Happy New Year to one and all.
May the New Year be filled with blessings from the Almighty God.
Best Regards,
Ayotunde Itayemi
Happy New Year!
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Six
Six
I wish I would die.
Five years ago the thought wouldn’t have crossed my mind. Not even four, or three, or two. Not even one year ago. But now I can’t wait to be out of my misery.
How is it possible that a year ago I was living across the square at the top of the most luxurious hotel in town. Now I can still see the light from the window of the room I once occupied. I can detect movement inside if I try hard enough. I hunker down in the cold corner of the square for the night. Hoping the security detail from the hotel won’t come to harass me and all those other unfortunates I used to mindlessly toss a coin or two whenever I strolled by with not a single care in the world except for what color of tie I should wear to the get-together to which I had been invited.
I shiver uncontrollably. The weather forecast had been bleak. Unseasonable cold expected for the next couple of weeks. I had seen it looking through the front glass window at an electronic shop downtown. Before the shop’s security detail came out to ask me politely to move along.
I wish I would die.
I have tried a couple of times. Once I almost succeeded. I don’t understand why the state is concerned enough to save me from an attempted suicide but not concerned enough about where I would get my next meal or a place to sleep for the night. I saw the white light. I moved towards it as the blood drained from the gash in my arms I had made with the broken bottle of the cheap hooch I had bought from some shady individual at the neighborhood park. But it was the bright hospital light overhead as some intern closed the wounds in my arms that brought me back to the reality of my sorry existence. A trip to the hospital’s psychiatric section where the doctor was more than eager to declare me competent once it was realized I had no health insurance saw me outside the hospital as soon as I could walk on my own. They should have let me die.
I wish I would die.
The wind lifted the corners of my ragged overcoat. Crept up and grabbed hold of what was left of my withered form. I shivered again. If I was a believer I would have thought the devil was a one inch sore on my left shoulder: it itched like a “mutha-fu***r”. I only believed in myself. I could do anything I wanted. I could have anything I wanted. I believed in myself. Until I lost everything. The local RedCross rep gave me a cream for it. Maybe I am not using it properly. All the while she was explaining how to apply it, I was busy looking at her smooth light skin, her lovely face and beautiful teeth. She reminded me of someone else. A girl I had met by chance in a bank. She won’t be coming again for another month. In my previous life, we probably wouldn’t have met, but if we had, I would have had her hanging on my every word while treating her to all the best things the town had to offer. But that was another life in the distant past. I ignored the pity or compassion I saw in her eyes. She kept me company in my head while I built castles in my dreams. That kept the cold at bay for several nights. But after a week or so her face faded into the mist of vague shapes that drifted across my mind every time I close my eyes. I tried to will her back. But I failed.
I wish I would die.
I hear the sound of the refuse truck in the far distance. I opened my eyes. Just enough time to beat it to the back of the hotel where the leftovers of the day would be waiting for disposal. But I couldn’t feel the hunger. I couldn’t even feel my stomach. I didn’t move. The truck trundled past. How much time had passed? Maybe 10 or 15 minutes.
I had gambled everything away. Everything. Everything. I didn’t even own the cloth on my back. They are castoffs. My only possession is my briefs, and I couldn’t get anyone to pay me 5 cents even if I wanted to sell it.
I looked down at my feet. I can see why they felt so cold. New holes in the old over-sized shoes. The only protection they offered was for the soles of my feet – I might as well have been wearing a pair of slippers.
Time to take a walk round the square. Pretend not to be homeless. Just another shopper looking in closed shop windows. But the only thing taking up space in my pocket is a lottery ticket. Well. It was that or a pack of smokes. It wasn’t much of a choice.
The dapper chap coming the opposite way noticeably sidestepped as we came abreast of each other: he could have been me 10 months ago. I ceased to wince a long time ago. The shame and embarrassment long disappeared into a dark abyss from which I could no longer call them forth.
I wish I would die.
There is very little human traffic at this time of the night. Though it wasn’t that late really. I was king of all I surveyed – as long as I looked but not touched. The journey felt short tonight. I am almost doubling back now, but there is one more detour to make. The small corner shop which wasn’t necessarily on the corner. The mom and pop shop that sold all the little things one could want in a hurry: a pack of cigarettes, a pack of gum, bars of chocolate, newspapers and magazine: you get the idea. It was closed and dim inside the shop but there was always more than enough light reflected from the street to see the winning numbers displayed on the inner-side of the glass front doors. Tonight those numbers looked vaguely familiar. Could it be? I must have stood there for several minutes. I fingered the stiff piece of paper in my pocket but didn’t bring it out. I tried to remember where the numbers were printed on the paper. I ran my fingers over it as if it was a piece of some braille document. In my mind I tried to remember the numbers. The wind howled down the side street while I stood still like a mannequin. All of a sudden I was hungry, tired, sad and happy at the same time. I felt faint. I was almost sure of it. Those numbers starring back at me were the same ones I had played early that morning. I was back! I could already see myself in that room at the top of the hotel in the square. A couple of pretty young things at my beck and call. I would ask for the manager to come up for a chat – just because I could. I don’t like caviar but would order it anyway. Along with the biggest, oldest bottle of Champagne from their underground cellar: a place I had been privileged enough to visit when I was still an honored guest. Suits from the most exclusive tailors in town. I was really back! With that all-or-nothing ticket in my pocket, by this time tomorrow, I could do no wrong! I looked over my shoulders up and down the street before bringing it out – I couldn’t afford to be mugged at this critical point – but there was not a single soul within shouting distance. I straightened out the little piece of paper and went through the numbers one by one. My heart beating wildly as each one matched the one on the glass window in front of me. Except the last digit! It couldn’t be! I was sure I had played a nine, but there on my ticket was a six. I turned it over and it became a nine, but holding the ticket the right-way up, it was a six. i must have checked it at least 20 times, but the six on my ticket and the nine in the window refused to change. The vista of fine food and wine and girls disappeared just as rapidly as I had constructed them in my mind. Replaced by the dank dark lonely street with the wind carrying the little scraps of paper past doorways and behind rubbish bins.
I wish I would die.
29/12/2013 (15:30pm – 18:20pm)
How big is your faith?
How big is your faith?
If as Jesus said (Luke 17:6 paraphrased, Matthew 17:20), you only need to have faith as small as a mustard seed to command mountains to move (should apply to healing as well), then there is real trouble!
Most pastors/churches just want you to worship in their churches or attend some event they are holding and “hope” you will get “your” healing. That’s leaving it completely to chance. (And if a couple of people out of several thousands do get healed, going by the way it is celebrated, it would have required an all-week party in Jesus’ time to celebrate the several people that got healed during similar gatherings. Unfortunately, even the few Pastors who seem to actively cause people to receive their healing have so much controversy surrounding them, it’s probably wise to keep a reasonable distance. There were no controversies surrounding the healing Jesus and the apostles performed – they were “self-evident”.)
Whereas in fact, during the time of Jesus and the Apostles, it was an “active ministry” – Jesus (and the Apostles) went out to actively heal people or people who approached them got healed.
So does it mean just as the rest of us, our pastors’ faith are not even as big as a small mustard seed?
Across the Bridge
Across the Bridge
A friend going out of town a couple of days ago had asked me to go get his car from his office (where he had parked it and taken a taxi to the airport). It wasn’t quite convenient for me to do so due to the location of the office. Anyway, I had decided I was going to go pick up the vehicle yesterday night but closed from work quite late (about 10PM). So I made up my mind I was going to go get the car this morning. I had more or less decided I would take a cab to his office though I must confess there was the beginnings of an idea that I might just walk there instead.
So this morning I got up and hadn’t quite made up my mind which mode of transportation to take to his office (also I had to keep in mind that I had an appointment in a couple of hours). But while Whatsapping as I walked to the main road, I told a “friend” that I had issues with my car and that I was walking on the road and the friend commented that it was good and that I needed the walk since I was lazy (there is a background story to trhat so don’t take it out of context :-). At that moment, I made up my mind to walk to his office. So I walked all the way from a street off Bishop Oluwole in Victoria Island, across the bridge into Ikoyi to the old NNPC Building on Alfred Riwane Road. It took 50 minutes and I usually walk briskly. I guess I could knock off about 5minutes if I hadn’t stop to take pictures and admire the scenery.
I was basically walking on a workday in the opposite direction to the heavy traffic flowing into Victoria Island. I was in a T-shirt and a pair of jeans and I could see that some of the people in the cars looked at me curiously (I suspect some of it had to do with my taking pictures with my phone). There was also the fact that I was walking along the side of the bridge and at some point on the bridge itself since there was really no pedestrian walkway (does that count as jaywalking? I guess so. So is it a misdemeanor or something more serious?).
It also served as my exercise for the day.
Below are some random pictures I took along the way. Makes me wonder during the olden days when people walked from the “interior” of the country to Lagos (the Ocean). Some of the distances were 200Km to 500Km or even more. They were never really in a hurry though. Stopping at villages along the way and were usually received with respect that was typically awarded to strangers or road travelers in those days. They can usually be assured of meals and shelter. So if I covered say a kilometer or two in an hour, I can only estimate how long those trips took. That was the happy scenarios, but I am sure some people didn’t make the journey so willingly because they were freemen (and women and children) who had become slaves by virtue of their villages having been pillaged by stronger neighboring villages and they were on their way to be shipped across the oceans to foreign lands (a lot of them didn’t even survive the inhuman conditions of the journey itself and they ended up as food for the fishes).
Time changes everything.
8 long minutes
8 long minutes
So I would usually jog in place in my room in the mornings. 400 steps in place, lift a 6kg dumbbell, 40times per arm. Sometimes 60. Then 40 to 50 press-ups. Another 400 steps in place. The issue is I got tired of having to count to 800. I decided I would switch to using a stopwatch instead. That way I can use my head and concentration for something else while jogging. I was taken aback when I found out that all my jogging in place for 800 steps didn’t take up to 8 minutes!
So now I have switched to using the stopwatch function on my Android phone to jog for 8 minutes (that should give me about a thousand steps). The problem is that even though I am no longer counting, I find I have replaced that with looking at the stopwatch and hoping the darn thing will count to 8 minutes ASAP. The 8 minutes feels like forever! And I can’t really focus on anything else contrary to my initial thoughts on the matter.
I think I read of some research recently that aerobic exercises of about 22 minutes per day should add 3 to 4 years to ones lifespan. I am not particular about the extra years, but more concerned about the quality i.e., ensuring they are spent in good health.
So I find that if I stick to the jogging alone, I am short of about 14 minutes! The other stuff I am doing above should add some more minutes but still quite short of 22. So what else am I gonna add? Hmmn. Which reminds me of the planking exercise which is supposed to “strengthen your core.” I think I can manage a minute if it’s the last thing I do or 2 minutes if I do it first before the other exercises 🙂
Also I am looking for an “accountability partner” or whatever term a “buddy” setup goes by. Someone to encourage you (and vice versa) to stick to the programme and keep off the chocolates 🙂
So why am I still over 81KG when my BMI is around 75KG ? 🙁
Swallowing drugs
Swallowing Drugs
Swallowing tablets with no water in sight. That title was an attention-grabbing “summary” 🙂
So today, I more or less woke up with a headache. It hadn’t improved several hours later when I took my seat on-board the SAA flight from Johannesburg to Lagos. I fished around in my laptop bag and found a little hospital-dispensed sachet of paracetamol caplets (or whatever tablets with the oblong shape are called). I looked towards the front of the plane and realized it would still take a while before the plane was ready for takeoff and I wasn’t likely to be able to get anything from the hostesses before then as lots of people were still filing in, putting their bags in the overhead compartments and taking their seats.
There I was seated with some gremlins playing heavy-metal music in my head.
I decided I should try and swallow the 2 caplets without water. I have done similar things before in the past but not frequently – usually with regular round tablets.
It’s not as bad as one would think but it is advisable to indeed have water at hand (then why bother you ask) in case something goes wrong.
I had read somewhere that the taste cells in the tongue is mostly at the tip and possible some along the outer edge (which I think I have more or less confirmed) and one could reduce the bitter taste of almost anything by avoiding contact with those regions of the tongue? So the main trick is to drop the tablet a little back on your tongue (not that paracetamol tablets are really bitter though). The next step is to make some extra saliva to swallow the caplet. This is a little difficult to explain but it should be natural to most people (after all people salivate easily without conscious thought at the sight or thought of some delicacy they fancy – but i understand that in the case of the tablet, nervousness may actually have the opposite effect). You just “work” your tongue/throat as if you want to swallow a few times. Once you have a little build-up, you then attempt to swallow the caplet. It may not go smoothly and you may need to “work” your throat again to “float” the tablet a little. Sometimes it feels as if the caplet/tablet would (or is going) down the “wrong” way, but you should be alright. Depending on the shape of the tablet, it could actually be quite uncomfortable going down (trust me, I have experienced this first hand).
Anyways, I “did” both tablets one after the other. And due to psychology of it, I started feeling a little better almost immediately even though I knew that the tablets have probably not even started to dissolve not to talk of the active components making their way to my head to relieve me of the headache.
The flight was OK except that the entertainment system refused to work for most of the flight.
Well, I did manage to watch Johnny Depp’s “The lone ranger (2013)” towards the end of the flight. But all in all, a reasonably comfortable flight on SAA. No one ever died from missing 6 hours of entertainment on-board a plane so what is there to complain about?
Have a lovely week!
Cars
Cars
I haven’t written anything in a while. Life happens. But that should actually be fodder for articles on this blog?
So my car was sort of acting up. Also there was the issue of the front bumper that had almost fallen off (a couple of accidents – none was my fault I am happy to report) and the big dent in the rear bumper. I also had a close shave a few days prior when my car stopped on the Ikoyi bridge at about 11:30PM at night (below is the mail I sent to the repair shop I assumed was responsible for the issue). The mail prompted a call from the manager. After that I didn’t drive the car for some days until the manager sent a team out to my house 2 days later to check it out and declared it was OK.
Good day Sirs,
I am writing because I believe the issues I faced yesterday is very likely related to the assessment I had done at your workshop a few days ago.
I had no issues with the car apart from the front and rear bumper for which I sent it to your office for an assessment. I had also asked for a “service” assessment and quote.
The same day the car came back, when I left for home, I hadn’t moved about 300feet when the battery and oil indicator lights came on. I stopped and together with a driver that was with me, we looked at the battery terminals and didn’t really see anything that was the matter. Both lights blinked a little and after about a minute or two went off. I thought it might have been something transient especially due to the trip to your office and the assessment. I went out on Tuesday but didn’t go out on Wednesday at all.
I drove the car to the office yesterday morning (V/I to Ikoyi). I was in the office all day. Then yesterday evening I left my office in NNPC building at around 11PM in Ikoyi and just as I crested the bridge to V/I (about 500m from the office) the oil indicator light came on, the car made a very loud metallic rattling noise as if something was loose in the engine and stopped completely.
I opened the bonnet, and I could not believe that not a drop of oil was in the car. It was so dry there was nothing on the rod. I had to walk all the way across the bridge well into V/I before I got a commercial taxi-driver I used sometimes on the phone to come and pick me up.
You can imagine the uphill task I faced. I was finally able to get home, get a gallon of oil and return to the bridge.
Fortunately, the car started and I made it slowly home around 1AM.
I called your line and even sent an SMS and no response. Not even a call today.
I know I asked for a service assessment and a quote. I now wonder if someone drained the oil thinking the car was there for service. As I said, I find it strange that the first indication of trouble happened the same day the car was at your workshop. Prior to that visit I had no issues with the car.
I do not know if the engine has knocked partially now or not.
I have had the car for close to 3 years and have not had any reason to worry about driving it until now.
The reason I sent the car to your workshop was because of the “xxxxxxxxxx” brand. I think you should investigate and find out what likely happened.
I used a Taxi today because until I know the state of the car for sure, I do not want to risk being stuck in a strange place with a completely broken down vehicle.
I look forward to your response. Thank you.
Best Regards,
I decided I was going to carry out a full service (which was due anyway) to put my mind at rest as to the state of the car. I kept imagining I was hearing strange noises (some of them were real of course) and the AC basically stopped cooling. A prayer (and sweat under the midday Sun) took it all the way to Ladipo. I got lost several times and finally gave up, called the mechanic and told him exactly where I was around Oshodi and asked him to come get me. Before that he had been trying to give me directions unsuccessfully over the phone (I actually ended up in Ikeja GRA before making a u-turn and heading back to Oshodi)
As to the issues with the car, I have tried a so-called Toyota certified shop and the AC repair was approached almost the same unscientific way as the typical road-side mechanic would have done (“We will change your condenser first. If it still doesn’t fix the issue then we will have to change your compressor”). I allowed them to charge me an arm and a leg for the condenser. “Toyota original” which of course didn’t fix the issue. Also the car drifted to the right. The wheel balancing and alignment they carried out (“suspect” because I was watching the electronic machine along with the chap working it and for a tyre or two I suspected he gave up when he couldn’t get the thing to read zero or was it 10-10 and claimed it was “balanced”) didn’t fix the right-drift either. This was despite the fact that they kept the car for two full days and when I say full, I mean as in retrieving the car around 7PM on the second day (did I mention I was there for both days as well). The blog entry on the “torn jeans” earlier was based on my second trip to the place to get the car.
They told me to bring the car back but I had had enough.
So anyways, same as the Toyota place, this new chap was recommended by another friend/colleague. The mechanic is named Friday. Understood he used to work for Elizade or Briscoe before setting up shop for himself. His workshop was a fenced compound in Ladipo (Okesanya street) with several mechanics working out of the place.
I had a litany of issues I wanted him to take a look at. Actually more like I wanted an overhaul of the car (extensive service). Of course other issues were discovered as the car was being taken apart. The compressor which had started to make noise a while back had to be replaced, the front bumper was replaced (it survived an initial scrape with another car, but gave up after a commercial bike and his passenger had a close encounter of the “thank God you are OK” kind with it). The suspenders were bad, the brake calipers were serviced, the brake pads replaced, and so on. Well I am thinking of getting a front protector for it. Fed up of other people running into me. I think having both a front and rear protector would make the car too “long” especially with the tight spaces we have to park in Lagos (Hey! This is not America where the parking lots are like football fields 🙂
I took the car there on Thursday. But the mechanic was busy with another fellow’s car. Though he told his boys to start working on the car, but I didn’t pressure him too much because I wanted him to keep an eye on things (I decided not to make any issues of the fact that the boys were taking it slow because it may be a sign that they need directions from the boss). I spent the whole of Thursday and Friday there. Had some adventure taking commercial bike rides to Mushin coupled with bus rides from Mushin to CMS to Victoria Island. Something I hadn’t done in ages. Felt strange and alive at the same time. Having to struggle for a seat at CMS got my blood pumping a little faster than usual. Between Mushin and the workshop, I just drifted into the biking thing. The trick is to remain “loose” behind the rider so as he navigated the million potholes and ditches in the road, you just sort of roll (actually go up and down) with the ride. It was fun actually. On Friday, along the way from Mushin to the workshop, the rider stopped where several of his colleagues had gathered and we learnt that the previous area commander (police?) had instructed his men to only arrest riders operating on the expressways. But it seems the powers-that-be had arranged for his quick transfer out. His replacement then allowed the police to catch the riders on even the side roads and residential areas. One of them had been dispossessed of his bike a few hours before. The rider complained to me that riding the bike commercially is not the best business to engage in, and in addition to the daily risk of accidents, now they have to put up with the harassment of the police force.
I didn’t go on Saturday. Went apartment-hunting instead. Found one in particular but the asking price is almost daylight robbery (people say the price of accommodation in Lagos has been too artificially inflated and that it will crash soon – but the soon never seems to arrive eh?). Tiring stuff. By the way, a friend is looking for a housemate to share a 4bedroom apartment close to VGC.
The mechanic called me about 8PM on Saturday to tell me they had finished the repairs. I had been in touch with him during the day, but didn’t hear call back for updates since I assumed correctly I am sure he would call if they had finished earlier. But they don’t work on Sundays so the earliest I could get the car was on Monday. What about the wheel balancing and alignment? To be done on Monday morning. I will go for the car in the afternoon.
Though it’s not like I go to a lot of places everyday, but not having a car discouraged me completely from taking any trips that weren’t absolutely necessary. I sometime wonder how I did it for 10 years in Lagos.
It would be nice to be “mobile” again.
Is that not poisonous?
Is that not poisonous?
Conan’s lady love asked him once “Do you want to live forever?” (right before she hopped and got herself killed – not entirely her fault, but “we” needed some reason for Conan to go on a quest and show off his swordmanship – or axemanship :-).
Well, probably not in this world. But heaven (most def!).
So I was out and about today (hey! not like the devil). I went to help a colleague pay for some credit on her mobile line (she is not in town and ran out of call credit).
On the way back this lovely “earthy” (equivalent to something roasting 🙂 smell hit me and I couldn’t but help look around for the source. It was a lady and her assistant under a bug umbrella canopy. She had a grill with Plantain and yam roasting on it.
Went up and inquired about the stuff. Had to wait for another customer to be served. She went away with took plastic bowls and a serving in a plastic bag (I suspect the former were for her bosses wherever she worked). In the process the seller opened a couple of other plastic coolers: one contained the stew and “pomo” (cow skin) pieces and the other contained fishes.
Well, I asked for two yam pieces, a plantain. Decided what the … and asked her to add one of the fishes and a couple of the “pomos”.
That right there in the picture above has shortened my lifespan by 6 months (I guess that’s what the dietitians would say). But who wants to live forever in this world right? All the good stuff will kill you 🙁
A friend saw me recently and commented that since I was packing on the pounds now, what would happen when I get married?
It’s temporary though. It was the journey “outside” that caused it. I generally can do with or without food. But once I am em away, it seems food is just everywhere waiting and begging to be eaten – not to talk of other stuff like choccy! I have a simple exercise regime that’s better than nothing but I need to wait a little to get back into that until I fully recover from my recent close encounter with a wooden chair
Well. Let me leave the keyboard and get down to it. The only thing missing is a bottle of fizzy drink to ensure the whole thing congeals nicely in my belly. Well, don’t let’s shock the health-police too much. They might have a heart attack!
NB: 2x yam pieces @100; fish @150; 2x pomo @100; Plantain @150. Total = 450 Naira.
Blast from the past: one of the ones that got away
Blast from the past: one of the ones that got away
Yeah. I know you were expecting something else.
I was looking for a particular document today and had to wade through several big envelopes. As usual I came across some of the old communications between myself and some companies I had tried to “get into” 🙂
I am including some scans from the NLNG “attempt” below:
I can still remember the NLNG tests. I scaled the first one in Lagos then “crash ‘n burned” during the second stage test in Abuja.
The envelope the invitation letter came in.
Invitation to the first test above (let’s weed out the chaff eh?)
Second test above (we all now know how it ended 🙂
There are others of course: Mobil, SHELL, Chevron, …, hey! I have been around 🙂
You can’t sell your soul to anyone
You can’t sell your soul to anyone
There is a falsehood that has been propagated down through the centuries: “that a man can sell his soul to the devil” – this is a lie of the devil (literally). You cannot legally sell what is not yours. A conman may be able to sell another’s property and even get away with it. But you cannot sell what is God’s in the same way: even the devil is not in a position to buy it from you. The devil cannot buy or own a soul. True, a man may make a pact with him such that in exchange for worldly goods and influence, the MAN does (conscious decision) things that would make him certainly destined for hell, but the devil cannot force one into hell, nor can he take someone’s soul from him (by force or otherwise). Where the soul ends up is based solely on the man. So all those stories about the devil showing up at the end of one’s life (look up Mephistopheles for example) to take away someone’s soul to hell is pure B.S.