Wherever I lay my hat (that’s my home)

Hola peeps. Happy new year.

Typing this on a flight from Nairobi to Senegal as had to take an expected trip to catch up with some mates. Chances are I won’t get to see them again this year, so this was only option – a 1.5hr flight from Juba to Nairobi, overnight stay, a 5.75hr flight from Nairobi to Abidjan, a 1hr layover, then a 2.5hr flight from Abidjan to Dakar. Things I do for mates, eh? To be honest, it’s not the most relaxing way I’da chosen to spend a weekend since I only returned to Juba 2 days ago from my bi-annual visits to the UK. I plan not to travel anymore until end of March, hopefully. Had a meeting in Kampala end of last month so decided to fly to the UK through Entebbe. It was first time on an Emirates plane and must say I was impressed. Not as impressed with the Dubai airport, which is an industrial complex disguised as an airport. It’s so cold, so impersonal. If there’s anything as too much, then that airport’s it. Inflight entertainment was amazing but reckon I might stick to my dreaded Kenya Airways for further trips from East Africa to the UK ‘cos the journey’s way shorter.

Cannot wait to settle back in Juba not only ‘cos I can’t wait to see what Harriet’s got in store for Valentine’s Day, but also ‘cos I need to get back to working out. I tend to ease off on exercising while on vacation, even with best intentions and extra luggage space taken up by workout clothes. I am all pumped and raring to go, especially as I wanna attempt a marathon this year. I did a few mini-8km runs late last year and early this year, but wanna go the full hog this time. Last month, I had my best time – did 8.1km in 39 mins – in a race I didn’t plan to run in until minutes before it kicked off. Maybe that’s the trick, to avoid psyching oneself up for a race and just chill out. The night before I ate junk food and watched movies until 2am, then woke up at 630am for the run scheduled for 7am. Oh yeah, took a nice dump before I set out as well. So yeah, my tips for a successful run are junk food, insufficient sleep, then a relaxing dump. Not only did I achieve my best time I didn’t feel fatigued afterwards and coulda run twice the distance.

Xmas break in Lagos was great as usual, once one ignores the killer traffic. Was ace seeing rest of family again. Ditto trip to the UK. It was my daughter’s 7^th birthday and seeing her celebrate with her friends was a joy. She’s probably the only kid I know who never tasted their birthday cake. The week before, we went for out pizza and when I asked if she wanted dessert she requested for oranges. Not orange cake, not orange-flavoured ice cream, but orange fruit. U what? She must get this whole saccharophobia (yup, there’s a word for it) gene from her mother.

My dad was in the UK as well and though he’s turning 80 in April this was the first time I had seen him “old”. The moms are all creaky with one ailment or the other, but Chief’s always spry, until now. He had to have surgery to remove a tumor from his bowels so seeing him post-surgery, with hose up his nose and drips connected to his veins, was shocking. While he described the severity of the surgery something suddenly dawned on me that I never noticed my entire life, my father has traits of the current president of the United States. Dude went on about how long his surgery took and how complicated it was, akin to Trump’s biggest and most beautiful boasts. The day after his surgery he bragged about the qualifications of his surgical team. “I had 2 professors, the surgeon and the anesthesian, that worked on me.” The following day he told me there were actually 3 professors, one extra had to be called in ‘cos of how complicated his surgery was. You gotta love him.

Never much thought of my parents’ mortality, but Chief’s surgery got me thinking. It’s selfish I know, but I kinda hope the moms go before he does ‘cos not sure how they’ll cope with his being absent from their lives. Dude can be a royal pain and it must take the patience of Job for them to have lived with him this long; guess that’s why the moms are all active in their respective churches. Ha. Btw if you are ever interested in attempting to resolve a falling out between Chief and anyone, be prepared for a history lesson and a grand vinegary rant. My goodness.

Where was I? Oh yes…I believe this is the first time Chief and I really bonded. Spending time in the hospital with him I got to hear about his investment philosophy – good shares and real estate and diversifying one’s portfolio – and why he never took the plunge into politics, mistakes he made in life, reasons why he actively participated in professional bodies, the genesis behind the UN’s push to educate the girl child, true nature of public figures in Nigeria, his being fulfilled and ready to go if God decides to take him soon. We also had a good laugh at my mom’s antics regarding money: how she’d complain to all when her tenants delay in paying their rents but keep schtum once they pay. Between us we couldn’t figure out what she does with the money, there’s the charity side but also, she must get a kick from having a huge bank balance.

One of the days when rest of UK siblings visited the hospital and he saw me wearing a University of Bradford hoodie, he remarked about how he still had the Purdue Dad tee I got him and a similar one from Georgia Tech. He then commented on how helpful my younger bro Jide’s always been, so if we ever wondered which male kid’s Chief’s favourite that statement confirmed it. Dude, erm, wouldn’t it be best to reveal such truths when none of your kids are around? Again, like Trump he claimed credit for stuff he didn’t do, like “forcing” me to move back to Nigeria from the UK and applying similar pressure on Loye to get married.

Of course, he delved into my private life, thankfully when we were alone, but I didn’t offer him anything. Was there anything to offer in the first place? Part of me expected him to ask me to promise him I’d get hitched soon or something along those lines, but then I remembered those moments only occur in the movies during a death bed scene and since Chief wasn’t dying it wouldn’t have same emotional heft (read emotional blackmail).I do wonder what he woulda said if I told him of last month’s disappointing experiences with the opposite sex, like the Uganda chick who always has her hands out or my mom’s help who propositioned me. Yup, it’s that ridiculous. Let’s start with the latter…

Few months ago, I received a WhatsApp message from a Nigerian number I didn’t recognize; the profile photo didn’t offer a clue either. “Good evening uncle Tunde”, it read. I hate to be rude so hazarded a guess, thinking it was my youngest cousin studying in Ghana. Was about to chide her for including a photo of her protruding backside as a profile pic, when the other party responded with, “You don’t know me. My name is Merriment…” That was all I needed to read and deleted the message. Now, I am no name-ist (I am sure there’s a word for that too), after all working in Nigeria’s South-South exposed me to folk with names as varied as Happy, University, Stainless, Go-Straight, Last, God-Knows, Thank-God, Education, and Heineken. It was the unsolicited message that pissed me off, and after numerous attempted video and voice calls, I blocked the number.

Fast forward to December 23^rd when I went to see the folks in Beachland (aka Old People’s Home, as Nike’s chosen to christen it). Was informed my mom was out, so walked into my mom’s apartment and as I dropped off the two tubs of South Sudanese shea butter she requested and was heading to see the other moms, a young lady, who I presumed was my mom’s new help, asked whom to tell my mom had called on her. Once I introduced myself, she shrieked and said, “uncle Tunde I am the one that sent you a message, why didn’t you pick up any of my calls?” This was Merriment! Discovered her name’s Chichi which is a truncated version of an Ibo name that’s probably loosely translated in English as Merriment. I didn’t have time to explain myself and as I turned to leave, she said, “Come now, where are you going?” The gall! I am the son of her employer and if not that I am at least 20 years older that she is, isn’t she scared to lose her job? I chalked her attitude down to my mom softening in her old age ‘cos no help/relative/child of my mom coulda attempted speaking to an older person that way when Mommy No Nonsense was in her halcyon days. I ignored Chichi, turned around and went to hang with Chief and the moms while navigating how to eat meals on offer and save enough space in stomach for my mom’s inevitable platter of food, once she returned from church.

Fast forward to Christmas Day at the annual family lunch at the Sheraton hotel. Oh yeah, one more Trump-like trait thing about Chief’s being center of attention. We’ve been doing Sheraton buffet at Christmas for nearly 30 years so when I suggested we try the newly opened Hilton Hotel, Chief wasn’t keen. You see loads of his friends bring their families to Sheraton as well, and due to the sheer number of kids and grandkids he has our table is always in a prime spot where everyone can see. #Sad

While playing with my nieces and nephews, I noticed Chichi’s lubricious stares from across the room – yes, our table is that long. Initially thought it was my mind playing tricks on me until she snuck up to me and said we needed to talk. The gall! For the rest of the lunch I avoided making eye contact. Yup, I am a 42-year old professional running a business in a foreign country, yet I cannot give a stern talking to to my mom’s 20-year old help.

Lunch ended and I went with Nike and her sons to see her mother-in-law, who had recently recovered from an illness and lives near the Sheraton hotel. Thirty minutes later, the rest of the family stopped by. As I had further stops to make that day, I said my goodbyes and on way to my car Chichi approached me. Now innocent, naïve Tunde is still thinking, nah hoping, it’s the usual case of Nigerian employees seeking extra money for the holidays, and he waited for the inevitable tall tale of relatives in the village needing medical treatment or something of the sort. Chichi’s got balls, I’ll give her that; the chick had ensured her employer was safely ensconced in her in-law’s apartment before she commenced her pitch for a slice of my heart. I really wish I was making this up.

Chichi: Uncle Tunde, I don’t know what’s wrong with your WhatsApp number, but I cannot seem to get through anymore. Can you give me the new number?

Tunde: Why do you want my number? How did you get my number in the first place?

C: Well, I got it off mommy’s phone. You see I like you…

T: (gobsmacked)

C: I used to look at the photo that you and auntie Nike and auntie Kemi took with mommy, and I, well, I like you….

T: (speechless)

C: Aren’t you going to say anything?

T: (hoping he was fluent in Yoruba or another Nigerian language so he could really cuss her out) You don’t know what you are talking about. I have to go.

C: I know I am not from your economic background. Is that why?

T: (now shaking his head as he opens the car door and hops inside) Listen, your job is to take care of my mom. Forget all this foolishness.

C: (preventing Tunde from closing the car door) Is it ‘cos I am young?

T: Chichi, I have to go. Let go off the door.

As I drove off a part of me was seething inside. How dare her approach me? Wasn’t she scared of losing her job? I never told my mom about this incident and kept, ahem, mum (geddit?) days later when my uncle and Nike complained about Chichi’s attitude, how presumptuous she seemed, and the inconsistencies in her background story. The other part of me was saddened at the environment that would force a young girl to approach a guy that could be old enough to be her father. Surely, it had to do with money, right? Another desperate case of a Naija girl thinking the easiest way to making money is by dating an older guy. Which brings me to Uganda….

I met this Ugandan chick a couple of years ago while hanging in David’s house. Pretty as can be with an enchanting smile and dimples you could swim in. Always fun to hang with as well. If I was ever passing through Uganda soon after a trip to the UK, I would always get her a gift along with stuff I’d get for David and my other friends there. I wouldn’t even have to see her, I’d drop it off with David to hand to her. I really felt she was good people. Lately, maybe ‘cos of my frequent trips to Kampala for work, I have noticed a different side to her. It’s so bad that I avoid calling her now when I am in Kampala.

Two weeks before I left Juba for the Xmas holidays, I needed a break from Juba so decided to go relax in Zanzibar. Little did I know that the wily Tanzanians had instituted a visa application process for Nigerian citizens. Yup, no more visas on arrival. Don’t feel so bad Nigerians, Ethiopians are subject to same scrutiny as well. As my travel agent wasn’t sure of how one could obtain a visa from Juba, I decided to fly to Kampala instead as it was Blankets and Wine weekend. Hey, if the Tanzanians don’t want my money, I’d spend gladly it in Uganda, I said to myself. Little did I know how true that would turn out to be.

I arrived on a Friday, checked into a hotel where there happened to be a surprise wedding proposal. Yay, free cake. David and I hung out in the vicinity of the party and got to meet a few of the future bridesmaids, but most importantly, I had some cake. On Saturday, went to the movies with the Ugandan chick, let’s call her Dimples, and coincidentally, she and her friends were hosting a surprise baby shower at my hotel later that day. Yay, even more cake. So, didn’t think much of it when, following the movies, she dragged me along to some store to search for a baby-shower gift. She found what she wanted, and I paid for it, no sweat. Few doors down from the exclusive baby store was a MAC stall and she badgered and badgered until I got her a shade of lipstick she said she didn’t have. After dinner with David, she headed off to the baby shower with her new lipstick and baby gift in tow.

David and I chilled for a bit before returning to hotel for cake, which wasn’t as good as that from the day before, to be honest. It’s at this point David, my pal of 22 years, abandoned me. His sladar (aka slay queen radar) musta gone off and he forgot to tell me. After the baby shower, I chose to hang out with Dimples and her pals at some new spot where their friend was DJing. Even though they knew the owner of the spot and he got them free bottles of wine, guess who still wanted more? At this point I was done with them. Paid for two bottles of wine then headed back to hotel. Glad I went out though, ‘cos bumped into a waitress there that used to work in Juba. Small world.

Sadly, I had promised to take Dimples to Blankets and Wine – this was way back on Friday before the mounting purchases – so come Sunday she bugs me unendingly until we go. She’s with her sister and a friend from the night before, so as soon as we get into the venue I leave her to hang with them. Do you know this chick only came looking for me when she wanted drinks? I mean, c’mon. She was real sly about it too, and said, “There are many slay queens here. I wouldn’t want them to take you. You should come hang with us. Meanwhile, can you buy us some bottles of wine?” To compound issues, she sees me dancing with some chick later and storms off in a huff while her younger attempted to pull me away from the girl.

On way back to hotel I felt awful and brought it up in my Bradford WhatsApp group of 5 married guys and one who’s set to get hitched in April. Dimples could be real good people so I sought the opinion of my uni buddies on if I’d let her know her attitude’s toxic. Surely, she must wannna get married someday, such behavior is bound to drive away a potential suitor. Weird thang about this is earlier in the week she’d regaled David and I about some viral video doing the rounds in Uganda where some guy had flown his girlfriend to Dubai to propose, but her reaction showed she was only in the relationship for his moolah. Why don’t his friends or family smack him around and advise him to end his engagement, I asked. David musta been laughing inside as he knew the questioner was probably going through similar, on a lesser scale albeit, with Dimples.

So, yes, back to Bradford WhatsApp group advice line. After the expected badinage at my expense, it was decided I let things lie. Dimples is in her late 20s/early 30s so she must surely know the difference between right and wrong, they suggested. I must have a soft spot for her ‘cos two weeks later in Naija while everyone around me was dancing close to the stage while Bobby Brown and BBD – more on that some other time – performed Don’t Be Cruel my experience with Dimples flashed through my mind for a millisecond. No way I'da told Chief that I worked so hard for her from nine to five, So she could have the finer things in life, Since she's the kind that's never satisfied....

Tot ziens and God bless.