The Fear and Dream

For a moment, imagine what Nigeria would be like if it was a developed country. Still with this image in your head, try to picture it, with this time considering the industrious, creative and brilliant minds of Nigerians you know. For me, I picture that society; where the true talents and skills of its citizens are collectively harnessed for nation growth. My post is actually not what Nigeria could or might not be, but this post describes me as an aspiring writer and the realities I face. It is sad that most of our great minds-in this case writers- have achieved their dreams outside the shores of Nigeria. It is sad that most people, who have dreams outside the typical chain of jobs-doctor, engineer,lawyer and even barrister- have a higher chance of achieving these dreams outside the country. Fortunately, I'm privileged to be in a very structured and proper university (at least when compared to those we have back in Nig.). Prior to coming over to Canada, I always viewed writing as a hobby. But, on coming over here and observing the serious manner in which people take their skills, my perspective on writing changed. Now, writing to me is more than big and sweet sounding words or just telling stories, it means more.
I never had to question my authenticity as a writer before coming over to Canada.Back home in Nigeria, I've always being commended for my writing. But on getting to this very questioning society, one's motives for expressing this SKILL are questioned. At first, I never had a strong answer for this question, other than the usual answer of writing being a means for me to express those rioting thoughts in my head. However, I've come to realise that I do not have any strong answer, other than the fact that I just have to write. No matter what ones skills are, they have to be improved through training and experience. And this is what I intend to do. Although I'm in school for a Pre-medical course (SHIO!!!), writing is still in the front of my head. I'm planning on taking creative writing courses and meeting professors for their advice and suggestions.
The scary part of it all is the Fear. That creeping fear that the dream will not be reached, is sometimes hard to ignore. That fear that the realities of doing what is acceptable and profitable will deter one's dream, scares the hell outta me.
But I've come to this compromise, that I will struggle and work for this dream, that no matter what happens, I'll keep the dream alive.....

...As a result of a Blog Black out

I wanted to put up a post on how teachers are special, but I felt it was a fact everyone knew. So, I decided to put up some pictures I took and really like. Again, I don't have much to blog , hence the title (blog black out, I hope this makes sense though).


A rarity in the winter


Calling forth


Somewhere downtown Toronto




fowl...Nah, swan

Exploiting Depravity

I haven't posted any reflective posts for a while now. This is not because I don't think anymore, or I've finally come to the realisation that I might be a pseudo-intellectual. Some of it could be blamed on me being quite busy this semester. However, I have come to realise the reason that I do not think deeply about issues, might be as a result of my present environment having a very low level of depraved issues to think about. By no means is the society that I presently live in, close to an Utopian society; it has its own problems. Still, these problems are not grave enough to arouse deep thoughts and ideas in me. A guilty feeling cropped up in me, as I wondered if I wanted depraved things to happen, in order for me to gain some sought of perverse inspiration. As one of my blog commentators Oyibo put it, he claimed writing about good things is simply bland. I found this statement really true, as we really don't enjoy reading or listening to the good things that happen everyday. We yearn for news or ideas that are sensational, provoking, eye-popping and leaves us with a sense of sadness or better still thoughtfulness.
If we are to cite popular instances, there would be a full list of tragedy that has being exploited. For instance, what would Chimamanda Adichie have written if there was no Biafran war? What would have inspired Wole Soyinka's The Man died, if there was also no Biafran war and corrupt state of government? These literary works are masterpieces that I do not have any problem with, nor am I claiming that they are works based on the exploiting deprave occurrences. It is just the thought of how depravity is exploited for creating entertainment; whether it be in an intellectual form that bother me. There will always be depraved things that happen, and it is the duty of those gifted to recount and account these depraved events. And as I hope to transfer to a bigger city or go to Nigeria this summer, with my adaptors absorbing consciously and subconsciously all sorts of things happening around me. I hope that my motive of putting anything down in paper is to express and inform my readers, rather than exploit depravity for my own benefit.

I wish:

that I could speak Yoruba fluently. Growing up in Port Harcourt, I felt learning to speak Yoruba was unimportant. I would normally laugh at my Yoruba friends who spoke Yoruba with their parents. To us half-Yorubas who couldn't speak our language, seeing phonetics that are unique to the Yoruba language being accidentally, intentionally and ignorantly used when speaking English was hilarious. And I thought I was refined because I felt my English was unadulterated from the clayey hands of the Yoruba language. When people would ask why I couldn't speak my language, my excuse would be that, it was an asset I did not need in the "modern world". My parents tried to teach us to speak Yoruba fluently with a lot of authority. But, their authoritative measures always came to abrupt ends as their laws of no longer speaking English in the house were suddenly forgotten (they too were afflicted).

Above all, the blame is on me, as I did not put much effort in learning to speak Yoruba. Though, I understand Yoruba very well and can fairly (maybe poorly) speak it , I wish I was a stronger speaker. But, according to my folks, they always encouraged me to speak Yoruba, while still young, lest, I loose the window of opportunity". But I don't think I'm that old, that learning a second language will be that hard. Our native language is one of the ways we identify ourselves as being part of a certain community or tribe. Therefore, if I can't speak Yoruba fluently, where's my identity?

One of my short stories

More than a Thousand Miles from Home

“There is a wave of stupidity that crosses the regions in the tropics” he explained,

as he drew an invisible line in the air that demarcated the north temperate zones from the

tropics. His cheeks that usually looked bulbous, now had a flat appearance as he

enlightened the listeners on the backwardness of Africa, most especially Nigeria. “All

third world countries have the same brand of stupidity” he said with a grin on his face.

Josephine, whose new pride was being married to him, could not agree more. She placed

her arms that had the color of white chocolate over his shoulders, and for a moment, she

thanked Jesus that her white mother had insisted on leaving Jamaica. The thought of her

walking the streets of Kingston, because of her father’s love for his home gave her mixed

feelings. These mixed feelings bordered between victory in living the west and

amusement of what she would have turned out to be if she lived in Jamaica. She

loved his ebullience that sparked as he spoke of his homeland, Nigeria. He smiled as

Josephine winked at him. He knew what she was thinking in her head. He was convinced

that her adoration for him resonated in her head like a John Legend song. And that gave

him more drive to speak on, as he waved his arms and described to the listeners who were

all Canadian, of the corruptness of his people. He also did not forget to mention the

several cultures that were just evidence of his people’s foolishness.

The Canadians had enjoyed his rant. And one of them had remarked how

theatrical he looked, as he gestured and raised his voice. They were surprised to see him

speak so loudly and unrestrained. The Canadians had never seen so much passion in him,

except when he spoke about the new projects that had potentials for huge profit. May ,

the only female among the Canadians giggled flirtatiously as she commented on how he

spoke badly of his homeland. While, the males laughed loudly as they stood under a tent

peeking at him, the Nigerian and Josephine. May laughed harder almost spilling the

Alexander Keith’s beer on her denim pants, as she remarked on his trying to separate

himself from the stupidity he claimed his people had. One of the males, who was drunk

and had temporarily lost the Canadian politeness, stated that Africans were undoubtedly

primitive but the Nigerian man did not need to state to obvious to them. Their hysterical

laughter slowly dimmed as they all agreed to themselves that what the Nigerian man had

said only proved that guilty notion they had of Africa.

Soon he and Josephine walked up to the Canadians who were about to leave the

artificial palm-leaved tent that stood mismatched in between two tall buildings. He

looked up at the fourth floor of the building, with his eyes focused on the room where his

office was located. A smile was stamped on his face as he spoke to the Canadians.

“The sculpture is beautiful, and what remarkable detail it has” May said, trying to

conceal the guilt she felt on mocking the Nigerian and his homeland. He looked up to the

sculpture that was hung on the wall to give the tent a wild and more African look. He then

smiled briefly at May and turned again to see the sculpture ,which was a replica of a Yoruba

bronze head. The hollow eyes and metallic luster of the bronze head reminded him of his history
classes back in Nigeria. A black framed picture of him sitting in a class and listening to a

lecture on the lost wax-casting process, formed in his head. He could remember his

teacher describe this technique of creating bronze sculptures from wax, brass and clay.

These sculptures that were intricate in their structure and creation techniques that date back to

the 6th and 12th century had intrigued his teenage and impressionable mind. Slowly, the black

framed picture faded in his head. He turned away from the bronze sculpture and continued his

conversation with his Canadian friends.

Revamping....

I'm now a free man!!!! Free from school work atleast for the next three weeks. I'm staring at my blog that is like an abandoned child, whose mother or should I say father stares at him every day, but doesn't feed it. As a result, I've decided to save my dying blog from starvation. Christmas is already here, and money has started flying out of people's pockets (mine included). Chai!! I just got this i pod touch, which is the most aesthetically pleasing i pod, I've seen. Still, as I stare into this black coloured device that is not more than an inch thick, I fight myself from asking if it is really worth it. Well, I am not going to answer that question to my self. But I will prove to myself in every way possible that the fact that my device has touch screen tech, Internet (wi-fi), 8GB space, and even calculator, makes it worth the price. Even if this task of convincing myself that my new i pod touch is worth it, just shows the extent of how affected I am by popular culture. No doubt, I'm loving the i pod and how sleek it is, but still there's that part of me that knows that the underlying drive for me to suddenly change my mind from buying the "every day" i pod is my "Long throat" and my yearning to be impressive to others. I am not going to put all the blame of this covetous attitude on the Nigerian youth culture of celebrating what is "fly" "tight" "tush" and all those crap talk that glorifies excessiveness and materialism. Still, as I try to understand all that is me, and know if I am a person that is simple or "oloju kokoroed". Maybe, I border simplicity and Oloju kokoro (greed). Anyway, I'm also dying for an i phone too. I guess that makes me fit into the latter side of the border.

YAHOOZEE

The long awaited yahoozee video. This song is just a feel good song that makes u feel like u're worth a million bucks. The video's okay, still ama sere, jaiye,..eh yahoozee lol. Guys leave ur comments