My job is to stick the landing

Hola peeps.

Happy Easter. Apologies. Got so embroiled in my tales of bodily woe last time I forgot to tell y’all about Chief’s 80^th birthday celebration in the UK. Here goes…

I got to London on the 3^rd, had a church thanksgiving service on the 4^th which was his birthday proper, and the party was held on the 6^th. The family doesn’t seem to do anything small ‘cos even on the 4^th we had loadsa guests come by the house and excess food. The party itself was fun for the entire family and Chief admitted it was the first party we had had in yonks that was mostly for the “family”. All but one of the siblings came in from Nigeria and the same from the US. Yours truly flew farthest from Juba, but since no prizes are being awarded for that I best shut up about that. We had approximately 250 guests and the event started at 4pm and ended at 11pm. If we had held same in Nigeria as originally planned, we woulda had at least 1,200 guests and the party woulda gone on and on. The important thing here is Chief enjoyed himself.

The hired MC arrived late so Seyi and yours truly stood in until he showed up. Like mom's 70th birthday celebration I tried out my comedic skills and the audience was awesome. Danced like crazy and the next day after I returned from church, Chief remarked that he had never seen me dance that well and referenced my mom’s party as first time he had really seen me “open up” and my moves at his party was the icing on the cake. Okay then. Was so tired I retired to Airbnb I rented with siblings to nap and returned to the family house in the evening to find the family splitting Chief’s birthday gifts amongst themselves and doing the post-party review that is our wont, though it’s always extemporaneous. Nice to see some things never change.

As I mentioned I arrived at the family crib on morning of the 3^rd and after napping for a bit I went out for dinner with a neighbor from Nigeria I hadn’t seen in yonks. Dude was traveling to Germany on the 4^th and wouldn’t return until I was back in Juba, so that was only time we had to catch up. Got back to the crib and realized Chief chose not to step out of the house that day as he didn’t wanna “risk anything” on eve of his turning 80. Hee hee. Dude’s health’s back to normal and he’s taken to showing everyone the scars from his operation as if it was a war wound. It runs from top of his crotch all the way to his chest and cannot count the number of times he asked if I had seen his scars. I bet the postman, bin collectors or anyone unfortunate enough to have stopped by the house woulda been subjected to a view of his scars as well. Yet another Trumpian trait of Chief’s.

Prior to UK trip I decided to give up something for Lent. Had never done that before and since chocolates are still my kryptonite, I decided to avoid YouTube for a month instead. I was pretty successful too, though I snuck in a few YouTube videos of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert through articles on The Guardian website. Doesn’t count if I don’t access YouTube directly, right? How I survived a month without Stephen A. Smith rants on ESPN I would never know. The self-imposed YouTube ban coincided with malfunction of phone so maybe it helped me become more focused. Perhaps that explains why I finally discovered the solution to a problem at work three weeks ago, even though I had been poring over same data for the past 2 years.

Yup, fixed phone in Kampala on way to the UK and it works pretty okay, except for fact that when I do WhatsApp voice calls I cannot hang up the call unless the recipient does; should they fail to do so the only way to end the call is to reboot phone. Oh yes, also I cannot put phone on speaker during WhatsApp calls or listen to voice notes without bringing it up to ear. Was waiting until the release of the new Samsung foldable phone to get a replacement handset, but the reviews haven’t been stellar. Plus, someone gifted me an iPhone 8 last week. Told ya peeps love me. Guess I am an iPhone person now. Speaking of which, I need a new iPad as the home key on current one is stuck. So, if anyone’s feeling generous you know where to find me.

Oh yes, was also gifted a Fitbit and I have become as addicted to it as I am to my juicer.
Told y’all about my juicer, no? Best equipment I have bought since my power inverter in Nigeria in 2011. I recall waking up at 2am to stroke the inverter like a beloved pet. I reckon I am getting there with juicer. Man, I’da gotten that stuff ages ago. I no longer force myself to find time to eat fruit sliced up by cook. I just blend them up – obtw my fruit concoctions are outta this world – into a juicy pulp, chuck that into a container and sip it throughout the day. It’s almost as good as drinking ijebu garri with groundnuts and cold water after a workout….almost.
Was excited at finally being able to confirm if distance I run on weekdays is 4.6km 0r over 5km, but realized the Fitbit wouldn’t be able to do that except I run along with phone that has the Fitbit app installed on. Plan on doing that during run before church tomorrow morning.

Man, I am tracking everything on Fitbit – sleep patterns, runs, kickboxing classes, even pushups in the morning. Tried it on during HIIT and realized I burn more calories during kickboxing workout that during HIIT; makes sense as kickboxing training lasts twice as long as HIIT. Duh. ‘Cos of Fitbit monitoring sleep I have adjusted alarm to wake up an hour later than I used to. This has helped ‘cos previously when alarm would go off, I’d struggle outta bed and slowly shuffle to living room to switch off alarm like one of the zombies from Michael Jackson’s Thriller video. Now, I wake up so invigorated I moonwalk to leaving room, grab my crotch, flick my right foot in the air, then proceed to switch off alarm. I like that Fitbit prompts me to increase steps while at work so that reduces amount of sedentary time I spend in front of the computer. I am still getting used to it but wonder if it’ll prompt me to increase steps for the day while taking a dump or if it’ll recognize if I am bitten by a mosquito in my sleep. So, so many possibilities. Imagine if they had Fitbits during the Salem witch trials or if they are worn by those folks that confess to being witches during Nigerian church crusades. If they had on Fitbits, we could know for sure by their activities or elevated heartbeats while chasing folk at night. Ha. If Bobby Brown had a Fitbit it’d only spike when he’s doing his pelvic thrust. Damn, forgot to tell y’all about BBD+Bobby Brown concert I saw in December in Lagos. Seeing folk in the flesh whose music you’ve listened to your entire life was amazeballs. Learnt little nuggets like New Edition being offered Every Little Step before Bobby Brown sang the song. It was a great night in general. Only problem is Bobby’s forgotten all his dance moves or can’t be bothered anymore. Dude’s lost weight and looks better than he has in yonks but even during his songs BBD executed the choreography better than he did. All he could remember was his patented pelvic thrust, you know, the double or treble pump; perfect example was during the “it’s like that/it’s like that girlllllll” portion of Every Little Step.

Due to intense travel schedule since beginning of the year I cannot remember a complete week of gym workout and my sleep pattern’s been all over the place. Thus, I chose not to travel anywhere for the Easter holidays and chill at home in Juba instead. Slept in yesterday though went running in the evening and this morning as well. Did kickboxing training this afternoon and my reflexes are improving. Came back home to find apartment cleaned. Harriet knew better than to clean apartment during weekends ‘cos that’s my untidy time, but she’s been away on vacation and musta failed to inform her replacement how I like things. I haven’t met Harriet’s stand-in, but I’ve already lodged a complaint with the cleaners’ superintendent. This chick does my laundry every day! She empties the kettle of water too; who does that? I return from work and it’s a puzzle to find where my laundered clothes are; sometimes they are folded and kept in bottom-most drawer where I keep my white tees and singlets, sometimes they are placed with workout outfits, other times she has placed them in between work shirts. I need Harriet back! Couldn’t go running on Wednesday and Thursday ‘cos she had washed sneakers – Harriet probably told her to do that – but didn’t dry them properly as Harriet would, and ended up disappointing my dearest Fibby. Yup, I have become so enthralled with my Fitbit I have now given her a nickname. Don’t judge me.

Weirdest thing about the cleaning lady is since she’s replaced Harriet, every single day I have returned from work I find one or two flies buzzing around apartment. Is she breeding flies or is she a progeny of Candyman? To y’all too young to recall, Candyman was a lazy, unscary horror movie from the 90s where the eponymous ghoul would appear if one repeated his name in front of a mirror 5 successive times. At least I think that was the general premise. I vaguely recall the appearance of flies (or were they wasps…coulda been bees) heralding the presence of Candyman. Like I stated, it was a crap movie and knowing how talentless present Hollywood is, there’s a good chance someone’s working on a reboot or origin story or “reimagining”. Punks. Anyway, the gist of this is I have never spent so much on insecticide since Candywoman replaced Harriet. Cannot wait for Harriet’s return at the month end.

Harriet’s absence has coincided with cook’s. Always knew they were up to something. Cook requested a loan to set up a food stand so offered to pay her 3 months in advance in lieu of the loan. Big mistake. Now she doesn’t respond to calls on time and supplies insufficient fruit. Thus, latest juice concoctions have lacked the ingredients that make them standout, i.e. carrots and ginger. ‘Cos of her actions, earlier today I decided to try out the local Chicken Inn that folk in Juba raved about when it initially opened but enthusiasm’s died down. After trying the food, I get why. The Chicken Inn franchise needs to withdraw their license from these guys ‘cos dunno what they are serving but it ain’t chicken, more like an unidentified frying object (UFO). Shoulda known stuff was up when as I parked car I heard a thud on roof of car as a pigeon flew by. It was while leaving a passerby motioned me to stop. Apparently, the pigeon had got stuck in railing on roof of car. Maybe it was escaping from the Chicken Inn eatery to avoid being fried.

Man, everything about the restaurant was iffy and that’s when I recalled I had tried out a crap chicken wrap from an eatery that operated from the same place when I initially moved to Juba. At that time, it was a faux Chinese restaurant/shop that served food next to a display of mattresses and house hold items. I didn’t have a car then and there wasn’t variety at the food offering at hotel I was staying at so chose the place ‘cos it was a 5 minute walk from hotel. Now, I no longer have those issues so why did I go back to a spot that the only thang it had in common with other Chicken Inn outlets is the insignia? Blame my cook.

Ordered the UFO and instead of being served in a regular take-out box it was placed in a plain white cardboard box that…not sure referring to the decagonal origami construct as a “box” would do it justice, let’s call it a vessel. So, UFO was placed in a plain white cardboard vessel and I drove home after passerby kindly removed the escaped – and remarkably, still alive – pigeon from top of car. Walked into apartment all excited to try out crunchy chicken when I noticed the incarnadined bottom of the vessel. Abeg when East Africans begin cook with palm oil? The “chicken” tasted like it was fried in decade-old palm oil, and fries were just as rank. I have had an upset stomach ever since and doubt I’ll be able to go running tomorrow morning before church. Please forgive me, Fibby.

Tot ziens and God bless.

PS
Guess what? There’s a Candyman remake set for 2020. Told ya.

Squeaky bum time

Hola peeps.

I am glad not to be writing this on a plane and only reason that’s not the case is ‘cos I was crazy tired on flight from the UK last week. Spent only 6 days there for Chief’s 80^th birthday party and it was a blast, though stressful. Ace seeing most of the family too.

Returned to Juba last Thursday, was supposed to host a board meeting on Friday, then travel to Khartoum the day after for a series of meetings, but the meeting in Juba was postponed and the recent protests put paid to the Sudanese trip. Amazing what people power can do and here’s hoping the Sudanese folk get a more people-friendly leadership. Sadly, the recent events in Algeria and Sudan won’t convince other sit-tight leaders to abdicate, if history is any indication. They always assume they are untouchable. The punks. Back to my travels….

Got in on Thursday, unpacked, went out to eat, returned home and zzzzz. Was too tired Friday morning to do HIIT and had already decided I would skip kickboxing lessons this weekend in order to rest. As I hadn’t done any exercises in almost 2 weeks, I agreed to meet up with some running mates yesterday morning before returning home to zzzz. Surprisingly, I woke up early enough, slipped on my 0.5kg ankle weights and commenced running. Had done about 35 mins when I started getting doodle pangs. Uh oh. Maybe I need to provide some background first to put things in perspective.

You see on the morning of 24^th March I failed to listen to my bowels and nearly pooped myself while running. To be honest I did more praying than running and didn’t help that last stretch of the run up a steep hill. My normal sequence involves a 5-minute walk from my crib to starting point, run from there to the traffic light by the Juba airport, run up a steep route back to start point, then do the 5-minute walk back home. Before I left the house that morning, I felt doodle pangs but thought I could manage it through the run as it typically takes about 30 minutes. Surely, I could hold on for half an hour, right? WRONG. Didn’t help that in the past I’d try stretch how long I can hold poop for before going to the loo, in order to set a self-imposed target. What can I say, Juba gets a bit boring so I try to look for things to beat the monotony. I usually do my poop holding thang when I know I am not too far from a loo and assumed I was on familiar territory prior to the run two Sundays ago.

Got to the airport traffic light okay and waved to the other runners I saw. It was then, when I was furthest from the crib, that stomach rumblings became more animated. Uh oh. I contemplated stopping by a mate’s house to use the loo but didn’t wanna embarrass myself, so I stupidly soldiered on. Reduced my pace and started reminding God of all the good acts I had done the week prior and how He had to see me through this moment of intense trial. Finished the run under extreme duress and now it was time to take the 5-minute walk, of what I have since dubbed the Long Walk to Freedom (after the travails of another great man), back home. Took off ankle weight on left leg and saw I could walk faster, but when I tried to repeat the same for the right leg I almost popped one out while attempting to unstrap the Velcro around the ankle. I stood back up s-l-o-w-l-y, shuffled home and once I got to the compound I was forced to clasp left palm over butt and do a penguin waddle up two flights of stairs until I unlocked my apartment, flipped up the toilet lid – I no longer close it – and sat on the plastic seat so hard I permanently wedged it to the left, then unleashed fire and fury from my innards. As I let rip, I silently prayed none of my neighbours were looking outta their windows as I walked up the stairs. As it was a Sunday, I went to church after regaining composure and doubled my usual offering as thanksgiving to God for preventing me from messing up in public. Returned from church and ate every dry thing I had at home to prevent me from accidentally going during kickboxing class later that day. Ate so much popcorn my pee smelled like freshly roasted corn. Following that incident I started sitting on loo even when I pee on the off chance poop arises ex nihilo.

Fast forward to yesterday when the scene almost repeated itself, except this time I was with nine other persons when the stomach issue started, and as was so far from crib I had to take a boda boda home. Didn’t even bother negotiating with the dude and could see the shock on his face when I paid him more than twice his fare. Pounded on gate to be let in, then spent valuable time trying to get my house keys off the female security guard that seemed to be angry about something. Thus, by the time I got to foot of stairs I couldn’t hold it anymore and felt a splat in my shorts. This time there was a neighbor outside and glad I didn’t know her so there was no reason to chit chat. Again, cupped left palm over shorts and repeated the penguin walk to apartment door. Fondled with key for a few seconds and ran into bathroom without shutting apartment door behind me. Musta sat on the loo for 30 minutes while going over meals I had on Friday to see if there was pepper in any of them – there wasn’t – and why I had no warning doodle pangs prior to going running. After the last incident I had sworn to myself I’d never risk a run/walk/crawl if I ever felt any tummy rumblings, and I stuck to that, so how come stomach acted up this time? After fully relieving myself, I crawled to bed and thanked God I attended boarding school as I could wash off stain from underwear and shorts prior to Harriet’s arrival on Monday. If same happened to any of my nephews would they know what to do, seeing as they have washing machines at home and are typically pampered? Reminds me of Martin, a dude from Southampton I met at Bradford university, who didn’t know how to iron his clothes ‘cos his mom always did it for him back home.

Okay, so enough on the workings of my bowels. Wait, just saw Indian neighbor who calls me “Steel man”, or that’s what I reckon he says in his thick accent, whenever I see him at the gym. Now he referred to me as Happy Feet. Drats, he musta seen me yesterday or two Sundays ago. Wait, the neighbor I saw at foot of the stairs yesterday is his wife! She musta told him what happened. Shit….literally.

Tot ziens and God bless.