Sefi Atta’s “Not My Affair”

Sefi Atta’s “Not My Affair”

I was at the reading of Sefi Atta’s “Not My Affair” this evening at the Terra Kulture in Victoria Island.
In order not to offend our Nigerian Sensibilities, the play started about 40mins late (which Sefi apologized for – I engaged myself playing Solitaire on my phone 🙂 and the background music for the play was being played in a loop (and it was quite nice)
The reading was opened by Sefi Atta who spoke for about 10 minutes. Though she said she was a little nervous (possibly), the 10 minutes passed so quickly because she made it
interesting and fun in a serious way – I don’t think anyone could have done it any better.

The reading itself was very interesting and funny – and it lasted about an hour.
The four other readers (apart from Kate Henshaw) were supposedly not actors – but I suspect they are not new to reading as the parts were very well done.
I had pitty on “Tosin” though, for her part called for a display of emotion/anger/etc – a state in which she basically was throughout the reading 🙂
It must take a lot of effort – especially for a none-professional actress!

Well done to all.

There was refreshments after the reading (which as Sefi said in the beginning was hidden so people don’t wander off randomly during the reading 🙂

Since I am not a writer, the above is not a criticism of the reading or the play itself (unless  in a positive way), otherwise I would have to be classified amongst “those who can’t do …” which hopefully I am not!

Go Atta Girl!

NOTE: All proceeds go to an NGO for kids. I put my name/mail down on the contact list, so I hope I will be “invited” for future shows/readings.
NOTE: Looked up her bio on the Internet, and wouldn’t have thought she was a day older than myself and that is saying something!

Mean Girls 2: the letter

I am one of those people who, when watching a film, if shown a letter/note on the screen, will pause, rewind, zoom (if necessary) to read its content – especially if I am watching the film alone. Not for any particular reason, just the fact that if I think the note/letter is legible enough to be read, then I am going to read it. If you don’t want me to read it, then don’t show a legible copy on the screen.

Now to the typo in the screen grab below from Mean Girls 2 (I will watch almost any film I can get my hands on, I weed out the completely useless ones afore-hand by checking out the reviews on www.imdb.com first)

I have underlined (in red) the parts that are “incomplete”. As far as I know, for a production to display the name of a well-known organization in this way, they must have obtained the permission of the organization involved. Of course, it’s very likely the school didn’t actually see/approve the letter, just gave the permission – with some suitable
contribution/donation or possibly “free” advert (Have that, you other schools! We are in with the Hollywood crew, suckers!)?


Anyways, while I am not a language buff myself (my English both spoken and written leaves a lot to be desired), I think this is too obvious to have been missed.

Derele

Derele passed by with all his usual bling and his electric-shocked head of hair.
As usual I was tempted to walk up to him to ask if he wouldn’t mind a picture (same temptation I get when I see any celebrity – I have seen PawPaw or whatever he is called – the more popular of the short Nollywood duo; Oshiomole – his overgrown bodyguard didn’t even allow me move an inch, etc)
While I was thinking of the nightmare (for him and the staff) that would happen when he attempts to make it through the screening machine (he had more studs on his shoes, armbands, sleeveless jacket than a plane has rivets on its arms), the gentleman behind me on the queue nudged his wife and said “See human being” to which the wife replied “Who is he?”
“Derele” was the response – followed by a shake of the head and an additional “Na woman born am o”

HOPE

HOPE

Do not speak to me of hope
For during the evening of discord,
I have lost friends and families and foes
I stood on the morn
By the sea shore
Welcoming the sun
Thinking at last here it comes
Borne on the waves of the sea
To give me wings to sup at the table of the gods
But alas, it was fermented faeces and the fear of disease
That drove me staggering back
Choking on disgust and my own vomit

Where thus is hope
That should keep the flames alight
Burning fierce while the mid-june rains
Drops buckets soaking cloth and skin to bone

What is this hope
That escapes your lips so easily
I have searched for it in darkest night with an incandescent torch
I have sought it in brightest day
I have looked among the proletariat
And inquired of it from the bourgeoisie
It was not to be found with the highlifes nor with the lowlifes

But then in the borrows of the little things
In the nest of the high things
Under the grass and between the eaves
I heard a murmuring that was not of man
That spoke to the spirit in tongues
Not perceived by the ear
But heard in the mind
Of glad tidings
Of great and good
Of the breaking morn
That brings with it the promise of HOPE

2:00am 26/08/2011

Hausa Rasta

I am not trying to stereotype the tribe – if anything, it’s as if I am stereotyping the other tribes, after all we are one. But I don’t think I have seen a Northerner sporting dreadlocks before. He was coming towards me, wearing one of those trousers with pockets everywhere (name eludes me at the moment) and a sleeveless t-shirt. With earphones in his ears and an iPhone or a music player in his hand. He was miming what he was listening to I assume – at the top of his voice “wetin i be, weting you be”. I assume he was intoxicated from the way he was swaying slightly as he went along. All was well in his world 🙂

(14/08/2011)

Corn on the Cob

So I was in a BRT on 3rd mainland going from Berger towards CMS and we passed this chap on a motorcycle enjoying a cooked corn in one hand with the other hand on the handle bar. He soon finished off the corn and tossed the cob away – not sure if it made it over the side rails into the water or joined the other refuse on the bridge.
He then fished his helmet from the front of the cycle over the dashboard and jammed it back on his head.
Now, that’s all well and dandy. But consider the following scenario:
While he is busy contemplating how blessed he is, chomping on sweet corn and gently buffeted by cool sea breeze, his cycle goes into a pothole (yes, before our more advanced friends from across the seas wonder how slim the chances are of getting into a pothole on a bridge, let me assure you that they are not the rare fixtures they are over “there”, we have both the nature/elements made and the human-made ones when the city digs up bad patches of road under the guise of effecting repairs and proceeds to leave the hole alone for several months) I digress. So his bike hits a pothole or is side-winded by someone’s hubcap or wheel cover, and an otherwise innocuous morning is turned into something else for several people. Think of the bike doing a sliding tackle while the man does an Evel Knievel leap of faith. Cars screeching as drivers match on breaks to avoid having a human roadkill on their hands or hitting each other.
Nothing good can come out of such a scenario. Heaven will welcome at least one new arrival at “best” or several at worst.

And to the bike-man, asketh the Angel at the gate of heaven with power to grant or deny entrance:
“Well Sir, you seemed to have appeared much earlier than expected?”
“If it ain’t the damnedest thing …. Corn on the cob did me in.”

July 4, 2011

Do not doubt me

Was I not there?

At the Jordan’s edge, when the man got deeped, and the voice rolled like thunderstorm across the noonday sky?

Did I not witness the spirit descend
Like a winter’s eagle
Royal and fierce
Yet gentle and mild
Like the whitest dove?

Was I not there?

Did I not witness deep groans from His dried-up lips and watching croud
As metal flailed bits from tortured flesh?

When lightening rend the heavens
And Thunder split the vaulted steps?

Did I not witness the rains come down in drops as big as eggs?
Did it not wash him clean before
Thomas came to fetch his surpine form?

Did I not stick my toes in the crooked stream
Streaked in deepest red
As it wound its way from beneath the cross?

Did I not see the Romans crouch beneath their ragged capes
Held aright by their vicious spears

Did I not see within my soul as spirit departed tired form?

Can there be doubt of his royal calling
When 3 days hence
I saw him whole and standing firm

Can there be doubt of God’s intent
When on streams of air
He ascended the stairs of heaven
While the rays of the sun lighted the way
And Angels marked the path?

Did I not help guide in the boat
Sinking beneath the weight of a thousand fish?

So do not doubt me nor worry me when I proclaim him the Son of God
Who was, is, and ever shall be, world without end.

Poling: a safe alternative to Planking

Planking has of recent acquired notoriety since people started planking themselves to death. (No, it’s not as the phrase may suggest, being hit over the head with a plank of wood, instead planking means lying belly down with your arms at your side like a plank of wood and having your picture taken in that position.) Certain “adventurous” plankers (or should they be called wankers?) are the cause of the current brouhaha. These people, not content planking on park benches and camel humps, started planking on police cars and 7 storey balconies – sad tale, RIP)
And since notorious is what notorious does (if it seems unreasonable that notoriety breeds popularity, one only need consider notorious B.I.G.), the Planking phenomenon has more or less reached critical mass.
Even a PM has waded in, hmm, that’s until the picture showing the PM planking “in fun” at home (just to show the uninitiated friends and family how it’s done safely) gets leaked unto the Internet (Mr. Assange, heads up!)

I am surprised there have been no alternative play on the word itself, because some of the pictures I have seen on the Internet definitely brings to ones lips expressions such as “no, that’s not possible” and “it must be reinforced” and if you are a man, and you are that reinforced, don’t expect any love from the ladies, they would be too scared to touch you with a 6foot pole. Which brings us to my proposal for a safer alternative to planking called “Poling” – please note that planking is not going anywhere anytime soon (what with students getting suspended for it, and some places banning it, get ready for several new waves of planking – it’s a movement on its own now)

Poling (someone has suggested pillaring, but I think it doesn’t quite roll off the tongue) is defined as standing (yes standing) straight with your hands by your side like a pole and having your picture taken. The creativity comes from your location when poling of course. People have been poling forever (so it won’t be easy to ban) – who hasn’t seen a picture of a friend or relative poling next to one of the guards at Buckingham palace? Or sidling sideways at the last moment into some celebrity picture?
So poling is all about location, location, location.
Here are some suggestions to kick-start your foray into Poling:
– you can pole next to a pole in the middle of nowhere
– you can pole next to a lions cage at the zoo (not inside the cage next to the lion)
– you can pole next to anyone that is not aware of your presence
– you can pole at the bus station (be considerate and don’t hold up the line)
– you can pole next to the Eiffel tower (if you look too small in the picture, do it next to a small-sized replica)
– you can pole in front of your TV while that premier league championship is on (note: “your TV”, not in front of the TV at your local watering hole)
Of course poling is not safe from stupidity – I am sure given a little time, people will start poling on trams; on railway lines (and getting their feet stuck with an oncoming train in the picture); experimenting with reverse-poling (standing on ones head).

To make things even more interesting, let me introduce a poling variation called “back-poling”. Back-poling is standing (the “poler”) with back next to an unwitting participant (the “polee”), with the poler looking in the same direction as the polee. The trick is to do it quickly without actual physical contact and the best pictures are those with the polee having some sort of startled look while the poler keeps a straight face. The only danger is the possibility that the polee will be one of those jumpy fellows who proceed to jump, then push the poler into the path of an oncoming vehicle or off some raised platform.
In which case, we simply attribute the accident to another planking gone wrong. After all, the dog already has a bad name – an extra alias won’t make much of a difference.

Have (safe) fun Poling!

When

When I close my eyes in death
    I hope to a glorious rebirth
I sojourn to that heaven in the sky
    While I bid the earth goodbye
Loved ones I will surely meet
    Along with angels to greet
Weep not for my work is done
     I have set down my tools – I have heard the gong
No more worries about riches and wealth
     No more cares about leaches and health
The pains are gone,
     I hear the song
The time is come,
     I see the Son!

The Old Man

The old man that passed this way
Grizzled and wise
Wrinkled and crass
Watched me contemplate life through a bottle of coke
With his left hand, he swept the table
Glass breaking, shards glistening in the midday sun
In his right hand a bottle of golden fluid

Young man, what are u doing seeping at life?
Be greedy!
Grab it with both hands
Tear into it with rabid teeth
Take huge chunks
Wash it down with anything that burns
Take huge swallows
Do not be quiet
Gurgle; spit; belch
Let the world know you passed through

Now share a drink with an old man on his way to the grave
And when your turn comes
Be sure to give same advice with all the gusto you can muster!

Thereafter the old man went his merry way
While I contemplated the fallen stars