Checking in with randoms

This is my tenth attempt at trying to write this post. I've not been motivated to write/post.

I believe people would have reacted differently if President Goodluck had announced that University of Lagos would now be named Lord Lugard University in honor of the colonial administrator rather than Moshood Abiola University. All these talks of the UNILAG brand would be absent.

This month wasn't kind to my mental health. I experienced the worst depression, anxiety, panic attacks and stress ever. I reached a place of absolute hopelessness and a new low. I lost my motivation to do anything meaningful, and I cried a lot for no reason. My eyes were like a leaking faucet. Everything made me cry endlessly. I was a physical and emotional mess. 

I've been seeing a therapist for my depression and sexual identity issues. My therapist has the cutest eyes and the most amazing smile ever. Okay, I think she's cute and I have a little crush on her, which I know isn't good. I get excited whenever I have to see her. Seeing her is more therapy than the "counselling" she actually provides. We've been working on developing self-acceptance, and balancing religion and culture --two things that prevent me from completely accepting my sexual orientation. Therapy hasn't really been helpful.   It's like I've either read, heard, or tried everything before. She gives me little assignments that I don't really do, but then I lie that I did them and make up comments about what I learned or experienced from the assignment. I know I'm undermining myself, but I simply don't feel like doing some of things she recommends.  

Weirdly, I've been REALLY happy for the past few days.  

I had a good memorial day holiday. I ate a lot of animals. One chicken thigh here, one steak there, some pork there. Poor animals. My aunt had a big party, and my family from all around was present. I was most excited to catch up with some of little cousins and my grand aunt and uncle. It was also nice to meet new people.

We live in a small world. I was surprised to meet my dad's best friend and his family who live in another state at the cookout. I haven't seen them for 5 years. All I could think about was how good those five years have been to his sons, who are about my age. They had suddenly blossomed into very good looking and attractive young men. In fact, I walked past one of them a couple of times without recognizing him. I was also amazed by the attitude transformation that they have undergone in the five years.They used to be very snobbish,quiet, and shy, but at the party they were very friendly and open.  It was a pleasure to see them again and connect with them in a way that I've never done before. Now that I think about it, I kinda wonder what they thought of me.

Sometimes I forget that all families are not as conservative as mine. I liked all the comments I read on the last post about parental nakedness, but I found Naija mom in London's comment particularly interesting as a woman who allows her sons to see her nude. It made me wonder whether it is also okay for a father to be naked around his young daughters. Is it? Is that what people do?

I remember the first time that I discovered that some families don't wear clothes when they are at home. I was in primary school at the time and I went to visit a friend who lived down the street. I don't recall whether I rang the bell before I entered her house or not, but either way, I was surprised to find the whole family watching TV in the nude. I did an awkward double take. It had never crossed my mind before that day that some people sit around their house naked. At home my parents wouldn't even let us tie wrappers or towels. "Decency" aka not-showing-any-skin was a core message at Deeper Life, and my parents took it seriously. See there's a reason why I'm emotionally messed up today. I wish my parents took me to a different church when I was young. A church that didn't constantly preach about hell fire or show traumatizing movies of hell to children in Sunday school. Today whenever I think of my life, I think of hell fire. I've somehow convinced myself that hell fire is waiting for me because of my sexuality.  Ehn... I don't know. God is good. 


I like this video I saw on Bella Naija.





These celebrities proved to me that you can take a man out of his village, but you can't take the village out of him. They way they were acting in the pool was as if they were at the stream in their village.

• "Swimming" in underwear -- check
• Flapping your hands/legs up and down like a bird with it's head cut off, yet convincing yourself that you're swimming-- check
• Swimming without a clue where you're going because you can't open your eyes in water-- check
• Standing up after "swimming" and wiping your burning eyes excessively while breathing heavily as if you just swarm across the Atlantic --check
• Having fun with the same sex without bothering about people thinking it's gay -- check
• The only thing missing is that there is not one naked person, and there are no buckets or gallons to carry water away from the pool. 

The video brought back memories of the village to me. The stream was actually one reason why I loved going to my mom's village. My grandparents' house was mixture of modern and traditional. The compound had a modern house and a traditional house. The normal house had good water, electricity, other modern amenities, while the traditional house had outdoor bathrooms, a pit toilet, and a kitchen that came from a home design catalog from the middle ages. My grandparents used the traditional house more than they used the normal house. In fact, my grandmother never used the normal kitchen or amenities. She cooked over firewood, and used only water from the stream for cooking and bathing. So we had to always have water from the stream.

Going to the stream to fetch water was among my favorite things to do in the village because it was my opportunity to get away from my grandparents who I thought hated me because of all the criticisms they had about me. I could run around and do me at the stream without having to worry about my grandparents saying something that broke my spirit. The stream was also the place where I had my first kiss. Just kidding. I meant to write fight. Good ol' Lagos me was going to battle one village girl who had said something about me. No wonder my grandparents were constantly mad at me. Before I could say Jack Robertson, the girl had tightly grabbed my shirt and was close to laying punches on me. Luckily, a cousin of mine was there to fight the girl in my place. My cousin took my place not because she was nice, but because she knew I couldn't fight and I would have been terribly disgraced in front of the crowd at the stream. And if I was humiliated, she also would be humiliated because we're from the same family. This post don long sha. 

Have you ever seen your mother naked?

I watched this clip on The Huffington Post and I thought it would be interesting to hear from my Africans. So, my people, have you ever seen your mom naked?

 

I've never seen my mom naked, but I saw my grandma partially naked. She walked around bare chested and she had like double D sized boobs, which I found very disturbing when I was a kid :/

Campaign work + peeing + letting go of anonymity

Ba wo ni? I haven't updated this space in a month. I've been busy serving as an adviser on Baybay Looking Glass' student government campaign, and learning how to pee standing up. BLG's $40 campaign started on a high. Her election for class historian was certain because she had no competitors. But just two weeks ago, about 3 other students joined the race, so now she's in a heated battle for the seat. Fortunately, the high school students are not using any pages out of the presidential election. The race has remained free of negative ads. 

Did you think you'd see my pictures all around this post? Well, sorry. I don't have pictures, but I have a video. Even better, right? Ehn... maybe not so much, considering that my face is open and not open at the same time. I think I've written here before about how I used to mix music back when I was in high school. I no longer have the stuff to do it, but yesterday, BLG made music for me on her ipad with Garage band. So I wrote a rap and made a video with Google. This is what boredom does to people. (Remember the pants in the video?)

About learning to pee standing up, I was just joking. One day I wanted to search for something on Google, so I opened my browser and started typing Google in the browse thingy. I typed the first two letters, expecting my browser to complete the rest, but then I pressed enter before it completed it and I was directed to a website that sells a device that helps use the bathroom while standing. I'd never heard of such a thing until that day. I think it's kinda cool and weird at the same time. Here's there commercial:

Alright have a beautiful week.

Weekend luv

Some people sleep better at night when they have louboutin shoes in their closet. I sleep better when I know I have okporoko in my fridge and a bagco super sack bag in my cabinet.

This one just arrived from Naija. It was filled with goody goodies. Very soon it will try to become Americanized. This bag that used to carry yams and garri from the market without blinking will be complaining that it can't carry simple bread, cheese, and yogurt from the grocery store to the car. It will also tell me not to call it bago super sack: we don win because the name is too razz and no one can say it. 

I’ve been dancing azonto ever since I got this ukwa (not sure about the spelling).  Be jealous. Be very jealous. It doesn't get any fresher than this. This one is straight from the unpaved streets of my village. No refrigeration, no preservatives. From street hawker, to box, to plane, to yankee, to my stomach. When I placed the first handful in my mouth, it was like I won the mega millions lottery. Ukwa was among the few things that I looked forward to whenever we went to the village. The Lagos one never tasted  as good as the village one. 

There are some things that black people should just not do. For instance, we do not have the privilege of running around a bank at any moment without people looking at us suspiciously.  I and BLG made that mistake this week. We both went to the bank a few minutes before it closed. On second thought, we decided to use the ATMS outside the building, rather than go inside. We each went to different ATMs, and we finished our transactions at about the same time. When BLG realized this, she decided to run ahead to the car, so that she could claim to be faster than me. I, on the other hand, was not going to let her claim this title of faster-working person, so I decided to run as well (immature, I know. But it’s one of the few immature things that BLG makes me do. Never blame those mommies of babies and toddlers who speak with babytalk to everyone. These kids have a way of taking over your life without your permission. Soon you find yourself doing things you never thought you would ever do). When we reached the car, we both realized that the scene we had created was a dangerous one. Two black people in hoodies running from the bank, it’s by God’s grace that we weren’t shot and olopa wasn’t called. I’m not ridiculous. Remember that Harvard professor that was arrested for trying to get into his own house, and what about Trayvon Martins. We can’t be too careful as black people, especially when we’re around paranoid, subliminally racist, white people in the suburbs. 

Google has been so annoying recently. She’s been displaying homophobic behavior. The other day, she randomly repeatedly shouted “all homosexuals will go to hell.” We went on to have a huge argument about the statement. I wasn’t being defensive; I didn’t appreciate the way she was cherry picking the Bible. Why didn't she talk about the adulterers, liars, and other sinners listed in that Bible passage? Then another day, out of nowhere, she again started quoting the Leviticus scripture that says no man shall lay with a man. Then yesterday, out of randomville, she came to me and was like, “hmm… I think I now understand how people are born gay.” She went on to explain nothing new in a very annoying voice. 

On another note, I'm still trying to walk the straight path :). I flirted with a guy who was twice arrested for gun possession and robbery. I like bad boys. Not! The flirting occurred at the instruction of my friend-- peer pressure. We were hanging out, and then we meet the guy. He had all the shallow things people check when they first meet someone, plus he's educated, works a good job, and articulate. When he started talking to me, my friend decided to bounce; however, before she left, she instructed me to flirt with him. She's a childhood friend who has been trying to get me straight, so I didn't want to let her down that day. I decided to persevere and talk to the dude despite his checkered past, which she was unaware of. (The things this dude said, chai. I had to wash my ears with hand sanitizer, soap, and water when I got home.) My friend kept checking in with her eyes from across the room. And whenever I wasn't doing enough for her liking, she would signal it. Whenever I flirted, she winked or gave me a thumbs up. Long story short, I continued to flirt with the guy to make my friend happy.  I later discovered from another friend who works with the guy that he has been unable to completely put his criminal past behind him. He has discussed his wishes to abandon his normal great life in order to sell drugs and even rob banks. #Nawasha

Well, I'm still hanging in there. It's not fun at all. Despite the difficulty, I hope to make it work. Here are two "testimonies" of lesbians who were "converted." Unfortunately, I don't believe they've been delivered. They are only going through the asexual phase I went through when I got born again in college. I've shared my story of how I asked the Lord to take away my homosexuality when I was saved, and how I believed I was delivered when I became asexual. But then out of no where, this thing came back again. So I now believe that the sign of someone who has been delivered is that they would be effortlessly attracted to the opposite sex, until then, forget it. Sadly, these women may soon realize the homo in them is only lurking around the corner. 

Alright, have a great Easter

Remember my post on NYSC? Well here is Foxy P's perspective. #True talk #Well said

#Well Said.


I still believe that most people who have lived outside Nigeria do not need NYSC. For the most part, living abroad (Whether it is in Ghana or Tunisia) teaches you to appreciate diversity, inclusion, and NIGERIA  more than NYSC ever would.The FG should make it optional for foreign trained students. This isn't about preferential treatment, it's just speaking the truth. I'm sure that if Nnamdi Azikiwe and the other founding fathers of post-colonial Nigeria were alive today, they would totally scrap NYSC because they understand the profound appreciation for one's original country that is developed when living abroad. It's not a coincidence that almost all the independence fighters across colonial nations had lived/studied abroad.

(Just my 2 kobo).

Have a beautiful month. We don enter the second quarter of this year. Can u believe it?

P.S: My post on NYSC)

Weekend randoms

The last few days have been fabulous. I received positive feedback on two projects I’d been working on, and I got to see Nneka live. Her performance exceeded my expectations. For some reason I came away thinking that her records don’t really do her voice justice, or maybe it was the technology she used while performing;  Gosh, that girl is a talented singer. However, when it comes to speaking? Em… I don't know. I cringed a couple of times when she spoke, and I kept thinking how about you just sing and leave the talking? She sounded like she was on some kind of high. I'm sure that if I counted how many complete sentences she used, I'd have just one or two. Don’t worry, I’m not being mean. I'm not always articulate. Sometimes when I speak, my words don't seem to come out how I want them to. I say lots of “um,” I pause awkwardly between words, I mix up the order of the words, and I sometimes speak slowly, which throws me off my train of thoughts. So as you can imagine, I’m not exactly gifted in the speaking department.

On the Trayvon issue, here's a nice video put together by students at Howard University. Unfortunately, I couldn't keep myself from answering in the affirmative each time they asked the question, "Do I look suspicious?" I quit teaching at a troubled school in DC because I was scared of the black men in hoodies and dreads who hung around doing nothing. I just never felt safe. 



 I always have nothing but questions whenever I read of the low pass rates on WAEC and JAMB. Why we are still using those antiquated exams? When last were they reviewed or updated? Who are the people in charge of the exams? What is the Ministry of Education doing to help more students pass the exams?  What does the result say about Nigeria's educational system. It bothers me that generations after generations continue to have their dreams squashed in the name of low JAMB and WAEC scores. ..smh. Only God will deliver Nigeria. Oops, I misspoke mistyped. Only a person with big vision, perseverance, and integrity will deliver Nigeria.

French class +Bad teachers + Flirting + Art

It's been a while since I've written a post. I've been trying to spice things up. I mean the kind of variety I've served you guys this month. Let's see from wonderful child performers, to roll your eyes child performers, to azonto dances-- myself included, yes, girl, I did put up a video of myself attempting dancing Azonto. Shout out to Beautiful, who commented on my lovely behind...hahaha. Girl, I've been injecting cement and industrial silicone into that booty, it was about time that someone noticed. Just kidding. Any way, hope yall are doing good. I wore a hoodie on Monday and it hit me that I was wearing a dangerous piece of clothing. god knows I had to be up to nothing good in that hoodie. As soon as I put it on, I suddenly had a desire to go rob a seven-eleven and a bank. But I thank God for preventing me from carrying out my thoughts. 

So my French class is over. Je peux maintenant parler français comme si j'étais née à Paris après seulement 2 mois. For those of you who are illiterate in French, I wrote "I can now speak French like I was born in Paris after only 2 months." What? Why are you looking at me funny? Okay, okay, I lied. Google Translate just wrote that. On the last day of class, we were to give a presentation about ourselves in French. Oh boy, for some reason people tend to be more honest when they speak a foreign language. There were all sorts of confessions that sent chills down my spine. I had no inkling of the things my class mates were capable of. There was the woman who said she killed her husband in order to claim his life insurance. There was the dude who said he's addicted to child pornography. Then there was the lady who I've become friends with who said she used to be a high end prostitute. She said she only slept with clients who had a minimum net worth of $10 million. My mouth was on the floor by the end of the presentations. The personal stories got more bizarre with each presentation. I nearly shit in my pants when the guy who I had given my number to the previous week said that he'd gone to jail for stalking. What? Why are you looking at me funny? Okay, I'd admit it: I'm bad at lying. The personal presentations only reveled the usually things: Oh I have a dog named Pedro. My cat really has 9 lives. I'd love to live in Paris and get kissed under the Eiffel tower. I work as an accountant for the government. I moved here last summer from California to start my life all over after I discovered my boyfriend was gay.  On a serious note though, the class was wonderful. I'd definitely miss the teacher. She wanted everyone to sign up for the next level of the class which will start next week. She said we were were her best group of students :P. Around the third or fourth week of class, there was a local newspaper article that  about a French teacher a few miles away who taught a French class to the SAME group of students for more than 50 years. The students liked the teacher so much that they continued to come back to her class. My teacher loved the story. She shared it so many times in class. She said she wished she could have that with us, because she really liked the group of students in the class. I think we all liked her too because everyone in class, except me, signed up for the next level. I couldn't because the time of the class conflicts with my schedule. 

Anyway, moving on. So at the beginning of the school year when Baby Looking Glass (BLG) received her schedule of classes, I was super excited when I found out that my high school Chemistry teacher, Mrs Chem, was also going to be Baby's teacher. I was jumping in the air and somersaulting like an Olympic gymnast because the teacher was the best I had in high school. She's a born teacher. You come into her class an olodo, but you leave knowledgeable enough to separate conjoined twins. There was never a dull moment in her class, and she always had candy, pizza, ice cream or some other junk food for us. She forever changed the way I think of Chemistry. So I was pretty psyched that BLG would learn from her. After the first couple of classes, BLG always came home super excited about Chemistry. She had nothing but positive stories to share about Mrs Chem. Well, with more than two-thirds of the school year gone, BLG is definitely no longer singing the praises of Mrs Chem. All she does these days is only complain about her. Mrs Chem hasn't lost her ability to explain rocket science like it's the alphabet, and she still brings junk food to class; however, she also gives out all the answers whenever she gives out exams and test. That's her latest development.  You should be happy about this when you're a teenager in high school, right? 

Well, apparently, not BLG and her class mates. This is the first time in her life that she's had a teacher who would hand out the exams, wait for a few minutes, and then announce all the answers. The first few times Mrs Chem did it at the beginning of the year, BLG and her friends were super happy. But these days they hate it. Mrs Chem teaches so well that they understand everything and they want to challenge themselves on the exams. BLG has also been feeling anxious about the upcoming state exam, which would be monitored by an external consultant, because she has never really done any exam in the class without hearing the answers from Mrs Chem. 

This is getting long. I wanted to write about the dude I flirted with the other day... :P Hmm... maybe I'd write it another time. I'll end with pictures. It's been a while since I've posted about art. Here's what I do every now and then when I'm on the metro. Believe it or not, the 5th picture is of dicks. Is that what they're called? I'd just go with the anatomical name. Those are penises that Google drew. And in picture 10, well, I tried to draw pussies. We're a bit challenged when it comes to drawing genitals, but that's okay.

Google's penises

vaginas

Child performas

When some kids take the stage, they have that something something that makes you go ...





... (even when they really really suck).
These talented kids in this azonto video, for instance, bring out the awws in you.



And then there are some kids, like this 12 year old musician in the video below, that take the stage and your first reaction is...






Followed by

And finally

Mm Hmm

When I hit play I was like this for a few seconds



For some reason I was like this at the end






Now about the substance of the song, I'm still like this

A long post of randoms

Why do Nigerians/Africans in America like to think they’re better than African Americans (AA)? The list of negative things we say about AA is endless; for example, AA have no culture, AA are dumb, AA act ghetto, AA can’t read and don’t value education; AA are promiscuous and don’t respect marriage the way we do. I read a Facebook post written by a Nigerian that compared Nigerians to AA. The comparison was extremely brutal and unfair to AA. It glorified Nigerians in America as smart, intelligent, innovative go-getters and the AAA as the opposite and worse. If the point of the post had been to get Nigerians in America to feel like they’re 100% better than AA, the mission was accomplished to perfection. The conclusion of the post was that Nigerians are radically different from AA, almost like apples and oranges.

In the past I bought into the comparison thing, but now I think it’s all BS. What’s the point? As BLACK people, we should all be ashamed of our race. We have collectively failed as a race; it doesn’t matter whether you’re AA, a Nigerian in Nigeria or America, a black Brazilian, or a black person in Africa. I think our race is yet to live up to its full potential. Just take a look at our continent. We can’t manage ourselves; we’re not nearly as innovative as we should be; we’re corrupt; we have health issues; Na wa sha! Only black people! Everyone claims it’s the system that’s to blame, but I’m not sure. Maybe it’s just us. I’m sure that if we transport Africa to America, we’ll manage to ruin it and make it just like Africa. I think the Nigerian Embassies in America kindda prove this point. IDK.   

Whitney Houston is dead at 48. Isn’t it sad that that is the average Nigerian life expectancy --talk about the enormous talents and human resource loss that Nigeria and most of Africa is experiencing.

I think Nigeria should waive NYSC requirement for students who studied abroad. The one year service requirement is too long and has exacerbated the brain drain problem. I’ve met a lot of creative Nigerians with great ideas and talent who are reluctant to return home and implement their visions for Nigeria because of the dreaded NYSC. Many of these Nigerians don’t wish to work permanently in Nigeria. Most want to come in for only a couple of years before returning back abroad.

Speaking of Nigerians abroad--maybe I should say Nigerians in America since that’s what I’m familiar with—I have to say they inspire me with all the degrees they earn. I remember what I went to one Naija church where everyone had an advanced degree of some sort and worked with top organizations.  It was almost a shame to have only a bachelor’s degree or to work for an ordinary employer. But then I read articles like that Zambian Intellectual article and I start to ask myself questions, such as what are we doing with all this knowledge? Why aren’t we using it to build Nigeria?

Oh never mind, we have a government that hinders progress.

Maybe we should copy India and create a ministry that caters to Nigerians in the diaspora.

Why are Nigerian leaders experts in backwardness? Why can’t we have progressive, visionary leadership? It’s unfortunate that the result of changes proposed or implemented by our leaders always seem to be negative and backward. For example, the recent rule that youth corpers will only serve in remote regions.

I always sit up in my chair whenever I come across research out of Nigerian universities. The first time I read a Nigerian research paper was when I was working on HIV. The paper was from a study done by doctors at UCH, Ibadan, on HIV. The last Nigerian journal article I read was based on research done at Delta State University on the effect of gas flaring on agriculture. I won’t lie sha, I tend to read them with a lot more skepticism than normal, even though they’re in peer reviewed journals. Maybe I’m just cynical, but I don’t exclude data/research fabrication from the arsenal of Nigerians. One thing I’ve observed though, is how difficult some of the papers are to read simply because our people LOVE grammar and BIG words. I came across another oil related research paper from either OAU or University of Ilorin and I couldn’t even get past the first line. It was full of chemical names and what not. I’d been doing research on the subject matter and was pretty well versed on the subject, yet I couldn’t comprehend the paper. I gave up after the first paragraph.  I didn’t have time to be opening dictionary, thesaurus, and textbooks just to read one paper.

I'm currently reading a novel about a middle-aged woman who has to decide whether to give her ex-husband who abandoned her and their kids a second chance or pursue an exciting passionate relationship with a new flame. I've been unable to totally enjoy the book ever since I asked myself what I would do if I were in the character's shoes. I've been cracking my head and drinking panadol since the question popped in my head. Up to this point in my life, I've never thought about what I'd do if someone cheated on me. I don't know the answer. Is this one of those questions we need to have an answer for ahead of time or what and see? 

P.S: I wrote this around midnight without editing, so please pardon my English :D.