If you are reading this post it’s probably safe to assume that you are doing so via your mobile phone which is the first likely item you wouldn’t leave home without. Aside making and receiving calls we often send and receive SMS or text messages on our mobile phones. I personally don’t send that many text messages, thanks to WhatsApp. But when it comes to receiving text messages, the following are the top 3 (and I stand to be corrected):
- Successful recharge: Who doesn’t like receiving airtime for making calls or buying internet data? Getting happy birthday messages are ok but put for God’s sake put some airtime on it. Especially when these messages clog up your inbox.
- Credit alert: Who doesn’t like getting notifications about money coming into their bank accounts? Even if it’s N300 or less than $1 it’s still an inflow.
- Send me your account number: Now this one is quite an exciting message if it’s from that debtor who’s been owing you money for the last 2 years, or if it’s from a donor whose sending a birthday/wedding/new born gift. But surprisingly the last time I sent this text to somebody it wasn’t for any of the mentioned reasons. Let’s just say that the next time somebody is ignoring your calls try sending this message from another phone number – I’m 100% sure he will call back immediately. Worked for me when one artisan was trying to dodge me 😀
I have a dream that one day Lagosians will be able to walk on the streets without holding their noses. People won’t have to play hopscotch over piles of putrid refuse as they walk. Commuters will not have garbage dumps as their companions while queuing at bus stops. I believe Lagos can and will be clean again…green again. If that was Ambode’s vision then it definitely escaped him. The only ‘green’ he had in mind was those rubbish (as in ‘useless’) trucks running up and down Lagos.
When LAWMA was doing the cleaning job I don’t recall Lagos beaming with trash the way it is now. You could see the workers in the early hours of the day and late into the afternoon cleaning roadsides, bridges and their orange trucks were actively stopping to pick up refuse. On the contrary every time I see a Visionscape truck I just see it moving…probably just as an advertising gimmick. Who knows?
It’s therefore no surprise that when it boiled down to the concluded Lagos Primaries the people of Lagos did not come to his aid. Unlike his predecessor Fashola who made a positive impact during his 4-year term and got re-elected, Ambode lost to a rival within his political party APC before even getting a shot at competing with the PDP. It goes without saying that Ambode should have cleaned up his act long before now.
He still has till next year before he hands over to Sanwo-Olu (APC) or Jimi Agbaje (PDP). Let’s see what good he can do for us to remember him by. IBB = Third Mainland Bridge; Obasanjo = Mobile telephony; Fashola = BRT and roadworks; Ambode = ???
Living in Lagos does things to you. Even the most patient of hearts can get stirred up by the antics of inconsiderate human beings. Many Lagosians I’ve come into contact with are not keen on queuing even though it is a civil gesture designed to give some sort of order. How else would a cashier know who is next to be served?
On several occasions I’ve had to literally bite my tongue to avoid hurling harsh comments at the following character profiles:
Pull up to the bumper: These kind of people don’t care that their basket, trolley or crotch keeps bumping into my innocent, unprotected behind. They reserve no apologies and they keep dry humping you until you’ve gotten off the queue. Grace Jones can relate.
One Two Step and Slide: These clowns see you in the queue and rather than go to the back of it they just pretend to be oblivious, stand by your side and slide into you like a DM. There’s nothing clever about this behaviour yet it appears to be common with impatient folk in these parts. Big Shaq probably gets me.
Other Side of the World: What makes these people the most annoying is that they impact everyone in the queue – not just me. They come from the opposite end of the queue and start their own queue because the rest of us have zero sense of direction and chose to buy time not groceries. Everyone gives them the look of death and beckon on the sales attendant to ignore them (or else). KT Tunstall knows what I’m talking about.
If you ever find yourself in a queuing situation anywhere in the world please exercise patience and stay in line till it gets to your turn. Doing otherwise is just a cheap way of telling everyone else you’re a complete asshole.
…and if I didn’t manage to communicate then hopefully you’ve gotten some good soundbites out of this 🙂
As a little child growing up in London I got excited whenever I saw Tony the Tiger on TV promoting the addictive, mouth-watering Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes. The cartoon mascot was legendary – moving was such agility, strength and athletic precision when spinning that blue and white striped cereal bowl on his paw index without spilling a drop of milk. I couldn’t get enough of those ads and they worked like a charm on me – I needed my Kellogg’s fix. My mum didn’t disappoint – she took me through Frosted Flakes, Corn Flakes and Rice Krispies.
Years later when my folks and I relocated to Nigeria I was only fortunate to taste Kellogg’s cereals if my mum traveled to the UK and brought some boxes back. With time some local supermarkets began to stock them but at double the price of Nigerian-made cereals. You can therefore imagine my excitement when I recently heard that Kellogg’s was going to made in Nigeria Whoa! That could only mean great taste at an affordable price. Local competition like Nasco Cornflakes wouldn’t stand a chance. At least that’s what I initially thought.
Analysis of the Kellogg’s Fruit ‘n Fibre experience:
Taste – 2/10 (Like expired, freeze-dried raisins with a side of unsalted Crispix savoury mix – horrible on the tongue and tough to swallow)
Quality – 3/10 (This cereal couldn’t stay crisp in a bowl of ice-cold milk after just 4 seconds – put this slop in your mouth and you’ll be
Packaging – 9/10 (Definitely can’t fault the foil wrapping for suggesting locked-in freshness. I was utterly deceived.
Price – 5/10 (The price was N1,599 or $4.40. I wouldn’t buy this Kellogg’s variety of Made In Nigeria cereals again even if it was $1).
Crazy Nigerian Rating: 4/10
For the record, I’m all for supporting made in Nigeria goods but I’m not going to pretend that the quality is not wack when it actually is. Kellogg’s (made in Britain) is a brand I love and varieties of which I have had no negative experience, in case anyone thought I was trying to throw shades. This is more like constructive criticism – make the cereals with the same quality used to make cereals in the UK or don’t produce sub standard quality in Nigeria.
Off to enjoy some good ol’ granola.
Before This Is Nigeria I first watched the critically acclaimed and controversial viral video of Donald Glover aka Childish Gambino (and NOT Danny Glover’s son),my first thoughts were, ‘What the #%*@!’ ‘Oh my…’ ‘Aaaaaaah’ ‘Did he just…’‘Whoa…shiiiiii’ ‘This N-word is crazy!’ (I’m 50% sure it was in that order). This is America is an inch perfect depiction of the land of the free today, after which Americans (black and white) would hopefully realize they are all slaves to the media.
Switch continents and you may have come across the comical This is Africa version on a much lighter note. But it was only a matter of time before one of our ‘bahd guys’ in Naija produced This is Nigeria.
This video must be watched by EVERY Nigerian in the world repeatedly, so they stay WOKE! It’s not just another music video.
Falz, the talented comedian, actor and award-winning music artist, recently came out with a well-timed copy of Donald Glover’s masterpiece but with a full Naija twist. The recipe for this equally controversial concoction included:
- Killer Fulani herdsmen
- Missing Chibok girls
- SARS harassment
- Corrupt government workers
- Codeine addicts
- Big Brother Distractions
- Yahoo glorification
- Perverted pastors and more…
Whilst I applaud Falz for reaching the #1 Trending spot on Youtube I also want to give him accolades for capturing the desperately deteriorating values of the country. We clearly lack respect for human life and we are also being distracted by less important things rather than asking questions like, ‘What can I do to make my own little contribution to a better Nigeria?’ Instead the reality is like ‘Every man for himself’ and ‘By any means necessary’. This video must be watched by EVERY Nigerian in the world repeatedly, so they stay WOKE! It’s not just another music video. The last time that I saw something this daring by a Nigerian was during the #OccupyNigeria movement a couple of years ago. The crowd that rallied peacefully at Freedom park was a sight to behold, until it sadly ended when the NLC got gate-crashed the party. The T.I.N video is a wake-up call for Nigerians to snap out of the Matrix. To Mr. Falz I say, ‘Wehdone sir!’
Finally, with the T.I.A video set to cross 200 million views, the only video that could possibly eclipse this is one is a replicated video with the lead subject portrayed by a white dude **scampers off** Enjoy the video 🙂
I want to make an appeal to Nigerian artists who insist on using the derogative association of the male genitalia with the innocent, beautiful, healthy fruit – the Banana in their lyrics. The fruit is already awkward enough with its suggestive shape and length. What pains me is the fact that children sing the catchy, banana-filled songs which invade our radiowaves, cable tv and consequently, our eardrums. Nobody is safe.
A banana should only be going into one place – the digestive system. It should not be ‘falling’ on anybody. I shouldn’t have to worry about a child coming up to ask, ‘Uncle Tonwa, what does banana fall on you mean?’ How am I supposed to answer that question folks?
In recent times, cassavas haven’t had a smooth ride either. Food for thought.
I have to admit – I didn’t have a plan when I sped off and left the traffic warden eating my dust (and pocketing my driver’s licence too). I was close to my parent’s house so I drove in and parked my car there. At least the car would be safe from impounding, I thought. But that didn’t stop me from looking at my rear view mirror every five seconds for a police bike on my tail. I met only my sister at home and broke the news (okay, that sounded kinda dramatic – to break news usually sounds like one is about to announce something tragic. I digress). My lil’ sister was in shock to say the least, like she had seen a ghost that was equally shocked that I had driven off without my licence. My explanation still left my sister’s jaw on the floor. She went straight into DLR (Driver’s Licence Retrieval) mode and ran some suggestions by me.
After deliberating for a couple of minutes I even went further to call a friend whom I thought would be able to advise me on what to do, based on his own experiences. He told me to prepare to give ‘something small’. We were ready to put the plan into action. We set out in my car but parked it in a corner about 300 meters away from the traffic warden’s spot. We strolled down towards the junction where the incident happened and then I told my sister to wait behind while I approached the traffic warden who was in the midst of a policeman and some LASTMA officials (the boys in
black yellow). I caught his attention and he came over to deafen me with his broken English (insert action film music here).
‘Why you run na?’ he said with a smirk in his sweaty face.
‘I don’t want to argue. I just want my licence.’
‘No problem. I have already taken it to the station. You can collect it there.’, and he turned away with his nose up in the air.
‘What?’, I couldn’t contain my annoyance.
‘But oga, you suppose bring sumtin.’
‘Bring what? Look, you don’t want to me drag this matter’. I flashed a special ID card to him at this point. ‘I’ll go to the station and collect my licence’. I started to walk away and then he called me.
‘Oga wait. Make we go one side’. We walked a few meters away from his colleagues and got to way my sister was waiting. My sister greeted him and he reciprocated. They exchanged a few ‘pleasantries’ while I frowned (but they didn’t seem to take notice). The traffic warden insisted again that I should bring something (just like my friend said earlier) and that he would get my driver’s licence back for me. With about an hour of my life already wasted I just decided to part with N1,000 (less than $3) and to my surprise he pulled out my driver’s licence! To think that he lied and never actually went to drop it at the station in the first place. And worse still he asked for a bribe which I was forced to heed in order to get my licence….aaaargh! But the ID card sure got him rattled.
My sister and I walked back to my car and drove back home to gist about the whole ordeal. After that incident no one had to tell me to make a photocopy of my licence – that’s what I’ll be offering any official that accosts me on the road. At least that way I can drive off without ever looking back:)
When I was learning to drive in my late teens, the ‘qualified’ driving instructor advised that while driving I must assume that everyone else is drunk. Why? The logic was that if they were actually drunk then they wouldn’t drive properly. This would mean that they could run into me so I would have to be extra alert and preempt unforeseen accidents or close shaves. Unfortunately these words of wisdom didn’t pay off when I (allegedly) beat a non-existent traffic light and got stopped by a
drunk traffic warden.
The uniformed clown had actually beckoned the vehicle right in front of me to drive forward so I tailed it closely. Obviously I wasn’t close enough else I would have smashed the warden’s legs. I said to him, ‘But you told me to come’. However he denied it and said he told me to stop. He looked at me in shock when I started raising my voice and so he directed me to ‘park well’ (away from oncoming traffic). He came to the front passenger window and started to engage me in shit-chat (no typo) which I’ve heard all before. It started with, ‘Let me see your driver’s licence!’ Then after I handed it over and he pretended to understand what he was examining, the next thing he said was, ‘Open your door.’
‘What the hell for?’ I retorted.
‘Look here, if you don’t want me to take your car to the station then open your door now’
I turned away from him and stared intently at my two hands firmly placed on the steering wheel, like a racer waiting for the starting pistol to be fired. I weighed my options: He gets in. We drive to the station. My car gets clamped. I pay a heavy fine and bank account bleeds. Total time wasted = 45mins to 1 hour.
I decided to go for my next option – I sped off and let the traffic warden choke on my dust! No money lost. Car is safe. Total time wasted = 3 mins. But as I let the adrenaline wear off it suddenly dawned on me that my driver’s licence was still in that traffic warden’s hand! not a photocopy…MY ORIGINAL DRIVER’S LICENCE – DAMN IT!!! (To be continued)
The first time I heard of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) was when I was watching an episode of The Oprah Winfrey Show. The fact that I must do certain things a certain way just to keep my sanity doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me. I got the shock of my life when I started to hear about weird habits and mannerisms which I was all too familiar with. For instance, at a time my folks had this linoleum flooring in the kitchen which had a pattern of unstructured rectangles. Little did I realize that I had made a subconscious decision to put my foot in each rectangle while walking into the kitchen without letting my soles touch the edges. If that wasn’t bad enough I eventually mastered my walk-in pattern such that I didn’t have to even look down at the rectangles – I always placed my feet in the ‘right’ place….ALWAYS.
If you left something spillable or breakable at the edge of a table or other elevated surface, and you tried to engage me in some conversation, then you could be rest assured that I wasn’t paying attention to you (not even 5%). Allow me to do the Math:
Analysis of What I’m thinking about during OCD Moment
- 2% – Whatever the person is saying
- 3% – Okay, I’m beginning to lose interest now
- 97% – Why is that hot cup of coffee placed on the edge of that table? There’s so much real estate on that table doing nothing. That cup better not fall. Someone will accidentally knock it over. Why can’t anyone see what I’m seeing??? I can’t ignore it. It’s a disaster waiting to happen. I’ll go and push it closer to the centre of the table as soon as this guy stops talking…(two quick twitches later) f@#% it!!! This can’t wait!
In the end, the hot coffee wins (again). I think I’ve given in to my OCD more times than OJ Simpson has put on an orange jumpsuit. I can also tell you for a fact that in my office I’m known to some as a neat-freak. My table and drawers are so organized that you’d think I was trained by the military.
Here’s a summary of some popular cases from Helpguide
Newsflash: I’m not any of those…I mean…so what if I carry hand sanitizers in my drawer…and in my car…and a sanitizer dispenser at home. And it isn’t a big deal if I can’t drive behind any car with ‘666’ as it’s licence plate number – these have to be valid exceptions for not being classified as a ‘level 10’ OCD sufferer. I triple my check if my cooker is off after I’ve used it because a long time ago I almost burnt my apartment down to the ground. Ok, I’m obsessively giving excuses for my OCD.
Why don’t you tell me about your OCD experiences, habits and what have you. I won’t judge…I may just subconsciously adopt them (God help me).