Wednesday, March 19, 2008

Never play leapfrog with a unicorn

Hola peeps. ¿Por qué no pueden parecerse ganar?

Attended first church service in Warri on Sunday. I know I had been coming up with excuses since I moved here so on Saturday evening I decided I’d get up early and make it to church. Well, I got up a bit too early and chose to while away time by jogging. Man, y’all should see how rock hard my six-pack is now. I’m so impressed I’m tempted to name each pack after a famous person; problem is no collection of famous folk comes in packs of six. If I had a five pack I’d choose from the Famous Five or a thousand and one bands with a quintet line up. If there was a seven pack I’d call them the Magnificent Seven, or name them after the seven dwarfs that chilled with Snow White, or even after the seven deadly sins. The latter would be particularly cool as it’d motivate me to try and subject the ‘sins’ by working out even harder. Bah humbug, there’s just nada significant that comes in sixes. Okay, maybe I’d get back to my church story…

Had seen some churches on way to and from club so decided to check one out. Got there about 8.45am and discovered I may have been a tad early ‘cos hardly any cars were parked outside. Walked in to find Sunday school sessions in progress and a male usher asked if I was married. Huh? Apparently, they separate married and single folk during Sunday school. Weird I think, but if that’s what they do then aiight. So I take a seat and discover the topic of teaching is…wait for it….yup, u guessed right: Marriage. Arrrggghhhh.

Man, it’s almost like I’m stuck in my very own The Truman Tunde Show. Seems the producers have decided that subliminal messages and other forms of subtlety no longer work so they decided to go all out. Think I’m kidding, here’s what happened in the past week alone.

a. First visit to a church in Warri and subject of Sunday school sermon is marriage.
b. Inform mom I won’t make it to Lagos for Easter due to the hectic schedule at the club, and her response is, How sad. Maybe u’d invite Neo over? Don’t believe it, since when did my mom get comfortable about sharing me with another woman?
c. I call my sis Nike in the UK and she informs me an estranged aunt told her she knows on good authority that I’m getting married in December 2008.
d. A colleague sends email to club staff about his impending wedding. This is same dude who’s been saying he plans to get married since I met him…two years ago!
e. I called former boss in PH to say hello and the ff conversation ensued:
Boss: Hope u received the email from ur colleague. Another one’s left u behind. If u not careful we’ll organize a wife for u.
The owner of the world’s greatest abs: Ha. No need for that, sir. Besides, the race is not to the swift…
Boss: All that one na proverbs.
The owner of the world’s greatest abs: Actually sir it’s Ecclesiastes.
Boss: What?
The owner of the world’s greatest abs: That passage, ‘The race is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong…’, is a passage from Ecclesiastes not Proverbs.
Boss: My friend, are u sure u still like this job?

f. A college buddy who recently, I repeat, RECENTLY got engaged has taken to referring to me as a chronic bachelor. Can u imagine the gall? This dude hasn’t exchanged vows yet he’s acting all hoity-toity.

And u wanna tell me I ain’t starring in my very own reality show?! I mean it won’t be so bad if I got paid for it or something.

If the plan of the producers – I suspect they either my folks or brother Ayo – is to get me all giddy about marriage then they failed ‘cos they stuck me at the club with two characters right outta central (type)casting. These guys are the randiest married men this side of Donald Trump. They’ve been in the male stripper industry for ages, and I’d learn a lot from them, but why oh why do they feel they gotta update me on their escapades? They almost remind me of guys in high school who bragged about getting some when we all knew they weren’t. Only in this case these guys are getting some and then some more. After they done conversing I gotta dab cotton buds in holy water and then wipe my ears clean with them. I have taken to walking outta the dressing room as soon as they open their mouths, u know, just so I remain sane.

Warri news: Okay enough about the M word. How y’all been? Enjoying the hustle and bustle of city life? Ur fav blogger’s still a li’l bored in Warri but he’s starting to appreciate li’l things about the place. There’s the lack of traffic - which is awesome - and ‘cos of that I’ve taken to driving around on weekends seeking new routes to an ice cream parlour I recently discovered. I don’t ask for much, do I? Unlike Lagos and PH the major roads are well lit and cab drivers have been known to switch off headlights on such routes “to save battery power”. It’s amazing what an unsteady political career would do to one, innit? The cynic in me would suggest the current governor is rapidly improving state infrastructure ‘cos his electoral victory is still before the election tribunal and he needs all the goodwill he can muster, but the optimist in me’s hoping he’da done the same regardless. Let’s give the dude the benefit of the doubt and stick with the latter position; goodness knows I need as much help as possible from getting jaded with politicians, what with Hill and Obama trading blows like ‘girly men’ and the Spitzer scandal.

Nah, maybe I’d remain a cynic at least ‘til the governor’s first term is over – if he lasts that long – ‘cos he’s barely been in power 10 months and already we have all singing, all dancing sycophants like the zombies in the Thriller video. Peep this, I am driving around last weekend when I turn on the radio – can receive signals from only two FM frequencies and they BOTH the same state radio station! – and some ditty about the state governor’s accomplishments is playing….and now can’t get the crap chorus outta my head.

Our governor, u dey treat us well o
Uduaghan u dey do us well
Yaw yay yaw

As if that wasn’t enough the talentless band leader decided to channel his inner Michael McCrary.

Governor Emmanuel Uduaghan. Yes, Emmanuel means ‘God with us’. God is truly with us because you have done amazing things. Things we haven’t seen before….

And the station played the song again and again and again and again and again. I drove for 15 mins and listened to the song all the way to my destination. Copped some ice cream, got back in the car and yup, the song was still playing. Also I have noticed the station has the laziest DJ ever; either that or dude’s got 3 jobs. This dude’s never met a pirated CD he didn’t like. He puts on a CD and plays the entire CD. After all 23 songs of Kenny Rogers greatest hits are done with, he chats shite for a minute then puts on another artiste’s CD and endeavours to play every song on that CD as well. That’s why I suspect dude’s got other jobs ‘cos one afternoon the Meatloaf CD skipped for near on 3 minutes before he switched it off. That day Meatloaf finally lost his rag: I know I said I’d do anything for love, but this is beyond ridiculous!

Relationship news: Yeah right, more like weirder The Tunde Show news. So I bump into some colleagues discussing marriage the other day and all of a sudden the focus switches to me. As I tried to hem and haw my way outta their questions some dude jumped to my aid.

Abeg leave the guy jo. My guy, take ur time and marry when u feel like it. Just be careful u don’t end up with an Akwa Ibom girl. Why, u ask? Lemme lay this on u:

I met a girl back in uni and I kept teasing her, calling her wifey and other terms of endearment. Well, one day she looks me straight in the eye and says, “I like u and u’d better tell me if u joking ‘cos if I choose to like u big time ain’t no way u gonna leave me. I ain’t kidding. Lemme tell u, my mom has been massaging my waist since I was nine years old. I’ve been cooking with her since I was five. Ain’t no way if I do my job right my man’s gonna consider looking at other women.” Of course I made my excuses and quietly grabbed my pet rabbit from her claws.

A year later, I discovered a mate was dating an Akwa Ibom chick and told him the story I just told u. Dude laughed just the way u are now. Well, fast forward a couple of years and I bump into dude again; turns out he had married the chick. After we converse for a while he tells me he’s going to his village for the Xmas holidays, and I ask him to send my regards to my aunt in Sapele ‘cos that’s where dude’s from.

“Sapele ke? No, I am talking about my wife’s village in Akwa Ibom. What my mother-in-law does for me my mother never did. When we go to the village she tells my wife to relax, and does all the cooking. She even clips my toe nails! To be honest with u the only reason I still talk to my mother is ‘cos she raised me.”

Memo to self: do not date an Akwa Ibom chick, date her mother instead.

U.S. political news: The Pennsylvania primary is still 5 weeks away and one can tell networks like CNN are scraping the bottom of the barrel for news. The other day they screened a piece on how over 50% of past US presidents are firstborns and how firstborns are natural leaders ‘cos they gotta take care of other siblings. To add more gravitas to the piece they presented a study by a reputable university that suggested firstborns get 20% more of their parents’ time than their siblings and….like I give a hoot? What utter drivel. I gotta face 5 more weeks of this shite?! Arrrgggh. Reminds me of some study I read a few years back that stated males with loadsa brothers turn out to be gay. Erm, should I be suspecting the sexual orientation of one of my 5 brothers now?

Hold on…CNN’s playing snippets of Senator Obama’s Philadelphia speech in response to controversial comments made by his pastor. Man, this guy is good. He’s real good. His speech was brutally honest and no matter if it costs him the election dude can look himself in the mirror and be proud. And there I was being cynical about politicians. Just when I thought I was out they pull me back in! Americans would be plain dumb not to saddle up with this dude.

If only Eliot Spitzer could say the same. Women sure have a way of making us guys throw caution to the wind, no? Can u imagine what Spitzer’s wife and kids are going through right now? No wonder his successor, Governor David Patterson, came right out and confessed to a sexual indiscretion of his own. Who woulda thunk it?

We’d all pray for Spitzer’s family and hope they can deal with this positively. It’s so easy to blame public figures as being architects of their own downfall, but how many of us guys have the willpower to turn down advances from the opposite sex? After the Spitzer sexual scandal broke – we’d add Bill Cosby’s, Bill Clinton’s, Jesse Jackson’s, and Jim Bakker’s scandals in there as well – I thought to myself, ‘There, but for the grace of God go I’. (Yes, sometimes I love speaking like a Yoda who grew up in Elizabethan times). U wanna tell me all the prominent men mentioned above didn’t know what they’d be losing by indulging in extra-marital affairs? It truly is God’s grace that keeps us on the straight and narrow.

Memo to self: when u become president of Nigeria make sure wife is present on all trips. Yup, even if u going to the loo take her along with thee.

However, one angle I think hasn’t been covered in the Spitzer scandal is the prostitute’s addiction to…wait for it…Facebook. U’ve been outed as the responsible party for Spitzer’s downfall, ur face is splashed across local and foreign media, ur source of income’s no more, and the next thing u do is update ur Facebook profile (indicating Ashley is sneaking out the back door)?! If Mark Zuckerberg was Nigerian u can be sure his fellow countrymen would swear he used jazz to create such a devoted clientele.

Nigerian political news: A plane that departed Lagos for the Obudu Cattle Ranch was reported to have crashed five days ago, and still no one has the foggiest idea where the crash site is. If I had been subjected to gamma rays in a lab my pants would turn purple and I’d be green all over by now. What is friggin’ wrong with us?

The House of Representatives assigned a committee to investigate utilization of funds disbursed to the power sector during the Obasanjo administration, and for the past few days their deliberations have been broadcast live on terrestrial TV. It would be interesting to see their concluding report ‘cos one can’t help but hang one’s head in shame at the revelations so far. Even worse, the average Nigerian doesn’t hold out much hope that the committee’s final recommendations would be implemented. Can u blame them, when not one electoral officer or policeman has been punished for aiding in rigging elections last year; the summations of the judge in the presidential election tribunal indicated that nada was wrong with the elections held last year; judges issue ex parte motions willy nilly to past state governors to prevent them from answering for their crimes while in office; nothing’s been heard lately of the Ministry of Health contract scandal involving a sitting senator who happens to also be a daughter of the former president; the current administration’s been in office for over a year and the people have nada positive to say about the president other than “at least he ain’t as bad as his predecessor; etc.?

I’d go on and on, but I’ll just do my head in. As is our wont in this dear country of ours we holler at the top of our voices when we are treated like scum, but a fortnight passes and we forget about it. It only comes to the fore as a topic of discussion during parties or other gatherings so we can add our two cents about how useless our leaders are, and how only God can save Nigeria, and how we hope to steal if/when we get to a lofty position but not as bad as some corrupt politicians. Well, I’m not gonna play any part in it no more. The same manner in which I’ve taken to walking out of the dressing room when my colleagues start spewing rubbish is the same way I choose not to partake in discussions about Nigeria that won’t yield a positive outcome. Yup, no longer am I gonna be the verecund momma’s boy/engineer/actor/model/Nobel prize winner-to-be/Oscar winner-to-be/stripper/blogger/owner of the world’s greatest six-pack.

So what am I gonna do about my V for Vendetta moment? Well, for a start I’m gonna pursue more vigorously to get my t-shirts (remember those?) into the marketplace. To remain active ‘til I get a reliable graphic designer – they almost as elusive as Big Foot - I’ve decided to keep track of failings of our elected officers and publish them from time to time just to remind y’all that we all to blame if we don’t hold our elected/selected officials accountable.

Now I’m off to take a drive ‘cos I need to clear my head….and cop some ice cream. Tot ziens and God bless.

This just in. Yet another colleague’s sent an email detailing his wedding plans. This ain’t right, it just ain’t right.

Oh just in case y’all are wondering my golf swing’s improving greatly. My swing coach said it would be better if I didn’t insist on wearing such tight fitting polo shirts. Hey, I’ve been jogging like crazy – another way to while away time in Warri – so need to show off my newly improved abs! Who wants to be Tiger Woods anyways?

Another plus about all this free time. It offers the opportunity to ponder existential type stuff such as: Where do ants come from? I mean they are no where to be found, then u drop a breadcrumb and all of a sudden they appear and Is it me or is everyone just as fascinated with how zips work? Something so tiny, yet so profound. Maybe I’d write a self help book titled ZIPPERize UR LIFE or something to that effect.

Comments-[ comments.]

Tuesday, March 04, 2008

Everyone Always Returns To Uganda

Hola peeps. Mi nombre es Tunde y voy el día de fiesta a África del este.

Twelve weeks! One hour a week for twelve friggin’ weeks was time he had spent, nah wasted, on Spanish classes and he still wasn’t as fluent as he hoped. He could just about manage to respond to the tutor when she asked what his summer plans were. That’s the last time I believe crap I read in a brochure, he said, to no one in particular. The brochure in question was a Cliff Notes-esque guide to becoming a writer, Become a Great Writer in 10 Easy Steps. The first step advised the reader to enrol in a language class to improve his vocabulary, hence why he took up Spanish classes.

Miss Moreno, the Spanish teacher, was a petit woman in her late thirties who had just gotten engaged so did not require an excuse to show off her diamond ring to all and sundry. Tunde suspected it was actually cubic zirconia, but hadn’t the guts to tell her so. In all honesty he knew he was only hating because she was out of his reach. You see Miss Moreno had a killer smile that inspired Tunde never to miss a lesson. If she weren’t engaged he might have asked her out on a date after the course ended.
Oh well, I will always have the memory of our time together in that misty classroom, he joked.

He was fond of cracking jokes to hide his emotions. Truth be told he was disappointed he hadn’t mastered Spanish as well as he expected. Yes, he could read most sentences and respond to requests, but it didn’t quite flow as easily as conveyed in those language DVDs. His process was more mechanical: first, he deciphers the motive behind the sentence, then he converts it to English, next he responds in English, converts that to Spanish in his head, before opening his mouth and praying that he rolls his Rs properly, pronounces his Vs as Bs, his LLs as Ys, and Xs as strange sounding Zs. Yup, way too mechanical.

Good thing he was travelling to Kenya the next day, maybe the week away would be just what the doctor ordered to take his mind off his faltering career as a novelist. For the life of him he couldn’t get what the problem was. He had spoken to a few writers and their advice centred around two axioms: Getting started is always the hardest part and Write about what you know.

Duh! Of course getting started is always the hardest part. What kinda trite line is that? Just like when folk say, “You always find it in the last place u look.” Aaarrggghhh. It’s because of stupid statements like that I bought that crap pamphlet on becoming a writer. If I took their other advice I’d probably sell less copies than Osama bin Laden’s latest literary masterpiece, My Quest To Become An American Citizen. Ha. I mean, seriously, who would be interested in the mores of male stripper?

It was on the 5-hour flight to Kenya he hit upon the premise of his novel. He wasn’t sure of the precise eureka moment, maybe it was seeing LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD the umpteenth time or while taking a dump in the loo at 30,000 feet - he always did get his best ideas while mounting the white throne, or in this case, the metallic grey throne. He decided to write about a little known subject matter: the Nigerian spy. Do Nigerian spies utilize special gadgets? No one knows. Do they hide the nature of their job from their families? No one knows. How are they recruited? No one knows. He figured since there weren’t any Nigerian spy exposés out there he could make up stuff as he went along and no one would be the wiser. So simple and yet so brilliant; he would tailor the novel along the lines of Ian Fleming’s venerable spy novels. To create some controversy, and thus interest in his books, he would craft titles such as Dr. Yes and From Kenya With Love that are homages to the Bond books, and if anyone complained he’d refer them to Alice Randall’s The Wind Done Gone and offer trite axioms about copying being the sincerest form of flattery.

His spy would not be as fantastical as Bond though. He’d be, um, um, yeah, his cover would be as a roaming proctologist – hey, he’s trying to ‘write about what he knows’ – who applies for travel visas like everyone else. Only few people know his true mission though; his contact from the Ugandan Secret Service, David – never did like Fleming’s CIA character Felix - and his, um, boss Miss Moreno (aka M).

Yeah, yeah, he was getting somewhere at last. What else? Bond girls! From his travels he came across loadsa beautiful women. On his first night in Nairobi David took him to hotspots Black Diamond and Mad House. It was pouring down that night and the veranda at Black Diamond wasn’t shielded properly so staff spent most of night scooping water from what looked like a scene from New Orleans after Katrina hit.

That could be a scene in the book, where the villain uses his new “laser” to flood a city. Yeah, yeah that’s good, that’s good.

He saw tall ass chicks at the club and some chick who danced so well she’d be in music videos. When they got to the Mad House David turned to Tunde and said, “Wanna know why Kenyan guys are such good runners? ‘Cos they come to the Mad House. Ha. U’ll see.” And right he was, dreadfully right.

As David walked away to fetch them drinks at the bar Tunde, as is his wont whenever he steps into a night spot, attempted to walk around, scanning slowly, to get a sense of the place. No sooner had he taken two steps when a lady with a podgy face and gums that would put Arsenio Hall to shame stepped across his path and attempted at a conversation.

“Hello. I like what u wearing. What is that, that a handkerchief there?”
“No, it’s a pocket square.”
“Erm, my name is Nancy, are u from here?”
“No, I am Nigerian. Here, visiting a mate of mine.”
“Oh goodie, welcome to Nairobi. Erm, erm, I know u just arrived and would like to walk around, I’ll get out of ur way, but I’ll be standing right here when u done.”

The scene was to repeat itself over four times, with various women, during the course of his two-hour stay at the club.

Man, if a guy is feeling low this’d be the perfect place to boost his self esteem. Anyone would feel like a stud here…..if the women weren’t so creepy. First time I been to a spot where just two ladies are presentable, and they are sisters!

While attempting to share his thoughts with Dave he noticed the girl beside his friend - one of the ‘presentable’ sisters – whisper something in his ear. Dude blew his top, and the girl was so scared she ran to other end of the club. Dave wasn’t fazed, he was used to this. He laughed and confessed to pretending to be angry, “She asked for a drink…that’s how u drive the women away in a place like this.” Hmmm.

Tunde wasn’t keen on hearing more lousy pickup lines so suggested they leave. Dave convinced him to wait a while longer for the piece de resistance.

What? In a place like this? Wouldn’t be surprised if it was a striptease by an octogenarian.

The icing on the cake David was harping on about turned out to be some midget shaking his hips vigorously to makossa music. The dude was the ish in that spot ‘cos chicks fell over themselves to dance with him; he didn’t pay them no mind. Some girl actually lay writhing on the dance floor, making suggestive gestures at the dude, but he flatly refused. Even in a talent-lacking place like the Mad House Tunde was very impressed at his technique. Whatever dude has going for him if he’d bottle it for sale he’d make a killing.

As Tunde had just two days to spend in Nairobi David insisted they drop in on the ‘must’ places. Huh? The must-avoid and the must-visit. The former are scenes like the Mad House. The next night, as soon as they sauntered into the Carnivore, Tunde glanced at Dave and nodded. His college buddy understood the gesture; this was another ‘must’ place – a must-visit-and-never-attempt-to-leave hotspot.

Not even in Nigeria had he seen so many beauties congregated in one spot. If he wasn’t in a long term, albeit looooong distance, relationship with Angelina he would have fallen in love with a different girl every five seconds; yes, there were that many hotties there.

This spot could definitely be a scene in the book. Too bad ‘Carnivore’ doesn’t sound like a Bond-esque book title. More like another lame attempt by Thomas Harris to drain the last drop of milk from his Hannibal Lecter cash cow.

The Nigerian visitor almost shed a tear when checking out of the Savora Stanley in Nairobi. He wished he could have stayed longer especially since the lady at the hospitality desk was the prettiest hotel staff he had ever seen. He made sure he spoke to her when checking out.

I hope you enjoyed your stay, sir.”
“It was brilliant. My first time in East Africa. I am definitely coming back.”
“Great, we would love to see you again.”
“Hey, maybe I’ll come get a bride from here. Too many beautiful women.”
“Ha. You flatter us, sir. Yes, a Kenyan wife would treat you right. Just don’t end up with a Nigerian woman.”
“Well, I know Nigerian women beat their husbands. You had better be careful, especially when they end a sentence with ‘o’. ‘I warn you o’, ‘I’ll fight you o’, etc.”
“Hmm, lemme guess. U are a fan of Nollywood movies, no?”

He couldn’t believe the power of Nollywood cinema home video could contribute to negative feelings of other Africans towards Nigerians.

Good thing Nigerian musicians like Tuface Idibia and PSquare have such a huge following in these parts. One sure way to generate buzz around Africa would be to have them collaborate on the soundtrack to my hitherto untitled African Bond movie…adapted from my, er, hitherto unwritten African Bond book.

On the hour long plane ride from Nairobi to Entebbe Tunde couldn’t help tossing around possible book titles in his head. If he couldn’t write anything substantive at least he’d come up with a killer book title, maybe that’d trigger a flow of ideas. He couldn’t, thus no fountain of ideas spewed forth.

It was the eve of his departure to Lagos and he was still bereft of ideas. To cheer him up David invited him along to a wedding. A long as heck East African wedding was the last place he wanted to be but he didn’t put up a fuss, after all it wasn’t like he was going to spend time mulling over story lines.

Maybe he was hoping he would get inspired by wearing a suit. For some reason his best ideas came while knotting a tie or, as already mentioned, taking a dump. No in-betweens, just those two weird extremes. So he put on his best suit, carefully crafted a Windsor knot with a dimple, and still nada. He would have to stuff himself with indigenous dishes then; nothing like foreign food to bring on the doodle pangs - his mind recalled the first time he had Thai food, and how he, er, ran for days afterwards. A mischievous grin spread across his face at the memory.

It was during those hours spent on the white throne he had come up with a theme for his wedding vows – the lyrics to either We Are The World or Do They Know It’s Christmas? - and what wedding song he and his bride would dance to – Llyod’s I Want You. The weirdest thing was he wasn’t dating anyone at the time; he wasn’t even interested in a relationship. But that is the beauty of inspirations derived from inhaling doodle fumes, they don’t have to make any sense.

As the wedding drew to a close he still wasn’t feeling the d.p.s, i.e. doodle pangs.

Guess I am not cut out to be a writer after all. There was a time when I could will myself to take a dump and presto I’d be on the bowl whistling Dixie within the hour. Now I have stuffed myself with who knows what and my stomach’s still sealed up tighter than a character on Nip/Tuck.

The wannabe writer was gonna quit dreaming about being the next Cyprian Ekwensi, it just didn’t seem to be in his make up. So he got up off the loo – he had hoped the ambience would force at least a dollop from his derriere - and returned to the wedding hall. He walked in just in time to witness the latest dance craze sweeping Uganda: The Shuffle.

He couldn’t get why they called it The Shuffle, as far as he was concerned it was just the Electric Slide done to Ugandan music. He pulled up a chair to get a better view and was about to take a seat when some girl who had been glancing at him all night asked for a dance. As she grabbed him close the d.p.s started. At first minor, then they grew in intensity. Rising and rising until he could stomach (geddit?) it no more. He mumbled something to his dance partner and made a dash for the loo.

No sooner had he unzipped his pants when the familiar cavalcade of dollops hit the insides of the sparkling white bowl. As he groaned and thought he was developing an aneurysm the storyline of his book/film started to bloom.

The Beginning…. the opening credits can be shown with folks doing The Shuffle in the background. Yeah, that could be a uniquely African Bond movie opening montage…

The Villain…..we can make this a global body out for African domination. The IMF and World Bank? No, too wonky. It has to be Celtel! The crap telecoms company harped on about their One Network service, but I discovered first hand they were lying. Could only make calls on Nigerian Celtel SIM card the first night I arrived in Kenya. Oh man, Celtel (aka Celpuke) are gonna pay. They gonna pay. Ha huh ha huh ha huh ha huh…that’s my evil genius laugh. I’d also make their top henchman a gyrating midget…..

Action sequence….well, I went white water rafting on the Nile, didn’t I? We’d have a scene where Celpuke engineers trying to set up base stations on the Nile are thwarted by the hero. Yeah, that’d work…

Bond girls…no question, it has to be an Angelina Jolie-lookalike, if we can’t get Angelina herself. I am sure we’d get suitable replacements at The Carnivore….

Tunde finally had something to work with. It would take some time, but he was sure he’d finally become an author. He knew he was missing something, some important ingredient that was needed to wrap up the book neatly, but couldn’t place his finger on it. Oh well, at least he was better off than a day ago. At Entebbe airport when Tunde thought of all the fun he had had, he turned to his pal David and said, “Thanks mate for being so hospitable. I’ll definitely return”. David’s response was typically laidback, “Everyone always returns to Uganda”.

Hmmm, Everyone Always Returns To Uganda. That’s what I was missing!

Yup, our author finally had a title for his book. Tot ziens and God bless.

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