Musings of a Naijaman - a Nigerian man living and blogging in the UK

Seeking directions, Pakistan writing and the Kingdom of Ife

2010-06-06T17:45:00.003+01:00

The sun is out again today, a perfect summer day, but given the flirty (blistering hot one minute, shiveringly cold the next) weather that has been our lot since April, there’s no telling how long this reprieve will last….

I’m walking down the street admiring the neat lawns, the profusion of brightly coloured flowers cascading down the sides of the freshly painted black railings that line the park, hay-fever medicated to the hilt, when I notice her. She is standing, looking lost, at one corner of the street, from time to time consulting a piece of paper in her hand, and looking up, tentatively, at passersby. As I approach her, she walks, or perhaps, glides to me, draped in black from head to toe and asks, in English tinged with the winds of the Horn of Africa “Do you know where the big mosque is?”

I sense that she has waited to ask me because she is wary of the response from most of those who have come before me. Unfortunately I am unable to help, only being in the area for a meeting, I do not know it well. And so, having looked around for any street signs to a mosque, I shake my head and move away, leaving her to continue her sifting, trying to find a friendly face to ask….

The LibCon (Is there a clue in the Con bit?) coalition moves into its third week in office, all the drama of the immediate post-election period having subsided. It was an interesting time and I often wondered while the uncertainty and negotiations lasted, if this was what it felt like to live in historic times. On the tube, on the buses, on the streets, life continued in its mundane cycles,even if it was unclear who would be running the country….

Back home in Nigeria, it seems a rash of pugilism has broken out this week- from a so-called “royal father” beating up and burning his wife, to the Speaker of the House of Representatives nearly coming to blows with a fellow legislator. The same speaker, who not too long ago was paraded as a perfect English gentleman. As for the hopefully seen to be deposed Deji of Akure, his shamelessness knows no bounds- perhaps an argument for the dissolution of the traditional rulership institutions in Nigeria, whose role in contemporary Nigerian society is less and less clear to me, the more I examine the issue...

I've just finished a rash of books on Pakistan, not quite planned that way, but it has been good to more or less, totally immerse myself in a society that I don't really know much about. I started with Fatima Bhutto's (grand-daughter of Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and niece of Benazir) Songs of Blood and Sword, which I found slow to get into, and not perhaps, the most lyrical or accomplished writing- but she tells a very powerful story of her family, the tragedies and intrigues that make the Borgias look tame by comparison, and succeeds in painting a very different picture of the liberal,progressive Benazir than I had been familiar with...

Then I moved on to Mohsin Hamid's first novel, Moth Smoke, again set in 21st century Pakistan. Although I'd read and enjoyed his Booker winning The Reluctant Fundamentalist, I hadn't had the opportunity to read this earlier offering and it's well worth seeking out. It's a fascinating story of two friends from different backgrounds and how their friendship unwinds. The writing technique and the plot is not as assured as in The Reluctant Fundamentalist, but the beauty of the words, the deep thinking behind the writing and the unexpected twists make for a great read reminiscent in places of The White Tiger

My final Pakistan book is Ali Sethi's The Wish Maker, which uses Pakistan from the mid eighties to the present as a backdrop for a sprawling, beautifully executed saga of the lives of two cousins coming of age in contemporary Pakistan. I thoroughly enjoyed it, even if in a few places, it seemed to drag, but Sethi is certainly a writer to watch, and I'm definitely a fan...

And on the subject of writers to watch, the New Yorker released its list of 20 writers under 40 to look out for this week. With a decidedly American viewpoint, nevertheless,our own Chimamanda makes the cut. Going through the list, there were many writers on there, of whom I'd never heard. A quick googling of those on the list led me to conclude that I'd probably be more interested in reading the women on the list-judging from my experience reading Gary Shytengart, Wells Tower and Jonathan Safran Foer- but perhaps I'll be persuaded....

The excellent British Museum exhibition Kingdom of Ife closes this week with a number of events. If you haven't been to see it, the loss is yours, but you can still get the catalogue...

It seems there's been a rash of literary events in Nigeria these past few weeks from Book Jam with Sade Adeniran, Chuma Nwokolo, Chimamanda Adichie and Binyavanga Wainaina to the Nigerian Breweries/Farafina creative workshop and reading led by Adichie to Lola Shoneyin's Infusion in Abuja and now Fidelity bank is sponsoring another creative writing workshop led by Helon Habila in July. You can apply here Ten, fifteen years ago, who would have thought the Nigerian literary scene would be abuzz the way it is now. Tolu Ogunlesi does a very good summary of the last few years here

And if you're interested in Nigerian writing and looking for new books, then try these:

Lola Shoneyin's The Secret Lives of Baba Segi's Wives
Jackie Kay's Red Dust Road
Kachi Ozumba's The Shadow of a Smile
Adaobi Nwaubani's I Do Not Come to You By Chance
Sade Adeniran's Imagine This
Chika Unigwe's On Black Sisters Street

And if you're in London in July, don't miss the London Literature Festival especially the Caine Prize Reading on the 4th of July

A question of etiquette, Dave Eggers' new offering and the sins of the son...

2009-09-20T17:58:00.005+01:00

She comes into the shop where I often stop in on my way to work to buy a freshly squeezed juice drink. She is often dressed in the same simple black dress (or perhaps she simply owns a lot of them), and is often wearing sneakers. She is perhaps in her late twenties or early thirties, blonde and slim. Each time she orders the same drink and on more than one occasion when our visits to the shop have coincided, she is just finishing an energy bar. At least I assume that she is, because she is usually holding the wrapper and delicately inserting a finger into the space between her upper teeth and her cheek to extract what I imagine must be a lump of freshly chewed, sticky mass of energy bar. I often wonder at her lack of self-consciousness while engaged in this task, but sympathize as it is one bit of social etiquette that I am yet to work out what the appropriate answer is. How do you dislodge that lump of sticky food paste that lodges in that area (peanut butter sandwiches are a particular hazard), without employing the discreet or indiscreet use of a single digit.....answers on a postcard please

I trek out to the Riverside Studios in west London for the reading to mark the launch of the memoirs of Michael Mansfield QC, Memoirs of a Radical Lawyer. I have taken the trouble to buy a ticket online and so when I arrive, hot and sweaty, having walked briskly from the tube in the muggy September weather that we are currently enjoying, ignore the long line of punters, queuing up and march to the counter, confident that there will be a separate collection point for pre-bought tickets. Alas, there is not and so I join the queue, ten people further back than I would have if I had just meekly joined the queue in the first place and end up missing the first ten minutes of the event. It isn't a reading in the conventional sense, he does not read from the book, but is an hour and a half of a monologue, with Michael perched on what looks like a barstool and offering up random thoughts and reminiscences. It is surprisingly engaging and I find that he holds my attention to the very end, but then as I remind myself, as a barrister, that is exactly what he has spent the larger part of his life doing....

I've just finished Dave Eggers new book, Zeitoun, which is another foray by the celebrated author into the realms of oral history presented as grippingly as a novel, similar to his earlier magnificent What is the What. This time, the hero is Abdulrahman Zeitoun, a Syrian American leaving in New Orleans who finds himself caught up in a Kafkaesque experience following Hurricane Katrina.

In the library, as I do from time to time, I type in the words "Nigeria" into the search box on the catalogue, just to see what new books may have been acquired. This time I am rewarded by finding The Forger's Tale:The Search for Odeziaku, in which Stephanie Newell, an English academic charts the story of John Moray Stuart Young, a wealthy English homosexual trader who was one of the wealthiest men in Onitsha in the early 20th century, building a fortune from the palm oil trade. Apparently he makes a fleeting appearance in one of the short stories in Achebe's Girls at War collection.

The recent news about the apparent rejection of the Nigerian Ambassador designate to the US, Professor Tunde Adeniran on the basis that his son was recently arrested for rape in Baltimore, appears to descend into farce, as claims are made throwing the boy's paternity into question. An aunt of mine has often argued that part of Nigeria's problem has been the fact that most of our leaders have had pretty messy personal lives, citing the numerous affairs, girlfriends, mistresses and wives attributed to most former leaders. Stories like these probably only serve to buttress her arguments...

BTW our erstwhile Finance Minister, Ngozi Okonjo Iweala was in London to give a talk at the LSE last week, I missed it, but there's a report here

School starts, Almodovar's return and an exposition of clay feet

2009-09-13T19:02:00.006+01:00

Just walking into the train station, two young boys emerge, both dressed in school uniform- black blazers, a blue shirt and a tie. The older, probably about twelve or thirteen is holding on to the hand of the younger , who is maybe ten and they are obviously brothers. The younger boy's uniform is shiny and new, obviously just bought, while the older's while neat and clean, is more of a vintage. The younger boy's face is bright and earnest and he struggles to keep up with the quick steps of his brother.

As they walk along, a larger crowd of boys in the same uniforms emerge in the distance and I notice that the older surreptitiously drops the hand of the younger, as he squares his shoulders and plunges right into the centre of the crowd of old friends. As I leave them to go into the station, I notice the younger brother, slightly bewildered on the fringe of the crowd, looking lost. I flash him what I imagine is a cheering smile and enter the station, hoping he will be alright on what is obviously his first day at big school....

On the platform, there is a little boy of maybe five, curled up on the bench, dressed again in uniform, complete with cap, cuddled up to his grandfather's chest who reads to him from a large children's book ...

To the cinema to see the new Almodovar film, Broken Embraces, as I expect, it is a sensuous feast of colours, the glorious yellows and rich reds of Spain, with shots from unusual angles and a story that grabs and hold my attention till the closing scenes. The reviews I had read had suggested that the plot was labyrinthine, with a film within a film, but to me it all appears very easy to follow. The part of the plot where the secretary becomes the mistress of her wealthy boss in order to pay for her father's treatment could have come straight from Nollywood and evokes unpleasant memories of Lagos...

I've now finished Chika Unigwe's On Black Sisters' Street. a tale of four African women working in the red-light district of Antwerp. It reflected the thorough research that she had done on the subject, and the story was engaging, if slightly implausible in parts. It is a sympathetic look at the lives of women whose voices are often not heard and well worth reading. Jonathan Cape have also recently published Ghanaian Nii Ayikwei Parkes "African whodunnit "novel, Tail of the Blue Bird and Malawian Samson Kambalu's The Jive Talker, subtitled How to Get a British Passport ( that title alone should guarantee it does well in Nigeria :-) and also published Segun Afolabi's Goodbye Lucille. I hope it means someone at Jonathan Cape is building an African writer's list....I've ordered all three to show my "moral support"

It's quite a year for new offerings from writers of Nigerian extraction, what with Chika's new book, Chimamanda's collection of short stories and new offerings from Helen Oyeyemi (White is for Witching) and Diana Evans (The Wonder)....

It's always a pleasant surprise to stumble across an established writer that I've never read, and even better when my second dip into their oeuvre is as captivating as the first. So it has been with the writer, TC Boyle, also known as T. Coraghessan Boyle. The unusual second name, captured my attention, when at a loose end one Saturday in the library. I then took out and read The Inner Circle, his novel about the sex researcher Professor Kinsey, narrated by one of his early acolytes. I enjoyed it so much that I have now just finished The Women, his account of the famous architect Frank Lloyd Wright's life, again seen through the eyes of a protege. He writes beautifully and does a brilliant job of exposing the clay feet of the two "gods"...

Last night to dinner with a friend to celebrate his elevation at work, he had cooked a kedgeree- (think jollof rice with hardboiled eggs and smoked fish), served with a delicious dal and yoghurt. The kedgeree reminded me in many ways of the jollof rice my grandmother used to cook, using palm oil instead of groundnut oil and any odds and ends she found in her kitchen...

Finally, the death of acclaimed Nigerian lawyer, Gani Fawehinmi last week after a dogged fight with lung cancer was sad. Not surprisingly, acres were written about his achievements and his principled commitment to improving the lot of the Nigerian masses and yet, when the man stood for President a few years ago, very few, if any of us came out to support or vote for him...perhaps because of the joke that said even if elected as president, he would organize protests against himself...

Seriously, we are the poorer for his loss

Lost bloggers, Yinka Shonibare and a not-by-chance offering

2009-09-05T10:33:00.007+01:00

I suppose I only have myself to blame, but coming back to blogville after a long time away, it seems so many of my favourite bloggers, have like me, fallen silent, many of them leaving the same kind of cryptic messages that I left when I disappeared. Glad to see that Jeremy's Naijablog is still going strong , as are Talatu Carmen's Abubuwan da nake tunani, Ore's Notes and Kpakpando. Solomonsydelle and Ms Catwalq remain faithful, but visiting the blogs of many of my fellow contributors to the 14th and Serenity project is a sad and desoalte experience, the last posts, weeks or even months old, spawning a strange and inexplicable sadness. Singto seems to have disappeared on a love-fuelled quest and while Chxta and Toksie continue to blog after relocating home to Nigeria, the hilarious Atutupoyoyo , Adaure and art activist Molara Wood seem to have been swallowd up in the feverish hecticness that is Lagos

And where or where have Jaja, Nkem and Mr Fineboy gone?

Ah well, I suppose it is the way of the virtual world, here today and gone tomorrow...

The plan was to visit the High Line, New York's latest outdoor space, widely touted as the best thing since sliced bread, and so at a loose end on an afternoon, I headed for what I thought would be the entrance, clutching the review from the Financial Times which had what I thought was a useful map. In the event I found myself on the banks of the Hudson, dodging traffic, feet aching and with no way of entry to the nouveau nirvana.....Apparently it's a one-way entrance. Beaten I wandered under the bridge trying to make my way back to the nearest subway station, when a poster for Yinka Shonibare MBE's exhibition at the Brooklyn Museum caught my eye. I made a detour and emerging into the sunshine of Brooklyn spent a delightful couple of hours admiring his exquisite reinterpretations of Western art classics in his signature Dutch wax prints..

Adaobi Nwaubani does not come to us by chance. She has pulled off a stunning feat in her debut novel I Do Not Come to You By Chance, taking the phenomenon of the 419 trade and exposing the flipside in a witty, unnervingly accurate depiction of the milieu that shapes and drives those emails that waft into our inboxes on a regular basis. There are many laugh out loud moments and I urge you to go now and grab a copy of this first offering from the first Nigerian based author to emerge on the international literary scene in a long time....There has been such a harvest of African writing this year, and I imagine it is time I revised my Nigerian/African reading list

It's literally the end of summer and as the weather turns, the leaves begin to flutter down, driven by strong gusts of wind that seemingly appear from nowhere. It's that strange time when it's too early to carry a coat or a jumper and yet, wearing my light cotton shirts, on occasion, I find a gust of ice creeping between the cloth and my skin raising gooseflesh...

Spiritual attacks, Thai lunch and the Voice of Zimbabwe

2009-08-30T13:46:00.005+01:00

I am sitting at my desk in our new open plan office, it has been decreed that open plan will break us out of our silos. Funnily enough, all the bosses seem to have ended up with desks right by the windows, with good views. So much for the "democratization of the open plan office" we were promised.

I hold the phone away from my ear as the person at the other end prattles on about "pushbacks" and "dependencies", I wonder where they pick these phrases from. Why is it unacceptabel to speak simple plain English in a business context? As I put the phone down, gently rubbing my ear, my mobile phone buzzes in my pocket. I've had it on permanent vibrate mode ever since the embarassing mobile phone going off during eminent professor's lecture incident in my early years in London. But that's another story.

I glance at the screen and see that it is one of my favourite aunts from Nigeria. She has been unwell and I had sent her some CDs of religious choral music (that old favourite of the aspirational Nigerians of my parents' generation,Handel's Messiah and some psalms) that she had requested, together with the inevitable "little" something. As it's nearly lunch time, I slip discreetly into an empty meeting room to take the call. As I look out onto the bustle of central London, the cars locked in a seemingly purposeless circling, our conversation begins

"Auntie, Good afternoon, how are you?"

" I thank God my son, thank you so much for the things you sent- and you even put in some money"

"Ah, auntie, it's nothing, what's this about you not being well, what's the matter?

"Hmm, Naijaman, it was not easy, for months I felt like there was a sharp pobject bearing down between my shoulder blades.I couldn't sleep, I could hardly turn my neck..."

"Ah, that sounds serious, did you see a doctor at the teaching hospital?"

"Yes I did, I saw several..."

"And what did they say?"

"Well, they couldn't find anything wrong, not even after all their tests, and that's when I realized it was a spiritual attack. They were trying to get my brother and because they have been told that I'm a prayer warrior with a ring of fire around him, they decided to get me away first. But they have failed....to the Glory of God"

There are a million possible responses to all of this- I could ask who "they" are, I could ask why her brother needs to be got, and so on, but I stay silent, murmur soothing sounds, marvelling at the incongruity of the worlds I inhabit and slowly, pressing the end button, head for lunch

Lunch is at my favourite Thai restaurant a stonethrow from the office. They do a fabulous 3 course lunch. I nearly always have the same thing, crispy wontons the crisp pastry bursting with the juicy prawn filling, then the Pad Krae Prow (pork in a basil and chilli stir fry sauce) and then the banana fritters served with a small scoop of vanilla icecream- the hot fritters and fozen ice cream meeting in the mouth to create a sensation....

As I eat, I read Petina Gappah's amazing new collection, An Elegy for Easterly, which lays bare the various facets of contemporary Zimbabwe. I do not know Zimbabwe, have never been there, and yet reading these stories, I feel that I know it so well that I could recognize the characters in it if I met them on the street. And the wit, the delicious humour, almost Wildean is stunning. Petina has visited this blog in the past and I'm pleased that she's produced an excellent first offering. Watch out for her, coming soon to a bookshop near you! My favourite quote (not from the book but from an interview) was (I paraphrase) "The publishers came with this blurb, it read, she is the Voice of Zimbabwe and I said, take it off, the Voice of Zimbabwe is a radio station"

In any case it appears her publishers won and there is a blurb saying she is the voice of Zimbabwe

As I was saying....

2009-08-22T08:12:00.004+01:00

The sunlight streams through the slightly chilly breeze and I make my way up the steps through the ornate carved doorway into the church. As I move forward, I notice the dreadlocked ma, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt of doubtful cleanliness, standing just within the portico, outside the door, who grins and says "Morning brother"in a patois tinged tone, as he clasps his hand in front of him in a mock- approximation of what Presidents do, while listening to their peers at a bilateral press conference.

I pause at the doorway to collect the Order of Srvice from a grinning usher and just then hear some commotion at the door behind me. An African family have just arrived and Dreadlocks, my friend is objecting loudly to the teenage son entering the church with as he puts it "his trousers around his ankles". The parents stride ahead pretending they have nothing to do with the boy, and the boy tries to do the same, but Dreads is having none of it, he chases after him, up the aisle, almost into the main body of the church, and finally, the boy, defeated, pulls up his trousers, sparing the congregation the sight of his striped boxers, while his sisters titter and the first bars of the opening hymn ring out.....

News that the londonpaper is to close fills me with a sense of glee, perhaps, now the other free evening paper, London Lite which seemed to have been set up in direct competition to thelondonpaper will also now close and all our train carriages, stations and streets will be the cleaner for it. Besides it will be good to enter a station on the way from work without first having to run the gauntlet of vendors pressing the rival papers insistently on you.... I do feel sad for the vendors, who mostly appeared to be from the Indian sub-continent or African-whether this was a planned recruitment strategy or merely the function of relatively poor pay, I never knew. Now they will have to find new arduous immigrant work in the straitened economic times. I wonder if it will also affect the cleaners as there will be a lot less rubbish to pick up...

In Nigeria, the ripples from the closure of some of the 5 biggest banks continue. In the Financial Times this morning, I read that the EFCC is now to go after the internal and external auditors of the banks in question. Will this be the Nigerian Enron? Hardly, knowing how my beloved country operates. It will probably all fizzle out in a few weeks, but the reactions, predictably are amusing- there are the usual insinuations about ethnic sentiment on the part of the Central Bank Governor. So he, northern prince of Kano that he is, is for instance, accused of a vendetta against Southern banks. Yet of the 25 banks left standing, only 1 could at best be described as a Northern bank. So isn't it inevitable that the numbers of those culled would reflect this? Then there are the "It is the work of my jealous enemies" group, insisting that they shall be vindicated, seeing as they are holy people. Reading some of the comments on the scoop breaking NEXTwebsite, I reimagine the crash of Lehman Brothers, Northern Rock and co, this time with the bankers insisting divine justfication and their manicured wives holding nightlong prayer and fasting sessions in their plush 5th Avenue apartments....

I've just finished Sarah Waters book, The Night watch, longlisted for the Booker Prize this year. I enjoyed it, as it was brilliantly evocative of a pivotal era in British history, the immediate post-war period with the decay of many large estates and families. Although it is billed as a ghost story, I didn't find it scary at all, but then that's often the case with me- somehow, a horror film can evoke the sense of fear where a book can't. And yet, I'm often transported to different worlds by books, so there must be something about the failure of my literary imagination.

Next up on my list, a clutch of recent African writing, which to my shame, I have been too busy before now to read. But I have gone to Daunt's and ordered them and this morning will be picking up, in no particular order, Petina Gappah's An Elegy for Easterly a collection of what I am told are jewel-like stories, polished and glittering, set in contemporary Zimbabwe, Chika Unigwe's On Black Sisters Street following 4 Nigerian prostitutes in Belgium, Adaobi Nwaubani's I Do Not Come to You By Chance, probably the first novel on the 419 phenomenon and Brian Chikwava's Harare North, detailing the lives of Zimbabwean immigrants in London, which apparently they call Harare North... By the way, where are the new Nigerian male writers? There's Adichie, Atta, Unigwe,Nwaubani, Shoneyin,Agary on the female side....have we men been rendered voiceless?

Meanwhile across the ocean, poor Brother Barack is under fire as millions of uninsured Americans vociferously attack his plans to give them cover (I read that somehwere, can't remember where, and it made me chuckle. But seriously, the whole debate lays bare the difference in culture between the US and Europe, especially the throwing around of the word "socialist" as if it were a particularly slimy and dangerous thing to be....

So the plan is to resume blogging, once a week, every week, without fail......hope it works, or rather, the demands of the day job permit

Family budgets, an earlier Adiga and political feuds

2009-03-08T21:22:00.002Z

It's a crisp spring morning, the sun is out and its warmth can actually begin to be felt again. I descend into the Underground wondering if it was wise to have agreed to meet this friend in Jermyn Street. On the train, I find myself squeezed up against a family of five- father, mother and three children- two boys and one girl. the girl is the youngest- she is perhaps 8 years old, her blonde pigtails dangling against her mother's shoulder. Her two brother are probably ten and eleven, and as the train pulls into Piccadilly, one of them moans "Daaad, I'm hungry". The father tattoos peeking out from underneath one the biceps barely covered by the short sleeves asks "didn't your mother feed you just now?"

Only a sandwich he replies and his father swings round to fix the mother with a stare, sandwiches for ten quid, he asks and a i walk up the escalator, the mother defending her purchases, I wonder if I have just glimpsed the credit crunch writ live....

Just reading Before the Assasinations by Aravind Adiga,author of the White Tiger. It's been lent to me by an Indian friend and it seems like it was rushed out to take advantage of his new post Booker fame. It's a series of unlinked vignettes set in Kittur in South India and I guess it was an earlier attempt at writing pre-The Whie Tiger. It's interesting to see some of the themes that recur in The White Tiger, just less developed...

The photograph of Atiku and Obasanjo embracing on the website of Thisday yesterday highlighted the old adage " No permanent friends and no permanent foes in politics" Pity those who spent their energy, resources and blood in the feud between the two. It reminded me of IBB's daughters wedding where the Abiolas, the Abachas and Babangidas merrily celebrated together. I still keep those pictures to remind myself....

Thanks to all those who expressed concern, solicitations and felicitations during my long absence. All's well, life happened

Credit crunch autumn, Sisyphean tasks, Sarah Manyika, Nnenna Okore and other miscellany

2008-10-18T08:44:00.004+01:00

It has been so long since my last blog that as I finally sit down to write an update, I find that I have forgotten my log-in password. After two attempts, I finally type in the right words and feel a wave of relief as I am let in...

It is autumn in credit-crunched London and the days are often sunny but the pavements and roads are slowly acquiring a cover of brown crinkly leaves as the trees shed their garb as a chill enters the air. I retrieve my hat (with my recent haircut, my head is cold) but note that soon, the rest of the cold weather gear will have to make an appearance- first the coat, then the scarf and then the gloves and then the layers. Now I begin to understand why a Nigerian friend says she loves getting dressed in winter....

Walking to the tube station, I spot a cleaner with a weird machine blasting at spots on the pavement- it soon becomes clear that he is engaged in the thankless task of blasting the chewing gum spots from the pavement. I have read somewhere of the vast cost to councils of cleaning up chewing gum from the pavement, but watching this poor man blast away at spot after spot and then seeing people drop new bits of gum on the parts that he has already cleaned, I am reminded of the legend of Sisyphus, eternally condemned by the gods to roll a boulder up a hillside, only for it to roll back each time he reached the summit...

In Marks and Spencer, I dash in late one evening to grab a bottle of milk for tomorrow's cereal, and after queuing find myself face to face with a check-out clerk that I am pretty certain is Nigerian. My eye goes to his name badge to confirm my suspicion, but it only bears the unhelpful moniker "Trainee". Why , I think to myself humiliate someone with the badge- is the idea to alert us to the possibility that our service might be less than perfect? Surely the badge could say " Ola (Trainee)" or whatever..

In the event when I move to his corner, he greets me with a parroted spiel of obviously recently memorized words" Goodeveningsorryforkeepingyouwaitingwould youlikeabag.. The words tumble in an unrestrained rush from his lips as if he is afraid that pausing for breath would rob his memory of the next line in the obviously carefully crafted script. All the while, he does not make eye contact, seemingly staring at a space behind my left shoulder in a bored and lethargic manner. As I leave, the last customer for the night, I hear him whispering into his phone in Nigerian pidgin.....

I find myself in Leicester Square one Sunday and discover that the large building at one corner which included the Swiss Centre has been torn down, leaving a gaping hole in the heart of the West End. Suddenly the higher floors of some of the buildings behind it are exposed to view, and I marvel that I have walked past this area so often without noticing so much....

While I have been away, so much has happened- from Chimamanda's Macarthur "genius grant" to the emergence of Sarah Palin to the credit crunch to Colin Powell doing the Yahooze dance at the Royal Albert Hall- too much to talk about

On the credit crunch, it is so reassuring hen it is clear that even the so called experts have not got a clue what the right thing to do is. Meanwhile politicians squabble over who to blame, when in reality pretty much everyone carries their own share.

A late summer holiday gives me the chance to catch up on my reading- from Oona King's fascinating accounts of life as a young mixed race Blair Babe in Parliament in House Music to Edward St Aubyn's chilling Some Hope which I later discover is based on his own life- including being raped by his father at the age of five

Two new books worth getting are Sarah Ladipo Manyika's In Dependence and the UEA Anthology of Creative Writing 2008

At the reading for the UEA Anthology, in a packed downstairs room at the Poetry Cafe, the air fervid with the compressed ambitions of fifty potential Ian McEwans and Anne Enrights, my eye was caught by Christie Watson dressed head to toe in dazzling red, as she read from her forthcoming novel set in the Niger Delta.....

Finally for Londoners, don't miss two Nigeria events over the next few weeks- Nnenna Okore's stunning Ulukububa exhibition at the October Gallery and the Partnership for Nigerian Health Conference at UCL next month

I've also stumbled on a number of interesting Nigerian related ,art blogs in the last few weeks, Bisi Silva's
Princeton art professor Chika Okeke-Agulu's and Santa Barbara professor Sylvester Ogbechie's

Also stumbled across this about Abuja on Monocle, the uber-hip magazine

Addressing elders and other miscellaneous musings

2008-08-29T00:56:00.004+01:00

Before I leave for the meeting, I ask one of my colleagues to print out the briefing paper for me. As he hands it to me, I notice that one of the names on the list for the team that I am to meet is Nigerian. Getting to the office, the receptionist is chirpily efficient, from her groomed blonde hair, pulled back in a ponytail to the well-manicured nails with which she taps at the terminal in front of her, confirming that I am expected. I enter the meeting venue and we are all introduced, first names only- here my dilemma surfaces- the Nigerian is much older than I am, and in Nigeria I would ordinarily call him Sir, or at least preface his name with the friendly but deferent Oga. In this London office, I grin and call him boldly by his fist name, wincing inwardly, decades of "good home training", casually tossed aside....

I have just finished Sarah Vowell's Assassination Vacation, a humorous but informative tour of US presidential assassination trivia. When a friend offered it to me, I was sceptical but once I started I was hooked. Vowell's humour is grounded by a deep knowledge and intelligence which makes it even more rewarding. I wasn't only laughing when I finished, I was thinking as well...wondering for instance how the Republican Party of Abraham Lincoln which fought the Civil War and signed the Emancipation Proclamation morphed into the Republican party of today...

Also on the recently finished list is the Kenya issue of Farafina which I had been meaning to read for a while. It made for great reading and highlighted what great talent there is across the continent....

We sit in the garden after a dinner of delicious salmon and tender lamb chops infused with rosemary and served with a Scotch bonnet pepper jam, a delicious mix of searing heat and sweetness. As we sit, sated, we listen to the wife of a friend, originally from the North of England, but now a true-bred Londoner, talk about going home for her father's funeral. As she talks about the gaping gulfs in attitudes and manners and culture that now exist between her and some of her friends and family members, I am struck by the awareness that estrangement is not just a question of language, or kilometres....

The Olympics have come and gone and for the first time ever I am so busy with work and with meeting up with visiting friends and relatives from Nigeria, in London for the summer that I do not manage to watch any of the events live. Thankfully BBC iplayer means that I can catch up on the breathtaking moments. Funny how in the euphoria over the events the media went quiet on China and human rights.... poor Tibetans

Storytelling, childhood memories, lunchtime reading and worrying signs from Yaradua

2008-08-15T07:47:00.011+01:00

The young boy is sitting opposite me, his mother beside him. He is playing an interesting game, taking the Hula Hoop snacks one by one from the crinkling foil bag and adorning his fingers with them. The hoops slip down neatly and marvelling at the smallness of his fingers and looking at my stubby fingers, I think that once too my fingers were that small and the Hoops would have gone down with ease. His mother watches him half detached with that stoic look of fear, determination, hope and weariness that is often worn by many new immigrants, a look I know well, having once worn it....

A few days later I am sitting in a leafy garden at one of the parties that are de rigueur in the summer, and spy a bowl of Hula Hoops, gingered by my memory, I go and grab a handful. I find that as I thought, my fingers are too big to squeeze them on, and eating them I find I dislike the vinegary taste of them...

Poor Georgia and Georgians, to take the international community (read USA and NATO) at its word. The whole thing reminded me of the playground fights back in primary school, where one bully would goad a weaker boy to attack another bully, implying that they would back them up if bully 2 erupted. Often bully 1 would watch from the sidelines while weaker boy got mammothly thumped...

In London, the weather oscillates between bright sunny, fine days and tropical type storms with strong winds and heavy rain. one morning, I find myself drenched walking from the tube to my office, even though it is only a short walk and I have an umbrella. I spend the rest of the day slowly steaming in my drying out clothes...

Yesterday, the papers were awash again with pictures of youngsters who had achieved their A levels. The results were published yesterday and it is virtually obligatory that all the newspapers will have photographs of youngsters celebrating their results- often trying to find a group with a particular quirk- some recently arrived refugee who makes 3 As or twins or triplets who all do well. Yesterday, many of the papers focused on the Okes, quadruplets of Nigerian heritage brought up by a single mother in Woolwich. Almost inevitably, the papers also focus on the endless debate about whether the standards of the exams have fallen- this year there was a 97 per cent pass rate prompting the same arguments about whether it meant schools were doing a better job or not. Judging from my limited experience of the youngster I met last week, predicted to gain three As, but shockingly inarticulate, verbally or in writing, I wondered....

I'm reading The Hakawati by Rabi Alahmeddine, it's an ambitious sprawling book, including an almost modern version of the Arabian Nights interspersed with the story of a young boy growing up in Beirut. It's an ambitious style and I'm not always sure the switching back and forth works, but the story grips me, leaving me wanting to know more- the ultimate mark in my book of a true story teller...

Thinking of storytelling reminds me of my childhood in Nigeria where my mother and grandmothers told us Nigerian folk tales complete with songs, often every night, but on other nights, my mother would read to us the fairy tales found in the Ladybird books, of princesses and peas; and Hansel and Gretel... Reflecting on the dual heritage, I'm grateful for the richness of my memories...

I read recently and was underwhelmed by Ishmael Beah's A Long Way Gone, his account of his experiences in Sierra Leone during the war there, including his time spent as a child soldier. The accounts were harrowing and yet I felt that there was something lacking in the telling...it felt a bit too dry...

Other recent reading include a book abouth the infamous Kray twins, criminal lords of the East End in London in the Sixties, which I found tedious but which contained the interesting story about the Krays' attempts to set up some sort of scam involving a seaside resort apparently set in Enugu, Nigeria. Try googling Krays and Enugu for more on this...

I'm also struggling through Saul Bellow's The Dean's December, which is actually the first time I have tried reading Bellow. I'm finding it hard going- a bit too ponderous for me and I wonder how much of that is my mood at the moment- perhaps I'm so busy and stressed with work that I find it difficult to ponder deeply meaningful fiction. And yet, I think Alameddine addresses many contemporary issues adopting a suitably light approach

Another afternoon, it's lunchtime and I carry my book to the cafe where I am to have lunch, placing my order at the queue, I spot a colleague sitting on her own eating her lunch. i smile and wave to her and then struggle with whether I ought to go over and join her. In the end I decide she'd probably I didn't anyway and so I sit on my own and read my book. I wonder if she will think me aloof and I suspect this is one of those peculiarly English situations where neither party really wants to sit with the other but are forced to out of politeness. Thankfully, I'm not English and so am allowed some latitude- perhaps I don't quite understand the etiquette- an excuse that I grab with both hands...

In Nigeria, the brouhaha around the demotion of some police officers including the former boss of the Economic and Financial Crimes Commission, Nuhu Ribadu reeks of the typically Nigerian muddleheadedness. Some people celebrate thinking Ribadu has got his comeuppance for his arrogance and yet, although no great fan of Ribadu's I can't help but wonder if the exercise is justified. Assuming that due process had not been followed in the promotions, is demoting them the best way to address this? What about the impact on the morale of some of he officers who were actually promoted because of their good performance?
What with the appointment of various individuals of potentially questionable integrity to key posts, it appears that President Yaradua is losing the battle with the forces of negativity, meanwhile the alleged picture of his young son, toting a gun and brandishing currency notes posted on the Photo Speak section of the Sahara Reporters website adds to my sense of unease, as does this Youtube video of his wife's visit to Harlem

And to show that it isn't just Yaradua that is at issue, there is the now infamous Obama dinner, which had me shaking my head in wonder...

Bookslam, Nonso Anozie and a whiff of nepotism

2008-08-04T07:36:00.006+01:00

Walking out of the tube station, I am at a loss whether to turn left or right- the map on the wall of the tube station isn't much help, and so I find myself taking a gamble and heading in a direction that I assume to be the right one. It soon becomes clear that it isn't, and it has begun to rain, a fierce drizzle of the irritating kind that sometimes appears in London, making me want to shout at it, make up your mind and fall like a proper tropical storm, rather than keeping up this piss-pissing all day long. It is a Thursday night and as I am in the edgy trendy area between Notting Hill and Kilburn, I pass revellers a plenty. After several false turns, I find myself walking down a deserted walkway that ends up at the back of a council estate. There is a gathering in front of one of the flats, many young black men and women, all dressed in black. I assume that they are coming from a funeral until I walk a few steps further and run into another crowd, this time all dressed in green. Conscious of the recent headlines about gangland stabbings, I quicken my steps and soon find myself standing under the Westway, the huge fly-over in West London. the air is alive to the sound of skateboarders, twisting, turning and landing with a loud thump. Someone, the council perhaps has converted part of this space to a skateboarder's paradise with a wooden floor that sweeps and swoops back on itself providing a loud echoing thump from the many skateboarders packed into the space. Wandering past them, I come across a nightclub type queue which I initially pass and then realize that it is the queue for Bookslam, the literary nightclubbing event started by author Patrick Neate that I am headed for. The very polite security men soon let me in to the vast dark cavern of a night club where the event takes place, which is filled with some cool rhythmic music at a volume that allows conversation. I buy myself a drink and stumbling to find a place to sit, I bump into the star of the evening, James Frey- he of the Oprah scandal around the "fictionalized memoir" A Million Little Pieces. He politely extricates himself from me and thankfully I haven't spilt any drink on him.

Patrick soon mounts the stage and introduced the first act, a hilarious young poet called Byron Vincent who soon shakes me out of my work induced apathy. Then it is time for Frey who asks the crowd of maybe 200 if they would rather hear about sex or guns. Sex is the near-unanimous choice and so he launches into a reading from his new book, a novel, Bright Shiny Morning set in California. I am caught up in the story and when the next act Bryn Christopher launches into his rousing gospel-infused R and B songs, I head to buy a copy of Frey's new book and queue to have it autographed.

He asks me what he should write and when I tell him my name and shrug, he asks if I mind if he swears. I shrug again and that is how I end up with a book inscribed "To XXXXXX, the coolest motherfucker in London, indeed, indeed" What that means coming from arguably one of the world's best known fabricators is a matter for conjecture, but I have had a good night, having tucked into the affordable Thai food on offer at the night....

Nonso Anozie is a British-Nigerian actor much in the news this week with the debut of the film Cass in which he stars. The film based on the life of the "infamous football hooligan" Cass Pennant has received good reviws. Anozie is perhaps following in the footsteps of Cyril Nri,Chiwetel Ejiofor, Adewale Akinnuoye Agbaje and David Oyelowo. As is Chuk Iwuji another rising British Nigerian actor...

Recently stumbled across this website which appears to have interesting events listed...

In Abuja and here in London, rumours brew thickly of an imminent cabinet reshuffle. There is much discontentment on both sides with the current leadership, but while a regicide appears imminent in London, there appears to be no such luck in Abuja....or could the still rumbling election petitions provide any surprises?

Meanwhile a little bird whispers to me that the current Nigerian Chief Justice much praised for his uprightness has in the last six months sworn in not one but two of his sons in as judges- one of the Federal High Court and the other as a member of the Abuja High Court judiciary. Perhaps David Milliband need not worry about whether or not to appoint his brother and fellow cabinet member Ed to a high office of state if he succeeds in toppling Brown- he can take notes from our own Chief Justice, although whether the UK press will be quite as obliging as the Nigerian press remains to be seen....

From Farafina Publishers come news of their latest offerings including Nnedi Okorafor Mbachu's Zahra the Windseeker and The Weaverbird Collection, edited by Akin Adesokan, Ike Anya, Sarah Manyika and Ike Oguine

I've recently finished two relatively hefty tomes from British literary stars of years past- Hanif Kureishi's Something to Tell You, i found really difficult to get in two but halfway through, became more engaging, if still somewhat unsatisfying; while Adam Mars Jones' Pilcrow, an interesting account of a disabled boy growing up in Fifties Britain was engaging page by page but seemed to go nowhere, and by the end, left me slightly puzzled with why I had to plough through all those pages...

The Booker longlist is out and the only book on the list that I have read is Linda Grant's The Clothes on Their Backs, which I quite enjoyed soon after it was longlisted for the Orange Prize, but which frankly isn't really all that....

A fleeting return...

2008-07-23T23:46:00.006+01:00

Getting on the train, I see him at the far end of the platform, I recognize him by the colourful African print shirt which he wears these days in the summer to the office. I move to wave to him and then notice that he is engrossed in an active, almost aggressive conversation with the woman beside him. She is smartly dressed in a grey trouser suit, and my first thought is that she must be sweltering in that outfit on this hot summer day. She seems to be haranguing him about something and so not wanting to embarrass him, I move to the far end of the carriage and bury my head like a good Londoner in one of the free Metro newspapers that litter the carriage. For the umpteenth time I wonder whether the newspaper companies responsible for all this extra litter pay extra to the local authority for cleaning up. These are the same newspapers that harangue us daily about reducing our carbon footprints and I can't help but wonder how many extra kilograms of carbon the free newspapers they churn out are adding....

When it is time to get off at my stop, I notice that my colleague and the woman who I now think must be his wife gets off as well. I am surprised as I am going to a meeting at a hotel and so quicken my steps. As I enter the lobby, I pause at reception to ask where the meeting is being held. In that instant they catch up with me and I stammer out a good morning. His reply is perfunctory and he makes no effort to introduce me to his companion. As I move towards the room where my meeting is to take place, I bump into a lawyer friend who appears surprised to see me- are you testifying in the investigation, he asks. I know it was your office but I didn't see you mentioned in the documentation. It is then that the truth sinks in, rumours have swirled about how my colleague has threatened to take our employers to an employment tribunal. Evidently some sort of pre- meeting is going on- as I make my way to my meeting, I reflect on the coincidence that has roped us all together this July morning....

I have just finished reading the autobiography of Clarence Thomas, the African-American judge on the US Supreme Court, whose confirmation hearings nearly two decades ago descended into a fightfest as he was accused of sexually harassing Anita Hill, a former subordinate who was also AfricanAmerican. Reading it, I am filled with sympathy for him, coming from a very poor family from Georgia and struggling up the ladder in a country where his dark skin made him the target of much derision not just from whites, but also from his black schoolmates who dubbed him America's Blackest Child. What that sort of trauma can do to a man's psyche can only be guessed at, but in reading the book I am filled with pity for him....I am also struck by how many people do not remember who he is, while for me the image of his accuser Anita Hill, pretty with her face tearstained testifying before the Senate is indelibly marked in my memory...

Speaking of memory, I've just finished Dancer, by Colum McCann, whom I have only just discovered. McCann vividly recreates or reimagines the life of the dancer Mikhail Baryshnikov that you almost believe that he is writing from memory... I'll be looking out for more books by McCann, whose lyrical voice sings with the stereotypically Irish rhythms of his heritage

Theatre loving Londoners are in for a treat with the programme of plays by Tiata Fahodzi, the Black British Theatre Company opening at the Almeida from the 28th of July to the 1st of August featuring actors from Nigeria and Ghana among other places, including Cyril Nri , Superintednt Adam Okaro from the television series The Bill

In Kenya, the Kwani Literary Festival is set to kick off in Nairobi featuring a slate of African writers including Ishmael Beah, Monica Arac de Nyeko (who recently outed herself as a fan of this blog), Chimamanda Adichie, Dayo Forster, whose Reading the Ceiling I enjoyed and of course, the host Binyavanga Wainaina. It sounds like good fun for those lucky enough to be in Nairobi...

Sefi Atta's new book, Swallow is out on Amazon now and here she talks about it with Ike Anya

So much to blog about, and so little time....I'll try to be more disciplined....

My post on 14th and serenity

2008-06-17T07:58:00.003+01:00

Over the last few weeks, I have been privileged to be part of an innovative, unique project involving a variety of Nigerian bloggers. Today I posted my own contribution, the final one, to the blog 14th and Serenity

When I agreed to take part, I had no idea what to expect, but it's been fun- challenging, especially in my currently severely time-constrained state, but fun. I hope I get a chance to work with these talented bloggers again

Hopefully, I'll be back soon....

Chimamanda, Binyavanga, Dave Eggers and Marie Elena John to run workshop in Lagos

2008-05-30T07:36:00.001+01:00

Chimamanda Adichie will be organizing a creative writing workshop in Lagos from August 19 to August 29 2008. The workshop is sponsored by Fidelity Bank. Guest writers who will co-teach the workshop alongside Adichie are the Caine Prize Winning Kenyan writer Binyavanga Wainaina (author of DISCOVERING HOME), the Hurston/Wright Legacy Award nominated Caribbean writer Marie-Elena John (author of UNBURNABLE) and the Pulitzer Prize nominated American writer Dave Eggers (author of A HEARTBREAKING WORK OF STAGGERING GENIUS). Workshop participants will be expected to read and discuss a wide range of fiction and non-fiction, as well as complete short writing exercises. The aim of the workshop is to encourage published and unpublished Nigerian writers by bringing different perspectives to the art of storytelling.
Participation is limited to those who apply and are accepted. A symposium open to the public will be held at the end of the workshop.
To apply, send an e-mail to Udonandu2008@gmail.com
Your e-mail subject should read ‘Workshop Application.’
The body of the e-mail should contain the following:
1. Your Name
2. Your address
3. A few sentences about yourself
4. A writing sample of between 200 and 800 words. Please indicate whether your sample is fiction or nonfiction. Acceptances will be based on the quality of the writing sample.
All writing material must be pasted or written in the body of the e-mail. Do NOT send any attachments. Applications with attachments will be automatically disqualified. Deadline for submissions is July 12 2008. If accepted, you will be notified by August 5, 2008.

Fourteenth and Serenity...coming soon

2008-05-20T07:49:00.002+01:00

Catwalq's roped me into this. Sounds like fun. For more info see here

Racially profiled in the West End and other stories

2008-04-26T17:51:00.002+01:00

It is not very late, at least by the standards of the West End- perhaps ten thirty or so. I have finished dinner in Chinatown with the friends visiting from Nigeria, and am now making my way to Tottenham Court Road tube station to catch the tube home. The weather has suddenly turned chilly in that capricious way that English weather in the spring has, and I decide that I am best off retrieving my scarf and gloves from my coat pockets and putting them on. Seeing the bustle of the busy street, I stop and make my way to a street corner, my back pressed against a lamp post, my work backpack balanced firmly between my legs and proceed to make the necessary adjustments to my attire. I am nearly done, the gloves pulled snugly on, when he walks up to me. He is wearing the fluorescent yellow waistcoat over what I soon realize is a police uniform.
“Ere” he barks “what are you up to?”

I look behind me, certain that he isn’t addressing me.

But he is. He repeats his question “So what are you up to?”

I am so surprised by the aggressive tone that I stammer out “Just on my way home”

“Well, go on then”, he retorts

I slowly, deliberately, give my gloves a final tug, reach down and lift my backpack on to my back and then head down the road.

Ten steps later, I am filled with anger- why on earth have I walked off so meekly? Since when was it a crime to stand on a busy street corner in the West End? Why has he picked on me? It is too late to turn back and so I continue home seething.

The next day recounting the story to an English friend who works nearby, he explains that I must have been mistaken for a purveyor of chemical substances- apparently the private clubs nearby where English media types and celebrities congregate also lead to a lot of traffic in materials, and PC Plod must have mistaken me for one of them.

I am incensed, and wonder why the mostly white middleclass users are not accosted in the same way. Two weeks on, I remain bemused by it all….... It's the sort of thing you expect in South London, but in the heart of the West End?

The London mayoral elections loom, and in spite of (and perhaps because of) the heavy campaign by the London newspaper, the Evening Standard against the incumbent, Ken Livingstone, I’ve firmly decided to vote for him. The thought of Boris Johnson, the faux-bumbling Tory toff, who once famously referred to black children as piccaninnies in an article, becoming Mayor, fills me with dread. He’s so obviously of a type – tousled untidy hair, Etonian drawl and all- that harks back to another, less open London. Brian Paddick, the Lib Dem candidate hasn’t a chance in hell, so why throw away my vote? Many of my English middle class friends loathe Ken, but it isn’t a loathing I share. He may not be the most likeable person but I think he’s the best candidate for Mayor and that he’s done a fairly good job. It’s bad enough that Gordon Brown and his dithering may end up handing the country on a plate to the Tories. Let’s at least try and make sure they don’t get London as well….

On the subject of nasty Tories, I’ve just finished Andrew Hosken’s Nothing Like a Dame- about the shenanigans of Tesco heiress, Dame Shirley Porter as leader of the Tory dominated Westminster Council. It makes for chilling reading, and highlighted for me why for many who lived through those years, the Tories are still seen as “the nasty party”

Another chilling read was Violation: Justice, Race and Serial Murder in the Deep South by David Rose. Through the prism of one African American man’s trial for a series of murders in Columbus, South Carolina, Rose paints a shocking picture of the long history of racism and the justice system in the Deep South. It horrified and saddened me, particularly the story of the lynching of a young black boy after his white friend was killed, probably accidentally while they were playing with a gun….

The Obama and Clinton fight continues and as it drags on, potentially putting a Democratic victory into jeopardy, I continue to marvel at the viciousness that is being unleashed….

Back home in Nigeria, our president remains in a German hospital, while the country remains without a Minister of Health. We are assured that the president is doing well, yet no-one explains why he is still recuperating abroad if this is the case. I certainly hope he makes a full recovery soon as the prospect of a President Jonathan sends shivers down my spine….

Granta magazine has launched a new website, and on my first visit, I found it while nicely designed, strangely insipid, bare, like a newly renovated house that no-one has moved into. Nevertheless, there is an interesting letter from Petina Gappah to Thabo Mbeki on the continuing crisis in her home country of Zimbabwe

Cyril Nri in Oxford Street at Royal Court Theatre

2008-04-23T07:52:00.001+01:00

Runs 2nd to 31st May, Mondays to Saturdays 7.45pm, Satuday Matinees 4pm

Oxford Street

Written by Levi David Addai

2 - 31 May

"I don't want to work here much longer, I got bigger plans than dis place... I gotta make it. Can't be living in my forties and still working in retail. Can¹t be living in the struggle no more."

Oxford Street: where the streets are paved with gold, if you just know where to look.

At Total Sports, security guard Kofi and his workmates are making sure everything runs smoothly, easing the daily grind with plenty of jokes and chat about the future. Young or old, they all want more from life. The only difference is how they'll go about getting it.

This boisterous and comic new play from Levi David Addai (93.2FM & House of Agnes) looks beyond the glossy facade of the high street at the stories and ambitions of the workers within.

Director Dawn Walton

Designer Soutra Gilmour

Cast: Reece Beaumont, Preeya Kalidas, Daniel Kaluuya, Kristian Kiehling, Amelia Lowdell, Nathaniel Martello-White, Cyril Nri, Ashley Walters, Shane Zaza

www.royalcourttheatre.com

October gallery Sale, ends 26.04.08. In lieu of a "proper" post

2008-04-20T17:06:00.001+01:00

http://www.octobergallery.co.uk/homepage.shtml

From 17th to 26th April 2008

Up to 80% off original artworks, paintings photographs and works on paper.

Come along and take a look!

October Gallery

24 Old Gloucester Street

London, WC1N 3AL

020 7242 7367

Nearest tubes are:- Holborn & Russell Square

Form-filling, Obama, I want to drink small stout and other miscellanies

2008-03-29T09:02:00.005Z

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....

Adichie and Jackie Kay, Nii Ayi Kwei Parkes and other London events

2008-03-28T14:49:00.002Z

In lieu of a proper post...(coming soon, this weekend, I assure you), note the following upcoming London events:

Chimamanda reads in London

South Bank Centre events here and here

Quick round up

2008-03-15T08:23:00.002Z

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...

Barcelona breaks my heart, singing for my supper and the definition of corruption

2008-02-09T09:05:00.000Z

He is perhaps in his fifties, dressed in what I have come to know is the casual wear of a certain type of English man- the brightly coloured jumper ( or sweater, as I'd have called it back in Naija), the corduroy trousers and the lace-up shoes. He is tall and appears hunched down in the small seat of the tiny two-carriage train running into the Cotswolds. As I look out through the window at the unfolding vast landscape, I hear him speak in a quiet, again almost quintessentially English diffident manner, his words directed to the plump middle aged woman dressed in a ticket collector's uniform making her way through the carriage, checking tickets. I do not hear what he says to her, but I hear her asking him to "give her a moment", I return to the report that I am reading on my laptop and am startled a few minutes later as the conductress plops herself into the seat beside the man. He begins to fire off a series of questions which I cannot hear, but from her answers, it appears he is asking about her work- what hours does she work,how long has she worked for the train company and so on.... As she leaves to continue her work, he thanks her for her time in a soft voice and leaves me wondering what that was all about. Is he a director in the train company, or a novelist doing research for his next book, or is he just exploring a midlife career change?

The first time I travelled on my own outside he UK after I arrived here, was to Barcelona, and I promptly fell in love with the city- its relaxed vibe, the mix of beach and urban sophistication, the Gaudi buildings, the eclecticism of the Ramblas the long pathway filled with market stalls and street artists and impresarios- and I loved the fact that no one seemed to care where you were from. Barcelona was my introduction to Spain, a country I have often returned to, but the photographs last week of racist fans taunting Lewis Hamilton upset me.....

I finish the presentation and step back from the lectern, enjoying the heady adrenaline buzz that accompanies a successful speech or presentation. The audience swarms round and then recedes and I am left with the two organizers who offer to take me to lunch. We head for Covent Garden and end up in a dark room, painted with black walls enlivened by bold splashes of red and green- red roses, red chilli peppers, vegetables. We are in L'Atelier de Joel Robuchon and as we take our seats round the bar that surrounds the cooking space, I prepare for a dining experience. In front of us, a large Jabugo ham is painstakingly being cleaned and trimmed by one of the staff, further in, our meal is being cooked. I have a deep fried soft boiled egg on a bed of salad to start and it is amazing to see what looks like a scotch egg served warm, but without the sausagemeat and with the yolk still runny... the venison canneloni is a huge tube of pasta filled with a rich, meaty sauce that reminds me a bit of cowtail pepper soup, without the pepper, and the warm chocolate tart wih vanilla icecream is simply delighful. As I stagger out sated, I can't help but think that I have sung, almost literally for my supper..

It's been a busy time in UK politics with the MP Derek Conway scandal like something lifted straight out of Alan Hollinghurst's The Line of Beauty, then the fuss over whether the government plans to tax the non-domiciled wealthy would lead to an exodus of the rich and talented from the City of London and bring about London's demise as a financial powerhouse. Yet only a few months ago, everyone- pundits and players alike were hailing the idea, first put forward by the Tories as brilliant, and pontificating on how unsustainable the current situation was...sometimes I think I must be living in a parallel universe...

Just finished two books, non-fiction that I would strongly recommend. The first is Ian Burumas Murder in Amsterdam which is a thoughtful exploration of the Netherlands in the context of Pim Fortuyn and Theo Van Gogh's murders. It reminded me that I still haven't read Ayaan Hirsi Ali's autobiography. Buruma gets it wrong though in one page where he refers to countries like Saudi Arabia and Nigeria where women are stoned to death for adultery. As far as I know, no Nigerian woman has been stoned to death for adultery, or have they?

The second book is Poor Story by Giles Bolton who used to work for the UK Dept. for International Development in Rwanda and is one of the best accounts of the aid industry by someone who has been there, acknowledges the problems but hasn't become completely cynical. I particularly liked his exposition about why it might not be such a good idea to send a goat/cow/sheep to Africa....

Is it just me, or does Nigerian politics seem to have slipped into a bit of a lull at the moment? I had looked forward to getting a list of the 419 fraudsters posing as distinguished senators after Nuhu Aliyu, a former police boss who is now a Senator threatened to reveal their names. He however soon withdrew his claim and apologized, obviously after having had his ear bent by his colleagues. The pulling together to cover u and protect each other is sadly reminiscent of the way UK MPs have pulled together to defend their right to employ family members as their staff. In Africa, that is corruption and nepotism, in Westminster, its a long and noble tradition that fosters family ties....

Transformation, the fragility of peace & Wainaina's columns

2008-01-29T17:51:00.000Z

On my way to a meeting, I board the train, and take my seat behind two friends, female, young, blonde; obviously, like me on the way to work. They, unlike me, bag a table and proceed to chatter and giggle their way through most of the twenty minute journey, then five minutes to the first stop, they whip out little purses, unzip them and in a moment, I stare transfixed as the table surface is transformed into a display to rival that of any salon. I watch as they carefully, slowly, layer by layer, lay on the make-up, seemingly unaffected by the jolting of the train- first, various liquids are applied to the whole face, or to pars thereof and then it is time to concentrate on the eyes with various wand-like implements, and then the lips are outlined, filled in, shaded and tinted with a delicacy of movement that would put Van Gogh to shame. As we pull into the station, they pack up their gear, put the purses away and lift their bags to leave the train- as they walk past my seat, I see that they are transformed- those amongst you who think that makeup does not work should think again....this was such a slick operation, miles away from my mother's spartan pancake and eye pencil routine when I was growing up...

A colleague waylays me in the small office kitchen, I had somewhat foolishly given her a copy of Half of a Yellow Sun at Christmas and so now she wants to know more- "Do these", she stumbles over the word, waves a hand, "differences still exist in Nigeria?" I want to say, well, yes to some extent but that things are a lot better now, especially among the younger generation like me and then I remember Kenya, my visit last week to some of the Kenyan blogs and forums and I realize how fragile our peace is. And so I stammer a reply, pointing out the role that economic tensions play in situations like this.To bolster my case, I quote from Winnie and Wolf, the fictionalized account (by AN Wilson) of the relationship between Hitler and Winifred Wagner, daughter-in-law of the composer which I read over Christmas. I describe how Wilson captures the mood in Germany between the wars, charting convincingly what it felt like to ordinary people. The humiliating grinding poverty following the First war and then the rise of Hitler and his thuggish hordes who appear to restore German pride and confidence and the economy....so what if as a consequence a small minority suffered, the majority were glad to revel in their improved circumstances....The lesson I think is that peace is fragile, no matter where you are...

I stumbled across this DFID supported site which seems like a good idea if you are sending money home

Nigerian writer Nnedi Okoroafor Mbachu who has dropped by here before is one of the winners of the Macmillan Writers Prize for Africa in the junior category for her book Long Juju Man

If, like me, you are a fan of Binyavanga "How to Write About Africa" Wainaina's, acerbic but thoughtful writing, my recent discovery of his columns for South Africa's Mail and Guardian will please you as it does me. His articles on the troubles in his home country of Kenya are poignant and insightful...

Burantashi etc

2008-01-22T13:17:00.000Z

Having not had the chance to check my uknaija email in a while, I finally got round to it and was pleasantly surprised by the number of emails there. The most interesting was from a gentleman asking if I could tell him where to buy burantashi as he has “suffered from ED” for a number of years. Burantashi had almost mythological status when I was growing up in Nigeria- it was the Hausa herbal answer to Viagra- and stories circulated of boys and men who had used it and subsequently ended up in accident and emergency units, laid low by the -ahem- potency of the product. Reading the email made a welcome change from the hundreds of spam messages asking if I would like to buy Viagra or other similar products. My correspondent appears to be based in Yugoslavia, and so it appears a business opportunity beckons for Northern Nigerian herbalists. If anyone knows suppliers of burantashi in Europe, please drop me a discreet line…

The six boys cluster round their teacher, smartly dressed in school uniform, obviously on a school trip or excursion of some sort. Seeing them, I am taken back to my school days, the prestige of being selected to represent the school at debates and quiz competitions; the freedom of being allowed to cut classes for the day and breathe the air of the outside world. Even more exhilarating were those occasions when we were successful and brought the trophy back- ah the heady giddiness of those days….

I’ve been reading a lot of what my literary friend disparagingly calls bubble-gum reading- perhaps it’s the January blues that are making me averse to plunging into anything too meaty or tasking. Having just finished Tina Brown’s The Diana Chronicles- with its lurid pink cover- a challenge to lug on to a train-, I progressed to Elinor Lipman’s My Latest Grievance, which had me laughing all the way through and looking forward to more Lipman tales.I am now simultaneously reading The Importance of Being Eton, a slim volume by an Old Etonian exploring the school’s place in English mythology and society and Murder in Amsterdam by Ian Buruma which examines changes in Dutch society through the prism of the murder of Theo Van Gogh. I quite enjoyed The Diana Chronicles for its insights into contemporary British royal society, and while it was criticized for not having any new revelations in it, it certainly did pull together lots of different strands together in a very readable way. And reading it while the inquest goes on, breathlessly covered in the newspapers, perhaps made it even more readable.

I’ve also just finished Barack Obama’s The Audacity of Hope and gained a newer respect for him- I don’t always agree with him, but I can appreciate his freshness and appeal and his willingness to admit that he hasn’t necessarily got the right answers. His humanity comes across so vividly. And he writes well. I still remember a Nigerian friend from the US ringing me, breathless with excitement after Obama’s speech at the Democratic Convention four years ago, convinced that he had just experienced a dramatic historical moment. Yet if I was in the US and a Democrat, I’m not sure who I’d vote for….don’t ask me why- I’m not sure I know the answer myself….

In Nigeria, the sadness of dysfunctional families doomed and locked into a cycle of hurt and despair grabbed the headlines, and made me cringe even as Lucky Igbinedion another of the hapless ex-governors was detained by the anti-corruption body the EFCC. Let’s hope he doesn’t fall ill and end up at the National Hospital Abuja like his mate Ibori…

I was pleased when Gordon Brown appointed Jacqui Smith as the first female Home Secretary, a refreshing break, I thought, from Blair’s tradition of appointing tough-talking bully-boys to the post. I was even more impressed when only a few days in post, she responded to the attempted bombing of Glasgow airport with level-headed calmness. I set this out to explain my bewilderment at her recent admission that she would not walk the streets of London at night- not in notorious Hackney and not in salubrious Kensington and Chelsea. Having walked the streets of Hackney late at night recently after seeing a play at the Arcola and then a meal at Obalende Suya, I am appalled by her comments, especially for the naivete she betrays when she says walking after midnight on the streets is not something people do. I have often argued with some of my City friends about the degree to which the rich and powerful are cocooned from “real life” but Ms Smith’s comments suggest a gap even wider than I had imagined…

Petina Gappah who’s visited us on this blog more than once now has her own blog and Igoni Barrett of Farafina has an excerpt from his forthcoming novel published in Guernica

Writing for radio workshop Nigeria

2008-01-22T08:10:00.000Z

Sent to me by a friend of a friend...will blog properly later

Are you interested in writing for radio and live in Nigeria?

British Council Nigeria would like to pilot a programme to promote literature development through radio. This programme will be established as legacy activity following the Crossing Borders online mentoring project. It is further stimulated by feedback from the Beyond Borders Festival of Contemporary African writing (October 2006) outlining the need for more holistic literature development policies to continue to provide professional development opportunities for writers and to support the development of new audiences for writing.

The programme will provide critical support from UK-based professional writers who will deliver 5-day creative writing workshops in Nigeria in March 2008. We hope to produce, record and air some of the selected creative pieces in collaboration with a broadcast partner in Nigeria later in 2008.

We are looking to work with 48 writers across Nigeria on this pilot phase. We would like to engage writers who are keen to develop new skills in radio writing that explore exciting topical issues. We invite applications from writers who must:
• be Nigerian citizens
• be aged between 18 and 40 years
• be experienced writers with a portfolio of original work and a strong interest in short fiction, the use of dialogue, and narrative voice
• have an excellent standard of written English and be able to use its idioms creatively
• have a strong commitment to developing their work and that of other writers, through participating in creative writing networks
• be able to dedicate the time to complete writing assignments by agreed deadlines and fully engage in all aspects of the process
• be available for the live workshops (March 2008 exact dates to be confirmed)
• possess word processing and basic Internet access skills

Former Crossing Borders participants are encouraged to apply.

If you are interested in applying for a place please send:
- a one-page letter of interest with an original idea for a short story (theme and narrative treatment) and a statement explaining how you expect to benefit from participating in the programme
- a one-page Curriculum Vitae with your name, age, gender, contact details and details of any publications
- 2 sides of A4 prose writing – can be an existing story or novel extract. Remember that the first sentence has to attract and hold our attention!

The closing date for applications is 30 January 2008. Successful applicants will be notified by 18 February 2008.
All applications should be sent or e-mailed to:

The Project Coordinator (Connected Africa Arts)
British Council
20 Thompson Avenue
Ikoyi
Lagos
Nigeria

E-mail: Olamipo.bello@ ng.britishcounci l.org

Happy New Year

2008-01-14T17:03:00.000Z

I am a few minutes from the train station swaddled in the several layers that the now-icy weather has forced me to adopt when I hear the heart stopping shriek. Like many other commuters, busily burrowing our way to work, my head swivels in the direction of the noise. There are three teenage girls, all black, dressed in school uniform, stopping on their way to school, and the shrieking is apparently, merely an expression of their exuberance. At first I cringe, wondering why we are so noisy, a thought guiltily repressed as I remember a poem by an African American poet from the thirties I once read in which the poet mocked high class “Negroes” bitching about low-class “Negroes” and their shaming ways. As I reflect guiltily on this, I board my train and soon another bunch of giggling teenagers, this time white, indulge in their own hilarity and banish my casual stereotyping..….

Christmas Day in London was a revelation- the empty streets, the silence, was strangely quite soul-warming. Christmas lunch with my British Nigerian friend and his extended family meant a first course of turkey and stuffing, with all the trimmings (produced by my friend’s wife) and then later a course of pepper soup, jollof rice, moimoi and plantain produced by his mother and sister.

On Christmas Eve I was silly enough to agree to meet a friend who was on his way back to Nigeria at John Lewis on Oxford Street. Emerging from the Underground, I found that I could not walk but had to let the crush of bodies which had enfolded me propel me along until it spat me out on a pavement on the other side of the road. My progress was not helped by the crowds of gawkers stopping to stare in shop windows and I wished that there could be two lanes- one for those of us with appointments to keep, and another for those who had come to admire the window displays and the Christmas lights….such an unseasonal thought

Going back to work- chatting to a couple of our female senior executives and enquiring after their exertions, I was struck by how, for all the talk of equal rights, ultimately the task of ensuring a happy family Christmas is still a female job...as evidenced by my own experience...

So much has happened while I have been away from blogging- Kenya, Obama, Benazir, Ribadu, and trying to capture my thoughts on these will be too difficult. The lowest point for me though, was Kenya. Sitting at a dinner party on New Year’s Eve, I vainly tried to argue that what was happening in Kenya was no general descent of savage Africans into tribal killing and mayhem. As I listened to the smug interpolations from various other guests, I thought to myself, “Why do our leaders do this to us?” If Kibaki and Odinga and all the others realized what damage they were doing to the African cause worldwide with their antics, perhaps they’d be a little bit more conciliatory in their utterances and actions. In the end I resorted to Binyavanga Wainaina’s exhortation to remember that the oldest African country is barely more than fifty years old..

The break was a good time for reading- I finished off The Reluctant Fundamentalist by Hamid Mohsin, which was shortlisted for the Booker Prize. There was plenty to reflect on in the pages of that slim book, especially for an immigrant from a developing country to the West… I also read Cathy Flynn’s What Was Lost, surprise winner of the Costa Fiction Prize and Anne Enright’s The Gathering which won the Booker- Flynn I enjoyed in its bare description of a gritty shopping centre which reminded me of a centre near where I used to live, but found Enright a bit less gripping than I had expected. Perhaps, stereotyping again I had expected the Irish gift of the gab to unravel in a richly woven story, and the elements and language were there but I felt I could have stopped reading it at any time and not missed it…

Happy New Year to all the faithful and passing readers of this blog....you literally keep me going :-)

Random pre- Christmas blogging

2007-12-14T13:18:00.000Z

It’s Friday and I am blog-surfing during what ought to be some kind of lunch break- no don’t ask- too complicated. In a minute, I will stand up and walk through the doors to the café where I will ask for a brown baguette with coronation chicken and salad and a bag of crisps. Or perhaps not. Seeing as I often ask for that anyway, the staff often burst into laughter once I turn up. Is there anything wrong with eating what you like over and over again? I remember my first term at university when I ate rice and stew twice a day, occasionally leavened with some beans and was as happy and healthy as anyone, at least I thought so.

It is cold, freezing, the kind of cold that hurts your nostrils and burns its way right into your lungs searing your throat as it passes by. On the train, there are coughs and splutters aplenty, and I find myself eyeing the perpetrators, silently warning them “If you dare give me that your cold, eh!” As if looks could cauterize the bacteria or viruses or whatever it is that causes these colds and coughs…

My lips split, laughing at a joke outside the office today and so I am slathering them in lip salve. Come to think of it, the weather isn’t unlike harmattan, in its harshness, with the dust clogging your airways with a similar harshness and lips requiring a good slathering of salve to avoid splittage…

Recent reading has covered Blake Morrison’s South of the River, an utterly enjoyable romp through South London in the Blair years following a varied cast of characters as well as The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, which I had long heard about but never got round to reading. A recent work-related foray to Edinburgh found me with time to kill before getting the shuttle back to the airport and so I walked down the dark brooding somewhat Gothic streets of Edinburgh city centre to the small bookshop hiding in a corner. Browsing the shelves and name-checking Adichie and Habila, I stumble across a pile of pristine Muriel Spark novels, a bargain at 99p each and seeing how slim The Prime is, I make my way to the shelf where the bearded bespectacled proprietor takes my pound coin, offering a penny’s change and a brown paper bag which I decline….

Christmas carols blare out from shops and on television as we are exhorted to shop for Britain. In Nigeria I imagine the frenzy to buy things for Christmas in full swing, the streets around the Marina/CMS area thronging with pedlars of cheap toys. Across the seas we are gripped by the same frenzy to buy….

Perhaps that’s why I wake up to 15 missed calls from a Nigerian phone number this morning. At first I panic, thinking it portends bad news but, no it is a cousin making a last ditch attempt at extracting a Western Union transfer to ease the impending cash sucking crunch of Christmas…

Each morning it sometimes feels as if I am walking through thick gooey liquid, a feeling enhanced by the dark gloomy days…this morning walking to the train station in the small town where a work Christmas do has brought me, I spot a lollipop lady, a creature I have often read about but never seen, standing by the primary school to ferry children across the busy road, her huge lollipop in hand. But unlike the ladies of my imagination (and the Ladybird books), this is no matronly twinkly comfortably padded mother figure. Here is a blonde Amazon, some six feet tall, her legs encased in bronzed leather high heeled boots, her pony-tail flicked away as she guides the children across…

So Ibori, the thieving Niger Delta ex-governor has finally been arrested by the EFCC. Perhaps there is something to the Yaradua rule of law after all. The Nigerian Guardian reopens after an enforced closure caused by a strike and the question is raised why journalists adept at exposing the exploitation and corruption of government are so silent when it comes to their employers…

"Stolen" time, cheese eating and a positive silence?

2007-12-05T16:57:00.000Z

I know the clocks went back in October but did “they” do something to steal our time as well- where do the seconds and minutes and hours go? I keep promising myself that today I will spend time to update my blog and then never get round to it. I haven’t had a chance to read blogs in ages and as for Facebook…what’s that? Or maybe finally while I wasn’t looking, responsible adulthood has crept up on me….

More train stories:

On the train from Liverpool Street to Stansted airport I was sitting beside these two couples, young and blonde and good-looking- poster children for the British dream- they obviously all worked in the City as evidenced by their rapid chatter interspersed with scrolling through their Blackberries and then making urgent, rapid-fire calls to the office, talking about this deal and that deal and closing…. I watch them fascinated and hear one of them explain to the person at the other end that he is going to cheese-eating, wine-drinking surrender monkey country for the weekend….later I see them in the queue for the check in for the Ryanair flight to Bergerac….

Who on earth chose the lurid yellow and bright blue uniform of the Ryanair staff? Yes I know it’s a budget airline and they need to keep costs down but cheap materials also come in muted colours, don’t they. I’m tempted to whip on the sunglasses at the glare of the uniforms so reminiscent of the school uniforms in a poor village school in Nigeria…

I approach the security gate, backpack secured and book in hand and am not really paying attention when it gets to my turn. I unsling the backpack and put it through the X ray machine and then emerge at the other end. I have forgotten my toothpaste in the backpack which means it is pulled out of the queue for special checks in these days of no-liquids, no-gel flying. I am still not payng full attention as the young Asian woman explains that she is going to swipe the backpack for explosives. She is quite young- barely twenty and I imagine that it is first time nerves that make her swipe my bag again and again. By the third time, I am paying more attention and she is looking more flustered. Suddenly I see her stop and run to an older, more senior- looking woman, who then calls the attention of HER boss, a middle aged man who comes to me and informs me that my bag has tested positive for traces of explosives. I reel as I expect him to say it’s just a joke but when I look up, he’s deadly serious.

He runs off a series of questions- how long have I owned the backpack, where have I taken it and so on and so on….he then whips out a form and asks to take my details, having decided that the positive test may have come from one of the places that I have taken my bag to in the last week. Apparently some chemicals used in everyday life can give positive results. Giving my name, address and contact details, I fear that they will stop me from flying but he waves me through. Nevertheless I worry- will my name now enter some database? What if some nutter does blow up the plane, will I then be blamed post-humously? As if it would matter then.

Landing in Bergerac at the tiny airport, I make the immigration officer’s day when he finally gets to use his stamp. Used to waving EU citizens through, he waves me through as well, before realizing that my passport is green not red. He holds up the queue as he flicks through my passport for the right visa and then with aplomb marches to his desk, where he unleashes his heavy stamp on to my passport with a gusto that suggests that he does not get to do this very often…

Somehow, it seems as if not very much news is coming out of Nigeria, or perhaps it’s my mood, but it seems as if things are settling into a more quiet, more sedate pace…which is probably a good sign.

There’s a new edition of Farafina magazine out and following closely on Helon Habila’s successful book tour, Chika Unigwe, visitor on this blog from time to time, begins a Nigerian book tour to promote the publication of her first novel ,The Phoenix

The post that I was too tired to name

2007-11-21T17:18:00.000Z

We descend into the bowels of the restaurant- it is a fairly simple, yet sophisticated place somewhere in the west of London. We are soon seated, and have just had our orders taken when I spot her- her face immediately familiar to me from the days spent glued to CNN in hotel bars and lounges, when satellite television was the tenuous link that seemed to sustain my connection to the outside world after the price of Time magazine and Newsweek and the Economist all soared out of reach.

Here, years later, I am seated at a table in a restaurant just a few feet away from her. She is in full flow, commanding the attention of the others seating at her table, and as I glance at the rapt faces, I realize that this is what might be called "a power table". There are two UK ministers, I soon realize, at the table and as the conversation heats up, I hear the words: Darfur, Rwanda, Millennium Development Goals and social entrepreneurship flung in rapid quick fire succession around the table. It is all I can do to concentrate on my dinner, my friends who have kindly invited me out and my own table and our conversation.

I whisper to my friends "It's Christiane Amanpour", mortified that she will hear me, but am met with fairly blank faces. It's only when I screech "and Mark Malloch Brown" that they become interested- the former UN mandarin and now minister in Gordon Brown's government of all the talents, has the day before been in the news- the Spectator and the Evening Standard.

The third face that I recognize is James Rubin, former aide to Bill Clinton and Amanpour's husband, and then across the table from him, Shriti Vadera whom I later overhear being introduced to someone as the "most powerful woman in the UK government" She smiles bashfully but I do not hear her demur….

Later sated on our dinner, we walk to the Underground- me on the way, happily regaling my friends with all these details. How, one of them asks me, do you know all these people…how indeed? On my way home the question continues to plague me…

An interesting harvest of books these past few days- finally I get round to reading The Kite Runner and I, almost to my surprise enjoy it. It opens my eyes and tells me new things and is beautifully written and yet in some ways I feel that it lacks soul. Perhaps it should have been stretched out a bit more

On Chesil Beach is another much-hyped book which I get round to finally reading. I enjoy it so much that I immediately go back to the library for another McEwan- this time, Enduring Love, even though it's only available in large print. Although I enjoyed the latter, I thought the former was more accomplished….

Poor Gordon Brown’s government seems to be lurching from crisis to crisis and the Prime Minister’s face shows the strain. Watching a BBC documentary on Blair’s last days in office, I almost found myself nostalgic for Blair....

Meanwhile the Tories rub their hands in glee, like schoolboys who can’t quite believe their luck....there's something almost school-bully like about their gloating that I find distasteful, or perhaps it's the fact that I'm just biased....

Nigeria makes the front page of the Financial Times at the weekend with a story about Chevron and Shell being implicated in the Ibori corruption saga...at about the same time, several Nigerian topshots are mentioned in an investigation into corruption at Siemens in Germany...perhaps the chickens are finally coming home to roost....

Congratulations

to Molara Wood of Wordsbody for honourable mention in the Commonwealth short story prize

to Chimamanda Adichie for making the IMPAC prize list

made up stories, immigration blues & democratic hypocrisy

2007-11-06T17:42:00.000Z

I am watching the couple as they walk to the station with their big shaggy dog lolloping beside them. He is dressed in a business suit, sharply cut, formal. She is blonde, more casual in a jogging suit and yet there is something carefully groomed about her. I glance at my watch; I am still a few minutes too early for my meeting. I look up to see the dog depositing a steaming pile on the pavement, she immediately whips out a plastic bag and tries to scrape the offending mess off, but she struggles, hampered by the dog lead in her hand and the active squirming creature at its end. He moves just after a second’s hesitation to take the lead from her, give her room to clear the pavement properly. I make up a life for them- he never wanted the dog but she insisted, and so he is irritated. Minutes later, I see my colleague approach and as I walk over to meet her I see the man disappearing down the stairs into the station having given the dog a last friendly ruffle. The man’s face is transformed, as he tickles the dog’s belly and I am forced to rewrite my made up narrative….

Such a long time away from blogging- busy with work and the million little things that seem to have piled off and need to be dealt with before the year’s end- November- where has the year gone?

Immigration issues fill the front pages again and I can’t help but feel uncomfortable. No, everyone explains, or hints, it’s not people like you we mean, it's the others.... but hearing people speak (not in so many words) about "us" and "them" I can’t help but feel uneasy- hoping that someone else speaks out instead. When in any case does one stop being "them" and become "us"- 5 years, ten years, never?

It is all about the pressure on public services- housing, hospital, council services- very little about how the booming English economy is surely in part due to the immigrants. Do the Mittals and Abramoviches and the American investment bankers who swell the streets of Chelsea count in these statistics at all? Perhaps there needs to be a trade off but maybe the Mittals and their ilk are comfortable here precisely because of the openness and diversity that London offers… maybe it is one or the other….

In spite of the hectic pace of life, there has been time as usual for some reading- In the library one weekend I stumbled across Free Food for Millionaires by Min Jin Lee, an account of a young Korean American woman newly graduated from an Ivy League university and caught between her poor Korean parents and the glittering lifestyle offered by her peers- there were I thought lots of echoes of Nigerian immigrant family tensions but I suppose in some ways, all immigrants face similar issues. The writing was assured but I’m not sure that Lee did her skills justice in this book- I’m not sure if it’s the plot but there was something that didn’t quite ring right….

I’m currently reading Hari Kunzru’s- My Revolutions which is beautifully written- I think it’s the best of his three books so far. While I loved his first two: The Impressionist and Transmission, it is in this book about a Sixties activist living a comfortable bourgeois life in 21st century Sussex who finds his past catching up with him….I’ve always had a soft spot for Kunzru ever since he won the John Llewellyn Rhys Prize for Transmission and turned it down because it was sponsored by the Daily Mail. Instead he asked for the prize money to be paid to the Refugee Council- an action that must have riled the Daily Mailers no end…

Glad to see that Etteh finally did the decent thing and resigned as Speaker and even “gladder” to see the House members ignore the PDP order to vote for her self-nominated successor and elect someone who appears to be articulate and intelligent instead. Now the House members must prove their vaunted patriotism and get to work and not start squabbling over committee memberships…

In Pakistan, the hollowness and hypocrisy of the champions of democracy is again put on display – lawyers are beaten by the police, judges are sacked and the opposition are put under house arrest- all for speaking out in favour of democracy- you would imagine that for the self-appointed supporters of democracy- these stirrings in a Muslim country would be heart-warming and deserving of support. But no- it’s too complicated, cutting off aid would not be constructive, etc etc Pity the poor young Pakistani lawyer who believes the rhetoric about democracy and finds himself bruised and battered tonight in a police cell…..If you are in any doubt, go and ask the monks in Burma…

Visit

Cassava Republic's new website
It's poppy season with a difference here or here
And Kambani promotes Nigerian artists and art here

Lost condoms, dignified exits, recent reading, prizes and an anniversary

2007-10-18T12:45:00.000+01:00

It is early morning and as the display on the platform keeps changing, showing that the train I am hoping to get is becoming even more delayed, I soon realize I had better get out of the station and catch a taxi if I am to have any hope of catching the train out of London and making my meeting. I hail the first taxi that I see, it’s one of the old-fashioned black cabs and as I settle in, my wallet clatters to the floor. I reach for it and find tucked away at the edge of the seat, a pristine packet of Durex condoms. Perhaps it is the early hour but I can’t help thinking about how it got there. Who has dropped it, and is the consequence of their dropping it going to be an unwanted pregnancy, a nasty disease? Or did they finding themselves condomless, abstain, resisting temptation?

I can’t help but think of the nursery rhyme we used to chant, often thoughtlessly, not really understanding the words……

for want of a nail, the shoe was lost,
for want of a shoe, the horse was lost,
for want of a horse, the rider was lost,
for want of a rider, the battle was lost,
for want of a kingdom, the battle was lost

The fighting over Ettehgate continues and now sadly appears to have claimed a legislator’s life. Without going into the rights and wrongs of it, I think it’s time for Madam Speaker, Mrs Etteh to go. Her continuing presence is merely inflaming the situation, everyday I read about new brawls in the House and so in the interest of peace I think she should just go. Reading about people I had some respect for getting involved in the brawling and name-calling in the House I am appalled. Go Mrs Etteh, just go….

Perhaps Mrs Etteh should take a leaf from Sir Menzies (pronounced Minghis- yes I know!!) Campbell, leader of the Liberal Democrats- the small third party of the United Kingdom, who bit the bullet once his party members started murmuring and made a dignified exit….. I’m always fascinated by how when an English party deposes its leader, all other contenders have to pretend to be disinterested for a while, lest they be blamed for forcing the old leader out- even when everyone knows they are rubbing their hands in glee…

Glad to see Anne Enright win the Booker- my sympathy for the underdog and the fact that she cheerfully described her novel as bleak, plus the fact that she’s Irish ensured that. Now I’ll have to read the book…

Speaking of underdogs, England’s spectacular rise through the Rugby World Cup sees me humming Swing Low Sweet Chariot along with everyone else as I go about my duties at work….sorry South Africa but I’ll be rooting for the English on Saturday..

I’ve just finished Alan Bennett’s slim novella, The Uncommon Reader, a wittily intelligent book examining what happens when The Queen suddenly develops an appetite for reading….

Next up is The Reluctant Fundamentalist which I’ve just started- it was shortlisted for the Booker and I think I bumped into the author last week walking in central London… I share his love for London... revealed in an Evening Standard interview a while back, sadly not available online

Still on prizes, Chika Unigwe’s Fata Morgana has been shortlisted for the ANA Prize for Fiction as has Jude Dibia’s Unbridled, the follow-up to his earlier, controversial Walking in the Shadows which portrayed a gay man living a double life in Nigeria. I’ve blogged elsewhere about Chika and her talent and she’s dropped by this blog in the past…

Oh and while I was away my second bloggerversary came and went- thanks everyone for keeping faith with this inconsistent blogger and for sharing my world- I only just realized my first post was on August 25th 2005

Sites to check out:
Farafina
African Writing
African Writer.com
Viewnaija where I finally got to listen to the much talked about Yahooze
Igoni Barrett's collection of short stories- for lovers of Nigerian fiction and awuf things
Nominate that bright young Nigerian under 30 at the Future Nigeria Awards

Blogger's dilemma, facebook, football louts etc

2007-10-09T17:32:00.000+01:00

I am suffering from the intermittent bloggers’ dilemma- the longer you stay away from blogging, waiting for the combination of something meaty enough to blog about and having enough free time to do it justice, the more things to blog about pile up. So I’ll just have a go- first things first. I finally signed up to Facebook, just to see what all the fuss is about. I haven’t been terribly excited, but perhaps I simply haven’t got into the spirit of the thing….if anyone wants to show me how to do it properly, get in touch, search for Musing Naijaman….

There have been a great many train journeys since I last posted (reminder to self- buy shares in Virgin Trains) including one in first class, courtesy of work which was sadly marred by the entire carriage being overrun by a bunch of football louts who kept the train heaving from Wolverhampton to London Euston. The British Transport Police made a brief appearance and then promptly disappeared; the Virgin Trains staff did not dare to show their faces at all. In the event I finally gave up my unbothered mien, packed up my laptop and book and moved to another carriage. Talk about feral- banging on the roof of the carriage, jumping on the seats, dancing on the tables, roaring out their football chants. They were all white and I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if a bunch of Black or Asian young men had overrun a first class carriage in a similar manner. I’d like to think that the train staff, transport police and other passengers would have been just as indulgent, but somehow I doubt it….

I was able to shut out the soccer louts’ antics for as long as I did as I was deeply engrossed in What is the What, Dave Eggers and Valentino Achak Deng’s stunning tour de force of a novel. I’m not sure if it’s a biography or what, because it’s called a novel and it’s by Eggers- an account of the life of Deng, a Sudanese “Lost Boy” who ends up in the United States- it is equal parts sociology text, history text, novel and utterly unbelievable and unputdownable and heart wrenching. And you must read it, if only to understand What is the What….

I’ve also been reading Patrick Gale’s Notes from an Exhibition, where he skilfully uses the notes from a retrospective exhibition to recreate the life of an artist on the Cornish coast exploring her family’s past and present relationships in a calm understated way that I found very attractive….

And to politics- so Gordon Brown’s liver failed him. One minute he was at the top of the opinion polls, with Cameron destined for the dust heap and the next he was struggling for dear life after Cameron made what the press told us was one amazing thumper of a speech. I was more interested in the quick switch- I assume most people like me had not watched the speech, so what was the sudden switch based on? The pledge to reduce the number of people liable to pay inheritance tax? Or the deal to tax non-domiciled City fat cats 25 000 pounds a year in lieu of tax ? Whatever it was, and I suspect it’s a bit of a mystery to the Cameron camp as well, Old Gordon was forced to swallow all talk of a snap election. It’ll be interesting to see what the next few weeks bring, but I was left musing on the power of the media to frame narratives….

In Nigeria, the furore over the Speaker continued with each newspaper virtually guaranteed to have an article on the latest of Speakergate. The usual tritenesses were being wheeled out- is she the first; it’s all the work of disgruntled elements and so on. All probably true but why do we always have to resort to the age old refrain “Everyone does it”

I was more bemused by the story of Judith Burdin Asuni, or as Thisday put it “The Spy who loved us” Is she really a spy or are there other issues at stake. The murkiness of the dealings in the Niger Delta and Nigeria’s oil industry remain a source of fascination for me. Would that there were some good investigative journalists to piece all the stories together. Who bunkers? Who owns licences to drill for oil? Who imports the petroleum that Nigeria uses? So many unanswered questions and yet the answers float in mansions in Lagos and Abuja and Port Harcourt and London and Maryland and elsewhere….

Time, Atonement and a Happy Independence day

2007-10-01T17:12:00.000+01:00

Standing in church I see the little boy toddle towards his mother who is singing in the choir, he is bemused as his father cuddles him up just before he reaches his target. I remember vividly, the gentle swelling week on week of his mother’s belly, her disappearance from the choir and then her reappearance proudly carrying a bundle of white clothing. Now seemingly weeks later, he is running around and trying to climb into the choir stall, where did the time go, I wonder….

To the cinema, for the first time in a long time to see the film version of Ian McEwan’s Atonement. I have overheard a discussion of it on the radio, driving somewhere and I am interested that the two discussants are split in their assessment of the film. In any event I am left underwhelmed, particularly by a seemingly endless scene on the beaches of Dunkirk which I am later told is to highlight a cinematic technique. Considering that one of the newspaper reviews had referred to it as the thinking person’s Titanic, I try to work out which of the target groups I have failed to fit in to….Not even Keira Knightley’s winsome loveliness can draw more than a flicker of interest….

To dinner or perhaps early supper on Sunday. Our hostess has outdone herself with a spicy carrot and coriander soup, salmon parcels stuffed with ricotta and spinach and a crisp lemon sorbet with fresh fruit. She offers apologetically that it is all store bought, but I don’t see what she’s apologising for- the food is great….

It is Nigeria’s Independence Day today, forty seven years on, and I can’t help thinking that in country terms, we are really still quite young. Perhaps that’s another sign of aging- ten years ago, I was ranting at how little we had achieved at 37, now I am slightly more patient.

Thinking about Independence Day takes me back to childhood and the school children’s march past. We would practice for weeks beforehand and the worst students would be weeded out. Then the day before the parade we had to bring in our uniforms to be inspected so as not to disgrace the school. Then on the day itself to the field where the state governor would appear on a dais ready to take the salute. At the command “Eeeeeyyesss riiiiight!” we would swivel our tiny necks by 180 degrees to pay homage to the governor as we marched past the dais…..

I still remember a song that some of the children used to sing

“Nigeria is a great country,
Africa is a large continent
We are marching on
To take awa place among all the (other?)
Nations of di worl’

And remembering it now I am oddly moved….

As my great grandmother used to say "happy independa!"

Ramblings...

2007-09-26T17:23:00.000+01:00

I am walking past the charity shop (the UK equivalent of Naija's bend down boutiques) when a scrap of scarlet silk at the back of the shop catches my attention. It is an old gentleman's dressing gown and suddenly I find myself thinking about pyjamas. Growing up, there was the nightly ritual of the evening bath followed by the change into pyjamas. Initially they were Marks and Spencer pyjamas bought on the infrequent trips to Kingsway and Leventis stores, but as the Nigerian economy deteriorated they tended to be Chinese brands with names like "Golden Bunny" and were bought in the clothing section of the local market. I once owned a scarlet dressing gown, it was not silk, but I cherished it and for some reason, my parents insisted that if we were leaving our bedroom in our pyjamas we had to put on our dressing gowns. I suppose they had picked up the habit during their education here in the sixties and seventies. Struck by the dressing gown, I reflect on how on leaving home for boarding school, I began to sleep in my day clothes and then by the time I ended up in university was mostly sleeping in my boxers..... Boxers were another latterday introduction- growing up it was all Y-fronts or nothing but much later, boxers were introduced and soon every street side tailor in Nigeria's cities were churning out their own take on the ubiquitous boxers....

I've just finished Donna Daley Clarke's Lazy Eye which is a gripping and evocative of black Caribbean life in the UK in the 60s and 70s. On the cover, there is a photograph of two children on Chopper bicycles, which again had me reminiscing about Chopper and Tomahawk bicycles. unfortunately the bicycle on the cover was the red version when everyone knows that only the purple version ever really counted....

Now I'm reading Nikita Lalwani's Gifted which was longlisted for the Booker Prize this year. It's a well written account of a young girl with a gift for maths growing up with her Indian immigrant parents in Cardiff. Reading it reminds me of my Indian classmates from primary and secondary school, many of whom had a similar gift for maths. This of course put unbearable pressure on the few Indian classmates whose maths skills were more run of the mill. Looking back now I can imagine how miserable they must have felt....

Will there be an election in the UK soon or not? The debate is everywhere- will Gordon go for it or not? I think it is extraordinary that the Prime Minister alone can more or less chose when he calls an election, although having that power is no guarantee of success...

Meanwhile in Nigeria, the list of ambassadorial nominees is released and there are rumours that the former PDP Chairman Amadu Ali is pencilled in to become the UK High Commissioner, which, if it is true will be sad. Following the suave sophistication, erudition and impeccable integrity of the Kolades whose term has just ended is a tough enough act to follow without all the baggage that Ali and his wife carry...

Having recently finished Amy Tan's Saving Fish from Drowning (you should read it if only to hear the story behind the title) which is set in Burma, I look at current events there and shake my head and wonder at the injustice of the world. Everyone is cheering from the sidelines but doing nothing concrete to help, now where's Dubya with his missiles when you need him? Restricting visas isn't going to save those poor people when their nameless and faceless military rulers unleash their venom is it?

Quick update, a few pointers

2007-09-14T07:42:00.001+01:00

Just got back and am facing the prospect of a mountain of emails and other work-related projects and meetings. In the rural area of Bavaria, the beautiful landscape of towering mountains, seemingly endless thick green forests and valleys interspersed with the fairytale castles of "mad" King Ludwig of Bavaria and the lavishly decorated baroque and rococo churches provided a good backdrop for time away. The greeting in this deeply conservative and deeply Catholic region of Germany is not the usual Guten tag (Good day) but is Gruss Gott (greetings to God). Yet my experience where many of the inhabitants (including some of the staff in the hotels) had problems responding to the greetings of another human being, albeit a black one, did raise questions about the validity of their preferred mode of greeting. Thankfully Munich and Wiesbaden proved more obviously welcoming and indeed I was surprised to see so many black people in Wiesbaden, although the American accents that many of them sported suggested that they were US Army families stationed nearby..... Indeed there was a gospel revival featuring various African American musicians and ministers on one of the days that I was there. Also surprising was the number of medical clinics and hospitals in the area which were actually included in the city's tourist guide, suggesting that the area was a focus for medical tourism....

I'll blog properly later to catch up on all the developments in the UK and Naija while I've been away and catching up on the books I read, but it was a relief to be back and I thought I'd better highlight a few important events ....

For the New Yorkers, the highly acclaimed Tings Dey Happen drama sketch based on the experiences of the lead actor in the Niger Delta is on at The Culture Project till the 20th of October

For the Brummies and fans of the UK TV police drama, The Bill, Cyril Nri, the Nigerian born star of the series is appearing in a production of Othello in Birmingham

And for everyone else, two of our favourite visitors on this blog- Molara Wood of wordsbody and Petina Gappah have short stories published in the latest edition of Per Contra. Here's Petina's and here's Molara's

One last word- on the Madeleine Mc Cann case, can all the armchair commentators, detectives, PR pundits, pros, antis, etc etc, please shut up? Since I got back it seems nothing else is worthy of front page coverage, an indication of our increasingly voyeuristic society...whether or not the parents are implicated or not, all the relentless media coverage (some self-generated I'll admit) cannot be helpful or constructive....

Travel notes, asking questions, the demise of NNPC and a legislative boob

2007-08-30T14:09:00.000+01:00

Luxembourg was bland, sanitized, international, a bit like my experience of Geneva; bits of it, on the outskirts were surprisingly green forests, which came as a bit of a surprise as I had conjured a vision of the Grand Duchy as a pristine, modern,urban city-state.

Stuttgart, the bits that I saw were largely grim and industrial. My local colleagues had organized as a "treat", a tour of one of the local luxury car manufacturing plants. The hour passed pleasantly enough except for the irritating questions from one of our party who kept echoing the guide's words and asking questions that the guide had already answered in his spiel. Discussing this later with a colleague who admitted that she had been irritated too, she argued that our irritation was cultural. The offending tourist being American, she argued that we would have been more sympathetic and less irritated by the questions if we had been American too....I reflected on an earlier class years ago, taken with people from many different countries. We soon got used to the Americans asking questions a lot, not always timely or relevant, but it wasn't till later that an American friend explained that in some US universities, you get marks for participating in class hence the flurry of questions.... I didn't get to ask the question I had really wanted to ask which was whether the workmen who crafted the parts so lovingly ever got to own any of the models....looking at the staff car park, it did not appear that way...

Yaradua continues to chart his own course, setting up a panel to reform the electoral process and acknowledging that the April elections which brought him to power were riddled with irregularities. Today I see that he has announced plans to split up NNPC, the behemoth that has straddled the Nigerian petroleum sector for decades. I remember the lavish lifestyles of friends whose parents worked there and wonder if there will ever be a proper audit there.....It'll be interesting to see what the new structures will look like...

I was blasted back into blogging having been sent this quote relating to the "boobs" of the embattled Nigerian speaker of the House of Representatives, Patricia Etteh who is accused of having awarded inflated contracts for the renovation of her residence and going to the US for a lavish 54th birthday party. A male legislator, purported to be her supporter is quoted as saying:

This woman told us, on the floor of the House, that she’s got two boobs. That the old can suck one while the new would suck one. Honestly speaking, we are sucking. We are enjoying the sucking. We are doing that right now. So, for anybody to say that there is an apathy or favoritism to either the new legislators or the returning legislators or those with cognate experience, honestly, it is unfortunate and it is uncalled for.

Such language! And from an "honourable" too......To read the whole interview, see here

I enjoyed Helen Oyeyemi's The Opposite House- it's an amazing book although I suspect that it may not appeal to the mass market. It is dreamlike and bold and tackles so many issues; from second generation immigrant children to the relationship between mothers and daughters, to faith and religion, all written in lucid languid prose that is infused with a wisdom and music and replete with historical references, subtly worked in. I think it is a very 21st century novel...

Random ramblings, going away, Felabration

2007-08-24T14:30:00.000+01:00

In a hurry as it's my last day at work for a while and there are a million and one things to do. I'm going away for work and hoping to catch some holiday and to be honest, I can't wait. I'll try to blog on my wanderings as internet connectivity permits...

On the train this morning a bunch of giggling teenagers in multicoloured wellington boots, carrying backpacks the sizes of small mountains, occupied most of the train. They keep up an urgent rapid-fire chatter which distracts me from the work I'm trying to do. Their conversation ranges over the drugs they've taken and the ones that they will take at the festival that they are headed to, the sex that they have had and will have and so on. I am no prude but can't help being gobsmacked at the casual way in which they broadcast this information through the carriage. I look up from my papers, catching the eye of one of them who has the good grace to blush and gestures to the others to tone it down. As their conversation descend to loud whispers, I am acutely conscious of my age....

Much talk in the last week of Britain's fractured society particularly with the horrific gangland style killing of an 11-year old boy in Liverpool. Everyone seems to agree that society is fractured, but there is disagreement on what to do to heal it. There is much talk about the role of "the community" which makes me irritable. Unlike Mrs Thatcher I do believe that society exists, but am unconvinced that many of the pundits actually know how to mobilize a community. Jack Straw says "lads need dads", suggesting that the black community needs to acknowledge this and promote it, yet I wonder how you actually put that into practice, beyond rhetoric. David Cameron abandons his hug-a-hoodie approach and suggests that offenders should be banged up in prison. Doing a U-turn so soon after his faux pas over hospital closures (he had claimed a number of hospitals were going to lose their accident and emergency departments, only to apologise to a few and then retracting the apology) certainly did nothing to strengthen his public image....

Excerpts from a press release sent to me from Storm Nigeria

"The event which has been tagged "FELABRATION 10" is a 5-daycelebration of Fela's life, music and spirit holds from the 9th-16thof October 2007. The events scheduled include:? Tue October 9th: World Movie Premiere of the previously unreleasedspecial movie of Fela ?Shuffering and Shmiling? and Kick Off Partyfeaturing celebrity DJ, Koffi? Wed October10th: Ladies Night. A day dedicated to the ladies tocelebrate Fela featuring special performances by frontline Nigerianfemale artists such as Zeal, Sasha, Niyola, Asa and many more.? Thursday October 11th: Classics and Yabis night featuring Veteranartists like Fatai Rolling Dollars and Victor Olaiya with acecomedians, Basket Mouth, Tee A and Julius Agwu handling the Yabisspecial. (Don?t forget Baba inspired most of the frontline comediansas a grand Yabis Master himself)? Friday October12th: Fela is Hip Hop featuring International hip hopartist, Nas as well as top Nigerian hip hop stars such as Mode 9,Ikechukwu, Naeto C, Thoroughbreds and Lord of Ajasa have already beenconfirmed to celebrate Fela, the hip hop way! (More to come)? Saturday October 13th: Block Party. All roads lead to the Shrine fora Street Party featuring Damian Marley and most of the big names inNigeria?s music industry.? Sunday October 14th: Fashion for Fela by award winning designer,Deola Sagoe featuring International models Oluchi, Agbani and Nnennaamongst many others. This will be followed by special performances byFemi and Seun Kuti.? Monday October 15th: All day Free feeding at the Shrine by theUnited Nations World Food Project (UNWFP)? Tuesday October 16th: Music Business Conference. The conference willbe held in honor of Fela with an aim to elevate the Nigerian musicindustry. The event will join major businesses, major players in theindustry as well as International resource people. Issues such aspiracy, distribution, broadcast, new technologies, internationalmarkets, regional markets, corporate support, the power of music to drive youth marketing and brands will be dealt with."

I've just finished Pies and Prejudice by Stuart Maconie, a wander through the North of England by a Northerner living in the South. There's lots of good writing and priceless nuggets of information but it's all mired in a mash of references to music and bands that I know little about which spoilt it a bit for me. Learning that there was a large Yemeni Arab community that settled in South Shields in the North of England in the 19th century was an eye opener for me. I'll be taking Bandele's Burma Boy, Oyeyemi's The Opposite House and Abani's The Virgin of Flames with me on my travels....

Now back to the desk clearing....

Overheard, brief summer, economic turmoil and bombarding the Garden City

2007-08-17T16:50:00.000+01:00

I am sitting in a train carriage on my way out of London for work. Opposite me is a fifty-something year old American man who keeps applying and reapplying some kind of lip salve that makes his lips a funny white colour. Perhaps he has burnt his lips in the sun or has some sort of medical condition. He is wearing tortoiseshell glasses and a blue shirt with braces (the sort that Nigerian banking whiz kids rocked in the 90s before the finance houses collapsed) and throughout the journey he keeps up a monotonous conversation with various vassals and minions. “Who ordered the report on the India outsourcing? Have the clients been properly billed?” he drawls. The person at the other end barely has time to answer before he barks “Yes but I want to be sure that it’s billed to the right cost centre, is that clear?” He clicks his mobile shut and dials another number and the conversations continue. Nothing stops him, when the train passes through a tunnel and he loses his connection, he immediately dials again. Just listening to him and the way the tone of voice changes, it’s obvious that some minions are doing better than others. He even smiles once while talking to one. I think to myself, is this what it feels like to be Master of the Universe….I tried to see if I could pick up some trade secrets, maybe some hot investment tips but no way. I’ve heard some strange conversations on trains in my time but that’s a whole other blog.

It’s been raining most of this week, payback for the few days of summer that we’ve had I guess. At the weekend looking at all my colourful summer shirts I realized that I’ve hardly worn them this year. Shorts I’ve worn maybe twice, if that. Oh well….

My rusty economics has been receiving quite a stretch this week, what with stock markets plunging worldwide and Soludo at the Nigerian Central Bank announcing that from next year, he’ll be slashing two zeros off the naira. Expert opinions on both developments abound are so many and varied as to be useless. I wonder what it feels like to live through a Crash. Did people wake up in 1929 one morning to discover the markets had crashed, or was it a more gradual process? Were there warning signs that the smart ones picked up on, and the majority ignored? How will we know when the next one comes? Answers on the back of a postcard please.

Saw an interesting comment in one of the papers about how the denizens of the free market in the world’s financial centres were quite happy to receive a massive injection of public funds to shore up the stumbling market. So government intervention isn’t so bad then.

I’m reading Let Me Eat Cake by Paul Arnott, a kind of account of his growing up focusing on his love for cakes and sweet things. It reminds me a bit of Nigel Slater’s Toast in its evocation of a different Britain but isn’t as good. Earlier, I finished another collection of short stories, this time by a Chinese author. Yi Yun Li’s A Thousand Years of Good Prayers which won the Guardian First Book Prize was great reading- capturing different facets of contemporary China in beautiful language and engaging plots.

What on earth is happening in Port Harcourt, our Garden City? I had e mails from friends there yesterday talking about bombardment by helicopter gun ships as the army tried to corral the gangs that have been terrorizing the city. Scary stuff it sounded like. Hope Jaja’s keeping safe- we need that magnum opus.

Zulu art by the Thames, tasty tomatoes, McEwan's Amsterdam and failed DNA tests

2007-08-13T14:43:00.000+01:00

The weather continues to be distinctly more summery although there was a brief shower yesterday. I was walking along the Thames at the time and as I was umbrella-less I sought refuge in the Oxo Tower Gallery attracted by the stunning display of hand embroidered colourful umbrellas in the window. In the event they were way beyond what I could afford with a price tag of over a hundred pounds, but I was able to feast my eyes on Best of African Design: 100 % Zulu, an exhibition of Zulu arts and crafts currently running at the gallery….

To supper with English friends on Sunday who served a distinctly summery meal of slices of ham, tomato salad and potato salad which reminded me of reading Enid Blyton’s descriptions of the Famous Five feasting on picnics of ham and tomato. I often wondered then if the tomatoes were different from our Nigerian tomatoes, based on the heavenly way in which they were described. Now I find that if anything Nigerian tomatoes are more flavourful than the often insipid specimens that one finds here.…

Having stalked Ian Mc Ewan’s On Chesil Beach at the library for a few weeks now without any luck, I thought I might as well start on another of his books. And so I took out Amsterdam which won the Booker Prize in 1998. I was not disappointed, it’s a slim book, easily finished but packed a powerful punch. It had most of what I like in a book- a mixture of beautiful prose, a strong storyline that keeps me guessing what happens next and moral discussions that I can engage with. If On Chesil Beach is anything like it, it’ll probably earn him his next Booker….

Another discovery this weekend was The Red Carpet, a collection of short stories set mostly in contemporary Bangalore, by Lavanya Sankaran. As she explored the clash of cultures between a younger more American-influenced generation and an older more English colonial generation, she could have been writing I felt about Nigeria. Ditto for her story of the relationship between a driver and his young, modern Madam and another story about the fraught relationship between a young girl and her nurse. It’s been a while since I read a collection of short stories but so far, this is proving well worth it.

Helping a friend move yesterday, I spied in one corner of his emptying drawers a white plastic band which I soon recognized as a relic of the Make Poverty History campaign. In 2005 you could not turn your head without seeing this on nearly every wrist. As we cleared out the debris I wondered when and why people stopped wearing them. I mean it’s not like poverty’s been made history or anything…..

I remember arguing with friends a few years ago about the stipulation in MKO Abiola’s will asking most of his children to undergo a DNA test before they could benefit from the will. My argument was that Abiola was wrong in visiting the sins of the mothers on the children. Why did he not insist on the DNA tests at the time of birth? He was happy to fund lavish naming ceremonies and bankroll expensive educations and to act as father only for him to issue the killer punch so late in the day. Now that 25 of his children have “failed” the DNA test, the Nigerian media is agog. But to all those sneering, I would ask them to save their sneers as there’s no telling what conducting similar tests in their families might yield…

Back on the blog, KLM rubbish, Booker longlist and TED Global talks

2007-08-09T13:23:00.000+01:00

I haven’t blogged in a while, not because there was nothing to blog about- what with Yaradua’s “independence” moves in Nigeria, foot and mouth scares on farms and chaos at Heathrow in the UK and the alternately infuriating and depressing news of TV star Funmi Iyanda’s brush with the “fashion police” in Lagos, there’s been more than plenty to blog about. But it seems that the sunny weather we’ve had in the last week or so has lulled me into a state of lethargy. That combined with work where lots of colleagues are on holiday making things pretty tight and the relentless march of friends, relations and friends of friends and relations of relations visiting from Nigeria has pushed blogging way down the list of priorities but anyways here I am

I read the increasingly vociferous complaints about how shoddy services at Heathrow were in the last few weeks but took it all with a pinch of salt until I had a reality check the other day. I was seeing off an uncle flying back to Nigeria. First I tried to check him in online so that we could avoid waking up at 4 am to catch the 8 50 flight. The KLM website wouldn’t let me and I finally rang up the contact telephone number only to be told that the online system was down and check in over the phone would be to Amsterdam only so he would have to retrieve his luggage in Amsterdam and check it in again to Lagos. And so we lost a potential extra hour of sleep. Then he made the mistake of not weighing his luggage and so as soon as I arrived I asked a member of BAA staff where the weighing scales were only to be sent off in completely the wrong direction. We finally arrived at KLM business class and the attitude of the staff at the check in was atrocious. The two women were engaged in an obviously-more-important-than-work chat and ignored us standing there for a while. When I finally, ostentatiously cleared my throat, one of them caught my eye and with an “I suppose I better deal with you since you’re not going away” look sauntered over to the desk and started up the computer. Just as she was about to start the check in process, she reminded us that this was the Business class check in not economy. My uncle replied that he was well aware of this, only to have her supervisor retort sharply “A lot of people make that mistake, so she was only checking” The aggression seemed so unnecessary at 6 30 in the morning and in what was supposed to be business class that I asked her to please mind her business and let us get on with checking in which obviously did not go down well…. Then there was all the drama about the security queue. You could carry a laptop as long as it was not in its case through the barrier but then it did not matter how many bags you had subsequently. So my uncle had to take his laptop out, squeeze the laptop case into his briefcase but once he was through the barriers it was fine to take it out and put the laptop back in its case- I struggled to see the rationale for this….All in all I finally saw why people were complaining- I mean I wasn’t travelling but by the time I waved him through the security barrier I was exhausted…

I’ve just finished Cuban writer Abilio Estevez’s Distant Palaces and it suddenly struck me why Havana had seemed so familiar when I visited it a few years ago. It was the echoes of the ancient quarters of Lagos Island that did it- the crumbling Italianate mansions, the strong sense of a syncretic Catholicism, the salt tinged organic breezes of Marina and the Malecon against a backdrop of decay and vibrant human living. Reading Estevez, his descriptions of Havana could have been set in Lagos Island….

On the subject of writing, Helon Habila has an interesting piece on what I had earlier suggested was an amazing year for Nigerian writers. I’m particularly interested at his classification of contemporary Nigerian writers... And the Booker Prize longlist is announced with some surprise at the brevity of it, sadly there are no Nigerians on it and although On Chesil Beach and Winnie and Wolf were on my to read list, the rest are all new to me ….

Finally, in continued pursuit of Nigerians off the beaten track, I’m pleased to read that Tayo Aluko, the Liverpool based singer and architect is performing at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival this week; and to see The Financial Times at the weekend reveals that the chef at the new fashionable London restaurant La Petite Maison is Nigerian born Raphael Duntoye

And finally Nigerian writer Chris Abani's talk at TED Global earlier this year is now available and also here . Also worth listening to are Ngozi Okonjo-Iweala, George Ayittey and William Kankwamba

Hypocrisy, Covenant University, fine-boy politics et cetera

2007-07-31T10:59:00.000+01:00

I have always been a firm believer in the aphorism that travel broadens the mind, and for me, coming to the UK has helped me see my country through fresh eyes. One area that astounds me is the hypocrisy that permeates many aspects of Nigerian society. I remember on one of my visits home, this cousin whom I am very close to accosted me and asked me which church I attended in London. When I told her, she said " I hope it is a Bible-believing church o!" and went on to regale me with her activities at her church in Lagos where she had recently been promoted to lead one of the departments. Later in the trip, she said she had a friend whom she would like me to meet. We went to lunch at a swanky Lagos restaurant with a gentleman of the sort that City People refers to as a "Lagos Big Boy". It was soon evident that this was no ordinary friend but indeed my cousin's married lover- indeed his wedding had been splashed all over the society magazines a few years before. As we left the restaurant, ensconced in the air conditioned jeep of her "friend", I wondered how she made sense of these disaparate strands of her life. It is this same hypocrisy that leads 419 barons and fraudulent public servants to give tithes from their ill-gotten gains and hold thanksgiving services without questioning the incongruity of their actions...

I was set to musing about this by the recent news that Covenant University, owned by one of the churches in Lagos , has instituted mandatory pregnancy tests and HIV tests for all final year students. Students who test positive for pregnancy are to forfeit their degrees, those who test positive for HIV will receive their degrees after they have "received their healing". Questions that immediately spring to mind include: What about the sexually active boys who cannot get pregnant? What about the various other ways that HIV can be contracted apart from sex? How come this healing has not been made available to the 4 million or so Nigerians estimated to be living with HIV? Would married students be exempt? Can all the lecturers and staff swear that they are living chaste, morally upright lives?

I'm glad that some action is being taken but the mind boggles at such irrational, ill thought out and draconian policies being made and implemented in of all places a university. One can then imagine the level of critical thought being imparted to these students.....

Jeremy touches on another aspect of this shadow chasing favoured by my people in his post on the Nigerian police and skimpily dressed Lagos women...

Meanwhile in London, David Cameron struggles as his place in the polls slip further and further down. The Brown bounce is to account partly for this but "Call Me Dave" did himself no favours jetting off to Rwanda to build schools while his constituency was awash in floods and losing the bye election in Ealing to Labour after imposing a fine-boy Asian businessman candidate who was revealed had been hobnobbing with Blair only weeks before joining the Conservatives. Funnily enough Brown is slowly appearing more statesmanlike and now appears to show up Cameron's fine-boy tactics as just that- all show and no action, no meat to his policies. The Tory traditionalists are getting restive but Dave has vowed to stay the course and avoid a lurch to the right. I think part of his problem is that he is still trying to be all things to all men and women, and that can only take you so far.....

In London we have an interesting mayoral contest coming up with the faux-shambolic Boris Johnson, the Old Etonian and former President of the Oxford Union who likes to pretend that he is really just a bumbling, harmless upper class toff throwing his hat into the ring to run against Ken Livingstone. In many ways I suspect it will also turn out as another fine-boy (albeit with jokes added) versus substance contest. As Labour was quick to make clear- can you imagine Boris as mayor after the 7th of July bombings?

To Spitalfields last weekend and a magnificent steak dinner at Hawksmoor which prides itself on serving the best meat in London. The ribeye was superb, succulent and run through with fat and the chips were juicy and crisp on the outside. While the Caesar salad was a bit on the watery side, the delicious cocktails more than made up for the deficiency. The Spitalfields area is an interesting mix - from bearded Bangladeshi elders to funky Brit artists, punks, Goths and pinstriped City boys, the streets are alive with something inexpressibly exciting...

Marooned in Bloomsbury on Sunday, I found myself on the doorstep of the London Review of Books bookshop. It's fantastic- packed with books that you wouldn't ordinarily see in Waterstone's or any of the bigger chains. I bought Chris Abani's The Virgin of Flames which means that I now have four new books by Nigerian authors to read on my forthcoming holiday. Already on the to read pile are Helen Oyeyemi's The Opposite House, Biyi Bandele's Burma Boy and Segun Afolabi's Goodbye Lucille. Who says it isn't a great time for Nigerian literature? And while they may all be based abroad, surely greater attention to Nigerian literature can only benefit all- homebased and international.

Speaking of which I came across the website of the iconoclastic, irreverent poet Lola Shoneyin, who apparently has a novel coming soon. There's an excerpt on the website. Thanks Molara of Wordsbody for the heads up

Deceptions, training away bad things and finally a cabinet

2007-07-27T17:18:00.000+01:00

It is, it appears a week in which things are not quite what they seem. There is a furore about the BBC and other UK broadcasters “duping” their viewers by asking them to call in to win prizes when the winner had already been decided, or reading out the name of a member of production staff as the winner of a phone-in competition when technical difficulties prevented calls from coming through. There has been much hand-wringing and apologies from the Beeb, especially coming after it was revealed that footage it had shown of the queen storming out of a photo session had been manipulated. Through it all, I couldn’t help thinking- “Come on people, it’s television, not real life- what do you expect?”

Trust the Director of the BBC he’s ordered the entire staff of the corporation to attend training on trust and integrity, which hasn’t gone down well with those members of staff who feel that they weren’t implicated and so shouldn’t have to go through it all.

Personally I’m amused at this belief in training- x makes an anti-Semitic remark; he holds meetings with members of the Jewish community and undergoes training in cultural diversity. Ditto for the racist and homophobic. If these lessons are so life-changing, shouldn’t we all be going on them beforehand and not just when the s**t has hit the ceiling (if you’ll pardon my French) Perhaps next time someone commits a crime, instead of punishing them we can send them to murder/stealing or fraud charm school instead...

Finally, Uncle Yardie (I refused to call OBJ Baba, but I don’t mind calling Yardie Uncle) has sworn in his cabinet. I like that Mrs Diezaeni Alison Madueke is in charge of Transport. With her working experience as a very senior executive in Shell and a fairly comfortable background, she should be ready to contribute and not to chop. Professor Adenike Grange at the Health Ministry is another square peg in a square hole. I reserve my comments on Ojo Maduekwe in Foreign Affairs and Shamsudeen Usman in Finance. Yardie has decided to hold on to the energy portfolio with no less than 3 junior ministers to support him. Ha, this oil sweet o!

At the moment I’m reading Temptations of the West: How to be Modern in Pakistan and India by Pankaj Mishra. It’s an interesting mix of memoir, travelogue, philosophical rambling and history with illuminating insights into for instance, the situation in Kashmir

Tagged

2007-07-23T13:36:00.000+01:00

Tagged by My talking Beginnings. I initially tried to wriggle out but seeing as the summer's wet and windy and there are floods in some places and we just had a power outage, I'll give it a go. Answers to my conundrums are welcome:

7 things you do not know about me:

I often wonder what the polite way of getting out chewed biscuit or groundnut paste from between your far upper teeth and your inner cheek is without resorting to a surreptitious finger

I also wonder what the correct English etiquette for guys peeing at a row of urinals is- is it permisible to keep chatting as if you were at any social function, or do you acknowledge each other with a smile and face the business at hand

I love talking to people and speaking publicly but I also often enjoy my own company and in some ways could be described as an introvert

I read whenever I can- while I am brushing my teeth, sitting on the loo, ironing, sometimes even when I am walking on the road

I know far more about the English royal family (past and present) than is healthy, wise or edifying

When I was nine, I had to perform a traditional coming-of-age ritual and I lay awake for days beforehand. In the end, as with most things that I have agonized over, it was fine

Most of the time I am very happy and contented, occasionally I am seized with a deep despair for humanity and think that everything is pointless

A tale of two Londons, thieving Nigerian governors and Nollywood in London

2007-07-19T17:48:00.001+01:00

I went to visit a friend at Woolwich last weekend. I took the tube to North Greenwich station where the ill-fated Millennium Dome now enjoying a second lease of life rebranded as the O2 lives. From there I was to catch a bus to my friend's flat. On getting on the bus I was struck by the fact that there were only a handful of white faces in the seething mass that waited to board the bus. On coming closer to the few white people on the bus, it became obvious that they were eastern European- new migrants from the newly expanded EU. There was a single mother and child speaking in the characteristic Sarf London accent and as they huddled by the busstop, the mum pulling on her fag, I began to be more appreciative of what it must feel like for the people born and bred in the area to see this influx of immigrants seemingly swamping their country. I'm sure they think it's all right for David Cameron and Tony Blair and Gordon Brown and all the politicians to talk glibly of integration and tolerance. The streets and buses of the salubrious parts of Kensington and Chelsea and Westminster and Islington where they live haven't changed that dramatically. Now I understand what people like Margaret Hodge and co were struggling in their ham-fisted ways to say. I tried to think of a similar analogy- say walking into an area in say Abuja and finding myself the minority black person among many white people, and I thought, well that has happened to me in some exclusive clubs. The difference of course is the poverty and powerlessness in the current situation. While good old fashioned prejudice no doubt plays a part in some of the complaints, I wonder how many British MPs have been on buses like the one I was on.... Methinks MPs on both sides of the immigration debate need to hop on that bus 472 for some fresh insights...

I had already applauded Jacqui Smith, the new Home Secretary on her measured response to the latest round of terror plots. This morning I wake to a media furore as she admits having smoked cannabis at university 25 years ago. I'd earlier blogged about the hypocrisy surrounding the media and politicians and cannabis in the UK and so applauded her honesty, but a friend pointed out that a large proportion of older people in Britain are still very conservative and will be horrified even if she qualified her admission with the acknowledgement that it was illegal and she was wrong to have smoked it.... I think it was frank and honest, but we'll see...

Back home in Nigeria, ex- governor Turaki shed tears as he was remanded in prison as he faces charges of corruption. His erstwhile colleague, the thuggish Orji Uzor Kalu was more resolute, comparing himself to Mandela and Obasanjo who had both risen from prison to higher things. The cheek of him- as if Mandela was imprisoned for stealing money. Meanwhile my debate with friends in Nigeria continues over whether they are being witchhunted for their opposition to Obasanjo. Granted, there are many others who ought to be facing the music- James Ibori and Peter Odili who resource-controlled their way to billions for instance. Or even Obasanjo himself with his private university and multiply enlarging farm businesses. But we have to start somewhere and none of the accused has vociferously denied the charges. Instead we hear things like " The money was given to Obasanjo for the PDP campaign or for the third term bid". If this is the case, they must say so and show the evidence.

I am reading The Shackled Continent: Africa's Past Present and Future by the erstwhile Africa correspondent of The Economist, Robert Guest at the moment. It's fairly well-written and hopeful but is shot through by his inexorable belief that the market can cure everything that ails Africa. He makes valid points about reducing the cots of doing business in Africa but appears to want to divorce morality completely from economics, arguing for instance that the fact that people in Africa are willing to do jobs which misguided activists in the West see as exploitative, is purely a matter of choice. If there were better alternatives, then the exploitative Western companies would find it impossible to recruit.Applying that analogy to, for instance, the use of children as chimney sweeps in Victorian England would be problematic to say the least.

Meanwhile Yaradua continues to fiddle and diddle with his ministerial list. I was sad to see Mrs Diezaeni Allison-Madueke's name disappear from the list as she was one of the few I had high hopes of. Well I promised to hold my fire, and give Yardy a chance, so here I go biting my tongue. I must confess it's getting more and more difficult...

Meanwhile, the British Film Institute has some Nollywood related events coming up in London soon- Amaka Igwe and Tunde Kelani feature...

Little Britain Live

2007-07-13T12:07:00.000+01:00

Two 16 year old British girls are caught trying to smuggle drugs out of Accra. One of them is quoted below: (Thanks to Chxta for the link)

'It was basically like a set-up. They didn't tell us nothing, we didn't think nothing, because, basically, we are innocent. We don't know nothing about this drugs and stuff. We don't know nothing.'

If you've ever watched Little Britain's Vicky Pollard then you know where I'm coming from on this one

On marriage, family and compromise

2007-07-12T16:46:00.000+01:00

The word on everyone’s lips in London this week is marriage. The Conservatives are going to change the tax system in order to give every married couple with children what amounts to twenty pounds a week in order to encourage people to get married and stay married. They are incensed that the current system seems to privilege single parents over married couples. Listening to the debate swirling- and Gordon Brown made quite a good fist of it, using the examples of widows or women abandoned by their husbands as examples; I wondered why it had to be one or the other. Can we not just work to ensure that every child in the UK gets the support they need from the state whether they come from single, double, triple, quadruple or zero parent families? I suppose that’s me seeking the middle ground again….

On the subject of compromise, I’ve often wondered if Hillary and Obama could run on the same ticket- that would surely be an unbeatable combination and ensure a Democrat in the White House in 2008….is it too far fetched a proposition?

Still on the subject of the middle ground, Nigerians had brash, vulgar Obasanjo as President for 8 years and we all vilified him for his bull-in-a china shop, talk before you think ways; now we seem to have a more thoughtful, measured president in Yar’adua and we are already dubbing him GO SLOW UMORU…a beg my brothers and sisters, can we hold fire a while? I hope I do not eventually have to eat my words…

It’s summer and the avalanche of friends and relatives from Nigeria and the US begins- my phone is constantly ringing- an aunt there, an old classmate here, some cousins elsewhere. I can see that the next few weeks will be very busy- what with picking people from Heathrow and trying to follow badly given directions all over in London in the spirit of family and friendship….

On the subject of family, I had a call from a friend in Nigeria last week. I'd heard that his father had died a few week before but had struggled with whether to call or not knowing that their relationship was virtually non-existent- him having more or less abandoned my friend, his siblings and their mother many many years ago. When my friend called last week, he was indignant " You no hear say my Papa die? Na wa for you O! Which kind friend you be?" I apologized and promised to send a little something to help with the funeral expenses as I was obviously not going to be able to attend the funeral. Apparently the siblings are all rallying round to give him a "befitting" burial. I bit my tongue to stop myself from asking my friend why he was putting himself to all that trouble after everything the man had put them through. But I refrained. I guess the Nigerian position is that your father is your father but I'm afraid I struggled in this case....

I’m reading Welcome to Everytown: A Journey into the English Mind, which is philosopher Julian Baggini’s attempt to identify a national English philosophy. He does this by going to live in Rotherham, identified by a market survey company as most typical of the national population profile. I’m enjoying it even if I quibble with some of his conclusions….

On Sunday I was able to pick up Helen Oyeyemi’s The Opposite House and a signed copy of Biyi Bandele’s Burma Boy at the South Bank Centre even though I missed the reading proper- but that’s a whole other story. I loved Biyi’s The Street which captured the sights and sounds (apologies to CNN) of Brixton and am looking forward to getting my teeth into his fictionalized account of a Nigerian soldier serving in Burma...

Finally, it was good to see Monica Arac de Nyeko win the Caine Prize. I met her briefly once a few years ago and there was something about her quietly unpretentious, sedate but mischievious ways that I liked. The humour in her "brave" story The Jambula Tree about the relationship between two young girls in Uganda underlines that. That said, mark my words, we'll be hearing more from the Nigerians on the list- Uwem Akpan, Ada Udechukwu and EC Osondu

Summer is overrated, the high cost of bathroom slippers, recent reading etc

2007-07-07T13:54:00.000+01:00

Today for the first time in a long while, the sun is out and it actually feels like it’s summer. There’s a slight chill in the air and I’m beginning to think that this is the kind of summer day I like. Ever since I developed hay fever three summers after arriving in the UK, I have become more sceptical about the supposed benefits of summer. I suspect that it’s partly because the UK isn’t really geared up for hot weather and so I look back on the last few summers of stickiness and itchy eyes and multiple sneezes and think, is summer really all that? Nevertheless, it’s summer and the sun appears to have finally driven the rain that has disrupted everything from Wimbledon to the national mood away and so tomorrow I’m off to my first summer party of the year. Today for the first time I’m wearing a short sleeved shirt and not carrying a jumper or light coat. Maybe tomorrow I’ll even dare shorts and flip-flops (otherwise known as bathroom slippers to us Naija folk), while I sip on my Clarityn and Beconase cocktails.

I marvel at the prices the flip-flops command here, bathroom slippers that were two-for-penny in Naija are now branded Havaianas because they have one small Brazilian flag on the strap and then sold for like twenty pounds…madness. Maybe I should start importing bathroom slippers from Lagos- just imagine the mark-up…

I’m reading Isolarion: A Different Oxford Journey at the moment which is a dream-like evocative reflection on journeys and pilgrimages anchored in the author’s reflections travelling around East Oxford where he lives. Occasionally his tone grates- too much of the middle class liberal but I’ve enjoyed it…

Something else I’ve enjoyed is Marina Lewyczka’s follow-up to her hilarious A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian which I blogged about here. It’s called Two Caravans and is about migrant farm workers in the UK. It’s serious and poignant and funny in turns and the phrase “I would like to make possibility with you” all last week humming in my mind all last week and reducing me to laughter at inappropriate moments…

On the subject of laughter, Salmon Fishing in the Yemen is a hilarious book that captured the language of Blairite New Labour-speak in a beautiful way. I resisted reading it somewhat put off the title and by the media blitz that heralded its publication but ended up enjoying it.

I’ve also enjoyed a sprawling novel set in contemporary India which was a pain to lug around but ultimately worth it. The Peacock Throne is by Sujit Saraf, an Indian physicist at NASA and is a hefty book which captures numerous facets of the way NGOs operate in India and how politics is played. Fascinating insights, if somewhat lacking a certain “spice”

The horrific kidnapping of three year old Margaret Hill in the Niger Delta continues to puzzle many. The militants in the Niger Delta seem to have hit a new low on this one. Meanwhile the oil price soared to 76 dollars a barrel partly fuelled by the instability in the Delta. Do the boys in the Delta realize that their actions are actually filling the pockets of the “oppressors”?

Funny how Yaradua and Brown have both been faced by violence in their first few weeks in office. They both seem to be handling it well...so far.

On the tube going to visit friends this morning, a voice came across the tannoy "Ladeess and gentumen, dere ah minor delays on di District and Sarcul line" And I thought "Ah that's my sister"

A random London meeting, the roots of terror & waiting for Yaradua

2007-07-05T10:57:00.000+01:00

Walking to the tube station this morning, my nose half-buried in a book, I notice a woman sitting in a car parked by the station. “Are you a locksmith?” I believe I hear her ask and I inwardly roll my eyes. Locksmith, moi? Is it ‘cause I’s black?

But no she is asking “Are you at Oxford? “, her question prompted by my choice of reading material, James Attlee’s Isolarion, a book about the other Oxford, away from the dreaming spires, on the Cowley road where Arab butchers jostle cheek by jowl with Ghanaian fishmongers and Brazilian craft shops. Apparently she has just bought the book for her son who used to live in that area of Oxford. She has recognized it by the distinctive cover. She asks if I am enjoying the book and I admit that I am. We chat a little bit more and then, waving goodbye to her, I enter the tube station, marvelling at another random London morning experience….

With the recent failed terror attacks in the UK, the talking head pundits are out in force- in the newspapers, the television and on the radio. Everyone peddles their own peculiar brand of analyses, trying to explain why educated professionals would engage in terror. The focus is now on the NHS and foreign health professionals who work in it. Two summers ago, it was on disaffected young British Muslims living in inner-city areas in the UK. The hoary old debate about what fuels the terrorists continues- on one side those who argue, it’s all about Islam, stupid. On the other, those who scream that it’s all about Iraq and the government’s foreign policy. Both sides refuse to see any merit in the other side’s argument. Yet the answer seems obvious to me- it’s a combination of both. You can see how a “moderate” could be tempted to a greater fundamentalism and then violence by current global issues and injustices. You can also see that there are fundamentalists who will not be appeased, no matter what foreign policy is adopted. Like all things the truth lies somewhere in the middle but our politicians and pundits prefer a polarized debate….

Gordon Brown managed to pull off the image of freshness with his cabinet reshuffle. I think the choice of a woman Home Secretary is particularly inspired, coming after the bully boy tactics of John Reid, David Blunkett and co…Not that Jacqui Smith is a pushover judging from her previous role as Chief Whip…The measured response to the attempted terror was positive although somewhat marred by Brown’s last-ditch playing to the gallery pledge to bring in new systems of vetting for foreigners working in the NHS. What can new vetting systems do? Will he do a thorough criminal and security check on every single nurse and doctor of foreign extraction working in the NHS? Will he include the second generation? Remember that overseas doctors and nurses are estimated to constitute some 30-40 per cent of the NHS workforce…

Meanwhile in Nigeria, Yar’adua finally sends his list of ministers to the Senate. It’s still secret- not sure why- but the names being bandied about do not inspire confidence. In many ways it is beginning to look like Obasanjo’s first cabinet- full of yesterday’s men and women, political jobbers and others of doubtful provenance, but I’ll hold my fire till the real list emerges….One cheering point might be that the new president seems intent on running a fairly tight ship…there are “only” 35 names on the list- here’s hoping he doesn’t appoint a slew of Special Advisers, Senior Special Assistants, Personal Assistants and so forth as Obasanjo did in his first term..

Meanwhile in response (I assume) to my previous post on The World is Flat, I'm sent this link.

A whistlestop tour after a fashion

2007-07-02T16:21:00.000+01:00

Where to begin- perhaps with an apology to the readers who have dropped by and left in disgust at my tardiness in updating. I must say that this blog business is hard work especially combined with a fulltime job and extracurricular activities. Maybe I should explore blogging as a fulltime job. Perhaps as a starting point it would be useful to know how many of you would pay to read the musings of a naijaman…..

The past few weeks have seen me in the English Riviera (I bet you didn’t know there was one) staying in a wedding cake-like seaside hotel, with a view of the sea and a promenade and elderly residents straight out of an Agatha Christie novel. At times it smelt and seemed like the last time the hotel had had a refurbish was way back in the days of Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot. Unsurprisingly, there were few, how do I put this delicately, ahem, faces of colour along the seafront but I did not feel unwelcome at all….More challenging was the battle to find a cash machine that worked. In my haste fleeing London I had neglected to extract enough loose cash and found myself wandering the streets of an English seaside town searching for a functioning cash machine. In the end I had to get cash from the hotel reception, although thankfully I did not have to write a cheque- they did accept cards….

One afternoon, as we sit on the terrace of our hotel on the English Riviera, having lunch, my colleague realizes he needs some information from his office in Cambridge. Not having a Blackberry, he rings the office. He struggles to get through and when he finally does, there is no-one to give him the information. He knows that it is in his email box and so he rings his brother in India and in a few minutes, giving instructions over the phone, his brother accesses his email account and extracts the relevant information from his e mail box. Engrossed as I am in reading Thomas Friedman’s The World is Flat at the time, I can’t help but marvel at the fact that it was easier to get information from India than from within the UK. The internet and the ubiquity of mobile phones have made this possible…. Friedman’s book was good reading except for the fact that his flat world seemed to exclude Africa most of the time and he did not really address this gap….

So while I was away, Tony Blair bid us farewell, leaving tears, sniffles and sniggers in his wake; Umaru Yaradua told us he owned 843 million naira, leaving Nigerians torn between applauding his transparency and querying where a former university lecturer, albeit one from a wealthy family had amassed such wealth….we in England saw the last of cigarettes in public places as the ban came into force yesterday, even as we battled the new threat of terror attacks in Britain…

On the smoking ban- a word of warning for the English. A Scottish colleague tells me how stinky pubs and bars in Scotland became after the ban on smoking in pubs came into effect there last year. Apparently, the stench of cigarette smoke was soon replaced by the stench of unwashed sofas and carpets and unwashed bodies. Most publicans apparently had to invest in air fresheners….

In other news Chimamanda Adichie was short listed for yet another award, the James Tait Black and the current edition of Eclectica features writing from two Nigerians Molara Wood of Wordsbody and Ike Anya of Nigeria Health Watch . Also of interest is this
http://www.african-writing.com/ and this

Consensus governments, recent reading ,the London Lit Fest & praying for Ghana

2007-06-21T17:43:00.000+01:00

On the road again this time travelling mostly by train through this green and pleasant land. This morning on the news, we hear that Gordon Brown’s sneaky attempt to co-opt Paddy Ashdown, a leading Liberal Democrat into his government has come unstuck. It leaves Mr Brown with a bit of egg on his face. I’m sure he did not want this made public and was looking to surprise us all with a rainbow cabinet including Liberal Democrats as the start of his premiership. It appears that this indeed is the season of consensus governments- in France; Sarkozy has gathered a cabinet from different political and ethnic viewpoints in an attempt to appear diplomatic and statesmanlike. In Nigeria, Yar’adua tries the same- reaching out to the opposition. I do wish that everyone gives him a chance, including the trade unions. I’m all for diplomacy myself and consensus building, perhaps something to do with being a middle child…..

There seems to be no consensus in the Agent Provocateur lingerie family. The company founded by the iconoclastic designer Vivienne Westwood’s son Joseph Corre and his partner Serena Rees woke on Saturday to the news that both founders had earned MBEs in the Queen’s birthday honours. However while Corre turns his down saying that no honour can flow from a dishonourable Blair government, his partner Rees is quite happy to accept….

On the subject of honours; a friend was quite upset at the weekend to hear that Salman Rushdie had been knighted. “Is this the same Rushdie of The Empire Writes Back? How could he? ” she queried. I argued that she had not quite understood the love-hate relationship that Rushdie has with the Establishment, and that besides recent reports of his high living in New York suggest that he is not averse to the finer things of life, knighthoods included….

In the course of my travels I have read several interesting books and I will try and blog about them as time permits. I enjoyed Marisha Pessl’s hefty tome Special Topics in Calamity Physics which had echoes of Donna Tartt’s The Secret History for me. Unfortunately many of the literary allusions were lost on me….

On the non-fiction side I enjoyed China Shakes the World: The Rise of a Hungry Nation- an interesting book on China which illuminates much of the current hype/hysteria around the rise of China. It is more measured and less breathless and actively weighs the pros and cons and the reality of the Chinese rise to world dominance. It’s written by James Kynge of The Economist and I highly recommend it… Isee it has a different title for the US market-China Shakes the World: A Titan's Rise and Troubled Future -- And the Challenge for America

I also enjoyed The Book of Salt by Monique Truong. I’m surprised I hadn’t heard about it before seeing how much I enjoyed it. It was published in 2004 and is a fictional account of the life of the Vietnamese cook employed by Gertrude Stein and Alice B Toklas…

Finally there is news of the first ever London Literary Festival at the South Bank Centre featuring among others our own WS, Biyi Bandele, Helon Habila and Helen Oyeyemi among others. I hope the tickets don’t sell out before I can book…

And of course there is the news that commercial quantities of black gold have been found in neighbouring Ghana- may the Good Lord help them...

First Tanzania musings, hailing the CAs and a young reader

2007-06-18T17:10:00.000+01:00

Tanzania is a beautiful country- the lush greenness was just as I imagined and I felt at home, my hay fever disappearing instantly:-). I did begin to understand though why other Africans are often exasperated with Nigeria because I could sense and see that the poverty there was different from Nigeria. With our oil wealth and vibrant population, we could be so much more.

Which isn't to say that Nigeria doesn't have poverty but in Tanzania I began to see what Nigeria might have been like without the oil. The people seemed a lot more humble which had its good sides and its bad sides. On one hand it meant that when I approached the immigrations officer issuing my visa to tell him that I had a connecting flight to catch and could he please expedite the process, he did so with a smile, without asking for kola and without reminding me that everyone else had important places to get to as I suspect a Nigerian counterpart would have. On the other hand, there were times I wished the Tanzanians would exhibit a bit more spark, more joie de vivre, more noise like my Naija brothers and sisters.....as you can see, there's no pleasing me....

The last fortnight must be the most amazing for Nigerian literature in a while- with honours for the two CAs- Chinua Achebe and Chimamanda Adichie, the future is bright. BTW, they are both featured in the latest Bono edited "Africa" Vanity Fair. Chris Abani is another up and coming CA- looks like those are the initials to have in the literary world...

This morning walking to the train station, I see a young mother driving past. In the back seat his nose buried in a book is her young son barely four, on his way to school. For some reason he remindes me of a younger self, grabbing every opportunity to stick my nose in a book. Will he still do that in twenty years I wonder or will he have become a leather briefcase toting financier with his face buried in the pinkness of the financial news?

Back on the blog, almost...

2007-06-12T12:12:00.001+01:00

How to re-engage when your world has been rocked? Spent the last few weeks travelling to Dubai and then Tanzania- remember the visa sagaI blogged about earlier? Well they finally let me in.

There are insights too many to name or mention. I will need to digest and savour them before I can blog meaningfully.

One night sitting in the bar of our hotel talking to some incredibly brilliant and talented people, sipping Konyagi and tonic (Konyagi is the Tanzanian brewed spirit- gin like in flavour but much milder), we hardly notice as the hands of the clock go right round and when we look up it is 4 am and the hotel staff are starting to set the tables up for breakfast. What to do? Keep talking and then order a slug of strong black coffee and keep going. A magical time is had by all.

The next day a colleague marvels that in spite of the fact that Tanzania is one of the world's coffee exporters, properly brewed coffee is hard to come by. Instead we are served little boxes of instant coffee. I frankly do not mind, not being a coffee aficionado. Growing up on Nigerian Nescafe, I do not have the kind of high standards that led an Italian classmate to once spew out a mouthful of Starbucks coffee and then head for the nearest phone booth to ring Mamma in Italy, asking her to send her coffee machine ASAP to London.

Ah, Chimamanda! What more can I say that hasn't been said already and more eloquently? Read the interviews
http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article1908943.ece

http://books.guardian.co.uk/orange2007/story/0,,2098238,00.html?gusrc=rss&feed=10 and leap as I did for sheer joy

Back in the UK I see Big Brother immersed in another row over the use of the N-word- what's that all about? I wonder

The day I arrive back in London, I go with a friend to the new Whole Foods shop on Kensington High Street. The food is piled high in glimmering heaps- twenty-something different kinds of peanut butter alone. After the austerity of Tanzania, it all seems faintly obscene

In transit

2007-06-02T16:05:00.000+01:00

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Stockholm, Anam, Tyler& Oyeyemi, repeating mistakes, Prince Harry's expensive life & biting back an acerbic response

2007-05-17T16:39:00.000+01:00

Stockholm was surprisingly watery. The images in my head of Scandinavia were of ice and snow and craggy mountains. Imagine my surprise then on emerging from the train station in the city centre on to paved streets with a bridge in the distance. I was to cross many bridges- the Swedish capital is an archipelago- a collection of small islands. Funny how I remembered that word from primary school geography. As the sun blazed overhead and the room reeked with the sweat of young children blended with the scent of sharpened pencils, our teacher Mr A wrote in coloured chalk on the blackboard various geographical definitions with illustrations to match- island, a body of land surrounded by water; lake, a body of water surrounded by land. Peninsula, a finger of land extending into the sea. These terms would re emerge at term end with blanks for us to fill in….

I liked the Swedish food- plenty of fish- strange for one who did not start eating fish until I was well into my teens. No, that’s not strictly true. I was made to eat fish as a child, my mother had no time for children’s food fads- you ate what was on your plate, like it or lump it. Speaking of lumps I remember what seemed like hours spent willing the lumpy garri on my plate to disappear, but that’s another story. Ah yes, fish. I could not name all the various ways in which the Swedes served their fish but I enjoyed them all, especially the way they were served with cloudberries and lingonberries (new to me as well), providing a tart, sweet accompaniment to the fish…and hurray there were no bones…

Stockholm was pleasantly warm and there was so much to do in the free time I had away from work there. Managed to tour the old town with its cobbled stone pathways and old houses echoing Siena and other ancient Italian towns. Pausing outside the Nobel Museum I imagined Wole Soyinka and his Nigerian contingent resplendent in agbadas crossing the bridge from the Grand Hotel to the venue of the award ceremonies in the wintry sunlight…

Even though there weren't that many other black people around, I didn't feel people were surprised or staring and the immigration officer was pleasant...

Perhaps making up for the pleasantly sunny weather, I could not help popping in to the Ice Bar, a bar carved out from ice in a hotel near the train station. You had to don an aluminium cape to keep you warm before gaining entrance - of course I had an Absolut...

Virtually everyone in Stockholm spoke English which had its downside. I left without picking up a single word of Swedish- not even Good Morning. Usually I pick up the local greetings from the hotel staff wherever I go, but walking along the corridors in Stockholm, bumping into a maid or waiter or waitress, they all threw out a cheery “Good morning” …..

Still on the ubiquity of the English language, we went on a tour of a nineteenth century house, billed as the first in Stockholm to be built with electricity and running water and opted to go on the English language tour. It turned out that my colleagues and I were actually the only people who spoke English on the tour- the majority were mostly French, German, Italian or Spanish who had chosen to go on the English tour as the only other tour available was in Swedish….

Tried to use the airport and flight time to catch up on my reading. Started and finished Tahmima Anam’s A Golden Age set in Bangladesh during the war after it broke away from Pakistan. In many ways I was reminded of Half of a Yellow Sun, in the way that ordinary people living ordinary lives suddenly find themselves thrust into a war. It’s on a much smaller scale though and at times I wished that Ms Anam had been as ambitious as Ms Adichie and embarked on a larger, more epic tale. I enjoyed it though, especially after the war actually started which is where the power of the story comes to the fore. Like Adichie, Anam was inspired by stories told by her family members who lived through the war….

Also finished Anne Tyler’s Digging To America which has been shortlisted for the Orange Prize. I had always passed over her books in the mistaken belief that they were romance novels. I had been meaning to read this one though because I was interested in the story- two American families adopt Korean infants on the same day- one family is typically white and All-American and the other is a second generation immigrant Iranian-American family. Tyler deftly explored the issues of immigration, cultural clash and stereotypes with a humorous but insightful touch. Her depiction of the Iranian family and their perception of the “Americans” touched a chord with my experiences of British Nigerians as well…..

And while I was away, Tony Blair finally announced his leaving date, prompting broad grins from Gordon Brown. Today all the talk is about Prince Harry not going to Iraq after all. I can see why the decision was made not to send him, but can’t help wondering why it was announced that he was going in the first place….On the radio this morning, lots of indignant people calling in saying “Is his life worth more than those other soldiers dying in Iraq?” I couldn’t help thinking, sad and unpalatable as it may sound, the answer is yes. Not necessarily worth more to their families, but certainly worth more to the British nation at least for as long as Britain continues to run a monarchy….

In Nigeria I see Yar’adua is inundated by people jostling for office. There are immediate echoes from 1999 when Obasanjo was elected when he ended up filling his cabinet with political jobbers who could not achieve much. It wasn’t till his second term that he managed to bring in some technocrats. I hope Yar’adua will be strong enough to withstand the pressure…Meanwhile Obasanjo continues last minute manoeuvring- selling off oil blocks to his cronies, trying to limit pay in the petroleum corporation and communications commission, forgetting that one of his own first acts in 1999 was to revoke many such last minute decisions that the outgoing Abubakar administration had made. Why do human beings learn so little from history?

Meanwhile Helen Oyeyemi grabs a place in the list of 25 literary lions of the future selected by Waterstone’s, the booksellers to mark their 25th anniversary http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article1801013.ece

And is interviewed by the Times here

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article1762963.ece

Finally seeing as I've been travelling a lot these past few weeks, I've had to answer the inevitable "Did you pack your bags yourself Sir" "Could anyone hae interfered with your luggage" "Did anyone give you anything to carry?" before checking in. On the umpteenth time, I felt like saying "Yes, one heavily bearded man called Mohammed whom I met for the first time just outside the terminal asked me to take a parcel to his uncle in Stockholm" but I bit back the retort remembering just in time that airline staff don't necessarily have a sense of humour....

And Waffarian and Laspapi are cooking up a Naija Bloggers anthology- details here http://laspapi.blogspot.com/

Sex in high places, the exit of Blair and OBJ & reading Human Cargo

2007-05-02T12:56:00.000+01:00

Is it something to do with the time of year- spring turning into summer? Sex seems to be in the air and rocking the thrones of power- from Washington DC where the ongoing saga of Paul Wolfowitz’ role in the redeployment of his partner/girlfriend/lover/fiancée (there doesn’t seem to be consensus on what the precise relationship is) to London where the diminutive but powerful head of BP, Lord Browne yesterday resigned having lied to the court about how he had met his erstwhile male lover/partner and back to Washington where Condoleezza Rice’s No 2, Randall Tobias resigned following allegations that he had used an escort service whose madam is currently on trial and waving a dossier of clients that has all Washington apparently shivering in its boots. Does all this stuff really matter? It’s amazing to think that the fate of millions of people potentially rests on who is sleeping/slept with/had a massage with whom. But I suppose it was ever thus, throughout human history, all over the world, powerful men (they have been mostly men) have been laid low by love/lust/loneliness/a desire for massage- call it what you will….

Nigeria’s own Mr EFCC, Nuhu Ribadu joins the fray on Mr Wolfowitz’ side from Abuja in this New York Times article

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/05/01/opinion/01ribadu.html?_r=1&oref=slogin

Doesn't he have a wee conflict of interest seeing as Wolfowitz just appointed his pal Obi as Vice President?

Shouldn’t he perhaps also be just as interested in the travels of Dr Iyabo-Obasanjo-Bello, our Senate President in the making
http://www.saharareporters.com/www/photonews/detail/?id=42

or is he keeping his powder dry?

Speaking of powder dry, I understand that a downpour of rain dampened the ardour of would be protesters at the May Day rally in Lagos yesterday. My mother says that they all have now entered the position of “real siddon look”, the phrase immortalized by the late lamented Bola Ige, Obasanjo’s attorney general who was murdered in gruesome circumstances in 2001 and whose killers have still not been found- a little task for Obasanjo in his retirement maybe?

Speaking of retirement, May sees the departure of Tony Blair and Obasanjo, thankfully. My report card on both is similar- fair but could have done so much better – we’ll see what their successors will come up with. Both parties have strung out their adieus for as long as they can; and Blair’s hoping that by finally announcing that he will make a major announcement next week (talk about stringing it out) that he will take the sting out of the local elections this week. Fat chance. It’ll be interesting to see what kind of support the Scottish Nationalist party with their independence for Scotland agenda will get…

I’m just finishing Human Cargo, by Caroline Moorhead- an account of her travels, interviewing refugees all over the world. It’s a harrowing read but highly recommended in this our “globalized” world…

Ms Moss or elections, Naij premiere, Caine Prize shortlist etc

2007-04-30T16:07:00.000+01:00

A fairly uneventful weekend, the sun’s out again and even though it is still April, it’s beginning to feel as if summer is here. Attended my first garden lunch, I expect there’ll be barbecue invitations going out soon as Londoners with gardens rush to justify the extra premium they paid for houses with gardens by throwing the obligatory round of summer barbecues and garden parties.

Everywhere you turn there seems to be news about Kate Moss’s collection which she has designed for the high street chain, TopShop. With local council elections in many parts of England and the devolved nations of Scotland and Wales due in a few days, it’s amazing that the airwaves and media here are filled with news of Ms Moss’s forthcoming collection and predictions about how many people will spend the night outside TopShop tonight in order to bag bargains when the collection goes on sale tomorrow….

The aftermath of the Nigerian elections still swirls uncertainly in a middling place that is neither here nor there. Many are dissatisfied with the conduct of the elections and yet, for all the call for mass action, the sense is that most Nigerians are keen to just get on with their lives, wretched as they might be. I can see where they are coming from- who wants to risk their lives for Atiku or Buhari? This is actually where Yar’adua could display statesmanship by reaching out and building real consensus across the various parties and trying to bring everyone together, but will the crude triumphalism of the PDP let him? Obasanjo’s daughter Iyabo, recently featured in passing in an FT story on Yar’adua see quote below:

“Visitors, supplicants and dealmakers dropping by Mr Yar'Adua's headquarters included the daughter of Mr Obasanjo, said by oil executives to be an influential political conduit in the energy sector, and one of Mr Yar'Adua's top campaign financiers: a state governor who has long been under investigation by Nigeria's Economic and Financial Crimes Commission.”

is on course for the Senate and I presume for the Senate Presidency which her father has prepared for her….

For the full FT story see here http://snipurl.com/1isar and for more tales of Naija politicians' dodginess see here http://www.nytimes.com/2007/04/29/business/yourmoney/29lobby.html?

To the salubrious streets of South Kensington yesterday for the premiere of Naij the documentary. The team behind the project certainly managed to maintain an air of mystery about the whole project. Walking into the foyer I saw the largest collection of young upwardly mobile Nigerians in London that I have ever seen. There was an informal dress code- the boys in jeans and colourful Thomas Pink/TM Lewin/Charles Tyrwhit shirts, the girls in heels and flouncy flirty summery skirts and dresses- and a humongous buzz. We were handed little paper bags which each had a canned soft drink, a meatpie, a slice of cake and a cookie emblazoned with Naij the documentary on it. I spotted a few familiar faces and searched in vain for Bitchy and Chameleon fellow Nigerian bloggers who had also said they were attending, but there were too many people to make any sort of informed guess…

A few words from Jide Olanrewaju, the investment banker behind the project and then the sonorous voice of Veno Marioghae singing “Even if dem drink de oil o! Nigeria go survive” came wafting through the theatre. It’s an amazing project- a collection of clips with a voiceover by Jide tracing Nigeria’s political history and overlaid with highly relevant music tracks. The technical quality in terms of editing isn’t fantastic and there are some missing significant incidents but these only underline the poignancy of what the project is – one young man’s attempt to understand the history of his beloved country. Bitchy has a more comprehensive review of the event here

http://etcetera-etceteroo.blogspot.com/2007/04/naij-documentary.html

On the literary front, Nigeria has had more cheering news with three Nigerians making the shortlist of five for the Caine Prize for African Writing this year

The three are artist and writer Ada Udechukwu for her short story Night Bus, published in The Atlantic Monthly. The story is only available to subscribers but here’s an interview with the author and excerpts

http://www.theatlantic.com/doc/200607u/udechukwu

Uwem Akpan, a Jesuit priest for his story My parent’s bedroom published in the New Yorker http://www.newyorker.com/archive/2006/06/12/060612fi_fiction

And writer E C Osondu for his story Jimmy Carter’s Eyes published in Agni http://www.bu.edu/agni/fiction/online/2006/osondu-jimmy.html

The other shortlisted authors are Monica Arac de Nyeko of Uganda for her story ‘Jambula Tree’ from ‘African Love Stories’ See a review here

http://www.ayebia.co.uk/reviews_als.html

and Henrietta Rose-Innes (South Africa) ‘Bad Places’, New Contrast vol 31 no4 Spring 2003. Henrietta Rose-Innes just last week beat Petina Gappah who has visited us often on this blog to second place in the HSBC PEN South African literary awards. See pix here http://www.sapen.co.za/PresentationPics.aspx

Congratulations PG…and to the Caine Prize shortlisted trio, I say “Go Naija!”

"President" Yar'adua as predicted, watching Icarus Girl and Suya Express

2007-04-23T18:10:00.000+01:00

So after all the wahala, here's welcoming President Yar'adua and Vice President Goodluck. As "predicted" by the PDP Secretary a good two weeks ago, they won by a landslide of 70 per cent. Never mind the minor problems of missing ballot papers, ballot boxes, violence and the many places where elections did not hold at all, not to talk of the little fact that even the president had his vote cancelled in the governorship elections. Interesting to see that the Niger Delta as usual is where a lot of the creative formulation of election results has again taken place. It was ever thus. I remember meeting a former NPN stalwart from the Shagari days who was from Rivers State and his boast that from the sixties to the present day- this was in 1999- elections had never taken place in his creek home village. Instead he and a few other "village leaders of thought" had always allocated the votes to the various parties and because of the treacherous nature of the terrain, it was often difficult for any observers to penetrate the area. Perhaps he was exaggerating but again perhaps not....Meanwhile the US excoriates a deeply flawed electoral process but fails to call for a rerun, leaving that decision to Nigerians and the Nigerian legal system. Did someone just say Florida? At least our Supreme Court has in the last few weeks performed better than another Supreme Court did in 2000.... I suppose at this point we can only wait and see what a Yaradua presidency will hold. If he's sworn in, with his late lamented brother Shehu (former no 2 to Obasanjo in his first coming), he'll make history as the first siblings to hold the No 1 and No2 offices in Nigeria. Did I hear someone say the words dynasty? Plus he'll make history as the first university educated Nigerian head of government

To the Arcola Theatre this weekend to watch the stage adaptation of Helen Oyeyemi's The Icarus Girl, as publicized by London Chameleon. It was an interesting play although the star of the show for me was Natalie Best the actress who played Tilly-Tilly, the mystical friend that befriends Jessamy Harrison on her visit to Nigeria. I felt a shiver of dread run through me as she flounced on stage the first time and she was utterly believable as half spirit, half human of indeterminate age, even if her accent veered strangely from South African to Ghanaian by way of Nigeria. The rest of the cast did well, but her performance stood out....

After the play, I took the opportunity of being in the neighbourhood to visit Obalende Suya now rebranded as Suya Express http://www.suyaexpress.com/ . The dining section seemed rather empty but the takeaway section seemed to be doing brisk business. Having been served a Star beer I waited and waited and waited for my order of jollof rice and lamb suya and had to bite my tongue when the waitress returned to ask, "You wanted something else in addition to the Star, didn't you?" In a corner of the restaurant a tree bedecked in what looked like Christmas decorations sat forlornly in a corner. Elsewhere, two London Big Boys argued about whether Babangida had betrayed his friend Abiola in 1993 or not. The decor was clean and bright, as was the bathroom but for a Friday night it seemed strangely empty. The jollof rice was very dry but the succulent lamb suya more than made up for it, as did the circles of golden dodo....

I rang my aunt on Saturday morning- "Ah ah" I said, " You're still at home? You didn't go to vote?" She drily retorted- "The one wey we vote last week, how far ?" Last week, she had queued in the sun, her seven decades notwithstanding to vote only to hear that virtually all the votes cast at her polling station had been cast for a particularly unpopular candidate...

We'll wait and see what happens next- I hope the Supreme Court judges are gearing up to hear lots of appeals (including some from the PDP)- apparently they are particularly aggrieved at losing Lagos and Kano States....

Ah Naija!

Chimamanda on Orange Prize shortlist, Nigerian elections, the tragedy of Virginia Tech & hilarious Mr Fineboy

2007-04-19T10:17:00.000+01:00

The Financial Times yesterday carries two Nigeria- related stories, one an interview with Obasanjo in which he claims that ballot box stuffing and stealing of ballot boxes is a new problem in Nigeria. Obviously he hasn’t read Chinua Achebe’s A Man of the People written back in the sixties. More annoyingly, the FT reporters fail to challenge him on this and other contentious issues in the interview. That’s in keeping however with many Western governments and media and business people who prefer an uncritical and fairly simplistic approach to their “favoured” African leaders. To read the interview click here

http://www.ft.com/cms/s/12a7fd66-ed49-11db-9520-000b5df10621.html

That said the FT has got some interesting stories and pictures on Nigeria and the elections here http://www.ft.com/indepth/nigeriaelections

The second Nigeria story is on Chimamanda Adichie being short listed for the Orange Prize for the second time
http://www.ft.com/cms/s/1d9493be-ed4a-11db-9520-000b5df10621.html

Her book has been doing well in the sales charts in the UK, no doubt riding on the back of her Richard and Judy Book Club appearance. This new short listing should boost them even further. There’s also an Orange Readers Award where voters can vote for their favourite books and win all the shortlisted books. To vote click here http://www.orangeprize.co.uk/opf/readersaward.php4 At least INEC isn’t overseeing these elections and so the chances of ballot box stuffing and stealing of ballot boxes will hopefully not arise….

Meanwhile back home in Nigeria, the dictum of no honour among thieves continues to hold true. Apparently, Atiku and Buhari cannot agree on whether to boycott the presidential elections or not, partly because they do not trust each other, even if they are united in their distrust of INEC, PDP and Obasanjo…

Thankfully the courts have postponed hearing in a last desperate attempt by the Obasanjo government to stop Atiku following his victory at the Supreme Court. A certain Umar Faruk had gone to court to stop Atiku running on the basis of the report of the kangaroo panel of inquiry set up by Obasanjo. The vindictiveness of Obasanjo often demonstrated still has no bounds. When I heard of the court case I was reminded of the dubious judgment obtained by the shadowy Association for Better Nigeria which helped derail the country in 1993….

I don’t think a boycott of the elections is practical, feasible or desirable. My recommendation is for the opposition to go in on Saturday prepared to carefully document all the irregularities in preparation for a series of court battles which are inevitable anyway with last Saturday’s fiasco…

Nigeria throws up such paradoxes where you find yourself on the same side with people whom you would never have thought you could associate with. Who would have thought that Adams Oshiomhole, the principled trade unionist who fought military governments to a standstill would find himself on the same podium with such military apologists as Tom Ikimi….

An interesting quote from Oshiomhole in the Vanguard Newspaper below :

“ I believe that if we keep quiet Nigeria will not change. The mandate given to me by Edo people has now been awarded to Osunbor by President Obasanjo who sees Edo State as his bride price. This rumour has been going on that the President said that the late first lady would have wished to make Osunbor governor.”

And elsewhere the power of the PDP juggernaut is allegedly unleashed on a hapless electoral official

http://www.sunnewsonline.com/webpages/news/national/2007/apr/18/national-18-04-2007-04.htm

The sad news about the massacre of students at Virginia Tech has provoked the usual debate about US gun control and the right to bear arms. I'm not American and can't understand it but from my perspective, there are troubled youth everywhere, including in Nigeria, who given half a chance would probably unleash this sort of mayhem. The main difference is that they do not have easy access to arms. It's a tragedy for the murdered, their families and friends and I can't help but think of the family of the perpetrator as well. It's a tragic end to one immigrant family's dreams. I'm sure when they left Korea for a better life in the US, this was not supposed to be how it ended...

To end on a cheerier note, if you haven't discovered the funniest Naija blog yet, go and visit Mr Fineboy's blog http://naijafineboy.blogspot.com/

Update on Nigerian elections

2007-04-16T16:13:00.000+01:00

Actually it looks like INEC has awarded the elections in Edo, Kano and Ondo to PDP. So much for my theory. Thanks Nkem of African Shirts http://africanshirts.blogspot.com/ for the link to the regularly updated Reuters website http://africa.reuters.com/nigeriaelection/results/regional.html

By contrast, the INEC website is still saying "No results available. Please check back soon"
http://www.inecnigeria.org/index.php?cateid=47&contid=265

Searching for election news, Atiku wins at the Supreme Court, reading Yellow-Yellow & Ayaan Hirsi

2007-04-16T15:27:00.000+01:00

Saturday dawned bright and sunny and started with me going online and desperately searching for news about the elections. I didn’t find very much although www.nigeriavillagesquare.com was a good source as they had “reporters” posting photographs and personal accounts as well as people reporting conversations that they had had with family and friends in Nigeria. The News magazine website www.thenewsng.com also had some useful information and relatively frequent updates. I also tried to make a few telephone calls myself and by 3 pm some of the people I spoke to had not seen any INEC official let alone ballot papers. By 6 pm I thought surely there must be some news item on the elections in the international news so I went through all the channels including Al-Jazeera. Nothing on BBC, CNN or SKY. BEN TV (which is supposed to be the African TV channel here) was showing a Francophone African preacher and was advertising a cookery programme coming up after that. Al Jazeera had a banner running at the bottom of the page saying forty four people had been killed in election related violence in Nigeria but that was it. Switching back to the BBC, I found the distinguished looking newscaster still engrossed in a lengthy discussion with the BBC Royal correspondent over the intricate details of the break-up of Prince William and Kate Middleton. After a desperate half hour of switching channels I resigned myself to getting dressed for dinner. It’s not the first time though- whenever something happens in Nigeria and I surf the airwaves, I’m often disappointed. Surely there must be a market for an international television channel focusing on Africa- I know I’ve heard some discussion around this, hope it happens soon. Meanwhile the existing newspapers, magazines and television stations could use their websites more creatively for breaking news…..

The first election results have trickled in and it appears that INEC and the PDP heeded Obasanjo’s exhortation to “leave some states for the opposition in the spirit of true democracy” But there are cheering signs in the victory of the AC in Lagos State and PPA in Abia State and the delay in releasing the results for Edo, Kano and Ondo states. It appears that in these states the “people” were prepared to defend their votes and so INEC was forced to release or at least delay the release of the results…..

Just as I was typing this, I got a text from Nigeria saying that the Supreme Court had delivered judgment in favour of Atiku, thus allowing him to run in the presidential elections next Saturday. This of course throws up lots of logistic problems and issues but I’m glad that in spite of Obasanjo’s public holiday and other manoeuvres, the Supreme Court has ruled. I’m no fan of Atiku’s but welcome any gesture that tells Obasanjo and his PDP crew that Nigeria is not completely in their pockets…..

Still on the elections www.greenlightnigeria.org aims to provide a forum for election monitors, bloggers and other interested parties to post their reports, opinions and analyses. I think it's a brilliant idea but we'll see how it works in practice...

Today on the way to work I saw someone had put out a withered Christmas tree with their rubbish. I tried to work out why the Christmas tree was only being put out in April and decided that perhaps the householder has been away since Christmas and just got back…

The sun’s been out all weekend and as expected, there is an abundance of flesh on display- shorts, skimpy sleeveless dresses and the ubiquitous flip-flops (otherwise known as bathroom slippers in Naija)- all indicate that summer’s here, even if a trifle early…

Even today, the newspapers are still awash with the Prince William/Kate Middleton break-up- even the “serious” papers…. Looking at all the fuss following a relationship breakdown I wonder what they would have done if they had broken off an engagement….

I finally got round to reading Yellow-Yellow by Kaine Agary and I must say I enjoyed it, I read it in four hours flat .The plot and storyline aren’t the strongest but the depiction of contemporary life in Port Harcourt and the rural areas of the Niger Delta rang true and reminded me of Cyprian Ekwensi’s chronicles of Nigerian city life in the fifties and sixties in Lokotown and Jagua Nana…..it’s also tightly edited and is virtually grammatical and spelling error free which is a great plus…Also stumbled on the publisher's website which looked interesting http://www.dtalkshop.com/

I’ve just started Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s first book, The Caged Virgin. There’s a long waiting list at the library for her new book so I thought I better start with the older one. The arguments are clear and the language is refreshingly simple but the conclusions she jumps to at times are a bit far fetched for someone calling for logical rational debate…

Easter in Vienna,Nigerian election results preannounced, Blair and black boys and echoes of Colonial Nigeria

2007-04-11T13:52:00.000+01:00

Vienna was wide elegant avenues, tidy parks, reminiscent of Paris and yet at the same time overlaid with echoes of Germany, of Berlin. Heart of the Austro-Hungarian empire and seat of the Hapsburgs for nearly six centuries, it's awash with culture and palaces aplenty. The central area near Sebastianplatz around the Cathedral was filled with students in frock coats touting invitations to Mozart concerts. Easter morning saw us in the Hofburgkapelle listening to the world famousVienna Boys Choir. It was the first time I had to pay to go to church, at least explicitly- tickets were available from the hotel. It was worth it though, the angelic voices of the boys soaring up to the rafters of the chapel, the two Asian and African boys strategically placed to catch the eyes and the cameras. Me, a cynic? Enjoying the music and watching the young boys and the older men singing the deeper parts, a darker thought crossed my mind- aren't all- male choirs like this a haven for paedophiles?

To the museums and then Schonbrun Palace and sights aplenty- here a young Marie Antoinette played, there Napoleon once slept, here, a purported nail from the True Cross authenticated by a Pope from earlier times, there the file that stabbed the doomed Empress Elisabeth "Sissi", whose stories had echoes of Princess Diana- the early marriage, the struggles with royal life and court demands, an obsession with weight loss and finally a tragic death. Funny how over centuries, things remain the same...Plus ca change and all that...... Viennese food failed to win me over though- the stodginess of the boiled meat dishes and dumplings and sauerkraut were rather dull and the famed wienerschnitzel, the deepfried breadcrumbed flat pieces of veal left me underwhelmed.

In Nigeria, the political drama continues to unfold- what with the almighty PDP refusing to field governorship candidates in Rivers and Imo States rather than obey a Supreme Court judgement reinstating the rightful winners of the primaries. Nigeria can produce such bizarre results at times- from all that I hear about them, Araraume and Rotimi Amaechi, the candidates in question are hardly beacons of moral uprightness and yet one cannot help but support them in the injustice being meted out. Speaking to family and friends in Nigeria over the weekend, it seems as usual that Nigerians are resigning themselves to divine intervention- feeling completely helpless before the PDP behemoth. Frequent references were made as to how God intervened when Abacha thought he had his civilian succession sorted. The same mood of "what can we do?" pervaded the panel discussion at SOAS last week with Reuben Abati and Professor Akande- the general consensus was that the elections would be massively rigged but that Nigerians would accept the results. To put the icing on the cake, Patrick Wilmot, the writer and academic who was present at the SOAS event quoted the Secretary of the PDP as having predicted at a forum at Chatham House that PDP would win the elections by about 75 per cent. So ladies and gentlemen, there you have it, the results for the 2007 Nigerian elections, announced well in advance of any actual casting of votes. Remember, you read it here first....Meanwhile today the Obasanjo government announced a sudden two day public holiday to" enable" voters to prepare for the elections. Of course it has nothing to do with delaying potentially damaging Supreme Court judgments, or throwing a spanner in the logistics of opposition parties. Why the Court cannot sit in emergencies on public holidays I do not know. Here in the UK, I have been involved in a case where we were able to obtain an injunction on a Sunday before the duty judge....

Meanwhile in the UK, debates continue about whether the sailors who were released by Iran last week should have been allowed to sell their stories to the media. I'm pretty indifferent to the whole brouhaha and was more interested in the killing of yet another black youth of Nigerian heritage, Paul Erharhon in London at the weekend. The tragic death led Prime Minister Tony Bliar to say yesterday that the violence was restricted to a small group of black boys in spite of the massive support the government was giving them or words to that effect. He claimed to be quoting a London black pastor, Reverend Nims Obunge, who just this morning claimed he had been quoted out of context. I think that part of the problem is that attention is only paid to certain communities when things get to an extreme head. If the government and by extension society is genuinely interested in making a difference then initiatives to help troubled youth should not always ride on the back of high profile murders...

I'm finishing Restless by William Boyd at the moment. I've liked most of his books but I struggled with this one, perhaps because it deals with World War II espionage and trying to keep up with the single and double agents and the various characters and which side they were really on was a bit of a burden. I'm nearing the end though and the suspense is picking up. I hadn't realized he had Nigerian connections as well. Apparently his father was an engineer in the colonial Public Works Department in Lagos- a titbit I heard from an old "Nigeria hand" whom I met at a dinner last week. Meeting "old Nigerian hands" is always a challenge for me- on one hand I'm fascinated by their stories and insights and people they have known and on the other I struggle with the patronizing attitudes and casual prejudice of a bygone age that often suffuses their conversation....almost invariably the conversation ends with "Oh, Nigeria has changed so much" with a wistful look on a wizened face dreaming I think, incharitably of gin and tonics on the verandah brought by "boys" in starched white uniforms....

Paying the price in sleep, Naija food, politics and catching Ms Adichie's eye

2007-04-03T12:06:00.000+01:00

I'm back again, feeling sleepy and permanently tired, the way I imagine that many working mothers feel- I've just finished The Invisible Woman a fictional account of the life of a mother of three young children written by Lucy Cavendish, a journalist, and one of the pervasive themes is how permanently tired she feels .

It's been quite a weekend, had friends visiting from the US and spent some real quality time with them. It's great to have friends who know you from way back when, who you can just chill with.

First night having gone to a drinks party earlier, we were gagging for Nigerian food and so we headed for Angie's on Harrow Road. I tried ringing up beforehand but the phone just kept ringing and ringing and ringing, so we decided to take a chance but it was closed (only temporarily I hope.) Grrr......looking for Plan B we headed for Bukka on Kilburn High Road. I'd never driven there before- it used to be one of my favourite hangouts when I first arrived here. Friday and Saturday night often found me there with a bunch of other "economic exiles" drowning in the nostalgia of Star beer, pounded yam and egusi with orisirisi and Naija music mixes spun by Jimmy the Baldheaded guy, blotting out any other realities. Sometimes Mike Appoh the highlife king would be singing all the old favourites from Yellow Sisi to Love Adaure to Taxi Driver and we would dance till 2 am and then catch the night bus home. After a while I stopped going, I'm not sure how or why, just drifted away. Perhaps I'd settled into the reality of my London life and needed the injections of nostalgia less and less. Probably the same way I stopped making the pilgrimage to Brixton to buy Nigerian newspapers and magazines.

Anyway I always used to get the tube to Kilburn and then walk down to Bukka. Driving from Harrow Road we emerge into the middle of Kilburn High Street and I have no idea if we should turn left or right. I hazard a guess and say left. We drive for a while and I'm confused. We see a middle aged man walking on the pavement and he looks Nigerian so we stop to ask directions. I'm still asking him what direction the station is in when my friend cuts in and asks "we're looking for Bukka" He smiles and points us in the right direction but we still end up missing it. Finally we pull up and realize why we missed it. It's been done up with picture windows and is all white and minimalist and is now called Faze 2. We park and head in where we see the second pleasant surprise- there are photographs of black nationalists from Marcus Garvey to Kwame Nkrumah lining the walls. Who would have thunk my party loving Naija brodas had any social awareness?

We order and have a nice meal although the stew is firehot. I go to take a piss and there the fine-face falls apart. They're obviously still working on it but surely even if construction work is still going on, some basic cleaning could still be done? I dissuade the ladies in the party from using the loo there and we head home where we sit sipping wine and chatting into the early hours and then everyone fades...

The next day I don't get up till midday and by the time I meet up with my friends and catch some late lunch, the day's gone already. The weather's gone all cold and showery again and I end up losing yet another umbrella....

Gordon Brown seems to be in political hot water over his scrapping of tax discounts for pension funds ten years ago. Apparently he had ignored advice from civil servants to do so. I'm no Brown fan but I find the timing rather suspicious. It'll probably be a good thing for Labour if he has to fight for his seat rather than be anointed but I'm pretty certain that barring major upheavals David Cameron may just be riding to power in the next elections. Labour is completely suffused with what I call the arrogance of power- which comes with being in government too long and so will probably benefit from some time out....

Over in Naija, the drama continues as the elections draw nearer with court cases and counter suits and sudden deaths and the rearing of violence - Simon Kolawole of Thisday had some useful pointers on how to prevent rigging (or at least stop PDP from rigging too much) http://www.thisdayonline.com/nview.php?id=74432

I just finished Another Hour on a Sunday Morning by Julia Scheeres, a searing account of growing up in a Southern Christian family with two adopted black brothers. The violence and emotional abuse that they go through both at the hands of their parents and at the Escuela Caribe, a "Christian" camp for delinquent kids in The Dominican Republic made for disturbing reading. It was well written with beautiful language and vivid imagery but I felt there was something missing. I couldn't place my finger on it, but it didn't grip me...

Some Nigeria events coming up- an art exhibition by the daughter of the late lamented poet Christopher Okigbo at the Brunel Gallery http://www.soas.ac.uk/gallery/tappingintotheknown/home.html, a panel at SOAS on the elections this evening http://www.soas.ac.uk/events/index.cfm

And we receive honourable mention from Ms Adichie http://snipurl.com/1eyp2 even if she no longer reads us :-)

Geneva notes, recent reading, politics UK and Naija

2007-03-27T07:52:00.000+01:00

Got back from Geneva on Saturday but was so exhausted that I haven't really been able to blog. Why does work always pile up whenever you're away, wiping out any benefits of the time away....

Geneva felt a bit like Abuja in the 1990s - pretty soulless, civil service like and expensive. Walking through the city centre and the old town, I searched in vain for residential areas. Later I went to dinner with a colleague based in Geneva- he lives with his family in a pretty little village outside Geneva. I wondered whether most people did that....

I also found out why Swiss cuisine hasn't made it on to the international list of most-desirable national cuisines. I'd wanted to go to a traditional Swiss restaurant and was advised to go to one in the old town where the claim to fame was that the Clintons had once dropped in for lunch there. The guide book said they'd had the sauerkraut but it wasn't on the menu as the rather bossy waitress soon made clear. Switzerland is famed for its fondues so I felt I had to try it out. It basically turned out to be a pot of boiling cheese into which I was provided a long fork with which to dip pieces of bread in. The waitress did not even change the bread basket- it was the leftover from the starters that was offered. In the end I struggled through but as one of my dining companions said what I'd basically had was bread and cheese, forget the fancy name....

Geneva had its high points though- the Flower Clock, the amazing Jet D'eau Fountain and a cruise along the lake, as well as another meal at the Buffet of the Station of Living Waters (Buffet de la Gare Eaux Vives) made up for all of Geneva's shortcomings...

Flying out from London City Airport on Wednesday night, I was struck by how white and male the City still seems. Most of my fellow travellers were obviously business travellers and there was hardly a woman or person of colour to be seen among them...

I've been enjoying Claire Messud's The Emperor's Children which is set in New York just before September 11. I think it's one of the best books I've read since Half of a Yellow Sun- it's meaty, got a good story, muses on interesting ideas and is beautifully written. It featured in many people's best books of 2006 lists and I can see why...

I also enjoyed another sort of New York book- Kamran Nazeer's Send in the Idiots, an account of his trying to trace his classmates from a special programme for autistic children in New York in the 80s. It's well written with fascinating insights...

Meanwhile in Nigeria I stil struggle to make sense of the machinations surrounding the elections- court case and counter court case and all that stuff with the Senate and the PTDF report- what on earth is really going on?

In the Observer on Sunday, Tony Blair flies a kite about David Milliband, the young and affable Minister for the Environment challenging Gordon Brown for the leadership of the Labour Party. I've always thought that he'd be a better match for Cameron than old tired Gordon who is inextricably linked in the public's mind (despite his best efforts) to Bliar...See Milliband's blog here http://www.davidmiliband.defra.gov.uk/blogs/ministerial_blog/default.aspx

On the subject of British politics, the question of the number of Old Etonians in David Cameron's shadow cabinet has come under scrutiny . This old Guardian story focuses on the question http://www.guardian.co.uk/guardianpolitics/story/0,,1843008,00.html

Judging from the few Etonians that I've met- it is a cause for concern - they (through no fault of theirs I might add) seemed so far removed from ordinary day to day life that the thought of people like them making all the policy decisions worries me..

Cold snap, dining at St John, tourist Nigeria and an Adichie update

2007-03-21T07:54:00.000Z

The weather has suddenly turned very cold, just when I was about to pack away my gloves and hat and other winter gear and luxuriate in the warming sunshine, the weather flipped again. Yesterday afternoon, walking to a meeting I was nearly caught in a sudden flurry of snow. It appeared and disappeared all within the space of five minutes and as I was suddenly thrust into the glare of winter sunlight I was left wondering if I had dreamt it all up...

A friend sent me a DVD recording of Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie's appearance on Richard and Judy. It was haunting with music from the war playing in the background and the gorgeous Adichie speaking softly about how she wanted to write a book about human beings and love as black and white pictures from Biafra flashed slowly in the background. I had goosebumps watching it. If only I was techie enough to upload it to youtube or something- but perhaps that would breach copyright.... Molara Wood of wordsbody does have photos here http://wordsbody.blogspot.com/search/label/Half%20of%20a%20Yellow%20Sun

BBC reporter Raageh Omar and actor Brian Cox loved it. If you loved Half of a Yellow Sun, you can vote for it at the Richard and Judy Bookclub here http://www.richardandjudybookclub.co.uk/ It looks like there's a problem with the book club site though as it seems to keep crashing...

Half of a Yellow Sun is longlisted for the Orange Prize for this year together with The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai which won the Booker last year and A Concise Chinese English Dictionary for Lovers which I recently blogged about.... For the full list of nominated books see here http://www.orangeprize.co.uk/opf/news.php4 Also on the longlist are two books I recently read but didn't particularly enjoy- Rachel Cusk's Arlington Park and Rachel Seiffert's Afterwards- they're both well written but somehow failed to grab and keep my attention. Speaking of which Jonathan Raban's Surveillance after finally mid-book getting me interested in the fate of the characters finishes abruptly, inconclusively.

Had an amazing meal to celebrate a friend's birthday at St John, the restaurant famed for its use of unconventional meat cuts, the nose to tail approach to eating. I liked the unpretentious rough hewn, almost Hogarthian feel to it- no fuss- plain stone floors and wooden chairs and the food was stunning- I had pig's head to start (and although I had expected to be presented with a whole head on the plate) it turned out to be slivers of pig's head done in a light sauce and served with butter beans and some miniasparagus like vegetable which I could not identify. For my main course, I resisted the urge to order something conventional like lamb or guineafowl and went instead for the ox heart with chips, a choice I did not regret- the ox heart was presented in thin delicate delicious slivers. The baked egg custard lightly sprinkled with nutmeg was a taste sensation- I left the restaurant tight as a drum...

A fellow diner asked where I was born and when I said Nigeria asked what tourist sights I would recommend. I admit I was slightly caught on the back foot and managed to blurt out Calabar and Obudu cattle ranch and Kano for its old walled city and Abuja if you wanted to play it safe and Lagos if you wanted something edgier. In the end I recommended the Bradt Travel Guide to Nigeria which I've flicked through but wondered if I shouldn't have done a better job of selling my country....

I rang a friend whose grandmother died recently in Nigeria to pass on my condolences. I asked when the funeral was. "Oh we're planning to wait till after the elections in April, who knows what might happen" And so we all continue to wait with bated breath....

Something's come up at work so I have to go to Geneva tonight. I'll see if I can blog from there depending on how busy I am. In any case, I'm back at the weekend

Weekend runs, Nigerians in the UK, Yaradua webforum and writers wanted

2007-03-19T12:20:00.000Z

Busy weekend. Friday night went out with a bunch of new work colleagues. One of the girls got really drunk and started spilling all sorts of details about her personal life- how she couldn't get a man, giving a colourful catalogue of her recent dating history, her recent forays into the speed dating world etc etc Just remembering it in the cold sunshine of this morning, I cringe for her. I wish there was a subtle way I could let her know that much as letting your hair down with work colleagues from time to time is a good thing, there are certain boundaries that it’s unwise to cross….

Saturday saw me making a foray into middle England, going to dinner with a friend’s family in the leafy Telegraph-reading, Women’s Institute infested commuter belt of Surrey. It was a very pleasant evening despite my initial misgivings, although we did skate on fairly thin ice when the topic turned to immigration. My hostess very deftly turned us on to more pleasant, less contentious topics and we tucked into the delicious quiche lorraine starter followed by honeyed duck with mash and peas and then cheese and a lemon sponge. By the time we sipped our after dinner cognac, I was a lot more tolerant of their views and way of life, and more conscious of how divorced London life is from the stereotypical middle England….

Sunday was the St Patrick’s Day celebration and I ended up dodging the crowds in green reveling in Trafalgar Square as I made my way southwards for lunch with old Nigerian family friends. As we tucked into akara (flatter than the typical Nigerian version and more like mini-pancakes) followed by a sumptuous jollof rice with spiced fish and chicken, I listened to my hosts talk about their arrival in Britain over four decades ago and their experiences. Their evident pride in their children’s achievements- the strings of degrees, the high flying jobs in law and medicine and business, contrasted with their heart rending stories of their early struggles. Surprisingly enough, they were all still seriously interested in contemporary Nigerian politics and we had a good debate about the forthcoming presidential elections. The encounter had me wondering if anyone had actually written a history of Nigerians in the UK. Judging from the colourful stories I heard yesterday- there’d be lots of material…. It reminded me of a book I stumbled across at the library recently called Black Londoners 1880-1990 by Susan Okokon which told a fascinating story of black professionals in London in the 19th and 20th centuries….

I see Yaradua and Goodluck have set up a web discussion forum- the admin left a message on this blog http://yaraduagoodluck.info/ . They warn that they may be unable to reply to posts as they are on the campaign trail. The current debate is about how to end fuel scarcity and power cuts- I think they ought to start by identifying and making public who imports all the fuel that Nigeria uses and also who imports all the generators. The rumours (trust Naija) have long held that there are very powerful people behind both businesses who sabotage any attempt at tackling the problems of fuel scarcity or power supply...

I'd like to ask them on the forum if they would pledge that within six months of taking office, they and their immediate families and cabinet will be barred from educating their children abroad or seeking medical treatment above. I'll post that as soon as I have been registered...

I got an e mail from a new Nigerian lifestyle magazine which is looking for contributors- for all of you in naijablogville with a passion for the written word, this may just be what you're looking for
http://www.bhfmagazine.com/

Surrealism at work, Bollywoodian Shakespeare, remembering physics lessons and shameful treatment of Tsvangirai

2007-03-15T11:08:00.000Z

Over the last few days I have increasingly felt as if I am living in a scene from The Emperor’s New Clothes. I attended a few meetings with very senior policy makers at work to examine new proposals about work related issues. I was appalled at the disconnect between some of what they are proposing and the realities on the ground so to speak. I suppose this is one of the challenges of being a policy maker- how do you keep in touch with the realities on the frontline and take these into account when making decisions. I’m sure they are many ways of doing this effectively but for whatever reason they seem not to be working with us at the moment. I’ll keep giving my views, but it looks like the bosses’ minds are made up…Oh well, we’ll just have to wait and see how it all pans out. I wonder who’ll be picking up the pieces though…

Two nights ago, a friend invited me to a play, a South Asian interpretation of Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream. As I had studied it at school in Nigeria for a literature class in secondary school, I was keen to go. It was quite interesting with over eight different languages spoken- including a lover’s conversation where the actor spoke in Hindi while his lover responded in English. It was quite interesting because even without subtitles it seemed to work- you got the essence of the scenes whether you understood what the actors were saying or not. I did wonder though if it wasn’t a bit stereotypical- the bright colours and Bollywood like chorus and dance routines. If you’re in London, it’s worth dropping by. It’s at the Roundhouse in Camden…http://www.roundhouse.org.uk/whats-on/productions/a-midsummer-night-s-dream-755

On the tube this morning, on my way to work, I was standing and reading a book and there was no space for me to hold on to. Which meant that when the train shuddered to a stop, I found myself struggling to keep from toppling over. I soon realized that by standing with my legs spread out, I was able to maintain a sense of balance- which then took me back to my early physics lessons and Mr O’s lessons about a low centre of gravity and how by lowering your centre of gravity, you reduce the chances of toppling over. Who would have thought that those long-ago lessons in a dusty Nigerian classroom would find such immediate application here?

Yesterday, the photographs of a bruised and battered Morgan Tsvangirai, leader of the opposition in Zimbabwe on the front cover of many newspapers shamed me- as it ought every African. No matter what your position on Zimbabwe is, this level of violence is simply unacceptable. It puts into perspective recent references to a police state in the UK and Nigeria by different commentators. I was so disturbed by the picture that for the first time I've actually worked out how to upload photos to my blog. The picture is from sudonline.sn. even though I haven't got it exactly in the right place....

Back on the blog, ailing leaders, remembering IB and dreaming of Seattle

2007-03-12T14:51:00.000Z

No, I wasn't ill or even any more depressed than normal. It was just work- another crazy fortnight of dashing back and forth and trying to meet deadlines on various projects. Looks like I've come out whole the other side and so am back here blogging.

While I was away from blogville I missed the whole "He's dead" "No, he's not" "Yes he is" drama surrounding Obasanjo's anointed , the blessed Yaradua. It turns out he was simply suffering from "severe catarrh" which left him breathless but necessitated a quick trip to Germany for treatment. This morning I wake up to learn that his main rival Atiku has been flown to the UK for surgery on his knee following a "domestic accident". Meanwhile Nigerian doctors have been on strike for a number of days now.So while the average Nigerian currently has virtually no access to medical treatment, the two leading contenders for the Nigerian Presidency jet off to various Western countries for THEIR treatment. Could someone throw down a gauntlet- can all of these contenders sign up to a pledge that if elected they will not seek medical treatment outside Nigeria- now that would motivate them to improve the health care system. I know I know, tell me I'm dreaming...

Well, Gordon Brown, the Iron Chancellor (who by the way is NOT Tony Blair's anointed) has been in the news here for using a private dentist at the cost of 100 pounds an hour for a root canal treatment. Initially the story that emerged was about how the dour Iron Chancellor had bravely had the treatment without any anaesthetic as he was due to deliver a speech a few hours later and was worried that anaesthetic would slur his speech. Soon, the focus turned to the fact that he had gone to a private dentist as opposed to an NHS one....

Years ago when I lived in Abuja I used to go to the bar at the Nicon Hilton Hotel (it was virtually the only place to hang out then) to listen to the live band that played there. There was the vertically challenged Don Bruce doing his James Brown imitation in his sprayed on seventies gear and then for a brief period there was IB- sassy, talented and giving as good as she got. In a country where albinos were still looked at with some ambivalence, she belted out popular tune after popular tune making each song her own, and seeking no sympathy or special treatment. With a caustic wit, she won admirers who regularly returned to hear her sing. After a while she disappeared and I often wondered what had become of her, until last week when I saw her reemerge on Pop Idols West Africa http://www.mnetafrica.com/idols/contestant/profile.asp?Id=1 - I don't know how she's doing on there, but I do wish her well, remembering with fondness the night she turned the hotel bar into a Deep South style gospel church at midnight, switching effortlessly from the secular songs that she'd been belting out seconds before-....

On Sunday afternoon I was invited to lunch at a friend's- it was a classic English meal with a lovely steak and kidney pie- the crust was melt in the mouth and it had a rich creamy sauce replete with meat. It made a welcome difference from the pounded yam and egusi that had been my staple diet for most of the week after a Nigerian friend had brought round a humongous pot of soup. Back to the lunch- we had sticky toffee pudding with custard to finish and I must admit that the English do get their puddings/desserts/whatever you want to call it right

I've recently read and loved Xiaolu Guo's A Concise Chinese-English Dictionary for Lovers. Written in the form of a diary by a young Chinese woman new to Britain, it's poignant but funny in its descriptions of her bewilderment with a new culture and a new English lover. I've also just finished George Alagiah's Home from Home: From Immigrant Boy to English Man, in which Alagiah, a senior newscaster with BBC who was born in Sri Lanka and grew up in Ghana and the UK tells his story. While I loved his first book A Passage to Africa, I was less enthused by this one. Partly because he tries to attack multiculturalism but fails like many critics to first define what he means by the term. And while he criticizes many new immigrants for refusing to fit in, he's less strident in the reverse - criticizing the structures and attitudes that fail even those who wish to. I would recommend it anyway as his insights into the life of an immigrant from his perspective are interesting. Now I've started on Jonathan Raban's book Surveillance. I loved Waxwings, his first book which made me want to visit Seattle- pages into the new one I begin to feel the urge again...

Depressing Nigerian politics, dreaming of white shirts,city life,supporting a bro & Ayoke slips away

2007-02-27T10:46:00.000Z

I haven't posted on here in a while, partly because I've been so depressed by what's going on in the political space in Nigeria. A couple of months to the elections, concerns are already being raised about the credibility of the voter list, the dubious EFCC blacklist of people who are involved in corruption, including someone who has never held any public office but whose main crime seems to be that he is running against Obasanjo's daughter, and so on and so forth. I went against my better judgement to listen to Atiku at Chatham House, partly because I'd had a phone call from my mother, who is usually very skeptical of politicians (and especially Nigerian politicians) urging me to go, because in her words, "What they are doing to that man is so blatantly unjust" On getting there, I was struck by the polarization that was palpable in the audience. You were either for or against Atiku and they were no shades of grey. I looked at Tom Ikimi, Abacha's erstwhile Foreign Minister (immortalized in an irreverent advert sung to the tune of the TomTom sweet advert) as "the big fat man wey no get sense, na TomTom, im name na TomTom" during his glory days when he traversed international capitals defending Abacha's regime and cringed at being on the same side. Then I asked Akin Osuntokun (Obasanjo's political adviser) why Atiku had not been charged for the many crimes he was said to have committed. His response "There are so many charges against him" "Where have they been filed?" His response "Get out of here, you are a stooge, you are the people destroying Nigeria" So I slunk out of the venue, sideless and sank into a depression not helped by reading some of the pearls from the current campaign- Obasanjo on why the Igbo should vote for his party- "Any pikin wey Igbo woman born for me, I take am". Right, so acknowledging paternity of his children born to Igbo women is a really good reason to vote for his party. Then at another rally "The people who say Yaradua is not well, it is their heads that are not well" Charming. Two months to the elections, very little about what people will actually do to tackle Nigeria's numerous problems but lots of invective.....

Today walking to work, I bumped into a young man in a dazzling white shirt which took me back to my secondary school days. Someone had had the bright idea of making the school uniform for a bunch of active youth in a humid tropical setting white. So a large part of my time was spent soaking my uniforms in gallons of Parozone bleach (remember the white plastic bottles, anyone) and scrubbing at the collars and cuffs of my white shirt and the ends of the trousers until my eleven year old hands were blistered. I never quite managed that feat, and sooner or later, the pristine white shirts and trousers that my mother lovingly had made each new school year ended up nearer grey and cream than white. For some reason, seeing that young man in his gleaming white shirt which stood out against the coffee brown colour of his skin took me straight back to those years and watching enviously as the day students, who presumably had their uniforms laundered marched up the dais week after week to collect the prizes for neatest uniform....I'm still traumatized, I don't think I own a single white shirt now

I just finished The Yacoubian Building which I thoroughly enjoyed. It's not "high" fiction- in fairly simple language, the author spins out the stories of a handful of characters but succeeds in painting a really convincing and gripping portrait of modern city life in Cairo. It reminded me of Cyprian Ekwensi's novels about Lagos life in the 50s and 60s. Now who will be the modern chronicler of contemporary Lagos and Abuja life? Two books that lots of people were talking about when I went home for Christmas were Araceli Aipoh's No Sense of Limits and Kaine Agary's Yellow Yellow. Someone just sent me Yellow Yellow from Nigeria and I'm looking forward to reading it. I've also just finished Bittersweets by Roopa Farooki about a Bangladeshi-Pakistani family which was bland with a barely credible plot. I can only imagine that it got published to tap into the post Brick Lane market. Contrastingly, I loved Jamal Mahjoub's The Drift Latitudes which was in such elegant language and thought. He's a writer that I hadn't really come across before in the UK, but is half-Sudanese and based in Barcelona and has published six books and was shortlisted for the Caine Prize in 2005. This year, he's chair of the panel of judges for the Prize which has just announced a "partnering" with Georgetown University http://forums.booktrade.info/showthread.php?t=778

Meanwhile I got sent this link from a young Nigerian-American filmmaker who's trying to get on to a sort of Pop Idol for filmmakers and would like loads of people to see his short film and rate it so that he's in with a chance http://films.thelot.com/films/6287

By the way, I notice that Ayoke, whose blog Exodus I always enjoyed (even if I sometimes disagreed with it) seems to have slipped away silently from the blogworld- the Nigerian blogosphere is poorer

North London liberals, watching Notes, Nigeria's farcical campaigns

2007-02-15T10:56:00.000Z

I missed my Monday regular blog date- had a busy weekend and then wasn't feeling too well- the ubiquitous winter feverish-feeling, cough and cold scenario- so did not feel like getting up to much.

Saturday was spent having dinner with a bona fide "North London liberal chattering classes" family. I was hugely impressed by the grasp that the children, both under twelve displayed on issues like colonialism, Zimbabwe and racism- far more sophisticated than many of my colleagues- white or black. We got on to the subject of Barack Obama and one of the children said he felt that it might be difficult in some of the key southern states for a black man to win the primaries. His mother interjected saying that people had said the same of Americans voting for a Catholic before Kennedy. The child retorted saying that it was different- the average Catholic wasn't obliged by law to sit on a different part of the bus or attend a different school- so it was not an appropriate comparison. This got me thinking about how Obama (like many mixed race people with black blood) is always described as black. His mother is white, his father is black, so he's 50-50. From my primary school mathematics that means he could be described either way. That he isn't suggests that we all still subscribe to the notorious "one-drop" rule of the racist Deep South. I know I'm being pedantic, but it's worth reflecting on

To the cinema on Sunday to watch Notes on a Scandal. I went with a friend who thought it might be too bleak for his liking. In the event there were plenty of laughs from Judi Dench's magnificent portrayal of a lonely school teacher who becomes obsessed with her colleague who is having an affair with a pupil and then tries to manipulate her. I loved the film- especially as it was set in London and there's something about seeing the familiar writ large on a cinema screen...dreaming of the day Lagos and Abuja and my village loom on a cinema screen....I digress. I also loved Cate Blanchett's portrayal of a member of the bohemian North london chattering classes and Bill Nighy as usual was great as her older husband. As we left the theatre, we argued about whether the affair was convincing. My friend could not imagine a woman in the Cate Blanchett position having an affair with a pupil. I argued that human beings get up to the most inscrutable and incomprehensible things especially where sex is concerned- think of all the scandals that have involved famous people....In any case on Monday I see a letter in the Evening Standard making exactly the same point as my friend,I swallow my pride and ring him to point this out

I stumble across an article about Duro Olowu a fashion designer of Nigerian-Jamaican descent who's apparently making waves on the international fashion scene http://www.duroolowu.com/

Femi Kuti is playing tonight at the Barbican,http://www.barbican.org.uk/music/event-detail.asp?ID=5214 but by the time I tried to get tickets last week, it was sold out- that's the second time I've missed him, and coming after my failed attempt to see The Seagull at the Royal Court, I'm feeling a bit grumpy

I was amazed at the miles of media coverage given to the "revelation" that David Cameron had smoked pot (igbo, Indian hemp, wee-wee- as an aunt of mine used to refer to it) while at Eton and that it was amazing that it had not affected his poll ratings- this in a country where often on many streets you can smell the thing being smoked freely- a stench almost as strong as the hypocrisy that surrounded the whole media circus.

Meanwhile in Nigeria, the farce continues - The anti-corruption agency EFCC has now submitted its arbitrary list of "corrupt candidates" to the electoral commission, after a kangaroo panel is set up to vet the list. And just in case the electoral commissioners are in any doubt about how seriously to take it, two of them are arrested by (you guessed it) the EFCC. By using the anti-corruption agency in this cavalier blackmailing way, Obasanjo seems set to do more damage to democracy and the cause of anti-coruption than he realizes. It would all be laughable if not for the fact that at the end of the day, human lives are at stake.... Nigeriavillagesquare has an interesting article by a former US diplomat http://www.nigeriavillagesquare.com/articles/guest-articles/fooling-people-some-of-the-time.html Again I can't help wondering where all this will lead....

I've just finished The Testament of Gideon Mack which I enjoyed. Set in Scotland it chronicles the life of an unbelieving Church of Scotland minister who has an encounter with the Devil which totally changes his life. It's provocative and well-written, and gripping into the bargain, with something of the Victorian Gothic about it. Next up on my list is Rachel Cusk's Arlington Park. For some reason I'm drawn at the moment to books set in the UK. I'm hoping to get The Yacoubian Building next week- it's had great reviews and has apparently been the topselling book in the Arab world for the last eighteen months or so .....

Blast from the past, snowy rituals, Niger Delta musings, adoption & the amazing British Library

2007-02-09T10:22:00.000Z

Two days ago, getting off a train at Euston station, I bumped into an old acquaintance from childhood whom I shall call X. I hadn't seen him in maybe twenty years- we'd grown up together and went to the same primary school. Back then he was the quintessential black sheep- missing pencils, books and toys always somehow seemed to find their way into X's schoolbag. He was an adept liar, skilled at glibly explaining away to the teacher how these items had got there and he told tall tales that even to our young ears sounded a bit too tall to be true - how his uncle was a cowboy film star and that sort of thing. There was some plausibility because he had been born abroad (the UK or the US- can't remember now) and had the photographs to prove it so we were forced to let him be the authority on all things foreign. Anyway, I bumped into him on the platform dressed in a long expensive looking coat, a rich burgundy silken scarf with a cowboy hat perched on his head jauntily and wearing cowboy boots (obviously the cowboy theme was still running) and reintroduced my self. After we'd exchanged pleasantries, I asked what he was up to these days ( a no-no normally when you meet fellow Nigerians in London but because he was looking so flashily prosperous I thought it was ok). Oh, he replies, this and that, I'm into a bit of IT, some tourism and import export businesses, travelling between the US, the UK and Nigeria, in fact I'm just off to meet with some business partners in Mayfair....and so on. He's still as glib as ever and I couldn't help wondering whether a peek into his smart leather briefcase would still reveal other people's property that had wandered in there....as he left having handed me his engraved card and an exhortation to meet up soon for lunch, I couldn't help marvelling at how little people change....

On the subject of change,in the few years that I've lived here, there's a little ritual that plays itself out every winter. First the media is full of warnings of heavy snow predictions from the Met Office. Then the snow falls, as it did, heavily and gloriously yesterday, then trains are halted, planes cancelled, schools closed. Then the next day the media is full of articles about how rubbish the UK authorities are, letting a little snow disrupt everything, when in Sweden and Canada and Norway they manage to keep their trains running, etc etc And then all goes quiet until the next time. Every single winter I've spent here it's been the same story and I can't help wondering why they bother....

Suddenly the Niger Delta is in the news- from Vanity Fair to CNN to Atiku's allegations that 2 billion dollars have been earmarked for an assault on the militants, to Asari Dokubo's outburst in court last week, there's something singularly unpleasant brewing. Yesterday the Thisday columnist Segun Adeniyi also mentions the rumour in some circles that Obasanjo is hoping for an explosion in the Delta to derail the elections in April
http://www.thisdayonline.com/nview.php?id=70000 and of course the Vanity Fair article mentioned rumours that the militants were planning to blow up the Liquefied Natural Gas terminal in Bonny. Now I'm no conspiracy theorist but I can't help but wonder - hmmm, what's going on here..

On the news this morning, we learn that two parents have been found guilty of the most horrendous abuse of their daughter who suffered from cerebral palsy. Among other horrors,she had boiling water poured on her, and was forced to eat her own faeces. These were her biological parents and in the light of the recent brouhaha here about gay adoption, I wonder if she would not have been better off with a loving gay adoptive couple...

I'm really enjoying AM Homes This Book Will Save Your Life with its wry subtle, humorous and philosophical take on Los Angeles life. I've never read any of her work but even though I'm only halfway through this one, I suspect I'll soon be hunting out the others. Funnily enough, in the light of the previous paragraph, it turns out she's adopted and has written a memoir- The Mistress' Daughter about her experience

Finally the Costa Prize went to The Tenderness of Wolves, a first novel set in Canada and written by a woman who suffers from agoraphobia and who therefore had never been to Canada. She had done all her research in the British Library, an institution that I have much personal fondness for from my postgraduate student days... especially after I found a pamphlet on the history of my village self-published by a retired headmaster from my village there. How it got there I have no idea....

Peckham murder blues, avoiding jangrover rides, Costa Book awards & EFCC wahala

2007-02-07T09:57:00.000Z

I moved to the UK not long after the tragic death of Damilola Taylor which had captured the attention of the Nigerian media. I remember a few friends asking me if I was really sure I wanted to move to a country where such a tragedy could occur. Of course the irony of their well-meaning questions, I mean it wasn't as if Nigeria was the safest place in the world, was lost on us. In any case Peckham loomed large in the Nigerian consciousness. Sadly it seems as if this is set to be revived with the murder of a teenager born to Nigerian parents in his bedroom in Peckham less than a kilometre from where Damilola died. It's believed that he was the victim of mistaken identity- everyone says he was a quiet regular churchgoing member of the Celestial Church of Christ in Peckham. Peckham of course is arguably the heart of the Nigerian community in London. On the radio this morning, somewhat predictably the usual suspects are rolled out to explain why this is happening- this was the third murder in a week in the area. Whatever the reasons are I personally find it sad when an immigrant dies in a tragedy like this. I don't for a minute suggest that other lives are worth less, but there is something about travelling so far and enduring so much that makes it that bit more tragic for me...

Which reminds me of a conversation I had with friends just before Christmas. We were walking through Leicester Square where the usual Christmas fairground had been set up - the rollercoaster rides, the contraptions that throw you right up in the air and then swoop down again and so on. So this friend visiting from Nigeria tries to persuade us to go up on the scariest of the rides with him. Another friend who lives here declined asking him "If anything happens to me up there what will I tell the people in my village? That after all the sacrifices and struggles, I threw it all away on some cheap fairground ride? Let the native English people seek all the thrills they want, me o, I am on a mission here...I no come London come begin climb jangrover..." (By the way where does that word Jangrover come from? Did I spell it right?)

I've finally finished Helon Habila's Measuring Time. He's a great writer- his prose is dreamlike, engaging and thoughtful. He paints a vivid picture of life in rural northern Nigeria and reminded me of my youth service days there. And Mamo, the main character who loves history and writing and books struck a deep chord. Yet,there was something about the storyline that I struggled with. I can't really put my finger on it, but while I enjoyed reading it, it didn't quite hold me as captive as I would have liked. Nevertheless, I think it's a good book with great language and ideas and I'd recommend it...

I'll be starting A M Homes This Book Will Save Your Life tonight. It's also on the Richard and Judy selection for this year.

Meanwhile the winner of the Costa Prize (formerly known as the Whitbread) which is awarded to books by writers based in the United Kingdom will be awarded tonight. The shortlist in the various categories are here http://www.costabookawards.com/awards/shortlist.aspx and the winners in the various categories are here http://www.costabookawards.com/awards/category_winners.aspx I haven't read any of the winners, although William Boyd's Restless has been on my to read list. Even on the shortlist, the only one I'd read was Cloth Girl by Marilyn Heward Mills which is set in colonial Ghana. I quite enjoyed it. And so the to-read list grows...

Meanwhile back home in Nigeria, the EFCC has apparently written to all the political parties with a list of 130 candidates for the upcoming elections who are considered unfit to hold office because of alleged corrupt practices. Topping the list unsurprisingly are three of Obasanjo's fiercest bete noires - Atiku, Tinubu and Orji Kalu. I understand that Nuhu Ribadu, the EFCC boss is a lawyer, why then does he on the basis of allegations write such a letter? What if the allegations are in the end unproven? Again, Nigeria takes something that on the surface sounds laudable and twists it, thereby undermining the whole process....Na real wa! I hadn't even realized that Bola Tinubu was planning to go to the Senate- what is it about power in Nigeria that makes people unable to let go. Why can people not simply say "E do. I don try, make anoda person try? " I guess the answer is patronage - politics is the only business in town. I tire.

Meanwhile I stumbled across this blog by a new father in London and it turns out he's Nigerian (sort of)
http://firsttimefather.typepad.com/the_first_time_father/2006/10/week_32_and_you.html

I also stumbled across...this http://anijawife.blogspot.com/ I couldn't believe the post about her husband denying her sex for four months in order to "punish" her - this is in 2007, and this is an investment banker? Jeremy, Ore, Everchange and all the Naija feminists you have your work cut out o!

Nigeria-more than you think, Birmingham & other musings

2007-02-05T12:03:00.000Z

It's a buzzy drinks party somewhere in the West End and I find myself chatting to this Eastern European man who works in investment banking. On learning I'm from Nigeria he tells me that he first started learning English using Nigerian secondary school English textbooks. Apparently, his uncle had been an engineer in Nigeria in the seventies, part of the stream of technical aid sent from Communist Eastern Europe to Africa to try and help establish the socialist empire there. His cousin had brought back his textbooks from Nigeria and so that was how he first started to learn English. He speaks impeccably, telling me how good the Nigerian textbooks were and I marvel at the connection.

Later in the week, I am chatting with some Nigerian friends when this Indian gentleman pitches up clapping one of them on the back and speaking impeccable Nigerian pidgin- he apparently grew up in Nigeria and speaks pidgin fluently. For the second time in the week I'm struck by the tagline on the Heart of Nigeria adverts which have suddenly appeared on the tube- Nigeria- more than you think! Indeed

It's been a fairly lazy weekend- I did have to go up to Birmingham on Saturday briefly for work and it was actually my first time in the city proper- having been to a few meetings at the conference centre at Birmingham International train station. It was rather much as I expected- the little of it that I saw, could be any other large English city- but I was struck by how diverse the crowds in the shopping centres in the city centre were. As I started walking to the station, a limousine pulled up into the hotel foyer in front of me and a wedding party tumbled out- half decked in glittering saris and the other half in smart mother and sister of the bride outfits.....

Tony Blair made a rare appearance on the Today programme on Radio 4, sounding very much like a man who has begun his valedictory speech- finally he realizes that "you can't please all the people all the time" but admits that "he likes to be liked". The newspaper analysts all thought that he sounded a lot more reflective than he had in the past but I must admit I didn't feel terribly sympathetic towards him- but then if you've read this blog before you won't be surprised by that

Ayaan Hirsi Ali, the Dutch Somalian politician arrives in the UK to launch her autobiography "Infidel" I've meant to blog about her for a long time but have never got round to it because I felt she required a more measured analysis than I have had the time to provide here. I do sympathize somewhat with her awakening to Enlightenment values following her politics degree at a Dutch university, even though I have issues with some of the interpretations that she makes, but what I don't understand is why the media keep referring to her as a Muslim reformer when from her utterances she has repudiated her Islamic faith. She may have once been a Muslim but I don't think she regards herself as one any longer so holding her up as an emblem of moderate Islam is flawed in itself...I guess my in-depth analysis will have to wait till after I've read Infidel

I've just finished Harbor- Lorraine Adams' book about Algerian immigrants in the US. It's a complex story but displayed a plausible portrayal of the issues that immigrants face and more importantly how in the war against terror, the line between innocent and guilty become so blurred that the truth remains anyone's guess....

Next up on my reading list is Helon Habila's Measuring Time which arrived at the weekend and which received favourable reviews in Metro the free newspaper and the Observer. Sadly the Metro review isn't available online but the reviewer also picked up on the subject of twins in Habila's book and Adichie's as I had done earlier. The Observer review is however available here http://snipurl.com/19diz

I'd hoped to go the Royal Court Theatre to see the new production of Chekhov's The Seagull in which Chiwetel Ejiofor is appearing. The production has got very good reviews and having seen him last week on the street strengthened my resolve to get a ticket. Alas the play is completely sold out- which I guess is great for the production but not for me...

Echoes of Frost/Nixon, Nigerian Big Brother & Habila & Abani's new book

2007-01-31T11:53:00.000Z

Just before Christmas I went with friends to see Frost/Nixon, the play by Peter Morgan, the same guy behind the Oscar nominated film The Queen. It's an interesting play showing the interplay between the young journalist David Frost (played admirably by Michael Sheen who also plays a young Tony Blair in The Queen) and the wily old Richard Nixon who left office in disgrace after the Watergate scandal, and whom Frost manages to get to admit culpability and apologise on tape. After the play we went to dinner at a new restaurant in the West End- Imli which professes to do Indian-style tapas- lots of small, manageable dishes shared with friends- and we quite enjoyed the tasting menu- see here http://www.imli.co.uk/menu_xmas.html
As we ate we reflected on the fact that what led to Nixon's downfall was not necessarily ordering his operatives to break into the Democratic Party headquarters but the subsequent attempt at a cover-up which led to deletion of tapes, falsification of records, etc. So why am I going through all this? Well this morning we woke up to the news that Tony Blair's adviser Lord Levy had been arrested for perverting the course of justice in the cash for peerages scandal which has rumbled on for a while now. In a nutshell, the allegation is that Tony Blair nominated donors to the Labour Party for peerages in exchange for their donations/loans to the party. This is where I hear my Naija brothers and sisters saying "Ehen and so?" Well, it's against the law here and the police have been investigating. I haven't really taken it all very seriously which is why I haven't blogged on it before now, not even when Teflon Tone was interviewed by the police in the run-up to Christmas earning himself the dubious distinction of being the first Prime Minister in recent memory to be interviewed by the police in the course of a criminal enquiry. But this morning I couldn't help reflecting on Frost/Nixon and wondering if it'll be the cover up that might do for Blair.....

Is anyone else bemused by Nigeria's agreement to supply 80 megawatts of energy to Ghana, in addition to taking over Ghana's commitments to Togo and Benin?http://www.thisdayonline.com/nview.php?id=69350

Now I'm all for African brotherhood and sisterhood, in spite of recent attempts to shake my faith :-) , but honestly why do we persist in an empty big-manism - Perhaps there's a logic to this, so if you know it, please let me know...

On the literary front, I've been meaning to get Chris Abani's novella Becoming Abigail for a while. While I've dallied, he's brought out a new book The Virgin of Flames which is reviewed in the New York Times here
http://www.nytimes.com/2007/01/28/books/review/Olsson.t.html?_r=1&oref=slogin . Meanwhile Chimamanda Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun is nominated for the prestigious National Book Critics' Circle Award in the US http://www.bookcritics.org/?go=finalists and Helon Habila's Measuring Time comes out in the UK tomorrow...

"Evil" Blogger, Eliza don pay buses, offer to Dr Reid and DARFUR

2007-01-29T15:08:00.000Z

I haven't posted in a while because I was trying to resist moving to the new Blogger. I have nothing against the new format- I'm not techie enough to, but I just have a problem with being forced to move against my will. Things came to a head on Saturday when I tried to post and could no longer access my blog unless I agreed to move to the new Blogger and set up a Google account. I really did not want to do that having posted earlier about the spookiness of my gmail account where if I get an e mail about say a conference in Switzerland, adverts about flights and hotels in Switzerland instantly fill the screen. Now I know it's all automated and that but I'm not 100 per cent comfortable with the fact that someone somewhere (or a machine somewhere) is scanning my personal e mails, and drawing my attention to relevat adverts. Anyway I explored the options for moving using (yes you guessed it Google) and the procedures all seemed far more complex than I had time or patience for. So I've signed up to the new Google/Blogger account and joined the "evil" Google empire whose corporate motto once was "Don't be Evil". Or to be correct I've just formalized my relationship with them, seeing as they bought Blogger a while back.....

This weekend I was going somewhere with a Nigerian friend and we had to get a bus. When it turned up, it was one of the new extra-long bendy buses beloved by our Mayor, Ken Livingstone and hated by many Londoners. Opponents dislike them not only because they seem set to eclipse and ultimately replace the old double decker buses, starting with the Routemaster, but also because they do not require a conductor which some say makes them less safe and more impersonal. Anyway as this bendy bus pulls up, my friend says "Ah, na Eliza don pay" (Nigerian pidgin for Ah, this is an Eliza has paid). What on earth are you talking about? I asked bemused. Well, he told me, among some Nigerian Londoners, these bendy buses are known as "Eliza don pay" because since they don't have a conductor on board to check your ticket, it means you are travelling courtesy of Her Majesty (otherwise irreverently known in some Naija circles as Eliza or Mama Charlie- work that out) - no need to pay...I couldn't help chuckling at that- I wonder if Mayor Ken knows about this, perhaps it's part of his concern for the underdog.....

Politics in the UK has started off with a bang this year what with the debates on whether to exempt Catholic adoption agencies from the new anti-discrimination laws so that they do not have to place children with gay couples, and the Big Brother racism row and now the news that the prisons are full up. Yes, that's right, John Reid the bruiser at the Home Office whose mantra in the past has been "bang them up" has been forced to write judges asking them to bear in mind that the prisons are full when sentencing. The Home Office is busily scrambling around looking for prison places for new offenders and has had to begin renegotiating to lease back a prison ship which they had recently sold to a Nigerian oil company. This is at the same time when a broom cupboard (11ft by 7ft) in Chelsea- one of the more desirable parts of town has just been rented out for 170 000 pounds. Now I wonder if Dr Reid would be interested in leasing my spare room at above the market rate- I wouldn't mind offering it as a cell for the tabloid editor jailed last week for four months after pleading guilty to hacking into Prince William and Prince Harry's voicemails http://news.scotsman.com/uk.cfm?id=141622007

I've just finished Andrew O'Hagan's Be Near Me and I enjoyed it so much that I've gone hunting for his previous books. It's about an Oxford educated English Catholic priest who ends up in a rural Scottish parish and ends up accused of paedophilia. It sounds cliched but the language is so evocative and beautiful, and it's full of ideas about faith and loss and longing and politics- I loved it!

Today I found myself (gulp) agreeing with David Cameron when he said that people needed to be inspired to seek and adopt British values and not bullied into Britishness. It was a more sensible approach than we've heard from Government ministers lately, but as is usual with Cameron was rather light on what HE would do instead. I also consoled myself with the thought that many in Cameron's party would disagree with him

On a more serious note- DARFUR. We've all read the books about Rwanda. And watched the films. And debated the issues. And sighed "never again". So why, oh why is the world standing by and watching as the horror is repeated. Why are we going about our business, forgetting that the horror is continuing and spreading. And the Sudanese president on whose watch this is happening actually wants to lead the African Union. Thankfully just as I was typing this, I see that the AU has acted with some sense and handed the leadership for this year to Ghana's Kuffour. But it isn't enough. Something must be done- the handwringing must stop

My Tanzanian odyssey- a lesson in African brotherhood

2007-01-25T19:33:00.000Z

Okay o. So there I was sitting jeje and I get an e mail saying I have to go to Tanzania later in the year. It's for work and I'm quite excited because I've never (whisper it) been to another African country. There I am gallivanting to Spain and Italy and France and the US and I have never even been to Ghana....na wa for WAEC....

Anyway they tell me flights are booked and arangements made and I'm asked to check if I need a visa. I go to the Tanzania High Commission website http://www.tanzania-online.gov.uk/visa/visa-who.html and carefully go through the list of countries whose nationals require a visa.

Nigeria is not on the list so I'm quite excited. Let me explain. In my office, everyone knows about me and my visa wahala. Whenever I need to travel for work or even for play, I often need to get a visa. Thankfully some of the embassies have given me long duration visas (stand up US and Canada to be acknowledged) but others including the Schengen states insist on giving me itsy bitsy visas that need to be renewed ever so often. Anyway I digress.

The point is that when I saw Nigeria was not on the list and the UK was, I laughed. Ehen, for a change, my English colleagues would need to get a visa and I would not- let them see what it is like to be filling forms and sending it up and down. Hooray for African solidarity!

Anyway I noticed a bit of small print at the bottom of the web page that said to call the High Commission if your country was not on the list. So I picked up the phone and called:

"Tanzania High Commission"

"Good morning, I'm a Nigerian based in the UK and I need to go to Tanzania later in the year for work and was calling to find out what the visa requirements are?"

"Hold on a minute I'll transfer you"

Another female posher voice comes on the line and I repeat my question

"You cannot apply for your visa here, you have to apply from Tanzania. Nigerians need what we call a referred visa- it's only issued from our Immigration Headquarters in Dar es Salaam"

"I beg your pardon, but I can't go there without a visa, can I?"

"No, the people inviting you have to apply on your behalf in Tanzania"

"But they sent me a letter of invitation and asked me to apply at the Embassy here"

"I am telling you what you need to do"

I decide to try a different tack- "But what if I'm a tourist- just going on holiday"

"Then the people you are going to stay with have to apply for you in Dar"

"So there is no way I can apply from here"

"Have you been listening to me?"

"Errrr yes"

"I don't think so, because if you had been listening that question will not be necessary"

As I sit with my mouth open, I hear a click. Madam has dropped the phone on me.

So much for African brotherhood.

I Google "Tanzania Immigration" and find this:

" Referred Visa
The referred visa is one that requires special clearance or permission from the Director of Immigration Services in Dar es Salaam or the Principal Immigration Officer in Zanzibar. This type of visa is required for nationals of Lebanon, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nigeria, Somalia and for Refugees, stateless people and other nationalities as may be specified from time to time by the authorities. People affected by this regulation may make enquiries at the nearest Tanzania mission abroad."

So I've asked my office people to get in touch with the people I'm going to see in Tanzania, but as it stands, there's no guarantee that I'll be seeing another African country anytime soon :-(

Icy memories, Adichie's new story&reading Mr Zadie Smith

2007-01-24T11:29:00.000Z

Winter finally arrived yesterday. Last night walking home it was so cold that I had to put on my gloves- the first time this winter. Then this morning I woke up to see the cars in the street thickly coated in white as if pranksters had gone haywire covering them with balls of cotton wool- it had snowed overnight. Walking out of the front door, I had to walk carefully to avoid slipping on the icy pavement which was decorated with slabs of ice.The ice reminded me of my childhood- ever so often my mother would decide that it was time to defrost the huge "deep freeze" that sat in a room of its own between the kitchen and the food store. She would unload the plastic containers of soup and stew and meat stock and the chunks of raw meat and dried fish that filled its maw and would set to work with a little chisel. None of the house helps were allowed to do this- not after an incident (long embedded in family legend) when a previous househelp had inadvertently pierced the silver skin of a previous fridge with a knife- letting the coolant leak and rendering the fridge useless. When my mother was done with her chisel, we would struggle to carry the slabs of ice out and pour them out on the grass behind the kitchen. There we would compete to see who could stand the longest in bare feet on the ice- we would play with the ice until it all melted away. This morning looking at the ice on the pavement and on the road I remembered this.

Chimamanda Adichie has a new short story in The New Yorker http://www.newyorker.com/fiction/content/articles/070129fi_fiction_adichie?page=1

Yesterday, working from home for the morning I caught part of what sounded like a very interesting programme on Radio 4- Called Women on the Verge of Serious Power, it looked at Margaret Thatcher's rise to power in Britain and comparing it with Segolene Royal in France and Hillary Clinton in the US bids for the top job....unfortunately I had to leave for a meeting and missed most of it....

I'm currently reading Utterly Monkey- the novel by Nick Laird the erstwhile lawyer and now poet who in a different incarnation is Mr Zadie Smith- one of her books was dedicated to him- My Sweet Laird it read. His book is quite good-it's set in Belfast and London and follows Danny a Northern Irish lawyer working in London and in love (?) with Ellen who's a black girl working in the same firm. There's a scene in a Belfast hotel -The Europa- which I stayed in last year and he captures the atmosphere so well. I wonder why more hasn't been made of it.

A "good" weekend

2007-01-22T10:29:00.000Z

I finally finished House of Stone by Christina Lamb and I thoroughly enjoyed it- it's a very interesting account of the recent history of Zimbabwe seen through the eyes of Aquinata, a black domestic maid and Nigel her white employer, and is written in a very readable style. The whole Zimbabwe story is intriguing not least the metamorphoses of "Bob" Mugabe.....but that's the subject for another day's blog....

I had a good weekend- strolling through Leicester Square I saw the barriers going up for the premiere of Dreamgirls starring Beyonce and Eddie Murphy. I've often strolled through Lecicester Square in the hours before a movie premiere, but yesterday for the first time a fleeting thought that I ought perhaps to join the few fans slowly gathering in front of the Odeon Leicester Square wound its way through my head- fortunately the feeling passed...

Headed to Angies, arguably the most upmarket Nigerian restaurant in London for their Sunday buffet lunch. Not only do they offer good Nigerian food in a clean restaurant that avoids the cliched plastic flowers and plastic tablecloths of many of its competitors, but they also provide good service- the waitress was quietly solicitous without being obtrusive- bringing a bowl of washing up water when one of our party started on his pounded yam and generally making sure that we got whatever help we wanted even before we asked. With the music of Yinka Ayefele softly playing in the background, the spread of jollof rice, fried rice (the Naija version), fried plantains, two choices of stew (complete with chicken, beef and cowleg) , egusi and pounded yam made for a pleasing alternative to an English Sunday lunch. They even have a website and a takeaway and delivery service and you can apparently even order online
http://www.angies-restaurant.co.uk/ . While there I heard from another customer that Yellow Chili, the Lagos restaurant that's making waves is set to open in London- bring it on I say....

On Friday I stumbled across a Nigerian story on The Smoking Gun- the website that exposed author James Frey's lies. My first instinct was to blog on it bagging a Nigerian blogworld exclusive :-) but on second thoughts I sanctimoniously decided not to because I felt it would be hurtful . In any case, by the end of the weekend, others- journalists and websites had picked up on it but I couldn't help feeling a little pleased with myself for my self restraint- how sad is that?

I guess I'm just not cut out to be a tabloid journalist, there goes my chance of the big bucks....

On big brother, racism, twins in Nigerian literature and reading House of Stone

2007-01-19T11:52:00.000Z

The airwaves, the coffee bars and dinner tables of Britain have been agog over the antics on the Celebrity Big Brother show. At the heart of most of the furore (centering around the bullying of Shilpa Shetty, a Bollywood actress by Jade Goody, a previous winner of Big Brother) has been the question of whether or not there were racist undertones to the bullying. Various people have been wheeled out to spew their various positions. India is threatening a diplomatic incident which has ended up overshadowing Gordon Brown's tour of the country. Carphone Warehouse has pulled its sponsorship of the show and the Perfume Shop has pulled Jade Goody's perfume from its shelves. Everyone is working themselves into a lather and of course the Big Brother producers are laughing all the way to the bank as their viewing and text message figures soar.

I've always thought that whoever invented the reality show format deserves a Nobel Prize for business (if such a thing exists). You rake in money from sponsorship and adverts and then whip up controversy and make the public load your pockets even more through their telephone calls and text messages- a no brainer really. But I digress.

I've been meaning to post about Big Brother for a while- about how the British middle-classes and intelligentsia sneer publicly at its inanity but cannot restrain themselves from wittering on about it. Of course it's all dressed up as pseudo scholarly analysis but the end result is that people like me who do not watch the programme are nevertheless assailed with reports of the antics on the programme on television, radio and media even the supposedly highbrow ones.

Now my indifference to Big Brother has nothing to do with snobbery- I don't think I'm too good or too intelligent to watch it- I've watched/read and still watch/read loads of trash in my time- It's just that the few times I've tried to watch it, it's been literally like watching paint dry- dead boring. But to each his or her own

What has surprised me about this latest furore is the debate about whether or not it is racist to make fun of people's food and eating habits, suggest that their hygiene is dubious, and mock their skin colour. Various commentators have suggested that it is merely about class- Goody and her posse are ignorant working class gits who resent Shetty's beauty, erudition and sophistication hence their bullying. These analyses of course fail to take into account the power dynamics inherent in racism. If Shetty was an upper class white English person whose ways were as different to Goody as Shetty's would Jade and her posse for instance so readily mock her food and hygiene habits? I rather doubt it. It's the same reason that commentators who point out that Shetty and Jermaine Jackson had had a conversation in which they referred to Goody as "white trash" in order to try and equate the two get it wrong.

Racism is complex and difficult to untangle especially in modern day Britain where people are encouraged to put on a smile while their hearts seethe and where the dynamics are far more subtle than in the past, but at its heart remains the concept that you are better than someone else merely because your race is different. On this count, I'm afraid I'd find Goody et al guilty, but then I would wouldn't I?

That said most of the ranting (on both sides) is utter hypocrisy and showmanship. The sooner the whole spectacle ends and we can get on with our lives the better.

More cheeringly, I see that while I was away in Nigeria, Chimamanda Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun has been included in the Richard and Judy Book Club list for 2007. For those who don't know- Richard and Judy are a couple who run a chat show and have apparently become very powerful in the British book industry as many books they pick out for their Book Club see their sales soaring. I hope this happens for Chimamanda...For other books in the list see here http://snipurl.com/17umr For an article on Richard and Judy and their power in the book industry see here http://books.guardian.co.uk/departments/generalfiction/story/0,6000,1156756,00.html

Meanwhile, Helon Habila's long awaited followup to his stunning Waiting for an Angel is due out in a few weeks. Measuring Time is the story of twin brothers growing up in a Nigerian village http://www2.wwnorton.com/catalog/fall06/005251.htm I wonder why the theme of twins recurs in so much recent Nigerian ( I use the term loosely) literature- think Olanna and Kainene in Half of a Yellow Sun, Georgia and Bessi in Diana Evans 26a, Jess and TillyTilly (not quite but close) in Helen Oyeyemi's Icarus Girl and now Mamo and La Mamo in Habila's Measuring Time- perhaps this is an idea for a paper from the more scholarly amongst us.....Perhaps it's to do with the contrasting feelings of love and exasperation that Nigeria stimulates in most of us....

I'm currently reading House of Stone-Christina Lamb's true account of a white Zimbabwean farming family and their erstwhile much loved nanny who led the takeover of their farm. Lamb traces the lives of the two main characters deftly and fairly even handedly so far...

Nigerian incident

2007-01-17T11:23:00.000Z

A childhood friend comes to visit. We're having a party. His wife and four kids are in tow. He's a highly qualified professional- doing well by Nigerian standards, the driver and car are there parked in the foreground of our compound to prove it. As is the wife- professional, well-educated, turned out in an expensive lace long skirt and blouse. Up our front steps she struggles- to hang on to the baby, the baby bag and the two older ones' hands while at the same time hitching up her "tight-knee" skirt to negotiate the steep steps. Husband (my friend) strides obliviously on. I go to her and take the baby bag and the two older ones off her hands. Her relief is palpable.

I settle them in and explain that the buffet is open. It's serve yourself as we say. She looks around trying to negotiate what to do with the kids. Husband is deeply engrossed in conversation with some other friends, seemingly oblivious to the problem. I take their order and then go and get what she wants and serves them. Husband swivels round and says what he would like to eat. She abandons feeding the children and heads for the buffet and is soon back with hubby's order. The whole family tuck in.

My friend does not seem to have changed, he's still the same funny, humane person- passionate about Nigerian development and about Nigeria moving forward. We discuss various projects and initiatives that he's involved in.

Yet his treatment of his wife rankles. I keep quiet till the next day. Over a drink I gently, half-humorously raise my observations. He laughs as he tells me that I have turned oyibo- brainwashed by the English. I disagree, reminding him of our heated conversations in university, our rejection of the status quo. That was theory he says- this is practice. We turn to other less contentious subjects, but I still can't shake off my confusion.

The gap between us looms....

Happy New Year!

2007-01-16T18:05:00.000Z

Been a while, been working and travelling - Christmas in a small Spanish town near Valencia- Christmas Eve (noche buena) was such an experience spending a traditional Spanish Christmas with a friend's family where no one spoke English and my non-existent Spanish struggled to leap across the gap, but the sheer warmth of humanity bridged it.....

Then to an English friend's country wedding party immediately after Christmas and

Then home to Naija for New Year's...family, friends, fuel shortage, fun, and everywhere awash in brightly coloured election posters- at least hopefully the printers and graphic artists are chopping small....

I just got back- but there's so much to process and digest and absorb...the multiplicity and the rich and varying strands in the fabric that is my life today

I'll try and blog about it all at some point when I've got a better handle on things...

Meanwhile recent reading-(How do you think I got through all those flights and train journeys):

Kiran Desai's Booker winning The Inheritance of Loss which I enjoyed, although I would probably have given the Booker to Kate Grenville's heartrending The Secret River. I found myself flinching physically at the pain some of her characters went through....
Fatou Diome's The Belly of the Atlantic captured the realities of the immigrant experience deftly. The actor Rupert Everett's autobiography Red Carpets and other Banana Skins while very well-written was slightly too choppy and episodic for my liking. John Cornwell's Seminary Boy was an illuminating and thoughtful account of his childhood and youthful struggles with the Catholic faith, Nigeria's City People and National Encomium were time-passing fodder for the airport lounges with their inane, poorly written and researched accounts of the doings of various Lagos and Abuja Big Boys and Girls, the current edition of Farafina guest edited by Ike Oguine was a refreshing contrast ....

Many Sides of Yaradua by Mahmud Jega(Warning- longish post)

2006-12-19T15:54:00.000Z

Amidst the darkness shrouding our new "President to be", a friend forwarded this to me which I thought I ought to share....

Many sides of Yar’Adua
By Mahmud Jega
mmj...@yahoo.com

The fourth transformation in five decades of Nigerians’ understanding of the meaning of
“Yar’adua” is in the offing. For many generations until the mid-1950s, Yar’adua was synonymous with the old Yar’aduwa quarters in Katsina town. But for 20 years from the mid-1950s, the name was most associated in Nigerians’ mind with Alhaji Musa Yar’adua, the Tafida and later Mutawallen Katsina, the powerful NPC chieftain who was Minister for Lagos Affairs in the First Republic. From 1976 until two weeks ago, most reference to Yar’adua in Nigerian politics and the news media referred to the late Major General Shehu Musa Yar’adua, Tafidan Katsina, Chief of Staff, Supreme Headquarters in 1976-79 and, more seriously, one of the greatest politicians to walk the Nigerian soil in 1988-97. Now, beginning from yesterday and for the foreseeable future, most references to Yar’adua would refer to Alhaji Umaru Musa Yar’adua, Mutawallen Katsina, Governor of Katsina State until May next year and, most probably, President of the Federal Republic afterwards.
In the wake of yesterday’s rather efficient conclusion of the PDP national convention and his victory over 11 other aspirants in the first ballot, many Nigerians are likely to see Alhaji Umaru Yar’adua as a stooge, who was picked out of the blues, very late in the day, and was railroaded to the nomination with a combination of EFCC threats and other hard tackling of his opponents and other party chieftains. The corollary to that is that, if and when he makes it to the presidency, Yar’adua is expected to reign while Obasanjo and his greedy cabal continue to rule.
That is many people’s fear, but for me, having reported on the politics of the Yar’aduas in the last 15 years, the reality could turn out to be very different from the appearance. Many people like to think of Umaru Yar’adua only as General Shehu Yar’adua’s taciturn, soft-spoken, low profile junior brother. Certainly, it is doubtful if Malam Umaru could have achieved so much prominence in politics if he was not the son of Mutawalle Musa and the brother of Tafida Shehu. However, anyone who thinks of Umaru as a passive, pampered passenger on the bull-dozing Yar’adua political train in the last 5 decades has got another thing coming.
In the late 1970s, when General Shehu, as Chief of Staff, was busy meddling in NPN affairs and [according to Alhaji Umaru Dikko] was negotiating to become Shagari’s Defence Minister, Alhaji Umaru was a die-hard PRP supporter in the old Kaduna State, and he built up a strong personal following of his own among zealous PRP cadres. I know this for sure, because in 1990-91, my editors at Citizen Magazine sent me to Katsina many times to report on the heated SDP gubernatorial primaries and the subsequent elections. Unknown to many people outside Katsina, there was a lot of tension within the state SDP, caused by General Shehu seeking the presidency while Alhaji Umaru was seeking the governorship. While the party’s elders were more keen on the General’s presidential aspiration, the younger, rank-and-file members were much more keen on Alhaji Umaru’s guber ambition. They said if one of them must give up, it was the General who should give up. Most of them were old PRP men who couched their position in ideological terms, but their most important reason must had been that a governor is nearer to them than a president would be.
Besides, they told many stories about Alhaji Umaru’s extreme dynamism in politics. Unlike the General, who mostly operated in smoke-filled board rooms, Alhaji Umaru was a tireless grassroots mobiliser in those days, who easily outpaced all his coterie of zealous campaign workers. I reported in Citizen that time a story I picked up about how Umaru led one 72-hour non-stop operation to visit every hamlet in one remote corner of Katsina State. At about 4 o’clock in the morning on the third day, according to the late Alhaji Ali Ruwa, with the campaigners near collapse, they pleaded with Umaru to end the tour because the only hamlet they had not visited had only a dozen people. But the SDP candidate said he must visit it, and he ploughed through the sand in the night, alone, while the rest of the team sat down to rest. He had not slacked a bit by 1998, when PDP was formed. That year, I reported in the New Nigerian Weekly about the gruesome one-month operation leading to the formation of the K-34 organisation. Some of the participants told stories of how Umaru Yar’adua led them to visit almost every important political figure in any locality throughout Katsina’s 34 local governments, thousands of people in all, often going for days without sleep. In the end, he put together the powerful K-34, which teamed up with Alhaji Lawal Kaita’s PDM to form the state PDP, and to overwhelm it. An interesting coincidence in this story was that it was General Aliyu Mohamed Gusau who, not long after Abacha died in 1998, told Alhaji Umaru to prepare to reclaim the gubernatorial mandate that he controversially lost to NRC’s Alhaji Saidu Barda in 1991. There is no doubt that Yar’adua, not Barda, won that election. Don’t forget that the election petitions tribunals in 1992 admitted that the vote tally was falsified in one local government, corrected it and lowered Saidu Barda’s winning figure to only a few thousand. The only reason why the whole result was not upturned was because when Umaru’s lawyer Chief G.O.K. Ajayi applied to contest the results of two more local governments, the panel said he did not so apply before the deadline.
In any case, a year later, I personally overheard two Katsina NRC chieftains arguing about who claims the credit for rigging Barda into power. At issue was Governor Barda’s heavy political dependence in those days on Alhaji Wada Nas. So one of the NRC men said, “Barda listens to Wada Nas more than us because he thinks it was Wada who rigged the elections in Funtua and earned victory for him. What he does not understand is that we were the ones who actually did the rigging in Funtua, not Wada”.
Last week, Umaru Yar’adua made a statement during a campaign visit to Damaturu. He quoted the Qur’an and said, “Allah gives power to whom He wants at the time He wants”. It is a favourite phrase of his. In the course of an interview in 2001, when I asked him about the 1991 elections, Umaru Yar’adua said, “In 1994, my daughter was admitted to the University of Maiduguri, so I took her to Maiduguri and stayed overnight in Alhaji Maina Ma’aji Lawan’s house. [Maina won election as governor of Borno in 1991, on SDP’s platform, the same time that Umaru was defeated]. Something happened in the house that day that made me to wake up in the middle of the night and offer two raka’ats’ special prayer to Allah, to thank Him for not allowing me to win the election of 1991”. What was it that he saw, Alhaji Umaru refused to say. Someone should ask him again before he disappears into the State House.

When he finally became governor of Katsina in 1999, Umaru Yar’adua promptly introduced his rather severe sense of humility, simplicity and openness to the state’s governance. I know, because in 2002, he hosted us to a dinner at the Government House. We were served plain white rice with two pieces of meat, and I could not help thinking that the food in my own house was tastier than the governor’s food. The following day, when I interviewed him for two hours at his official residence, there was power failure. To my surprise, no standby generator was started, and both the governor and myself were sweating profusely as we did the interview. At one point, Alhaji Umaru was so drenched in sweat that an aide handed him a handkerchief.
I therefore seized the opportunity to ask him why he had no generator, why he was seen at the Friday mosque praying under a tree and not inside the mosque, near the Emir of Katsina, why his food was not tasty, and why he was seen driving a car and stopping by the roadside to buy a cigarette. Alhaji Umaru gazed at me closely, perhaps wondering if I was as foolish as I looked. Of course he knew me a bit, because in 1995, I was the editor of the Sentinel magazine when our publisher, General Shehu Yar’adua was arrested by Abacha. Umaru Yar’adua then took over overseeing the magazine for a few months, before it collapsed.
Anyway, he gave an answer that I reflected on for some time and which, when it was published, drew several remarks on the internet. He said, “You see, I have been praying under that tree for the last 18 years, and I am not about to change now just because I became the governor. As for the other things you mentioned, my concern is not really for myself, but for women and the children. I do not want them to get used to something, only to lose it some day. As for me, even if I wake up tomorrow and there are no cars or anything, I can adjust, but women and the children find it very difficult to adjust to such changes. This is what makes many public officers to steal money in order to be able to maintain such facilities for their wives and children when they are no more in office”.
He did many other things, such as forcing the state Finance Ministry to reveal its accounts on radio and television every month and to listen to public comments on it. In 1999, Umaru Yar’adua made public his declaration of assets; I remember he mentioned a house in Katsina and another in Kaduna that were both given to him by his senior brother.
It was around that time, in August 1999, when we were part-time research assistants at the Shehu Yar’adua Centre, then based in Kaduna, that Malam Ibrahim Sheme told me the story of what happened when center’s director Jackie Farris gave him the
centre’s cheque book to take to Governor Yar’adua in Katsina with a request for him, as a
co-signatory, to sign “two or three” blank cheques so we could be paid. It must had been traumatic for Alhaji Umaru, to be asked to sign blank cheques. He silently pushed away all the files on his desk, began to furiously sign the cheque leaves until he finished the whole book, then turned over the last leaf and said, “Is that all?” He then pushed the book back to Sheme. In Katsina in those days, Umaru Yar’adua also began the controversial policy of accumulating money in state government coffers before any contracts were awarded. For nearly a year into his rule, he did not initiate any projects, saying he must have the money in hand to pay first. Of course some people alleged that he was only accumulating the money so as to shore up Habib Bank’s reserves. When I interviewed him about this in 2002, he said it was because governments in Nigeria had greatly helped the spread of dishonesty in the society by not living up to their own obligations. He said if government signed a contract with a citizen, he did his own part of the bargain and government failed to pay him in time, it sent a very bad signal throughout the society for others to follow. Hence his resolve to award contracts only when he accumulates the money to pay. That is why, during this PDP campaign, I saw some Yar’adua ads saying KTSG has N6 billion in its coffers today.
Still, when he finally started to embark on projects, he did some wonderful ones, especially in the educational sector. An NTI Kaduna review team that inspected educational facilities built in Katsina under Yar’adua flatly stated that they were amazed by what they saw and that it was the best in Northern Nigeria. That’s in one sector; I don’t know about any others. Yar’adua often has some down-to-earth explanations about projects he embarks on. In 2001, when he rebuilt one broken bridge without repairing the road that led to it, he said it was because all his predecessors said they could not repair that road because of the cost of doing the bridge. He therefore resolved, he said, to do the bridge, so that some future governor would have no excuse not to do the road!
I am not sure that Alhaji Umaru Yar’adua has sustained the very high moral and ethical
standards that he set for himself and for Katsina State nearly eight years ago. I have not been visiting or reporting from Katsina in recent years, and some of the stories coming out of there are not sweet. Let’s mention two. Many Katsinawa tell stories about some of the business moguls very close to Alhaji Umaru Yar’adua, and they are controversial, to say the least. He also got very negative publicity in recent weeks in
the manner he handled the state’s PDP governorship primaries. Yar’adua at first
supported, then unceremoniously dumped Speaker Aminu Bello Masari, who is very similar to Alhaji Umaru in simplicity, humility and relative honesty. Was it an order from Obasanjo, as many people now allege?
Anyway, when all is said and done, many Nigerians are not going to vote for Alhaji Umaru Yar’adua because of his own personal qualities and weaknesses, but according to their perception of whether he will be an Obasanjo front. Which is just as well, for when the Yorubas rose in unison and rejected Chief Obasanjo’s presidential aspiration in 1999, they did not do so because they thought the man had no qualities, but because Northerners selected him. Obasanjo did not turn out to be a Northern stooge. With luck, if Alhaji Umaru Yar’adua also makes it to the State House, he may not turn out to be an Obasanjo stooge.

Sad and depressed

2006-12-18T10:48:00.000Z

Haven't blogged in a while. Lots to talk about but been pretty busy with the day job.

However the news yesterday that the taciturn, chronically ill Yaradua had been selected as presidential candidate for the PDP and then that Goodluck, governor of Bayelsa state by default following the impeachment of his predecessor the thieving Alamieyeseigha, had been picked as his running mate sent me into a deep depression.

As everyone points out, Goodluck's wife is currently under investigation for money laundering, millions of dollars are mentioned- not bad for a former university lecturer and civil servant.

Apparently these two have been handpicked by Obasanjo to replace him. Obviously he cares more about immunity from prosecution than anything else. So much for his oft-vaunted patriotism then.

Everyone seems to be resigned to the fact that these two are a shoo in. Whatever happened to protest votes? According to the news reports, there was little in the way of celebration even from the delegates who voted for Yaradua whoe were said to have left the convention venue gloomily.

Would that the opposition would rally around say a Donald Duke and give Nigerians a true choice and voice. But there are probably greater chances of me seeing a pig whizz past the windows of my 5th floor office.

Weep my beloved country.

Espionage-real and imagined, notable books, disconcerted by gmail etc

2006-11-23T10:33:00.000Z

Listening to the news this morning I am struck by how at almost the exact same time as the latest James Bond film is released we are assailed by a real-life espionage drama. Each morning the airwaves are agog with the latest twists and turns in the story of the Russian ex-spy hospitalized in London after allegedly being poisoned. On the day of his poisoning, he had met with a mysterious Italian acquaintance (described variously as an academic and elsewhere as a security expert) who said he had revealed that he had information implicating the Russian government in the murder of Anna Politkovskaya. The Russian government has stoutly denied any involvement either in the murder or in the alleged poisoning. Amidst the swirl of rumour, half truths, allegations and counter-allegations, I am transported back to my childhood in the days of the Cold War when such happenings were common place and am struck by how much the world has changed. The makers of the new James Bond film can't be complaining too much, tragic as this incident is . Should Scotland Yard be looking that way rather than towards the Kremlin?

Two books by Nigerians make the New York Times Notable Books of 2006- Chimamnda Adichie's Half of a Yellow Sun and Uzodinma Iweala's Beast of No Nation. For other books on the list- see here http://www.nytimes.com/ref/books/review/20061203notable-books.html .

I've just finished in quick succession (and enjoyed) two books from the Booker longlist for this year. James Lasdun's Seven Lies was charmingly elliptical as it slowly unwound from contemporary New York back into Stasi dominated East Germany, while Edward St Aubyn's Mother's Milk was a witty elegant inquisition into the nature of parenthood, relationships, New Age religion, death and the United States. I must really go and search out his earlier work now, so enthused am I....

I also recently quite enjoyed Toby Young's The Sound of No Hands Clapping. Having earlier read and enjoyed his deadpan account of his attempt to break into New York's media world in How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, I was eager for this his second offering. It's not as good as the first I think, but still Young had me mouth agape reading about some of the things he got up to- he is so crass and commits the most crashing blunders and yet somehow in the end he emerges so clueless that you can't help but feel some sympathy for him. Like his friend Boris Johnson, I often wonder how much of it all is an act....

I recently signed up to Gmail, only to find that when I'm reading an e mail from Lagos, adverts about Lagos pop up on the screen, ditto when I read e mails from say Scotland- I get ads offering cheap flights to Scotland. It's slightly disconcerting to think that someone or some machine is scanning my email and reading it and deciding what adverts to send on to my screen. I know Google says it's all automated but even then....

Meanwhile in Nigeria the attempt by the Nigerian Navy to take a tougher line with the Niger Delta militants ended tragically with the death of a British national. I notice that they were no Americans involved- I wonder how the US government would have reacted if there had been.....

And to politics where the prehensile chairman of the PDP gloatingly counts up the takings as more and more candidates beat their way to the party's doors- 5 million naira in hand to pick up nomination forms for the party's presidential primaries. It's a pity that the opposition is so gormless that it's pretty obvious whoever gets the PDP nomination is a virtual shoo-in for president. Would that the PDP delegates would display some sense of national duty. Judging from the performance of their representatives in the National Assembly, their votes will be up for sale to the highest bidder. No wonder there was bloodshed last week when delegates to the primaries were being selected....

Meanwhile, a very interesting account by Dr Bolaji Aluko of registering to vote (complete with pix) can be found here http://www.nigeriavillagesquare.com/index.php/content/view/4341/55

Stumbled across another interesting Nigerian blog by a recently qualified medical doctor who thinks deep and writes beautifully http://houseofficer.blogspot.com/ even as the ferociously frank and bold Disillusioned Naija Girl leaves the blogosphere http://nijaoffspring.blogspot.com/ And so the ebb and flow continues....

Migrant's dilemma- corporal punishment or child abuse

2006-11-22T15:42:00.000Z

Just stumbled on the news that the Nigerian professor in the US who was charged with child abuse has been sentenced to two years in prison. When the news first broke, I was horrified at some of the things that he was supposed to have done to his child- putting hot pepper juice on various parts of the child's body, putting ants on the child and so on. I was angry when the Nigerian columnist Reuben Abati tried to paint a picture of this poor man maintaining his culture and being oppressed by an insensitive alien US system and I had meant to blog about it or even write a rejoinder. However a number of people beat me to it, including a few who detailed their experiences in Nigeria of what must only pass for cruel and inhuman behaviour regardless of the context. And yet, reading the account of the sentencing I was moved with pity for this man and his family caught in what is indeed a clash between two cultures. I suppose it is the classic migrant's dilemma- how much to hold on to and how much to let go. Read the account and Abati's article here http://www.nigeriavillagesquare.com/index.php/content/view/4142/46/

Read some of the rejoinders here

Reading the article took me back to a debate about corporal punishment which I had with some Nigerian friends a while back. This was when there was a strong move to ban corporal punishment in the UK and various opinions were being aired. All of us agreed that we had been beaten or smacked as children, but disagreed on whether that had affected us negatively or not. Those of us who said we had not been scarred by the experience were effectively shut up when one of those present, a psychiatrist laughingly said "well you all think you're okay, but are you really?" And we all had to admit that he had a point. Another contributor argued that corporal punishment in a Nigerian context was fine because there were always mediators/moderators to prevent chastisement from escalating into dangerous physical harm. As she put it "The neighbours, the grandparents, the whole community will rush to stop the beating from going too far. The problem with migrants is that that regulatory mechanism is no longer there and so parents are more likely to overstep the mark"

I thought about it all long and hard that evening as I made my way home. Reading this article brought it all back and I wondered if there was not a kernel of truth in her thesis

War on London streets, remember Saro-Wiwa and marriage in southeastern Nigeria

2006-11-21T17:09:00.000Z

In these days when darkness falls almost immediately after midday, I find myself making my way through cold huddled crowds heading home. This early darkening still takes me by surprise but then I remind myself that it's payback for all those long summer nights when we sit sipping Pimm's and lazing in the sun till 9pm or later... I realize that everything is balanced

On the streets of London, there's a war going on between free two evening newspapers- the london paper and London Lite. Now for the four or so years I've been here- there's only been one evening newspaper- the Evening Standard which cost 40p until recently when it went up to 50 p. It's on sale at all the train and underground stations and many commuters grab one to avoid having to look their fellow commuters in the eye.....Then a few weeks ago, vendors appeared on the streets every evening handing out free copies of something called the london paper.....free paper versus 50p paper? Hmm not a tough choice there, so the Evening Standard guys hit back with their own free paper- London Lite which is like a dumbed down version of the Standard. So now commuters on their way home have to run the gauntlet of not one but two sets of vendors handing out free papers. Looking on the positive side, most of the vendors on my route home are black or Asian, so they're obviously providing jobs for the brothers and sisters. On the negative side however, the streets and the train carriages heave with discarded free newspapers....Surely these two newspaper giants should make some contribution to the extra cleaning costs which their commercial war is generating. And I haven't even started on the forests that are being massacred to feed this paper war....

Angela Davis and Ken Wiwa are appearing at City Hall on Friday in the final event in the Remember Saro-Wiwa programme for this year http://www.remembersarowiwa.com/ . I'd hoped to go but the main hall is full up and I really will not go to all that trouble just to sit through a video link- sorry.

Stumbled across another paper by the anthropologist Daniel Jordan Smith on marriage in contemporary South Eastern Nigeria...very interesting reading http://paa2006.princeton.edu/download.aspx?submissionId=60281

Meanwhile, the launch of the Heart of Africa project appears to have received very little if any coverage in the media here. I haven't seen any. Even the Nigerian newspapers concentrated on the bizarre attempt by protesters to hijack the event http://allafrica.com/stories/200611210309.html . Yet there are Nigerians in strategic positions in the media here, but I bet no-one asked them....and so it was the usual suspects...

Liking Scotland, BBC ojoro,Naija politics and adoption palaver

2006-11-20T14:01:00.000Z

I've been away for work just outside of Edinburgh- it was my first visit to Scotland and I really enjoyed it. Autumn must be the best time to visit, the hills and valleys are covered in the most amazing browns and reds and yellows- literally on fire. I think I like Scotland- there's something about it that I found vibrant and attractive- apparently the vision of the Scottish devolved government is "to be the best small country in the world" I like that and the idea that they have also built a strong partnership with Malawi- in health and education and economic development.....how that works in practice, I don't know but the partnership seemed to have a really high profile in government documents and in the media in the period while I was there....Perhaps my liking it is to do with my affinity for the underdog.... I was surprised at the number of Englishmen I met who complained of the Anglophobia of the Scots- one in particular was upset that most Scots felt that it was only a small minority of the population that was responsible and failed to appreciate the subtle ways in which the media and wider society perpetuated prejudice. Welcome to the club, bro, was my response.....

The food was great and I got to taste the famous haggis- it had echoes of pepper soup for me- I guess it was the combination of offal and pepper that did it. It was not at all as unpleasant as English friends had led me to expect.....

In the week that Nigeria was rolling out its image laundering team into London for the launch of the Heart of Africa project, I wake up to the news on BBC Radio 4 http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/business/6163700.stm that a new report has indicted the UK and Nigerian governments for not doing enough to tackle financial crime. The timing of the report release does make one wonder if it was not a calculated attempt to rubbish the Heart of Africa project....besides the BBC report completely ignored the corrupt practices by British businessmen and businesses in Nigeria, and the repatriation of looted money to the UK by Nigerian politicians both of which were also highlighted in the report http://www.chathamhouse.org.uk/pdf/research/africa/Nigeria1106.pdf Thank you BBC for another balanced piece......

I've finally found one person who's been able to register to vote, Ore blogging from Nigeria describes her experience http://orenotes.blogspot.com/2006_11_01_orenotes_archive.html I like the idea of voter's cards with photographs on them, but am still surprised at the potential for multiple registration. Perhaps the electoral commission should repeat the 1993 style where voting held at the same time throughout the country, using transparent glass boxes and results were announced in front of everyone by the officers before everyone dispersed. While that method is inconvenient and resource intensive, it did mean that those who registered in several places could only actually vote in one place as they could not physically be in more than one place at a time....

I see Atiku has moved out of his official residence prior to formally declaring his presidential ambition under the auspices of the Action Congress, having left the PDP for Obasanjo and his acolytes....interesting to see how that plays out. Does he stand a chance of stopping IBB? Part of what IBB has done in coming out is reducing the race to a pro and against IBB matter, and so yet again he is responsible for harming the Nigerian political space and process.....selfish so and so that he is...

On the way to Scotland I finally finished Korouma's Allah is Not Obliged- it's a darkly funny historical account of the wars in west Africa in the 90s seen through the eyes of a child soldier....highly recommended

Meanwhile, the father of Madonna's adopted Malawian son has married his pregnant girlfriend- and looks forward to making a home with his new wife, her daughter from a previous marriage and the expected baby........just when I'm sure Madonna was heaving a sigh of relief that the publicity had died down.....Chimamanda Adichie weighs in on the adoption controversy in the Washington Post http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2006/11/12/AR2006111200943.html

Velasquez, classic combos, poppy debates, recent reading& heart of Africa launch in London

2006-11-13T16:05:00.000Z

On Saturday to the National Gallery to see the Velasquez exhibition that just opened. His paintings are powerful and still speak contemporary...I was particularly moved by his representations of ordinary people in powerful extraordinary ways imbuing them with as much dignity as the royalty and nobility who are the subjects of many of his portraits. I was particularly moved by the gravitas and nobility of the African king in his Adoration of the Magi....

Then to dinner with friends and our host had served up a warming winter stew with carrots and parsnips and chunks of tender delectable beef, followed by cheese and pears a combination I was convinced to try and came away admitting that it was a classic combination- right up there with banana and groundnuts, roasted maize and coconut and other well known and acknowledged clasiic combinations.....

Still mulling over IBB's declaration for the PDP presidential contest- now he's no fool, so what assurances does he have that have given him the confidence to throw his hat into the ring? Besides he doesn't need to convince the whole country- just buy the votes of the PDP delegates and he's halfway there- the sleazy machinery of the "largest party in Africa" will do the rest...or at least try to. He's misread the Nigerian electorate before though- in 1993, he thought Tofa, his shoo-in candidate would beat Abiola especially as the latter was running on a Muslim-Muslim ticket. Nigerians astounded him then and I hope they'll do so again. If only Obasanjo had properly referred him to the EFCC for his financial crimes then he would have been barred from contesting and the whole question would not even arise....

Still on the poppy debate. On Sunday on my way to church, I saw a mother and daughter on the train- the mother was wearing the new pacifist white poppy and the daughter waswearing a white poppy and a red poppy. In a chat with a decidedly pacifist friend, he told me the retort that he had come back with...

Woman- Young man, why aren't you wearing a poppy? They died so you could be free you know

Pacifist friend- Yes, they died so I could be free to choose to wear a poppy or not

I'm well into Hisham Matar's In the Country of Men- it's a stunning portrayal of life in a repressive regime seen through the eyes of a child. In places I was reminded of Chimamanda Adichie's Purple Hibiscus. Reading it, you feel as if you are drawn into a dark sinister world with the oppression bearing down on you...

I've also just finished Selling Olga, an account of international women trafficking. It's well-written and readable and the sheer horror of some of the things victims have endured is nauseating. There're two interviews with Nigerians- one, Vivian Wiwoloku a pastor in Palermo who runs an organization Pellegrino della Terra which helps victims of trafficking and "Bright" a young Nigerian woman who was trafficked but is now studying in university in Italy. The book also highlights the debate about whether all these women are victims or whether there should be more recognition of the fact that some women choose to enter foreign countries illegally to sell sex. The author does acknowledge the difficulty in the distinctions- as always, the debate revolves around the question of what we mean when we talk about choice....

On the front page of Thisday today is a photograph of the newly installed prelate of the Methodist Church of Nigeria. Seeing him and his fellow princes of the church decked in their fine robes, brought to mind a conversation I had recently with a young woman who worked in one of the top ecclesiastical robe makers' shops in London. Apparently the Nigerian clergy are responsible for a huge chunk of their sales and they want all the extra fripperies and trimmings, regardless of cost. Much as she appreciated their custom, I sensed that she seemed slightly bemused at the flamboyant displays of extravagance in the midst of grinding poverty....

I'm falling behind on the cinema front- I'm told Anthony Minghella's Breaking and Entering is a must-see for every Londoner- it was apparently mostly all shot around the currently regenerating King's Cross area. I was at the tube station last week and was surprised to see the changes- it's gleaming new with signs for the Eurostar terminal which I suppose will be coming in there soon.....again I wonder what happens when an area regenerates- do the poor and down at heel just get moved on to other degenerate areas or do they actually benefit?

Browsing on the Nigerian High Commission website I see details of the launch of the Heart of Africa image laundering project in London http://www.heartofafrica.com/uk_launch.cfm Methinks the biggest boost to our image will be having free and fair elections next year

Sleepy, soul sista, reading Hisham Matar, family politics etc

2006-11-10T10:17:00.000Z

I wake up this morning, slightly deadened and lethargic- it is the end of what has been a long and busy week. The radio cuts into my sleep-tinged reverie, the head of MI5, the improbably named Dame Eliza Manningham-Buller has announced that the agency is tracking no fewer than 30 terror plots involving nearly 2000 individuals in the UK. She warns that the threat of international terrorism will be "with us" for at least a generation. Various talking heads appear- some to defiantly suggest that Britain has been through this before with the IRA in the 70s, others to urge caution. It is unclear why she has made this statement public at this time....to influence the impending budget allocations? To genuinely alert the public? Who knows....

Yesterday I visited Soul Sista's Diary on Nigeria Village Square http://www.nigeriavillagesquare.com/index.php/content/view/4104/55 . In her latest column, she speaks about ringing a legislator from Anambra State to upbraid her on her role in the impeachment of the governor and how they subsequently have an interesting conversation which again reveal that like many things Nigerian the Anambra crisis has several layers and depends on who you believe. Again truth lies invisible beneath the murky layers of claim and counterclaim.....

I have just finished Sweet'n'Low: A Family Story in which Rich Cohen, a writer and disinherited grandson of the sugar substitute empire's founder deals spectacular revenge in a very readable and intriguing book. He weaves an intriguing picture of family politics in a Jewish immigrant family interspersing it with photographs and a history of sugar and all things sweet...

On the train to work I begin to read Hisham Matar's In the Country of Men, the book set in Libya which was shortlisted for the Booker- the language and imagery are dreamlike serving only to accentuate my lethargy and somnolent state.....

Donald Duke, the debonair governor of Cross River State has thrown his hat into the ring for the race to become Nigeria's next president. He's young, educated and forward looking and has set up a blog to boost his campaign. I like his youth, his laidback nature (witness his sax playing at public events accompanied by vocals from his elegant wife Onari) and his achievements in making Calabar, the state capital clean and vibrant. And his efforts to promote Calabar and Obudu as tourism destinations coupled with his investments in agriculture and education and the ambitious Tinapa free trade zone are all marks in his favour. And yet there are worrying issues as well- he's very close to Obasanjo for one and has had bitter falling-outs with rivals and supporters alike in his eight years as governor. But then that is in the nature of politics and perhaps Nigeria needs an adept political player to make the compromises that leading such a complex nation demands. I'll be watching to see when he begins to put forward a manifesto.....compared to many of the other contenders though, he's looking quite attractive..

Last night I had a late meeting and then drinks and dinner with colleagues, one of whom is going through a divorce at the moment. He's had an affair and his wife has kicked him out. He admits that the affair was only the symptom of a deeper malaise- his chafing at a number of things which he now wishes he had been brave enough to confront rather than taking what he calls the coward's way out....

Bush now looks like he's going to be forced to change his UN ambassador as well. He thought he was being smart appointing him while Congress was on recess and so bypassing the need for their approval. Now with the shift in the balance of power and time running out, he'll need to come up with someone more acceptable to both parties..... Ah the joys of democracy!

Poppy brouhaha, farewell to Rummy, no to IBB, missing Gukira& looking for a new mobile network

2006-11-09T10:58:00.000Z

I remember as a child in Nigeria the teacher selling and us wearing red poppies in primary school. I'm not sure I knew what they were for but I remember pulling at the black disc in the centre which always reminded me of a sweet, and I remember my shock that it was plastic. I was probably about four then. Looking back I suppose that was when Nigeria still remembered its war heroes on the 11th of November following the British tradition honouring the end of the First World War on the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month in 1918. Later it switched to the 15th of January, honouring I think the end of the Nigerian civil war or the military coup of 1966- not sure which. Similarly instead of the poppies, we had red vaguely heartshaped symbols with the Nigerian flag and a bleeding heart in the middle. This tradition continues.....I give this history because poppies are in the news here in London- yesterday in the free Metro newspaper given out on the tube, a certain person wrote in from Doncaster chastizing non-white Britons for not wearing the poppy. She/he argued that he had noticed that it was mostly whites who wore the poppy and stressed that the soldiers whose memory the poppies honoured had died for everyone- white and non-white. There were no figures to back his assertion- just something he/she had noticed. Predictably it drew angry responses today, one chastizing the correspondent for trying to turn the whole thing into a race issue and others attacking the broad generalizations in his statement. Another black person said he/she refused to wear the poppy because the contributions of non-white soldiers had been ignored by the British establishment...and so it went on. Then on the radio this morning, a Christian group Ecclesia called for a white poppy, which Christian pacifists could wear, arguing that the red poppy glorified war and blood....... I wore a poppy last week on my way to a meeting in Scotland, simply because I felt sorry for the elderly veteran selling them outside the train station. But on getting to my meeting I was the only person under 40 wearing one- never mind that I was the only black person in the room.....who'd have thought poppies could cause such a fuss?

Rumsfeld's gone and I cannot hide my glee. In many ways he epitomized the casual, sneering arrogance of the Bush administration and this was evident in many of his photographs- or perhaps I just imagined the sneering smugness driven by my antipathy to his utterances and policies. I wonder though if it isn't a deft move by Dubya to put the Democrats on the wrong foot... A kind of "Okay you asked for Rummy to go and he's gone, watcha gonna do about Iraq now?" The new nominee for Defence secretary is described as a realist where Rumsfeld was a neo-con ideologue so perhaps good things may yet come from this...

In what was obviously a sad moment for Nigeria, the amoral military dictator- almost single handedly responsible for entrenching a kleptocratic culture in Nigeria- picked up a nomination form for the presidential primaries of the People's Democratic Party yesterday. With his glamorous fashion-plate Evita-like wife beaming at his side he spoke eloquently as always of how he had come to seek the votes of the Nigerian people. Knowing him and his Machiavellian tendencies, I worry for my country and am almost driven to make the kind of vow that die hard military apologists made in the hey day of the Abacha regime, when they swore to leave Nigeria if Abacha was not allowed to continue as President. I cannot help thinking that if, we Nigerians by omission or commission allow Babangida to return to power it will make it difficult for many not to be convinced that the country has a death wish....He says he believes in democracy - let us tell him in no uncertain terms that we want no part of him and his cabal. Any of our IT whizzes up for an anti-IBB website?

Meanwhile Omoyele Sowore of Saharareporters continues to serve up stories of the misdeeds of Obasanjo's close aide Andy Uba who was indicted in the US for bringing in USD 170 000 undeclared in cash on the presidential jet. The court documents can be seen here http://saharareporters.com/eLibrary/
As long as people like these continue to be clasped close to OBJ's expansive bosom, and continue to be promoted for higher office (in Uba's case as governor of belaguered Anambra State) his frequent anti-corruption noises will continue to ring hollow in the ears of people like me, even if foreigners are taken in.....

Returning to the blogosphere, I note a gap where Gukira, the highminded, beautifully written blog of Keguro Macharia, a Kenyan postgraduate student in the US used to be. He tells me he's concentrating on his dissertation and will be back. I have however stumbled, courtesy of Jeremy of Naijablog on Funmi Iyanda's blog http://fiyanda.blogspot.com/ . Years ago, I loved Funmi's column in Tempo, the Lagos evening newspaper . Called Jisting, the writings of an opinionated female- it hit the spot totally. Ah the ebb and flow of the blogosphere....

Finally I would appreciate recommendations for a mobile telephone provider in the UK, having had it up to here with Orange. Right now I have a headache having been on hold for twenty five minutes and then being passed from Directory Enquiries to Billing and back trying to sort out errors on my bill. I'm finally told to write a complaint to a given address as this is the only way they deal with complaints- a mobile phone company asks me to write a letter- not call? Not even threatening to leave the network wakes them up....They claim it's the same with all the other networks but if anyone knows a network that at least picks up their customer service number within 10 minutes, please let me know..... (I know 10 minutes is still a lot but Orange have forced me not to aim too high)......Dang if I had a couple of hundreds of million quid maybe I could set up my own all singing and dancing customer focused network....

Mulling over paradoxes, unhugged hoodie and sneaking lunch

2006-11-08T11:34:00.000Z

Still haunted by the plane crash and asking myself whether it's time to head home, so frustrated by all the ineptitude and madness. And then as I toss and turn and mull over this decision, there's the rational voice saying "Yes, I appreciate your desire to contribute and your frustration but what exactly are you going to do when you get there?" I suppose I could try and get a job with one of the new telecomms companies or the new mega super banks or join the 4X4 driving brigade of NGO employees....or what? Or perhaps I could run for local government chairman- but then I'd need to win the party nomination first and spend lavishly and maybe not even get elected..... or perhaps I should wait a bit more and try and do an Okonjo Iweala- ie build up your international credentials to a point where you can leverage them as bargaining chips into a position where you can actually achieve some change- but even then look how she ended up....

Work is as hectic as ever, interspersed by a visit to Buckingham Palace and the paradoxical pleasure in saying to the taxi driver "Buckingham Palace please" and walking up the red carpeted gilt encrusted hallways and stairways to the drawing room and meeting the Queen- she's small and bustling and grandmotherly with a dazzling warm smile that vaguely reminds me of my own late departed grandmother- even though their lives couldn't have been more different. I suppose that's the essence of the human, or maybe I'm just star-struck. I feel less guilty about this than I did at the time because even some of my more senior tightlipped English colleagues did confess to a frisson of excitement at the prospect of being in the palace and in the presence of Her Majesty.....

The paradox of Anambra State underlines the paradox of Nigeria. The news that the first female governor has been sworn in should ordinarily be a thing of joy until you begin to read of the sordid machinations that led to the "impeachment" of the substantive government and how half the impeachment panel and the Chief Judge all come from the new "governor's" village. I met the impeached governor Peter Obi once in London and was struck by how impressive, human and humble he appeared. I was also impressed by his sticking through for three years with the legal case after he was rigged out in 2003 and finally taking up office only this year. And then this.....

It's cold on the streets of London now, feels like someone turned on a huge airconditioning system- one minute it was warm and we were walking about in thin cotton shirts and then the next it's out with the heavy gear- the scarves, the gloves and the hats and caps. I'm just sticking to my very warm hoodie picked up in Vancouver earlier in the year...it's brilliant- a garment for all seasons.....I haven't had many hugs though in spite of David Cameron's hug-a hoodie exhortations....I live in hope....

Have just finished Aminatta Forna's Ancestor Stones- the story of four women growing up in Sierra Leone. It's beautifully written in lyrical almost poetic language but the chop and change between the lives of the four sisters is sometimes difficult to keep up with......

Have discovered a new place for lunch tucked away in the basement of an office building- the most fantastic Thai food- egg fried rice, vegetables and a meat dish( changing every day) I suspect it should not really be open to the public (is a canteen for workers) but I was taken there by a colleague and have not been accosted yet on my frequent return visits to the venue.... and the food is so delicious that I keep going back each lunchtime. It certainly beats the sandwich man...

Good to hear the news from the US elections. After the elections in 2004 when I stayed up till 12 30 and then went to bed thinking Kerry had won, and then waking up to learn that Dubya had won a second term I promised not to bother this time. At a meeting on Monday I was sitting next to an American who was surreptitiously filling in her postal vote- she voted Democrat I was pleased to notice and I flashed her a smile and a thumbs up....so waking up to the news that the Democrats had taken control of the House was good. At least hopefully the smug arrogance of Dubya and his team cannot continue- they will need to engage and negotiate which is no bad thing for democracy. I'm not sure why I'm so passionate about the US elections but I remember getting into heated arguments with some Nigerian friends and relatives in the US in 2004 who were going to vote for Bush because of his position on "family values" When he won, I couldn't bring myself to speak to some of them for a while.....

Meanwhile on Iraq, the Democrats say a change in policy is needed but stops short of calling for withdrawal. The other side says we must not cut and run with one gentleman saying that there will be scenes reminiscent of Saigon in a few months as a result of the Democratic victory. I was on the anti-war march in London with 99,999 others but I honestly do not know what the way forward is- either way it seems there will continue to be mayhem and bloodshed in the area for a while to come....