Monday, August 25, 2008

Interview with Brown Sugar!

I got this from Tosyn SPEECHgirl Bucknor's blog. Thought it was tres cool and decided to "photocopy".


1.What time did you get up this morning?

6: 15 a.m.


2. Diamonds or pearls?

A girl's best friend -Diamonds.


3. What was the last film you saw at the cinema?

Been a while since I was there- Mad money


4. What is your favorite TV show?

Oprah!!!!


5. What did you have for breakfast?

Cereal: Cornflakes


6. What is your middle name?

Amoge (I didn't say Omoge o!)


7. What is your favorite cuisine/meal?

Salads (when I'm thinking).


8.What foods do you dislike?

Ogbono soup (not even Mama's homemade)

9. Speechgirl didn't have a question 9!

10. What is your favorite CD at the moment?

Been doing a lot of singles lately, haven't picked up any albums in a while.

-Naija sturvs sha.


11. What kind of car do you drive?

Just gimme a while. I'll get there soon.


12. Favorite sandwich?

Ham


13. What characteristics do you despise?

In what or who? Absence of confidence in a guy, among others like dishonesty.


14. Favorite item of clothing?

Dresses n gowns


15. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go?

From the top of the page/list: Atlanta, Malibu, ...


16. What color is your bathroom?

White


17. Favorite brand of clothing?

Zara


18. Where would you want to retire?

Naija


19. Favorite time of day?

Wee hours


20. Where were you born?

St. Anne's hospital, Lagos.


21. Favorite sport(s) to watch?

I just liked to watch fresh basketballers like Kobe, Shaq, Garnett ... I Love This Game! But thanx to my bullying kid brova, i now do soccer.


22. Who do you least expect to respond to this?
Dammy


23. Person you expect to respond first?

Jolaade?


24. What laundry scent do you use?

What scents are Ariel and B29?


25. Coke or Pepsi?

Neither, fruit juice please.


26. Are you a morning person or night owl?

Nocturnal. lol!


27. What size shoe do you wear?

US 9 - 9 1/2


28. Do you have pets?

2 rottweilers (in Abuja), 3 German shepherds (in Enugu), 1 monkey called "Fine Boy". Seriously. Lost 2 white fluffy (keep forgetting the breed) dogs (in Lagos)


29. Any new and exciting news you'd like to share with everyone?
Every time I try to spend my money, someone shows up and pays!

30. What did you want to be when you were little?

A journalist and I had my own magazine and book club in Primary 4. Oh well, I'm on the road to becoming an engineer now!


31.Favorite Candy Bar?

Twix and Malteasers


32. What is your best childhood memory?

Converting 20 leaves apex mill exercise books into magazines and story books


33. What are the different jobs you have had in your life?

writer, graphics designer



35.Nicknames:

Omoge, Moe, Sugar ... my aunt used to call me "Madam Sebuka" (Taiwo Ajayi-Lycett's character, i think)


36. Piercings?

Ears.


37. Eye color?

Brown.


38a) Ever been to Africa?

NEXT!!!


38b) Ever been to South Australia?

Not yet, but Oprah said the law of attraction ...


39. Ever been toilet papering or rolling?

Don't geddit.


40. Love someone so much it made you cry?

Wow dat's deep. No. I guess I haven't found true love yet!


41. Been in a car accident?

No, gratefully.


42. Croutons or bacon bits?

Bacon


43.Favorite day of the week?

Saturdays: 'Me' finally comes alive.


44. Favorite restaurant?

Home or Barcelos (like the pizza)


45. Favorite flower?

White roses!!! Got them from my prom date!!!


46. Favorite ice cream?

Tiramisu


47. How many times did you fail your driver's test?

Yet to be taken


48. What color is your bedroom carpet?

Brown.


49. How many times did you fail your driver's test?

See #47


50. Before this one, from whom did you get your last email?

Ladun

51. Which stores would you choose to max out your credit card?

Zara.


52. What do you do most often when you are bored?

Write, facebook ... NEVER use my phone.


53. Bedtime?

3: 15 a. m.


54. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire?

Maybe Temi cuz it'll definitely be hilarious.


55. Last person you went to dinner with?

It was a group!

56. What are you listening to right now?

Screaming boss' phone conversation


57. What is your favorite color?

Brown


58. Lake, Ocean or river?

Can't know what I haven't experienced, can I?


59. How many tattoos do you have?

Zero


60. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

The chicken.

Sunday, August 24, 2008

The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination

Just found this thought-provoking piece of inspiration on Funmi Iyanda's blog and had no option but to save myelf a copy, not intending to blog but so that I could go over it as many times as possible as she suggested.


The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and the Importance of Imagination
J.K. Rowling, author of the best-selling Harry Potter book series,
delivers her Commencement Address, "The Fringe Benefits of Failure, and
the Importance of Imagination," at the Annual Meeting of the Harvard
Alumni Association.


President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of
Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is 'thank you.' Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I've experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world's best-educated Harry Potter convention.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can't remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

You see? If all you remember in years to come is the 'gay wizard' joke, I've still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called 'real life', I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.

Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension. They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents' car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.

What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations,and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person's idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.

Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone's total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

You might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International's headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country's regime, his mother had been seized and executed.

Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people's minds, imagine themselves into other people's places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise.

And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.

I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.

One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people's lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people's lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world's only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.

I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children's godparents, the people to whom I've been able to turn in times of trouble, friends who have been kind enough not to sue me when I've used their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.

So today, I can wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom:
As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

I wish you all very good lives.
Thank you very much.

Happy new year!
BrownSugar.

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

My tale of two cities


Impressions of a place are about comparisons, surprises as they contrast with expectations, things that impress us and yet also the daily interactions and familiarities that turn a place into one's home. I love living in the FCT and having relocated (at least for now) from Lagos, it's only normal to make comparisons between the two cities. I've been looking out for similarities and so far I've found a few.
  • You know the way the police guys shamelessy, no proudly collect the 20 bucks from the bus drivers. Nope! Haven't seen that around here (On second thoughts, maybe it's more on a professional level ... in offices, with cheques, with contracts)
  • You know the way you just see mad people strutting around town and everybody just walks past like they are normal pedestrians like you. Nope!
  • There's just one beggar on the road from my residence to my place of work in Garki. For someone like me who has lived all her life in Lagos excluding a few months away, you'll admit that this is strange. My mind just drifted towards that trailer-crammed Apapa route.
  • I have never, I mean NEVER ever been stuck in traffic (Okay to be honest, I'm aware you have to watch the time these days. and that means no excuse for lateness anymore.) Queues build up but nothing extraordinary (except of course in times of the fuel scarcity) and besides, the traffic lights are functional. Again Think Apapa.
I admit that these are really random (understatement police!) contrasts but isn't that what endears you the most to anything? The littlest things, right? When I moved to Abuja, I almost fell ill in the first week. The city stank of sloth and inactivity. For a whole week, my body woke up at 5: 00 a.m. already programmed to rush. Well, I learnt my lesson after I became the joke at home and was tagged "hustler." The good side was that I was recommended at work ;) After a while I relaxed and took it for granted and literally forced another ninety minutes into my snooze schedule. A li'l sleep, a li'l slumber ... never hurt nobody! Another time, I needed to buy a notebook and pen and was told that I had to go i.e. be driven all the way to the plaza, supermarket or the central Wuse market. Kai! I remembered Lag once more, where my next door neighbour runs a jack-of-all-trades chemist: Toiletries, recharge cards, bathroom slippers, stationeries, chin-chin.. Obioma nko? You couldn't miss the sound of the tailor's scissors hitting his shoulder-borne machine, or is it the sound of the vendors' horn that would wake me from my post-service siesta to get my Sunday ThisDay newspaper? In fact I even still have some change left with the aboki down the street that recaps my heels. Asking for directions in this city is not even advisable because it appears everybody just moved in too. You are almost sure to get an "I don't know", unlike Lagos where that reply would be a sin. Even the JJC that landed yesterday knows the way. As for finding boli (roasted plantain), it's a long forgotten now broken dream!

I had to go return to Lagos for a week and boy, I was battling with mixed feelings. First things, the sight of okadas, the yellows and blacks (buses and cabs) and the uniformed Owo da brought a smile to my face. It seemed everything was singing the line from Naeto-C's Kini Big deal that says, "One more thing: This is Las Gidi!" Didn't know I'd been gone for so long. Next, I was stuck in Apapa on my way from Victoria Island to Festac for THREE HOURS, not including the hour I spent on the island itself. Of course I got home with different kinds of aches. If I could describe Lagos in one word, I'd choose TOXIC but ... the kind of toxic addiction that eats deep into one's bloodstream and keeps you wanting to go back. Someone called it a strange romance and I couldn't agree more.

Nigerians, Lagosians, Abujans (or what are we called), what do you think? Got any experiences?

PHOTO CREDITS: ME and my camera!

Monday, August 18, 2008

Culture shock: Switching planes

For some time, I have kept a list of lifetime 'must-visits' which I keep updating periodically and last month, an opportunity to acheive one gracefully presented itself (it's the law of attraction, ask Oprah) in form of work (a course) but who cares as long as it didn't stop me from being a tourist! One lifelong dream fulfilled: visiting France!
Well, well, well! There are no rumours about France. If you ever heard, read and/or saw anything on TV about France, guess what! It's totally true! Paris truly is a city of life, lights and love and Lille was very homely. I was ecstatic when I heard Asa's "fire on the mountain" being played time and again in the stores. Although my schedule blatantly refused to accomodate leisure trips and I didn't get to experience much of the nightlife, the Roubaix d'Espaces and Gare Lille Flandres sights were ravishingly picturesque. Sadly, my innerchild still remains deprived of the Disneyland, Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees and the Arc de Triomphe visits but the lady within was duly compensated with some groovy shopping!

If anything wore me out the most, apart from the oxymoron of having a freezing summer and having to mentally flip through the pages of my France Afrique textbook in a bid to communicate with attendants, it was the food. The food didn't go down well with my Naija appetite and I couldn't have been happier to find solace in burgers and Chinese restaurants.

One of the things I had known about Paris was that it's THE city of Love. I wasn't disappointed. I couldn't help wondering what would happen when Valentine's day came because it was just mid-July and there was so much love in the air, on the streets, on the train, at the mall, in the restaurants and eventually at the airport. And when the French kiss, it's a French kiss! lol! One of my colleagues who travelled with me felt the French are/were indecent for their public display of intimacy and she voiced her thoughts. I thought it was rather cute though and went on to say, "At least, they are not hypocrites." I know she secretly wished she had made the trip with her significant other!

Sadly and gladly, we concluded our program and it was time to return home. Charles de Gaulle airport was the last venue and scene of such display of affection and then we headed for Lagos.
My final destination was Abuja and so I had one more domestic flight to board. Virgin Nigeria did us strong tin that day as the flight was scheduled for 6.30 p.m and we arrived Abuja at 10.17 p.m (I choose to spare you the gory details for now). Seated by the window, a young couple shortly occupied the seats beside me. The lights were turned off and this Paris-influenced sucker for romance turned eagerly to the couple, secretly hoping for one more romantic scene. I even smiled when the lady began resting her head on the guy's shoulders and their hands found each other. "Awwww!" About eight minutes later, the plane was lit so as to enable the flight attendants serve the meal and VOILA! the speed with which the guy pulled his hand away from hers was alarming. The lady clearly felt awkward with her head still on his shoulders and sat up in her seat. Never had swallowing giggles been any harder for me. Kai!! Naija! So much for love, eh?

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Memory lane: Sax.

10:05 PM 11/8/2008

Freshman year 2004.

First it was Paul and Bayo and at the same time Ladun and Vicki.
And then Bayo, Ladun, Vicki and Paul.
And then Vicki and Paul.
They had more similar interests apart from taking the same major.
He played the sax in the choir, and she was an usher.
He was daring, too sure, strong willed, too playful, silly, too smart, annoying ... dang! You were annoying!
But it makes her heart smile now because he always knew when he had misbehaved
And he knew how to retrace his steps and make amends.
Back at her home almost everybody knew (of) him
It seemed to folk at school like they were involved
The questions, the stares ... Who would blame them?
But they both knew better and had deeper.
Deep enough to make any potential partner green with envy!
It was genuine giving as it was just so natural for both to give each other
To the point where they formed a bond too strong.
He just had your way of making her bare all: plans, thoughts, fears.
He would 'brag' publicly that he was 'the one person and guy who really knew Vicki.
Then they would exchange roles when she gave him that glare to make him start 'confessing.'
His past, his present and his hopes for the future.
Vicki knew Paul, like the back of her favourite hand.

Sophomore year 2005
Both would take turns to exchange views, listen and advice each other.
He was in the habit of skipping classes and would cheekily show up after a while, too sure that she had saved him the lecture notes.
And he was always right.
As time went on, they didn't even need to talk as much.
Friendship became clairvoyant.
In just a year and a half, it felt like they had been childhood friends.
Too good to be true.
And then it happened.

March 18 2006. They had a major misunderstanding between them that did much damage.
Even malice? Paul and Vicki?
And in her rage Vicki discarded every potential memento she should have kept.
His letters, his notes, his texts. what a shame.

Third year 2006
They eventually reconciled but nothing was the same.
They had drifted too far apart.
Nevertheless they kept things friendly and eventually made new friends.
And they would keep accusing each other jokingly but with a mutual understanding.

Fourth year 2007
She resumed on September 10 2007 fresh from the summer holidays.
There was a lot of excitement in the air, noise, laughter, hugs.
She even had with a new haircut!
And then came crashing news: Car, run over, school ... senseless bits.
Paul was dead.
Days turned to weeks, weeks to months and it's been 336 days of total silence.
Silent tears, unended conversations, unexecuted plans.
It keeps dawning on her, still not fully but in bits that he truly is gone.
Some sort of denial. She only rarely talks about it with a few friends, in prayers, in conversations.
Now and again, she finds herself wondering but she still can't admit it to herself.

Today I sit here as my heart and my mind just connect with my fingers in an uncanny unison transforming my thoughts to words.
I hear a lovely sound from a saxophone and my mind is going, "Those instrumentals would have got Paul's attention."
I see new gadgets and I'm like, "Paul wudda had one of these ... AGES AGO!"
Final year is just at the corner
And again, you are not.

I am slowly coming to terms with your death, and those words stung my soul as I released them.
Time and again, I read your emails (awash with joy I kept them)
Ah! You were not around long enough to feel this SIWES/Facebook fever (hmm! did u just say u don't have time for that?)
I would have forced you, duh!
Before I go on imagining what would have been, I'll let go and be grateful for what was. And what has become.

Paul Adegboyega Obayomi,
you were an inspiration, you were a driving force.
Your focus and your dedication were second to none.
You were a standard! You had it all (you wish, short man!)
You were here for a reason and sadly, a season. I would be greedy if I wished you were here for a lifetime.
But in your short lifetime, in our brief meeting you touched and taught me so much.
I'm eternally grateful that our paths did cross.



I miss you Sax.
Vicki.
12:33 AM 12/8/2008

Monday, August 4, 2008

Phase Citizen: Encounter with the Nigerian Police Force

Still part of the notorious "Server is Down series." Posting titles gives me a sense of urgency and makes me return to blogging.
Post coming up soon. Please bear with us.