Only you can stop the rain

I held him in my arms
He said he was cold
So young was he
But with two arrows in his heart
Not even the gods can save him now

I told him to hold on
He said not to worry
He would soon be gone
The ambulance was 20 away
The police 30

He said he was cold
And his eyes were strange
He told me to draw closer
He needed you to know

His lips quivered
But his voice was steady
I know the message is for you
And with his last breath he whispered:

“Only you can stop the rain”

Blogging Hiatus

I think I really should stop writing (along with a few other things). All the stuff I have written in the past few weeks have brought nothing but trouble. I don’t think I will be missed much anyways. How many people even read this stuff? And there are thousands other blogs on wordpress.com and blogspot.com

So I am going on a blogging hiatus. Not sure for how long. May be 5 minutes or forever. We shall see how it shakes out.

I have lost my superhero status. Not quite a villain yet, but I need to stop working on getting there.

A colleague recently mentioned one way to lose weight involuntarily (not that I am looking to do so), but I think she was right. I haven’t eaten at all today, and I still don’t feel hungry at 7:30PM. Which I guess would be nice if I was actually looking to lose some weight. And if I could actually do something constructive in the meantime instead of just … doing absolutely nothing.

So, I have given myself permission to ramble a little since I am taking a break. I am thinking of going back to school. Well, not physically. I am thinking of a relatively new Masters degree at my Alma Mater (OAU) which is mostly online,  so I should be able to combine it with “work”.  Though a break from Lagos once in a while is not necessarily a bad thing.

Which reminds me of a comment a colleague at work made to me a couple of months ago: “It’s like you just recently discovered your mum lives in Ibadan eh?”

No, smart ass, I grew up in Ibadan 🙂

But I truly think I need to take off and roam this country. And it’s looking like something I may start doing soon. With my trusty Garmin GPS unit, my car, some cash, and my ATM card in my pocket, what could possibly go wrong?

After all, the Zombie Apocalypse (seriously, that again?) hasn’t yet happened. So this is the time for such things. And I can still run like the wind and skip a little if necessary (not too old yet). Won’t it be interesting if I actually helped precipitate the apocalypse?

But first, I need to contact Mila J. A blood transfusion from her to me is in order. If I am too survive the Zombie infestation, I must be ready for the Umbrella Corporation.

And let’s not forget that I need to learn to kick ass first!

Speaking of which, I should look around for some dojo where I can enroll with a Master that will take it easy on me. My bones are too creaky for some of the more fanciful poses the younger ones can strike.

Just BB’ing with my sis on and off during the day. And no, the topic is off limits (well, until I compulsively put it up).

I am trying to convince myself that I am not bad, creepy, evil, and a whole lot of other things. Let me pretend I am just “intense” instead of all those negative things. And compulsive at times (translate: don’t know when to stop). I think I am getting there, but I need to move fast – as they say, I am on the clock!

Bad habits – hmm, procrastination, room is a little shabby, (but hey, I keep my teeth clean), procrastination (again for emphasis), what else? Someone help me out here.

What do the psycho-analyst people call it? Writing as a form of therapy (the actual phrase/word I am looking for eludes me)

But there is something obviously wrong (I think) if I am writing this in the dark with my laptop running on an inverter, so I am packing this up, getting dressed and going to The Palms. I will just hang out and watch happy people drift by, may be I will join them soon, but not today.

And if there is a good film on show, I will go sit in the middle seat of the middle row and lose myself for a couple of hours in some cinema magic. I can imagine myself up there on the big screen bringing the wicked to justice and saving the world at the same time – and don’t forget the hero gets the girl!

It’s now 8:50PM. I started writing over an hour ago I think. Time to bring the rambling to a close and get started on that hiatus. I can’t guarantee the length of it, but rest assured it will be a couple of hours at least!

After watching several episodes of the detective series called “King”, I decided to hit the road. Told my cousin I was heading out and she asks if I was going sight-seeing or to pick “some”  – hmmn – up. I knew she was joking, so I said yes, but on the condition that I can bring “them” home. I laughed. The only feeling they arose in me is pity and sometimes sadness. Because though they individually chose to stand by the side of the streets, it is a hard life, and I can’t but wonder at the regrets they cover up with mascaras; at the tears under the pancake; at the hope and innocence that have been lost and forgotten.

Got in the car and went over the bridge into Ikoyi. Briefly thought about going over the third mainland bridge, turning round at the other end, then coming right back. At some point Shalamar’s “Friends” came up on the radio – just the song to feed my blues.
I smiled as I listened.
I drove randomly around the side roads in Ikoyi until I was completely lost. Just like I wanted. It’s Friday night. I remember sending “condolences” to a facebook “friend” a Philiphino lady I had somehow become “friends” with on facebook. She had posted earlier today something along the line of “Six days after buring her dear brother. Feeling so lost” I put on the GPS, and punched the “Go Home” icon.
Then George Michaels’ “Careless Whispers” came on. I was soon singing along with him. The wordings were appropriate at times.
Maybe the next time I am “out”, I may just go for that short drama course, or the voice training one – at least I can get a professional to tell me definitively never to sing again – whether in the shower or not, alone or not, and never ever to frighten the neigborhood cats on a moonless night with my attempts at Opera (just joking)
If you are reading this, I hope it’s not tonight. Otherwise I would assume you are just as bored as I am, and that’s no place to be on a Friday evening.
Made a few detours but I am back home. Maybe I should wonder what the rover is doing at this moment on Mars, or what that particular individual sitting in the big monitoring room among several other people is thinking about while doing his bit monitoring the progress of the latest rover that’s approaching Mars even as I write: is he thinking of his bills; his wife; his in-laws; his life; who knows. But no matter what, he is part of the universe at this point in time.
So I will watch a few more episodes of King, then call it a night. And to the randomness of it all, nope, not correct. After all, I made a sequence of choices or decisions: Ikoyi rather than third mainland; drive rather than stay indoors; listen to the radio instead of my own heartbeat.
And the reason I stepped out? To get away from my thoughts for awhile? Unsuccessful: they followed me everywhere I went.
And I remember as I stepped out, going through my mind was the following:

“The boundaries are drawn”
“The boundaries are drawn!” said the man at the gates.
“But where are these gates that I may go through them?”

The Zombie Apocalypse

The people that believe in such stuff, say there are going to be 2 apocalypse: the Zombie apocalypse followed by the grand old apocalypse with which we are all most familiar, and then of course the end of the world.

I don’t put much stock in such goings-on. What the hell is a Zombie anyway? Someone trying to take a bite out of you after they have been bitten themselves? They exist already: they are called toddlers and sometimes “little runts”. And I have never once felt the need to go out and bite another person after being bitten by one of these little ones.

But having said that, I don’t see anything wrong in being prepared just in case those assumed nutcases happen to be right.

So, to start with, I have gone and got myself some serious body armour which is impervious to teeth of all shapes and sizes. I know it works because I tested it on the big rabid dog roaming my neigbourhood before having mercy on it and putting it out of its misery. And I can tell you it gave it all it got: I can’t even see the teeth marks at all, and it had some serious teeth in its head I tell you!

Next, we should not forget the firepower. If I am going to be putting hordes of rampaging rabid zombies down by the thousands, then I need some serious firepower to do it. Therefore, I have visited all the gun shops within a 50 miles radius of my house and put one single demand to each of them: “Gimme all the BFGs* you got!”

But what are guns without ammo. Fortunately, I got the next best thing to unlimited ammo – a production overrun from the ammo factory in the neighboring county. I have got it stashed away in my basement, my room, my refrigerator, my pantry, my pockets, under my bed, my tool shed, my neighbors toolshed (no, he doesn’t know it is there – the only thing he uses that place for is to stock his illegal moonshine), think of anywhere one can stash such things and I have got it covered.

And if you have thought everything through like myself, you will know that starving to death in a zombie apocalypse is no fun at all. You might as well go lie down outside on the road, and let them do short work of you. So, to prevent such unnecessary waste of great genetic material that may be the saving grace of humanity, I have stocked piles and piles of all those flash-freeze-dried-in-a-vacuum concentrated food – they taste like sh*t but they will keep you alive if you don’t mind chewing on something that tastes like your great grandpa’s discarded leather work shoes.

And not to leave anything to chance, after perusing all those fringe websites and reading a ton of these extremists zombie-believers’ brochures and fliers, I have decided to plant the tobacco plant round my house. Some nutters believe zombies can’t stand it. And no, it’s not smoking the stuff that drives them away, that would probably kill you long before the zombie apocalypse (which is not necessarily a bad thing depending on your point of view). So I am putting the government on notice: If you come to my house, what you see is not “weed”, it is plain old tobacco!

I think I have got all the bases covered.

And before you ask, I have tapped into an aqueduct running below my house so I am sure of a continuous supply of clean uninfected water if it comes down to making a stand in my basement.

All that’s left now is to sit back and watch the fun begin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

BFG* – Big Freaking Gun

The Strangest thing happened to me yesterday.

A journey that usually takes me 30 minutes took 8 hours. And in case the amnesia returns, I am setting it down so I don’t have to remember – if it’s in black and white, I can always read it and remind myself about it.

“Are you OK?” asked the man whose face filled my view (and the thought that came to my mind was how uncomfortably close he was to my face). He looked worried.

“Are you OK?” he repeated a second time. That’s when I realized I was lying on my back on the road. Well, I don’t think I am OK, otherwise, why would I be lying on the road?

“I don’t think so” I responded.

Not knowing what was wrong with me, I added “What is wrong with me?”

“I am sorry sir. I just hit you with my car. I didn’t see you in time. Can I help you up so I can take you to the hospital?”

Hit by a car? I hoped nothing new was broken. As the man helped me up from the ground, I noticed the crowd surrounding us for the first time. Someone suggested the driver should be accompanied, but no one got into the car with us. There was little blood from the visible bruises I could see and I did not feel any real pain.

We were soon at a hospital on the Island. I was still kind of fuzzy and everything looked strange. But I was soon ushered into a nice room and asked to lie down on the bed which felt really comfortable. I was starting to drift off when the nurse returned with some notes in her hands, and asked me for my name to which I blurted out a response. She asked a few other questions but I could not for the life of me give answers to. She left after a few minutes. I wondered why I couldn’t remember some of the things she asked for.

She soon returned with the doctor who proceeded to examine me. After tapping here and there, rotating all the joints in my body while asking me if it hurts, listening to my chest and back, pressing on my belly and so on, he declared he didn’t think anything serious was wrong with me, but that I was suffering from a slight concussion.

Looking at the notes in his hands, he repeated my name as if asking me for confirmation. The name didn’t sound right, and I almost immediately said “That’s not my name”

“Well, that’s the name you gave when you were admitted. Are you sure it’s not yours?”

While the name sounded vaguely familiar, and for some reason, I knew instinctively that it belonged to a woman – maybe an acquaintance? I was sure it wasn’t mine.

“So, what is your name Sir?”

Which is when it hit me that I couldn’t remember my own name!

“Do you know where you live?”

I couldn’t recall.

“Do you remember your phone number?”

“How old are you?”

“Do you remember your parent’s name?”

“What is your brother’s name?”

And so the questions continued. I couldn’t offer an answer to any of them. Which begs the question “Who am i?”

I asked to see my phone and was told it was completely smashed during the accident (I think the car went over it before it stopped). No identification was found on me.

“Where do you live?”

“I think it is on the Island”

“Can you be more specific?”

“No.”

“We really should keep you overnight for observations …”

I could sense some hesitation in his voice.

“No, I want to go home.”

“How are you going to find your house Sir?”

I hadn’t exactly thought that through.

“If it is on the Island, I can drive him around. Maybe it will jog his memory” Good idea from the gentleman that knocked me down, but he seemed a little too eager for my liking. But I had had enough of lying on my back so I agreed.

“Well, sir, if you are discharging yourself, you would need to sign a waiver form stating so.”

I asked for the form and signed it.

I was led out the door. Apart from feeling a little light-headed, I felt relatively alright.

The gentleman drove round the Island, and I was quickly getting exasperated with his nonstop “Are you OK” questions. Fortunately for me, we turned unto a street which looked familiar. Almost without thinking about it, I started giving him directions and soon we were at a house I was sure was where I lived.

I rang the bell a couple of times. After about 10 minutes someone peeped through a gap in the gate and greeted me “Welcome, Uncle Tunde”

And it all came rushing back to me. Now I remember my name, who I was, my address, my siblings, my place of work, my parents, etc. I nearly jumped for joy! And I also remembered whose name I had given at the hospital. Followed by the accident and why I was thinking about the person.

I turned to the gentleman and smiling widely, I said “It is OK! I remember my name! I know who I am!”

Two pairs of eyes looked at me questioningly. And I could see they doubted if I was really OK.

The gentleman looked a little confused, and as I discharged him, he thanked me profusely, dipped his hands inside his shirt pocket and offered me his debit card.

“Well, what am I to do with your debit card without the pin?” I said with a broad smile on my face. At least, I have my sense of humour back!

He looked confused for a minute, looked at the card in his hand, and then quickly withdrew it and replaced it by his business card, “Sorry, I meant to give you my business card.”

Finally, I am home! It was 2AM in the morning and I didn’t feel sleepy at all. Time to wind down with a movie on my laptop (and if you tried to contact me yesterday with no success, now you know where I was).

But one last thing before that. I decided to go over what I had learnt from the experience:
– the saying about treating all drivers on the road as crazy? Whether you are in a vehicle or not, take it as gospel truth
– the fact that you are on the sidewalk does not mean some crazy driver may not decide that you are on the road, so keep your eyes on the road and your wits about you!
– if you are going to be thinking about someone, at least make sure it’s either a family member, or someone of the same sex (well, adjust your thoughts accordingly so you don’t get labeled a “perv”)
– if you are going to be thinking about someone else, make sure you have an ID card or some other identifiable detail on you
– in fact, as much as possible, don’t think about anyone else while walking by the road side
– walking home along the road may not be the safest way to get some exercise
– and always accept the offer of staying at the hospital for observations – even if it doesn’t save your life, at least you will sleep in comfort rather than the stifling heat when NEPA strikes at your house!

Dear Mum,

I do not know if this letter will survive or not, but I hope it does. I love you. Thank you for being a wonderful mother.

It is strange but I almost didn’t get on this plane. The airport was rowdy and I was shoved out of the queue. There was a gentleman on the queue who motioned for me to get in front of him. I think he saw I was on the queue before or he must have noticed the desperation on my face. I got the very last ticket. I turned to him and apologized. He just smiled and said not to bother, it was OK. Spending another night with his family at home wouldn’t be such a bad idea, and he would catch the early flight out to Lagos the following morning. I should have asked for his name, even if just to be polite. But I thanked him again  for his kindness though.

I was scared. Actually I am still scared. The whole plane is in bedlam. That took all of two minutes. For some reason, the screaming has helped me calm down, though my heart is beating fast. Besides, the little girl beside me needs reassurance. Her mother on the other side is completely out of it. After tugging her mother a few times, she turned to me and asked if we are going to die. I told her yes, but that we are going to be with Jesus. She asked why her mother was crying. I said because her dad will not be going with us. She asked why not. I said because the plane is taking us to heaven right now. I asked where her dad was. She said he is waiting for them in Lagos. I said that was good. I do not know if she understands. But she smiled at me, and told her mum not to be sad, that Jesus is waiting for them.

I hope it will be quick. I am sure it will be soon. Because I can feel the plane falling. The noise is deafening. I have said the Lord’s prayer. I can’t think of anything else to say or pray about.

Please apologise to your friend for me. I shouldn’t have shouted at her on the phone. I know she was joking, but I wasn’t in the mood. I know it is not an excuse to be rude. I meant to call her back before we boarded.

Tell Ade and Wale that I love

That’s the whole of the matter. I am feeling blue.

OK. I must start by confessing that T-Rex wasn’t the original name I gave to the car. It was Betty or some name that struck me in some movie I had seen or so. But later, I thought what kind of name is that for a guy’s car? So I changed it to T-Rex.

Well, I had promised myself that I would “bond” with T-Rex in many ways when I got hold of it. But when it finally arrived, I was too lazy to do any of the stuff I had dreamt up: Wash it regularly, wax it, apply anti-rust to it, etc . All stuff I had read about on the several Internet sites I visited when preparing to acquire T-Rex and while waiting for it to be delivered!

I have had it washed at various car-wash centers (if you can call them that) in the past though. And a few times, I have washed the body myself.

My general plan was to wash it once or twice a month, but I hadn’t had it washed in the last couple of months or so. In recent months, I sometimes get it washed when I go to Ibadan. So I took the decision that the next time I was in Ibadan, I will definitely take it to the car wash.

But then someone special commented on how dirty the car was, and that I could take it to the carwash. Though that was in my plans, I had never really been completely satisfied with the end result when it’s washed commercially. They do a relatively good job, but as they say, “the devil is in the details” and the “finishing” is never really to my satisfaction.

So, finally on Sunday after service, I headed to The Palms and bought some micro-fiber cloth which can be used for washing cars, glass and other things without scratching them. Checked out the Cinema, but nothing particularly interesting showing.

Rested a while after I got home, then got two buckets of water and a soap (the refined black soap in a packet – Dudu Osin) and got down to it. My plan was to wash the body first then get down to the interior afterwards. Apart from the wheel wells and the wheels which i didn’t touch at all, I must say I did a thorough job. The car was gleaming by the time I was through. Wash with one cloth, rinse, wipe with the other.

There is of course another reason why I wanted to wash the car myself. I was hoping the physical exertion would give me some respite from my thoughts – but no such luck.

Getting to the interior, I cleared out all the loose papers and other stuff (someone had stuffed some leftover fried confectionery down the compartment behind the driver’s seat – common!)

Got out the carpets, did a little number on their edges with a carpet shampoo I found in the house.

Got out the hoover and hoovered the interior of the car.

Phew! That was enough work for one Sunday.

My cousin came by and commented that she had not seen anyone pay so much attention to “detailing” a car in a long time. She said “someone is a happy owner of a car” to which I responded “Well, this is not exactly enjoyment – it is work.” Though I must say I enjoyed cleaning the car and the result before my eyes afterwards!

On Monday morning, I did another couple of hours before work. Washing the seats (soap, then wipe with water), the door panel, the dashboard, etc.

Finally on Tuesday morning, did another hour or so – washing the interior surface of the windows and windscreen, the door edges, etc.

I think I am satisfied now! Well, there is still the waxing to be done. Oh! And then there are the seatbelts! I will get to that later – as I need an assistant to wrangle it into place while I give it the once over. Then maybe I will do the wheel wells. Hmm. And there is that anti-rust matter …

Truly, a man’s work is never done!