When sparks fly

From the moment your gaze settled on that face in the front pew, you knew. You were captured by those eyes in the lock of mutual attraction; that faint curling up of the corners of the mouth, the knowing deepening of the intensity in those eyes...those eyes, again and again. There was no mistaking it. Then the smile; smile met by smile..

And in the aftermath of the benediction, in the milling of the crowd of the holy and the sacrosanct, you are drawn together, almost like pawns in the hand of that mysterious invisible magnetic force of Mother Nature, which of her own accord brings two people together. The greeting, the smiles, the handshake, lingering, reluctant to let go; the thumb gently caressing the back of your hand, that intensity in those eyes again..

Handshake morphs into handclasp, unrelenting, unwilling to be released, eyes still locked in mutual embrace; soft words exchanged, a stirring in the loins..? How awfully you want him to stay and share in the refreshments, the jollof-rice, cake and fruit on offer this anniversary Sunday; how gladly you would rush around the buffet counter to produce a platter of food for you both to enjoy. But he must leave. "Other commitments elsewhere", he whispers, smiling. "There will be another time.."

And of course this you must accept, for he is after all a man of God who is visiting you from another congregation, with untold responsibility to his flock. He must leave now and you must endure the parting, the hands reluctantly letting go. You stare at him from behind as he walks away, slowly, him being careful not to draw attention; you knowing that he is thinking the same thing as you. When will that next time be..?

Going walkabout

Settling into my new home has taken all week, but today Saturday, after taking care of all the necessary household chores the details of which I shall not bore you with, I set out on a walkabout of my immediate surroundings. I knew that my house is located in an area that is on the fringe of the city, but I was unprepared for an encounter with farm animals just five minutes walk from my front door, neither did I anticipate the sweet earthy smell of manure.

Suddenly, London doesn't seem any more like the concrete jungle that it used to feel like. I'm even considering procuring a pair of hiking boots to go a wandering in the countryside during the remaining few weekends of the summer; an activity that once during those giddy youthful days gone by of national youth service, was a favourite pastime of mine in the wild open spaces of the Jos Plateau in Nigeria.

Moving on

I like the word GENTRIFY. I was sorely tempted to use it in the title of this post, but I thought it might be giving too much away too soon. Let me start by offering my apologies to you guys for having been uncharacteristically silent on this blog for a while now. There is a good reason for this however, and it is this: I've been in the process of finding a new place to live. And finally this weekend, I am giving up my flat in London for a place in suburban Essex, a place that was once a little village, but which has now been swallowed up by the conurbation that is Greater London, but by gosh what a difference 20 miles makes. 

The new place is exactly that, new. Its a newly built development, very modern on the inside with an attempt on the outside to ape the traditional English look, mock Tudor and all. Those who know me will agree that I've often whined about the fact that for the last five years I've lived in a flat, without a garden, indeed one with no outdoor space at all. And guess what, I'm moving into a new place, which is not only a flat, it's a smaller flat than the one I'm leaving behind, also with no outdoor space and no garden! Worse still, the ground surrounding the building is completely concreted over. But it is located in a very lovely area indeed.

It has not been easy for me to justify the cost of living in the crowded, grotty, noisy, unfriendly part of inner-London that I have called home for many years now. I had a spell in leafy Surrey some years ago, but that was the accommodation provided for the staff of a hospital that was my then employer under which auspices I lived the life of suburbia without actually meriting it. It was at this hospital that I did my moonlighting while studying during the day. Now I am making the move to the suburbs under my own steam and it turns out it is not the financial nightmare that I assumed it might be (although I still have to factor-in travel costs, since henceforth commuting shall become a part of daily life), but I still do think I'm getting value for money.

Property in inner-London is outrageously expensive. The property market there is attractive to people from all over the world, hence ordinary men and women like us find that we are having to compete with Arab Sheikhs from the Gulf States for the same property. The nosedive in value of the UK's Pound Sterling brought on by the recession has not helped either, because suddenly London property is even more attractive to foreign property investors than before.

I know this seems a bit exaggerated, but when the Sheikhs and Russian oligarchs buy up all of the very expensive houses, the not so rich then compete for the not very expensive ones. Then those like us who are on the lower rungs must be content with what property remains, but there are millions of us. So we have overcrowding, astronomic property prices and exorbitant rents. But then there is always the option of moving further out of London and having carefully considered it, living in inner-London for me is really not worth all that cash I've been throwing at it.

So I've taken this option and I'll be moving over the next few days. It might be a while before I get the internet connected, so I'll likely be scarce around here. But don't worry about me because I'll be busy taking in the fresh air and enjoying my new surroundings, the plush carpets and the recessed lighting throughout the flat, which I admit was the clincher for me. I said it's a smaller flat than the one I currently live in, but small has its advantages too. Firstly, its easier to keep clean and there aren't too many nooks and crannies for things to get lost in.

My experience of moving house is that you never realise just how much stuff you own until you have to pack up all your stuff because you're moving house. The prospect of packing my stuff together has been so scary that I've avoided doing it until now that there's no more time left. Fortunately my nephew has offered to come and help me out, but its a bank holiday weekend and he has insisted that he must go out on Friday night, the and Saturday night as well. So he'll probably be so hungover on Sunday that he won't be of that much help to me in the end. I really should be getting on with it.

 

Rudisha smashes the world record

Today in Berlin.. Another clean sweep for Kenya..

More here..

After the race, David Lekuta Rudisha (a more up-to-date profile here) is quoted as saying:

"Last year I had a bad time in Berlin. The weather was not very good, and I did not make it into the final.

"So I did not want to talk too much about the world record before the race. But today I knew it is my day. I trained very hard, the weather was good. I told the pacemaker to run the first lap under 49 seconds. He did a great job.

"The last 200 metres I had to push very hard. But I saw the clock. 1:41,09 at the end, fantastic. I am very happy to be the fastest 800 metres runner in the world. The crowd was fantastic."

Out of Africa...The incredible fashion show inspired by Mother Nature

An amazing fashion show inspired by Mother Nature. I came across this 2008 posting on the Daily Mail online website. The models are said to be of the Surma and Mursi people of the Omo Valley in East Africa, (see here too). The story in the Mail reads:

"With colourful make-up of bright yellows, startling whites and rich earth-reds, flamboyant accessories and extraordinarily elaborate decorations, you'd be forgiven for thinking that these images originated in the fevered mind of some leading fashionista. Yet far from the catwalks of New York, London or Paris, these looks are the sole creation of the Surma and Mursi tribes of East Africa's Omo Valley.

Inspired by the wild trees, exotic flowers and lush vegetation of the area bordering Ethiopia, Kenya and Sudan, these tribal people have created looks that put the most outlandish creations of Western catwalk couturiers to shame."

Read more

"...a leaf or root is transformed into an accessory..

Instead of a scarf, a necklace of banana leaves is draped around a neck.

In place of a hat a tuft of grass is jauntily positioned.

A garland of flowers, a veil of seed-pods, buffalo horn, a crown of melons, feathers, stems and stalks-

Mother Nature has provided a fully stocked wardrobe.

Like a dressing-up chest brimming over with costumes and make-up (paint created with pigments from powdered stone), the natural environment is the source of this glorious jungle pantomime.."

"Although the origins of this astonishing tradition have been lost over the years - the Surma and Mursi spend much of their time engaged in tribal and guerilla warfare - their homeland is a hotbed of the arms and ivory trades. Fifteen tribes have lived in this region since time immemorial, and many use zebra skins for leggings, snail shells for necklaces and clay to stick their wonderful designs to their heads. As they paint each other's bodies and make bold decisions about their outfits (all without the aid of mirrors) it seems that the only thing that motivates them is the sheer fun of creating their looks and showing them off to other members of the tribe. As a celebration of themselves and of their stunning environment, this is truly an African fashion parade like no other." Marcus Dunk

Pictures by Hans Silvester (Rapho/Camera Press) from the book Natural Fashion: Tribal Decoration from Africa by Hans Silvester, published by Thames and Hudson, £19.95

Poetic and rather evocative, but I do not like the word "tribe" and never use it, since I think of it as a word devised by Europe to describe peoples they thought were less 'civilised' than they were. The word carries with is a connotation of primitiveness and applies only in relation to the 'native' peoples of Australia and the Polynesia islands, parts of south Asia, Africa, parts of South and Central America and the indigenous populations of North America.

It angers me to see that many of us in modern times have embraced the word and refer to our various ethnic groups, indigenous societies, indigenous nations, kingdoms and fiefdoms as tribes, without thinking about the implications of the use of the word. The word appears in the Mail's description of the fashion event and I needed to express my view. Please pardon me for digressing. See here too.

Life in the closet is the way of life

I first came across this piece on a blog I think is Russian or Ukrainian. I had not seen it on 234next.com when it was published on 10 July 2010, but the Russian blog referred me there:

LAGOS, Nigeria: Odunlami (not his real name) was engrossed in an activity on his mobile phone when this reporter walked into KFC, an eatery in the City Mall, Onikan. He had been waiting for 10 minutes, though he was an hour and a half late.

We were scheduled to meet at noon and, after waiting for one hour, I got tired of sitting down at the café and had to take a stroll. He had sent me his description in a text message and so when I walked in, I recognised him at first sight - neatly trimmed afro hair, well ironed shirt, light complexioned. Mr Odunlami, in his late 20s, is a graduate of Abia State University, hails from Delta State; and is a homosexual.

He is one of the numerous males and females who had scribbled their mobile phone numbers behind toilet doors at The Palms Shopping Mall at Lekki, Lagos, soliciting various kinds of services.

The wall post on the door

In the male toilets, graffiti-like scrawling advertising various businesses and services, ranging from sponsorship endorsements to the outright obscene, adorn all the four toilet doors; a sharp contrast with the spotless walls.

Some of the inscriptions read: "If you want to buy a gun, call John"; "Am a talented comedian"; "If you need gun, cocaine"; "Am a defensive driver, God's Power by name"; "I need a sponsor on music"; "Need a strong d**k to get your wife pregnant"; "You need a gay friend"; "If you need long time sex"; and "Need a laundry, computer engineer, private tutor," among others. Each inscription carries the writer's name and contact phone number for whosoever is interested.

"A friend of mine who was working with Shoprite told me that they (Shoprite) were planning to open a new outlet and were collecting applications. So when I went to submit my CV, I noticed people were writing their numbers on the door in the toilet," said Mr. Odunlami, a Biochemistry graduate.

He revealed he started exhibiting homosexual traits at 13, and that he had been receiving countless phone calls from gay partners in Lagos since his post on the door. "I got calls from Festac, Surulere, Ikeja, everywhere. My phone could not stop ringing. I met with one of the callers, a short young guy with pot belly. He was not my type so I cut him off," he said.

Another male who identified himself simply as Buddy said that the need to expand his network of gay friends made him advertise himself. "The response has been unbelievable. I went with a friend to watch a movie when I noticed that people write their numbers on the door. Ever since I wrote my mine, I'd been busy shuttling from Benin and Lagos to meet with new friends," said the 26-year-old University of Benin undergraduate.

The girls do have ‘em

The female toilets share a similar fate, but while the males say they advertise with the intention of elevating their financial status, the females use it as an avenue to give vent to frustrations in their relationships. Twenty-five-year-old Sandra Oduyemi said she decided to participate in the ‘toilet adverts' three months ago when a friend intimated her of the trend.

"I had a boyfriend before, but we broke up after he left me pregnant. After having my son, I lost interest in guys," she said. "I will never have anything to do with guys; they are not faithful and you cannot trust them. But women, you don't expect too much from them; they are not like all these men. The man abandoned me and my son."

For Tosin Raphael, it was curiosity that prompted her to put her contacts out, for the first time since she discovered her bisexuality in secondary school, in a public domain.

"The reason why I wrote my name was because I saw people writing their names. When I entered I was surprised but I wanted to give it a try so I wrote my number," said the 22-year-old Lagos State University undergraduate. "I was tired of my boyfriend, always flirting around with other women. But to me women are easier to be in a relationship with."

Well kept secrets

The society's perception of homosexuals and lesbians has caused most of the respondents to keep their activities in the closet. Mr. Odunlami said that as a spiritual leader he always ensures he does not run foul of expected standards.

"I was the vice president of the campus fellowship in school and so I had to be very careful. Even my twin brother does not know I'm gay. If he ever finds out, he will die," said Mr. Odunlami, stroking a copy of ‘Spiritual Leadership for the New Millennium' by David Yonggi Cho, a book he says he has been reading the past few weeks.

"There are a lot of us (homosexuals) in this Lagos. But I don't want to join any of the associations; I prefer to do my thing on my own. And again, if the government should legalise (homosexuality) in Nigeria, you would be surprised at the number of people around you that are doing it."

Sarah Johnson, another ‘advertiser', said that she had to take full advantage of the opportunity presented by the wall scribbles. "Well, it's free advert and a free world. It is public in other countries. I don't think it will ever get public because we have a strong culture," said Ms. Johnson.

Mr. Odunlami said he does not have any immediate plans for a girlfriend; he still prefers the men. Thirty minutes after he left the eatery, he sent a text message. "Thanks for the drinks. I do appreciate your kind of person.... Do you like what you saw? Cheers!"

(The real names of the respondents in this story have been changed for the purpose of confidentiality) By Ben Ezeamalu and Esther Alidu