Hola peeps.
Been a while. Had to look up last blog entry to see how long
it’s been. Nada much’s changed in Juba: local salon still ain’t open, and my
fave Indian eatery has closed down – you can imagine my surprise after walking
6 flights of stairs! Oh yeah, noticed I unconsciously sit on left arse cheek
even though blister (mentioned in last blog entry) has long since healed. I
blame Chim-Chim.
Remember how I lauded hotel I used to stay at for not charging
me for use of gym facilities? Erm, can I take that back? Turns out that offer
was only for one gym session. Was asked to pay during subsequent trips, but no
hard feelings. Still use the place and actively encourage others to reserve
rooms there when they visit Juba. Desperately wish I have more visitors arriving
in Juba soon as my ijebu garri stash
just ran out. Dunno how I’m gonna cope, already breaking out in fits and my
skin’s taken on a sallow sheen due to garri
withdrawal symptoms.
All’s been quiet in Juba since July, but last month there were a
number of insecurity reports on the main road leading to/from Uganda. On their
way to a tourney in Kenya my kickboxing coach and his crew narrowly missed an
armed incident where two passenger buses were burnt.
Maybe I am deluding myself but really think I have improved in
kickboxing so much I wanna sign up for a tourney in December. I feel I need to
spar first, but pride/ego won’t allow it. I tell you though if a round of
kickboxing lasted 12.3 secs I’d be badass ‘cos that’s how long I last with
rapid punches and kicks until stamina runs out. Maybe it’s due to age, though
signed up for yoga classes to help with breathing.
Speaking of age I turned the big Four-Oh last month and even
though I had planned to take some time off to go somewhere and reflect ‘cos
that’s ostensibly the thing to do, I had to abort that plan due to workload. I
always felt there’s something romantic about starting a business from
scratch…well, there’s nada romantic about the intense workload. I need a break
worse than the Americans need to elect Hillary.
Mate once told me his eyesight gave out on the day he turned 40.
I kid you not, he now wears glasses. My eyesight’s still ace, but noticed abs
no longer as defined. Could it be the curse of turning 40? Or is it what Rick
Warren said about God removing stuff from one’s life when that appears to one’s
sole focus? (Lord, I’m sorry for waking
up in the middle of the night to admire abs in the mirror. Please give them
back to me….) Or was mom’s feeding in the UK responsible? Or am I just
looking for excuses for my eating habits, or lack thereof. Realized I only eat
a solid meal once or twice a week. Rest of time I subsist on snacks……and
drinking garri. Surely this ain’t
right for a 40 year old man. Oh yeah, remember how I complained about oily
head? Now noticing increased sweat from armpit even when air conditioner is on,
and I have not changed deodorants. Could this be the curse of turning 40 again?
First head dripping excess fluid and now armpits? If nose starts dripping next
I am quickly getting adult diapers before I begin peeing on myself
unconsciously. Okay, I’ll stop grossing you out now.
Wanna know worst thang about starting a biz from scratch? Being
away from family. Now I am having to struggle to keep daughter’s attention
during our FaceTime chats. Like her dad, she sure does love TV so that when I
am asking this lovely girl what she’s been up to she has one eye on the TV and
another barely acknowledging me. Ha. Can’t complain though ‘cos until a few
years ago (maybe when she got bored or she suspected if she kept at it I would
never pay for her flight tickets or Jesus touched her heart) mom would always
beat me over the head regarding my relationship with TV. “You never did like me anyway. That was how when you were 3 years old
you were asked to come visit me in the hospital when I had complications after
Kemi’s birth and you told them to say hello to me as you were busy watching TV
instead...”
The other day I had to Google “How to entertain a 5 year old”
just so I could convince daughter to spend more time with me on FaceTime. Ended
up on some website about origami and that’s when I remembered I could still
make paper planes. That night I actually recalled in my dream how to make a
paper boat, a skill I musta learnt as a 5 year old. Was so chuffed to show
these to my daughter that when our FaceTime conversation began, after our
initial pleasantries I jump into “look @
the boat I made you”….no joy. “I can
teach you how make these if you want”….no joy. Despondently I gave up and went
back to enquiring about school and her friend Matilda. Seems Matilda is no
longer the flavor of the month ‘cos she didn’t expatiate on it. Then she got
bored and reverted to her usual “well I
have to go now daddy” and said “you
can press the red button now”. I replied, “no, you press it”. She responded, “no, you press the red button”. I said, “no, you press it”, hoping we would go on like this some more and
maybe it could be our new game. Who needs origami when one can play this back
and forth game, rght? Wrong. She then said, “okay
then” and pressed the red button to end our conversation. I know certain
parents dread their kids growing up too fast, but I cannot wait until my
daughter’s older so we can have proper conversations.
Did get to see her while in the UK and had her full attention
then so that was swell. She also got to see her cousin, Mama’s son Timi. It was
also my first time seeing Timi as I hadn’t been to the US since he was born and
lucky that younger sister, Mama, happened to be in the UK for a medical
conference. Man, still weird wrapping my head around Mama being a mother. Life,
eh? Oh by the way Jide just had another baby so Chief has 24 grandchildren now.
Dude sure is blessed.
Arrived in the UK on day of mom’s birthday and turned out house
was filled with friends and family. Got to see folk I had not seen in yonks.
Holiday was mostly a bummer though as the curse of leaving Juba struck again.
Seem to always fall ill when I leave Juba - returned from Diani with a sore
throat, it was a cold on last trip from Kampala, had typhoid fever on trip
before last to Kampala,well, this time I got struck with viral conjunctivitis
in right eye….for all of 2 week stay in London. My eye was uber-sensitive to
light and had to wear sunglasses everywhere even at night. Never could figure
out how certain celebs wear sunglasses all the time. Now I get it.
Even with their stress best thing about UK is seeing friends and
family. Met up with mates from boarding school and hadn’t seen one of the guys
since graduation in 1992! Still looked the same, a bit rounder, okay a lot
rounder, but still looked the same. Was a fun time reminiscing about the past
and busting each other’s chops.
Fast forward a few months someone started a What’s App group dedicated to adding as many old classmates as
possible to find a way to give back to the school (FGC Warri) and organize a
reunion next year to celebrate 25 years since graduation. Phwoarrr, twenty five
years is a heckuva long time. Would be ace to see everyone again, hopefully I
can make time to attend the reunion. People have been putting up pics of
themselves back in the day and their families now. Dunno if it’s the whole 40
year old curse again, but try as I may I cannot recognize some of the faces or
even the names. Always thought I had a good memory but some of these peeps
don’t ring a bell.
Fear it could be the same with class mates from the University
of Bradford, but doubt it. Though boarding school transformed me into living
the nidifugous existence I currently exhibit where I gotta keep moving from
place to place to stay sane, I “survived” boarding school. Bradford was
different, it left far more indelible marks. First place I ever fell in love,
first place I ever knew what heartbreak really felt like (and as a result know
the lyrics to Brian McKnight’s 6,8,12
by heart), first place I ever shared a toothbrush with another person. Before I
arrived Bradford I considered stuff like girlfriend sharing my toothbrush or
public displays of affection uber gross. By the time I left, I was snogging in
the open and didn’t care what anyone thought….I still do. The toothbrush
sharing thang though has def been laid to rest…I hope.
Anyway we’ll get to find out if Bradford had such a lasting
impression on me when David organizes “his” reunion. “His” because for the past
couple of years he’s been threatening to hold a reunion not to mark any
momentous anniversary, but to show off his stupendous wealth….when he makes it.
He plans to fly everyone (including tutors) to his yacht in Miami for the “Inaugural
(17th/18th/19th/? year) reunion anniversary of
the Year 2000 Chemical Engineering Class of the University of Bradford”. Festivities
will include a “So how rich are you
compared to David?” quiz, a “Is your
partner as hot as David’s latest model girlfriend” photo session, and a “My bodyguard can beat you” MMA lucky
dip. Now you can tell why workload’s not the only reason why I haven’t returned
to Kampala since July, even with David dangling Nuba’s phone number as carrot
to convince me to celebrate my 40th birthday in Kampala.
Can’t blame David too much as we have all been guilty of grand dreams. As the immortal line from one of the songs off Breakdance 2: Electric Bugaloo goes…..They say money can’t buy happiness, but I’d like a chance to see/‘Cos I
can go where I want and do what I feel, and that’s good enough for me….MONEY!!!
That song sucked now that I think about it, but since I am too tired to delete
that line we might as well find a way to segue it in….oh yes, they also say not
to count one’s chicks before they hatch, but for a recent deal I assumed was a
cinch I not only counted, but killed, fried, ate the chicks and requested for
another plate. Was gonna use some of the funds to get me that Hublot watch I’d
been dreaming about too. If it had worked out I might even have beat David to
the Chem Eng Bradford “just ‘cos I’m rich”
reunion. With all that cheddar was already thinking of hiring someone to dance
for me. Well, what I really mean is having someone to dance in my place ‘cos I
have realized lately that I don’t fancy dancing at all. Can I even remember how
to? So with all that moolah one would obvious have fawning company. Then when I
see a Ciara wanna-be doing stretches just before a song comes on and she
approaches me to dance I’ll get my stand-in Chris Brown to dance in my place.
Now you get why chicks were already hatched, right? I really should stop
hanging with David.
As expected, family and friends from all over the world called
me on birthday. Also as expected, due to wonky telephone connection not a few of
these peeps had to settle for a call the next day as they could not get
connected. Chief was one of those who when he discovered anyone had gotten
through to me would wonder why he wasn’t getting connected and even asked mom
if I was intentionally avoiding his calls. U
what? Yes, that’s how sensitive Chief has gotten. A few weeks before
birthday I received SMS/BBMs/What’s App messages from members of family asking
me to call Chief. Said dude had heard some awful news regarding South Sudan and
wanted to know if I was safe. Now why didn’t he try to call me himself you ask?
Well, Chief fronts worse than most girls I have dated. This is a guy who would
ask mom if she had spoken to me in order to slyly guilt-trip her into telling
me to call him. I usually ignore her but this time I called to alleviate his
insecurity fears about South Sudan.
Chief: So you can’t even call
to see how I am doing?
Tunde: Aren’t you the one
supposed to enquire as to my welfare since you think I am in an insecure
country? How are you anyway?
Chief: You have abandoned
me!
Tunde (*yup, no girl I
have dated was this needy*): Ha. But I spoke to you 8 days ago?!
Chief: Ehen, isn’t that
long enough?
Of course, mom tells all siblings about this exchange. Now my
uncle teases me by calling Chief my girlfriend. As far as I know only Jide and
I call Chief frequently, so he considers it an affront when we slack off on
this occasionally yet doesn’t give other siblings grief. You gotta love the
dude.
Chief stopped over in the UK and our stay intersected by 3-4
days. As is their wont sisters came over with loadsa food so much so there was
not enough space to store it all, there never is. Yet when Tunde was home alone
sisters did not “send him” as us Nigerians say. Typical. Forget mom, I am
blaming sisters for my waning abs since I did not wanna waste food.
Good thing about Chief’s visits is sisters come to the house
with their kids so I don’t have to fret about travelling from one end of London
to the other in order to see nieces and nephews. Watching sisters interact with
Chief and (subconsciously) try to outdo each other with tales of their kids’
exploits was delightful to observe…as much as one can observe with one
functioning eye. No sooner was one done regaling us (well, Chief really) in
quirky thangs their kids had done than the other kicked into gear with an even
quirkier tale. Guess my sisters are like those parents that think everything
their kids do is worth documenting. If they ever read this blog I won’t be
getting any Xmas presents, but they never send me any anyways so tough. Hee
hee.
Must be in their DNA as watching them took me back to childhood when
we would go visit one of mom’s friends or relatives and she would coach me
beforehand on some lovely compliment to pay. Now that I think about it there is
no way in heck the aunt whose home my eight year old self had just commented on
being “incredibly beautiful and
commodious” woulda believed those words were mine. Yet mom would nod and in
mock shock say something along the lines of “woah, these kids of nowadays, hmm, they are real studious o….” Yeah
right. Even as a kid I always felt unctuous after such encounters. Yet my
sisters are repeating the same cycle. Expect my nieces and nephews to use their
Galaxy Note 50s – the ones that will sear thoughts into walls as graffiti – to
complain about same thing when they grow up.
To show nothing really changes I happened on a conversation
between mom and Nike where mom said she was glad none of her kids ever drank or
smoked. Nike had to insist I did drink and mom came to confirm if it was so.
She musta conveniently forgotten the time she chided me for having to stop the
car to urinate ‘cos I had quaffed two bottles of Guinness stout in a hurry. Chose
not to break her heart further by keeping my marijuana smoking phase secret.
Chief, on the other hand, was the Kaiser Sőze of parents. Remember that scene in The Usual Suspects where Verbal Kint is
making up stories to feed Agent Kujan from stuff he sees around the room? That
was Chief. Trying to find the right words to admonish one of my siblings for not
being effervescent enough, he spots a soda bottle on the table and declares “you need to have more SPRITE, you need to be
a self-starter!” Another time he used CRISPy
when trying to convince me to be less diffident about school stuff. I think it
was after he said, “I have stated my
piece….if you now want to be a king, be a BURGER KING”, when I would not
give up on an argument we were having and he was instructing me to have it my
way, that I finally caught on to his faux words.
I shouldn’t have been surprised though because growing up as a
kid you think my oldest brother is the coolest guy out there – he still is
though - and assumed your dad would never tell a lie. The moment the veil was
lifted was during one of the family prayer meetings – yes, we used to have
those every evening – when he was discussing on the virtues of hard work and
made up a ditty that was supposedly popular among his peers in elementary
school. I’m working for my life, I’m
working for my life, if anyone ask about me tell them
sayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy I’m
working for my life. All of us kids glanced at each other, trying hard to suppress
laughter. It was obviously a made up song, I could see Chief’s eyes darting
from side to side while singing it almost trying to find a way to end the song
while wondering what he had gotten himself into. I mean the song didn’t even
have an agreeable melody for goodness sake! After the meeting I remember
cracking up about it when mom walks by and retorts that she actually remembered
that song from her childhood and attempted to improve the melody. In one fell
swoop I realized my adult parents who should guide me along the right path were
mendacious storytellers, and what made it worse was this act was actually
carried out during a PRAYER MEETING! Life was never the same after that.
On to the present, you will be glad to know I have renewed
residence permit here so tales from Juba are set to continue for another 2
years at least. One would think an extension would be fairly straight forward
seeing as I had one before, but it took nearly two weeks and constant
disruptions to office schedule. Once, some guy told me to wait then after ten
minutes he returned and said, “Oh, it’s time for lunch. Come back after lunch”.
Dude didn’t resume until the next day. Another time this dude told me to meet
him at his office in the morning. After repeated calls and the “I’m on my way”
lies that us Africans know too well he showed up an hour later and that’s when
I discovered he had been at home when he asked me to come by the office. “Why
did you keep me waiting this long then?” I enquired. “Welcome to South Sudan”,
he responded. “You should be used to these things by now.” The most ridiculous
requirement, however, is having to register finger-prints with the police twice
a year. Surely finger prints don’t change. One cannot help but laugh.
Loadsa places that used to be packed are now empty due to
depreciating currency and possibly insecurity. Still, you must give props to
those that are still open and some folk are even opening new businesses. I try
to support these folks and last week I went to a new place that houses a chain
of eateries - a pizzeria, ice cream spot, and a café. Pizza was not bad but ice
cream was dire. Chocolate ice cream tasted like expired lime-flavored cough
syrup. In the same building another spot has lovely chicken wrap. Had it twice
and raved about it. The other day I finally took someone to try it and it was a
wrap alright, but with no chicken. Shoulda backed out after waitress said they
had run outta chicken, but insisted she ask the chef to check again ‘cos I
brought someone specially to try out the wrap. That’ll teach me.
Still haven’t used jacuzzi in apartment complex, but not that
bothered as I get a surprise every day when I return from work. Girl fixing
room must have been a cake decorator before she moved to Juba as I get a “pink
surprise” every other week when she changes my piebald bedsheet to the pink
one. Each day brings a different layout style utilizing pink bedsheet and
duvet. Bet she musta studied origami as well…..or somehow ended up on with same
Google search as I did.
Tot ziens and God bless.
