I don’t think many people believe fat meat is greasy
Hola peeps.
Welcome to 2025. How y'all been?
I could come up with the whole jaded “new year, new me” line,
but I really feel 2025 is gonna be a pivotal year for me. Towards the end of
last year, I’ve been itching for a change, and my reading has coincidentally
lined up accordingly. Reading Falling Forward and The Obstacle Is The Way radically changed my thinking, and I am currently reading Million Dollar Weekend about starting businesses,
any business.
Plus, I am actively taking notes while reading, unlike in the
past, when I read a book and then satisfied myself in the knowledge that I had
read it. For instance, one of the lessons I took from TOITW (or was that
from FF?) was actively seeking out problems to solve. So, instead of hiring
a plumber to fix the clogged bath in London, I went on YouTube and unclogged
the bathtub with my trusty niece Dara's assistance.
Oh yeah, recall my 10-page-a-day book reading advice from last year’s
blog? I have now emulated another mate by reading two books simultaneously,
which works out to be a 20-page-a-day habit. The books are typically from
different genres; so far, so good.
I think a significant reason for the need for change this year
is that April 13th, 2025, will mark 10 years in Juba. The company I
run there does good work, so naturally, we get our contracts renewed year after
year, but since 2000, we haven’t brought in a new business line. The whole
thang is rather mundane, dry, unexciting. I need to do something else, man.
Plus, if I am taking signs from “the universe” about the need for a change, I
reckon I am getting major screaming headlines to leave Juba. Not only has the
punk J.S. threatened to have me rearrested – dude musta spent all the
money… haha – I received a call precisely 2 weeks ago from some dude
threatening to deal with me for messing with his girlfriend. I wish I were
kidding.
So, I arrived in London two weeks ago for my bi-annual visit
with my daughter – more on that later – and went shopping after my dentist
appointment. I have more than enough clothes – more on that later – so for the
past couple of years, I mostly fill my luggage with stuff for peeps in Juba.
Did I tell you that one of the bright spots from the jail experience last year
was understanding the plight of typical prisoners in Juba and that I told
everyone about it such that a lawyer mate of mine decided to dedicate a day every
month towards helping free those jailed for minor offenses like owing sums less
than $50? Yeah, so the guy who called to threaten me is/was her boyfriend.
I bumped into this mate before I left Juba for London after not
seeing her in over 6 months. However, we never failed to hold a monthly call
where I’d ask about her work with the prisoners. So, she called me on January
20th on my way to the shops to ask if I gave anyone her number
because random folk had been asking for money. I laughed and told her that had
nada to do with me. Being January and all, folk had probably spent all their
money over the Xmas holidays and were looking for some support. We laughed over
it, and she said she’d call me later with her shopping list. I responded that
I’d not be buying diddly for her.
A few hours later, when I saw a call from her, I presumed it was
regarding her list, so I picked it up. This time, it’s a man’s voice on the
phone. After confirming he was talking to Tunde, he asked what my relationship
with the lawyer was. Now I am thinking she lost her phone or something, and
this guy found it and is trying to reach out to the last set of numbers dialed.
Me: My relationship with W? She’s my friend. Why?
W’s Disgruntled Boyfriend: You are lying.
Me: Huh?
WDB: You are messing with her.
Me (*cracking up*): Wait, so you are calling my phone to accuse
me of stuff I haven’t done? Who are you?
WDB: I am Paul mother%$&ker. W’s my girlfriend.
Me: Okay, Paul mother%$&ker, what’s your surname?
WDB PM: None of your business. I know you are messing with both W
and your girlfriend Sandra.
Now, Sandra is my closest friend in Juba, the nicest person
ever. Of course, folk automatically assume we are dating, and I’ll confess that
I have leaned into that at times to dissuade unwanted female attention. Of course,
I inform Sandra on rare occasions when that occurs, though I never reveal the
females' identities. Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming.
Me: Dude, you don’t know what you are talking about.
PM: Are you in Juba? I want us to meet.
Me (*like I would offer to meet this dude*): Nah.
PM: Don’t worry, I am waiting for you. You are Nigerian, right?
%$&^…..further expletives…..more expletives…
I cut off the call and contacted Sandra since I met W through
her. I asked if she knew who W’s dating. She asked why, and I told
her about the call with Paul, the guy who seemed proud to announce that he’s
having unnatural relations with his mom. Like me, she hadn’t seen W in
ages. I suggested she call her to find out if she’s okay.
She called me back to say the Paul dude went off about her and
her Nigerian boyfriend “pimping out W.” U what? She said she heard W in
the background crying and trying to get the phone off Paul. Sandra traded words
with him and promised to look for him when she returns to Juba from Nairobi. I
advised her to try to see W in person to ensure she’s okay.
Throughout that week, Paul sent me threatening messages from W’s
phone and did the same to Sandra. It wasn’t until a few days ago W
reached out to apologize. It was a text, so dunno if it was Paul pretending to
be her so I kept things formal by asking if she’s okay. Her response? “I don’t
know”.
As part of my 2025 makeover, I have decided to try something new
every year. Woulda tried a standup comedy class but can’t get that in Juba.
Podcasting, seeing as I appear to be the only person on the planet without a
podcast? Nah. What’s that about anyway? Do we have that many people with
something worthwhile to say? Anyway, I finally decided to learn Juba Arabic
and W was supposed to come by the office at 4pm on Mondays to tutor me.
I reckon, for both our sakes, I’d find another tutor, no?
If that isn’t enough Juba drama for y’all, back in November 2024
I bumped into a girl I first used the Sandra-is-my-girlfriend-so-unfortunately-nada-can-happen-between-us
line on. She was with a friend I had seen her with before. To cut a long story
short, her friend lives near me and invited me to dinner at a spot in the neighborhood;
she referred to the dinner as a “date” by the night's end. U what?! She started
referring to me as “baby” during subsequent exchanges and made it clear that
she wanted a relationship. Uh oh.
Since my jail experience, I have been even more careful in my
interactions with South Sudanese, so when I found out Baby’s dad was a zol
kebir, I knew I had to let her down easily. I kept making excuses to avoid
hanging out until one fateful Friday when Sandra suggested we go out. As I planned
to run the following morning, I intended to spend a maximum of 30 minutes at
the spot. We arrived at 830pm, but I didn’t leave until 3am! Why? Guess who
found Baby getting all lovey-dovey with some Lebanese dude at the same
spot. See what happens when you serve a living God? Hee hee. I pretended
not to see her at first ‘cos their table was behind ours. She came over to say
hello and later sent me texts offering to “explain.” I responded that there was
nothing to explain. Oh my, I was free at last.
The event we attended was an album launch, but by the end of the
night you’da thought I was the one giving a concert. I danced the night away, and
Sandra kept asking if I was okay, as she had never seen me dance that much. I drank
only water that night but was so happy I ended up paying for drinks for the
entire table, even though they ordered several bottles of champagne and other
liquors. Oh my, it was a good day. I am glad to report that Baby has
kept things strictly formal since I caught her being someone else’s baby. All’s
well with the world….except for having to deal with J.S. and, possibly,
Paul when I return to Juba. Small potatoes.
Re J.S., I am not as bothered he’d repeat the airport
arrest thang, as I now have more contacts at the airport; plus, as part of the
legal document he signed when he received the undeserved payoff, he agreed not
to bring any further claims against me. Now, will that stop him from trying
something untoward? I doubt it. However, I am ready to pull out all the stops
this time. That said, the stops won’t include certain folk I thought had my
back. It’s incredible to see that all the people who said something like, “Why
didn’t you alert me when he arrested you”?
were informed after he threatened to have me re-arrested last December,
and they did diddly. Again, that’s “diddly”, and not Diddy, as in the dude, who,
unlike me, ain’t ever getting outta jail. Even Trump ain’t gonna pardon him.
Speaking of, I am typing this on my way to Cali to see family.
Unlike previous trips where I spent max 2 nights in one city before jumping to
another, this time, I am spending all 3 nights in Cali with Kemi. Haven’t seen
her or the boys since February last year, so I am looking forward to it. Around
this time last year, Chief went all gaga about his 85th birthday
celebration; this year, it’s mom’s turn to do the same for her 80th
birthday in August. The working idea is a cruise, though I insist on spending
only 4 nights at sea as I intend to spend more time alone on vacation this
year.
I was in Zanzibar last November for a friend’s
proposal/engagement celebration – I know, right? I thought it was a wedding
celebration. I love you Ben, but ain’t no way I woulda flown there if I had
known it was just for a proposal – and extended my stay for three extra
days working remotely after the wedding engagement party departed to
their various destinations. It was bliss. I slept in, ate, worked out at the
outdoor gym, chilled by the pool, sent emails, and walked on the beach, mostly
solo. It convinced me to go on solo vacays at least twice a year, starting this
year.
I didn’t swim in the sea in Zanzibar, though, so I decided to
correct that by hiring a swim coach over the Xmas break in Lagos. I took four
swimming classes and learned to swim on my back. Other than that, I spent more
time listening to the swimming instructor’s stories than learning to swim. At
the start of the classes, I told him I aimed to float in the sea without much
effort. Dude said four classes would be fine since I could already swim. He did
everything but teach me that. Now that I think about it, the dude spent only
the first two classes in the pool with me.
Me: So, remember I said I wanted to learn to float effortlessly?
Mr. Sunny the swimming instructor: Yeah, yeah. But first, I
wanna teach you to swim by moving just your legs. You don’t pray for that but
imagine if you were kidnapped and they tied your hands, and you happened to
escape by jumping into the Lagos canal. This way, you’d be able to swim away.
It reminded me of the early days of kickboxing classes, where I’d
start a conversation on politics just to get a breather. Only this was the
opposite. Mr Sunny would tell random stories until the 1-hour class was up. He
would go on about all the kids he had taught, and how the parents would be so
happy they’d buy him stuff whenever they travelled outta Nigeria. Hey, at least
I learned to swim on my back, and I bought a cool pair of swimming goggles. I
will try to find a better swimming instructor when I return to Juba next week.
Until I decide on the next course of action, I intend to spend
more time in Juba this year than last year, when I was out of Juba every month.
Even though I was still working - and have never taken a vacation where I
haven’t worked - our partner there doesn’t believe one is working unless they
can see you physically. Now you understand why I need a change, not only for
work but for everything? It was during a run in Richmond Park last August when I
saw folks picnicking, reading books, and just generally chilling that it dawned
on me that I spend all my time in the UK and US visiting friends and family
without really vacationing. Then, the Zanzibar trip further cemented the solo
vacationing idea.
Coincidentally, during the Zanzibar trip, I met up with this
girl from Juba, whom I had had a crush on since we first met in April 2024. I
saw her more times in Zanzibar than I had in 7 months in Juba. Turns out she
was also feeling me, and I must confess she’s the first girl I ever considered
seriously dating since my last relationship ended. Man, she had me buzzing.
Unfortunately, it’s past tense because I am getting shades of the tale end
of my previous relationship where I feel like I am making all the effort,
plus….this is where I would use the hands-over-eyes emoji…she’s 24. Yup,
I am twice her age. I know she knows I am way older than her, but I don’t think
she knows how large the age gap is. I was hoping to have the “talk” with her to
see if we should give it a go, but as earlier mentioned, I don’t know if I have
enough patience to guide her through the pitfalls of a relationship with me.
She might need a few more broken hearts first.
On the other hand, the West African single mom I met in London
last August really wants a relationship and is determined to make it work by
visiting Juba. I informed her I couldn’t guarantee her marriage when we met
last Friday. She’s so stunning that heads turn when she walks in the room, but I
cannot give her what she wants at this point in my life. So, there you have it,
one prospect’s based in Juba, so distance ain’t the problem, but she’s way too young.
The other’s in her early 30s, lives in London, and is keen to give it a go, but
something’s missing.
If you are keeping track, I am a 48-year-old bloke who can’t
make his mind up about work or relationships. The only thang I seem confident
about these days is my fashion sense. Really. It might be a mid-life crisis,
but I have become more sartorially daring in the past year—so much so that
random strangers stop me to ask where I get my outfits. Is there a fashion line
in my future? Let's finish the Million Dollar Weekend first.
One thing that’s definitely a sign of a mid-life crisis is the
incessant need to test myself. I signed up for the Comrades marathon in June
yet again, and bizarrely, I chose to run topless in the dead of winter in
London….twice. My newfound psychrolutic trait can be traced to my
mate Zabdee, who went down the YouTube rabbit hole one day and came out the
other end a believer in what I call Neanderthal running. For the past couple of
years, dude’s chosen to run topless and shoeless ‘cos “our ancestors ran that
way.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him our ancestors didn’t wear shorts
either and that a leaf covering his lower extremities woulda been more
appropriate.
We went running a few times last summer – he in caveman man mode
and moi normal - and I was determined to see if he was crazy enough to repeat
the feat in the cold. Sure enough, he was. We ran 3ice during my 2-week stay in
London. The first time, we did 23km, and I decided to try going topless for the
last 2km. The second time, I did 11km fully clothed and the latter 11km topless.
Once I got home, I had a hot bath and slept for what felt like forever. The 3rd
time was before my second date with the West African lady I mentioned earlier,
so I’d only do 11km. This time I was fully clothed.
Would I run topless in winter again? My immediate response is no,
but who am I kidding, right? I might try running topless and shoeless the next
time I am in the UK in the summer. Zabdee suggested I try running topless in
Juba, it being hot and all. Yup, dude definitely wants me jailed again.
My daughter turned 13 yesterday. I got emotional (that’s
manspeak for teary-eyed) when her mom emailed a pic of her all decked out
in her party outfit. ‘Cos she was having friends over on her birthday, we hung
out on Saturday. The day started great, and I felt warm and fuzzy when I helped
this girl with her heavy suitcases from the Piccadilly Line platform to the
Victoria Line at the Green Park tube station, even though I was headed to the
Jubilee Line. I reckon God planned to make me leave the crib earlier than usual
to pick up my daughter so that I could help this lady, as I had no clue how
she’d transported three heavy suitcases across the tube station with no
elevators. Even with that 8-minute detour, I made it to my daughter on time.
It was a crazy cold day, but we had a blast with our archery
class before lunch, and then we took a trip to the Tate Modern before our hunt
for an Oreo milkshake. The most surprising part of the day was my daughter
holding my hand for longer and not flinching. In the past, she would allow me to
hold her hand just long enough to cross the street or chart a course through
the crowd. As soon as we were “safe,” she’d retract her hand so fast one would
think I had M-pox. Well, not this time. She held onto my hand as we walked up
and down London Bridge, searching for a Pizza Express and the elusive Oreo
milkshake. Then, she rested her head on my shoulder on the train ride back to
her mom. When we got to her mom, she capped off my stellar day by hugging me
and thanking me for a great day, all without the prodding of her mom. Yesterday
morning, when I called to wish her a happy birthday, she ended the call by
telling me she loved me without waiting for me to say it first. U what?! Dunno
if her recent affectionate actions are a fluke or a result of the oncoming teenage
years, but I am all for it. Now, I am counting down the days until Sunday when
I get to hear all about her 13th birthday party. Can’t wait.
Tot ziens and God bless.
