Africans, North Africans, Black Africans........

I have just read this article on the BBC about the new french Justice Minister. The emphasis on this article is that she is now the highest ranking North African in France. It got me pondering about why the western media so loves to distinguish between the various types of Africans.
Africa is Africa, I think the constant division into Sub-saharan, or black africa, as it is known on cnn, and North Africa is an expression of the underlying racism in peoples minds. I have had people say " I've been to Morocco or Tunisia, but I would like to visit Africa."
Duh, Morocco and Tunisia are part of Africa. There are cultural differences and even ethnical differences, but I think in all African countries have managed to live very harmoniously with one another. I think in the west, where the notion of a multicultural soceity is a fairly new one, its impossible for them to imagine people living together peacefully, inspite of racial or ethnic differences.

In Sudan, they say its the Arabs killing the black Africans. While I agree that the Dafur people have a dark skin tone, in my opinion, it takes a large stretch of imagination to say the sudanese president is an arab. If being one or two shades lighter is what makes them Arabs, then , then many northern Nigerians and Malians and Niger republic people and Somalis have an even more visible claim to being Arabs. While I'm not saying that what is happening in Dafur is not genocide - it is, I think its quite unnecessary to say its arabs to black, when the parties involved are obviously all blacks. The genocide in Rwanda happened even though all parties were "black african" in foreign media speak! Instead of looking for other more obvious reasons for the horrors of Dafur, like desertification of the area and just oppression of the poorer people by those in power, it must be reduced to race.

Left to the west, there would be a three tier society in africa, with Black Africans occupying the bottom layer. Oops, I forgot we are already there.

Tales out of school-part 1

Reading about Mandy’s experiences in school brought back memories of my secondary school. I really loved my secondary school and I have mainly warm memories. All the same, there were some not so pleasant memories of this one teacher – Mrs. S whom everyone called “Mama”.

My first encounter with Mama was when at ten years old my parents dropped me off on the first day of form one. My school was a girls’ only school, and I was to start as a day student.
I had always wanted to be a boarding student- in fact I had recurring dreams about me in boarding school throughout my years in secondary school- but as their eldest child (eldest children are guinea-pigs!), my parents said either I waited and finished primary six before they would consider letting me go to boarding house, or if I so wanted to go to secondary school from primary five, then I had to be a day student.

Anyway, so our parents had to drop us off and we were herded off to a hall, where a woman called out names and sorted us into groups- different arms of form one. She called a girl’s name and the girl answered “ yes”. This woman barked “ I am not your mother’s age mate – you are to call me Mama and barked fear into our young hearts. There were legends about Mama, and it was generally acknowledged that the fear of Mama was the beginning of wisdom. I managed to steer clear of her for the first year, taking another direction whenever she passed.

Mama was my art teacher in form 2. Since I cannot draw to save my life (although I have been told that is a mental model I have to get rid of, that my art is like abstract art – another story for another day), Mama and I had a few confrontations. That is to say, she confronted me, and poor, timid and shy 11 year old that I was, I could never say anything to justify myself, all I did was mumble.My art work, painting, drawing etc was so bad that she taunted me regularly in front of my whole form, and sent me out of the class for daring to submit such homework. On one of these occasions, she sent F. out of the class as well, for not doing her homework. F. is a sickler, and she had been off school for a few weeks due to a crisis, so it was understandable that she had not done her homework. Mama said to her – “get out of my class, I won’t even bother to cane you, you will die soon anyway, and your family is only searching for someone to blame for your death.” In spite of the fact that she had humiliated me time and again, that was what made me start to hate this woman. I stood outside, an 11 year old and comforted F, also 11 at the time – “don’t worry, you won’t die, you will live and when you are an adult with a great education, I’ll help you hunt this she-devil down and we’ll remind her of all the hateful things she has said today”- or at least some childish version of that. The only good thing that came out of that episode was that F and I became really close friends. I am glad to say that she is well and alive and currently pursuing a Phd in the good ole USA.

Coo coo

It has been a hectic time since I last posted here. April was a hectic month at work; May has so far been busy as well. I have missed blogging, but was so fagged out that I could not put hand to keyboard. I have been worked really hard... all sorts of unholy hours, weekends as well... but I am really enjoying my job. I feel my confidence in my abilities rising. That is not a bad thing at all.....

Here's a happy birthday to all fellow Taureans, out there. I'm also a May girl, turned 29 at the beginning of the month. Had a nice get-together with several friends. I had not celebrated my birthday in several years, but I decided to see out my twenties with a bang lol. Got a huge bunch of 29 red roses from my hubby, I got so many flowers from people - I had not received so many flowers since my wedding day! My red roses are currently hanging upside down on my toilet ceiling - hoping they dry properly as a momento of the day. I really do not feel 29 - I always thought I'd feel older......A lot has definitely happened, grateful to be alive..

Spoke with many classmates from secondary school in Nig, several weeks ago. It was really great to speak with people after 5, 6, 7, 10 years and still instantly feel the connection. I have always gotten easily attached to people - sometimes even when I have not had any conversation with them. I remember after leaving Nigeria, feeling nostalgic for a guy who used to attend lectures with me, (and it was nothing romantic at all).
This issue of me getting deeply attached to my friends has always made it difficult to make new friends - because the older you get, the more difficult it is to become intimate with someone. It can also be a disadvantage because I feel things concerning my friends sometimes too deeply – as my mum liked to say “alara lara o ro un, olo ku arun…(lit. the owner of the body doesn’t say its aching, but you are saying sorry). One day I'll write about Adeola O. and the first time I got into hot water at eleven for taking someone's problems too much to heart, and for trusting them too much.

Started learning Dutch. Somehow I know deep down inside me that I'll probably never become good at this language, but I feel really mentally relaxed during the lessons, that I'll just keep on at it.

Met some Indian colleagues at a conference recently. It was really interesting to listen to the new generation still talk about arranged marriage like it was perfectly normal. Still I have to say, I think that Nigerians and Indians have a lot in common culturally -although we also differ in many ways. Anyways, I'm rooting for M, who is hoping to convince her parents to allow a love match(in India talk, that is when you get to marry the person you love and chose yourself as opposed to having an arranged marriage).

My best friend is pregnant. I am so excited, we've known each other for ever, she is like my sister, and even when we have not talked for ages cos she lives in Lagos, we are always comfortable with each other. We have taken most of our major steps in life at the same time, and she said "hurry up and get pregnant now". I can't admit to anyone that I'm scared of becoming a mother. I don't know if this makes any sense to anyone, but I love children so much and have always wanted to have a child so much that I'm afraid reality won't match all my daydreams. What if I can't be a good mother? What if I'm too strict? What if my child doesn't like me?..... I know totally stupid, most children love their mothers. Since my parents prayers are probably sounding with a hysterical frenzy now, I am hoping God waits a bit before answering them. Meanwhile, C.K. and I had a near miss in March. It was not funny at all. I only allowed myself nostalgic feelings after I was certain it was a miss.

I can't believe I have written so much, considering the fact that I have been having a blogger's block the last few weeks.
That's all for now folks.

Lecturers prey on Nigerian women, girls

More naija dirty laundry HERE- thank God it is being aired though!

Imagine, girls as young as 11 being sexually harassed by teachers; it's a pity that this malaise of our higher institutions has gotten to younger girls, but it was only a matter of time. I remember hearing whispers from classmates in the primary school I had just joined (we just moved cities) about a girl having gotten pregnant for our Yoruba teacher the year before. I was in primary five, nine years old, almost ten and this was several months before I learnt, also from a classmate, what menstruation was - so you can imagine how innocent I was. This girl must have been around 13 or maybe slightly older and she had reached what would probably be her adult height and was very "ripe", that did not in anyway make it right!!! It is sick for any adult man to take advantage of a child entrusted to their care, where is the honour of these paedophiles??? Oh, they probably do not see themselves as sick people sha. It is just enjoying "perks of the profession"!

Its things like this that make me very disdainful of the people blaming the west for all of the erosion of values in society - as far back as over 60 years ago, my aunt was impregnated by her principal, in a very traumatising experience, that has her rejecting her child. Lets face it, many of our men don't know how to keep their trousers up, and it doesn't have anything to do with oyinbo!

Hair issues

I finally got my weave on out last week after having it in for a record period of 3 months. I just had to wash it in between, because I kept imagining that my colleague had changed departments and subsequently moved out from the office I shared with him, because he could no longer stand the smell from all the hair products and sweat emanating from across the room.

Speaking of which, why do I always get the guys who are hygienically challenged in my office? The guy who moved out loved to poke his nose,and he had a perpetual cold- the type you can smell several feet away(sorry to gross you out). He sometimes used my phone or touched my computer - my skin positively crawled, and I had been debating a polite way of telling him not to use my phone before he had the good sense to move. Just as I was sighing with relief, he was replaced, and his replacement not only pokes his nose, but also picks it and puts the stuff straight into his mouth. EEEWWW. I must urgently tell him to try and limit that to when I'm away from my desk. I do not need to see that after lunch!

Anyway, I digress from my topic, so I finally had my hair relaxed and it reaches just below my shoulders now. The reason for my jubilation over this perhaps to you not necessarily long hair was that one and half years ago, one preoccupied Jamaican hairdresser in London decided "everytin 's bad, ei trim it for you". As she was more intent on discussing the latest misdemeanours of her baby father with her friend than listening to my objections about cutting off all my hair because it had some minor split ends, I ended up with a cut that looked like this: as in not nice looking at all, more like some rat had gotten to the back of my head. I am almost sure the fact that my dad and I had an argument later that evening had to do with the fact that I came back from the hairdresser’s with my head round as a ball and shiny with my hair funnily plastered around my face.
Seriously the hair looked quite nice enough when I left the salon, but trying to maintain a sane look with that 1/2-inch of hair at the lower half of my head was very difficult.
That is why I have been jubilating at my regained hair length and have spent my whole weekend perusing http://www.growafrohairlong.com/ trying to find out ways of ensuring that I never return to that state where I cannot pack all my hair in one again.

I have had a very good experience with using dark and lovely’s oil moisturiser spray for several months now. That has ensured much better moisturization for my very dry hair. I have also been steaming my hair with several concoctions at my hairdressers fairly regularly consisting of motions and fantasia products. In fact, I think a substantial part of my paycheck lastyear went toward financing her new house. My dh does not understand why I cannot relax my hair at home myself- I can and have done that in the past, but since I did not study hairdressing in the university, I decided to give myself over to the experts - not the crazy scissors wielding type, thank you very much. Leave my split ends alone, na me get am!
By the way, if anybody reading this has any tips about re-growing the hairline, I would be very grateful if you shared that with me.

Continue doing your thing, Charles! ( The Prince's Advocate)

My opinion doesn't count for too much on the issue I am writing about, since I am not British. I am nevertheless one of the not very many (so it seems at least from a perusal of London dailies) admirers of Prince Charles.

My admiration of him dates almost 20 years, since I read about his landscape paintings in one of my mother's copies of Woman's own. Being Nigerian, I was impressed that a future king could have other preoccupation apart than chasing small girls or throwing his weight around and making life difficult for everyone. That liking was in no way diminished by finding out over the years about his environmental awareness drive, the fact that the organic food brand Duchy Originals was his brainchild and is owned by him and finally about the Prince's Trust respectively. I was therefore very happy after reading this article, which for once stood up for Prince Charles.

I think it was a pity how Diana died, and also very sad how her marriage to Charles broke down, but I do not think that it is fair to put all the blame on him. Bluntly put, Diana was not a saint either. Whether or not she was pushed to her indiscretions during and after their marriage by Charles's going-ons with Camilla, and/or the disdain of the Queen for her is a point which I cannot argue on, as I do not have enough information. One thing I do know is that, whatever pushed her, a lot of her actions were unacceptable. However it would be too much to expect people to be fair in their judgement of Charles, after all, sex sells and sexy he is not! Besides, these are the same people who have elevated Jade Goody to celebrity status - I rest my case.

I love you

When we met, we fell deeply in love. We said we could go to the ends of the earth for each other and we meant it. I walked around all radiant, because finally I had found my one true love. People had misgivings, parents were worried. Why on earth did you have to fall for someone a world apart? It never works out, it can't be love, its for material gain, what didn't they say?

In spite of that we went ahead. Our wedding day was the happiest day of my life. You said to me a few months before we got married, as we discussed problems that could come our way "the problems will probably come where we least expect them". You couldn't have known how right you were.

Somewhere along the line we stopped communicating. We knew we loved the other person, but were no longer sure about how they felt towards us. The voices kept getting louder - get rid of her, he is no use to you. We spent more time fighting than we did having fun. You placed ice cold walls around you heart and kept me out. I started to act out, to try and provoke a reaction from you. You withdrew even further.

We got to a point where we decided separation was the only option. We sadly gave in "everyone was right, such relationships do not work afterall". I was shattered, went about my life like a zombie. I loved you more than life itself, yet I could not continue being the only one working at this relationship. Cultural differences had not helped matters. I would say one thing, you would hear something else. You would say something and I would understand it differently.

Both stubborn as bulls, neither would give an inch, I would thaw and you'd be frozen, and then you'd thaw and I'd be frozen. I lived to receive your calls, yet I was ice cold most times when I answered the phone.

Finally, I started to pray. When I met you, you fit completely the description I had written in church about the Man I wanted to marry, right up to the huggable part. I wondered now, whose voice I had heard. You could not have been meant for me if it turned this way. I had no way of knowing you were going through the same things I was. I knew that the faults were not all on your side, I can be difficult to live with. It had been a difficult time for us both, with settling down and trying to start a new life together.

Then finally, you said the thing I had been waiting to hear - you said you remembered again why it was Me you married and no one else. You said, "let's try again". I was so shocked that I could not react. The one thing I had given up hope upon was happening.

I realised that this was a refining process. I will never take you for granted again. I hope you won't me as well. I am so greatful to God I received back the man I married.

I love you my Huggy bear, I pledge my life to you anew. You make me complete, I could never be the person I am without you by my side.

I love you.