The 42 year old bed-wetter

Hola peeps.

Just returned to Juba (after a weekend in the field) with a cracked phone screen. I mistakenly dropped the phone on a concrete slab, and although there was a screen guard installed the fall broke through the guard and damaged the screen glass. Now I have trouble typing and sending WhatsApp messages, but voice notes are possible. I’m gonna have to get another phone ‘cos I hear replacement costs of Samsung S8 screens is akin to purchasing a new phone.

The phone was damaged on Saturday evening and it refused to respond to repeated taps on screen, but by this morning I had already deciphered that any taps on upper 1/3^rd of screen wouldn’t yield a response. However, if I minimized the keyboard such that the typed messages appear on bottom of screen one can send messages without any hassle. How did I discover that so fast? I am a faulty technology savant, that’s how. Reminds me of a TV we had when I was 10 or 11 where the color would fade but could be corrected by a quick downward stroke of the finger(s) across the vertical channel buttons and clicking back to (read pressing the button of) the channel of interest. If this failed, one was bound to succeed by repeating the process 2-3 more times. I wonder what happened to that TV. This was the era before remote controls but after those large entrapments that had a curtain-type contraption that needed to be pulled apart before getting access to the TV screen itself. I recall as a kid they always reminded me of those squeezebox accordions.

Was really hoping my phone hack would serve me for a while but the whole send-message-at-bottom-of-screen thang failed to work by this evening. Darn it. This faulty Samsung was already inhibiting ability to send emojis so I was looking forward to improving my written communication skills sans emoji shortcuts; and seeing how far I could stretch phone, like I did with Blackberry that was so dysfunctional it would type the letter ‘e’ on its own like it was possessed. I spent more time editing messages than typing cos of all the extra eeeeeeeeeees. I got so good at using only words with ‘e’s in them I coulda been a Jeopardy! champion…..until phone was stolen at wedding by a pickpocket. Poor dudeeeee was clueeeeeleeeeess about theeeeee sorta crap phoneeeee heeeee nicked. Ha.

Apart from phone debacle the field visit was successful, and I got to stay in plush accommodation to boot. I suspect the room was initially outfitted by a lazy, serial killing police detective (LSKPD) ‘cos the mattress compresses to one’s body form when laid on. It’s the strangest thing ever….or maybe that’s the intention of the LSKPD all along to  avoid sketching out those chalk outlines after they murder you in bed and pretend to investigate the case. Think about it. Yup, I need another holiday.

I didn’t realize last experience in field had scarred me so badly until I went to the loo this morning. This is strange yo. Y’all know I relish pooping so much if there was a sodality dedicated to the bog I’d never miss a meeting. Thus, only explanation for spending 3 nights in the field and not getting doodle pangs until date of departure must be ‘cos time spent in field back in 2017 was so daunting it musta shut bowels.

Speaking of which, I am pleased to report Chief’s doing fine and the histology test on the tumor removed from his bowels revealed it was cancerous but was removed before it could spread. Thank God. I won’t go so far as to say Chief has a new lease on life, but I will say he’s back to devouring amala like a boss. Dude even attended a party few days after he was discharged from the hospital. Jide visted London after I left and said Chief was on his case about arrangements for his 80^th birthday party that’s now gonna be held in London. Yup, Chief’s definitely back! This means yours truly is gonna be travelling again in 27 days.

Oh yeah, recall how I said in last blog entry I was done flying for a while? Well, I was summoned for a business meeting in Mozambique soon afterwards. Departed Juba for Maputo three days after my return from Senegal. The Maputo airport is beautiful on the outside, but what goes on inside is beyond the pale. Shoulda known I was in for a bad treat once I observed a guy in a Nigerian football jersey disembarking from the plane with a Kenyan Airways-monogrammed headset. Dude tried to be slick by wearing a hat over it and probably forgot KENYA AIRWAYS was boldly inscribed on the sides.

Once we got off the bus that transported us from plane to the arrival terminal, it was every man for himself. Once one gets into the terminal passports and invitation letters are collected en masse for what I reckon is a validation of documents. This took about 15 mins. While waiting we were advised to complete visa application forms and when our documents were returned, we joined the queue for a visa - this took 2 hours! I kid you not. Didn’t help that they initially had one person, a lady with a bad attitude, issuing out visa application forms, collecting money for visas, reviewing documents, then snapping photos for the visas. The lines moved faster when another sourpuss lady joined the first one. Once done with the congeniality twins it was over to the passport control queue, which took about 10 minutes. Following this, luggage was picked up from the carousel and placed on a screening machine before heading out. Man, that immigration process is the worst thing since unsliced bed. And I thought the Addis airport was bad.

As we had back-to-back meetings on all 3 days I spent there, I couldn’t get a proper look at the town. Did eat loadsa seafood though. Hoping I don’t get to travel until UK trip at month end, but I fear there’s a trip for Khartoum, Sudan, coming up soon. Oh yeah, was just informed there’s a visit to another field for the coming weekend. Man, schedule’s been so packed I haven’t had a kickboxing class or used the gym this year. I chose this life, eh? In lieu of gym workouts, been doing 120 pushups every weekday as well as HIIT 3x a week and the usual runs. Unsuccessfully tried to sign up last Friday for a 42km marathon in Kenya scheduled for June but it was full, so signed up for the waiting list. Hope to have a change of fortune once the Kigali marathon registration opens.

Last Tuesday, I did my usual 5.2km, but with ankle weights this time. The Sunday before, I ran 14km with pals in the morning. Got picked up for church afterwards as car’s in the shop. Purposely stuffed my wallet, placed it in back pocket, and sat on it so I’d be uncomfortable and not fall asleep in church; yet I still found myself nodding off a few times during the service. And this was supposed to be the less boring church! They keep to time and service is concluded in 1.5-2hrs, unlike the other church I frequent(ed) in Juba where time-keeping is a fantasy. So why am I still falling asleep? I had hoped a run before church would perk me up, but alas it didn’t. I have tried everything from pinching myself and/or poking thighs with a pen or other pointed object, all to no avail. Didn’t have to resort to such tactics in Lagos, even though I attended services that kicked off earlier in the day, nor in London when the services start later. What is it about Juba church services that tires me out?

Maybe I should try drinking loads water beforehand so bladder’s full and the risk of peeing on self would keep me alert. Goodness knows peeing in bed ‘cos of tension-headache tablets made me wean myself off the tablets and cured tension headaches cold turkey. Also, peeing on self as a cub scout ‘cos I was so pressed and didn’t wanna leave my post during inter-house sports day, and wasn’t sure if there was a rule against a cub scout taking a leak while in uniform, taught me that I wasn’t cut out for any form of organized group bonding/camaraderie and so I quit and have avoided being an active participant of any society, even one as undemanding as the Nigerian Community Group in Juba, ever since. Yet, I am sure I’d act differently if there was a poop appreciation society in Juba. Hee hee.

Man, I hate to be whinger but phone’s getting to me. There are loadsa messages on it I cannot access. I click on homepage and it directs me to an app on weather, like I need that in Juba where sakana shediid. Hope weather in London next month’s milder than in February so I won’t have to furtively turn off the heater once Chief goes to bed. Man, that dude had the heater on blast so much I was forced to walk around the house shirtless. Mightn’t be staying at the family house this time though, ‘cos with all the moms and siblings around from Nigeria for the birthday party there won’t be sufficient room. Was planning to do an Airbnb solo, but Loye suggested one that could accommodate all non-UK siblings and that could be worth considering. Could be great to spend a few days in same crib with siblings again though…..or maybe not. No doubt there’ll be general ribbing about my relationship with Harriet if the family WhatsApp group is anything to go by.

Speaking of Harriet, I reckon she’s found someone else to be devoted to as she didn’t do anything special on Valentine’s Day. Erm, it’s not like I was expecting anything special special, but you know. Anyhoo, she musta also connived with the chef to stop cooking for me, so much so that in January I ate out most of the time. A particularly sad case was when I forgot a burrito in car overnight. Started-off from bed at 543am the next morning in a panic and rushed down to car without bothering with slippers. Put the burrito in freezer, turned the thermostat to the coldest and went for a 5.2km run, all the way praying burrito was still edible. That evening, I thawed out burrito, microwaved it to within an inch of its life, then added some hot sauce I got from Uganda; all in the hope I wouldn’t have to toss it out since I wasn’t sure when chef would get off her Harriet-assisted high perch to make me a decent meal. The results of consuming the burrito are best left to the imagination. Let’s just say I spent the next two days becoming intimately familiar with every aspect of the curlicue designs on the bathroom tiles and sending out loadsa WhatsApp broadcasts to family and friends declaring my love ‘cos wasn’t sure I was gonna survive. Drats, yet another reminder of phone. Boo hoo.

Tot ziens and God bless.