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%.