A penny for my thoughts?...make it a million

My new website

2011-12-27T11:56:00.001-08:00

Hello old friends,
It is with great pleasure that I would like to announce my new online base and invite you to visit my new home...

www.bani-productions.com

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.

You can also like the production outfit's official facebook page,

follow us on twitter

and subscribe to our Youtube channel so you are never out of the loop.

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.

Have a wonderful holiday and see you on the new site.

MUAH!!!!

Been a long time

2011-11-07T09:37:00.000-08:00

It'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.
Till then, do check out some of what I have been working on and see you soon.

Please help raise funds for Queen's College: Data room project

2011-06-26T10:51:00.001-07:00

Growing Up Naija: Episode II

2011-05-31T11:51:00.000-07:00

Comment, subscribe to the Youtube Channel and invite others to do so

Latest Video Project: Growing up Naija Episode I

2011-05-24T07:02:00.001-07:00

Check it out and please subscribe to my YouTube channel.

Nigerian E-passport

2011-04-25T08:34:00.000-07:00

picture from here

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.

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.

1. Visit http://www.immigration.gov.ng/

2. Click on APPLY ONLINE. It is at the top of the page.

The link will redirect you to https://portal.immigration.gov.ng/

3. Click on E-PASSPORT APPLICATION FORM. It is on the second block of information under the heading PASSPORT

4. The link will take you to a page "Apply for New passport"

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

5. You will be taken to another site, where you will be asked if you want to log in using google.

I did and then I logged in and filled the necessary information on the form

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:

SW GLobal LLC

US50 Albany TurnpikeCanton, CT 06019

Your confirmation page upon the first leg of completing the document will tell you what information to include in the money order.

7. No, there is no number to call them. There is an email on the site. And only God knows who won that contract.

8. Send your money order through registered mail.

9. The money order goes to Connecticut and someone there processes the payment and you receive a confirmation email.

NOTE: your appointment date at the embassy will be included in the email somewhere.

10. then you show up the day of your appointment, pray before going so that you are at your most gracious and patient.

Take with you: a) a $20.00 money order addressed to the "Consulate of Nigeria"

b) your old passport

c) the printed page of your receipt confirmation

d) the printed page of your appointment confirmation

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 .

12. Have fun and see you around somewhere representing the Eagles.

Calling Nigerians and all lovers of Naija! Need pictures asap!

2011-04-07T09:37:00.000-07:00

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 baniproductions@gmail.com 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: Food: all traditional dishes (please remember to include names) Snacks: Fan Yogo, Okin Biscuit, gogo, sisi pelebe, chocomilo, baba dudu, coaster biscuit, goody goody, coke, eyin alangba, alata biscuit, Fashion: Gele, full outfits for men, women and children Literature: Fiction and non fiction Text books from back in the day: NOEC, Ababio etc Landmarks: any one where you are Lagos: third mainland bridge, 3 masquerades at toll gate, makoko, VI, Ojuelegba, Alade market, Totota Building, Things happening: Go-slow, people hawking, police men at work, vendors, bus stops, Iconic images: beat up cars, (public transport: okada, danfo, taxis etc), bumper stickers, graffiti on lorries, buildings, magazines, Living things: The good, the bad and the ugly Also, I am looking for MP3/ avi clips of music from veteran artists (1975-2000) : 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 I really appreciate your help and look forward to your participation! Thanks

My First Lady

2011-03-23T11:59:00.000-07:00

For 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.

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, instead opting to a Q&A session with a hip hop star whose last taste of poverty was at least five years ago and thus cannot relate to any of the issues affecting Nigeria's youth.

So, I wrote a funny script for a four minute video.

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.
One colleague said bluntly, "You will be locked up in Kirikiri (a prison in Lagos)".
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.
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.
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.
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.
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.

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 wise, wise words for us all in her time.

Till then, rainy season is upon us in Nigeria. Get your UNBLERA

My Big Fat Valentine

2011-02-14T13:19:00.000-08:00

picture from here

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.

November 2010

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.
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!!!!
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.

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.
I declare full out war on my acne.
Buy an instruction book on how to apply eye shadow so it does not look like something is growing on my eyelids.
I get to work

December 2010
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.
Due to personal choices, opportunities to mix and mingle are limited.
Still, I am optimistic. I have one whole month.
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.
A friend suggests speed dating. I look at her like she is unstable.
Then I think about it.
No.
Maybe….
No.
I still have a month, dude.
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…
And smokes.
So he is off my list.
I am bummed.
I go see a movie.
I am the only one there by myself. This is not new.
But suddenly, I am aware.
However, the movie is amazing. I love it!!!!
I get home.
I read. Polish off a script.
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.
No worries, I have a month.

January 2011
Lord have mercy.

Week one: packing up the office and moving to another location after 20 years in one place.

Week Two: International conference, dealing with attendees from all over the developed and developed world.

“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”

“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.”

“No habla espanole”

“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.

“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.

“Thank you sir for coming. We loved having you here. See you in six months.”

“Please send these boxes to this building. We are out”

“Put off the lights"

“Oh my God, Sir, you just arrived from New Zealand? The conference is over…Please accept these complimentary tickets to go see Black Swann…”

“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”

Week Three: Errr, where’s my office?
·

“Excuse me Manager, I was at the conference all of last week. When I got to my allotted space, err, it’s a wall”.

“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…”

“Thank you manager, I found my office. It’s on another floor."

“Excuse me Manager, my phone does not work.”

“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…"

"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.

I need a vacay.

Week Four:

Conference report and reviews

Balancing checkbooks

Planning for the rest of fiscal year.

Meetings

“Wait, what is today’s date?”

February 2011

“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.”

“Hey Girl, long time, so…uhm, about that Speed dating thing…”

“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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“What’s today again? Feb 11th? You’ve got to be kidding me.

February 14, 2011
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.
And that is all that matters.
Oh, I brought a friend.

Research help needed

2011-01-18T08:35:00.000-08:00

I 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?

New Year, New Year

2011-01-06T14:11:00.000-08:00

I 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.

Keep coming back

Riding the I-95

2010-12-24T05:58:00.000-08:00

I 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.

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.

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.

wonder who sees me, happy to be riding the i-95

Walking among the stars

2010-12-17T06:26:00.000-08:00

I 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.

I met Tamara Tunie 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 Ha Jin's A FREE LIFE; 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.
picture from here

So, yesterday, while staring at the list of canceled flights at the airport,who comes walking past me but John King. 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?".
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.

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.

How I learned not to mess with my mother

2010-12-07T14:10:00.000-08:00

picture from here

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.

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.
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.
I had to get away.
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.
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.
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 chook her with some vaccines.”
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.

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.
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.

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.
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.
Leaving me behind.

--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.

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.

I never took her seriously until I saw her small white Mazda drive out of the hospital compound.
Like a scene out of my worst nightmare, there I was, my skinny eight year old self left behind at the clinic.

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.
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.

I mean, what would you think if your mother left you at 10 o’clock in the morning?
So, I sat there and sat there, hissed at the taunting nurses and sat there some more.
Then some hours later my father’s old Volvo pulled into the compound but stopped right at the gate.

A COUPLE MINUTES EARLIER
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.
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.
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.”
To which his friend replies, “That is because, THAT is your daughter.”
My father peers through his glasses and what-do-you-know? It is me.

FLASH BACK TO ME
I thought my father had come to save me.
I ran forward. My arms flailing. My father drove in and packed the car. He and his friend came down in a panic.
“Why are you here? Where is your mother? Where is your brother?”
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.
So I can imagine all sorts of things flying through his mind.
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?

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.
My father asked, “This little girl gave you problems?”
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.

My father had picked me up by the midriff and motioned for the doctor to proceed to the dispensary. His friend followed us in.

It took me a good minute to realize that I was about to be given an injection.
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.

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.
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.

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.
We drove home. A small town, the commute was short.

On the way, we passed through the King’s Market—every town has one. Saw my mother’s car parked. This woman was shopping!!!!!!
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.
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.
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
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.

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.
I don’t know if I believe her.

TV Watching, Lesson Number I

2010-11-30T11:04:00.001-08:00

On 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.

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.
End of the show, two of the kids end up dead in a drunk-driving accident.
I was like, “What?!”

Three million things are running in my head.

Issue number one
The party was held in the house of couple who were out of town and had no connection to the kids. Charge: Trespassing.
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.
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.
Kai! If only I could reach into the TV and smack someone

Issue Number Two
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.
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.
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

Issue Number 3
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.

So I thought about my own mother. And had a vision of...

My Adopted Child: Mummy, why have you no ears?
Me ( many years from now): Well, my child. One day, your grandmother...
My Adopted Child: You mean, Grandma in Lagos (or wherever she is)
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.
My Adopted Child: Wha....aaat?!
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.
My Adopted Child: Daddy!!!!

LMAO!!!!!!!
Oh, wait, I am the only one laughing?
Sigh
I love American TV

2010-11-17T16:46:00.000-08:00

Been planning an update for four days.

No time

So Busy

So tired

So crazy

but happy

and

The degrees of Sin

2010-11-05T08:34:00.000-07:00

I 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.

To the above, she said, "You don't smoke but you have sex?"

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?

Since I don't subscribe to the same path, I see sexual intercourse as something different.

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.

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.

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.

HELL.

The fiery, eternal burning pit for sex-ing peoples.

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?"
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.
I digress.
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.

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.

There are some things that I try to avoid because I cannot deal with the repercussions.

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.

This is just as an example.

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.

C'est finit.

Thinking about my mum...

2010-11-02T13:05:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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.

Then there was the time when I would not eat freshly baked bread.

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.

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.

My mom's solution: she would make the eggs, season it heavily and then clean up; leaving me with no chores.

I have other things that I have subjected that woman to, out of sheer wierdness or phases. And she would oblige me.

When you are a kid, what is more important than a parent who accepts your skoin skoin.

*sigh* all this , cos I was just thinking about my mum

Riding the bus for a thousand blocks

2010-10-26T08:09:00.001-07:00

I 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.

These African American offspring are some of the most ill mannered, disrespectful disruptive people you will ever encounter in a public space.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

So disgraceful

I ate a pomegranate

2010-10-23T08:15:00.000-07:00

picture from here.
Yesterday, out of curiosity and a genuine desire to consume fruit, I bought and tried to consume a Pomegranate. 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.
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.

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.

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.

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.

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.
I ask, "What is this?"
He looks up a bit puzzled, then realizing it is me, he says "A pomegranate."
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.
"How do you eat it?" I ask
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.
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.
He goes ballistic.
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.
He is livid and cursing. If I was a guy, I am sure he would have hit me.
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."
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.
He storms off, the rest of the class goes back to what they are doing.
I go home. I am sad and scared. I don't want to be hated for a mistake
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.
I go to bed worried.
I cannot sleep.
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.
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..."
Then she takes a small sponge, rubs it against the rest of the fruit and begins to press it all over his boards.
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.
And even after I brought it home, I went on Youtube to research how it was to be eaten.
I found this

and this

I chose to follow the instructions in the second video.
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.
Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyy too much work

Isabel Briggs Myers/ Personality Indicator

2010-10-21T08:39:00.000-07:00

Isabel 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 here.

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 here

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.

My results arrived today and I was classified: INTJ

What does that mean?

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:

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.

I think that pretty much means I am awesome.

Liberian Widows Initiative

2010-10-18T10:28:00.000-07:00

Simply 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.

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.

Visit the creators at the JUBILEE PROJECT if you would also like to sponsor directly.

69 days

2010-10-14T07:27:00.000-07:00

The highlight of my day yesterday was the rescue of the trapped Chilean miners 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.

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."

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.

69 days, these men huddled together, armed with sheer determination not to give up and the fervent prayers of their loved ones.

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.

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.

Does make you wonder at the grace of divine love in your life. Why do some experiences happen to some and not to others?

Do you care? I don't. I am just happy that the ones that have happened to me, I could deal with.

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.

Welcome home. Welcome home

Munchies

2010-10-12T19:25:00.000-07:00

I 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

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.

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.

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.

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.

Then I cried a bit. It sometimes helped.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

It is 10.56 pm. I am craving something to eat. I am not sad. Or depressed. Just hungry.

Empowerment

2010-10-08T07:07:00.001-07:00

I 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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And so I march on, seeking ways to empower myself spiritually, financially, intellectually, emotionally and socially.

That is why I visit sites like Timbuktu Chronicles to learn of those who are doing similar things across the African continent.

Started Cycling Classes

2010-10-06T07:48:00.000-07:00

My butt hurts terribly. I think I will switch to Kick Boxing or something.

October 4th 2010

2010-10-03T14:46:00.000-07:00

I am 26 years old....

$28

2010-10-03T14:21:00.001-07:00

A former work colleague of mine recently started working for an organisation called InterAction. It is a caolition of like minded non-profit organisations working on overlapping human interest issues around the world

A couple weeks ago, as part of the organisation's participation in and objectives to combat World Hunger, the employees were give the task of surviving on $28.00 for a week, which is what has been estimated is the amount of aid currently being disbursed in Haiti. So for a whole week, the employees only had twenty-eight dollars to survive upon.

When he told me this, I guess my reaction was not what he was expecting because I only blinked. Assuming I had not heard what he was talking about, he repeated the amount and I was still staring at him. I was not impressed.

Let me tell you why.

As much as I admire the motivations behind westerners' attempts to highlight a serious issue, one must realise that comparing living on $28/week in the city of Washington DC, USA and Port au Prince, Haiti like comparing oranges and coconuts. Not the same fruit group and thus not the same effects.

In Naira, Nigerian currency, $28 is about N4200 or theareabouts. I am really no longer sure what things cost in a city like Lagos but I think that someone who makes almost N5000 a month can possibly survive well. Not magnificently, but well.
Also, using DC as a template for the experiment is useless because the resources the city have to offer is not the same as the resources that Port Au Prince has to offer. Plus, the experiment was for only one week. If the participants had been asked to move out of their apartments and indeed live off $28/week, then I might have been a bit impressed. But not spending money for a week and going home to sleep in a comfortable apartment with a plasma flat screen is not what the devastated citizens of Haiti are experiencing.

I have lived off less than $28 for an extended period with no idea where sustenance would come from. So for me, the challenge was not a challenge because it was once my life.

Still, it brought whispers of sympathy from the audience that I was consisted of, as my friend explained what he had to do for a week. I just blinked.

But it does pose a question, how much is the least you have had to survive on?

Free Love: I endorse this message

2010-09-29T08:46:00.001-07:00

picture from here

By now, if you frequent this blog, you should be at least conversant with the fact that I do love Asian culture; my initial introduction being through film. As a result, I have been somewhat indoctrinated into Asian-American culture and recently volunteered on the rousingly successful first Annual Kollaboration DC talent showcase--to which none of my friends honored my invite--and on which I think I was one of two people of non-Asian descent on the whole team. Side note: not once during the production and show did I not wonder if the warm welcome and kind courtesies extended to me would be reciprocated if the group had been largely Nigerian/ African and an Asian had stepped forward to volunteer. i really wonder

Putting that aside, working with Asians has presented me with an issue that I initially had no understanding of the magnitude and gravity: the de-sexualisation of the Asian Male. Almost every Asian-directed blog that I have read focuses on how Asian men are never considered attractive and are at the bottom of the choice-of-partner-poll. On the hand, Asian women are considered highly desirable with one in every six Asian-American women dating aside of her race.

Each time I read this, I think of black women; more specifically African American women who fall into the same category on the female side of the scale. Thus if there are so many similarities,why then won't Asian Men seek out Black Women as potential partners? Why is there a derth of this kind of pairing:

Then come the stereotype responses:

1) Asian men are not attractive

Ugghhh, I seriously beg to differ

2) Black women are loud and aggressive

Uggh, that is relative. If you mean, they have been dealt so much shit over time that they are quick to call you out on your bullshit, then, I agree. Most Black Women I know WHO ARE EDUCATED are some of the classiest and elegant people you will ever meet; loyal and respectful. Note, I did not say, subservient.

3. Asian Men have small penises

While statistically speaking, it has been recorded that Asian men do have smaller members in relation to other races, you have to take into consideration a few things: a) Asian women are also smaller than other races of women, and so why would God design something that would split your insides...b)it does not say that it makes them lesser lovers as size has no indication on this and c) there are enough sexually unsatisfied black women AROUND THE WORLD for me to know that the desired penis size is more of a fantasy. It is like wanting a hummer so bad until you realize that is an obnoxiou, cash guzzling monstrosity that makes you look like a tool when you take up two parking spaces or crash when you took a corner too fast.

4. Neither parties find each other attractive

Ugggh, again, i beg to differ. I think the attraction is something both sides appear embarassed to admit. Speaking as a Nigerian, I watch with intrigue the stress my fellow sisters go through in finding a mate. I am yet to meet one who will say something like, "I am open to a man outside of my race". They are very concerned about what their parents who will say--parents whom I might add, will die and leave you behind to deal with your marriage. or what their friends would say -- friends who might secretly envy your courage to step outside of your comfort zone.

Once my friend stared me like I was crazy when I termed myself "An Equal Opportunity Lover". When I ask for a partner, I ask for love, respect, friendship, support, freedom and laughter. All of which I can get from anyone. It is when I start specifying that he has to be an engineer, be 6 feet tall, have an MBA, come from Ikeja in Lagos State and be an Eckist (as I am not a Christian) in addition to all the things that were listed above that I pidgeon-hole myself. Then when I meet someone that I find attractive, I immediately blank his side because he is none of those things listed.

I think people will be attracted to whomever but fear is what causes many to assume this as a point.

5. If God wanted us to mix, he would not have put us on different continents

Wow!!! Anyone hear KKK advocate?

6. There is the cultural difference

The most similar culture to an African culture is an Asian one. So also, a comparative culture to a European culture is an American one. Equation balance. I promise you that for every African tradition, there is an Asian equivalent. Language? There's always English or Sign or even better, learn a little bit from one another.

7. The Children will be confused

Only if the parents are confused. My parents are a mix of Yoruba and Itsekiri and while that might not seem like a comparative example, I use that to illustrate a merging of cultures. At home, we kids learned my father's language, ate foods from my mother's people and holidayed with her people. So, I am very much connected to both parts.

Plus, it is always useful to have your children be bilingual. I am always irritated when I see Nigerian children who cannot even speak one Nigerian language. The average Indian student has to learn two national languages to graduate from secondary school. Which reminds me, I have to continue my Igbo classes

Why this post? Am I secretly stalking an Asian guy all over town or currently involved with one and thus already defending against any potential social backlash?

No.

I just would like to encourage anyone who would like to experience love to go out and let it happen organically. Or you can use your church matchmaker (BTW, most east-Asians are christian. Yup, I was stunned. Southeast Asians, another issue)

Give one another a chance and live happy. make cute blasian babies...

Kollaboration Rocked!!!

2010-09-27T15:09:00.001-07:00

Kollaboration DC was a huge success. And the pre-production for year II begins shortly

People I read II

2010-09-20T11:05:00.000-07:00

Blog Name: Ask a Korean

What is it about: Questions about Korean culture are submitted via email and responded to in order and with the discretion of the blog handler who identifies himself as The Korean, and takes on the task of providing his personal insight to the Korean experience both in the United States and on the home continent of East Asia

Why I read it: Infused with sarcastic humour, the blog provides an insightful take on the workings of a brilliant individual who has the difficult task of navigating within an external culture that is both his and then not. The Korean is a naturalized uS citizen and so has both strong ties to his country of birth as well to his country of residence. There is also the issue that The Korean's family had to flee Northern Korea, the more totalitarian and oppressive state to South Korea, which we are more conversant with, before coming to the United States.

One of my favourite posts: Do Korean eat dogs

How to attract a Korean Man

Blacks and Koreans

What to wear

2010-09-20T10:04:00.001-07:00

picture from here

I always find myself not having something to wear for any event. And since for the longest time I never functioned on a budget that allowed me to just walk out and purchase a solution, I have on more than one occassion, sat down to effectively review my selections and ponder on why I might be out of a new hip number.

The answer is simple, I don't buy hip new numbers. I am pretty much a basic dresser. Ninety percent of my shoes are black and I always have a black piece as a base line ; be it, pants, skirts or the top. I only just learned a simple technique last year for applying makeup and this was after many years of leaving the house feeling cool only to pass my reflection in the street and wonder what affliction might have possibly befallen me in the past hours of my exiting my residence to make me have a red tint on my skin; and I am not one of those females that uses blusher.

I watch what other females wear and will be honest to say I am not as fashionable as the average femme. As long as my clothes are clean and I smell exceptional --now, fragrances are something I don't mess with-- I am quite satisfied. But these days, I am beginning to wonder whether or not the quality of my social life has something to do with the quality of my warddrobe.

I rarely go out. A typical Friday evening, has me pigging out in front of the TV to my latest foreign film DVD acquisition and I love it. When you are not the drinking type, and living in a culture where most of the socialising revolves around the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol, you will find yourself either gravitating to religious gatherings or if you like me where you are more spiritual than religious, entertaining yourself. Thus as a direct result, my warddrobe is sorely lacking in those pieces we Nigerians like to refer to as "ashewo couture".

Simply put, outfits that grab attention of males and females alike by putting your physical attributes on display.

I am not a prude but I am also not delusional to imagine that my body is in perfect condition to wear certain things. The last time my stomach was flat, my age was in the single digits and my bust and derriere size has steadily climbed in width over the past six years. The last part, I am quite happy with, though. Also, life's experiences have been evident on my skin as my once perfect, flawless feature looks like a cross between a post-harmattan farm burning exercise and a bombing zone.

So, I dress to cover the "love"/"food" handles, mosquito bites on my leg and ensure that my "ladies" are always in their proper position. Luckily, they are still behaving. I dress like a conservative adult. Which is not so bad. It is just that when you are now faced with an upcoming clubbing event --an activity that I have not partaken in in the past year or more-- you realise that your clothes are more suited to an evening at the Kennedy center.

What is a girl to do? I am going to be surrounded by a bunch of Asian girls whose average dress size is from 0-2. I am not envious of that though but I would rather not look like I could swallow one of the whole. Also, I have not been out in a while and so some pieces that used to fit twelve months ago have to be donated to charity.

Jeans it is...I'll will find some top to make it work. We will support it with Spanx. Luckily, I always have one good working pair of "ashewo couture" shoes....

So who is coming out to the Kollaboration DC after party at Pasha this Saturday?

People I read

2010-09-19T13:42:00.000-07:00

I started blogging in 2005 as a way to hone my writing skills and also vent my frustrations about things going on around me in a public form of self induced therapy. And, in the beginning, it was a blissful experience: I was suddenly linked with a group of young and adult writers whose unique outlook on the Nigerian experience both at home and abroad provided for a much intelligent discourse.

Each blogger then, had a distinct way of speaking, so much so that when I conceived and executed my Catwalq Academie Series (see links to all on the right), our general online community was drawn to the project, reacting to the familiar characters who though were anonymous avatars, had inspired personalities that were easily identifiable.

Projects began to spill out, as if an invisible barrier to creativity had been lifted and an infinite number of ideas were brought forth. Bella Naija became a brand, Blog Idols became a seasonal event and then came the blog awards, giving recognition to those bloggers the community felt stood out from the multitude of bloggers. And there was the 14th & Serenity which I was directly involved with, bringing a diverse group of characters for an amazing literary project.

As the community grew, so also did awareness of the technology and thus the different uses for which it could be put. Suddenly, the Nigerian blogosphere was inundated with spiteful, spineless individuals masked behind the cloak of anonymity who would go from blog post to blog spot leaving behind a trail of calculated insults to entice controversy.

Then, there was a mass exodus of bloggers. Most of the bloggers whose daily or weekly posts, i had awaited in high anticipation, eager for the ensuing discourse that would be conducted in the comments section. That was soon gone and a new generation of bloggers came on and my interest in the community all but died.

I have maintained my blog, largely because while I no longer have that connection to majority of the bloggers out there, this portal was initially chosen for me to have an outlet and I find myself running back to it, again and again. And even though my mother now uses this blog as a medium with which she can conduct her transatlantic stalking, I still feel most free expressing myself there.

And so, that is why I have decided to also to share what it is that stimulates me now.

By share curiosity and coincidence, I have become quite involved with Asian American issues, content, projects and initiatives. In fact, I am a current staff member on Kollaboration DC, an Asian American talent showcase holding this coming Saturday at the GWU Lisner Auditorium and being the only black person on staff, I am going to raffle names of anyone who buys tickets to see the show because I invited them, to win a lovely, free Kollab Tshirt.

Getting to meet and befriend Asian Americans also means I am getting exposed to their cultures which is not so new, as I grew up on the steady dose on one of the most successful exports out of South-east Asia: BOLLYWOOD. Outside of African cultures, I have felt most connected to Asian cultures because of the glaring similarities in community construct, social values and hierarchies. Both parts of the world (Africa and Asia) mirror one another, perfectly.

I am infused with the language, dress, food and visual culture. I have more Asian movies in my collection than any other region in the world; partly because they have many thriving industries from which budding filmmakers can learn how to tell accurate encompassing stories about their cultures and do so on a budget but also because the stories are so damn good.

I now have many friends from all over Asia and cannot wait to see two of them in particular at the upcoming Eckankar Worldwide Seminar in Minneapolis.

As a result of me opening myself up, I now read on a daily basis, a steady stream of blogs, websites and articles by Asian bloggers and writers. So in a series, I will term " People I read", I would like to introduce you all to an inspiring and rib cracking humorous individual, residing in New York and raising his daughter as a single parent; METRO DAD.

Enjoy

Kollaboration DC: September 25th, 2010

2010-09-17T12:14:00.000-07:00

Next Saturday, the First Annual Kollaboration DC comes to the national's capital with an Asian American and Pacific Islander talent showcase of some of the brightest and amazing up and coming out there.

An added bonus for you coming out to support in honour of my invite to Kollaboration DC: When you buy a ticket, I enter you into my personal raffle to win a free Kollaboration DC Tshirt to show my appreciation. This is my gift to you. Contact me for tickets ebaraje@gmail.com Prices go up on the day of.

See you there

Inspired by true events...

2010-09-16T12:11:00.000-07:00

A young lady, recently starting at a new position within a financial institution was seated in a mandatory orientation briefing which included staff members at various levels. It was the afternoon session and the current presenter was doing her best to keep the diverse group informed as well as engaged.

Young Lady, who will from here on out be referred to as YA, was however in a bit of a predicament. You see, over the course of the course of the previous couple of hours, she had downed two cups of herbal tea, completely forgetting that within her internal biological system, tea acts as a form of purgative. So as the first batch of slides went up, so did the indicative sounds of future bowel movements which would be preceeded by, until the alloted time of release, loud and disastrous gaseous emissions from her ample derriere.

Her seat was not such that she could so easily slip out of the class for such an extended period of time without people noticing and worse, figuring out the reason why. The presentation was not one that she could miss, the presenter being from her department and presenting material that she had already been informed she would need to be conversant in, and efficient in delivering. Also, the presence of the emissions was not necessarily evidence that she was ready to "go" but that she was too prepare herself to do so.

So, being the person that she is, she began to silently count to herself, willing her body to respond to her mental commands to extend the time between contractions and reduce the audibility of the emissions. Like a woman trying to mask an induced labour, she concentrated hard. Counting, sipping on water, counting, refusing to allow her butt cheeks to release either air or each other.

For 45 minutes.

It was the longest of her life.

At the end of the presentation, she made a less than graceful escape by which time, her bowels had rebelled completely and the herbal tea declared ownership of her arse.

At the end of the day, as the professionals gathered their things and made their exit, a senior staff member from her team, to whom she had been introduced earlier in the week, walked up to her.

"It is amazing what they expect us to process so early," he said with a wide smile, "but I am sure you will have no issues at all"

Her face looked a bit puzzled.

"I noticed you were concentrating hard on each of the slides. In fact, I thought at one pount, weren't you counting the data along with him?

Things that graze past my ear

2010-09-11T11:42:00.000-07:00

I was doing my usual crazy walk home from the yogurt place, trying to directly avoid the sewer grates on the sidewalk because I am a firm believer that those things are not as strong as they look --case in point the last episode of the show Rescue Me shows a man just dropping 20ft to the bottom of the sewer when the grate suddenly gave way--but I digress.

So I am walking home, or to the casual observer, hopping from one side of the side walk to another and I pass a Hispanic mother and her two sons possibly on the same route; home, that is.

The little one is talking. I don't know the origins of the sentence but I catch, "....I am going to ask my daddy to buy me ....he said he would buy me....I'll ask if I can have this too."

We get to a traffic light and stop and then I catch the wearied, slightly irritated answer from his mother, "Your daddy always promises you he'll buy this and buy that and you never get nothing...."

The little one immediately jumps to his father's defense. "Nah- uhn, he doesn't lie. He never lies about Jerseys. He bought me that jersey that one time."

The mother gestures for him to keep walking. The light is green. She uses her left hand and there is no ring. Beside her, her older son is silent, lugging two grocery bags. She has a matching one in her right hand.

The little one lapses into silence. Brooding. Most likely hurt. I felt for him because, he was yet to fully understand the dynamics of an absentee father.

I felt for the woman because conversations like this would keep coming up until one day day, they would stop and then she would know that the man was "dead" to the little one. She was probably tired of defending a man who appeared larger than life to his sons, was probably the same to her once and now was not even worth his word to purchase an item for his children. Her response had had no sneer in it, just a cautious reminder to a child that was beginning the foundations of another fantasy that would possibly be crushed to the ground.

I felt for the older boy because from his silence, he had no fantasies left. Not of his father.

I imagine. But the again, it was just a few words that grazed past my ears. Their father might be in the home, and what the boy wanted might have been ice cream and in that case, his father constantly promising him a cold treat and delivering celery sticks would not be so bad...but I like my version better.

More dramatic.

Sound of Music...sounds of the classics

2010-09-05T14:33:00.000-07:00

picture from here

My aunt and I took her son and his friends ( children of her best friend) to see a stage production of The Sound of Music. For days before the event, my aunt and I debated over the price of ticket seats, budgeted extensively over the trip that would be more than a day's drive for her --whilst I could wing it by metro-- and could barely contain our excitement. We were so excited about going to see one of our favourite childhood memories brought alive on screen.

The venue was parked. We were there early and could barely find parking. Old and young, the audience trudged towards the Wolf Trap entrance and we went to find our seating. It took off to a good start, the music reaching out from strong, professionally trained vocals to hug us like a warm memory. Our seats were nice enough that they offered us a price that would not break the bank and we could even make out the features of amazing performers. My aunt and I, seated next to one another, sang along with the audience and the performers, rocking ourselves side to side. Then we looked over at the kids and the invited children were looking bored out of their minds.

To say I was deflated, was an understatement.

My aunt whispered that they had never seen the movie --which was the reference point for both us and most likely for you--and my jaw hit the floor. Not only had the kids never seen the movie but their mother did not think there was anything odd about the fact that as children within an environment where they could have access to almost any information, their exposure was limited to hip shaking movements of Obesere, Sunny Ade and Yinka Ayefele.

The kids had never been taken to a stage performance before; in fact were confused as to what was happening during the intermission.

I did not know what to think. I am not going to tell you that their lives are infinitely and permanently marred because they have never read any Western Classics or seen movies like, My Fair Lady, Oklahoma, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers or even Koku Baboni, Ralia The Sugar Girl etc because there are millions of children around the world who haven't either and are quite fine.

My thing was that even though they had never read those, they were not reading anything either. They are quick to break into whatever track, Rihanna has found to lay over repeating the same word or jump on an owambe party dance floor to collect the dollar bills, stamped on their foreheads but they cannot tell me one single book they have read or movie that was not stamped by the intellect diminishing Disney.

I am a Sunny fan. Yinka Ayefele, Obesere, Pasuma...not on my radar. One of my greatest sources of gratitude was that as a child, whilst I was not born into a financially wealthy home, I was born into one that was wealthy with KNOWLEDGE. I read extensively and was read to. I listened to the conversations my parents and their friends had and was able to piece together my culture not just as a singular unit but as part of a global fabric. You cannot imagine the look on my face when after I ranted about how evil white people where after reading Alex Haley's ROOTS, my father told me Africans had always owned slaves too and even facilitated the sale of slaves to the Europeans. Shuo!

The first time I went to the beach, I was not allowed in. Not because neither my brother and I had planned to swim-- which we did not know how--nor that we did not bring clothes to do so, but because my father preferred to give us a running commentary about the power of tidal waves. I remember watching with mild irritation as he made us count how many waves were coming and listen to the underlying sound of the HU --another story for another day.

My mother would tell me stories of her growing up--she had an interesting and sometimes pain filled experience--and she would in turn listen to whatever stories I churned out; whether made up or not. I went to see plays. I acted my own out at home. I had a little farm of my own; one of my earliest career goals was to be wealthy industrial farmer...which I could still be if I wanted to.

I think that is why I am the way I am. I grew up learning and always enjoyed something new. Living abroad has been one educational experience after another; no pun intended, seeing as I came here on a student's visa. Which is why, when I see Nigerians living in the US who do not seem inclined to or interested in availing themselves of the opportunities to learn, I shiver inside. So, why did you leave home? You could just have been blissfully unaware within the space you live in in Nigeria instead of constantly saying something quite off putting, like calling the Vietnamese restaurant on the next street from your house, a Chinese take out. Or saying that me being friends with a Sikh Indian is bad, because he is one of the "MUSLIM" Taliban on account of his Dastar (or head wrap)

I am not bourgeoisie . I just feel like, one should know of things outside of your comfort zone because you never know where you might be. Also, it helps you realise just how small you are in this wide world.

Till then,

Edelweiss, Edelweiss
Every morning you greet me

Edelweiss,Edelweiss
Bless my homeland forever.

yeah, i skipped lines...

The first time

2010-08-29T15:35:00.000-07:00

As females, we have been taught from childhood that our virginity is a highly coveted prize that men are very eager to divest us of. It is that which we brandsh as evidence of our being of exemplary behaviour and good repute. It is that which many present to their future spouse as gifts of their fidelity and intended continued loyality and which the intended spouse takes with a sense of entitlement and proof that they were the first to feast of the sumptious delicacy.

If you ask any man, they will tell you that they would prefer to marry a virgin. Why, I have no idea. In any case, it is their second biggest fantasy after a menage a trois with models.

I don't think anyone ever forgets their first time. And you hope it will be as memorable for your partner as it was for you. That is, if it was their first time as well. There is probably nothing as disappointing as finding out that the person does not even remember.

Years ago, one of my very good friends and I sat in bated breath, awaiting her next period after she had sex for the first time. She and I were eighteen and fightened at the prospect of her being pregnant. The responsible party had by then left the country and there was no way we could have tracked him. She was panicked and stressed and I was even more so because I had introduced the two.

The period came, two weeks late and we were both saved.

Flash forward, six years and I run into the guy randomly. We squeal, shriek and throw ourselves into an embrace. We meet up over a cup of tea and we try to catch up on lost time. When I am sure that we have gotten to a comfortable place, I ask if he has spoken to my friend since he left and he has no idea who I am talking about.

I try to refresh his memory. Does he not remember her? He was her first?

He draws blanks.

We both log on to facebook so I can pull up a picture and even then, her face is lost in a haze of many others.

I am saddened and then again, I am not.

It was her first time. Not his. She would remember it for the rest of her life. For him, she did not even register on his radar.

Makes me wonder....

Road Trips and Journey Musings

2010-08-27T08:13:00.001-07:00

I have been travelling extensively over the past couple of days, mostly by road. At one point, I was enroute on the road, from about 12.00 am - 5.00 am. I slept most of the way and when I wasn't hitting my head on the glass, I stared out at the night as it swept by.

My one thought was gratitude that I could make the trip in safety. There is probably no how I would travel in the middle of the night within Nigeria and not fear for my life. Armed bandits, a car breakdown in the middle of nowhere with no roadside assistance are just a few of the issues running through one's mind. Fortunately, I went through with no issues.

Anytime, I enjoy the benefit of a service, whether paid or unpaid, I cannot help but compare to my own country. So many things here are interconnected. The economies grow in the west because there is an efficient transfer of goods and services.

Take transportation for example. There are opportunities at all levels for all income opportunities. If you wish to travel, you can walk, ride a bike, drive yourself, take the bus, take the train or fly. And while these services all co-exist, there is no apparent threat of eradication by a new service coming into play.

Someone told me that one reason the train system for goods in Nigeria was not working was because the northerners who tend to transport lots of goods and service wanted their trucking systems to flourish so they have systematically tried to sabotage the rail system. Whether or not this is true, I can still believe it. There have been so many instances where some new business idea has been sabotaged by the pre-existent --and most times not as efficient-- system because they feared a loss of business. What they do not understand is that we can all function because not all customers will like the same things. As much as cell phones have become part of our lives, there are those who don't use it or if they do, they use only the most basic function and so whether or not the phone can change shape or connect with outer space is none of their concern.

Maybe, one day, in my country, we will learn that we can and should work together.

Until then, we live on hope. And I stare out at the silent, calm, passing night.

sigh...goodbye

2010-08-20T07:27:00.000-07:00

He had stolen into my heart, infiltrated my dreams and taken residence in my fantasies. I watched him constantly, cautiously, carefully trying to discern any subtle detail that could indicate if ever our coming together would be possible.
I tried not to read too much into the way he said my name; with that unique lilt that comes from not having the specific intonations in his own language but with a softness that let me know he suspected there ought to be something there.
His handshake: firm. His eye contact: solid. His welcoming hug: comforting and warm. His manner: adult. His discourse: purposeful.
I dared to hope.
Then, I step out into the evening's warm air, mentally preparing for the journey back home as midnight appeared around the corner to be greeted by his fine form and those of our colleagues, clustered at the entrance; smoking.
My heart sank to many, many depths and I asked myself, how I could have missed it.
I had never seen him do so. Never smelt it on him, never....
I collect my thoughts....he is speaking to me, they are looking at me, waiting for my answer.
I tell them I would appreciate a ride to the closest metro . They are all headed in my opposite direction and the metro is pretty kind of them.
We share a joke and a laugh, me, from a safe distance from their cloud of smoke.
I watch his pretty smile.
I am sad.
I let him go.

Spin this yarn

2010-08-16T22:50:00.000-07:00

Today, I made an ugly scarf. It took me quite a while to complete, starting and stopping the process. The wool came from two rolls; one of which was intended for a hat that never quite took shape and the other for a multicoloured scarf that did not do the same either.

I started crocheting in October last year. I was at the Eckankar World Wide Seminar in Minneapolis and was spending some down time in one of the supply rooms. A volunteer, whose job it was to man the supply room was seated beside me and we tried to make good use of our fifteen minutes spent in each other's company catching up as we saw each other every six months or theareabouts.

As she spoke, she reached into her purse and brought out a roll of yarn and began to crochet a scarf. I watched her for a while, taken back to when I was around 12 years old, in boarding school and a knitting faze swept through the school. Everyone was either crocheting or knitting something. Most girls made blankets or baby clothes. In any case, wool was in. So, I wrote home to my mother asking for knitting wool and pins. I think I must have told her, it was a requirement for home economics class which would have been a partial truth. In any case, the next visiting day, tucked inside the bag of fruits and provisions that my mother lugged with her in public transport on my behalf were half a dozen balls of colorful yarn and two long knitting pins. The kind old ladies used. I was ecstatic.

However, there was one issue. I had no talent for knitting.

By the time, my care package arrived, the fad had died out and something else was the reigning extra curricular activity.

This story, I shared with her inciting laughter. She then decided, she would teach me how to do a basic crochet.

We spent the next twenty minutes with me, battling her soft yarn with a crochet pin. Then she gave me my first crochet pin and the rest of her wool so I could practice on the flight home.

On the flight, while practising, I hit a snag and did not quite know how to continue. My teacher was either in the air herself or thousands of miles away. No means of communication. I looked up and realised that the lady sitting infront of me was also crocheting herself. So I proceeded to nearly scare her out of her seat by tapping her shoulder through the small gap between the chairs and ask for her advice. She put me through my paces and corrected what I had done wrong.

Now, I was ready to start.

I got home, dragged my bemused Aunt to Walmart and purchased three different colours of wool. Bad Idea.

For those who don't know, Walmart prides itself on its LOW PRICES. So, compared to other places, the wool was very cheap and I soon discovered why.

Tasking myself to complete a scarf for my little cousin with a colour he picked for himself. I began on my first scarf. First of all, I could not get the scarf to turn out straight and so the end result was more like a long triangle. Then, unlike the pictures I had seen, this scarf was not falling softly. It was as stiff as a carpet. When it was done, my cousin tried to wrap it round his neck so he could proudly show off his hand made monstrosity in school but the useless thing would not stay. We tied it in a small loop and it looked like something from one of Baba Sala's parodies. My aunt threw it in the washing machine with half a bottle of fabric softner and we barely escaped it becoming like a scouring pad.

I wrestled it free from the poor boy's neck and the last I saw it, I think it was used to wedge something in the laundry room.

I then decided that scarves were too much. I was going to make hats instead.

I have three really ugly, misshapen hats in my closet.

Still I forged on.

And now, I have a new scarf. It is still a misshapen. The rectangle is not quite smooth. And because I recycled some of the yarn from another failed project, it looks a bit off colour in some parts.

But I am happy with it...

So what have you been up to?

Hugh Masekela - Fela

2010-08-11T23:17:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, i find some hidden gems on Youtube...

Daring!!!

2010-08-09T18:12:00.001-07:00

What am I going to do?

2010-08-09T12:39:00.000-07:00

I don't smoke. I hate the smell and the habit and it makes me choke. Yes, I use the H word because that is how strongly I feel about the whole thing....

I don't drink either; alcohol, that is...That is one of the reasons, I rarely get invited out because I would be the only sober person in the group and I find nothing attractive at being asked for my name and number with fumes of patron coasting on your breath (I am not even sure that is what people drink, so u see the seriousness of the issue)

So you might ask, ehn, so what is the problem? Nobody is forcing you, abi?

Well, that is true but there is something else happening.

I am a filmmaker and have begun to notice something a bit alarming to me. PEOPLE IN FILM AND TELEVISION SMOKE AND DRINK....A LOT!!!!!!!!!!!!

I had to work on a film set and had to deal with senior crew members who smoked. It was difficult for me to negotiate how we were transporting the crew to different locations, the process for sticking to the shot list and what not when I was alternating between holding my breath, breathing with my mouth and talking.

I could say, well since this is not my set and I am not a primary producer, there is nothing I can do but suck it in. Well, what happens when I do control my own set. Apparently, it is unconstitutional to demand that your crew members not take smoke breaks or that there be no smoking on set at all. I would probably have to designate an area for those that smoke and have them in there but that is discriminatory and if I include in the hiring process an exclusion for those who smoke, I would be sued.

The drinking part is much more negligible as no one actually is allowed alcohol consumption on set. However, a common practice with film crews is to meet up after work at a bar. Here, there is networking and if you work on say for instance, a Korean TV show, you might be having your debriefing and production meeting at the bar. If you don't show up, a major script rewrite or production directive can be issued and you will miss it, thereby looking like a big dunce the next morning.

I have put this in serious contemplation. So far, I have been very good at keeping my life clean of certain things. Film is my dream and intended career and not from behind a studio execs desk until sometime in the future.

Yet, this industry comes with all sorts of things.

What am I going to do?

Weekend Review

2010-08-09T12:13:00.000-07:00

Friday and Saturday, I was on location from 6am - 6pm on an independent short film entitled Raymond & Lina (Working Title). This time, I was the Assistant Director (AD) which for a very limited budget flick meant that I was a cross between Assistant Director (note not assistant to the director)/ production assistant/ location manager/assistant camera/ art director/ and whatever else was needed. Granted, the very small crew did pitch in and help each other out anyway that was needed.
It was really fun and tasking. The kind of stress that I like because you are constantly having to think and creatively too. For example, for about two weeks, we had been looking for a grocery store to shoot in. Well, in the United States, most grocery stores are part of a huge chain and any and all permissions have to go through their corporate office which means endless calls during which you get rerouted through a series of automated answering machines and office workers who either do not have any comprehension of what you mean when you say that you need a location release to allow a small crew of less than ten to come in and shoot for forty five minutes in the feminine produce aisle. This search and process, the tireless producer and myself had to do for over a week only for us to get responses weeks later from secretaries telling us that their bosses say that they needed a week to have been able to make a decision...the same week that we had given them anyways; but I digress.
So, we find this old store called Sniders in Silver Spring; a small Jewish owned food place and we are given an answer in less than twenty four hours but with the stipulation that we start filming at 7am on Saturday morning before their customers start to arrive at 8 am. We say, "No problem" and set a call time for 6.45 am. We drag the entire crew over to the location, the manager and staff welcome us into the space graciously, we unpack equipment and gear, head inside, ask for the feminine products aisle and are informed with the same gracious smile that unfortunately, there isn't one. There is also no aisle with paper products e.g. coloring books, pencils, crayons, pens etc. For a scene that requires the lead male to go shopping for his granddaughter whom he suddenly has to take custody off, we NEED these two aisles

But, never fear, we have a team of creative people. The DP (Director of Photography) switches to a close up lens. The manager of the store goes to his office and brings out stacks of phone books, we raid all the cars for old magazines, empty a portion of an aisle where cooking utensils are being shot and change the entire shot to a close up. This is for Scene II where the lead picks up coloring materials for his granddaughter. Luckily, we had purchased a coloring book as a prop to be used in a later scene, so we just placed it on the stack of phone books, making it look like there were hundreds of coloring books and went ahead.

For the scene with the feminine products, it was supposed to be that the grandfather would come across two teenage girls trying to buys some pads and tampons serving as a preview of the years to come as his granddaughter is now only eight. He would be a bit freaked out and exit the aisle quickly. We had no feminine products aisle but we had cleaning supplies, like tissues, kleenex and some other products. So the DP, looses focus on the items, tightens the shot on the two teenage girls and their conversation, someone produces us two packs of pads, we decide on close ups of the grandfather's face as opposed to a more wide shot of him fleeing and we are done.

Took us over an hour cos we originally had to figure out a way around the issue. But it was fun. We were all happy and we all helped in one way or the other. I also served as an "extra wrangler" because when we started some people had come into the store to shop and naturally where curious so myself and one of the key grips had to make sure that if they walked past on camera, they did not stop to look in. Or suddenly appear on frame. That way, they would not have had to sign a talent release form, allowing us use of their image.

This was just on one location.

We had ten location changes and more than fifteen scenes and forty different shots.

What did you do this past weekend?

Vacay: like a Bigz Girls

2010-08-06T03:02:00.001-07:00

picture from here

I have never liked or admired any one single woman espoused to any of the leaders in my country. Having grown up in an academic household where my earliest memories include parents embroiled in heated debates with their co-academics over the future/demise of their beloved country, I just always viewed our leaders and their wives/women as a bunch of poorly educated, thieving vagabonds who were ruining the possibilities of my country.
The first woman in a leadership position that I truly was fascinated by, besides my mother (ell actually, when i was younger I was more scared of her than anything else) was Winnie Mandela. This chick had to fight by herself for 27 while her husband was locked up for doing nothing more than ask to be treated like a human being on his own land. Yeah, the marriage broke up...bla, bla, bla but this chick was the original freedom/human rights gangsta that I was aware of.
picture from here
The next person was Hilary Clinton. By now, I was in my teens and trying to figure out how I was going to become a powerhouse in a culture extremely hostile to progressive thinking in a woman. This woman had academic credentials to make your head spin; political connections to make you disappear if she wanted and still managed to marry and have a kid. I thought to myself, "I can be either just as good as this woman or even better sef".
Even though, she royally pissed me off when she stood by her husband's side after the Lewinsky debacle ( cos I felt it was endorsing of philandering men and the notion that a woman is always supposed to forgive), I forgave her instantly when i realised her renegade thinking when the man endorsed the sege out of her presidential campaign. I was like, yeah man, that is how it's done...it became clear that with all their yanga, Americans were not ready for a woman to lead them but by the time that was blatantly apparent, her points and impact had been felt to the marrow. That is why some people in the republican party drank too much and thought, ah-ah, if Clinton is there, let's bring out Palin and that one just came and nakeded their yanshes and cost them the election.

Which was not a bad idea because it introduced to u...Aunty Michelle.picture from here

Now, I was like, gen-gen. See person...Educated, self accomplished, articulate, stylish and a very fit physique. Yes, she married the president but she has her own portfolio and two gorgeous little girls. I compared her to the former First Ladies', late Miriam Babangida, Miriam Abacha and the late Stella Obasanjo and could not find one thing I could hold in comparison as aspiring. And when Mrs. Yaradua made her "Obey your husband's ..." comment in 2009, I was done with Nigerian first ladies.

So why did I write this long post? Well, look at the first picture. Aunty Michelle is (or was in Italy; depending on when you read this post) on vacay. People are in arms cos she stayed in a luxury hotel, used the secret service etc on taxpayers money when the country is in a "recession" and looked amazing and luxurious doing it. While, I am a bit fatigued by all the vacations she has been having; I think this summer alone, the family has had four--I feel like, what is a Big Girl to do? She needs to rest her brain between meetings and campaigns and projects where she is trying to get American children off the obesity track. Also, she has two little girls who will not understand why they cannot go to Disney Land with their parents...

So, I say, carry go Aunty Michelle. Next time, abeg, take me with you...

2010-08-04T16:14:00.000-07:00

picture from here
Though hate is such a strong word, I think I can safely say that I hate the word "whatever". Used inappropriately, it can come across like a flippant dismissal of what has just been said. Wars have been started over less....

Shuo: Kidnapping is the new armed robbery?

2010-08-02T21:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I just wonder the new low levels that crime can schlep to in my country. Kidnappings have now infiltrated out of the Niger Delta to other regions...

When will people understand that just because someone is driving a car does not mean that they stole the money to buy it

Just wondering...

2010-08-02T21:31:00.000-07:00

picture from here
I have been wondering if African immigrants living in the US are classified as African-American. Most of people, I know, don't classify themselves as such. What is the politically correct term for someone who is first generation African, living in the United States?

Celso Fonseca makes my day so much better

2010-08-02T21:29:00.000-07:00

Soap Carving

2010-08-01T04:53:00.000-07:00

Apparently in Thailand, it is not enough for soap to smell good, it should look good as well. Check out these soap carvings...i just want to look at them all day long. They would make a lovely gift basket and no one would even question that it might be LUX or IMPERIAL LEATHER

New month...new outlook...new food

2010-08-01T04:29:00.000-07:00

picture from here
I am an avid observer of things and one of the many issues that has consumed my brain functions over the time I have spent here in the US is why, unlike some other cultures, Nigerian food has not been elevated to the status of public patronage as say other African cuisines (Ethiopian) or Asian (Thai, japanese, korean, chinese, etc).
I came out with a few deductions.

1. Value
We Nigerians don't see the value in eating out, our own dishes. When you have a wife that will slave in the kitchen for hours to make you the food that you want, why would you go and spend $40.00 on the same thing. As a result, whenever anyone asks to sample Nigerian food, there are never any restaurants to take them to; you simply invite them over.
Unlike us, Ethiopian foods are a group effort. Portions are presented on a huge platter and expected to be shared. So also for most Asian cuisine that is built around the same concept. Also, remember in the case with most Asian urban areas, space is limited and for an apartment housing 15 people, cooking might not be a good idea, so they go outside. Hence, public eating. Hence, the growth of their restaurants.

2. Presentation.
Here, I move the Ethiopians out of the way and settle on the Asians. For them, presentation is as much a part of the dish as is the taste. I mean, there are generations of royal chefs whose jobs were to make the royal dining experience as much a visual spectacle as much one for the palate.
Nigerian food, not so much. The portions are bulky. Some move, some don't. We have not yet figured out a way to present our foods in a way that is comparative. Maybe because, we don't care. I have been taught to cook but i was not exactly taught how to arrange jollof rice on a plate to make it look like a mound of yellow surrounded a piece of meat. Part food arrangements are done more out of making sure the plate of food does not topple over.
Take a look at these fruit carvings from Thailand. Each one takes about two hours to complete

3.
Although, the picture at the top does look a bit like a design but you see where I am going with this

Consistency
This is both a good and bad thing. Because our style of cooking is a bit subjective, the outcome is not the same every single time. We don't employ thermometers, stop clocks and measuring bowls for the ingredients. We use a flick of the wrist and the eye of experience which can sometimes be off. Thus, we cannot guarantee that the dining experience will be the same. But that also means that if we blow your mind once, we can rock your world in another way.

I might be wrong...what says you?

On my mind

2010-07-29T20:35:00.000-07:00

1. Wondering what is going to happen as deadlines loom around the corner, taunting me with their existence

2. Wondering why I have not been encouraged to stick to any work out regimen that I have started. I believe the reality is that I am not doing what I really want to do but what I can do...

3. Wondering how I became so addicted to sugar. Before I came to the US, I was perfectly fine to accompany all meals with water and now, I almost feel like I have to have a cold, sweet liquid with every meal; which means I am downing Soda all the time.
Not good, when you come from a lineage of diabetics.

4. Boys...or more specifically, men

5. Clothing and shoes....wondering about the cut of that jacket in that Korean Drama

6. Korean Dramas

7. My own stories....how to bring them to life

8. A new template for my blog. Will I have to re-save all the links on the right as I change over?

9. Time

10. A lack of it

11. An abundance of it doing stuff you don't want to do while there is stuff that you need to do but cannot do or are not doing

12. Silence

Kisses

2010-07-23T09:55:00.000-07:00

Have a great weekend.

The right name

2010-07-16T08:49:00.000-07:00

Every story has a title. It is its identity. It can be indicative of what the story is about or what the morale to be learned will be. It can also misdirect, letting the audience to believe that the story will go in a particular direction only to turn them on their ears and force a concept through.

I spend a considerable amount of time, giving titles to my stories. Like naming a baby, you feel you have to get it right. Not really realising that that child can grow up in future and be known by a pseudonym, a symbol or a nick name. No, you don't think that. You have to get right, get it perfect...

My latest film project: Score

2010-07-10T09:30:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I took a video production class where we were asked to each pitch an idea to the class with the best idea becoming the class project. I wrote SCORE, inspired by music from Jesse Chui and i got to direct it as part of the class project.

It is about a woman's relation ship with her piano.

Written & Directed by: Me
Produced & Edited by Ishu Krishna
The Advanced Video Production Class
Cast: Peggy Nichols
Torsten Spitzka
The Piano

Score from Ishu Krishna on Vimeo.

What I want right now...

2010-07-06T17:32:00.000-07:00

Nights and Days: Summer Heat recaps

2010-06-28T10:43:00.001-07:00

Stating that summer is here is quite redundant at the moment; the heat makes sure you never forget even if for certain periods, you may be ensconsced in the comfort of an air conditioned space. The heat lets you know that summer is here, barely clad women of varying shapes, sizes and fashion sense let you know summer is here and the movie theatre's constant line ups of comedies and exposion-heavy action flicks pander to the change in weather.

So that's why, I dragged myself to the movies. The last time I was there, I had earned myself a free film and with great flourish, I presented my coupon to the person at the ticket to redeem my prize only to be told in the LOUDEST of voices that my free ticket voucher was not valid for new releases; that I had to wait another two weeks to use it. I looked at the girl, looked at the long line of bored Caucasians watching me without looking at me, hisses inwardly and forked out the $8.00 to see Tom Cruise and Cameron Diaz in KNIGHT & DAY.

Now, I am not particularly a fan of Tom Cruise. I am always suspicious of an actor that is way too good looking and ALWAYS plays the GOOD GUY. And one cannot help but forget him trying out for Cirque Du Freak on Oprah's Couch. But I could not help watching him with a healthy dose of longing.

The man is fiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnneeeeeeee.

One more time: The man is finnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Haba!

I wonder what I would do if a man that looked like that suddenly thought the sun rose and set on my head. Would I even hear anything that comes out of his mouth, or would I be staring at him with my mouth agape and drooling.

I won't even be jealous if other women are staring because, let us face it, who wouldn't.

To me, he is just one of those people that make you marvel at God's Work. Like, a sunset of even a smiling, toothless infact. He is visually perfect.

The movie? That is another issue. I cannot even tell you what it was about because I zoned out too many times. There was no theme that I had not seen before, except maybe that Cameron Diaz was not a silly, clumsy chick all the time. There was one scene where she threw a punch and I was like, "Chineke!!!!"...cos that joint looked like it rearranged/damaged some brain cells on the guy.

That was how I spent one of my Summer Days. I will be keeping you posted.

2010-06-27T09:42:00.000-07:00

Summer...the time for love....or just plain, blistering heat

It's 10:51 pm

2010-06-21T19:51:00.001-07:00

...and I am a good thirty minutes walk from my apartment, having dragged my already weary bones out in search of a place to connect to free internet. I went to about four places, each of which was just closing and as a final resort, I walked into Tryst in Adams Morgan and plopped myself down on one of their soft couches, ordered an overpriced smoothie and spent almost twenty minutes trying to connect to their internet. My lovely vista laptop did not fail to disappoint...as usual, what everyone else was doing with ease was giving me drama. For the life of me, I could not connect.

So, I paid for the lousy smoothie..it was one of those healthy kinds that taste like laughter fled the kitchen...packed up my gear and trudged out once more into the warm DC night.

Went into a used book store... no show

walked into a Sake lounge...no show...shouldn't have since I was in flip flops and faded work out clothing...

Then, someone said to me "Try Cali Yogurt"

I had passed it by, not wanting to go in with my weakness for frozen yogurt but now, I was a bit desperate. I had alot of work to do, no internet connection at home and no clear time frame on when I could change that. In fact, it was an attempt to change that, that was pushing me online...so, i went in.

Purchased a 5 oz original recipe, with mango pieces as toppings....

Took a bite...

and felt like someone had knocked me back to Kaduna

Flashback Catwalq Moment: My mum used to travel to the north quite a bit and she would try to bring us fresh, sweet yogurt when she came back. Also, I had been in Kaduna at some point, attending an Eckankar seminar and spent most of the time, gouging myself on fresh northern yogurt...

Back to now: It's a taste you have to have had to know what I am talking about...that fresh yogurt taste...tangy and sweet...not the nonsense that Yoplait packages for you or Activia tries to scare you into buying by implying that you will be constantly constipated if you don't have it...no, I mean, fresh, sweet yogurt....topped with sweet, RIPE, mango...

I think I'll have another...

It's a Monday....

2010-06-21T08:52:00.000-07:00

and I have had a fight, a meal and a worry. I am so in need of a vacay!!!!!!!!

I am in love

2010-06-16T14:45:00.000-07:00

People, meet Ricardo Darin. Argentinean veteran actor starring in the award winning cinematic beauty, The Secret in Their Eyes. All I can say, is yes, Ben-hah-meen, I am yours...forget Irene.
Go see it and tell me what you think

Information

Food...

2010-06-16T08:34:00.001-07:00

Picture from here

I am on a quest to kick my current dependence on food as a pick-me-up. I think there can be a healthy way of enjoying good cuisine without my gut hanging over my belt buckle. For once, I would like to reach for an item in my wardrobe and not worry of it will still pass over my man-like shoulders which always seem to be expanding at the rate of the current oil spill in the gulf...

The world through our eyes

2010-06-11T09:45:00.000-07:00

picture from here
I was returning from a guilt-laden trip to Bed Bath & beyond where i had picked up a pack of my current addiction, Tazo Passion Tea when i saw something that both amused and humbled me at the same time.

A little girl of about four was walking with her mother through the mall and they go to the escalators. She panicked for a few seconds as she tried to understand how to place her foot on the first step without falling down as the steps, which would be considered a moving nuisance by some, moved on its automated way. She clutched at her mother, who took her hand in a vice like grip to stabilise her stance, lest she go flying. The little girl tried again, each time not quite so sure of her self. This all was just a couple of seconds but already a line was beginning to form and irritation was beginning to appear on the faces of those who could not seem to believe the audacity of a four year old who was confused and disoriented by an escalator. Finally, her mother sensing that the lesson on overcoming her fear of moving objects would have to wait another time, lifted her in one fell swoop and carried her the rest of the way. And the little girl, held on to her mother for dear life. But she did not take her eyes off the escalator steps.

I imagined what they looked like to her; or what the world looked like either.

It took me back years when I hated sitting in my mother's mazda because it was a small car. Then, we lived in Benin City in Ugbowo Estate, which was across from the University of Benin, an illustrious institution whose front gates were some kind of automobile depot because all kinds of cars were either zooming past, turning in or parked out there. Any time, my mother waited at the intersection to make a turn into the campus, I would have small panic attacks because I was convinced that her car was so small and that people would not see us there. Or that the wind from speeding trucks would lift us into the air and into our next incarnations. Everything was huge and fast and crazy looking.

I pinch myself sometimes when I can cross a street in just a few strides because when I was little, I would run across, convinced that the road was so wide that I would not be able to reach the other side in time.

I remember sitting in my father's reading chair to measure how close to the floor, my feet were because that meant I was growing and that when I sit, my scrawny legs would not be poking over the edge.

When we are little, things are sometimes alarming and when I say little, I don't mean just your physical size, it can also be your outlook on life. When you feel like circumstances or experiences dwarf your abilities, you panic and flail and it all seems crazy. But there is always someone who has your hand. That someone (whoever you believe that to be), waits a it to see if you have the hang of it and if you do, you triumph and move on and if you don't, that person lifts you up over the issue; with the knowledge that you will still have to learn your lesson but next time, hopefully you will have other experiences under your belt that the speed of an escalator would be minute in comparison.

Take the time, to appreciate how far you have come. Remember, there was once a time, when you were no larger than a loaf of bread....but look at you now....

Feriado...

2010-06-10T09:55:00.000-07:00

This song has been on constant replay for two days straight because this is how I am feeling....

Reel Speak: Human- Alien conflict

2010-06-04T09:41:00.000-07:00

picture from here.

As a developing filmmaker, I do find myself in conversations with other creative minds on the content that is either out there, or presenting itself. One such conversation that I had recently was on this recurrent theme when it comes to aliens in western movies.

Anytime there is a non-human presence, two things seem to be the only option that the writers can fathom: 1)the aliens are weak, broken, fleeing catastrophe and stumble on earth. we initially declare them enemies and then we realise that there is no need to and so we figure out a way to send them on their way before some mad scientist/government group tries to experiment on them. Then we congratulate our humanity for having gotten "rid" of the "foreigners" in a "humane" way. Or
2) They have come to invade and humankind is in a race against time to save itself from the invasion of the heartless, exploitative inhuman invaders.

The two lines of thought do make for interesting projects as seen over the years with the many blockbuster hits that line DVD shelves. For once however, can someone imagine a scenario where the aliens are not even remotely interested in us; that they were "passing by" and then stopped to "find out" what we were. Then, having dsicerned that well, we were just another lifeform entitled to its existence, they went on with their busy day.

The human consciousness tends to imagine that humans are the most important thing there are; assuming that humans were created to dominate all other things out there. It is arrogant to imagine that an entire solar system was created so "we" could explore and colonise for our use and advancement; such is the motivation behind explorations to Mars where scientists argue that it could be an alternate habitat for humans after we screw up the earth.

It will be so interesting to see the ass whooping that will come about when humans land on mars, having assumed that nothing lived there only to find that its inhabitants are possibly not in forms visible to the naked, human eye but more on a subconscious, psycho-spiritual level.

Don't you think that might make an amazing script instead of the "War of The Worlds"/ "V" scenarios?

This is how I am feeling today...

2010-06-02T10:26:00.001-07:00

@ Crumbs and Coffee

2010-05-29T11:04:00.000-07:00

tud

One the few times that I have gone to a cafe seeking free internet, I have always chosen a seat where I can either observe whoever comes into the space or whoever is passing by. This is partly because I am very adverse to having my back to people; must stem from a past life experience or something of being stabbed or something or maybe even the fact that I always have my earphones in and will jump if you touch me. In any case, I love to sit and watch people.

I am kind of an oddity. Work well with crowds but always feel like I am on the outside looking in. Part introvert. Part extrovert. Talk alot but very careful that I say only what I want you to hear. Been called weird but I choose the term "eccentric".

So I sit and watch people, imaginging where they are coming from, going to or thinking. I look at what they wear and craft stories around what I see. The human being is such a fascinating thing to study because it lives within its own consciousness and thus its perception of the world around it is as varied as there are grains of sand on this earth. Yes, sometimes, these views intercept and there is a collective consciousness about the same thing; think, a family, a community, a people or a nation. Still each one is unique and powerful.

Just one of the many things I think about sitting in the window of Adams Morgan's "Crumbs & Coffee" looking out on 18th street and hoping that my sitting stance is lady like and not the reason this homeless guy keeps waving at me.

Come out and get your read on...

2010-05-26T17:17:00.001-07:00

The Farafina Trust Creative Writing Worshop ends with a literary evening on May 29th at the Civic Centre, Ozumba Mbadiwe, Victoria Island, Lagos.

Time is 3pm.

The event will be featuring readings by Chika Unigwe, author of The Phoenix; South African writer Niq Mhlongo, author of Dog Eat Dog; Ghanian author and playwright, Ama Ata Aidoo; Caine Prize winner, Bard Fellow and director of the Chinua Achebe Centre for African Writers and Artists, Binyavanga Wainaina and a host of others.

Admission to the event is free.

Casting Call

2010-05-26T07:16:00.000-07:00

Immediate Casting Call for comedic short.

One Male (20-24), race undefined.
One female (20-24), race: Black/african or Asian.

Unpaid. Send in headshots, CV and availability to baniproductions@gmail.com.

Seriously Speaking

2010-05-24T08:26:00.000-07:00

I had the chance a couple months ago, to interview rising Asian American band, Seriously. Two months and alot of wahala later, I finished the edit, all by myself and here it is.
Go to to the site to comment and vote it up. maybe I will make it on TV...

The Fight for Freedom

2010-05-23T17:18:00.000-07:00

When I first heard the story of Lisa Ling and her colleague were being held on suspicion of espionage by the North Korean government after they were spotted filming an investigative news feature on the border of Korea and China, I wondered aloud what would possess them to go so far into dangerous territory. Yes, I admire the courage that is necessary when one quests for the truth but I likened it to the two women wandering naively into Hitler's territory thinking that they would not be arrested by the Gestapo.

I was even more intrigued by the media storm and its amazing climax when the former president of the United States, President Bill Clinton had to personally go to north Korea to secure their release. By then, the two women had been put on a hasty trial, found guilty and sentences to twelve years imprisonment. For standing on the wrong soil.

It made me wonder if at all, any Nigerian had ever been in the same situation, seeking some diplomatic intervention and if at all anything had been done. I have no grand illusions of our ambassadors' abilities to help Nigerian citizens; as we all know, most of those who are imprisoned abroad, really did get in trouble.

Still, I was, as I have been many times, fascinated by the American consciousness where thousands worked tirelessly to secure the release of the two women and get them home. Would it not be nice to know that your people love you no matter what? And would fight for you?

They are so busy fighting each other for themselves.....

One of the reasons I might move to Cali

2010-05-19T13:07:00.001-07:00

It seems all the creative minds that I would like to work with are there....

ILLEGAL - 2007 Tribeca Film Festival from Andrew Oh on Vimeo.

Alone in a Crowd

2010-05-17T09:51:00.000-07:00

Picture from here

It is so easy not to be seen. Even when you walk right in front of their eyes, stand by their side, reach for the same cellophane wrapped plastic spoon to stir the very same scalding building liquid they have purchased for their daily morning cafeine fix. It is so easy that it is alarming.

You don't have to put in much effort, you know. To disappear. makes one wonder: If I leave, who would care?

It is so easy not to make a sound. Even when your lips are moving and words are tumbling out at the speed of a torrential rain's downpour. Even when you exhaust countless cellphone minutes on calls to nowhere about nothing. Even when the words merge into a hollow scream. It is so easy that it is alarming.

You don't have to put in much effort, you know. To disappear. makes one wonder: If I leave, who would care?

It is so easy to be forgotten. Even when your history reads like the inside of a novel. Even when the pictures cataloguing the memories fill albums, one after countless other. Even when your names are carved with a crooked knife in the stained concrete steps outside of the old buildings that you stood infront of. It is so easy that it is alarming.

You did not put in much effort, know. So I think you should disappear. Makes me wonder. If you leave, would I still care?

What next

2010-05-12T09:06:00.000-07:00

I have had a nickname for years as a result of my hair. It is....Bumbum Poullet. That is, the back end of a chicken. As in, the hair on my head is so thin and feathery that it resembles the hair on the butt of a chicken. For the most part, I have learned to live with it. In my childhood, I looked on in silent, grieving envy as classmates showed up to class on Monday sporting the weekly hairstyle. I said nothing when my "suku" (cornrows in a bun) did not quite make it into the scrunchie or when my "kolese" (cornrows facing forward) never fell over my face and instead stood like a row of pimples on my shiny forehead. I endured it all because I knew my time would come.

For it had been written that once I graduated from secondary school, I would be allowed to whatever I wanted with my hair. I could put in a perm, extensions, straw, sand or anything that I wanted to make up for my lack of natural, thick, fast growing tresses.

And for the most part I did. Had so much fun. Thought I was the sexiest thing ever.

Then I moved to the United States.

And doing my hair was the same cost as some kid's school fees...

So i tried to learn to perm my hair myself. Lost 1/3 of it.

Then I got a friend to braid it. Lost 1/3 of it.

Got a professional to braid it. Got some of it back

Put in extensions with glue. Lost 1/2 of it again.

Then I cut it all off. So lost most of it.

It grew and I permed it back.

Then I put in a few weaves... the whole front of my hair left me when I took the weaves out.

Put in braids....

And now they must come off.

I am now faced with a few scenarios:

As I have not permed my hair in donkey months, most of it is back to its natural stat. However, I have no hair line. At this rate, I can join the Balogun Market chapter of Lagos Market women and fit right in with my hair line that starts from the center of my brain.

So,

Should I take out my braids, perm my hair and cut it into a style so there is no weight on the front of my head?

Put in another round of braids...pick-and-drop with curls

or a full head of weave...so i don't have to put in any more chemicals and I can just keep my head natural.

The costs vary, the out come varies...but the hair remains poullet-esque.

I have been eyeing the Victoria Beckham cut for a while...

What say you, my dear friend?

Looking at my watch

2010-05-11T20:39:00.000-07:00

11:44 pm/ Tuesday/ May 11:
Contemplating whether to eat something. Don't want to be hungry in the morning. No snacks. Should really stop eating at odd hours... have a paper to write. Let me get my supporting materials out. I need to work out. Should stop by Payless and try to get a pair of cheap sneakers. Payless has become Paymore...silly people...the shoes will not even last beyond Summer so why are they being so expensive. That is the whole point of shopping there...or maybe I should just invest and go to Foot Locker...I should open my own Foot Locker...it is at moments like this that I miss Tejuosho Market and the wonderful options that our Aba based creators provide...maybe I should eat something....

Baby Steps

2010-05-10T07:03:00.000-07:00

I have been anticipating the wide release date of this documentary, "Babies" with mixed feelings. On one hand, I cannot wait to see what the director was able to capture in almost two years of following four children from diverse backgrounds from around the world from their delivery till when they took their first steps.

On the other hand, I was a bit miffed that the African baby that was chosen came from the mud deserts of Namibia and thus enforces the stereotype of how people live in Africa.
I have watched a few interviews with the documentary filmmaker and there does not seem to be any malice or preconceived notions on his part...and so far, I have not heard anything stereotypical from the interviewers (if that is a word). When I can, I will go see it, how about you?

No words...

2010-05-07T20:10:00.000-07:00

What is there to say?
Nothing.
What about you?

Use Your Bed Nets. Keep Mosquitoes out.

2010-04-23T19:04:00.001-07:00

PSA I shot and directed for the Remi Caxton-Naibi Foundation as part of their Malaria prevention initiative to coincide with World Malaria Day.
The first one, I edited myself.
The second one was done by a professional. Support the initiative.
Use Your Bed Nets. Keep Mosquitoes out.

RemiFoundation.org from stoiQa on Vimeo.

When it is your turn

2010-04-21T08:00:00.000-07:00

So, people who know me, know that I have had some choice words about the general level of ignorance that I tend to find among Americans about what goes on outside of their boarders. Almost everyone who is not white has stories a dime a dozen about some stupid thing that was said to them regarding their ethnicity.

I mean for Asians, they get the chin-chun-why-r-ur-eyes-so-small-u-eat-dogs-r-u-all-good-at-math, or that they are all Chinese. For Africans, we get the inquiries about war, poverty, disease and whether or not we have wildlife game reserves in our backyards and we swing Tarzan-style on our way to school. Middle eastern people have to answer about Islam and terrorism. I am not sure what South Americans get but I am sure it would go along the lines of Tacos and Immigration issues. In any case, we get them all the time, roll our eyes and retreat behind our walls of derision and self importance, imagining that we ourselves would never make such a mistake.

And we mostly never do.
Or at least, I don't.
I am quite geographically enlightened.

Which is why, I was stunned to hear myself asking a colleague at work if Panama was close to the Philippines....

And I was serious too

Even more amazing was that for a good minute, in the world map I had drawn in my head, Phillipines was somewhere next to Mexico and Brazil. How that was working out in there is probably a research topic for another day but I could not believe that I could be so clueless and then so vocal about it.

I mean, I was at a table full of superiors....
Aargh, I guess I had to learn a lesson on compassion and respect.

People will always ask stupid questions. And if they do so of you, reply politely with the correct answer and thank your stars that you did not make the mistake and that you knew the answer.

And FYI:
Panama is in Central America. Close To Costa Rica, you know at the bridge connecting North America and South America....

Phillipines is in Asia

And I am going to read a book

The time will come

2010-04-19T09:48:00.000-07:00

There will come a time
When you will know my name
When you will know my touch
When you will know my taste
When you will know my smell
When you will know my sound
When you will know my feel
And when the time comes
It will be like you always did

Like there was no time before
Like there was no meeting
Like we just were
We just did
We are just being

There will come a time
When you will hold my hand
When you will feel my warmth
When you will start my laugh
When you will sing my song
When you will quiet my screams
When you will trigger my heart

And when the time comes
It will be like you always did

Like there was no time before
Like there was no meeting
Like we just were
We just did
We are just being

Till the time comes
I alone know your name
I know your age
I know your place
I know your scent
I know your face
I know
I know
I know
I know

Casting Call

2010-04-13T06:27:00.001-07:00

Looking for 1 male/female (ages 8-10, with an African accent for an unpaid PSA shoot to benefit the Remi Caxton-Naibi foundation's drive to increase awareness on the use of bednets for the prevention of malaria. The shoot is to take place this weekend April 17th 2010.

Please forward resume, head shot and contact to ebaraje@gmail.com for consideration.

G-40 Summit

2010-04-12T08:19:00.000-07:00

Did the best I could with a dicy situation and footage...

I survived...flash back...join me in twenty minutes

2010-04-10T06:32:00.000-07:00

Co-hosting this morning:

Here's the direct link to the show we're doing: http://www.blogtalkradio.com/verastic/2010/04/10/i-survived

To participate, you can do so in three ways:

1. Call in - 1.646.929.1905

2. E-mail your comments: radio@verastic.com

3. Text your comments: 1.443.934.9039

There is a live, interactive chat room during the show (but you'll have to become members of blog talk radio (which is free by the way) to chat.

See you guys soon

The W: A lesson on human discontent

2010-04-04T07:54:00.000-07:00

With lighting and decor more suited to the set of the vampire guilty pleasure HBO series, True Blood, downtown Minneapolis' The W @ the Foshay was like an unabashed seduction of the senses. Its owners wanted you the visitor to feel very specific things: decadence, opulence, indulgence and if you so dared, your wildest fantasies come to life. For me, my first reaction was, how could I have been coming to Minneapolis for the past four years and not known that such a hotel exists.

Because you see, every time I did visit Minneapolis for the bi annual Eckankar seminar, my movements were restricted to the Hilton on Marquette Avenue, the ingenious skywalk that protected me from the city's unforgiving harsh weather and the convention center where most of the events would be held. Somehow, and maybe because I never inquired, I never heard about the W or knew that it was just a block away.

I was to share accomodations with friends--a good way to cut down costs--for three nights but because none of us could get ourselves and finances together on time, we booked a bit late, the result of which was that we were able to get two nights in our old faithful seminar hotel, The Hilton and one night at the W. None of us had heard about the W and we were just grateful that we were able to get a room at a very discounted price, last minute.

Our room's statement of purpose was clear: This is not where you bring your kids. This is not even where you come to relax. You come here to indulge. From state-of-the-art slate grey tiles and shower heads that moved by sensors, to a bathroom walls that would make the dedicated voyeur weep with pleasure, walls blackened for effect and every technological gadget you can think of. We spent almost an hour, just messing with the stuff. Anyone watching us would not know that between us three, was medical degree, an engineering degree and an architecture degree. Even the faucets came with a manual. And to drive home the point that the hotel was not for the "good" boys and girls, we had a bar stocked with the most number of alcohol brands I had ever seen outside of a liquor store.

All the time we had been coming, we had always been happy to stay at the Hilton. It was convenient and it was quite nice but two minutes into the lobby and we began calculating how we could afford the next trip and this time stay at The W, the entire weekend. When we had to check in to the Hilton, the next day, we did so with a sigh, nitpicking at everything in our room. That was when we noticed holes in the curtains or that there were some lumps in the mattress. Or that the soap provided for us to wash our hands had no exotic scent.

In short, The W had stripped The Hilton naked and spanked it public....and from the way The W was designed, I am sure it liked to do just that.

I was just tickled by the fact that before this, if you had asked me the best place to stay, I would have been singing the Hilton's praises even before you finished your question. I still like the Hilton, but now I want the Foshay. Talk about discontent....sigh.

What are you lusting after now and pushing to the back burner in other to have it?

Boston and Seriously the band

2010-03-28T14:14:00.000-07:00

Went to Boston over the weekend and fell in love with the city....from the interior of a taxi cab. I was in town to interview one of my favourite bands ever--and I don't listen to bands at all--the amazing, Seriously The Band. Yes, that is their name: Seriously the Band.

I was able to sit down with Chris Pham (lead vocals), Joshua Baek (electric guitar), Nathan Park (bass guitar) and Philip Park (drums and viola) and even got to hang out with them albeit for a very short time spent walking briskly through the cold with them trying to help me keep up as I labored over cobbled stones in heels.

I did get to visit the Quincy market. It's this huge food court that looks like it has been around for the better part of a century but was surprisingly, as I was told by one of the vendors, only about a quarter of a century old.

Bumped into an African woman who came to speak to me just because of my hair. I have on braids, done by a Nigerian friend of mine and you know we braid, THE RIGHT WAY. She was crestfallen, when I told her that I was not from Boston and that my friend was not in the area to do her hair for her...there is always a market for people who can do hair for black people in cities where the whites are the majority.

I visited the Northeastern University Campus and was so blown away by the facilities. Even though it was unfair, I could not help but compare it to Howard University, my alma mater and for the first time in a long time, I was hungry to be back in school, learning something. And the count down to grad school begins....or not.

It was too cold for me to really explore and my friend and I are thinking of going back in the summer when the winter has been completely chased away and we can go around and be shameless tourists....

Had fun...even though I was battling some trepidation over some personal issues. Nonetheless, it was a nice quick trip, one that I will take again.

How was your weekend?

Pride comes before a fall

2010-03-23T08:42:00.000-07:00

picture from here

In two consecutive years, I had roommates while in College that made me constantly mad because our personal levels of hygiene were on different scales. One came from a home where I assumed she did not have to do any housework and so was unaccustomed to cleaning up after herself and the one after that, spent more time in malls and on her make up than she did, keeping herself clean. The irony on the second roommate was that she was most sought after by alot of guys and I always wondered how they were never deterred by the fact that to get into her room, they had to mount the summit that was her dirty clothes. We never fought, but I always harbored resentment that I was constantly having to clean the bathroom of hair and make up powder.

The make up was the most annoying thing for me. She had every conceivable beauty product from every major brand --infact, she had a book that showed how to create different looks in numbered products, brushes and applicators, of which she had them all. Every morning was an unbreakable regiment of curling hair weaves and face paint. And the staining of my counter to a dirty, disgusting brown. She used powdered and liquid foundations that dripped and splattered, brushes that shed all over the place, swabs that were always laying around, eyeshadow palettes that were always falling out of their holders, hair brushes that had more hair sticking out of them than glued to her scalp where they ought to be and so many other things that I had no idea the nature of their purpose.

I remember saying to myself, "I can never be like this".

Flash forward to today. My bathroom, though not as dirty is littered with the makeup brands that I can afford. And what else? The fallen powders of my foundations. I now have the same disorderly space. In the morning, I am in a hurry and don't have time to clean up after myself so I leave everything lying around: curling irons, make up brushes, tubes, lotions, lipsticks, perfume, combs/ brushes, pins and whatever I need to make myself feel pretty and presentable for my day. My bathroom has been destroyed by my own daily regimen.

I wish I had not been so quik to criticize her. I do however keep my bathroom as clean as I can. Everything gets washed and wiped down every other day with industrial strength disinfectant wipes and I have two huge make up bags to throw everything in but I can't help hearing my own voice in my head on those days when I come in from a long day out to see that in my haste to leave hours earlier, I left everything out and about...

You have the same experience? Is there something that you used to chide someone about that you, yourself now do?

Casting Call in DC/MD/VA

2010-03-18T12:14:00.001-07:00

OPEN CASTING CALL

SCORE (A SINGLE-SCENE SCRIPT)

We are holding an open casting call for a film short. We are looking for the principle characters below. This is a DC locality shoot requiring local talent. Shooting will occur the week following the audition and requires a minimal amount of time.

WHO: 1 female between the ages of 22 and 35; must be a proficient keyboard player

1 male between the ages of 22 and 35

WHAT: Auditions for a 5-7 minute short film

WHERE: Arlington, Virginia

WHEN: Tuesday, March 23, 2010, 7:00 – 8:30 PM

All who audition are expected to perform a brief monologue as well as a scene from the script. The script is based heavily upon non-dialog facial expression. Female role requires piano playing proficiency. Reviewers will include a panel of members from the production team. All audition performances will be filmed and interviewed by the panel.

If you are interested in auditioning, please contact me using the information below. We will send you the audition script, as well as additional information upon confirmation of your interest. Only submissions that include both CV/resume and headshot will be considered.

This is an unpaid production. All participants will receive film credits.

Contact Information:

Sandra Hope: shope4life@gmail.com (include “SCORE AUDITION” in the subject heading)

2010-03-14T13:12:00.000-07:00

1. The rains have come and with them a shroud of grey. The winter chill is still here, holding on valiantly to its reign over us, unwilling to let the spring in but we all know it is a pointless fight. The seasons change. Always. And Spring comes around.

2. Watched my bi monthly dosage of Indian movies. Have two new songs to add to my ipod. See here and here

3. Catching up on my Korean dramas and I think I might like the show "Pasta". My baby daddy, Alex Chu
is in it and so is my former baby daddy, Lee Sun Gyun, whom I had to give up cos he went and got himself married. No worries, Alex currently fulfills my fantasies' desires and I have taken up residence on his beautiful site.

4. Looking forward to the week ahead because I know it holds a lot of good for me. Good, that I hope will make me useful to others as well. Nothing as bad as being a waste of oxygen.

5. Determined to fit into a bikini this summer and have been working on it. I hurt all over and it is so not easy to loose all the weight you have gained systematically over five years.

Getting through the day

2010-03-09T09:04:00.000-08:00

image from here
Everyday is a constant challenge to operate from a higher state of consciousness. Not once, twice or even three times I am unsettled by something and I have to consciously tell myself that it is all an illusion and that it will be okay; that the situation is nothing that I cannot control and master. Luckily, I have spiritual exercises at my disposal to help keep me centered and maintain focus on spiritual goals.

Sometimes things happen and my first reaction is to lash out. A few minutes later, I replay the scene and cringe because I could so much have handled the situation better. The less emotionally attached I get about things, I think, the clearer the purpose of the situation will be.

I find it interesting as I begin to take charge of my own life that these issues are coming up now. I guess Holy Spirit is in its way preparing me for the kinds of situations that are bound to arise as I embark upon the path that I have chosen. Better now, when there is room for learning from mistakes and when the consequences are not as dire than in the future when it is not just you but everyone associated with you that will be at stake.

With that in mind, I am going to try and practice some silence and quiet contemplation. Time to simply listen and not speak. Not over think...cos the mind is not always good. Just let it all be and let it all go

That's what I am doing to get through the day

Lexus VCAM Submission...you can view it now

2010-03-04T13:49:00.000-08:00

Last month, I entered a contest for the Lexus VCAM challenge on Current TV. My team did not win but we were one of the twenty two finalists out of over a hundred submissions. Here is our submission. Please view it, vote and comment on the site or here if that is better....

When you make a mistake...

2010-03-01T09:40:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while, I make a judgement call blunder and run around frantic and a bit panicked to try and resolvethe situation. The repercussions are always so dire that the alternative to just "chest" the situation and move on is too painful a thought. I have surrendered the situation to the Holy Spirit, inviting my Inner Master/ Guide to take control and help me resolve the situation before it escalates beyond what it is now.

I am trying really hard not to panic or inflate the scenario because the person who is holding me to ransome is holding all the cards and I would rather not not get legal or dramatic over the whole situation. I have also accepted that I made a huge mistake entrusting my project to someone I barely knew because I was trying to cut costs.

This is one of the things you have to be careful about when you are a filmmaker/producer on a very limited budget: Don't in a bid to save money do something stupid like leave HD footage of an interview you shot on location with a DP you met through Craigslist and who lives in another city when he will not pick up your calls or respond only in texts hours/days after you initially sent them.

Without my footage, I have nothing to show for a trip taken on borrowed/credit funds and I think he knows this and is banking on frustrating me into waiting until he is good and ready to do what he said he would do. I don't blame him, I blame me because had I not given him the upper hand, I would not be in this mess...

Still, I have given him till tomorrow to make things right. I have told him to put my hard drive with my footage in a box, FEDEX bound for DC from Houston since Saturday to arrive latest by tomorrow evening. I have left enough messages both voicemail, email and text for him not to pretend that there has been no communication between us--and if he says he did not get anyone of them, he has to change his provider because clearly there was no problem with him getting my messages in the beginning when I was to pay for the initial part of the service provided.

I have also prayed, inviting God to intervene because I don't want anymore drama. I know I will get my footage, the question is when? The longer I wait, the less material I have finished produced.

So, let me serve as a lesson to anyone out there:

1. Don't entrust anyone with originals of your creative work.

2. Always work away from a project with all the material that belong to you

3. If you need to collaborate with someone, go prepared, do what you agree to do and then leave with what you came with

4. Accept responsibility for any and all decisions you take

5. Expect the same amount of professionalism that you bring to the table

6. Don't incite confrontation but also don't be afraid to get tough. Cover your bases as much as possible.

7. It will blow over and you will look back in wonder.

Such has been the drama of my past two weeks...

Vlogging Nigeria

2010-02-25T07:25:00.000-08:00

Does anyone know of any Nigerian/African vloggers? or Video Bloggers?

And links to their channels?

Thanks

My little big weekend

2010-02-16T09:29:00.000-08:00

In pursuit of my film career, I went to Houston this weekend to shoot a small short; a place I had never been and was in danger in navigating alone as the only two friends that I had resident in the city, had plans to enjoy the Valentine's day weekend with their significant others; something I had overlooked as it had not applied to me in the longest time, if not never.

My weekend started early on Friday when I missed my connecting flight to Houston by a little under ten minutes. I was told I could no longer the board the plane. My aunt and I then went for a round of "Do-you-have-any-flights-to-Houston-no-we-don't" or "yes-we-do-for-like-next-year-and-for-a-one-way-trip-of-$600.00-and-$1200.00-for-the-return" from airline to airline. We found one for the next morning at 8 am at BWI International which meant that I had to be picked up by the airport shuttle at 4am.

The shuttle shows up at 5.45 am full of some very pissed of passengers who had apparently also been told that they would be picked up at 4 am for their 6.15 am flights. Now, for those who are not aware, the DC/MD/VA area had been blanketed by snow for over a week and almost all the roads were either impassable or quite dangerous to do so. The driver, probably stressed out of his mind proceeded to attempt to turn the blue van into a space shuttle and levitate the automobile by sheer effort of speed. I prayed to the airport man, gripping the seat infront of me and the poor guy seating to my right. If you are out there, kind sir, I am very sorry for the welts in your arm. I am sure, they will subside with ice.

After, I happily climbed out of the van, and dropped a kiss of gratitude on the wet pavement, I ran to catch my flight and then spent the next two hours watching a mother chase her toddler around the waiting room because, surprise, the flight was delayed. They started with the first lie that they were working on a "technical problem". I was buying that too. telling one particular cranky co-passenger, that I am sure he would prefer it not to happen that the wings of the plane fall off over some other eastern state and he had to climb out to fix it. Only for the yeye crew to show up like an hour later, indicating to me that they were never on the plane in the first place to even discover any "technical problems". If there had been any technical problems, it was with their malfunctioning wristwatches and alarm clocks. Msstssthw!!!!

Landed in Houston o and to get to my location, I had to rent a car. *Cue ominous background music* Those who know me, know I don't drive. I don't like to, I don't have a car and mostly don't have to. So, I need you to take a moment to visualise me on the Houston freeway, in a rental car, praying at the top of my lungs, my bladder threaten to give way and reduce my brideprice, my palms sweating so much, the liquid was pooling on my laps and me so terrified, it took a good thirty minutes after parking the car at my destination for me to stop shaking...

The shoot turned out amazing, I had fun and met some interesting people. I was also able to still connect with an old classmate and we nearly broke our ribs laughing our asses off at a movie theater, which I was astonished to find had restaurant style seating for the movie goers...talk about spoiled.

God loves me o...no doubt because he took me there, and brought me back. That was an alarming experience but a good one sha...my license was finally put to work and I neither caused any accidents, got into one or got a ticket. Yippee!!!!

So, I am off to the editing suite to get my piece ready for an upload...how was your weekend?

Since I last saw you

2010-02-09T11:18:00.000-08:00

I attended a free screening of Nollywood Babylon at the National Museum for African Art where the Canadian director Ben Addelman presented a most insightful documentary film on the neurotic Nigerian film industry. Outside the venue, white teens begged for signatures for their campaign against Chevron, the event's official sponsor, for their actions in the Niger Delta region of the country. There were no Nigerians in the group, shivering in the cold and profering small postcards for the signatures they believed would illustrate a "public outcry". I signed one, marveled at the irony of the situation and went in to meet with the director.

Stumbled across this post on Solomonsydelle's blog and nearly had a coronary. In her recent installment of Talk To The Easier Crew, an open forum where individuals share their personal turmoils and invite advice and suggestions from commenters, we are presented with the story of a lady who walks in on her father sexually assaulting the hired help who is all of thirteen years old. Neither the father nor the victim see the lady and she runs off to her room, now claiming to be confused because she now does not know what to do. I say, she should have removed the little girl from the situation first.
Sexual abuse is so much a sordid part of our culture and I don't know what to do change this. What can we do to end sexual abuse within our society?

The snow has come to the DMV and in record amounts. We had a power outage in our development and everyone- and I mean everyone- fled because one of the downsides of a society where electricity runs 24/7 is that should that electricity fail, everything fails along with it. I would have been fine to feel my way around by candle light--something that we quite mastered in the Catwalq household where we don't have a generator-- but without heat in freezing temperature, it was impossible...and so, we joined the mass exodus, seeking solace and warmth with family friends whose power supply had thankfully been unaffected. We have since returned, waiting with bated breath for the forecasted blizzard about to blanket the region...

Contemplating buying the Brazillian butt lift system. The women in the ad look hot and there's this bikini that I have been eyeing and this beach that I am about to set on fire, this July...who is with me?

Been developing quite a few projects and soon, you guys will be enjoying them for the summer...

Please view and vote for my ad submission here

2010-02-05T13:46:00.001-08:00

I am addicted to.....

2010-01-27T10:16:00.000-08:00

My first kiss

2010-01-19T09:33:00.000-08:00

I had my first kiss today.

It was cold and tasted of Fan Yogo.

It happened under the bele-ball tree behind our house.

He said, "everyone says you are my girl friend so I am going to kiss you, okay"

So I said yes.

Mummy said that your first kiss makes you tingly.

All I could feel were the ants climbing over my slippers and trying to run up my leg.

I tried to shake them off and kicked him.

He yelped and pushed me.

I fell hard on my bum.

It hurt.

So I cried.

He came and "begged" me.

Rubbing my head this way and that.

When I did not stop, he put his arm around me and sat on the leaves beside me.

The ants climbed all over him but he did not care.

Then, he bent his head and kissed me.

I stopped crying.

Then he gave me the rest of his Fan Yogo.

It had almost all melted.

Then he pulled me up and we played catcher-catcher all afternoon.

It was the best day ever.

Riding with Tamara

2010-01-13T06:08:00.001-08:00

Two nights ago, while making my daily return home after work, I looked up from reading my very engrossing copy of author Ha Jin's "A Free Life", to realise that I was seated across the aisle from Tamara Tunie, the actress who plays the ME on Law & Order's Special Victims Unit (SVU).

There she was, sitting quite like any ordinary commuter, engrossed in conversation with her partner while I, tried not to break my neck from staring too long. Thankfully, she got off at my stop and I conered her, possibly freaking the poor woman out, for an autograph which she gave quite gracefully.
As I rode home, my autograph safely inscribed on to a page in my novel, as I had no other befitting material to produce for her to sign, I thought over the simple miracle that it was that she had ridden the metro. No, she might not be considered an A-lister but she could very well pay off all my bills without blinking and there she was, riding the same train as I.

It brought back to mind a conversation I had had with a blogger a while back on why I believed the social infrastructure in my country was not good. It was because, in my opinion, those who were responsible for its establishment and maintenance did not use it. It is only in Nigeria that the assistant to an assistant's assistant wants a chaffeur driven car and in most cases demands it.

Here, in DC, I ride the metro with Senators, teachers, bus drivers, students, tourists, children, thieves, fashion moguls, home makers and anyone else that needs to get around. No, the system is not perfect but compared to what is in my own country, it is beautiful. When something goes wrong, the backlash is heard from every level and what's more, it is acknowledged. Nigerian public transportation is the way it is because none of the commissioners use it.

When the board of directors for America's GM appeared before Senate early last year begging for a bailout, they were harshly criticised for having flown into DC on private planes and corporate jets. I am not sure if they did get what they were asking for when after being asked their mode of transportation into the city and their response was the above. In Nigeria, they would have arrived not only by private jets but in a loud and obnoxious convoy of overweight, barely intelligent entourages to collect money that would not be used in any way for what it was being requested for.

My dream is to be able to return to my home in Nigeria after a day's work at the studio, either riding my cream coloured moped or my bicycle with its rattan basket on the front; to be able to go walking or running in a park near my house and where necessary to show up at a location in Enugu, after a four/five hour train ride through the country from Lagos. I want to be able to catch the metro at Oshodi, and ride to the airport with my one overnight suitcase; to be able to drop my children of at the metro so they can ride to school too and pick them off in the evening when they are done. I don't need an SUV to carry me around because the public transportation would be comfortable, convenient and affordable. If I have a car, it will be a small one, for those days when I want to go exploring the city or when I have alot to carry around?

Is this too much to dream?

Well, riding with Tamara Tunie sure made me do so....

Help me in demanding that Yanni come to the MD/DC/VA area

2010-01-08T12:55:00.000-08:00

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