many announcements made on the PA system and they definitely did not put up any signs indicating this. So at 10.30pm, I had to get on the phone with my parents asking them to bring my passports, to the camp, and I am sorry to say that as the night wore on, I got a better idea of what the NYSC would turn out to be.
Still unregistered, I was unable to get a bed or a mattress, so I had to spend the night sleeping on 2 plastic chairs pushed together outside, (trust me when I say that, that was the best 2 night sleep I would get for the next 3 weeks). The NYSC, managed to squeeze 32 people, 16 bunks into rooms better able to accommodate 24 at the most. The rooms, bathrooms and toilets were filthy and we had to pay the NYSC cleaners to clean it to useable condition, something which it turns out is impossible to achieve. The fire safety of the hostels were non existent, to leave the room you had to squeeze )( out of your bunk corner, then try to make your way past the bunks put in the middle of the room. Finally if you survive the obstacle course prayfully make your way to the door and hope that in the dark someone had not poured water or something else on the floor. Stumble down the unlit passage way tripping over, poo baskets, wet floors from drying clothes, people sleeping in the corridor because they could not get a room, then you arrive downstairs. At that point you start to understand how people could die in the stampede that occurred during the sinking of the Titanic, because at the exiting gates when not lock to keep we poor girls virginity (most of us had lost it yonks ago thank you v much), you are caught in a crush of epic proportions which makes a football game in the middle of a riot seem like a little disturbance.
The crush of people is something that I will never forget, I wake up with nightmares thinking of the crush. Every occasion brought about the crush and the queues which lasted for hours in the sun. Meal times were always late, and was badly cooked (this makes sense because of the N2500 assigned for each corpers meal for the day I am willing to bet only about N50 was actually spent to feed each person, I can never eat beans again in my life because of the NYSC). Filling out the book of life made you feel you were spending your whole life trying to get this done, getting the transport allowance, through all of this, the lack of organisation was glaringly obvious.
The indignity of the NYSC to this point was only surpassed by the kit which was given to us. The best way to described it is a crotch itching, badly made, to big or too small uniform which you as a youth corper had to repair at the grand price cost of ******N400 to take the sides in or N1200 to add a bit of fabric to it*****. Clothes that fell apart when you washed them and split when you wear them once, shoes that stared to break apart the first time you wore them. The inadequate amount of the clothing provided meant another business opportunity to the marketers who started selling white shirts at N1000 and shorts at N1200.
Life in the camp did not improve, from the lack of adequate water, both for drinking, bathing and washing, life in the camp could be best described as hell. The conditions in the camp were so bad that members of staff and army officers likened it to nothing they had ever seen or experienced……. I’m guessing hell!!!
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Eko Corper Pt 1 First posted on Tuesday, July 17, 2007
It all started on a cold evening in England when my father and mother suggested quite expectedly that I come back to Nigeria to do my National Youth Service. At the time the notion of coming back to Nigeria held some appeal to me, I had finished my studies and in a way I was passing time from one job to the next trying to break into my field of study. After some investigations and noting the fact that by going to Nigeria I would lose my independence, I waffled for several months, then deciding that it would be a good idea to go to Nigeria and get it over and done with, and that is when all the trouble started.
I arrived in Nigeria in the beginning of January believing that the service year would begin in February, I was wrong. After questioning many people within the NYSC Scheme, and people I believed were my friends, and trust me when I say nobody told me the truth of what was about to happen to me. At first I was led to believe that by the middle of February, I would be having a wonderful, granted slightly stressful time at camp, and that there was no problem with getting the information I would need, or that would be required of me, Right. This was the first of many misinformations that I was to receive during this period both from laymen and officials.
The first shock that awaited me was during the processing of my application, I had to go to Abuja, not once, but twice, this at a price of 10000 Naira per trip. This amount did not include transportation when I got there and any possible accommodation costs that might be required. Due to the necessity of this, I spent the money thinking it would be a straight forward process. As you can imagine, this was not the case, and after copious amounts of photocopies, carting my passport and certificate over, and the inimitable queuing, the process in Abuja ended, Thank God.
The trip was not only financially tasking, it was also a waste of time, in as much as I spent hours queuing for something that I could have been informed about at the first desk I went to . Unlike some who have had the ‘foreign’ education, my parents are not rich in either time or money so the time spent there trying to sort things out was a drain on their resources, and the little money I had saved coming back. After this process ended, I was told that I was to return on the morning of March 5 2007, to pick up my call up letter, on receipt of which, I noticed I was to report on March 6. When asked where I was to report, I was told that to go to the Lagos Secretariat. So like a good little girl, at 7am on the morning of March 6 2007, I went to Surulere Lagos (the Lagos State Secretariat) believing that they would register each person, give them their kit and then point them to the camp site, how wrong was I.
I arrived at the secretariat at approximately 8.30am, where I was informed that I was not meant to be there, instead I was to report to Iyana Ipaja, on the other side of Lagos. Now anyone who has ever traveled in Lagos traffic knows it is not easy to move from one part to the other. So my family and I turned the car towards said location believing that this was where all of the above will take place. Imagine my surprise when I was told on arrival that camp started that day and that I would be unable to enter the camp area without my luggage. So back to the house to pack up and come back, traffic snarling around us, my parents and I nearly at the end of our rope out of frustration and snapping at each other, made it home and back. My naive parents believing that the government would supply all that was needed left me with a nominal amount of cash, N2000, little did they know that this amount would not last the day……….
I arrived in Nigeria in the beginning of January believing that the service year would begin in February, I was wrong. After questioning many people within the NYSC Scheme, and people I believed were my friends, and trust me when I say nobody told me the truth of what was about to happen to me. At first I was led to believe that by the middle of February, I would be having a wonderful, granted slightly stressful time at camp, and that there was no problem with getting the information I would need, or that would be required of me, Right. This was the first of many misinformations that I was to receive during this period both from laymen and officials.
The first shock that awaited me was during the processing of my application, I had to go to Abuja, not once, but twice, this at a price of 10000 Naira per trip. This amount did not include transportation when I got there and any possible accommodation costs that might be required. Due to the necessity of this, I spent the money thinking it would be a straight forward process. As you can imagine, this was not the case, and after copious amounts of photocopies, carting my passport and certificate over, and the inimitable queuing, the process in Abuja ended, Thank God.
The trip was not only financially tasking, it was also a waste of time, in as much as I spent hours queuing for something that I could have been informed about at the first desk I went to . Unlike some who have had the ‘foreign’ education, my parents are not rich in either time or money so the time spent there trying to sort things out was a drain on their resources, and the little money I had saved coming back. After this process ended, I was told that I was to return on the morning of March 5 2007, to pick up my call up letter, on receipt of which, I noticed I was to report on March 6. When asked where I was to report, I was told that to go to the Lagos Secretariat. So like a good little girl, at 7am on the morning of March 6 2007, I went to Surulere Lagos (the Lagos State Secretariat) believing that they would register each person, give them their kit and then point them to the camp site, how wrong was I.
I arrived at the secretariat at approximately 8.30am, where I was informed that I was not meant to be there, instead I was to report to Iyana Ipaja, on the other side of Lagos. Now anyone who has ever traveled in Lagos traffic knows it is not easy to move from one part to the other. So my family and I turned the car towards said location believing that this was where all of the above will take place. Imagine my surprise when I was told on arrival that camp started that day and that I would be unable to enter the camp area without my luggage. So back to the house to pack up and come back, traffic snarling around us, my parents and I nearly at the end of our rope out of frustration and snapping at each other, made it home and back. My naive parents believing that the government would supply all that was needed left me with a nominal amount of cash, N2000, little did they know that this amount would not last the day……….
Eko Corper Pt 1 First posted on Tuesday, July 17, 2007
It all started on a cold evening in England when my father and mother suggested quite expectedly that I come back to Nigeria to do my National Youth Service. At the time the notion of coming back to Nigeria held some appeal to me, I had finished my studies and in a way I was passing time from one job to the next trying to break into my field of study. After some investigations and noting the fact that by going to Nigeria I would lose my independence, I waffled for several months, then deciding that it would be a good idea to go to Nigeria and get it over and done with, and that is when all the trouble started.
I arrived in Nigeria in the beginning of January believing that the service year would begin in February, I was wrong. After questioning many people within the NYSC Scheme, and people I believed were my friends, and trust me when I say nobody told me the truth of what was about to happen to me. At first I was led to believe that by the middle of February, I would be having a wonderful, granted slightly stressful time at camp, and that there was no problem with getting the information I would need, or that would be required of me, Right. This was the first of many misinformations that I was to receive during this period both from laymen and officials.
The first shock that awaited me was during the processing of my application, I had to go to Abuja, not once, but twice, this at a price of 10000 Naira per trip. This amount did not include transportation when I got there and any possible accommodation costs that might be required. Due to the necessity of this, I spent the money thinking it would be a straight forward process. As you can imagine, this was not the case, and after copious amounts of photocopies, carting my passport and certificate over, and the inimitable queuing, the process in Abuja ended, Thank God.
The trip was not only financially tasking, it was also a waste of time, in as much as I spent hours queuing for something that I could have been informed about at the first desk I went to . Unlike some who have had the ‘foreign’ education, my parents are not rich in either time or money so the time spent there trying to sort things out was a drain on their resources, and the little money I had saved coming back. After this process ended, I was told that I was to return on the morning of March 5 2007, to pick up my call up letter, on receipt of which, I noticed I was to report on March 6. When asked where I was to report, I was told that to go to the Lagos Secretariat. So like a good little girl, at 7am on the morning of March 6 2007, I went to Surulere Lagos (the Lagos State Secretariat) believing that they would register each person, give them their kit and then point them to the camp site, how wrong was I.
I arrived at the secretariat at approximately 8.30am, where I was informed that I was not meant to be there, instead I was to report to Iyana Ipaja, on the other side of Lagos. Now anyone who has ever traveled in Lagos traffic knows it is not easy to move from one part to the other. So my family and I turned the car towards said location believing that this was where all of the above will take place. Imagine my surprise when I was told on arrival that camp started that day and that I would be unable to enter the camp area without my luggage. So back to the house to pack up and come back, traffic snarling around us, my parents and I nearly at the end of our rope out of frustration and snapping at each other, made it home and back. My naive parents believing that the government would supply all that was needed left me with a nominal amount of cash, N2000, little did they know that this amount would not last the day……….
I arrived in Nigeria in the beginning of January believing that the service year would begin in February, I was wrong. After questioning many people within the NYSC Scheme, and people I believed were my friends, and trust me when I say nobody told me the truth of what was about to happen to me. At first I was led to believe that by the middle of February, I would be having a wonderful, granted slightly stressful time at camp, and that there was no problem with getting the information I would need, or that would be required of me, Right. This was the first of many misinformations that I was to receive during this period both from laymen and officials.
The first shock that awaited me was during the processing of my application, I had to go to Abuja, not once, but twice, this at a price of 10000 Naira per trip. This amount did not include transportation when I got there and any possible accommodation costs that might be required. Due to the necessity of this, I spent the money thinking it would be a straight forward process. As you can imagine, this was not the case, and after copious amounts of photocopies, carting my passport and certificate over, and the inimitable queuing, the process in Abuja ended, Thank God.
The trip was not only financially tasking, it was also a waste of time, in as much as I spent hours queuing for something that I could have been informed about at the first desk I went to . Unlike some who have had the ‘foreign’ education, my parents are not rich in either time or money so the time spent there trying to sort things out was a drain on their resources, and the little money I had saved coming back. After this process ended, I was told that I was to return on the morning of March 5 2007, to pick up my call up letter, on receipt of which, I noticed I was to report on March 6. When asked where I was to report, I was told that to go to the Lagos Secretariat. So like a good little girl, at 7am on the morning of March 6 2007, I went to Surulere Lagos (the Lagos State Secretariat) believing that they would register each person, give them their kit and then point them to the camp site, how wrong was I.
I arrived at the secretariat at approximately 8.30am, where I was informed that I was not meant to be there, instead I was to report to Iyana Ipaja, on the other side of Lagos. Now anyone who has ever traveled in Lagos traffic knows it is not easy to move from one part to the other. So my family and I turned the car towards said location believing that this was where all of the above will take place. Imagine my surprise when I was told on arrival that camp started that day and that I would be unable to enter the camp area without my luggage. So back to the house to pack up and come back, traffic snarling around us, my parents and I nearly at the end of our rope out of frustration and snapping at each other, made it home and back. My naive parents believing that the government would supply all that was needed left me with a nominal amount of cash, N2000, little did they know that this amount would not last the day……….
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
My First Best Friend
You were my friend before I understood what friendship meant
You understood my needs before I could voice them
You are the basis in which I determine what a good friendship is
You are my first best friend
You scold me,
You lie to me,
You forgive me,
You nurture me,
You are my first best friend
If anybody ever asks me why I always take your side,
I can count a thousand ways but never put my finger on it
I can sing it in songs but never say the words
All I know is that you are my first best friend
So come hell or high waters
River deep and mountain high
The devil and the deep blue sea
Late night fights and day time screams
You’re stuck with me
Because you’re my first best friend
You’re my mother and I’m not letting go of those apron strings
You understood my needs before I could voice them
You are the basis in which I determine what a good friendship is
You are my first best friend
You scold me,
You lie to me,
You forgive me,
You nurture me,
You are my first best friend
If anybody ever asks me why I always take your side,
I can count a thousand ways but never put my finger on it
I can sing it in songs but never say the words
All I know is that you are my first best friend
So come hell or high waters
River deep and mountain high
The devil and the deep blue sea
Late night fights and day time screams
You’re stuck with me
Because you’re my first best friend
You’re my mother and I’m not letting go of those apron strings
Monday, January 19, 2009
Mama and marrying me off!!!
Another day, another mama drama, ok that actually not true, it’s more another day continuing mama drama.
The current/ latest, ok ongoing issue with my mother is marrying me off, in fact she has decided that it’s not only time I got married, but when, how and the names of my children!!!
Now while I understand her trepidation, (I am after all a woman of a certain age and people my age have gotten married and divorced a thousand times, in fact some are on their 3rd marriage and 10th kid) sometimes the woman takes it too far.
Now while a normal person would say something like:
‘Marriage is a wonderful thing, and I fully support you whenever you decide to get married’.
My mother says,
‘What else to you want, you finished school, you have a good job, GET MARRIED, ah ah, all your mates are getting married, what is wrong, do you want me to find you a husband, why don’t you marry that guy (random guy who I’ve never met before), you could marry Prince William (ok that was also once my dream nah still my dream damn Katie wassaname, me queen, loads of money, swaning around on posh holidays,….....) at this point I generally blank out and imagine my life as a princess, living the lavish totally posh lifestyle that I truly deserve ummmmmmmmmm.
Back to reality, but honestly my mother’s urge to marry me off seems to have reached a new frenzious (new word take note, I’ve copyrighted it) height. For some reason, the last year she’s done everything but go to heaven and ask God why I’m not married and popping our lil me’s or her as the case may been.
She’s dragged me off to weddings of family members I don’t know to see what my wedding could be like, she’s almost (I stopped her just in time) asked numerous men out on my behalf, she has in fact gone so far as to tell me (order me!!) to marry one of my friends, because what else makes for a perfect couple than friends, no counting that there’s no chemistry and kissing him would feel like kissing brother (and I don’t mean just a mouth buss but tonguing my brother. Ewwwwwwww, puke!!)
After one of our mother/ daughter talks, she finally asked me why I’m not married/ sprogged up or otherwise locked to a kitchen sink, and I explained.
To me marriage is not about the amount of money you spend during your wedding, it’s the amount of time you spend together before and after your wedding.
For me commitment is about getting to the point when I trust the other person enough to open up myself, warts and all. (I don’t have warts, it’s just a saying, it’s like saying hair net and pants for that time of the month)
I believe in grand romances and true love, I know they are impractical and rarely do they exist (if ever) but I believe that there is someone just for me out there, and I refuse to settle for less
The person I end up spending my life with, would understand that we are a partnership not a dictatorship
I then reciprocated and asked why she was so determined to marry me off, and she said something that floored me and I would never forget it, she said:
I don’t want you to ever have to be lonely and alone, I want you to find peace and love and I worry that if you’re not married before I die (she’s still young by the way, chances of dying are still light years away) I will never see that happiness in you.
How could you not love this woman? Uhu!
The current/ latest, ok ongoing issue with my mother is marrying me off, in fact she has decided that it’s not only time I got married, but when, how and the names of my children!!!
Now while I understand her trepidation, (I am after all a woman of a certain age and people my age have gotten married and divorced a thousand times, in fact some are on their 3rd marriage and 10th kid) sometimes the woman takes it too far.
Now while a normal person would say something like:
‘Marriage is a wonderful thing, and I fully support you whenever you decide to get married’.
My mother says,
‘What else to you want, you finished school, you have a good job, GET MARRIED, ah ah, all your mates are getting married, what is wrong, do you want me to find you a husband, why don’t you marry that guy (random guy who I’ve never met before), you could marry Prince William (ok that was also once my dream nah still my dream damn Katie wassaname, me queen, loads of money, swaning around on posh holidays,….....) at this point I generally blank out and imagine my life as a princess, living the lavish totally posh lifestyle that I truly deserve ummmmmmmmmm.
Back to reality, but honestly my mother’s urge to marry me off seems to have reached a new frenzious (new word take note, I’ve copyrighted it) height. For some reason, the last year she’s done everything but go to heaven and ask God why I’m not married and popping our lil me’s or her as the case may been.
She’s dragged me off to weddings of family members I don’t know to see what my wedding could be like, she’s almost (I stopped her just in time) asked numerous men out on my behalf, she has in fact gone so far as to tell me (order me!!) to marry one of my friends, because what else makes for a perfect couple than friends, no counting that there’s no chemistry and kissing him would feel like kissing brother (and I don’t mean just a mouth buss but tonguing my brother. Ewwwwwwww, puke!!)
After one of our mother/ daughter talks, she finally asked me why I’m not married/ sprogged up or otherwise locked to a kitchen sink, and I explained.
To me marriage is not about the amount of money you spend during your wedding, it’s the amount of time you spend together before and after your wedding.
For me commitment is about getting to the point when I trust the other person enough to open up myself, warts and all. (I don’t have warts, it’s just a saying, it’s like saying hair net and pants for that time of the month)
I believe in grand romances and true love, I know they are impractical and rarely do they exist (if ever) but I believe that there is someone just for me out there, and I refuse to settle for less
The person I end up spending my life with, would understand that we are a partnership not a dictatorship
I then reciprocated and asked why she was so determined to marry me off, and she said something that floored me and I would never forget it, she said:
I don’t want you to ever have to be lonely and alone, I want you to find peace and love and I worry that if you’re not married before I die (she’s still young by the way, chances of dying are still light years away) I will never see that happiness in you.
How could you not love this woman? Uhu!
Friday, January 16, 2009
Mama and Lagos/ Nigerian Roads
I was recently telling someone about my mother and the pathological fear of Lagos/ Nigerian roads, and they thought she was so funny. According to them, I should write a television series about it, but I don’t think the world is ready for my mother in her glorious, unadulterated, and totally irreverent sense of humor.
Nah the world could not handle her.
My mother’s fears of the roads are based on rumors, some experience and a whole lot of paranoia.
Its not that she doesn’t have a lot to fear (crazy drivers, drunk ogogoro drivers, stupid drivers, idiotic law enforcement ………… ok this list could go on forever) but she takes fear of the unknown to another level.
Now I have for some reason (don’t ask me why) had to drive my mother around a lot, and while I KNOW I am a GREAT driver, the rest of my family seem to think the opposite. In fact my sister during her recent visit had the nerve to suggest that when I was in England I drove like a Nigerian, and now the country is catching up to my driving (the cheek of her)
Anyways, on these faithful several occasions, I have a few fears myself, the main being actually driving my mother since she makes me so nervous.
Whenever my mother gets in the car she grips the car handle with a death grip that would make Zombies proud, places a look of dread on her face and spend the whole journey telling me to look at, that car over there, slow down (when I’m going 50km an hour down the expressway).
Not that I don’t love my mother, but that woman is the very reason people go crazy on the roads.
This particular day, we were going to church and we were about halfway down the Ikorodu Road. All through the journey my mother had been doing the above and driving me bonkers, but I figured its Sunday, be strong, God is on your side, even if the devil is whispering a whole load of nasty things in your ears.
Through this and our discussion (gossip) about the family, a car suddenly swerved on the opposite road, climbed the median, ziz zagged in front of my car to hit the median on the other side.
It was like a bad, Jean Claude Van Damme action movie, the action, the shock the fact that the idiot man had a mother and a newly born baby in the back sit and was speeding in a car with very worn tires, obviously a failed brake and whatever else was wrong with him.
I think what struck me the most is that my car was the head car and had I been driving just a bit too fast, had I not listened to my mother, I would not have been able to brake in time or the car would have ploughed into us.
Now I have my issues with my mother, but on this I say Thanks Ma, you were right on the money, they are all CRAZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZY drivers in 9ja so drive safely y’all!!!!
Nah the world could not handle her.
My mother’s fears of the roads are based on rumors, some experience and a whole lot of paranoia.
Its not that she doesn’t have a lot to fear (crazy drivers, drunk ogogoro drivers, stupid drivers, idiotic law enforcement ………… ok this list could go on forever) but she takes fear of the unknown to another level.
Now I have for some reason (don’t ask me why) had to drive my mother around a lot, and while I KNOW I am a GREAT driver, the rest of my family seem to think the opposite. In fact my sister during her recent visit had the nerve to suggest that when I was in England I drove like a Nigerian, and now the country is catching up to my driving (the cheek of her)
Anyways, on these faithful several occasions, I have a few fears myself, the main being actually driving my mother since she makes me so nervous.
Whenever my mother gets in the car she grips the car handle with a death grip that would make Zombies proud, places a look of dread on her face and spend the whole journey telling me to look at, that car over there, slow down (when I’m going 50km an hour down the expressway).
Not that I don’t love my mother, but that woman is the very reason people go crazy on the roads.
This particular day, we were going to church and we were about halfway down the Ikorodu Road. All through the journey my mother had been doing the above and driving me bonkers, but I figured its Sunday, be strong, God is on your side, even if the devil is whispering a whole load of nasty things in your ears.
Through this and our discussion (gossip) about the family, a car suddenly swerved on the opposite road, climbed the median, ziz zagged in front of my car to hit the median on the other side.
It was like a bad, Jean Claude Van Damme action movie, the action, the shock the fact that the idiot man had a mother and a newly born baby in the back sit and was speeding in a car with very worn tires, obviously a failed brake and whatever else was wrong with him.
I think what struck me the most is that my car was the head car and had I been driving just a bit too fast, had I not listened to my mother, I would not have been able to brake in time or the car would have ploughed into us.
Now I have my issues with my mother, but on this I say Thanks Ma, you were right on the money, they are all CRAZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZY drivers in 9ja so drive safely y’all!!!!
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Mama and PHCN
My mother is fierce, she is one of those women who will stand in front of a Danfo driver who outweighs her by 200 pounds and is about 6’5 and make him cry (my mother is like 5ft nothing and I have no idea what she weighs, but she’s kinda small), on the streets in front of his driver mates. So when PHCN decided to hold power for 2 weeks, (immediately after she had returned from the market with food in the freezer), my mother snapped.
Now my mother is not one to leave the house, she actually hates the streets of Lagos and though she complains about being in the house all day, is not inclined to venture past her immediate area. So it is unlucky for the PHCN office that they are actually just outside our estate.
So this particular day after PHCN had promised to bring the light back and did not, my mother (bless her soul) snapped. Now I don’t mean a little snap, the woman went ballistic as she watched her precious food sit in a freezer that was now only powered by the generator, and she watched diesel reduce in said generator. My mother went to her room, got on her battle gear, (Ankara skirt and blouse, with her scarf tied rakishly) and went to do battle.
She arrived at the office, walking through our unpaved and unsidewalked estate, (which only served to increase her anger at the injustice of Nigeria), marched into the PHCN office, and did the PHCN official feel her size 4 1/2.
She started by explaining to them why their incompetence was an embarrassment to the nation, why they are an example of uninformed and corrupt bureaucracy, and when they dared to suggest she donate N100,000 to the replacement of the transformer
(the 5th to have ‘blown’ up in as many months) my mother switched to Yoruba on them, and cursed them out. No she literally went old school and ‘sheped’.
I wish I had a camera because by the time she had finished they were begging her; even the policemen in the area came and pleaded with PHCN to return our light, which they did, for about half a second.
When I asked my mother why, why why she would put herself in such a dangerous situation, she gave her standard answer, ‘is it too much to ask for this country to work, if I were in England I would at least have light in my house, even if it means I would be cold and alone’, sniff, na wa for this country o!!!
Now my mother is not one to leave the house, she actually hates the streets of Lagos and though she complains about being in the house all day, is not inclined to venture past her immediate area. So it is unlucky for the PHCN office that they are actually just outside our estate.
So this particular day after PHCN had promised to bring the light back and did not, my mother (bless her soul) snapped. Now I don’t mean a little snap, the woman went ballistic as she watched her precious food sit in a freezer that was now only powered by the generator, and she watched diesel reduce in said generator. My mother went to her room, got on her battle gear, (Ankara skirt and blouse, with her scarf tied rakishly) and went to do battle.
She arrived at the office, walking through our unpaved and unsidewalked estate, (which only served to increase her anger at the injustice of Nigeria), marched into the PHCN office, and did the PHCN official feel her size 4 1/2.
She started by explaining to them why their incompetence was an embarrassment to the nation, why they are an example of uninformed and corrupt bureaucracy, and when they dared to suggest she donate N100,000 to the replacement of the transformer
(the 5th to have ‘blown’ up in as many months) my mother switched to Yoruba on them, and cursed them out. No she literally went old school and ‘sheped’.
I wish I had a camera because by the time she had finished they were begging her; even the policemen in the area came and pleaded with PHCN to return our light, which they did, for about half a second.
When I asked my mother why, why why she would put herself in such a dangerous situation, she gave her standard answer, ‘is it too much to ask for this country to work, if I were in England I would at least have light in my house, even if it means I would be cold and alone’, sniff, na wa for this country o!!!
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Mama Drama
Happy New Year everybody, hope this good new year will be a wonderful experience for you, as for me, I’m feeling positive about this year I don’t know I started the year feeling a bit melancholy ( I know big word, told you this year is a reason to be positive), but with a song in my head (I’m not telling, lets see if the song really is predictive) and as the minutes ticked on by I realised that I’m still alive, I feel at peace and while I’ve not completed everything I wanted to do in the last year, this year will bring its own joys, disappointments and excitements, and you know I just can’t wait for it!!!
Ok this is a warning, the next few blogs will involve my Mama Drama’s or to be more precise, the wonderfully complicated and totally crazy world of me and my mother, but more my mother.
My mother is a wonderful human being, she is articulate, intelligent, supportive and I love her (sometimes) and like her (sometimes).
The extent of my love and like of her depends on just how much she pissed me off that day, month, week, or hour, but as a whole, she is the most wonderful person I’ve ever had the privilege of ever meeting.
The problem is that my mother is a kook, yes I said it, the woman is neurotic, paranoid and a pain the behind, my mother could see an ant and determine that, that is the reason she hates Nigeria and that she would rather live in another country, continent, or on the moon, (like she could stand any of those places when she was there, except for the moon which she’s not been to).
My mother is currently in a weird place in her life, all her children (bar me) are in England or America, she’s moved back to Nigeria after over 10 years in England and America, as such she is getting back into the groove of Nigeria. The problem is that my mother does not want to get back into the groove, while my father is soooooooo pleased to be back with the ‘boys of Igbobi’!! (boys ok then, lets continue deluding ourselves), she’s having trouble adjusting after 5 years now!
Don’t get me wrong, my mother has her old girls meeting, her friends and family, but Nigeria no longer makes sense to her. She cannot understand why light keeps going out and we are spending loads of money on diesel. She cannot understand why people would park in front of your gate effectively blocking your exit from your house and get mad when you tell them about it and most of all she cannot understand, why house maids are thieving or lazy, drivers are inclined to kill you, the young beggers on the street and their mothers, her parents and Nigerian driving.
So you’ve been warned, it only gets crazier from here on end. Enjoy
Ok this is a warning, the next few blogs will involve my Mama Drama’s or to be more precise, the wonderfully complicated and totally crazy world of me and my mother, but more my mother.
My mother is a wonderful human being, she is articulate, intelligent, supportive and I love her (sometimes) and like her (sometimes).
The extent of my love and like of her depends on just how much she pissed me off that day, month, week, or hour, but as a whole, she is the most wonderful person I’ve ever had the privilege of ever meeting.
The problem is that my mother is a kook, yes I said it, the woman is neurotic, paranoid and a pain the behind, my mother could see an ant and determine that, that is the reason she hates Nigeria and that she would rather live in another country, continent, or on the moon, (like she could stand any of those places when she was there, except for the moon which she’s not been to).
My mother is currently in a weird place in her life, all her children (bar me) are in England or America, she’s moved back to Nigeria after over 10 years in England and America, as such she is getting back into the groove of Nigeria. The problem is that my mother does not want to get back into the groove, while my father is soooooooo pleased to be back with the ‘boys of Igbobi’!! (boys ok then, lets continue deluding ourselves), she’s having trouble adjusting after 5 years now!
Don’t get me wrong, my mother has her old girls meeting, her friends and family, but Nigeria no longer makes sense to her. She cannot understand why light keeps going out and we are spending loads of money on diesel. She cannot understand why people would park in front of your gate effectively blocking your exit from your house and get mad when you tell them about it and most of all she cannot understand, why house maids are thieving or lazy, drivers are inclined to kill you, the young beggers on the street and their mothers, her parents and Nigerian driving.
So you’ve been warned, it only gets crazier from here on end. Enjoy
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