Tag Archives: random thoughts

The Red planet and Nigeria

I just watched little kids in the U.S rejoicing with adults over Nasa’s successful landing on planet Mars. Even at their tender age, they understand such developments.

Nigeria, my country!

Adults are still bickering over minute, teeny weeny issues. Social media is awash with grumpy and angry people. People who could divert that same energy into making a change in their environment. People who could stamp their feet in the sands of time and do something our future generations will remember us for.

Nigeria, what aileth thee?

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Photo Credit: https://www.canstock.com

Behind the wheels

I love to drive (well, when the roads are free and not pothole ridden). Anytime someone drives in a way that lacks decorum and I hear “na woman” or “na only woman go drive like that”; I always feel slighted. I am like “what do you mean?” “Is it only women that drive that way?” When we eventually sight the driver and it happens to be a man, I usually feel vindicated.

However, in the last few weeks, I have had course to see a number of women drive without decorum. Women refusing to let others pass through even when they can see that the road they intend to navigate is blocked. In one instance, a woman parked her car right in the middle of the street and left it to only God knows where. Drivers going in and out of the street could not do so and a number of them cursed and even attempted to deflate her tyres.

The men also have their fair share of lack of decorum while driving as this attitude is not restricted to the women alone. For men, it is more of an “ego” thing. Most feel that if they let the other driver have his way, they would be seen as “not man enough”. Therefore, you see handsome men behind the steering struggling with themselves or with a danfo driver. Most times, such situations result in a “you don hit my car” later on; which could have been avoided by a “let my people go” attitude.

One thing I have however noticed is that staff bus drivers (mostly men) have this unspoken brotherly code even when they have never met each other.  I am yet to see a staff bus driver struggling with another staff bus driver over right of way. Sometimes, you see a driver “flash” another staff bus driver to take a position ahead of him.

It cannot be that the staff bus drivers are scared of losing their jobs. I would expect that to also apply to drivers of private vehicles as well. But these private drivers are also known to drive recklessly especially when their bosses are not in the car to caution them.

So what makes the difference? Why are most staff bus drivers sane behind the wheels? Why do most men and women who drive do so aggressively as if there is a contest on the road?

I really do wonder.

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Photo Credit: http://www.allowme.ng

Pregnant Imaginations

The pregnant lady sitting in the swivel chair at the salon section shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

The manicurist attending to my nails looked at her. “Aunty, you want water?”

“No, thank you.” The lady replied.

“Are you okay?” The manicurist asked; concern written on her face.

The pregnant lady smiled and shifted again; probably trying to find a comfortable position. “Yes, I am fine. Thank you.”

I looked at the pregnant lady and weird ideas for a story just flew into my head. I grinned as my imagination went on overdrive.

I imagined the lady drove to the salon herself.

I imagined this being her first pregnancy and being a little anxious and naive.

I imagined her water breaking while she sat there and going into panic mode immediately.

I imagined me telling her to calm down while I asked for her car keys.

I imagined the whole salon suddenly going abuzz with the salon attendants running helter-skelter wondering what to do and how to help.

I imagined the lady puffing and panting as tears streamed down her cheeks.

I imagined myself driving with crazy speed to the hospital where she was registered (after getting the information from her).

I imagined one of the salon attendants calling her husband through her phone and explaining the situation to him.

I imagined us (myself and one of the salon attendants) waiting patiently in the hospital (after she had been taken into the labour ward) till the arrival of her husband.

I imagined her husband arriving at the hospital with worry lines deeply etched on his forehead.

I imagined her husband calling me hours later that his wife had been delivered of a baby.

I smiled and shook my head as my mind ran different thoughts.

I guess this is one of the reasons I call my mind a creative machine 😄

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Photo Credit: http://www.pinterest.com

Security JD

The Pastor stopped the choir and said; “Why are you doing Jerusalem Jericho dance?” He asked as he shuffled his feet from left to right. “If you are glad that the resurrection of your Lord and Saviour has given you victory, then give him a shout and dance like David danced.” The congregation lifted up their voices to heaven and the pastor raised a song for the choir. Everyone in church began to shake their bodies as they danced. Some lifted up their hands as they praised God while some threw their hands and legs in different directions.

While this was happening, I noticed the security team members standing still. They were watching us as we all danced; and I began to wonder. I definitely cannot be a member of the security team in church, because once I hear music especially high praises, I go forget say my job description na to look.

Secondly, I wonder how they are all able to keep straight faces even when the pastor says something funny. It’s almost as if they have been coached not to laugh. Me, I go don laugh forget say I be security.

Thirdly, I wonder if a criteria for joining the team is that your face must always dey strong. For some reasons yet unknown, their faces all seem to be hard. Or shey na me never see the one wey get soft face?

To all the security team in all churches doing a fantastic job out there, I doff my hat and say thank you and well done. The job sure seems thankless.

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Photo Credit: http://www.shutterstock.com

THE AGE DRAMA

As the driver moved the bus forward, the conductor shouted his destination. Passengers at the bus stop flagged down the bus as they walked briskly towards it. The conductor tapped the bus asking the driver to pull to a stop to pick them up. Among the passengers about to embark was an elderly lady. As she was about to get into the bus, the conductor shouted; “Dúró, arúgbó ni o.” (Wait, she is an old woman).

The woman got into the bus, faced the conductor and asked; “Arúgbó báwò o? Mi ò kí n se arúgbó o. Mi ò tí ì pé 70.” (Old? I am not old. I am not yet 70).

I looked back to catch a glimpse of the old/young woman and she was an elderly woman even if she wanted to refuse the “old” tag.

This however, got me thinking.

When a child is born till the age of about three, the child’s age is calculated in months. You hear parents especially mothers say “Oh, she is 13 months or 18 months or 28 months. You hardly hear he is a year old or 2 years old. The child’s age is graded in months.

The child becomes a toddler and till the age of about 12, conversations on a child’s age graduates to; “He is 9 plus or 6 plus.” Plus becomes an additional appendage to the age at this time of the child’s life.

From about age 13 when the child becomes a teenager, the plus is dropped and the age becomes fast forwarded. So a 15 year old will probably tell you, he is sixteen even if he hasn’t had his 16th birthday. This happens till about the age of 40/45 when we want to feel older.

Fast forward to the age of 50 upwards, we don’t want to be seen as growing old. We want to be seen as still young and if possible compete with the younger generation. Our age becomes our actual age. No additions, no pluses.

I have always wondered why there is a bit of drama with our ages and the scenario in that danfo bus highlighted my thoughts again.

You think you have an idea or an explanation, drop them in the comments section and let us hear from you.

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Photo Credit: http://www.playbuzz.com

Mothering 101

Scenario 1

I was driving at 20km on the untarred and bumpy street. Rows of shops lined the street all the way down to my children’s school. I maneuvered the car carefully taking note of the fact that it was a street plied mostly by children walking to school. Rows of shops lined the right and the left of the street; most of them selling biscuits and sweets making them readily available for children on their way to school.

Suddenly, a little boy, probably aged three, ran out of one of the shops on my right. I slammed on the brakes and came to an abrupt stop. The little boy unaware that he had run right into the front of my car and narrowly escaped an accident, continued to play and run around as if nothing was amiss. A guy walking past, looked towards the row of shops and shouted. “Who get this pikin?”

His mother who was probably too busy to notice what had happened heard the question and ran out of her shop. She carried the boy and spanked his bum. The boy burst into tears immediately as she pushed him into her shop.

The guy who had witnessed the whole scenario said as he walked past my car; “Na so Yoruba people dey do. Dem no go take care of their pikin.”

I looked at him immediately and corrected the notion. “I am Yoruba and I take care of my children.” I faced the woman and said to her. “Kíni ë wá n na ömö yën fún (Why are you spanking the child?). Tó bá jé pé ë mó jú to ni, ë ò ní jé kí n wón ma sòrò sí wa (If only you had watched over your child, we would not have been insulted).

Did she care about what I said? I have no idea and did not wait to get a response from her as I drove off immediately.

 

Scenario 2

I was walking on a relatively busy street early in the morning. Even though, cars were not speeding by, the road was curved and most cars had to honk to notify other cars coming in the opposite direction. There were cars parked on the left and on the right of the street and this further hampered the line of vision of both the driver and the pedestrian.  A car was coming down my way on the right while some men sat under a shed on my left.

“Ë dúró sí bè. Ë má ì tíì lö.” (Wait there. Don’t go yet). I heard them call out to my right.

I looked to my right and saw two little children walking very close to the gutter. The girl could not have been more than four or five and she held her little brother’s hand who looked too young to be in school. They both wore uniforms, had knapsacks on their backs and held lunch boxes.

The car drove past and the men called out to them. “Óya, ë lè ma lö. Ibè yën ni ke ti rìn o. Ë má rìn ní títì.” (You can go now. Walk on that path. Don’t walk on the street).

As I walked past the men, I overheard them discussing about how a mother would leave such little children to walk to school alone. I shook my head as I walked away.

Was the guy in scenario 1 right to have said it was a Yoruba thing? Or are women now so confident to believe children at that age can take care of themselves? Or is education playing a factor in parental care?

My fellow Yoruba mothers, have your say. To the Igbo and Hausa mothers; have you also experienced this? I would like to hear from all.

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Photo Credit: http://www.pinterest.com