Dubliners, with adoration

About 100 years ago, James Joyce wrote this set of stories collected as Dubliners.  You should read this one, titled Araby.  It's so sweet.  Now or later, you'll want more.

Excuse Me - Gala Night

I spent the last days of September 2011 becoming a celebrity.  Yep.

Photo: World-famous Genevieve, "Jenifa" Funke Akindele, the guy is Debola (Chude's "brother"), and that's me on the right. I'm short because I ditched the high-heels under the table.  Dem wan kill person.

My kids in this small town probably don't believe that I hung out with Jenifa, so I'll have to show them the real photo: my claim to fame. But they never heard of Genevieve, the poor darlings.

I'm not showing you the hilarious photos of me in wifebeaters at some Veuve Cliquot champagne gig. (Seriously, who dresses all nice on a Thursday morning?)  But I will tell you that my blog brother, Uncle Erik is publishing a recent chat we had - yay! 

P.S. I'm in a quiet town at a writer's residency.  Drew the sketch from memory - it's burned in my brain after the many minutes I spent waiting for it to open.
P.P.S.  Speaking of the fame-monster, I know this Attila astrophysicist guy.  But you don't believe me!

New writing in Itch, Jungle Jim, Klorofyl,

South African pulp-fiction hardcopy mag Jungle Jim has my short story, Assassin. Buy in South African shops...
South African e-mag itch and Nigerian e-mag Klorofyl feature my poems.  Click on the links to read.

Ah yes, I'm off to the Nigerian writer's residency, in Oyo State. :)

Gaga is a fine actor but African music is way more fun

I love Lady Gaga's theatricality.


Her music itself is bland but good. It has technical merit, even if it's not rhythmically or melodically fun. It wouldn't survive the competition in Nigeria, like cheeseburger is not about to displace suya, shaki, or kpomo.

But what appalls me is how few of her songs I've actually heard. Should I try to become a fan?

One of the first I watched was Paparazzi - again, I love colourful theatrical videos, but really, what kind of melody is that? Also on TV, I saw a lot of Bad Romance, Poker Face, and (oddly enough) Telephone, in which Beyonce writhes and rasps on the video, to the taste of Nigerian audience viewers.

These songs all have obverse non-melodies, a bit like hearing a thrown pancake fall off a wall. What's the idea?

Then I watched You and I and much as I want to hate it, the video changed me, it's that clever, that artsy, very rich in story and imagery, very conscious of place - boring places where men and women kidnap each other for life. The melody too is actually good, in that middle-America (or middle Australia) kind of way. A little rock-history, bass guitar, country music = Not bad.

Today I saw a google chrome advert that featured The Edge of Glory and thought I've NEVER actually heard that before. Then I heard this tiny clip of Born This Way and yep, same thing: I've known for aeons that Gaga was "Born This Way" and that she has little devilsmonsters, the most twitter/facebook followers and most downloads or youtube views or something, but never heard one bar of the title track of her album.

Oh, did she do Just Dance? I know that one.

Guess I do live in a bubble inside a cave. Yet I run a kick-ass entertainment blog .

WS, aka Kongi, aka Anikulapo's cousin, aka Old Man Swagga

Wole Soyinka's speech at the Nobel Banquet,

December 10, 1986

Your Majesties, Ladies and Gentlemen,

It was inevitable that the Nordic world and the African, especially that part of it which constitutes the Yoruba world - should meet at the crossroads of Sweden. That I am the agent of such a symbolic encounter is due very simply to that my creative Muse is Ogun, the god of creativity and destruction, of the lyric and metallurgy. This deity anticipated your scientist Alfred Nobel at the very beginning of time by clearing a path through primordial chaos, dynamiting his way through the core of earth to open a route for his fellow deities who sought to be reunited with us, mortals. I covered that event for my publishers - well, taking a few poetic licences, naturally - under the title IDANRE. You may have run into that reportage which has been translated into Swedish under the title, OGUN SKUGGA. If you have not, I recommend that you proceed to the nearest bookseller for this piece of pre-history which makes Ogun, very definitively, the progenitor of your great inventor, Alfred Nobel.

I urge this especially because, if you happened to take a casual walk through the streets, or peer into the hotel lobbies of Stockholm, you might get the impression that my nation, Nigeria, has tried to solve some of its many problems by shifting half its population surreptitiously to Sweden. I assure you, however, that they have merely come to satisfy a natural curiosity about the true nationality of this inventor. For they cannot understand why their Ogun should have transferred such a potent secret to a Swede rather than to his Yoruba descendants. The mountains of Sweden are a tempting habitat for this deity, we know, but the Swedish winter and long midnights are hardly congenial to his temperament. And while the local acqua-vitae might help to infuse some warmth into his tropical joints, we do know that he tends to stick to his favourite palm wine.
Some day, I suppose, we will unravel this mystery. In the meantime, however, we will content ourselves with saluting the vision which made our presence here today a positive event, since it was Alfred Nobel's hope that the humanistic conversion, even of the most terrible knowledge, can improve the quality of life for mankind. That also is the lesson of Ogun, that essence of the warring duality of human nature. And we join in the endeavour that the lyric face of that demiurge will triumph in our time, snaring for all time that elusive bird - peace - on our planet earth.

From Les Prix Nobel. The Nobel Prizes 1986, Editor Wilhelm Odelberg, [Nobel Foundation], Stockholm, 1987

Copyright © The Nobel Foundation 1986

Video

Noticed the video inserts in my recent posts?
It's nice to have somewhat decent internet, that's why I can actually watch and embed video without too much fuss.
Someday you'll read my"Video" poem: verse-coated raunchiness in which I'm well pleased.

Speaking of...I like Le'mmon. That's All (Explicit/Uncut) is one of his many songs. Listen.
Here are a few more Mellow Yellow singles by Le'mmon: Radio, and Have you seen her.

Current mood: Floating

Afropolitan / African anthem

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Mr. Skills aka JJC is the musician behind one of my favourite beats: We Are Africans.
Last year I showed you the ORIGINAL, the Africa Unite Remix, and the Naija (Nigerian) remix featuring DaGrin and others.
That is THE anthem y'all and now there are even more remixes.

Let's travel...
to Sierra Leone for the Salone version:

and to Zimbabwe for the Southern African beat:

There is a 9ja Street mix, a more local version of the Naija remix:

I also found some techno and acoustic versions on youtube.
Awoo!

Doing the writer thing

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I just got a pair of poems accepted by an online magazine. Like the hype over getting a scientific paper published, pretty much nobody is going to read it.
I mean, with creative writing your chances of getting read are actually (much) better.
But still I'm so excited!!! I'm getting published (check itch in a few days.)

I wish academics were not so stuck, and I'm proud of myself for being unstuck: getting a bite of these worlds.

A video on academic culture:
It tells basically that superstition (the idea that learned people are witches or devilish) killed Baghdad science. Amazing.

Academy

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2008 - I drew this layout for an academy. It would be a child's garden...a really swanky village for three types of geeks: Olympiad Prep - Math, other Science, Chess; Sports - Tennis, Football (especially female), synchro; Verbal - Journalism, Languages, Theater.


Then I started a blog and webpage (now empty) for it, and also had extended planning chats (password protected) with a couple of friends: one friend is an engineering prof who runs a very simple charity/scholarship program, the other a wise and fun UN worker/administrator. I should go and read the chats now, we had lots of cool ideas.

2011 - Still a lot to do before this is real. Maybe 10 years from now. Maybe 5. I guess I'll need a little money.

Pay attention to the buildings, all the styles, from all the places I love: Sana'ani earth-brick towers, Spanish balconies on The Mallorca, East Asian roofs on The Kyoto, a Vegas-inspired theater, and I love the solar-panel-as-pattern on the icy-blue igloo. Tiger Woods is in the picture too.

This is synchronized swimming

NOTES:

- I love music, but there's no music on the list. Oh well. I must have felt unqualified to include it.

- Interesting that I loved (or valued) journalism long before I worked with journalists.

Timeless Music - Representing Yoruba

Lara Bajomo was this gifted vocalist back in Queen's College. Now she's Lara George, the woman who gave us Ijoba Orun (the kingdom of heaven) - the gospel recording that causes goosebumps in young and old alike.


Dare Art Alade attended King's College, performing in a KC-QC operetta (championed by the QC principal) around 1997. He performs as Darey. Although he has several hits in several genres (usually R&B), I think it's this performance - his rendition of Sisi Eko - that will be played into the 22nd century.

According to us

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THE WINNERS OF THE 2011 NIGERIAN BLOG AWARDS are:

1. Best Beauty Blog
   
   • Sarah Ofili’s Blog
2. Best Blog by a Blogger based outside of Nigeria
   • Sisi Yemmie
3. Best Blog by a Nigeria-based Blogger
   • Memoirs of a Woman with Chutzpah
4. Best Book, Poetry or Writing Blog
   • Fiesty Pen
5. Best Collaborative or Group Blog
   • 360 Nobs
6. Best Daily Read
   • Linda Ikeji
7. Best Designed Blog
   • Jaguda
8. Best Entertainment Blog
   • 360 Nobs
9. Best Fashion or Style Blog
   • Chic Therapy
10. Best Fitness or Health Blog
    • Nutrition Alert
11. Best Food Blog
    • Modern African Cuisine
12. Best Magazine or News Blog
    • Next
13. Best Music Blog
    • Not Just Ok
14. Best New Blog
    • Memoirs of a Woman with Chutzpah
15. Best Parenting Blog
    • Naija Mum in London
16. Best Personal Blog
    • Memoirs of a Woman with Chutzpah
17. Best Photography Blog
    • Lola Marcus
18. Best Political Blog
    • Omojuwa
19. Best Religion Blog
    • Light Her Lamp
20. Best Science or Technology Blog
    • Ogbonge Blog
21. Best Sports Blog
    • Lako (A Football Aficionado)’s Blog
22. Best Student Blog
    • Nigerian Scorpio
23. Best Travel Blog
    • Naijatreks
24. Best Wedding Blog
    
    • Na My Wedding
25. Most Controversial Blog
    
    • Linda Ikeji
26. Most Humourous Blog
    • My Scroll…You Scroll…
27. Most Educational Blog
    
    • Sprinkling Hope
28. Most Inspiring Blog
    • Memoirs of a Woman with Chutzpah
29. Most Unique Voice in a Blog
    • Sisi Yemmie
30. Nigerian Blog of the Year
    • Memoirs of a Woman with Chutzpah

Smart and Dumb, Yin and Yang

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Soon after my last post, I started to think I was wrong. The research "system", centered in the United States, has evidently succeeded in producing cures, patents, missiles, NASDAQ, ... I should appreciate that at least things work in that sense, and that scientists are guaranteed a middle-class income and higher.
But then I got support from people who say, yes, that is what I'm going through or went through. So add depressed practitioners to the list of products of the research system.

Why this system? Well, division of labour is a fine thing. It makes experts, and experts are better at what they do, they are faster too.
It is also a sad thing. Here are some fundamental problems.

REPETITION IS BORING AND SOMETIMES UNHEALTHY
If you worked on an automotive assembly line (assembly lines are the apex of division of labour) , everyday for several hours you could be tasked with aligning part No. 123xyz to anterior of exhaust manifold. Repeat repeat repeat. At some point, most people would crave a change, would get repetitive stress injuries, ...
So also some people love science but can't find a "station" with tasks that match their needs. I think of the physicist I know who suffers most in science, and this person is the most engaging and well-rounded person, and THAT is the reason he suffers. I was told earnestly that I have "many interests" and THAT was a problem. Imagine a student with varied interests. Who was it that said, don't let education get in the way of your learning! Ah yes, some Mark Twain character.

LEADERSHIP MISLEADS
Another problem is that management in the factory is not perfect. For example, Michigan management (the Governor, the suits, or the lobbyists) continues to engage you in producing cars when the thing that ought to be produced is not cars but flowers for instance. It is good that policymakers in the US determine to spend $10bn on cancer or $10m on collision avoidance in unmanned aerial vehicles, but the quest for money and "success" forces scientists to reflect all day long on those matters, and on presenting answers to appeal to a certain group of reviewers. This means that the many other ways of thinking about the world, the many other matters they might have explored, have to wait.

WHO IS YOUR MASTER?
In particular, the fact of research having its spiritual home in the US means that academics in Nigeria ape the US rather than research our own world. Because their management says "write ten papers" or "publish in International journals." So instead of taking gross mechanical measurements of bamboo (an important building material nowadays), you think to take micro-mechanical measurements (since that's what the white man did for steel centuries ago).
The gross measurements might turn up results that are relevant to construction, housing, and maybe more. The micro-measurements are useless but could conceivably be built upon for publication.
To do the gross measurements, you might have to rig your own measurement device and language. To do the steel-type measurements, you would fit in, in fact, you would import fancy equipment from Europe.
So...what do you do? Primitive manual labour? Or publishable science?

It is similar to the crisis in our literature, which is that since it's hard to sell or distribute to the 1 billion Africans and thereby make a living writing for Africa, Nigerian writers sort of have to ask first, "what does my master at some stepping-stone Western journal or media house like?" (To which I say look at the local music and movie industries and be encouraged: as soon as we unclog a few channels, Africans can serve our local markets as well as the world.)

RE-THINK WHAT WORKS
Well, it just occurred to me that the subheadings reproduce the classic economic questions (so stale that it makes me sad that students still learn this as "economics" and not "history") - What to produce, How to produce, For whom to produce.
It seems that division of labour solves problems in each area:
How to produce - chop up the tasks,
What - let the boss decide,
For whom - I guess whoever can pay.
Then it introduces problems in each area too as shown above: drunken leadership organises you to produce the wrong thing, past efficiency gains from dividing labour lead to more mindless dividing, and the poor and recently-poor are perennially under-served.

Picture: My liberty, by yin-yang-destinity (on deviantart.com)

I have an old book titled Re-engineering the Corporation that has little useful to say. Still, it was a bestseller for stodgy mid-1990s managers, and the authors suggest that division-of-labour along functional lines might be overhauled in ways that create better outcomes for the firm.
So, don't wait. Overhaul.

One dumb thing about science

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how is research? I got released from
Caltech recently (changed from
sabbatical to separated) but when I'm
ready got to get back to science. That
said, glad I left. The dumbest thing
about science is how small the audience
is. Why not speak / write to be
understood? Why not enter policy
decisions on occasion? Why not derive
which problems to solve from nature and
society? I mean, the exercises are very
useful, the edifices of theory, very
beautiful even, but if you ever feel
hungry for a change of diet, go for it, I
promise it will aid your science. (And
that ends my sermon lol)

- From a message I just sent to one of the physicists in my life.

Been there, seen that

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I recently found my pretty little copy of The Child's Garden of Verses.
I find this poem so exciting, especially as I've been to some of the places now. But what did my pre-travel self make of it in 1990 - I wonder? Did Stevenson's poetry lurk in my subconscious, to someday inspire some of my own?

TRAVEL, by Robert Louis Stevenson

I should like to rise and go
Where the golden apples grow;—
Where below another sky
Parrot islands anchored lie,
And, watched by cockatoos and goats,
Lonely Crusoes building boats;—
Where in sunshine reaching out
Eastern cities, miles about,
Are with mosque and minaret
Among sandy gardens set,
And the rich goods from near and far
Hang for sale in the bazaar,—
Where the Great Wall round China goes,
And on one side the desert blows,
And with bell and voice and drum
Cities on the other hum;—
Where are forests, hot as fire,
Wide as England, tall as a spire,
Full of apes and cocoa-nuts
And the negro hunters’ huts;—
Where the knotty crocodile
Lies and blinks in the Nile,
And the red flamingo flies
Hunting fish before his eyes;—
Where in jungles, near and far,
Man-devouring tigers are,
Lying close and giving ear
Lest the hunt be drawing near,
Or a comer-by be seen
Swinging in a palanquin;—
Where among the desert sands
Some deserted city stands,
All its children, sweep and prince,
Grown to manhood ages since,
Not a foot in street or house,
Not a stir of child or mouse,
And when kindly falls the night,
In all the town no spark of light.
There I’ll come when I’m a man
With a camel caravan;
Light a fire in the gloom
Of some dusty dining-room;
See the pictures on the walls,
Heroes, fights and festivals;
And in a corner find the toys
Of the old Egyptian boys.

Woman

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How did this happen?
In this picture (around September 2008?) I started out scribbling two swirls, ended up with a stem, which turned out to be a waist, and then inspired to complete the "reclining woman" I filled in the rest. Yeah it's silly. What should I call it?

Now that's what I call painting!

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I looked up Tolu Aliki in Google (Images) and this is what I found:


And when I think of Rom (Isichei) , it's still these faces that haunt me

(I can't find the most haunting one...I'll try to find it)
Rom also does all sorts of stuff, like Women, people, and objects.

When I think of Victor (Ehikhamenor), I guess it's Red.

Bez

I'm Too Old For Youth Lunch

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I didn't go to this week's Youth Lunch with the President of Nigeria. I got a couple of invitations by email and text, to which I answered, "how many diners will be at the lunch?" Since I had no assurance that it would be a somewhat exclusive lunch - you know, eba and egusi soup with orange juice around the table with Mr. President - and not a rowdy carnival with us jamming to D'Banj music, I decided to respect myself and save my money.

Brings us to two related reasons why I didn't bother:
1. I turned 30 this month. I declare myself a retired youth. Since I am older than 2/3 of Nigeria's population, don't you think I ought to be considered a full-grown citizen and not part of an age-deficient interest group? In some villages, I would already be a young grandmother.
2. The small money I have should not be spent "entering moto" to attend frivolous events. That said, I was sure they would "share money" at the "lunch" and this would just be embarrassing. I am too broke for jokes. Yet I don't feel like joining the mindless feasting on the Nigerian treasury.

You see, this President embraces all interests groups, with a wide PDP umbrella indeed. It's just that I want to be loved differently. Not with jollof rice, Naija music, and transport fare, all of which last a short time, but with good policies, more megawatts, and a working government which will last for generations.

From 411daily:YOUTH LUNCH WITH JONATHAN TURNS INTO ANOTHER BRIBE-FEST

Big Grammar version: Nigeria: The Youth at Lunch with Jonathan

The pictures:

Monkeys defeat monkey master

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I found this months ago in the e-book From Dictatorship to Democracy.

The "Monkey Master" fable

A Fourteenth Century Chinese parable by Liu-Ji, for example, outlines this neglected understanding of political power quite well:

In the feudal state of Chu an old man survived by keeping monkeys in his service. The people of Chu called him "ju gong" (monkey master).

Each morning, the old man would assemble the monkeys in his courtyard, and order the eldest one to lead the others to the mountains to gather fruits from bushes and trees. It was the rule that each monkey had to give one tenth of his collection to the old man. Those who failed to do so would be ruthlessly flogged. All the monkeys suffered bitterly, but dared not complain.

One day, a small monkey asked the other monkeys: "Did the old man plant all the fruit trees and bushes?" The others said: "No, they grew naturally." The small monkey further asked: "Can't we take the fruits without the old man's permission?" The others replied: "Yes, we all can." The small monkey continued: "Then, why should we depend on the old man; why must we all serve him?"

Before the small monkey was able to finish his statement, all the monkeys suddenly became enlightened and awakened.

On the same night, watching that the old man had fallen asleep, the monkeys tore down all the barricades of the stockade in which they were confined, and destroyed the stockade entirely. They also took the fruits the old man had in storage, brought all with them to the woods, and never returned. The old man finally died of starvation.

Yu-li-zi says, "Some men in the world rule their people by tricks and not by righteous principles. Aren't they just like the monkey master? They are not aware of their muddleheadedness. As soon as their people become enlightened, their tricks no longer work."

Necessary sources of political power
The principle is simple. Dictators require the assistance of the people they rule, without which they cannot secure and maintain the sources of political power. These sources of political power include: (Read more...)

What are you reading?

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I'm reading Great Scientists, a "children's book" by Victoria Sherrow. Bought this one years ago as a gift to my sisters, learning a lot these days reading its biographies of Pauling and Einstein, Oppenheimer and Fermi, Compton and Goddard, and a couple of biology researchers named Thomas Hunt Morgan and James Dewey Watson.
No chics on this list.
No chics on the list of Nigerian governors either.

On Thursday, I attended this year's speech and prize-giving ceremony at my alma-mater, Queen's College. Those students are the females who will someday make those lists.

What was special too, was that I live-blogged the event for my classmates. A summary will appear in the paper soon (Update: read online).

Ribadu moved on, nice and quiet

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Nuhu Ribadu only received 7% of the vote in the April 16th 2011 presidential election, but no problem, he has already returned to his job at the United Nations. He's visiting Afghanistan as an anti-corruption expert for the UN.
I meant to vote for Ribadu but was too busy covering the elections. Maybe I should join the ACN? Even if the political parties are all corrupt, Fashola and Ribadu at least represent the action required for development.

That's so California!

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You know I work at a news organization, but not as a writer. Well, I wrote something this morning: Arnold Schwarzenegger and Maria Shriver announce separation.
Not bad, eh?

Some borrowed words

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I started writing again this week. For more than a month prior, I'd not been able to think leisure. Then I started writing a short City Girl diary about a night on the town in Cairo. It's only slightly fictional. Later I'll write the Paris one, and one recent afternoon date in Lagos.

But this blog post is not about current writing, but about my first published book. I want to confess that I didn't write every single line myself. In some cases, I borrowed from some admired masters.

You already know that I dubbed Shakespeare in Indecision, and that the poem Rufus Wainwright ends with an amazing line from Rufus Wainwright's 'The Consort': together we'll wreak havoc - you and me. With this my current low-Rufus diet, sometime I'll come back to Rufus BIG-TIME. I can't wait.

There's more of course
"ninety-nine lovers" (in French Cat) is an exaggeration of Carla Bruni's thirty lovers, and
The First Lady's Oath adapts the popular oath of office, while
the entire music chapter borrows tunes from popular songs - Sinatra, rock, musicals - Annie and The Sound of Music.

In Festen (The Celebration), a poem named for the Scandinavian film about family secrets, "the seeming result of confusion" is from Natalie Cole's song "I'm glad there is you"
"How does it feel to be a problem?" the opening line of Prophecy II: Blame Game, is from W.E.B. DuBois's "The Souls of Black Folk."

And there are certainly more dubs in Yalla!, my upcoming collection to be published next month.

Hezni

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"Hezni," my beautiful friend Adam used to say. Hezni. After every sentence. Day one, when we met in Cairo near the now-famous Tahrir Square, we sat and talked for several hours, me drinking karkadiya, while he had _ (what was his drink? that bitter, maté-like thing perhaps?)
Hezni is literally "my sorrow" and he used this slang to mean "crap." Hezni this, hezni that, while he checked out my Nubian behind and hoped. :) I will never forget him.
One time we drank in a large coffee shop called "Arabesque" that had rough women flirting with richer men. I drew this nearly two years later, in 2010.

New job

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I have a new job. That's why I've been so busy. I edit www.234next.com

Raincoat

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What do you have against using protection?

Please try to learn. Ask your oyinbo brothers how they do it.

Happy Valentine's Day

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Bedroom Art.
Try to guess what I was thinking when I made it?

Bedroom Art: Valentine's Day

Oh yeah that's right I'm doing me

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I'm an academic (yay!) which is fun when you avoid the B.S. piled higher and deeper.

Some people embrace and promote the B.S. however. We need an opposing force to their style.
What I mean is that attitudes in academia are too often competitive and fear-based. Instead of
publish-or-perish - how negative that sounds -
why not a new mantra:
discover something useful/beautiful and share it.

--> procrastination station

Supporting

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WE SUPPORT YOU
by Tosin Otitoju
ootitoju@hotmail.com

Bi-l rouh, bi-l dam
With soul, with blood
Nafdik, yaa nass.
We support you, oh people.

You are one people united,
rich in soul and heart.
We have no better words
for you who give us hope:
We support you.

Bil rouh, bil dam
nafdik, yaa Comrade.

Creativity, how to generate ideas

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Later today I'm giving a talk to a student group at Unilag. Click to view the slides I'm using:

More lectures on The Creative Economy at googlesites/upnaira

Agric Chic

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Shall we call this agro chic, 'gric chic, or what?
From sketches I drew around New Years Day 2011

Men should wear man-shorts. Absolutely.

Return the didi (overhand weaving) and kiko (with thread).





We really need ventilation in our architecture.

and then there's all the cool things we can copy from Fulani, Yoruba, and Nigerian agrarian dress in general...

midriffs and gauze coveralls from the Fulani

staying cool in the heat with light fabric, airy styles, and raffia hats...

liking the singlet, embracing the wrapper...

This is clothing for the agrochic.

Bordello

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I just typed a poem that I wrote December 23 and rewrote last night. Did this after reading a little bit online about some engineering "research" for a meeting tomorrow. This after reading a little about my more-favoured research, which is on Sudoku, the game. This after having a ball teaching Calculus: Integration to a too-big class ( over 400 students, quite intractable, to be frank. The class held first thing in the morning AND right after the holidays, so the students are still fresh. But it also succeeded because I worked hard to prepare an interactive session. )

Well, I'm crazy, because besides those, I've blogged about my legislature and I've written a presentation on Thematic Unity for Creative Products, and even showered and dressed and checked out my friends' online. I just want to state that I know these kids :) Love.

Before I started writing this post, I was focused on the problem, the fact that after all these years, "research" is in quotes. Hey, that's life - some things niggle for long.
And hey, that's life, sometimes people don't notice all they've done right, and instead hone in on the tiny peccata. But now it's time to pat myself on the back, get breakfast lunch and a newspaper...

Been meaning to use the word "peccata" (Latin for sins, from Agnus Dei in the Mass) for a long time. Been hoping to write a review of Chimamanda! the phenomenon, and to state that her writing is free of peccata, technically speaking, and that somehow irritates me, like a too-round head. However, she keeps getting "better." Her new short story, Birdsong, reads nice and natural.

So someday when someone asks what I was thinking when I wrote "Road to the Bordello", I'll say something about being scared to hook-up with someone I instinctively mistrust. I might mention Chimamanda's reminder, through Birdsong, of the downsides to being a mistress. I'll mention the imagery produced by Vivian Green's audio performance of Cole Porter's "Love For Sale" on the soundtrack of De-Lovely. I'll only remember this thought process because I've written it now. Bordello rhymes with Costello, who I imagined dressed in a dandy hat and outfit - that's how I got the keyword, bordello. His spouse, Diana Krall, also sang on De-Lovely. I'll say that I imagined that the road to the bordello might pass through loss of faith.

ROAD TO THE BORDELLO

Because you are wild,
yearning, child-like
with greed –
What’s that, Love?
You love me?
You promise cruelty –

I am careworn,
hurt, worried,
aggrieved.
What’s that, Love?
A reason?
Hope’s beating eternally.

Because I believed you,
now to take charge,
by the horns.
What’s that, Love?
By the balls?
Come, walk this way.

One great upper body

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Although when I watched him performing his solo "My Exile is in my Head" I was a little worried for Qudus Onikeku - he was losing so much fluid (sweat), and yeah, generally such intense head-jerking can't be good for you.

He followed some Desi (Indian) strings in the solo, which was superb, especially the bit with his fingers plucking, you know, posed like an Indian dancer. Very memorable, I copy that move now sometimes. Like now. Like last night I was suddenly happy.

To love Qudus, catch him on stage somewhere in the world, or read his writings. Lucid as anything.

QUDUS.blogspot.com

Come Dance With Me

Poetry by Qudus Onikeku

P.S. Nothing wrong with the lower body, I just didn't see it. That can be fixed, no?

Full of book

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Sometimes I agree completely with Tolu Ogunlesi. Here are two examples:

Q: "There has been an upsurge in the number of young writers emerging from Nigeria side-by-side with a publishing industry that is sadly not big enough to accommodate them. What are your views on publishing in Nigeria?
There is very little publishing going on in Nigeria. Very little, if you take our population and the vibrancy of the literary community into account. But there is certainly a great deal of printing going on. That in itself is not a bad thing, but we need to match that printing with an entire structure of editors, marketing personnel, bookstores, literary magazines, book reviewers, distribution systems, writing workshops, writing grants and scholarships, etc. Only then can we boast of having a publishing industry.
Kudos to publishers like Kachifo and..."
From the article: I buy books the way our politicians steal money – as if there’ll be no tomorrow, written by Gbenga Awomodu for Bellanaija.com

Q: Have you ever imitated another writer’s style?
You often can’t help it, what you read influences what and how you write, often unconsciously. Life as a writer is often about being at the mercy of a million competing voices in your head, offering possibilities on how and what
to write about… what they call your voice or your style is a mélange of all these voices, whipped into shape by your own stubbornness and instinct…"
From the Interview: Poor Citizens, Poor Reading Culture, found on Bellanaija.com and written by Temitayo Olofinlua

Fanning the flames

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Look what I was thinking 10 years ago: "defending the free world."
When I was typing my entry for Person of The Year in CLDC (that famous computer lab) at Howard University, I had no idea my words would be printed in TIME. I would have been too shy to actually write something in TIME.

In Nigeria, I've seen (attributed to Pat Utomi, and now echoed by several people) calls for a part-time legislature, and I've started one part-time legislature.
Today we're discussing automatic termination for public servants.
http://upnaira.blogspot.com/p/simple-chat.html

Not Too Much Pepper

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NOT TOO MUCH PEPPER
by Tosin Otitoju
ootitoju@hotmail.com

My team has a reputation for being capable and effective. We get the job done - no excuses. We are Funmi (that’s me), Bala, IK, Deeza, Ekpenyong, and Robert.

The youngest is Robert, who we like to call “Robot.” He’s spending his IT (Industrial Training) semester with us. In only two months, he has already solved so many of our computer problems. I’m sure he’ll be offered a job with us when his traineeship is over.

Bala is a former lecturer. It was he who suggested that we hire a university student to do all the high-tech things we don’t understand. Unlike some nepotistic people, he picked Robot although they’re from entirely different parts of the country. I applaud Bala for creating a win-win situation as usual: Robot gets income, experience, and a guaranteed job offer come October, while Bala gains free time (higher productivity means more free time) to daydream about getting Deeza’s attention, if you know what I mean.

Deeza is our boss. Though only thirty-something, she knows how to handle her job. She balances the need of the directors to see results (results = owo, ego, kudi) with our need to have fun at work and not be too stressed. She makes sure we get good bonuses at year-end and is even negotiating for us to hold company shares.

Ekpenyong is one of those self-effacing workers: you can imagine someone who is always at work on time, ever-willing to fill in for others, and always has wisdom to spare when one of us has a problem. We call him Father Ekpenyong for his listening ear and his good advice. His wife is a fantastic cook, so we always look forward to getting invited to parties at his home. Without him, there would be a big gap in our team, emotionally speaking.

What can I say about I.K.? IK talks fast, walks fast, and only occasionally stops to joke around. Sometimes when we don’t know how to get something done, he just blurts out a simple comment that does the trick. For example, we stopped working with small accounts because IK says big accounts are “the way things are done.” I admire his genius in marketing. I know he’s eager to start his own company, so I doubt he’ll stay long with us.

There! I just introduced my work team. My role at work is communication guru since I actually enjoy writing and working with languages.

We’re planning for the “Unity in Diversity” bid, so Deeza needs my one-page concept this afternoon, and Father Ekpenyong is looking over my first draft. He is reading aloud, “…think of Nigeria as another team, but a team with countless people, a greater diversity of strength profiles, and of course, several languages.”

“This is a good start, in terms of framing the context,” he concludes. “Now you need to think of the mood.”

Bala called out, “is that for United We Stand?”

“Enhe,” said Father Ekpenyong.

“Let me see.” He came round to Father Ekpenyong’s desk. “Mood, you say. It’s true. It’s good though.”

“She’ll still come up with some characters to teach the lesson,” said Father Ekpenyong.

“Just don’t use broom.”

“Funny,” I countered. There was a popular tale about a wise man that showed his squabbling sons that sticks are easily broken, but not when united as a broom. It would be too traditional for our target demographic.

“It all boils down to broom…if you like, call it vacuum cleaner,” Father Ekpenyong quipped. He argued that if the fable wasn’t so effective – simple, relevant, and punchy, as he defined effectiveness – it would not have been preserved a thousand years. “That writer created a phenomenon,” Father Ekpenyong said.

“You’re saying they used brooms a thousand years ago? Maybe the first fable was about cleaning leaves. You can tear one leaf, but many leaves?” Bala was joking again.

“They used fingers in those days, Bala. The man broke his sons’ fingers to teach them about the united hand.”

Bala winced. “Ah, that’s wicked,” he said.

The phone rang for Father Ekpenyong and I decided to get back to writing. “Give me my paper,” I said, my left hand reaching for the sheet.

“But you know what? You can only eat tuwo with all your fingers.”

After I reminded Bala that oyinbos eat swallow with one finger, he offered, “but can one finger scoop the soup with the swallow?”

Father Ekpenyong had just ended his phonecall, and turned to us. “Young man, you’re making me hungry,” he said.

“And I have to hurry. Bala, you’re wasting my time.”

Bala took his leave, saying he had to look over a report. I took my paper back to my desk and got in my head.

Mood. I want to create something very ethnic. I want the audience in the end to smell the cotton and the indigo dye; to hear the sounds. Not moo-d which sounds like patch-coloured cattle on a wet Dutch farm, but the gbam-gbam-gbim-gbim bursting from loudspeakers that go till six in the morning. Onomatopoeia is such a thing with us.

The drum beats - the Yoruba talking drum - plus the silver microphone and large black loudspeakers. With little prompting, Yorubas erect their tarpaulin tents in the middle of the street. Say someone survives an accident, dies, gives birth, gets older, travels, returns, goes to school, gets a promotion, … not to mention marriage, and it’s party time.

There are young men to unstack the rented plastic chairs and wipe everything with gray rags. There are women who stayed up half the night tending the large round pots on outdoor cooking fires. Everybody is welcome to join in but I learned that some people are actually annoyed at the “gbe-gu-ru gbe-gu-ru noise all the time.”

That’s what I.K. told me. It was also I.K. who told me that Yorubas like pepper. Youth Service year found him learning to cook rice and stew, he said, as he could no longer handle the excessive pepper at the bukas.

Soon enough, he got to taste my cooking. It was one day, we needed to go to the office - rare for a Saturday. Since my aunt had taken the car out, I phoned to ask him for a ride. He hemmed and hawed and said he hadn’t even eaten yet. I promised him lunch so he swung by to pick me up. The dining table was laid out with table cloth, serving spoons, and all that. He said that we wouldn’t have time to eat, so I packed our lunch in plastic bowls and we took off.

We ate while doing our edits. Afterwards, he thanked me for lunch, saying that there was not even too much pepper. I tell you: December 6 was a good day. Finally I.K. had noticed me not as the writer-girl-in-skirt-suit, but as a potential wife and homemaker. He offered to drop me off at home after work.

In the car, we talked about insults. There are so many words of abuse: you’re mad, you’re stupid, idiot, your head is not correct, imbecile, monkey, goat, animal, useless, good-for-nothing…

I.K. felt that insults only work on people with low confidence. “If you’re not stupid,” he said, “why would you care about being compared with a stupid animal?”

I asked him what insults people used in his language, since I only knew “onyara.”

“Onyara is a mad person, what you people call we-re,” he replied.

I added, “you know they never just say that. It would be ‘were iranu’, or ‘olosi to ri re ti daru patapata’, never simple.”

“Yoruba people can abuse!”

“It’s like poetry,” I said, interested in explaining how the insults were really verbal displays, and one could rather enjoy the artistry. “When someone says ‘won kan ri goloto goloto bi adiye Agric’ – that is metaphor that is morphologically and dynamically descriptive. It is so full of contempt that it’s funny.”

He asked, smiling, “What is ‘olodo rabata’?”

“When have you ever been called that?” I caught his eye.

“No one insults me. I’m not stupid,” he replied, full of that boyish smile and manly confidence.

We soon arrived at my gate, and he honked so that someone came to open up. I stepped out of the car. When we waved goodbye, I felt I could not wait till Monday to see him again.

What I love about I.K. is how focused he is. While Yoruba men get “honey” wherever they can, Ibo men focus on money. The stereotype is that the Ibo boy will start from apprenticeship and move up to his own business: import-export, contract supply, or ‘whatever’s clever.’ At forty, he is finally considered an eligible bachelor, with enough money to buy a wife.

I.K. is not forty. He is young and well-built. And he went to school.

But, as the stereotype goes, the rich man soon has a dozen in-laws to educate, clothe, house - it’s no joke. His very-highly educated Ibo housewife starts to give birth. She gets fatter and yellower, both considered signs of good living. Assuming his finances don’t crash, the queen of his castle is pampered with head-to-toe gaudiness – red and gold George wrappers, real jewelry, good wigs, trips abroad, …

I won’t get fatter.

When I was up north for Youth Service, the joke was that Yoruba men are great philanderers. Whether newly-wed or grey-haired, they continue to ‘appreciate’ women. Unlike the independent Ibos, the Yoruba focus on respect – of subjects for their king, of women for their men, and respect for elders. Perhaps as a result, their families consist of randy men, long-suffering women, and over-disciplined kids. Only a Yoruba woman would be the bread-winner, cook and clean, look great, and still get beaten up by her husband. She duly diverts her anger into verbal display and physical battery on her kids.

I shudder.

Mood. Mud. Flowing dansiki with cream stripes on a base of red-purple. Mud and dust. Large drums and bata dancers. The stiff, striped cotton twirls like so many peacocks. Women dance with their backsides leading the way. Dancers know true joy. The red-purples jump with excitement. Kpom. Kpom-kpom-kpom.

There is dust. One horse saddled in brightly-dyed leather. A man blows a long trumpet reminiscent of the desert - Agadez or Timbuctu. A thick procession. A giant umbrella covers horse and rider. Rider wrapped in cloths – a flowing robe and a ton folded around and around his head. The horn bellowing pfon-pfon-pfonnn.

A community of ladies in orange George wrappers and white, off-the-shoulder blouses. They cheer and start singing and clapping. Their blouses are embroidered and appliquéd and affixed with sequins and rhinestones. They move with swaying torsos and surprisingly complex footwork. They look queenly with the stiff headties piled atop their shiny black hair. One of them takes a white handkerchief to her forehead. Her arm is fat and reddish-yellow. I know I.K. deserves better.

Photography

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No, I'm not taking photographs,
but check these out from The Dustbin Estate Story at BellaNaija.com

I commented,
"these photographs are amazing, and I envision using pictures of real people and places – the riverine shanties, the dustbin estates, the pans of sand carried all day till the men are hunched like Quasimodo, and the guys and girls that work solid rock with their hoes in the name of agriculture, etc – for decoration in the government offices in Abuja...

"Currently they prefer “art” that further insulates them from the country. Let’s keep it real. Calling our photographers: our TY Bello and our Yinka Obebe, our Elechi Amadi-Obi and our Sinem Bilem-Onabanjo, our you and our me, to make a gift of true Nigerian photographs of the highest quality (gift or contract, na you sabi) to the State Houses of Assembly, the Courts, the Presidency, the Government Houses, the Central Mosque, the Senate, the Money church, … lest they forget that some people have got toooo little from this Union called Nigeria and we/they need to be inspired by their suffering."

Fun this morning

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I had fun reading the Friday papers: next and BusinessDay

Yes I know The Guardian is classic,
and The Nation is realistic
and This Day is mainstream,
and Punch surprises...

but how I love

the youthfulness of 234next (ps i even saw my youthful self in the paper today - i must be like, a celeb or something)

and the intelligence of BusinessDay.

These two must be my favourite Nigerian newspapers at the moment.

I missed it again

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In my future life every year I'll
do the Arab Film Festival like it's 2006.
Me and my Rafa ;)

Prosefully yours

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The Nigeria art (literary, musical, ...) space is on fire with content.
Here are three novels that I think you will have so much fun reading. Fun is important, no?

Tenants of The House
An intelligent and fast-paced adventure about politricks in the national legislature.
Buy online or in a few bookstores.

I Do Not Come To You By Chance
I previously discussed it here.
It's on amazon, goodreads, in stores, etc.

Under The Brown Rusted Roofs
Oh-so-funny Yoruba-Literature-In-English, a love song to Ibadan, full of wit and wisdom.
It's probably not online yet, but I get it at the University of Lagos bookshop.

My book is not online yet (so sorry) but I hear it's in a bookstore on Lagos Island, with more coverage to come. Thanks to all those who've showed lovve for Comrade in various ways.

Flower Seller

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I'm reading Capital, by Karl Marx.
Diego Rivera's paintings seem to fit the theme of exploitation of labour that so consumed Marx.

In the middle of this, I got to attend (and be on a panel at) the Nigerian Economic Summit. Let's just say it's about time truth gave corruption a knockout punch.

Brother Nielsen

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Michael Nielsen shares a lot.
His is one of the first blogs I followed (from 2003-ish)
I'm going to re-read some of his essays soon.
His general essays discuss the scientific method and the scientific enterprise.
I used to have his popular technical book on Quantum Computation and Quantum Information, bought at Borders.

He is great because it's easy for him to think outside the box about such issues as collaboration and incentive in science, where surprisingly many other genius-y people are stomped. How many professional innovators find it hard to innovate when it comes to their own accepted ways of doing things!

The other day a Prof. I admire was talking about promotion criteria, journal rankings, and all that scientific village culture, and I said audibly to myself: but I don't care.