Field of (popcorn) dreams

Hola peeps.

I know I said I missed my bed in Juba in last blog entry, but nada prepared me for the blood red bedsheet-and-duvet combo that greeted me when I walked in from airport. It was as if cleaning lady, who is now married by the way, missed out on celebrating Valentine’s Day with me and so decided to re-enact it. Was scared to sleep on bed for a minute there. Had to check under pillows for chocolates or a secret love note first. Confirmed with a few neighbours that their beddings were not replaced by the apartment administrators. Why was mine changed then? Did cleaning lady expend her own funds on my beddings? Oh well, cannot be too bothered about this as my trip to Russia has been postponed. Was not informed until I returned from Kampala on Saturday. If I had known I’da spent an extra day there, as it’s always fun hanging with David and his crew.

Thankfully, this time I had the proper documents and was able to obtain Russian visa on same day by paying for express service. I was left with no choice as the Russian embassy in Kampala only operates b/w 10am and 12pm on Tuesdays – day I arrived in Kampala - and Thursdays – day I applied for visa - and I had been erroneously informed our flight to Moscow was to depart from Juba yesterday. Not tripping though as now I get to catch my breath and resume gym and kickboxing regimen until travel. Still not sure when travel date is but the organizers had better hurry before my visa validity ends. I would hate to go back to Kampala to apply for another visa as I am running outta passport pages. With my Kenyan visa and South Sudan residence permit also set to expire, chances are I am gonna need a new passport before the end of the year. Last year, I passed through the Juba airport at least once every month of the year bar October and this year’s looking to be just as busy. Already “things are tough” guy has seen me more times than I’d like and has returned to his pleadings. Nah, “pleadings” is not the right word, more like “demands”. Had to brush him off last Tuesday when he held on to my shirt and rubbed his thumb against his index and middle fingers in the universal sign adopted by immigration staff seeking inducement. Yup, I have been too liberal with my funds causing these folks to take the piss. No more. Tight Fist™ is here to stay.

Cannot wait for the Russia trip even though I dreaded the mawkish traits I developed back in February, from what I am attributing to jetlag. How else does one explain the number of times I almost cried during inflight movies, even dumb action movies? Wait, or maybe it was due to flying in coach as opposed to upper class? Hmmm. Since Russia trip is being paid for by the seminar organizers chances are I’ll be flying coach with the other invitees, and it’d be kinda weird to pay for an upgrade since we are travelling as a group. Drats. Guess my theory on hitherto unknown wussy behavior that comes to the fore above 30,000 feet will be put to the test once more. The main reason I am keen on Russia is a get an opportunity to rock the fly jacket I purchased in the UK. Weather in February was so cold I relented and bought this extra warm, knee-length jacket that makes me look like a member of a late 90s-early oughts boy band shooting a video in the snow. Jacket’s so fly some random dude approached me in New Jersey to ask where I bought it. Yup, the Nigerian Panther™ – wait, you thought I retired that name? You know me so little… - is making waves around the world. On a serious tip, the jacket is so fancy I have been praying for climate change to give Juba a whiff of snow, just so I can show it off.

Just occurred to me I never told y’all about my travels in February. My bad. Had hoped to write about it on return flight from the UK but was crazy tired I slept for most of the 8-hour journey. As expected, crap Kenya Airways’ movie selection wasn’t updated since previous time I flew them; wouldn’t have mattered anyway as my screen wasn’t functional. Flight attendant offered to reset it and it musta flummoxed her ‘cos after a few minutes I noticed she stopped coming down my aisle. Like a football tactician the head attendant musta advised her to switch wings – aisles in this case - to confuse the opposition, i.e. me. Punks. Kenya Airways is lucky I still fly them ‘cos I do not like too many flight layovers….and I have friends in Nairobi…...and the Addis Ababa airport is a joke. The business class lounge in Terminal 1 at Addis Ababa Bole International Airport is worse than a Greyhound bus terminal. No joke.

Anyhoo, planned Thailand trip did not fly – pun intended - as was told by the Thailand reps in Kampala one would need to return to Nigeria to apply for a visa. Extended duration of US trip instead. Flew coach for US domestic flights and saw some Caucasian guy on Delta acting as I normally would as he avoided eye contact when the lesser mortals were passing through upper class on their way to the economy class seats. Hee hee. After a week in London, I did San Francisco, California – Burbank, California – San Francisco, California – Minneapolis, Minnesota – Newark, New Jersey - London in 10 days. Was shot by the time I returned to Juba, but what did I expect after experiencing 4 times zones in such a short space of time? Jetlag was so bad I nodded off while shaving head with razor. I have nodded off numerous times while on the loo, but this was a first. I also recall nearly choking when I nodded off while pooping ‘cos I was trying to multi-task by making mouthwash last when I shoulda spit it out after gargling. What an obit I woulda had, huh? Here lies Tunde, who passed away after a short bout of stupidity…...

When not spending time with my daughter in London I hung out with family and friends. This time I did not repair to the cinema as is wont due to tight travel schedule. Caught just two movies, I, Tonya and Black Panther. Prior to the latter’s release I did not understand the whole #BlackPantherChallenge. I figured it was a cynical move by a global corporation to get more people to see their movie under the guise of black upliftment. I am not as cynical after reading this NY Times article and observing the impact of a different superhero story on black folk around the world. While waiting in line to see the movie in London a random black dude came up to me and flashed the Wakanda salute. I kid you not. He musta noticed a lone black face in the sea of Caucasians and Asians and felt a kinship. Then again, I was wearing my fly jacket so maybe that was the real reason for…...hee hee, I’m sorry, I need to grow up. When I told him I hadn’t yet seen the movie, he did not offer any plot details but remarked on how well made movie was, how proud he was to be black after seeing it, and how he hoped black kids in the UK would see it and come out with a positive image of themselves and believe they can achieve greatness.

I saw the movie…twice. Dude was right. When I travelled to the US I compared notes with black folk there, and in addition to their delight they told of unfortunate stories of some Caucasians making up stories of being assaulted during movie screenings or deliberate acts to apportion it less than stellar reviews. Amazes me in 2018 folks still have issues with skin colour. At least black folk are becoming more vigilant: my cousin-in-law said her mate bought Black Panther merchandise from a store, but when she reviewed the receipt and noticed it was rung up as Star Wars she marched back in and ensured it was duly assigned. Bravo.

Due to meetings and visa interviews I have already been to Kampala on three separate occasions this year. There must be something about my cologne ‘cos during each trip I…. let’s just say I seem to be the Pied Piper of drunk women. It’s not exactly my fault, ‘cos kinda like Cairo Kampala’s night life is so unlike Juba’s so I tend to wanna get the most outta it before I have to return here. During my first trip this year, in February, I was out with David and got a bit bored as he was drinking with mates so decided to approach the lone girl at the bar. Thing is I can be a bit charming when I want to, but sometimes I surprise myself. This was one of those instances. Even though girl was waiting for someone, I suggested she join us when we were leaving for another spot. She immediately called off her appointment and that shoulda been a warning sign. We got to the new spot and she ordered a bottle of coconut waragi. Ever seen a 20-year old, 4’ 11” girl down a 750ml bottle of local gin unaided? I have.

I remember when I initially moved to Port Harcourt from Lagos, how PH girls I would meet would always advise me to be wary of “typical” PH girls ‘cos they were money-hungry, and yet would go on to exhibit same behaviour they warned about. Well, Kampala is deja vu all over again. Let’s be clear, I never propositioned Gin Girl. She seemed fun and the fact she went on and on about her new boyfriend made me comfortable around her. People always ask how I can hang until the wee hours of the morning with guys that drink even when I don’t? Well, I tend to alleviate ennui by finding some female to talk to. Unfortunately, I chose the wrong one this time. Two days after, David and some mates came by my hotel to hang and I invited Gin Girl. Noticed she got pissed when David’s mate’s sister-in-law came by and we exchanged numbers. After the girl left Gin Girl called me aside and asked if the girl had been “brought” for me. Huh? She was jealous even though she has a boyfriend?! Explained to her the lady was just David’s mate. That shoulda been my cue to cut ties, right? No siree. It wasn’t until later that night when she met a girl at the bar we all went to and suggested they both return to mine, I decided I had let this go on for a tad too long. Deleted her number after buying her another bottle of local gin – this time she split it with her new girlfriend.

Last month, I took second trip to Kampala and chose to catch a movie with David’s mate’s sister-in-law. Yup, same lady Gin Girl erroneously assumed had been “brought” for me. Ended up not seeing a movie but went for a meal and at end of it she requested some investment for a travel agency she wanted to establish. Serious Tunde requested a business plan when he’da known better. Let’s just say we haven’t been in touch since. That trip was uber eventful ‘cos a few days after the faux investment opportunity I met David’s relative, a demure TV presenter, at a product launch for a bank that doubled as a music concert. Ever seen a demure girl transform into Gangsta B&%ch after three glasses of Long Island ice tea? I have. My goodness! She knew all the lyrics to the most arcane hip-hop songs and would cock her fingers mimicking a gun while dancing. I genuinely feared for my life when I told her I was leaving. How else am I supposed to react when her drunk voice mirrored DMX's? “IS THAT IT? YOU LEAVING NI%GA? GO ON, TAKE MY NUMBER. YOU BEST CALL ME!” I didn’t call her, but just to be safe I moved hotels and chose to walk around Kampala in a rasta hat - with fake dreadlocks and everything – for the rest of that trip.

A friend from Juba, who had flown to Kampala for the Easter weekend with her mates, was staying at new hotel I relocated to. Called her as soon as I checked in and she came over to say hello. What I was not privy to was she and her mates had gone out the night before and gotten so wasted one of them got burnt while smoking shisha. Ever seen someone so drunk they have three distinct burn patches on their right butt cheek that they maintain occurred as a result of another girl at the club being so jealous of them she decided to direct the hot shisha charcoal at their butt? I have…...and my brain still cannot fathom that sequence of events.

Tot ziens and God bless.

I just purchased a vibranium bog roll

Hola peeps.

You’ll be glad to know I am not starting this entry like previous two ‘cos I’m pleased to report my poop rhythms have returned to normal. Oh wait, I did spray-fart last week during morning exercise though. Oh well, the laundry lady sure worked for her wages that day.

I am writing this on an Egypt Air flight back to Juba after a week in Cairo for a series of meetings. This trip followed a week in Kampala where I had attempted to secure a Russian visa but did not have proper documents. As a result, I am returning to Kampala tomorrow until Friday, and then it’s looking as if trip to Russia will finally be on Sunday. Yup, I really should get my own plane. Was excited at the thought of flying to places I had not been to, but the proximity of flights has left me longing for my bed in Juba. Never thought I would ever utter the last part of that sentence.

Cairo was a trip, man. I took a day off to do tourist-y stuff and glad I did. Visited the pyramids at Giza while riding a horse. Rode a camel too. As expected, we – my colleague from Juba tagged along - were fleeced on the horse rental and the tourist day itself, but hey, these things happen. Now I know what to do avoid next time I visit there. Highlight of tourist day was guy selling mementoes by the pyramids who adopted accents of his latest mark. It was compelling viewing I tell you. Dude erroneously spoke in a southern US drawl while approaching an African American lady from NY. Hilarity ensued. Was almost tempted to get my South Sudanese colleague to approach him to see what sorta accent he would put on. If he succeeded I woulda Googled various celebs on my phone and offer to buy his wares if he could do canny impressions of them. Alas, the camel ride was a more appealing prospect than choosing to become his manager, relocating to Cairo and securing him a slot on Egypt’s Got Talent.

The trick with being a first-time tourist is not beating yourself up for being a mark. For instance, we got a good deal at accommodation from the tourist agency at the airport, yet we paid badly over the odds for the trips to the Giza pyramids and Egyptian Museum. It’s akin to having a wedding or being a new parent or moving into one’s first crib. From my experience, anyone, especially family, that says they are giving you a good deal on stuff for your wedding “’cos you are family/friend/favorite client…” is at least doubling the price. Everyone knows new parents will buy all sorts of crap offered ‘cos they wanna do best for their child, but by the time the next child comes along parents have learnt from their folly and poor kid is practically left to raise itself. I am glad I travelled with colleague ‘cos we were able to bounce grifters off each other by switching good cop-bad cop roles. Even after coughing up $80 each for a 2-hour horse ride around the pyramids the guide couldn’t hide his, ahem, thirst from the onset. “My job is to make you happy and I am sure you’ll make me happy afterwards ……Other people like you at the end of the trip some give me $100, others give me $150….” Gosh. The last time I met someone that blatant was back in December 2016, during my first ever (attempted) pervy massage in Lagos. That time I paid masseuse double what she “requested” just so she would stop bugging me and stick to a normal, non-pervy massage. For the pyramid guide we gave him about $30 and ignored the rest of his pleadings. See, they get you the first time, but you become wise and checkmate them.

Another case was my first night in Cairo when mate took me around. We ended up at some café where Cairo’s answer to Milli Vanilli – the duo looked alike and dressed alike, though I doubt they were related – moved from table to table with one blowing a horn while the other sang and they expected, nah demanded, a tip at the end of their “performance”. They came by our table, mate gives one of them a tip before they begin and so while performing I decided to entertain the crowd by doing a jig to their melodious ditty. I initially trotted out the original Rob and Fab’s Milli Vanilli’s patented side to side shuffle, but the Egyptians did not grasp my attempt at being cheeky so resorted to my always dependable fallback, the Running Man.
The non-horn playing one was busy asking for more money from me instead of doing his job so told him I did not have any and reminded him mate had already given his partner some dough. While regaling a mate in Nigeria with this tale and comparing Cairo’s Milli Vanilli tribute act to praise singers at Nigerian events, I was chided for being an “tight fist”. Ladies and gentlemen, I think I may have come upon the perfect title for my kickboxing movie to be entirely shot in Juba: TIGHT FIST: THE JUBA CHRONICLES. Not to be confused with that crap Marvel show on Netflix.  

Speaking of kickboxing I have taken to sparring – just boxing - with gym instructor on weekdays to prepare me for full kickboxing sessions with Coach on weekends. Yup, I am such a sucker for punishment it scares me. Problem is gym instructor does not let off. Coach would at least take me through a few moves before he lets loose; not gym instructor no. Dude punches hard from the off and I’ve resorted to playing Natasha Bedingfield's I Bruise Easily in the background to psych him out. Hasn’t worked…yet. Now I am trying to psych myself by watching Rocky IV training montages and considering changing my name to “Rilwan”. Inside joke: Over Christmas, I saw a list of forthcoming televised boxing bouts in Nigeria and, I kid you not, 6 of the 10 contestants were named Rilwan! Sometimes a Rilwan was fighting another Rilwan! It was mind-boggling….to me anyway. Do a Google search for “why are nigerian boxers named Rilwan?” if you have time on your hands. Okay back to Cairo……

Amazed at how Cairo never sleeps. On day of arrival, mate picked me up from hotel at 9pm to Old Cairo and though I did not return until 3am the town was still buzzing. Saw couples with infants hanging out, school-age kids, old folk. So unlike Juba. Even did all my souvenir shopping at 2am after a midnight meal of friend cow brains – yes, you read that right – and liver. Good thang I did not have any plans for the day after ‘cos my stomach did not agree with the cow brains. Of all the local delicacies my favorite was the dessert Om Ali, which literally translates to “Ali’s Mother”. Legend has it that Ali’s mom caught her husband - Ali’s dad I presume, or could as well have been his stepdad, who happened to be a king -cheating with another woman and so she killed him and made this meal of milk and bread pudding that has been attributed to her ever since. Beats the origin story of Eton Mess, no?

Since Sundays are workdays in Egypt I had to wrap up meeting early yesterday to FaceTime with my daughter. There’s been a drastic change since I returned from the UK in February as I cannot seem to keep her engaged in any way. The best I get is ca. 30 seconds after she says hello before she goes back to either watching TV or doing something else. I ask about school? Nada. I inquire about what she did the week before? Zilch. I am seriously considering asking her next week if I upset her or if there’s another reason why she doesn’t talk to me. Few weeks ago, she turned off the call before I was done ‘cos she was “bored”. I called back and scolded her for the infelicitous act. She responded that there’s nada I can do since I am away. When I tried to explain that only reason I am away from her in Juba is ‘cos of work, she said she didn’t believe me. Now, I heard this clearly, but my heart wanted to believe a 6-year old is not capable of understanding the nuance in her statement. When I could no longer ignore the truth, I proceeded to question my hearing, grasping at any way to explain away the fact that my daughter would rather not connect with me when I am not present in the flesh. Efforts at denying the obvious took me back to time in Lagos when a Liberian girl, I initially met a few years prior in Ghana, came visiting. She was staying with her mate and her boyfriend, and while waiting for her to get dressed so we could go out for a meal I noticed a white substance on the coffee table. Now this girl’s always been wild so naturally my first thought was what I had seen was cocaine. Instead, I worked myself up in knots trying to find a way give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps it’s sugar…nah Tunde, you love sugar, you can identify the structure of sugar from 20km away, this is cocaine. Maybe it’s salt…. really Tunde, SALT?! Pull the other leg bro, it’s got bells on it….  

As the grim nature of FaceTime calls with my daughter has gone on for nigh 2 months if I do go ahead with my plan to ask why she’s upset at me or seek her opinion for improving our FaceTime calls, am I sure I am gonna be ready for the answer? What if she says she no longer wants to talk to me? This is weird ‘cos when we last saw face-to-face back in February we had a pleasant time. Went to a trampoline park one weekend and saw Coco the weekend after. Almost cried myself when I saw her shed a tear during a tender moment in the movie. I lifted her out of her chair, placed her on my lap and quietly tried to reassure her it was just a movie. Thinking about that day still leaves a lump in the throat. As a 6-year-old I probably would never have bothered much if parents were not around if I had a steady diet of TV and chocolate. Amazing how my “steady” diet has not changed much in 36 years. I know it’s not my princess’s fault, the onus is on me to make our FaceTime calls interesting. I need to find a way to pique her interest. I bet Tight Fist™ would know what to do…. or maybe not. You see the other day, while lacking a proper outlet for this subcutaneous feeling of despair and tired of playing Red Robin and Highway 20 Ride on loop, I went for kickboxing training. When that did not ameliorate my mood, I donned on football boots for the first time since 2014 to play in a 5-a-side game I had been invited to join for yonks, but always declined. I hate to say it, but my sole purpose for wanting to play was to kick the life outta any opponent unlucky enough to have the ball. Fortunately for him/her the game was cancelled, else Tight Fist™ mighta maimed someone. On second thoughts, maybe Shikabala would be in a better position to proffer a solution to daughter’s FaceTime ennui.

Yup, I have an Egyptian doppelganger called Shikabala; he’s got the footballing career I was not skilled enough to manage. Throughout 7 days in Egypt I was stopped at least four times by random strangers – it started with immigration officer screening passport – telling me how remarkable our resemblance is. Now, I do not see an iota of likeness, but then again, unlike most Cairo residents, I am clear-eyed from not staying up past 3am on weekdays smoking shisha and lounging around Old Cairo. Too bad Egyptian Arabic is different from Juba Arabic, else I woulda dived into character like my coulda-been protégé from the Giza pyramids and signed autographs as Shikabala. Tales of autograph-signing would surely keep my daughter engrossed, no?

A mate once teased me about Nigerians loving pepper so much we dice it in baby formula. I believe Egyptians do similar but with tobacco instead of pepper. My goodness, it seems everyone smokes in Egypt. In the hotel elevator, with a bold NO SMOKING sign in full view, some dude was smoking. Went to a club on Friday night with excellent music, but for the first three hours folks did not dance. All they did was smoke shisha and bob their heads…. well, apart from Shisha Fierce who amazingly channeled Beyonce’s choreography while seated and with a shisha hose permanently clasped between lips. Now if I could just get her and that Giza pyramid accent dude into a double act we would win Egypt’s Got Talent for sure.

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Tot ziens and God bless.

PS
Obtw, if you are ever in Egypt and after a merchant offers you stuff they mention “Egyptian hospitality” knock down the price at least by 50%.