tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-168117962024-03-13T09:54:00.726-07:00A penny for my thoughts?...make it a millionI see in wordsMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.comBlogger303125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-31103710472184971412011-12-27T11:56:00.001-08:002011-12-27T12:05:41.519-08:00My new websiteHello old friends,<br />It is with great pleasure that I would like to announce my new online base and invite you to visit my new home...<br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"> <a href="http://bani-productions.com/">www.bani-productions.com</a></span><br /><br />From now on, any and all new posts will be on there while this site will be archived for posterity purposes. I thank you for sticking with me all this while and invite you on a new journey of creativity and freedom of expression as I build my film and entertainment career.<br /><br />You can also like the <a href="http://www.facebook.com/BaniProductions">production outfit's official facebook page</a>,<br /><br />follow us on <a href="http://twitter.com/#%21/BaniProductions">twitter</a><br /><br />and subscribe to our <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/BaniProductions?feature=mhee">Youtube channe</a>l so you are never out of the loop.<br /><br />Also invite your friends to do the same. In the coming year, expect some interesting and fun projects from me and my collaborators and I welcome your comments and contributions.<br /><br />Have a wonderful holiday and see you on the new site.<br /><br />MUAH!!!!Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com102tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-19878770213965914692011-11-07T09:37:00.000-08:002011-11-07T09:40:00.312-08:00Been a long timeIt's been a while since I checked in. Wonder sometimes if anyone ever even stops by. That's okay. I am working on a new home for my creative material that I hope I can unveil soon.<br />Till then, do check out some of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/Baniproductions">what I have been working </a>on and see you soon.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-85559850065535596552011-06-26T10:51:00.001-07:002011-06-26T10:51:39.128-07:00Please help raise funds for Queen's College: Data room project<iframe src="http://www.indiegogo.com/project/widget/32811?a=178716" width="210px" height="400px" frameborder="1" scrolling="no"></iframe>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-68556879030820494002011-05-31T11:51:00.000-07:002011-05-31T11:56:58.878-07:00Growing Up Naija: Episode II<iframe width="480" height="303" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/yM4CTZ9yFkQ" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Comment, subscribe to the Youtube Channel and invite others to do soMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-63933062064836898482011-05-24T07:02:00.001-07:002011-05-24T07:06:55.088-07:00Latest Video Project: Growing up Naija Episode I<iframe width="480" height="303" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/ctKjlj4xQIo" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />Check it out and please subscribe to my YouTube channel.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-70495448007452045172011-04-25T08:34:00.000-07:002011-04-25T10:04:34.876-07:00Nigerian E-passport<a href="http://emnnews.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Nigerian_ePassport-21.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 334px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 479px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://emnnews.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Nigerian_ePassport-21.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div><a href="http://emnnews.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/Nigerian_ePassport-21.jpg">picture from here</a></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>For those Nigerians who are not aware, all previous passports will be obsolete as from the end of this month and to travel or identify yourself as a citizen, you will need the new government issue passport.<br /><br />I had to go to New York to apply for the passport even though I live in Washington DC where our consulate occupies prime land on Embassy row...but that is a story for another day. In any case, upon the request of a colleague, I am posting the steps I took to get the passport. For US only.<br /><br />1. Visit <a href="http://www.immigration.gov.ng/">http://www.immigration.gov.ng/</a></div><br /><br /><div>2. Click on APPLY ONLINE. It is at the top of the page. </div><br /><div>The link will redirect you to <a href="https://portal.immigration.gov.ng/">https://portal.immigration.gov.ng/</a></div><br /><br /><div>3. Click on E-PASSPORT APPLICATION FORM. It is on the second block of information under the heading PASSPORT</div><br /><br /><div>4. The link will take you to a page "Apply for New passport"</div><br /><div>Select "Standard e-passport" from the drop down menu and then the "issuing country" from the drop down menu, which in this case, I am going to assume is the US</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>5. You will be taken to another site, where you will be asked if you want to log in using google.</div><br /><div>I did and then I logged in and filled the necessary information on the form</div><br /><br /><div>6. After you fill the form, you will be told that you cannot pay for the passport online. You will however be given a reference number and customer ID. You will then go purchase a $65 money order (unless the price changes) and mail it to:</div><br /><br /><div>SW GLobal LLC</div><br /><div>US50 Albany TurnpikeCanton, CT 06019 </div><br /><div>Your confirmation page upon the first leg of completing the document will tell you what information to include in the money order.</div><br /><br /><div>7. No, there is no number to call them. There is an email on the site. And only God knows who won that contract.</div><br /><br /><div>8. Send your money order through registered mail.</div><br /><br /><div>9. The money order goes to Connecticut and someone there processes the payment and you receive a confirmation email.</div><br /><div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">NOTE: your appointment date at the embassy will be included in the email somewhere.</span></strong></div><br /><br /><div>10. then you show up the day of your appointment, pray before going so that you are at your most gracious and patient.</div><br /><div>Take with you: a) a $20.00 money order addressed to the "Consulate of Nigeria"</div><br /><div>b) your old passport</div><br /><div>c) the printed page of your receipt confirmation</div><br /><div>d) the printed page of your appointment confirmation</div><br /><br /><div>11. At the embassy, even if you get there early, passport processing begins at 10 am prompt. The lady who handles this is very efficient at starting at exactly 10 am .</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>12. Have fun and see you around somewhere representing the Eagles.</div>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-64752430379045222332011-04-07T09:37:00.000-07:002011-04-07T09:56:36.899-07:00Calling Nigerians and all lovers of Naija! Need pictures asap!I am working on a small production and need your help with some pictures of the following asap! I would appreciate high res pictures but if you can't then, please by all means take them with your phones and please email me with your full name so that I can include it in the credits of the project. Email <a href="mailto:baniproductions@gmail.com">baniproductions@gmail.com</a> please include in the subject line: Naija Pics (what your picture is about) Example: Naija Pics (Okada) Body of email: Name: Lagbaja Omolomo I need images for: <strong>Food</strong>: all traditional dishes (please remember to include names) <strong>Snacks</strong>: Fan Yogo, Okin Biscuit, gogo, sisi pelebe, chocomilo, baba dudu, coaster biscuit, goody goody, coke, eyin alangba, alata biscuit, <strong>Fashion</strong>: Gele, full outfits for men, women and children <strong>Literature</strong>: Fiction and non fiction Text books from back in the day: NOEC, Ababio etc <strong></strong><strong></strong><strong>Landmarks</strong>: any one where you are Lagos: third mainland bridge, 3 masquerades at toll gate, makoko, VI, Ojuelegba, Alade market, Totota Building, <strong>Things happening</strong>: Go-slow, people hawking, police men at work, vendors, bus stops, <strong>Iconic images</strong>: beat up cars, (public transport: okada, danfo, taxis etc), bumper stickers, graffiti on lorries, buildings, magazines, <strong>Living things:</strong> The good, the bad and the ugly <strong>Also, I am looking for MP3/ avi clips of music from veteran artists (1975-2000)</strong> : Shina Peters (circa 1992), Mike Okri, Esse Agese, Sunny Ade, Bright Chimeze, Sunny Okosun (pre-evangelist years), IK Dairo, Orlando Owoh, one Edo guy like this whose name escapes me, The Matadors, Christie, Onyeka Onwenu, Maintain (pre-the split), Remedies etc <strong><span style="font-size:130%;">I really appreciate your help and look forward to your participation! Thanks</span></strong>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-76267148834086588762011-03-23T11:59:00.000-07:002011-03-30T19:37:37.134-07:00My First LadyFor the better part of a year, I and most educated Nigerians have been entertained by the verbal antics of our current First Lady. In a country where mediocrity is the new standard, we Nigerians can boast of First Lady whose vocabulary and command of the English language will cause anyone who passed through a semblance of a proper education to blanch.<br /><br />As the country prepares for elections in April and we are bombarded both domestically and internationally (through the internet) with campaign slogans and political marketing tactics, I have been toying with the idea of making a viral video to parody some of her more famous grammatical faux pas in the form of a press conference where the First Lady answers questions from journalists--especially as her husband (presidential candidate) refused to participate in a more intellectual presidential debate, <a href="http://234next.com/csp/cms/sites/Next/Home/5684244-146/story.csp">instead opting to a Q&A session with a hip hop star </a>whose last taste of poverty was at least five years ago and thus cannot relate to any of the issues affecting Nigeria's youth.<br /><br />So, I wrote a funny script for a four minute video.<br /><br />Immediately I broached the subject about the production, I was advised not to go ahead with the project. I was immediately reminded of all those more credible journalists who had made direct criticisms of anyone in government and were picked up at the airport upon their return to Nigeria.<br />One colleague said bluntly, "You will be locked up in Kirikiri (a prison in Lagos)".<br />I was told I could do it but to use a cast of foreigners ( so as not to jeopardise other Nigerians involved) and upload it anonymously so it would not be traced to me.<br />This for calling attention to what we can all see, that the woman who stands as a representative for all women and women's issues in the country comes across as poorly educated and ill prepared to occupy her position; and this is a woman who used to teach at either the primary or secondary school level.<br /><br />So I backed down because frankly, I am in no position to deal with any form of torture or imprisonment for speaking my mind. And also, I don't believe in hiding; if I have something to say, I will and deal with the consequences and if I can't, I keep my mouth shut.<br /><br />It did not escape me that if I had chosen to make a similar video about Michelle Obama, in whose country I reside but do not hold citizenship, nothing will happen to me. As long as the video is not malicious and violent in intent, I would be left alone to express my humorous view on something she said and did. Basically, I am enjoying more rights in another person's country than in my own.<br /><br />But I am fascinated by this woman who is married to the current president who is also seeking to remain in office. She represents some aspects of our society that are intriguing.<br /><br /><ul><li>In a patriachal society like ours, she is a clear example of what happens when men marry down so as not to be challenged by their wives, and as they upgrade themselves over time, they do not demand the same of their spouses for the same reason. I have listened to the president speak and while I have never been floored by what he has to say, I am not afraid of him embarassing my country if he were to be present at an international forum with other Heads of State from around the world. I am sure when he first started out, he was not the way he is today but he has successfully improved himself; why he did not demand the same of his wife is beyond me. Now, she finds herself in this position and continously delivers one verbal faux pas after the other.</li><li>She represents an aging culture of Nigerian women who are simply content to just grow up to be married. I don't know of any personal credentials of hers but that is okay because she comes from a generation where that was the highest aspiration of their time. My generation is different and it is because her generation pushed mine to accomplish things of our own so that our identities would not be tied solely to our husbands. However, we are constantly represented by women from her time because the men they married, who lead us are in their fifties and older; relics of a failed system. A system that does my generation constant disservice and with her as an example, my gender as well.</li><li>Our educational system is horrible. Youth complain of a lack of employment. Employers complain that the bulk of available positions cannot be filled by an average Nigerian graduate. They are ill prepared for the work (thinking, writing and reading skills) and have somehow managed to pass through the educational system. When you hear our first lady speak and realise that she must have taught some of these graduates at some point, you realise why they are indeed ill prepared. And when you come across samples of cover letters written by graduates seeking jobs, you realise just how bad the situation is.</li><li>For a collection of cultures built on oral tradition, we do not have the gift of oration. Living abroad has given me a respect and liking for speeches. I have heard five minute speeches that kill on their subjects and bring the entire house to a thundering standing ovation. In Nigeria, when public figures give their speeches, you can use the opportunity to make business deals because nothing they are saying is engaging or delivered with charisma. This is probably because we have little or no training on public speaking and almost none of the public officers employ the services of trained speech writers. If the First Lady were to employ both 1) public speaking coaching and 2)a gifted speech writer, she could single handedly rally the entire nation behind her husband if she wanted to. </li></ul><p>If her husband wins, we have more of her to enjoy for the next four years. If he doesn't, I am not convinced that his replacement would bring for us a First Lady that my generation of young women can look up to. Afterall, her predecessor had so many <a href="http://giamarrospeaks.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-had-planned-not-to-start-year-with.html">wise, wise words </a>for us all in her time. </p>Till then, rainy season is upon us in Nigeria. Get your <a href="http://www.naijablog.co.uk/2011/03/on-umblerra-if-youve-not-heard-it-yet.html">UNBLERA</a>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-15269263019120100802011-02-14T13:19:00.000-08:002011-02-14T13:28:47.260-08:00My Big Fat Valentine<a href="http://collegecandy.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/20/cupid-valentines-day1.jpg?w=492&h=340"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 492px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 341px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://collegecandy.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/20/cupid-valentines-day1.jpg?w=492&h=340" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://collegecandy.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/20/cupid-valentines-day1.jpg?w=492&h=340"><span style="font-size:78%;">picture from here</span></a></div><div> </div><div>This is the abbreviated version of my quest to get find my first valentine. It is about time someone declares for me or at least stand there while I declare for myself.</div><br /><div><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">November 2010</span></strong></div><strong><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /><div><br /></span></strong></div>I realize that I am turning 27 in the following year and somehow, due to a multitude of different circumstances, I have never had a valentine. I am single at the moment and for the first time in a long time, have declared myself open to the possibility of a relationship—not with the same end goals like marriage as with most of my female colleagues but for companionship and an opportunity to share my life with someone while enjoying theirs as well—and so I decide to get proactive.<br />I purchase two tickets for Valentine’s Day 2011 to see the amazing Chris Botti in concert at the Kennedy Hall. If you don’t know who that is, poor you. Google will hook you up with information. Note: He is mine!!!!<br />In any case, tickets are bought. I begin to strategise how to find and maintain my “special male friend” . My theory: I have about two months to build at least a friendship and the possibility that he would be willing to attend the event. If he possibly plans an early or late dinner, I have the experience part covered with the jazz show. So you know, we both have fun. And Chris Botti.<div><br />I go contemplate the gym. Not liking the way my figure looks. Want to fit into a nice dress on V-day. Start investing in my hair. And with the price of weaves, putting them in, keeping them okay, extensions for braiding, it is indeed an investment.<br />I declare full out war on my acne.<br />Buy an instruction book on how to apply eye shadow so it does not look like something is growing on my eyelids.<br />I get to work<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">December 2010<br /></span></strong>I have a confusing social network. I am either a minority (by age, race and even gender), or not interested in anyone within one group or the other, have no clue about the socializing rules within the context, come across a bit weird or too strong.<br />Due to personal choices, opportunities to mix and mingle are limited.<br />Still, I am optimistic. I have one whole month.<br />I even start working out…like I mean, “start”. Like, I pop in the Brazilian Butt Lift Workout and watch it like a movie. You should. The trainer is a trip.<br />A friend suggests speed dating. I look at her like she is unstable.<br />Then I think about it.<br />No.<br />Maybe….<br />No.<br />I still have a month, dude.<br />Meet a guy. Super excited. He’s nice, funny, has travelled, reads, a lot, listens to music I have never heard of, eats almost anything and does not put on an ounce, very hot, makes me wish I had taken the butt lift system serious, makes me consider just how nice my current selection of underwear is, loves movies…<br />And smokes.<br />So he is off my list.<br />I am bummed.<br />I go see a movie.<br />I am the only one there by myself. This is not new.<br />But suddenly, I am aware.<br />However, the movie is amazing. I love it!!!!<br />I get home.<br />I read. Polish off a script.<br />Go through my calendar for the next couple of weeks and realize that I cannot make it to any of the new year’s parties because I am going to be at the Eck Center helping out with a children’s play. There: no one in my age group to talk to, talk less of a potential date. But we are giving service and doing God’s work.<br />No worries, I have a month.<br /><br /><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">January 2011<br /></span></strong>Lord have mercy.</div><br /><div><br />Week one: packing up the office and moving to another location after 20 years in one place.</div><br /><div><br />Week Two: International conference, dealing with attendees from all over the developed and developed world.</div><br /><ul><br /><li>“Did we mistakenly book you on a flight to New Zealand Sir, instead of DC? Yes? Our Bad…how’s the weather, while we try to find a plane coming in this direction”</li><br /><li>“Je m’excuse, madame. Je ne parle pas Francais. Eh…argent? What does that mean? Yes, I am African…No, I don’t speak French…Yesss, I come from one of the places the British got to. Thank you for your commiserations. How did the French do with you guys? No better? Awesome. Would you like some tea? Yeah, I am freezing too.”</li><br /><li>“No habla espanole”</li><br /><li>“No habla Portuguese…hun? That’s not Portuguese? Oh, you don’t even speak Portuguese? What were you speaking then? Italian? Wow? No hand movements and everything. Got me confused. Yes, I will go stand in the corner.</li><br /><li>“Girl, I think I have killed my little toe. What’s that? The little protruding flesh on your foot that if all went well, should have a nail attached to it. </li><br /><li>“Thank you sir for coming. We loved having you here. See you in six months.”</li><br /><li>“Please send these boxes to this building. We are out”</li><br /><li>“Put off the lights"</li><br /><li>“Oh my God, Sir, you just arrived from New Zealand? The conference is over…Please accept these complimentary tickets to go see Black Swann…”</li><br /><li>“Is it just me or did he seem a bit upset to you? …… I like his leather messenger bag. Who turns down tickets to Black Swann. Maybe we should have given him tickets to “For Colored Girls”</li></ul><br /><p>Week Three: Errr, where’s my office?<br />· </p><br /><ul><br /><li>“Excuse me Manager, I was at the conference all of last week. When I got to my allotted space, err, it’s a wall”. </li><br /><li>“Can I at least have a chair if I am going to be…u know what, is anyone staying in the closet? I can make it work. I have an undergraduate degree in architecture, I can construct…oops, I lied, No thanks…”</li><br /><li>“Thank you manager, I found my office. It’s on another floor."</li><br /><li>“Excuse me Manager, my phone does not work.”</li><br /><li>“Excuse me Manager, my computer is only accepting commands in French…how come I am just finding out now? I went on the new office tour…"</li><br /><li>"Excuse me Manager, my office door won’t open from the inside. Had to hold my pee for an hour till someone walked by…I might not have made it…but for the potted plant in my office.</li><br /><li>I need a vacay.</li></ul><br /><p>Week Four: </p><br /><ul><br /><li>Conference report and reviews</li><br /><li>Balancing checkbooks</li><br /><li>Planning for the rest of fiscal year.</li><br /><li>Meetings</li><br /><li>“Wait, what is today’s date?”</li></ul><br /><p><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">February 2011<br /></span></strong></p><br /><ul><br /><li>“Girl, it’s me….yeah, happy to call you too. Have an issue. Err, I have two weeks to find a date to go see Chris Botti…Chris Botti…B…Oh…Tee…Tee…Eye. Jazz artist. Jay A. A. Anyways…what? No, I don’t want to go with him. Cos he is always telling me that my hips tell him, I can breed well….do something.”</li><br /><li>“Hey Girl, long time, so…uhm, about that Speed dating thing…”</li><br /><li>“Me, I work for an environmental agency. You? You collect guns? Awesome…where do I live? In Paris. I am only in DC for the speed dating event.”</li><br /><li>“Yes, I do go to bars to order watered down orange juice. The bartender does not like me. Why does he not like you? You brought me here? Oh.”</li><br /><li>“How is it that I am looking for one freaking date in this city and you have four men revolving around you like misplaced planets and you get engaged a month and a half after meeting someone? What are you into, Voodoo? Oh, did I say that loud? I looooove you.”</li><br /><li>“What’s today again? Feb 11th? You’ve got to be kidding me.</li><br /><li></li></ul><br /><p><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">February 14, 2011<br /></span></strong>In any case, I am off to see my future hubby at the Kennedy Center tonight. Yes, I know, I am seated to the side, possibly in the shadows. Don’t worry, he will know I am there.<br />And that is all that matters.<br />Oh, I brought a friend.</p>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-65914899728134951882011-01-18T08:35:00.000-08:002011-01-18T08:40:02.614-08:00Research help neededI am looking for historical information on the ancient cities of Owo and Ilorin in Yorubaland. can u help and point me in the right direction?Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-50117986413842825442011-01-06T14:11:00.000-08:002011-01-06T14:13:13.086-08:00New Year, New YearI am like two weeks late for this but I figured, I had to come back at some point. This year is going to be an amazing one, filled with extensive creative projects and the formal establishment of creative outfits and collaborations.<br /><br />Keep coming backMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-9117025696906013672010-12-24T05:58:00.000-08:002010-12-24T06:16:59.684-08:00Riding the I-95I wonder if they see me, warmy esconsced behind the tight restraints of the seat belt in the passenger's side of the Range Rover. I think back to years in secondary school watching with envy the seniors, and when I got older the classmates, who would receive their suave admirers at the Love Garden, transported there in cars borrowed from parents. Years later, I would watch with a mix of curiosity the couples wheezing by while I huddled at the bus stop waiting on the bus or at the stop light waiting for it to turn green; both of which in extreme weather, would take their painfully, sweet time.<div><br /></div><div>now i wonder who sees me, jetting down the i-95 in his silver grey range rover with the beige leather interiors. wonder if they see that we hold hands as we cruise. wonder if they know that we have already had two tiffs about what music to listen to and that the first time, - won and the second he let me win. jazz it is. i know i amgoing to pay for this on the return trip. he listens to middle eastern rap. but no worries, i have ear plugs.</div><div><br /></div><div>wonder if they see that i am happy to be on this trip. wonder if he knows. wonder if he understands that right now, right this moment, it does not matter where we go but that we go together. wonder if he knows.</div><div><br /></div><div>wonder who sees me, happy to be riding the i-95</div><div><br /></div><div><div><br /></div></div>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-77417736942791580052010-12-17T06:26:00.000-08:002010-12-17T06:52:32.250-08:00Walking among the starsI meet American celebrities in the oddest of places. I once met the R&B singer Mario at BWI airport while trying to wiggle out of heavy boots to pass through security. He was in a hurry but he stopped to take a picture with me, a picture that I do not have because the passerby I gave my camera to, possibly did not know how to operate it and so took nothing. I could not run after Mario for another opportunity. And I could not break my camera over the person's head. After all, it was not his fault, I did not have extend-able arms to take the pictures myself.<br /><br />I met <a href="http://giamarrospeaks.blogspot.com/2010/01/riding-with-tamara.html">Tamara Tunie</a> on the metro once. She was sitting there with no fan fare, like any regular rider. Smiled even though I stared at her the entire ride--granted, I was trying to ascertain that my eyes were not playing tricks on me. Was more fair than she appears on television and was kind enough to give me an autograph which went in my copy of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Free-Life-Novel-Ha-Jin/dp/0375424652">Ha Jin's A FREE LIFE</a>; a copy that for the life of me, cannot seem to locate. I am bummed about both the loss of my novel and the loss of my autograph. The book I can replace, the autograph will have to wait till when I have the time to stalk and locate Tamara Tunie.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkcEdIbNL583i4ZeXujEdV00-TOTr1EsUp8lcQyC-Ips4nwn8WOUSjP5a0UxNUTQHQQf85szoFlq9hib1_NLYC7xVLiuP6v29-LVeMvLAeYbhGTaOU1rXuH69Df34QaZr1P-R/s1600-r/JohnKing_AC360_20071029_04.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 371px; height: 371px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkcEdIbNL583i4ZeXujEdV00-TOTr1EsUp8lcQyC-Ips4nwn8WOUSjP5a0UxNUTQHQQf85szoFlq9hib1_NLYC7xVLiuP6v29-LVeMvLAeYbhGTaOU1rXuH69Df34QaZr1P-R/s1600-r/JohnKing_AC360_20071029_04.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkcEdIbNL583i4ZeXujEdV00-TOTr1EsUp8lcQyC-Ips4nwn8WOUSjP5a0UxNUTQHQQf85szoFlq9hib1_NLYC7xVLiuP6v29-LVeMvLAeYbhGTaOU1rXuH69Df34QaZr1P-R/s1600-r/JohnKing_AC360_20071029_04.jpg">picture from here</a></span><br /><br />So, yesterday, while staring at the list of canceled flights at the airport,who comes walking past me but <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_King_%28journalist%29">John King</a>. Now, I can understand how some of you might be like "who?", seeing as the majority don't know any show anchors unless they deal with celebrity gossip. He must have thought the same when I asked quite slow-ly, "Excuse me, but are you on television?".<br />Nice guy. Smiles, introduces himself, watches in mild amusement as I rummage through my bag for a piece of paper to take his autograph. Found one with itinerary of the person that I had come to meet and he signed it nicely. Shook my hand and everything.<br /><br />I hope when I too am famous, that I can be as gracious as the famous people who have met me and have treated me nicely.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-68746642770710877052010-12-07T14:10:00.000-08:002010-12-07T14:32:50.297-08:00How I learned not to mess with my mother<a href="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumblarge_177/1187914066nyhdMS.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 302px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 450px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumblarge_177/1187914066nyhdMS.jpg" border="0" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;"><a href="http://thumbs.dreamstime.com/thumblarge_177/1187914066nyhdMS.jpg">picture from here<br /></a></span><div>One morning, many years ago, when I was a little girl of about eight or nine (so, donkey years ago), my mother bundled my brother and I to the town’s one and only health center for what I initially thought was a courtesy call on the doctor. We got there to find the clinic packed, mostly with mothers and their squalling children. My mum sashayed her educated self to the front of the line, possibly intimidated the nurse—as she liked to do—and got our names on the list. We found a spot and sat down to wait. </div><div><br />As we waited, I began to have a sinking feeling in my stomach. One, almost every pair of mother and child that disappeared behind the nurses’ reception would later reappear with the children bawling their eyes out. I asked my mother what was going on. She told me to wait and see. My brother could not care less, stuck to my mother’s side, his world was complete and if she said we were to wait and see, that dude was going to wait all it took.<br />I on the other hand, was not having it. It took me all of ten minutes to figure out that there must have been a memo—which I missed—and all kids had been brought by their secretive, plotting mothers for an immunization. Basically, we had been brought to the hospital to be stuck with needles.<br />I had to get away.<br />What was I to do? I was all of four feet and some inches. I could not drive. Was not quite sure I could find my way home if I ran and that was if I out ran my gangster mother, which was very unlikely.<br />I started telling my mother some tale. The plan: distract the woman until she forgot why we were there and she put us back in the car and drove us back home.<br />Thinking back, I think my mother was thinking the same thing. Except her version was something like, “keep this twit talking until I can get her back in the nurses’ room and <em>chook</em> her with some vaccines.”<br />Someone called our names. My heart sank. My mother grabbed my hand like a g clamp. And dragged me along. My brother went silently, resigned to his trusting fate. His mother could do him no harm.</div><br /><div><br />He took his injection like a champ. Very little tears and what little came out, my mother hugged away. Then it was my turn. And I must say, I let those nurses know why I have three very unique first names. I shook that dispensary with my whole being.<br />First, I had to be caught. Then when I was caught, I writhed this way and that way, and bit someone and shook, and screamed, and thrashed, and kicked and….it took my mum, two nurses and a doctor to try and hold my eight year old bad self down; all to the entertainment of my five year old brother.</div><br /><div><br />My mother was fed up. The doctor refused to stick the needle lest it break in my butt and leave me walking lopsided with a limp or something. My mother warned me and told me to behave myself. I gave her the evil eye. How easy it was for her to order me to present my bum for the evil injection. Hell Nawwwwwww.<br />So my mother said to the doctor, “If she does not want the injection, you can take her to Homaj”. And with that, she grabbed her son, her purse and whirled out of the clinic.<br />Leaving me behind.</div><br /><div><br />--Now, let me tell you a bit about Homaj International Home School. It was an orphanage between the towns of Ikere and Akure, right at the bottom of the hilly part of the road. Because it was sort of in a valley and the road was no good, when it rained, the front of the orphanage would be a muddy traffic jam. Then unemployed youth would show up to place planks across the muddy pools of water so that cars could pass by for a “fee”. But that was not the sad part.<br /></div><div>The sad part were the kids in the orphanage who would line the fence, their skinny, arms poking through the patterns in the walls, begging passersby for food or money. They were not allowed out so of you had anything for them, you walked up and put it in their arms. Their faces would hunt me and I was always terrified of ending up there as an orphan. And that was why I always stalked my father, in case he was having an affair because I knew his second wife would send my disrespectful behind packing over there—why I thought that is another story for another day. Anyway, anytime I was bad, my mum would threaten to drop me off at Homaj. </div><div><br />I never took her seriously until I saw her small white Mazda drive out of the hospital compound.<br />Like a scene out of my worst nightmare, there I was, my skinny eight year old self left behind at the clinic.</div><br /><div><br />And guess what the nurses began to do? Oh, they taunted me. My dear friend, the doctor came out to cajole me to come back in. Another doctor came out to let me know that he was sending for the one ambulance the clinic had to come make the long, long drive—cos that was what a 45 minute drive seemed like to me at the time—to Homaj to drop me off at my new home.<br />I sat in front of the hospital like a homeless person and cried. Then I started telling myself stories to make myself feel better. I could not believe THAT WOMAN had abandoned me here. But what was I to expect, my five year old brother had clearly told me he had overhead her saying I was adopted. That he had said that I after I throttled him was not important; what was that he had said it and I believed it. </div><br /><div><br />I mean, what would you think if your mother left you at 10 o’clock in the morning?<br />So, I sat there and sat there, hissed at the taunting nurses and sat there some more.<br />Then some hours later my father’s old Volvo pulled into the compound but stopped right at the gate.<br /></div><br /><div><u>A COUPLE MINUTES EARLIER<br /></u>My Daddy was making to leave the University’s campus after a hard day’s work. A colleague asked for a ride back to town as the college was at the time, in the middle of nowhere.<br />My father had no problem and gave a couple others a ride too. One of them wanted to be dropped at the clinic/hospital. There was only one, was on my father’s way and so it was all kosher.<br />So my father pulled into the clinic's compound and in the distance, sighted a little girl sitting on the steps of the clinic. He apparently says to his friend, “My daughter has a dress, just like that.”<br />To which his friend replies, “That is because, THAT is your daughter.”<br />My father peers through his glasses and what-do-you-know? It is me.<br /></div><br /><div><u>FLASH BACK TO ME</u><br />I thought my father had come to save me.<br />I ran forward. My arms flailing. My father drove in and packed the car. He and his friend came down in a panic.<br />“Why are you here? Where is your mother? Where is your brother?”<br />Mainstream cell phone use did not come to Nigeria until 2001 and so had there been an emergency, there was no way he would have known. And we did not have a phone at home either.<br />So I can imagine all sorts of things flying through his mind.<br />Oh, I spilled my guts. “Do you know what happened to me, Daddy?”…And I let loose. I relayed every bit of the illtreatment and disrespect my small person had had to endure all day. How could this have happened to his child? Hun?</div><div><br />The nurses must have noticed me talking to some men because like three of them came out with the doctor on their heels. It took a bit of talking over each other but it was made clear to my father and his amused colleague that my mother had brought me to the hospital for the state mandated immunization and when I would not cooperate, she had left me there until I agreed to sit still for the injection which they had not wanted to force me to have so that I did not break the needle.<br />My father asked, “This little girl gave you problems?”<br />I am not sure what I thought I heard but I thought he was about to curse out the doctor and so I turned to poke my tongue at the evil group when I found myself air borne.</div><br /><div><br />My father had picked me up by the midriff and motioned for the doctor to proceed to the dispensary. His friend followed us in.</div><div>It took me a good minute to realize that I was about to be given an injection.<br />I started round two of my struggling but this man, my dad, was not having it. My dad's friend waited in the waiting room. We--my dad, my airborne self, the nurses and doctor-- went into the room, my father took a seat, all the while not loosing his grip and somehow managed to bend me between his legs and under his arms. My head was all the way behind him. I felt breeze on my butt as the skirt of my dress went up and my panties were pulled down. Then, the cold sting of a needle. I swear I heard the nurse chuckling. </div><br /><div><br />I let rip the strongest scream my vocal cords could muster. A scream that died immediately as my father covered my mouth. Long and short, I got my immunizations.<br />I promised myself as my father repaired my clothing and wiped my eyes that I was never going to forgive him. As soon as I had my dinner, I was going to run away. I sniveled as my father got the signed proof that I would neither contract any particular disease nor infect another child and followed him to the car. I refused to hold his hand. His wife abandoned me and he just sided with the doctors. Oh, I was so out of that house after dinner.</div><br /><div><br />He bought me a coke. Stuck a straw in it and handed it to me in the back seat. I took it but I did not say thank you. That would show him. I could not reject it. I had not eaten all day. Plus, I had to conserve my energy for my escape later that evening.<br />We drove home. A small town, the commute was short.</div><br /><div><br />On the way, we passed through the King’s Market—every town has one. Saw my mother’s car parked. This woman was shopping!!!!!!<br />My father parked and got down. I imagined that he was going to let her have it. Suddenly, he did not seem like such a bad man. I sat up and watched as he walked up to her car and peered inside. Saw a small head come up: my brother’s. then my mother emerged from the market. She smiled at her husband. Ooh, she was going to get it. Nothing happened.<br />I could not make out what they were saying, just that he pointed at his car. My mother’s gaze followed his motion and then they both came over. I sat back in disappointment. I could not believe I had been so wrong about the two of them. Neither of them loved me. I was definitely leaving that house that night.<br />My mother peered into the car and I still remember her cheeky smile as I did my best to ignore her. She called my name. I turned my back on her. She laughed. Can you imagine? And her husband was entertained by the whole thing. See my life<br />We went home in separate cars. I had dinner and decided to wait till morning to run away. By morning, I had forgotten the plan.</div><br /><div><br />That was how I learned never to mess with my mother. Years later, she swore that she would obviously have returned for me; the town had but only so many people and so everyone knew whose daughter I was anyway and there was no way they would have used the one ambulance to give a ride to a little girl who was afraid of needles.<br />I don’t know if I believe her. </div>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-45856462328947485632010-11-30T11:04:00.001-08:002010-11-30T11:15:25.400-08:00TV Watching, Lesson Number IOn the 8th season of Law and Order: SVU, in an episode entitled “Responsible”, a young high school student attends a party where there was alcohol. She overdoses on the alcohol and dies because no one calls for medical help. The dead girl’s father immediately makes charges against the organizers of the party, they themselves, high school students.<br /><br />The kids are the initially charged with negligent homicide but the judge lets them off only for that very night to be arrested again because they are having a drinking party.<br />End of the show, two of the kids end up dead in a drunk-driving accident.<br />I was like, “What?!”<br /><br />Three million things are running in my head.<br /><br /><strong>Issue number one<br /></strong>The party was held in the house of couple who were out of town and had no connection to the kids. Charge: Trespassing.<br />It’s like that silly kid’s story: Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Some blonde girl (aged 8-10: I think) finds a house in the woods and decides to go snooping. She eats their food, messes up their house under the guise of looking for comfortable furniture to sleep in and rubs her sweaty self all over their beddings because she could not find a comfortable bed to sleep in, in the house she was not invited into. I cannot remember how the story ended but I remember as a kid putting myself in her shoes and knowing for a fact that if someone had come to my house to report that I had come into their house, rummaged through three pots of soup like a random goat, rearranged their furniture and to then top it up, they found me in the master bedroom, snoozing and drooling on the parent’s pillowcase; my mother would have beaten me into a coma so that indeed, if it was sleep that was the motivation in my break-in-and-entry, I would have a permanent slumber.<br />But no, these kids, same race as Goldilocks, are released on their own recognizance. Their highly paid lawyer reels off a list of academic achievements-- which by the way, I have since come to reconsider. For one, just because you have all As does not mean that your academic load is taxing. I would have As too if I took a class on how to set the dinner table or how to properly order caviar-- and the judge nods in admiration.<br />Kai! If only I could reach into the TV and smack someone<br /><br /><strong>Issue Number Two<br /></strong>All the kids were underage, from affluent WHITE families whose parents spent their time travelling exotic world locations, leaving their errant teenage kids without supervision and lots of money to spend.<br />My issue: please tell me the judge would have been lenient on a couple of black or other-ethnic kids. In one scene, the judge states that she does not want to ruin their careers for doing something stupid and that the punishment should fit the crime. Errrrr, what was the name of that black boy that went to jail for having sex with his white sixteen year old classmate when he was nineteen or something? Two barely-legals’ do the nasty, black boy ends up in jail until he is past twenty one. Wow… punishment fit that crime on one serious note.<br />Sometimes, I am amazed at the blatant double standards. At least in my country, whether the kids are rich or not, at their initial arrest, the police would have dished out equal amounts of ass whooping before anyone could summon the lawyer<br /><br />Issue Number 3<br />It is revealed that one child has been drinking for a long time, aided in part by her mother who after catching her drinking, began instead to purchase the booze for her so she could do her drinking at home, where it was "safe". Two years later, the fifteen year old has the innards of a forty year old and a shortened lifespan because her mother wanted to be cool.<br /><br />So I thought about my own mother. And had a vision of...<br /><br />My Adopted Child: Mummy, why have you no ears?<br />Me ( many years from now): Well, my child. One day, your grandmother...<br />My Adopted Child: You mean, Grandma in Lagos (or wherever she is)<br />Me: Yup...the very one...she caught me stealing alcohol from the cabinet and she stared at me with her laser eyes and burnt my ears off.<br />My Adopted Child: Wha....aaat?!<br />Me: Yes, and I will do the same to you if you ever try it. In fact, I will carve the map of Africa across your face.<br />My Adopted Child: Daddy!!!!<br /><br /><br />LMAO!!!!!!!<br />Oh, wait, I am the only one laughing?<br />Sigh<br />I love American TVMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-29198878525743763472010-11-17T16:46:00.000-08:002010-11-17T16:47:12.416-08:00Been planning an update for four days.<br /><br />No time<br /><br />So Busy<br /><br />So tired<br /><br />So crazy<br /><br />but happy<br /><br />andMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-7413416156945863212010-11-05T08:34:00.000-07:002010-11-05T09:08:16.563-07:00The degrees of SinI once had a conversation with a girlfriend of mine about why I did not want to ride in her car because of the lingering and cloying smell of cigarette smoke. She listened quietly as I explained my spiritual reasons for not exposing myself to cigarettes and the lifestyle; it being that it creates a shroud around your spiritual aura that prevents Divine Spirit/ high positive spiritual energy from manifesting in your life. In short, I said, it blocks communication with your inner Spiritual guides and if I desired any form of spiritual growth, I could not smoke or hang around smoke. There was also the personal of my aversion to the smell but that was not the main issue.<br /><br />To the above, she said, "You don't smoke but you have sex?"<br /><br />Basically, she was saying that as a sexually active unmarried adult; an action that is considered sinful by the religious path she belongs to, how could I question her own "sin" of smoking?<br /><br />Since I don't subscribe to the same path, I see sexual intercourse as something different.<br /><br />This is what I know: (Note, you don't have to agree) When you sleep with someone, alongside the exchange of bodily fluids that can be potentially dangerous if one or both of you is cooking some STD, or emotions is an exchange of spiritual baggage. i.e karma. So for instance, if I were to hook up with Boy X (or Girl X if you swing that way) and the person is packing some serious past life drama on some crazy level, being with them automatically allows some of that drama into my life and I will have to carry that karma as well. And deal with it. <br /><br />It is because of this that on my spiritual path that you are ENCOURAGED to be married when engaging in physical intimacy. This is because, when you decide to get married, there is the assumption that you are aware of this exchange, acknowledge the possible challenges that will come your way ( hence the "for better or worse" clause in the vows) and are deciding that as spouse, you are going to help each other burn karma and be the best spiritual being you can be so you can attain the best spiritual results for your incarnation. So, if anything happens when Papa Junior knocks boots with Mama Junior or Papa Junior II (for same-sex couples) both have decided to stick it out.<br /><br />Now, as this idea is not such a new age idea; I am sure ancient texts have this line of thinking in them from all parts of the world. However, I am of the theory that ancient religious leaders realising that individuals will take this kind of thinking and start "exchanging" all over the place as the concept does not introduce any real fear; especially if you don't understand karma, reincarnation and the Laws of Cause and Effect, introduced an element that has revolutionalised the world, landed many people in trouble and given sexual interractions the identity it has to day.<br /><br />HELL.<br /><br />The fiery, eternal burning pit for sex-ing peoples.<br /><br />Here was my dilema with this concept. One of the hell ideas, among many others says if you have sex before marriage or outside of marriage, you are going to be an eternal human barbecue. Even as a little girl, my first question was always, "What if you don't want to be married?"<br />I don't think marriage is for everyone and I definitely don't think motherhood is for every woman, just because she has the equipment to do so; thus out the window went another hell ideology of sex for procreation only. It's like a food processor, you can blend fruit, mix dough or even pounded yam if you are so adventurous. You can adapt any "tool" for something else.<br />I digress.<br />So, I knew that if I wanted to have mastery over my personal, physical, financial, creative, emotional and spiritual affairs, I needed to figure out what to do about my sexuality. Since, I wasn't gunning to present any future husband with a virginity on my wedding night like a well cultivated fruit for the plucking, neither was I waiting for marriage to "help me explore sex", I had to sit down and make a very calculated decision about what I could and could not do.<br /><br />So, I tried to explain to my friend, that I did not see sex as a "sin" because I did not see anything as a "sin". You do something, however minute, you deal with the consequences. If you don't finish this lifetime, then you come back and start again. If you would like to squander one incarnation and return as a cockroach because you actions were so horrendous (I always imagined that this would be the punishment for certain criminals), be my guest; I have RAID if you show up in my house.<br /><br />There are some things that I try to avoid because I cannot deal with the repercussions.<br /><br />Like gossiping; I love it. It is juicy and scintillating but I often fall ill after a long session because I have violated another's space. For smaller gossip fests, I walk into a wall or hard object, or hit my toe. I always know when something like that happens that this a a physical repercussion to something I have done. Cos, you see, nothing at all happens in a vacuum.<br /><br />This is just as an example.<br /><br />To cut a long story short, my friend and I decided that she would not smoke if she has to give me a ride somewhere and I would respect her decision to be a smoker and leave her be.<br /><br />C'est finit.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-45628380438375009552010-11-02T13:05:00.000-07:002010-11-02T16:25:44.857-07:00Thinking about my mum...My mom is wierd. But then again, as her only child, it follows true that I should be like her. Whatever the case, I love the woman; her gray hairs and all-- most of which I put there.<br /><br />When I was about fifteen, my mother decided that I needed to learn to cook by force and so one day, it was my turn to make stew. For those of you (possibly none of you) who are unfamiliar with Nigerian food, stew is the basis of most of our dishes. It is a mixture of blended peppers, tomatoes, onions, garlic, seasoning, fried in oil and flavored with stock (or not). It should take maximum twenty minutes to prepare. My first time, the entire process took me four hours.<br /><br />The end result was good but also, I developed an aversion for meat. Having spent an hour cleaning fresh, raw chicken, I could not put it in my mouth without being nauseated. The only kind of meat I could eat was treated cow hide, known as pomo. It has no nutritional value, has a distinct taste that masks anything else and is quite cheap.<br /><br />So what did my mother do? She would go to the market, wade through the muck and buy me pomo just so I could have something to eat.<br /><br />Then there was the time when I would not eat freshly baked bread.<br /><br />What did she do? She would buy two loaves and leave mine in the fridge so that it was a bit "stale" by the time I was ready to eat it.<br /><br />Since I was little, and till now, I hated the smell you get when you wash a frying pan used to fry eggs. So what I would do would be to fry like six eggs at once and that would be my egg ration for the month; just so I would not have to wash the pan all the time.<br /><br />My mom's solution: she would make the eggs, season it heavily and then clean up; leaving me with no chores.<br /><br />I have other things that I have subjected that woman to, out of sheer wierdness or phases. And she would oblige me.<br /><br />When you are a kid, what is more important than a parent who accepts your skoin skoin.<br /><br />*sigh* all this , cos I was just thinking about my mumMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-81617354267832901452010-10-26T08:09:00.001-07:002010-10-26T08:46:00.825-07:00Riding the bus for a thousand blocksI can understand why sometimes white people have alot of bad things to say about black people or more specifically black kids. I really do because I share some of the same sentinemnts mysel.<br /><br />These African American offspring are some of the most ill mannered, disrespectful disruptive people you will ever encounter in a public space.<br /><br />The law says, keep conversations to a mummer: no, we have to hear about the fact that you need to get your thirteen year old head subjected to a chiaruscuro of weaves.<br /><br />The law says, no eating or drinking on the metro: but no, you come in with a dinner special from Dim Sum Amazing, with fried chicken and home made ice tea, masticating like your life depends on it and spitting the bones everywhere. And there is the oil on your hands that you rub on the seats.<br /><br />The law says that if you have to listen to your electronics, you should use sound cancelling earphones: but no, I have to sit through eight stops of your horrible, monosyllabic, auto tuned horror that is the latest hip hop/ rap music. Music that I might add was written and produced by someone who thinks that you are too stupid to listen to anything else and so the lyrics do nothing to tax you besides a dumb repetition grammatically incorrect tenses and stereotype fueling messages.<br /><br />I am not sure if this is a law but there should be one about showering or odors emanating from your person but no: you roll up on the metro smelling like a cross between an ash tray and the bottom of a trash can with femented animal waste. I think it is admirable that you want to kill flies and other air borne bacteria with what emanates from your person but you must remember there is a reason why when you spray insecticide, humans are asked not to be present sheer reasons of toxicity. Well, it is the same with your BO.<br /><br />Sorry for the rant but sometimes, these kids are just plain embarassing. They knock into older people, even elderly people. Scream and shout and constitute a nuisance. And they think they are being cute or hood or whatever misguided idea they have of themselves.<br /><br />To call them out is to risk humiliation as it can result in a shouting march or even worse, bodily harm. It is a problem because so far, these groups of kids have always been African American. I know there are white errant kids and even ill mannered kids from other races but so far, I have not had to endure their presence on the metro.<br /><br />So disgracefulMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-20363857063785656422010-10-23T08:15:00.000-07:002010-10-23T09:00:03.713-07:00I ate a pomegranate<span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:78%;" ><a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/5d/Pomegranate.jpg">picture from here.</a></span><br />Yesterday, out of curiosity and a genuine desire to consume fruit, I bought and tried to consume a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pomegranate">Pomegranate</a>. An odd looking fruit with no clear indication as to how it should be eaten and nursing a paranoia from a disastrous experience from my first week in Architecture school and second week in the US, I was a bit skeptical about my choice of source for vitamin C but it was either buy apples (which I do not quite like), oranges (too sweet and they cannot be peeled like the specie that grows in my home country), pears (only like them when their skins are hard and crunchy) and grapes (which have taken a back seat since I discovered cherries.) All the other fruit were either unripe or I did not quite know what they were. I selected some bananas, three peaches and a pomegranate, paid and went home.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.greatdreams.com/seventeen/pomegranate.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 407px;" src="http://www.greatdreams.com/seventeen/pomegranate.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>Why was I so cautious about this fruit and why was it so important that I eat it, in other words, conquer my aversion to it? I will have to take you back six years, to the late summer of 2004 when a fresh faced me, began the first week of my collegiate pursuit of an architecture degree and the class was given an assignment to both test our observe-and-record skills as well as the ability to indicate depth of material through shading techniques. Each student was required to select a fruit and make five drawings with five different types of pencil techniques: hatching, pointillism, cross hatching, staining etc. I had never been a strong fine artists but like everyone in class I had to do the project. I selected an orange and went to work.<br /><br />The project required you to sketch the fruit whole, then take it apart and draw what you saw. So the end result would have been a sketch of a whole orange, half of an orange, the rind of the orange, the squeezed orange with pulp and seed and whatever else you felt you could come up with based on the fruit you had selected. Some classmates opted to let the fruit ripen and rot, thus indicating the different processes of its demise.<br /><br />In any case, we had two weeks. In architecture school, we would present on Mondays and Fridays with the days in between usually for developing ideas or correcting errors based on a bad critique.<br /><br />Sunday evening, ninety percent of the class is done. My submission looks as raggedy as the fruit I have subjected to all forms of artistic torture and I am moving around the studio observing other classmates at work and getting to know them. At this point, I know maybe three names in the entire class.<br /><br />I stop at a classmates desk. He has chosen a pomegranate. I actually stop for two reasons, his drawing skills are waaaaaaaaayyyy above mine and I have never seen the fruit he is drawing before.<br />I ask, "What is this?"<br />He looks up a bit puzzled, then realizing it is me, he says "A pomegranate."<br />I look at the fruit. The skin is hard. It has on its inside, a dense network of seeds that are encased in a transparent skin of liquid, a bit like paw paw (or for Americans, papaya) seeds. It has no discernible fruity smell.<br />"How do you eat it?" I ask<br />He answers in a weary tone, as if to say, "why bug me now" and answers "well, you suck on the juice." He points at the seeds.<br />I look at what he is pointing at and still not understanding, I reach for one of the seeds, pick it up and I am about to say "what do you...", when I press it between my forefinger and thumb and disaster happens. Juice goes spurting everywhere...over his almost complete, impeccable project.<br />He goes ballistic.<br />I try to apologise. The class gathers. I am shaking. I know I cannot offer to do the work for him. It is not a model where I can build the frame or anything, it is an art project and that is tanamount to skill. Mine can in no way replicate his.<br />He is livid and cursing. If I was a guy, I am sure he would have hit me.<br />I am still apologising as best as I can. I am embarassed because the whole class is reacting like "How could she not know that the seeds have juice that STAIN". Another batch are explaining, "She ain't never seen one before. You know, she African."<br />So in one swell move, I am a destructive coon from an uncivilised jungle who does not know what anything is and causes trouble. I am sick to my stomach.<br />He storms off, the rest of the class goes back to what they are doing.<br />I go home. I am sad and scared. I don't want to be hated for a mistake<br />So I say a prayer and explain to God that He knows I would not do anything intentional to hurt someone's work. I say that I will try to get to class as early as possible before the professor gets there and that I will explain what has happened and ask that if there are any marks to be subtracted, that it be taken from my grades and not his.<br />I go to bed worried.<br />I cannot sleep.<br />For one reason or another, I am late to studio the next morning. Not seriously late, just enough that the professor has walked in. Immediately, the guy whose work I have ruined presents his case. I hurry over and try to interrupt, apologising and presenting my offer.<br />The professor listens. Looks at the project and then says, "I would have thought you were trying to use a staining technique to more accurately depict the color of the fruit..."<br />Then she takes a small sponge, rubs it against the rest of the fruit and begins to press it all over his boards.<br />Needless to say, I learnt a new technique. No one got punished and no one got marks subtracted. However, I was so scarred by the experience that for six years, I never touched another pomegranate till yesterday.<br />And even after I brought it home, I went on Youtube to research how it was to be eaten.<br />I found this<br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Fco-95_Aa0M?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Fco-95_Aa0M?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br /><br />and this<br /><object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KLN85JwllDs?fs=1&hl=en_US"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KLN85JwllDs?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />I chose to follow the instructions in the second video.<br />Did I enjoy it? It was just one very weird fruit. After nearly hurting my cheek bones trying to get out as much juice as possible, i then faced the task of how to get the juice off the seeds without going through the five-week-blender-salad-alternative. I ended up spooning the seeds into a bowl, sucking on the juice and spitting out the seed shaft.<br />Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy too much workMs. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-14488794083809833402010-10-21T08:39:00.000-07:002010-10-21T08:51:43.202-07:00Isabel Briggs Myers/ Personality IndicatorIsabel Briggs Myers (October 18, 1897 – May 5, 1980)[1][2] was an American psychological theorist. She was co-creator, with her mother, of the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI). from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isabel_Briggs_Myers">here. </a><br /><br />The Myers-Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) assessment is a psychometric questionnaire designed to measure psychological preferences in how people perceive the world and make decisions.[1]:1 from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myers-Briggs_Type_Indicator">here</a><br /><br />In any case, as part of an office-wide initiative to help us find out what kind of personalities we all were and how they affected how we perform; I and my co-workers sat through the 93 question questionnaire, after which some individual had the tedious task of trying to analyse us.<br /><br />My results arrived today and I was classified: INTJ<br /><br />What does that mean?<br /><br /><br />After analysing my responses to questions to determine a) where i like to focus my attention, b)the way I like to look at things c)the way I like to go about deciding things and d) how I like to deal with the outer people; it was discovered that:<br /><br /><em>I have an original mind and a great drive for implementing ideas and achieving goals. I quickly see pattens in external events and develop long-range explanatory perspectives. When committed, I organize a job and carry it through. I am skeptical and independent, have high standards of competence and performance for myself as well as others.</em><br /><em></em><br />I think that pretty much means I am awesome.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-21807267788255485452010-10-18T10:28:00.000-07:002010-10-18T10:34:09.570-07:00Liberian Widows InitiativeSimply by watching the video posted below, you can help raise funds for a worthy cause: The Liberian Widows Initiative. The couple in the video will be spending a year in Liberia working with the program, funds for which are being donated based on the number of views the video gets.<br /><br />So just by watching it and inviting someone one else to click on it and do the same, you are helping to raise funds for people who really need it.<br /><br /><object width="640" height="390"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/8tuQDokpRdk&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/8tuQDokpRdk&hl=en_US&feature=player_embedded&version=3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowScriptAccess="always" width="640" height="390"></embed></object><br /><br />Visit the creators at the <a href="http://www.jubileeproject.org/">JUBILEE PROJECT</a> if you would also like to sponsor directly.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-27552680535479643212010-10-14T07:27:00.000-07:002010-10-14T07:41:29.308-07:0069 days<a href="http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/breaking/images/2010/1013/262594_1.jpg?ts=1286994745"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 600px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 220px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.irishtimes.com/newspaper/breaking/images/2010/1013/262594_1.jpg?ts=1286994745" border="0" /></a><br /><div>The highlight of my day yesterday was the rescue of the <a href="http://www.google.com/search?hl=en&source=hp&q=chilean+miners+rescue+live&aq=0z&aqi=g-z3g7&aql=&oq=chilea&gs_rfai=CnCYMfRO3TKasJ5z0ygSj2M3cCQAAAKoEBU_QHYCR">trapped Chilean miners </a>after a 69 day ordeal. Yes, I said 69 days. 69 days of being trapped in cramped, unsanitary and uninhabitable quarters, miles beneath the ground on which their frantic family members were standing on.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I remember when it first happened, I stumbled across the news because I am well, nosy. I remember I was getting dressed to go out and watching a live streaming broadcast of the news and the newscaster said something to the effect of "Work has started on the tunnel to reach the miners and bring them out. There were two possible points of entry" the camera pans as he points to two mountains," the current option will take about two months and the original choice would have been a 6 month drilling project."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I remember freezing. Two months! Six Months! What on earth was going on? I thought it was a simple case of sand falling in on a badly constructed mine shaft and all that needed to happen was for them to use dynamite to blast their way in and get them out. I was wrong.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>69 days, these men huddled together, armed with sheer determination not to give up and the fervent prayers of their loved ones.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I wondered which one of them might have fought with his wife that morning before going to work and maybe in anger she had yelled, "Get out and don't come back!" and he too had retaliated with "Who wants to come back sef!!" Only for hours later to realise that he really couldn't and if something went worse, he never will.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Or maybe one of the men had a kid that had done something bad and the father had said, "When I get home from work, I will deal with this." and the child had prayed out of fear,"God, please don't let daddy come home tonight." Well, daddy did not come home for 69 nights, all of which you now stayed with another kind of fear.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Does make you wonder at the grace of divine love in your life. Why do some experiences happen to some and not to others?</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Do you care? I don't. I am just happy that the ones that have happened to me, I could deal with.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And I am happy that the miners are home. My mother, when I told her, wondered if there might have been some psychological effects on the miners. We both were still grateful that they were still here; even the most sickly of them all.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Welcome home. Welcome home</div>Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-1407428473713446352010-10-12T19:25:00.000-07:002010-10-12T19:58:11.146-07:00MunchiesI am not a spectacular cook. I cook well and have been complemented enough times on my ability to raid the fridge and make something delicious. I cook because I love to eat and have sadly come to a realization: some time in the past five years of living in the US, food became my go-to pick-me-up<br /><br />Two years into my collegiate career, things became very tough for me. A lot of things began to go wrong. Too many issues were beyond my control and I found myself crumpling under the burden. I have an aunt who in her own way tried to do her best to make right for me, the things that she could. One such thing was food. She always made sure that I had enough to eat. And so, I began to measure my level of personal well being by how much food I was eating. I could not afford to eat out but that was no problem as I always had enough food to make up.<br /><br />I remember one Friday evening a couple years ago which could serve as a template for many others. As usual, I had put up for "pin-up" review, designs that were so predictably sub par--according to my professors-- that the reviewing jury took a considerable amount of time ripping into me. Choking back frustrated tears and weighed down by the foreboding knowledge that it did not matter what grades I got in other courses, my GPA was not climbing anywhere higher, I dragged my sorry self to my dorm room.<br /><br />My suite mate was getting dressed to go clubbing and she proffered the perfunctory invitation. As usual, I declined. Girlfriends with whom I had hung out with as a freshman had slowly taken me off their social lists: a heavy academic workload coupled with my recluse-type behaviour meant that I was not honoring their invites and they too stopped asking; so that Friday, like all others, no one was looking for me to do anything.<br /><br />My other classmates from architecture school called me to tell me they were going drinking. Our studio was split down the middle with half being budding alcoholics and the other half stepping that up to smoking weed. Each group usually retreated behind their individual comforts when stressed. Since I did none of those things, and could not afford to do anything else, I went into my room and closed the door.<br /><br />Then I cried a bit. It sometimes helped.<br /><br />Then halfway through blowing my nose, I realised that I needed to pee. I got up and headed for the bathroom I shared with my suite mate. As I walked out of my room, I caught sight of two plantains, sitting on top of our fridge. They were turning black. I told myself that I needed to fry them immediately lest they become so rotten that they could not be salvaged.<br /><br />As I sat on the toilet bowl, I toyed with the idea of eating just plantains. As I washed my hands, I mentally browsed through the contents of my fridge. Twenty minutes later, the suite was filled with the smell of frying peppers and steaming rice with onions. Less than an hour later, I climbed on my bed with a tray laden with food and cold, sweet drinks. I was alternating between shoving my face with food and changing the channel when I caught my reflection in the mirror and froze. There was a slight, imbecilic smile on my face and for the brief moments, I had forgotten that I had been crying.<br /><br />All it had taken to bring up my spirits was hot rice with fried fish stew, fried plantains washed down with cold soda. Food had become my comfort.<br /><br />I think, after that, i became very cautious about how I saw food. Unfortunately, the system had been set in motion. Till now, I fight a daily battle not to mask/ bury my emotions with food. It does not matter what it is, as long as I am eating something.<br /><br />A forty pound weight gain coupled with skin that has become a new colony base for acne have been just two of the repercussions. Lethargy, fatigue, join the list.<br /><br />I am working on it. We all battle depression in different ways. I have used food. Others use even more destructive means. Talking about it was not an option at the time: no one would have understood and family would just have told me to go into prayer; which is fine but sometimes, you might feel so down that you cannot hear God speaking to you. And that is why God made professional mental health practitioners.<br /><br />It is 10.56 pm. I am craving something to eat. I am not sad. Or depressed. Just hungry.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16811796.post-81805064479807762032010-10-08T07:07:00.001-07:002010-10-08T07:55:55.517-07:00EmpowermentI attended a panel discussion yesterday of which one of the panelists was Cheryl Blair, wife to former England's Prime Minister, Tony Blair. I had no idea she would be there as I had only just heard about the event while mistakenly eavesdropping on the chatter of two ladies on the bus. It was to be a seminar on Empowering Women Entrepreneurs and as I am a budding entrepreneur, I excused myself for an hour from work and went to attend the event.<br /><br />The panelists were 1) John Rwangombwa, The Minster for Finance and Economic Planning of Rwanda 2) Cheryl Blair, The Cheryl Blair Foundation for Women and 3) Leslie Lane, The Vice President of the Nike Foundation<br /><br />A couple things struck me during the discussion. First of all, when Cheryl Blair was introduced, there was no mention of her spousal connections or how many children she had; which made me think of the last time I attended a Nigerian business professionals' event and someone thought it important to mention that all the speakers were married with children. I had had no idea that she was a lawyer. Her personal life was not important, only her personal achievements. I was impressed by that. I want to be measured by what I have done with my life and not whose last name I might or might not carry or how many children I am mother to.<br /><br />Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala gave the opening remarks. Of the percentage of impoversished people in the world, women make up most of the numbers, she said, and she finds it incredible that constantly there has to be presentations to justify why women should be invested in. I have my own theories about that but I found the information fascinating. Because, I have indeed seen so many announcements of summits where women are lobbying to invite male dominated giovernments and financial mechanisms to invest in their women and communities. As one of the panelists later stated, 90% of a woman's revenue is pooled back into her family while for men it is 30-40%. Men in general, are thought to consider an investment in/ purchase of things to be better use of their resources than an investment in the women.<br /><br />The third thing that touched me was when the Rwandan Minister said that his country has the highest number of women in political office in the world. And as such, there have been quite a few progressive, positive reforms in legislature and constitution to protect and develop women's rights which have in turn led to positive results for the country as more women were seeking education and aspiring for more with their lives than just marriage and children. However, the interesting thing is this would probably not have been possible if the 1994 genocide had not happened because as a result of the horrific deaths, most homes were left without male heads. So, it was imperative for the government to do something as now, most of their citizens were women and children; both of which had not historically been given rights and opportunities to empower themselves. So reforms were made for women to improve upon their economic potentials which then led to an increase in their overall life potential.<br /><br />This made me think of one valuable lesson I have learned growing up as an Eckist: that nothing in life happens in a vacuum; it is up to you to deduce the reason and choose your reactions.<br /><br />The genocide was a horrible part of history; as were all other acts of human violence on one another. The nation is still recovering but who was to think that in future years, its result would establish Rwanda as a nation that might very well be on its way to becoming the template for a modern African nation with regards to equality and human rights. Women's rights are human rights, you know.<br /><br />Cheryl Blair then went on to share that she had just come from a bid opening chaired by Hilary Clinton on a project to bring to half of the world's 300 million women who have no access to technology, information and thus social leverage, a simple device some of us take for granted, called the cellphone or mobile phone. This was after it was realised through research that this was a $150 billion untapped market that telecommunications providers were ignoring in favor of their more western and more male dominated markets. Now, there is a bidding frenzy to participate in a project that will develop and encourage such services like mobile education, mobile banking, mobile marketing, mobile health care among a plethora of supporting services and industries. I was intrigued that it was only when a monetary incentive was dangled, did these firms step forward.<br /><br />I am no fool. I know money or the lack of it makes the world go round. I also know that women are the best avanue for capacity building for every nation. If a woman is in control of her own life and her resources, she can plan if and when she does things be they be the more traditional actions like marriage and child bearing or even running a business to maintain her independence and financial contribution to her family and community. An educated and enlightened woman is an asset to every community she is in.<br /><br />I know that I have been fortunate in life but also the quest for the opportunities to be fortunate has also been because my mother herself was educated and could encourage me to do so.<br /><br />And so I march on, seeking ways to empower myself spiritually, financially, intellectually, emotionally and socially.<br /><br />That is why I visit sites like <a href="http://timbuktuchronicles.blogspot.com/">Timbuktu Chronicles </a>to learn of those who are doing similar things across the African continent.Ms. Catwalqhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06506293561878301421noreply@blogger.com5