He is concentrating hard, his tongue stuck out, his brow furrowed. He writes in answer after answer and then turns the page. I wonder what the form he is filling in is for. And I realize that I like filling in forms- have done ever since I was a child. I liked making sure that I had the correct ink- usually black and I liked forming the letters in clearly aligned blocks, listing my first name, my middle name, then the surname and then all the other personal details that the form demands. I have plenty of opportunity these days to fulfil my form-filling desires- what with visa forms and landing cards and applications for mortgages and now job applications....or rather applying for "new roles" as our HR people put it... Watching the young man struggle with his form, I realize that I am probably that rarity- a bureaucrat's dream, someone who actually likes form-filling...
The plumber tells me he's got a visa to relocate to Australia. He doesn't like this country any more, he says, it's all going downhill. He's Sarf London born and bred and I was introduced to him by a colleague some four years ago. He's done most of the plumbing work I've needed done and has introduced me to electricians and other workers that I've needed. We have had a good relationship and yet I am scared to ask him what he really means, and so refrain and wish him good luck, as he gets into his white van....
To dinner in Spitalfields, an area whose funk I like. As I approach the flat of the City couple who have invited me, I spot a group of Bangladeshi elders white-bearded, leaving the house next door, perhaps heading for evening prayers. In the distance, the Hawksmoor church gleams white in the dying light, as a dreadlock-headed brother pauses to touch fists with me. I can see why they like living here, trustafarians and arty types- it's edgy and vibrant, but I fear that the more City types move in, the more that vibe'll be lost, as happened in Notting Hill years before I'm told...
At dinner, a mouthwatering simple spaghetti in a rich meaty, tomatoey spiced with just a hint of chilli, the talk is of Obama and his race speech. When my white English host confesses that he had wondered what the fuss was about Reverend Wright's speech was, I feel like hugging him. I too had wondered at the shock and the backlash- thinking that perhaps he had advocated the extermination of all white people or some such radical talk- and was surprised to read views that did not seem radically different from what some of my leftish American classmates had expressed a few years ago...
I have just finished Anton Gill's Peggy Guggenheim: The Life of an Art Addict ahead of a planned visit to Venice later in the year. It is well-written and gave me new insights into the world of modernism and impressionism and the building of art collections, although it took me a while to get through and could perhaps have been a touch lighter in tone...
I am reading Ayaan Hirsi Ali's The Caged Virgin: A Muslim woman's plea for reason and so far I am not impressed. I'm not sure whether it is the translator's fault but the writing is staccato, the ideas are not fully developed and the pieces seem cobbled together, some of them reading like a B grade essay by an undergraduate for their social science class. There are flashes of brilliance and poignant personal insights but so far I'm not impressed....
In Nigeria, some good and not so good- the resignation of the health ministers and their investigation by the EFCC is welcome, as is the investigation of Iyabo Obasanjo Bello, the chair of the senate health committee; but this article in Sahara reporters, innuendo or not, I found slightly worrying. The governorship elections in Kogi State being repeated today following the annulment of the previous elections is welcome but the fact that the two front-runners are the two immediate past governors is less heartening
Petina Gappah writes a beautiful piece for the Mail and Guardian inspired by an amazing photograph, which is truncated and rendered almost meaningless by the Guardian in the UK
Meanwhile I was much tickled by this "gospel comedy" song from Nigeria- not just the rhythm and the lyrics, but the concepts behind it....
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Adichie and Jackie Kay, Nii Ayi Kwei Parkes and other London events
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Quick round up
I can't believe I haven't posted in over a month, but life has been such a whirl that I am only just stopping to catch my breath. In any case it's all good- as my old boss used to say "If you think your job is stressful, try being unemployed"
They walk in hand-in-hand, the bucket of popcorn delicately balanced in her other hand, he clutches the drinks in his. They take the seat in front of us, exchange a light kiss and begin to chat in low tones. I can't help but overhear- their accents are strong- his is Latin (Spanish or South American), hers is Eastern European. As they murmur their endearments in heavily accented English- their only common language, I think how this is one of the things I like about London...
On the train again, another day, I am seated opposite a middle aged man and woman. I try to read the body language- not husband and wife I think. They begin to talk as the train pulls out and the picture emerges- he is the chief executive of a company about to merge and she is one of the directors. They are on their way to a retreat with the staff to update them on the merger. They appear relaxed as they talk over the events for the unfolding day, but when she leaves to get a coffee, I notice he discreetly swallows a tablet from a bottle marked with the brand name of a popular tranquilizer. I realize that this seemingly powerful man is so nerve-wracked that he needs medication to help him along. I suppose a chief exec with shaking hands is not the most reassuring of images. His colleague slips back into her seat and they continue their conversation- she is none the wiser....
It is near midnight and I am chatting to my friend in New York when she says "Oh, our governor has implicated in some prostitute using mess- and his wife is standing beside him as he gives the press conference" We wonder why the wife has to stand beside the man at the press conference. Personally I think the woman should say "Yes I'll support you and stand by you privately but you are going to face those cameras ALONE"
My ambivalence towards Obama and Clinton is slowly undergoing a shift not least driven by the "everything plus the kitchen sink" approach of the Clinton campaign, with Ms Ferraro's recent comments particularly annoying. I am reminded of the aphorism that a prejudiced white liberal is probably more insidious than an out and out right wing racist...A friend sent me this link, which in many ways reflect some of my own feelings..
And I think Michelle Obama is an incredible asset.
I've enjoyed the Rose Tremain books that I have read- there's no doubt that she is an accomplished story teller, able to spin out a yarn that holds you, but my reading of her lates book The Road Home was less satisfying. The story of an Eastern European immigrant to the UK, I could not shake the sense that Rose Tremain had decided "I am going to write about immigrants", which laudable as it is ultimately in my opinion undermined the story...
More satisfying was Dayo Forster's Reading the Ceiling. I was browsing in Daunt's one weekend not too long ago when I stumbled across the book in the Africa section- I immediately bought it, thinking Dayo might be Nigerian. In the event she was Gambian but I was struck by the similarities in the society and culture and even the food. It's a well-written story of a young middle class Gambian woman and her growing up and employs an unusual literary device which kind of worked- I won't spoil it by saying any more...
I've also just finished David Profumo's Bringing the House Down, his account of the scandal (he hates the word) that brought his father John Profumo down as Minister in the 60s. Written from his perspective as a child, it's a good book, although I sometimes felt he was showing off with big words and Latin and French phrases- the product of his first class degree from Oxford or Cambridge. That said there was something honest about it that struck a chord..
I'm behind on Nigerian politics-but thought that the compromise candidacy of Vincent Ogbulafor, the new PDP chairman was a good thing. He'll certainly be less abrasive than the immediate past chair, although his recent call for all Nigerians to join PDP was slightly worrying...
They walk in hand-in-hand, the bucket of popcorn delicately balanced in her other hand, he clutches the drinks in his. They take the seat in front of us, exchange a light kiss and begin to chat in low tones. I can't help but overhear- their accents are strong- his is Latin (Spanish or South American), hers is Eastern European. As they murmur their endearments in heavily accented English- their only common language, I think how this is one of the things I like about London...
On the train again, another day, I am seated opposite a middle aged man and woman. I try to read the body language- not husband and wife I think. They begin to talk as the train pulls out and the picture emerges- he is the chief executive of a company about to merge and she is one of the directors. They are on their way to a retreat with the staff to update them on the merger. They appear relaxed as they talk over the events for the unfolding day, but when she leaves to get a coffee, I notice he discreetly swallows a tablet from a bottle marked with the brand name of a popular tranquilizer. I realize that this seemingly powerful man is so nerve-wracked that he needs medication to help him along. I suppose a chief exec with shaking hands is not the most reassuring of images. His colleague slips back into her seat and they continue their conversation- she is none the wiser....
It is near midnight and I am chatting to my friend in New York when she says "Oh, our governor has implicated in some prostitute using mess- and his wife is standing beside him as he gives the press conference" We wonder why the wife has to stand beside the man at the press conference. Personally I think the woman should say "Yes I'll support you and stand by you privately but you are going to face those cameras ALONE"
My ambivalence towards Obama and Clinton is slowly undergoing a shift not least driven by the "everything plus the kitchen sink" approach of the Clinton campaign, with Ms Ferraro's recent comments particularly annoying. I am reminded of the aphorism that a prejudiced white liberal is probably more insidious than an out and out right wing racist...A friend sent me this link, which in many ways reflect some of my own feelings..
And I think Michelle Obama is an incredible asset.
I've enjoyed the Rose Tremain books that I have read- there's no doubt that she is an accomplished story teller, able to spin out a yarn that holds you, but my reading of her lates book The Road Home was less satisfying. The story of an Eastern European immigrant to the UK, I could not shake the sense that Rose Tremain had decided "I am going to write about immigrants", which laudable as it is ultimately in my opinion undermined the story...
More satisfying was Dayo Forster's Reading the Ceiling. I was browsing in Daunt's one weekend not too long ago when I stumbled across the book in the Africa section- I immediately bought it, thinking Dayo might be Nigerian. In the event she was Gambian but I was struck by the similarities in the society and culture and even the food. It's a well-written story of a young middle class Gambian woman and her growing up and employs an unusual literary device which kind of worked- I won't spoil it by saying any more...
I've also just finished David Profumo's Bringing the House Down, his account of the scandal (he hates the word) that brought his father John Profumo down as Minister in the 60s. Written from his perspective as a child, it's a good book, although I sometimes felt he was showing off with big words and Latin and French phrases- the product of his first class degree from Oxford or Cambridge. That said there was something honest about it that struck a chord..
I'm behind on Nigerian politics-but thought that the compromise candidacy of Vincent Ogbulafor, the new PDP chairman was a good thing. He'll certainly be less abrasive than the immediate past chair, although his recent call for all Nigerians to join PDP was slightly worrying...
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