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.
Friday, January 30, 2009
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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