Sometimes I whine slow, sometimes I whine quick

Hola peeps.

 

Happy St Paddy’s Day. Trying my utmost to ensure I blog every month. February’s already gone so I gotta make up with two blogs this month. Wish me luck. Geddit? Luck? Luck of the Irish? St Paddy’s Day? Oh, I give up.

 

Speaking of luck, I am definitely running in the Paris marathon on April 7^th and hoping to place better, rather, finish better, than I did last year. Thus, since I returned to Juba three Fridays ago, I have run 3-4 times a week, ensuring to do a 21km run at least once a week. Last week, I did my usual 21km run on Friday, then another half-marathon the next day, March 9^th, to coincide with an International Women’s Day celebration. Been soaking feet in Epsom Salt post runs and that stuff is magical, in terms of pain relief. Saying that though, I went to Aminarrggggh after the run last Saturday. The thang about her is never letting on to the part of anatomy that hurts because she’ll focus on that part until you hear your ancestors calling you home. This time, she worked on the arched part on soles so much that I felt poop was gonna come out of an orifice, and there’s no guarantee it woulda been from butt.

 

Speaking of poop, I ain’t sure if I am inadvertently sealing my butthole with scale from the bidet hose. You see, the water in my Juba apartment is so hard it routinely blocks off holes in the showerhead. It was the same reason I was forced to purchase a new steamer as previous one malfunctioned from the vents being obstructed from scaling. The telltale signs of white dust were impossible to miss.

 

Speaking of telltale signs, I invested in about ten pairs of underwear recently after I noticed erstwhile ones kept slipping down waist. Nope, I hadn’t lost weight in the decade or so since I first bought some of them. An in-depth jejune investigation revealed this was caused from having them around ankles while I pooped. Yup, it took slack drawers to prompt a replacement, not the holes or discoloration in the crotch area.

 

Speaking of discoloration, my recent excrement has had a tinge of purple in them because of beetroot I have been consuming. Weirdest thang about it is purple patch only seems to appear on the tips of poop droppings, kinda like dyeing the edges of hair. If I was more eccentric (read: so wealthy peeps would nod approvingly to everything I say/do, a la money-miss-road Elon Musk) I would exhibit various photos of my poop just to see how much sycophants would pay for them.

 

Speaking of intimate details of one’s life, I fear my work colleagues may have seen me in the nude. On Thursday February 29^th, I joined a company-wide Zoom presentation while I readied to jump in the shower ahead of the arrival of a business guest. I am sure I ensured the video and sound were off before the presentation commenced. I am at least 70% sure I checked and checked again because I have had near misses in the past, like time boss called my phone during a virtual meeting to inform me that video on iPad was on while I was changing for the gym. Then, I was only topless, so it didn’t bother me much.

 

In the recent case of Zoom discrepancy though, I mulled over it for over a week. I am still embarrassed as I write this. I have purposely avoided contacting colleague who alerted me to my indecent exposure. Don’t wanna know if lower part of body was there for all 200+ of my colleagues to see. Ignorance is bliss in this case.

 

Again, like my arrest in January, I tried to find the positives from the incident. Well, at least I wasn’t pooping with the video on…..at least it wasn’t like former supervisor in the UK who was heard having intercourse by her brother when she didn’t hang up her landline properly….or comedian Greg Davies. It still wrangles though. Now, when I am on a call I check and recheck that video is off and mute button is on. Obtw, the presentation was recorded, so I am praying the administrator’s deleted it and that it never comes back to haunt me when I run for political office.

Speaking of offices, you won’t be surprised to hear partners have done diddly to former colleague J.S. who got me arrested. Although I received an apology from the company MD, he chose the easiest way out by setting up a disciplinary committee to investigate the joker’s actions. Even at that, J.S. kept threatening to re-arrest me if he wasn’t paid monies deducted for non-performance, circa $19k. I conveyed this to the MD and the board of directors, yet diddly was done. Eventually, the legal representative suggested we pay him to enable me travel.

 

After being paid, the lawyer provided evidence to the public prosecutor that J.S. had been paid and an order was issued – written in Arabic - confirming this. Fast forward a week later to Friday February 2^nd: I arrived at the airport early enough for my flight to Nairobi, where I would take a connecting flight to Lagos for a weeklong work event. I said the usual hellos to airport staff, dropped off bags and headed to the immigration line. It was de ja vu all over again when I was pulled aside after passport was scanned. The same immigration police officer that J.S. got to arrest me in January came over with a smug look on his face. I asked what the issue was, he said the outstanding case against me hadn’t been resolved. I showed him the court document, and he said he doesn’t trust anything emanating from South Sudanese courts. U what? He insisted I would need to contact my former colleague to come to the airport and assure him of the case’s resolution. What if the dude refuses to come, or has travelled, or is dead, am I supposed to be prevented from leaving the country as a result? “Yup”, he said.

 

I contacted the lawyer, who rushed to the airport. He and the officer had a heated exchange in Arabic that went on for a while. During the lull in the back-and-forth, the policeman said I’d need to give him some money. I responded that he wouldn’t receive squat and loudly said if I missed my flight any re-booking cost would come from him. At this point he stormed away while the lawyer tried to placate him. I had had enough. I contacted the guys at the Nigeria embassy who arrived at the airport in quick time. That’s the advantage of Juba: one can pretty much get anywhere centrally within 15 minutes. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that all this while the lawyer had contacted J.S. and pleaded with him to come to the airport. Dude replied that he wasn’t mobile and requested that lawyer send the company car to pick him up. I warned my colleagues against that. I was determined to see this to the end.

 

Long story short, the lawyer went to the head of police at the airport, and I was handed my travel documents just as the Nairobi flight was boarding. Meanwhile, the police officer kept mouthing at me, threatening to have me deported for not according him due respect. Whatevs. The lawyer assured me that all was now resolved. If only.

 

With the unfortunate wardrobe malfunction incident still occupying prime real estate in my head, I got on a flight to Nairobi that evening and arrived in Juba at 2pm on March 1^st after a 6-hr layover in Nairobi. I was first off the plane, but didn’t depart the airport until almost 5pm because like a bad rash the police officer was back spouting fire and brimstone and threatening to deport me after my passport was flagged. Again, he insisted the case hadn’t been resolved, again I called my lawyer, again we went through the song and dance of going to the head of airport police. This time, though, I was made to fill a form (in English) with a portion left blank for my joker of a former colleague to complete. I also received an apology from the head of police, who assured me there would be no more harassment. The deporter-in-chief even managed to smile.

 

On our way to the car, the lawyer explained to me that since I departed Juba a month before, J.S. had not visited the airport because he didn’t wanna pay the officers he had arrest me. He promised to ensure my name would be removed from the no-fly list by forcing him to show up at the airport. That was over 2 weeks ago. As I type the lawyer has tried everything and even went as far as returning to the airport police to complain that J.S. has refused to pick up his calls. Their response? File a case against J.S., serve him a petition, and get him arrested. How is he to be served since he ain’t picking up his calls? Amazing how anything gets done if bureaucracy is this staunch.

 

The lawyer spent 2hrs last Tuesday making the same arguments to the airport police chief I made last month. What if the dude’s indisposed, does that mean I cannot leave the country? They didn’t budge. Last thing I wanna do is file a grievance against a South Sudanese because I know it would get misinterpreted. On Thursday, the lawyer obtained a signed statement – in English - from the investigating officer at the police station I was jailed at confirming the case is resolved. Then, he approached the head of HR at the partner company threatening to get J.S. arrested if he doesn’t convince him to get my name cleared at the airport. Let’s see what this week holds. Interesting times, huh? Hopefully, it’s resolved before my trip to the Paris marathon.

 

Speaking of the Paris marathon, my pal Tonny who ran the marathon with me last year has backed out because of a persistent leg injury. Poor dude. Meanwhile, it has been hard to run in Juba because of the intense heat (41-45°C). I doubt it’s ever been this hot in my 9 years here. It’s so bad the Ministry of Health released a circular yesterday for all schools to be shut down from tomorrow. It’s so bad that pastors don’t bother preaching anymore; their services now consist of singing songs outside for 10 mins, then advancing a standard statement along the lines of, if you think it’s hot now…., before shutting down the service.

 

Speaking of shutting down, I need to stop acquiescing to requests for money. Man, every stop at the Murtala Mohammed International Airport (MMIA) is like a toll. There’s the policewoman who kept calling me Osimhen as I got outta the Uber because I had a Nigerian football jersey on; the NDLEA and Customs folk who use the pretense of searching luggage – even though every bag is scanned on entry - as a scheme to solicit  funds; the guy who chooses to check boarding passes, even though there’s an automatic gate that opens upon scanning one’s boarding pass; the immigration folk; the airline folk who check one’s luggage just before boarding; the cleaners moseying about; the lounge staff; etc. It’s just as ridiculous coming in: the immigration folk, again; the otiose lady – it’s always a lady - who receives cash before issuing luggage trolleys and always tries to get one over passengers, well, me; again, the faux dance by NDLEA and Customs folk on searching luggage.

 

I know what to expect by now, but I keep falling for it outta sheer pity that their wages can’t go far with the state of the Nigerian economy. Nah, that can’t be it, because I have been doing this forever. It’s because I am a soft touch, that’s what. You know how I said I used to feel obligated into purchasing stuff from shops anytime a sales assistant offered to help? I thought I had overcome that until my recent trip to the UK proved me wrong. While whiling away time at Doha airport until boarding the flight to London, I ended up buying an expensive pair of brown loafers for that very reason. Maybe I am improving because unlike during uni days, I was in the market for a pair of brown loafers.

 

Speaking of loafers, I have surprised myself by refusing to send money to a high school mate who constantly requests assistance. At the end of last year, I decided to no longer budge, and I have kept to it. I think what has helped is that at the beginning of the year I paid off usual monthly expenses a year in advance. Yup, I saved up money and gave mom a lump sum to cover her monthly upkeep for 2024, same for kickboxing class, calisthenics class, and charity contributions. Now I know any incoming funds are strictly for necessities and investment. Well, my daughter’s requests are the exception.

 

Speaking of the love of my life, this was the second visit in a row I was able to take her out unsupervised. Yup. Whatever happened to the ex to make her comfortable enough to finally realize having some one-on-one daddy-daughter time wouldn’t presage the apocalypse, long may it continue. You shoulda seen the look on my face last August when we met at the designated venue and she said I’d call her to pick up my daughter when we were done, and she drove away. After Google assured me that hidden camera shows had gone the way of the Mexican wave and had long since been de rigueur, I settled down to a game of mini golf with my daughter. Afterwards, we went for a pizza and the poor girl kept glancing towards the exit expecting her mom to show up. To be honest, so was I. It wasn’t until we were done with dessert she showed up. Taking a cautious step forward, I suggested taking our daughter to see The Lion King musical in the theatre and the ex acquiesced. U what? Man, I shoulda played the lottery that week. She thoroughly enjoyed the musical and made me buy her loadsa merch afterwards. Okay, I was the one who insisted. Arrest me. Well, that’s already been done so…..

 

Anyhoo, during my UK trip last month my daughter and I spent our first visit watching Migration, then hanging out at an arcade, where she beat me at air hockey. The next weekend, I took her to see Wicked – it was probably my 4^th viewing – then, like after The Lion King, I treated her to a steak dinner. Our conversations on FaceTime are still stilted, but I don’t fret about it anymore. Obtw, she finally got to meet her godfather Miguel, who briefly joined us for dinner as he was visiting his wife in the UK then. Yup, Miguel finally found someone to take on his sorry self.

 

Speaking of sorry traits, I finally completed An Immense World and am now finally reading a book I purchased in April 2009, Critical Mass. What greatly helped was a discussion with a friend who gave me his hack of reading ten pages of a book daily; five pages in the morning and five pages in the evening before bed. Since most books he reads have an average length of 300 pages, he can complete twelve books a year. That reminds me, I haven’t read my ten pages today.

 

Tot ziens and God bless.