The Gasometer

Posted on May 2, 2015 by aitayemi

Eyes wide open at the Gasometer

Last day in Oberhausen. I didn’t feel it was appropriate not to experience something of the culture (no malls and restaurants don’t count). So despite the fact that I had a train to catch to another city, I felt I had to at least make an attempt. I checked out but then left my luggage with the hotel (“I will be back in an hour”).

The closest destination I could think of was the Gasometer which was quite visible from lots of places I had been to around the hotel and the office.

I crossed the road and headed in the general direction. It was a little farther than I had suspected. I looked at the time. I had an appointment in another city and wasn’t even sure how regular the trains ran in that direction on a Saturday. I decided it was worth the risk. Unfortunately I had to go through in a hurry. I don’t mind spending a whole day in a good museum, but I had a train to catch. Even at that I must have spent about close to 3 hours there. Normally I would read the story/description attached to any picture/sculpture I am interested in and try to imagine what life was like then or even imagine myself “into” the scene: like a witness to the conversation.

Took some pictures. Below.

The museum itself was in a converted cylindrical steel structure.

For those up to the challenge, there is a long series of flights up the outside to the top at 110 meters where you can see the whole city laid out below. See pics below. There is a lift for the less adventurous or less fit.

You can then enter the building and chill out at the amphitheater at the base on cushions while watching a choreographed display of black and white light patterns running up the inside of the tower all the way to the top – set to some relaxing music.

110 meters above is my target destination. “Stairways to Heaven.”

Is that a submarine?

110.45m above ground level.

Took a lift back down(on the inside of the vertical steel structure, so you can look down at the people seated or reclining or standing in the amphitheater-like space with the cushions where you seat to watch the light display)

Below that level are the two bottom levels where the paintings and sculptures are exhibited.

Medusa of course.

And the Mona Lisa (A copy. The original is in the Louvre Museum in Paris)

And because we are always “representing” (something from the Benin Kingdom)

Massive painting under glass on the floor.

God creating the world.

Jesus (under a shroud in the tomb)

It was worth every penny of the 9 Euros I paid. I think couple or group tickets might be cheaper but I didn’t check.

Outside for the even more adventurous, you can sign up for some tree climbing.

The Gasometer website is at: http://www.gasometer.de/de/

Rewind

Posted on April 26, 2015 by aitayemi

Rewind

Lucas was a special patient. While most of my patients came around and occupied space on my couch for an hour or two, I had never actually seen or met Lucas. He insisted I call him Lucas.

I had received a strange call one day asking if I had an hour free – billable of course. It had been a slow week so I was not particularly unreceptive to the idea even though I was deep in paper work. But I needed him to be a patient in order to protect the two of us. My medical license and also the doctor-patient confidentiality so he’s protected as well.

He had hesitated. Then suggested he calls me back in 30 minutes. He had dropped the line before I could think of something to say. Well. There goes my chance to earn some living.

There was a knock at the front door about 25minutes later.

I went through to the outer office. I had let my receptionist go early.

There was a man in an overall on the other side of the door. Actually three men. The one in front who seemed to be in charge from the look of him just handed me a phone and said “Mr Lucas.”

“Apologies to be doing this on short notice. But I would be much more at ease if I could install a direct line to your office.”

The thought of the additional cost was almost completely formed in my mind when he said “There are no costs attached of course. I have handled everything already. Just the additional space on your desk for the phone is required. And you can put it away if you like when we don’t have a session.”

I was a little weirded out, but in my business anything is possible. The phone was rigged up and tested in under 30 minutes.

I was alone again.

He had indicated he would call on the following day at the same time if I was available.

**********^^^***********

The sessions started out benign enough. Nothing much out of the ordinary. Felt like a man who needed to talk. I wasn’t above getting paid to listen: most times that’s the bulk of what I do anyway. Because initially I couldn’t really get in a word or question. In fact during one of the sessions I had to wonder who the patient was.

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

“Are you rich Mr Johnson?”

“Not really. Comfortable yes, rich. No. “

“Do you think I am?”

“What?”

“Rich?”

“You have to be. You are paying a small fortune for my service. The private telephone line and so on. “

“How rich do you suppose I am?”

“Very rich? I couldn’t name a figure.”

“I could give you a ballpark figure. But it would be incorrect the moment I say it.”

“Would you like to be rich?”

“Well. Yes. Some more free cash wouldn’t be unwelcome. That could buy me some free time. I smiled a little uncomfortably. I guess the talk of money knowing fully well he was paying me could do that. Or maybe it’s just the fact that money wasn’t something you discuss with barely known people.

“Good to know. Some people are not sure. Ok. What do you do in your spare time?”

“Read. Walk. Think.”

“I meant what do you do for extra cash. “

“Oh. You mean multiple streams of income?”

“Well. That’s one way to look at it. But that sometimes seem to suggest more work to most people.”

“Oh. You mean making your money work for you and so on?”

“That’s one approach.”

“Well. My excuse would be that my practice takes most of my time. But I know that’s lame. One can always make time if one wants to. But I am sure you know wanting and actually doing something about it are two different things.”

True. And I like how you said “make time”. So do you have any other ways of making a little extra?”

“Well. Hmmn.”

“Yes?”

“I play the lottery. But I have never really won anything substantial”

“Regularly?”

“Yes. I have a booker. I just send him the numbers and he buys the ticket on my behalf.”

“Which one?”

“The jack pot”

“How do you pick the numbers?”

“Well. I have 3 consistent ones from the birthdays of my folks and mine, the remaining three are random: day of the month, a number someone says in passing, a figure that jumps at me from a paper, it could be anything. “

“You know the odds are not really in your favor?”

“Yeah. But who knows? I guess that’s the kicker right? Anything can happen. Besides it’s only a few quids every week.”

“Indeed, anything can happen. You could for example be dead tomorrow.”

I have got used to the fact that some of his remarks can be quite “dark”.

“Or I could win the jack pot draw Of course.”

“Yes. But What if you could find a way to improve your odds?”

“You mean game the system somehow?”

“No. No. No. Nothing illegal. At least not by today’s standards.”

That didn’t sound too legal.

He must have sensed my hesitation

“Have you ever committed a crime?”

“Well. No. I don’t think so.”

“Are you sure? Mr Johnson?”

“Well. Em. Not really?”

“Not really? What does that mean?”

“Big crimes. Little crimes. Or the fact that you have never been charged to court or arrested by the police?”

“Well. No never.”

“Have you ever jaywalked before Mr Johnson?”

“Not that I remember. “

“Have you ever lied before Mr Johnson”

“Yes.”

“Do you think you have accounted for every penny you owe the government in taxes since you started working?”

“Well. I should think close enough. “

“So you see Mr Johnson, crimes is a matter of degrees. As long as you don’t take a life or cause an injury, most people have learned to leave with a certain degree of criminality – it’s the difference between thriving and being a nut case. If every single person has to worry about every little thing they do wrong, there isn’t enough couches in the world to occupy them.”

“But I digress. We were talking about making money and getting rich. You are probably wondering if I am trying to draw you into some Ponzi scheme ain’t you?”

“Well. Not really. But now that you have mentioned it. It doesn’t sound too farfetched.”

“Rest easy, Mr Johnson. It’s nothing of the sort.”

“The short version is that my ego has finally got the better of me. But so that you believe what I am about to tell you, let me tell you exactly what you have in your office and where each item is.”

That caught my interest.

“I am listening”

He went at length to describe the office. Mentioning even insignificant things like pens and pencils, cups”

My Window blinds were drawn close but I still sneaked a peak. The fact that he got so many details right was deeply troubling.

I looked round the office. Maybe … Some camera of some sort? The phone in my hand was solid enough. Maybe the chaps who setup the phone planted something?

“Mr Johnson you have been awfully quiet for a few minutes there. I assure you there is no bug in your office.

Can we continue?”

Even as I answered in the affirmative, my eyes were still roaming round the room.

“Now that I have your attention, the brief version of it is that I can unwind time. That I have legally been inside your office before.”

“Been in my office? When? Did you say unwind time?”

Yes. On both counts. You invited me in of course. Let’s set that aside for now as it will soon become clear. And yes, That’s what I said. Unwind, rollback. Probably not rewind though. Call it whatever you will.”

Nut case. But he’s paying. I will indulge him.

“You think I am a paying nut case right? Nah. I am as sane as you are Mr Johnson.”

That’s what they all say, I said to myself.

“How does that work?” I ventured.

“Despite your unbelief I will continue. You see. It’s gets a little lonely and boring keeping this secret to myself. I can’t obviously let all and sundry know about it. But what sort of power is it if you don’t have at least one worshipper at your door? I have decided you shall be my worshipper figuratively. My ego demands it.”

“You see when certain events of a very strong emotional nature occur, I have found there is some threshold at which I can literarily unwind time. I have to be involved of course. Intimately. It’s complicated to explain. I don’t even fully understand it myself. Yet.”

“But a year ago, you actually saved my life. “

“Have you had any strange recurrent dreams in the last year Mr Johnson. No you won’t necessarily be saving anyone in the dream. But it will be recurrent.”

“Well.” My voice trailed off as my mind went over something that felt as if it fit the bill.

“You probably haven’t had it in the last month or so. That’s how it works. It’s starting to fade. The effect I mean.”

“Mr Johnson?”

“Yes. I am still here. I am just thinking. There is a dream … I am running up a hill, I can see that I am almost at the top. But my legs are caught in something. I look down but there is nothing there. Then I discover I have no feet. My legs start from the knees. Below them there is nothing there. That’s when I wake up”

“Yeah. That would qualify.

That’s one of the side effects of you being caught up in a time rewind Mr Johnson.”

I had tried to get him to call me Paul several times, but that never worked. I finally gave up.

“Any other side effects I should be wary of?”

“You mean aside the slightly higher rate of suicide among such people. No. Nothing else.”

If that was a joke I wasn’t laughing.

“Mr Johnson? Are you there? I am just yanking your chain. That’s about it. Just the weird recurrent dream that fades away with time.”

I must have been holding my breath.

“Is that a sigh of relief?”

I was embarrassed.

“So. Now you know my secret. I am going to have to kill you.”

“More jokes Mr Johnson. You are completely safe.”

“After all you saved my life.”

“And how did I do that if I may ask?”

“Oh. Just a little matter of being at the wrong place at the right time. And most important, not letting me bleed out when I was mugged on some seedy alley a year ago. I still wonder how you came to be there. But it was so sudden I had lost Consciousness before the emotional threshold kicked in a time rewind.”

But after I came to at the hospital and learnt what had happened, the time rewind still got triggered by the flurry of emotions I felt. Basically that I could have died so suddenly.”

“You see. I had always thought myself indestructible. I had almost always assumed the only way I could die was probably in my sleep. My reasoning was that if I knew death was imminent I would be so traumatized that a time rewind would have been triggered.”

“But now I know better. “

“I am just as vulnerable as the next man. Maybe not quite. But time and chance can mess it all up.”

But I digress. That wasn’t quite the whole truth. You see under certain conditions which I understand even less, a time jump into the future can happen. In fact I had first jumped briefly into the future before jumping back in time after my mugging. That’s how I came to have been in your office. I had then rewound time to a couple of hours before my mugging. I could then take certain precautions. Which meant we never actually met in your own reality.

But I had of course gone to some length to learn about who you were.

So here we are.

You see, during the forward shift I found out you are going to lose the jackpot by that single figure you decided to change just this once. You are going to be so distraught that I am going to feel the vibes even though we are separated by space and technology. This is where it gets interesting. I am going to go into a tailspin by my choice and trigger a rewind. The numbers are in already. So it’s hard to tamper with that. And you are not depriving anyone as no one else bought the winning combo.

So you are going to play the same set of numbers but replace the last number with today’s date. What you are going to do is go out now and send yourself a return mail. The mail needs to cross at least one time zone to ensure its not affected by the time rewind. I will give you an address to send it to. By the time you get it back, it will almost be now minus my phone call. Then you are going to play the numbers.

But you should write all these down in the mail because when the rewind happens you won’t even remember this conversation.

***********

So I have just played the numbers. As usual I am seated in my office. The blinds are drawn. And before midnight I will know if I am a nutcase or not. Because I certainly don’t remember any of this nor any Mr Lucas. And there is no case note in my office for him either.

Maybe I should have arranged a place for myself in an hospital. It’s probably the time to do it while I am still sane enough.

How many people have I met in my time who were borderline or outright psycho who still felt they were sane? Yes. Mentally ill if you prefer. But this is not the time to border with being politically correct.

I scrolled through the contact list on my phone to the number for the medical director for a facility near by. His line is off. I hadn’t spoken to him in a while so maybe he’s changed his number or something. I decided to call the direct line to the doctors common area at the hospital facility itself. It sounded as if the call was being diverted.

“Hello. This is Dr Johnson. I don’t want to go into details. But I would like to arrange for a transport to your facility for myself say anytime tomorrow. You can look me up. I am in the (phone) book. I was a consultant there for several years as well if you need to verify this with the medical director who as a matter of fact is a friend. I just can’t seem to get hold of him right now”

“Evening Mr Johnson. Lucas here. Dr Paulson is on leave somewhere in the wilds of Alaska. Now why would you want to do such a thing Mr Johnson? Admit yourself into a hospital?”

I put down the phone slowly without saying a word. If Lucas is still a figment of my imagination, I am not sure there is any help for me out there. Only one way to find out. The jackpot draw will be announced shortly.

I switched on the TV.

Of phones, screens and cables

Posted on April 13, 2015 by aitayemi

Of phones, screens and cables

I should dare to call myself a writer (if I don’t, who is going to :-). I can then follow it up by saying I haven’t really posted anything in a while due to “writer’s block.” There, I said it. That makes me a writer! After all, you have to be one to get a “writer’s block” init? 🙂
And since it appears the “block” persists, I will now “regale” you with my phone-scapade for lack of anything more original.

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

Dropped my phone less than a month ago I think. Landed face down on a hard floor. The screen shattered in exactly the same pattern as the fake (I didn’t know at the time) screen protector on its face.
Used it like that for a couple of weeks.
Then searched on the Internet and came up with this long list of authorized retailers. Started calling them one by one. Most said they don’t fix broken phones, just retail new stuff. One of them suggested I needed to go to the iStore at Ikeja shopping mall to get it fixed. I finally got to one that claimed to be an certified Apple technician. I engaged him on WhatsApp. Engaged him on WhatsApp. “I will do it for N11,000 in about 35minutes.”
But his shop is at the Computer Village in Ikeja. Hmmn. I left it at that for the time being.

Maybe a week or so later, I wandered into the shop of an authorized Apple retailer at a big shopping mall at this end of the Island.
“We fix it but it will cost N30,000; If you drop it now, it should be ready in about 3 hours; It carries a 1-year warranty, but not if you break it o!”
(So what’s does the 1-year warranty cover? If it stops working or something like that I think he said. Smart Apple. Very smart. How many screens just stop working?)

Aside from the exorbitant price, I didn’t have that time on my hands. So I told him I would give it some additional thought and I might show up the next day. Besides, they didn’t have the USB charging cable anyway (I wanted to buy it either. I seem to remember he said it cost N6,500 apiece – daylight robbery!).

But then I thought, let’s do this thing properly. Don’t be penny wise pound foolish for once. But since I was going to probably get to the Ikeja shopping mall anyway, I would risk it and see if the fix might be cheaper from Apple themselves – also I would get to pick up the original cables.

Today, I got to the Apple store around 9:25AM. They were having a staff meeting. The security at the door told me they don’t open till 10AM. I should be able to enter at 10AM prompt. I wandered around then came back and stood in the hallway. I had my Bluetooth headset on. The staff at the “Ruff ‘n Tumble” children’s wears opposite the Apple store were setting things out for the day. One of their colleagues came in and started talking about how “Her friend in Lekki called her and told her there were lots of gun shots on the Saturday. That she just laid low.”
Soon, I heard one of them say something about the suspicious man standing out in the corridor.
I smiled, caught the eye of the one I thought had brought up the issue and indicated I was waiting for the Apple Store to open. I then took off my Bluetooth headset as well.
Apple opened probably around 10:05AM. Was the first customer through the door. Well, one of the security welcomed me by saying so. I asked if there was any special prices associated with that: “Either a special handshake or you get to add extra N10,000 to the cost of whatever you buy today.” Very funny 🙂
“Oh. We don’t do repairs. But if you had bought the phone here, we would have replaced it for you if it was under warranty.”
Well, all those conditions wouldn’t have helped me anyway. I have had the phone for about 14 months so it wouldn’t have been covered by the 1-year warranty even if I had bought it at that store.
Well, do you have the USB cable?
“No we don’t, check back next week.”

Time to go back and “localize” this fix. I had to call all three numbers I had for the certified Apple technician before getting through to him.

“Where is your shop again?” He told me and said he would send it by SMS as well.

I got the SMS, then somehow made up my mind that the Post Office (the closest landmark he suggested) was in a different place and promptly got lost trying to find the street. But I finally did.

He handles all things Apple (6S, iPads, etc) and sells original components and accessories too. I believe he changed the screen in under 30minutes. I ended up buying a couple of iPhone 5S cables and a third-party case (that’s what happens if you do a good job. You get more business and a free advert sometimes :-).
The first 3 photos are of the broken screen (had to take a photograph of a shiny screen) and the fourth picture is my spanking new screen.

An aside, you might notice that (at least for me) all the cables don’t seem to last (both original and fakes). One weekend I actually took a blade to a couple of fakes, joined the functional connector half of one to the functional USB/PC half of the second and got it to work! Not my fault entirely, couldn’t get an original from the “authorized” outlets and the fake stopped working on a Friday night.

I got the one below in Ibadan for N350 (sells for N500 in Lagos! Thieves! Lol) It stopped working after 1 day! But from experience I had noticed if you randomly bend it in some ways, you might “fix” it (so once I got it bent in a way that made it work, I just “taped” it permanently. Good as new! Of course I got an original cable today. I am going to give the original cable the same “treatment.” Wrap both ends in paper tape (I think if you establish some rigidity such that the cable can’t bend at the neck just before the connectors – the cables should last longer). The only downside I can think of is that the tape tends to pick up dirt rather quickly – from the environment and handling – so expect it become dirty pretty soon – your mileage may vary.

(NOTE: don’t bend yours unless it’s broken already – partial contact 🙂

The attendant at the store I mentioned above actually told me: “You are not supposed to move the cables around. Just plug it in one socket and leave it there.”

Huh? Say what?!

The gates of forever

Posted on February 13, 2015 by aitayemi

The gates of forever

Few run swiftly
Through the gates
Fewer know whence the gates
The forever gates

They open but one way
To bless or not the day
Only shades pass the other way
Nothing to do but pray

Remember me when am gone
All the good I have done
Maybe some words I have said
My shape on the bed

The forever gates
They carry a date for all that live
Do not think of them as baits
But surely something must give

And when it’s time
Everything just rhymes
You hear the sound as it grates
The forever gates

February 12, 2014, 10:43PM

The wonders of God

Posted on January 25, 2015 by aitayemi

The wonders of God

You are seated at a car wash. Waiting for your car to be washed.
A little girl of about nine years walks up to you. Looks you dead straight in the eyes and greets you.

“Daddy. Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon.” You replied.

“Daddy. I want you to buy me a sachet of pure water.”

You think. That’s okay. She’s a little girl.

So you ask the lady attendant at the car wash for a sachet of water knowing that they run a side business selling cold drinks from a freezer.

She says she does not have pure water sachets. Only the much more expensive bottled water. Even before you say anything the little girl (still unflinchingly looking you dead in the face. A fact that’s now starting to bother you) says “That’s okay. I don’t want bottled water. Tell her to go and get the water from the food seller manning the kiosk a few meters away.”

You are taken aback at her confidence.

You instruct the lady to go and get the pure water. She apologizes for her oversight thinking it’s you that wants to drink the water. She returns with the water, and hands it to you. You give it to the little girl.

She stands there just looking at you with the sachet of water in her hand.

Then she says “I have a message for you.”

It’s getting more surreal by the minute.

“I can see you are scared. But don’t be.”

“You are going to give alms to some less fortunate people.”
(Author’s note: generally means beggars)

“You will get three 10 Naira notes. You will then buy three sachets of salt. You will give a salt and a 10 Naira note each to three different beggars. ”

“Are you going to do it?” She asks.

You don’t respond. But you keep looking at her in wonder.

“I see you don’t believe.”

“But you must do it. Then you will see the wonders of God.”

You start to convince yourself that there might be something to this. This strange little girl. So confident. Looking you straight in the eye. She’s not even asking you for anything.

“You are going to do something for me.”

“You are going to give me N2,000. I am going to spend the money. But before I do, I am going to pray on it for 7 days.”

You are taken aback. You have no good response.

“Do it and experience the wonders of God.”

You hesitate. Is this true? Is this really happening?

She says “I know you have two thousand to give me but you are scared. Don’t be scared.”

You start to make excuses within yourself. How much is N2000. After all if you had done what you usually do while waiting for the car to be washed, you would have easily spent more than a thousand Naira: cut your hair for 300. Eat some sweet meats and “intestine” for another three. Have a drink. Wash the car for 700 hundred. So you could just skip all the extras and give the little girl the money.

But at the same time you bulk a little and say “I don’t have two thousand Naira.”

She says “That’s okay. Since you don’t know about it before today. You will give me a thousand Naira.”

You bring out two five hundred Naira notes.

She shakes her head and refuses the money.

You are perplexed.

“No. It must be a single N1,000 Naira note.” she says.

You call the attendant over again and exchange the two five hundred Naira notes for a single one thousand Naira note.

She accepts the money. Repeating what she had earlier said about the fact that she’s going to spend the money, but will pray on it for 7 days before doing so.

“Thank you.” She says looking you straight in the eye with a solemn expression.

She leaves.

You convince yourself you did the right thing.

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

You get home and narrates the event to your better half. She laughs at you. Says she didn’t think you were that kind of person to be so easily taken in. She says you “Received a message for a thousand bucks. What message?”

You defend yourself lamely that a thousand Naira is not a lot of money. Besides, what’s the harm in the little thing she’s said you should do. It’s only another 200 Naira. You ask her to help you get three sachets of salt from the market.

The next week during your break you prepare three little plastic bags. Each contains a sachet of salt and a ten Naira note.

You tell your colleague that you need him to go with you to some far away public place where you are unlikely to be recognized. You tell him that you have been told to give alms but he shouldn’t ask for details. You only want him to accompany you in case you get accosted by the police or something “unplanned” happens.

You drove to the place, hand out the three bags as quickly as possible, and head back to the office.

begging4

Mission accomplished.

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

Fast forward several weeks. You are at a completely different part of town to wash your car at a completely different car wash.

While you wait, you notice a little girl accost a middle aged man with a fancy Toyota Camry salon car who is also seated at the same car wash.

You look closely at the girl. You are almost sure it’s the same girl from your earlier encounter. But may be not. Could it be (you wonder)?

The gentleman gets up and goes to his car. Counts out some money from his gloves box, puts it in an envelope and hands it to the little girl.

Now you are sure it’s the same girl.

She thanks the man and starts to walk away.

You get up and follow her.

She sees you. There is recognition in her eyes.

She takes off. Running as fast as her little legs would carry her.

You take off after her.

The chase is on.

Weaving in and out of the crowded street. Finally you catch her.

Concerned bystanders expressed their concern.

You say it’s nothing serious. She did something wrong at the car wash over there.

You ask her if she recognizes you.

She claims she’s never seen you before in her life.

You ask her why did she run.

She claims it was because she saw you running after her.

You take her back to the car wash. To the older gentleman.

“Sorry to bother you sir. Did this girl give you a message? If yes, I think it’s a scam.”

“You should take your money back.”

The older man is not so sure.

“But she gave me a message for myself and my son.” He says.

“It’s a scam sir.” you insist.

But he is not convinced. Lots of people are superstitious. Easily swayed when it’s related to the spiritual or supernatural. Prefer to err on the side of caution. He says it’s okay. N8,000 Naira is not too much in case she’s “genuine”. You let the girl go.

Your 1,000 Naira pales into insignificance beside his N8,000 Naira.

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

Fast forward another couple of weeks and you are back at the original car wash.

A couple of friends are seated near you. One is making fun of the other: “A little boy gave you a message and you part with a thousand Naira!”

You couldn’t help engaging them. You narrate your encounter. A third guy who was also nearby, gets up, goes to his car and brings out a bag of salt! You guess he took the “message” a little too seriously!

This is the latest scam in town. Might be confined to parts of Ogun state for now.

Note that another variation of the “message” is:

“My mum is sick. She’s okay now and back at home. But while she was hospitalized, we borrowed money from loan sharks. We are even ashamed to go back to our church because the church contributed money for us several times during her illness. But we still have a lot to repay.”

The wonders of God.

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

(As related by my cousin)

Extraordinarily Delayed

Posted on January 11, 2015 by aitayemi

My flight between Cologne and Gatwick was delayed leading to the email exchange below.

>> To: customer.service@easyjet.com
>> From: itayemi@someemaildomain.com
>> Subject: Re: [[ Reference ID: 106912622 ]]
>> Sent:
>>
>> Good day Sir/Madam, I bought what is an expensive ticket (167.11 Euros) to fly between Cologne & Gatwick on the 4th of January due to an urgent need to be in London.

I got to the airport before 7pm. There was no communication of the delay until the attendant at the checkin desk told me there was a 2 hour delay. Which then became a 4 hour delay.

After 4hours 55 minutes we were ferried to the plane. A fellow passenger told me that Easyjet would have had to make a full refund if the delay exceeded 5 hours. I think this is a little underhanded. All my subsequent plans which depended on my arrival in London on time were shot. My Monday was shot as well because I then spent the whole day recovering.

I am writing to express my concern and permit my saying so, my displeasure at the events surrounding the flight. While I understand stuff happens, (I learnt only about the weather issue in Gatwick at 1:45am when we were actually on the plane) but this was a little too much. While we were waiting at the terminal, the updates on the plane status were infrequent and sometimes only announced in German. I might as well have spent the night comfortably in Germany and flown much cheaper on a later ticket from say RyanAir for example. In addition, you should also realize that being based in Nigeria, every Euro or Pound I spend is denominated at a ridiculously expensive exchange rate due to the devaluation of the Naira so while 167 Euros may mean 167 Euros in value to an European, it’s much more to me.

As the gentleman behind me said “every single person on the plane had a right to be grumpy but he was keeping his cool because he didn’t want to be thrown off the flight.”

Of course we didn’t actually take off until 3am which is actually 75 minutes after the 5 hour limit. Total delay time came to over 6.25 hours. This is my first flight on EasyJet which turned out to be not so “easy” for me. The long & short of it is that I think a refund is in order 🙂

Thank you

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From: customer.service@easyjet.com [mailto:customer.service@easyjet.com]
Sent: Friday, January 09, 2015 3:58 PM
To: itayemi@yahoo.com
Subject: Re: [[ Reference ID: 106912622 ]]

Dear Ayotunde

Thank you for contacting easyJet Customer Services.

I am sorry for any inconvenience caused by the delay of your flight. I have looked at the Flight Disruption Report(FDR) for flight EZY 5378 Cologne-London Gatwick 4th January 2015.

The FDR states that the delay was due to severe fog in London Gatwick, effecting visibility, and causing arrival and departure slot restrictions. The delay was classified as Extraordinary, this means that it could not have been avoided, and no compensation can be paid. The FDR determines the official reason for flights that are delayed by more than 3 hours. A copy can be obtained from The Civil Aviation Authority, one of our governing bodies.

Our passenger and crew safety is of paramount importance to us and we will not fly if it is deemed unsafe to do so. I realise that this is not the response that you were hoping for and I hope that you will not allow this experience to deter you from travelling with us in the future.

Regards

Christine
easyJet Customer Services

fly us: www.easyJet.com
follow us: www.twitter.com/easyJet
friend us: www.facebook.com/easyJet

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From: donotreply@easyjet.com [mailto:donotreply@easyjet.com]
Sent: Friday, January 09, 2015 5:01 PM
To: itayemi@yahoo.com
Subject: easyJet

PLEASE GIVE US SOME FEEDBACK

Dear AYOTUNDE

You recently contacted our customer service team and we would be grateful if you could spend a few moments to provide us with some feedback on the service you received.

If you wish to take part please Click Here

Thank you in advance.

easyJet Customer Services

If you would prefer that we do not contact you again for feedback you can Click Here.

Then the email above came in shortly after the response from Christine. I ignored it, but maybe I should have sent a response giving them some negative feedback.

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So a week later I am at Heathrow waiting for my flight to Cassablanca to start boarding. I had checked in and was looking at the notice boards for the boarding gate. It was slightly over 30minutes to departure time, the boards still showed “Please wait”. I approached one of the information staff (blue skirt suit) and asked about the flight. She told me airlines had up to 30minutes before departure to display the boarding gate.
About 5minutes later, “please wait” became “flight delayed for 15minutes.”

The lady made her rounds around her counter and ended up by me looking up at the board so we got talking again. I commented that at least the there was an update and the Easyjet story came up. She laughed and said they were too cheap. She never flies them. That the bigger airlines operating in the UK would offer you a meal voucher if there was a delay close to 3 hours, and over 3 hours they would pay for your hotel especially if it’s a night trip. I told her that at roughly 170 Euros the flight wasn’t exactly cheap. A few more lighthearted words and she went back to her stand.

My original email was quite longer than the version above but the but the textbox on the Easyjet website for submitting the contact messages was limited so I had to pare it down to fit. I did get the meal voucher but would have included the text below in my message but for lack of space:

“Oh. I got the meal voucher which either allowed me a small sandwich for the full value of 4.50 Euros or a cup of expensive coke for 3.40 Euros, but not both. I chose the coke.”

And that is my Easyjet story.

Solitary Exposure

Posted on January 2, 2015 by aitayemi

Solitary Exposure

Who am I? Where am I going? Why am I going?

As we went on the expressway towards Bonn, I am seated at the front of the bus, just behind and to the right of the driver. I snap a picture now and then when I see something interesting in the landscape. Looks more like the countryside.

It struck me that 70 years ago, I would not have stood a chance. Even if I was alive, I would have either been in a concentration camp or making my way fearfully across the country in an attempt to escape. Along with the other “undesirables” such as the gypsies, the Jews, the invalid, the disabled, the colored, I would have fallen under the war machine of the Third Reich and threshed completely or turned into a bloody pulp of blood and gore on their wrathful wine-press.

But there I was seated in full view, just as cold as the next person, one ticket conferring equality on me just as the same with every passenger on the bus.
Thank God for the past, thank God for the present, and thank God for the future, because despite the violent darkness that shrouds the whole world, there are streaks of hope breaking through to light our way.

Thank God for Germany and her people: for rising above the past and surely not forgetting and being watchful. Hitler might have been an aberration. A mutant. But he was in good company of men like Goebbels , Dr Mengele, Himmler … So mutations are not so uncommon as one would hope.

But yet, for the believers, we hold on to 1 John 3:2 which means “perfection”:
“Beloved, now are we the sons of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be: but we know that, when he shall appear, we shall be like him; for we shall see him as he is.”

Between Bonn and Bad Honnef (1:58PM 02-Jan-2014)

I check in to the hotel. I had to go back and forth between a couple of banks down the road and the hotel. The hotel doesn’t accept debit cards and then I had to transfer money between my savings and current account since my ATM debit card was only linked to the current account. I have completed a couple of forms to have this fixed at my bank but I guess some requests never make it past the customer service desk.
Finally I had the cash.
The room is spacious enough with two beds side by side.
I take a shower.

I made the call.

Probably will get no response.
Nothing.
Well actually not nothing. Just some recorded voice in German which I assume said I should leave a message.

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I do not have the right adapter for my laptop’s power supply so once I run down the battery, I am without “eyes” on the Internet. I have the phone though so I can still peep in.

The whole day was before me. A stranger in a strange land. I decided to go for a walk after I ran down the battery of the laptop.

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I have got lost several times in Amsterdam. So a little German town won’t faze me. The street names are just as strange and slightly similar. The cold is still getting under my fleece and leather jacket. And I can certainly feel it on my thighs through my pair of black jeans. But I feel extra alive so I walk on.

The Germans are known for their love of – or strive for perfection. “Engineered to perfection”. Benz anyone? Lots of nice small German machines on the road. There is “money” in this town. But no pretense at royalty or over abundance of wealth thereby making up for some character flaw. Like some people back home but I guess same applies in all countries – if you look closely enough.

A lady walks up to me. Tomboyish. She asks if I speak English. She needs a bus to some tongue twisting place. She could be Scandinavian from her English. Said someone directed her to the bus stop across the road but her stop is not listed on the small plaque displaying the destinations. I am a visitor myself. She asks about the rail station. I was able to point her in the general direction. I told her to ask as she goes along. Not very many people on the streets though.

There is a young boy dragging a trolley bag coming the opposite way. Probably early teens. I stop to take a picture. He crosses the road to the other side well before we meet and continues on his way. Our eyes meet a couple of times. We fear what we don’t know. I might be the bogeyman but he’s too young to be a mugger.

This street surely has an end?

Or is it a test? The short responses. The “no” responses. It is just me.

“If she’s worth it you won’t quit. If you quit you aren’t worthy“. Saw that on Facebook.

Surely Facebook has made it as informal references into some academic theses by now? What happens if Facebook goes under? I guess same thing as when referenced books go out of print.

I come across a lady with a cute dog. I ask if I can take its picture. She said why not. Stood by me and tried to get the dog to look at the camera.
She said something that sounded like “ah-cee, ah-cee whaa-whaa”. I think it means stop or stay.

Ah! It’s not an end but there’s a definite curve to the road. I am flanked by two kings: Jesus, heavenly king on the left. Ceasar, earthly king on the right. Narrower is the way … I hear the bell toll just then for whom it will. Actually it marked 7pm.

I go on past the little church. Further down I see an overhead bridge.
I shall take the overhead bridge as its end. It thins out and splits into several roads there. A car just rolled to a stop. I could have sworn I head its rims scraping the Tarmac. But then it continued on its way on one of the smaller roads and was soon out of sight round the bend. I am retracing my steps. Can’t be less than 40mins. What goes down must come up.

I can barely control my fingers anymore. They are numb.

There is snow on the ground.

There is a full moon out.

Must be some iconic church to be preserved in the middle of the road. Have I captured some piece of the Templars code on film? Can I decipher it to get to the source of unlimited wealth or the holy grail?

A lady runs by me to her car in front. I thought she was the one that gave off the strong smell of tobacco. But it was an older gentleman parked on the curb. He was just starting his car to take off and he had a big fat tobacco in his mouth. The inner light of his car was on. He looked directly at me as I stared at him in turn.

A middle age gentleman stood in front of a compound with a dog whose mane would arouse the jealousy of some lions especially considering its relative size.
I crossed the road and approach the man while at the same time taking off my head warmer. The cold should not make for any preconceived stereotypes but given that I haven’t come across any black faces since I arrived, better to do everything to appear “less” threatening. I smiled broadly and asked if I could take a picture of the dog. He apologized that his English isn’t so good. So I held my hands in front of me like I was holding a camera and pointed at the dog. Oh. Sure. He says.

I am back at the beginning. I take a picture of one side of the room.

Where are you.

8:15pm Bad Honnef

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Saturday starts slowly.

Then you came along.

Then Saturday ends too quickly.

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Sunday morning, I check out of the hotel and pop into the neighborhood Catholic church. The service is in German. I stay just inside the door. I close my eyes for a couple of minutes and say hi to God.

Then it’s up the hill.

I am going back. I am at the airport.

It was nice seeing you. No. More than nice. Great.

Solitary once again.

The long weekend

Posted on December 15, 2014 by aitayemi

The long weekend

“Christ, what’re you doing?!” Said my aunt looking at me like I just pooped on her Persian rug.
“Are you asking me or asking Christ?” I said, looking as innocently as the mutt who sat beside me on the couch. I couldn’t help my self.
“Young man, don’t be fresh with me. What happened to the last one?”
“She split.”
“Split in two like an orange?” she said. Ah! There was the comeback. The old lady still had it in her.
“No wonder you are alone. When you can’t even talk like a regular human. Using all these slang like split, and so on.” She didn’t include the “fresh” she used herself. But I wasn’t about to point that out.
“What you need is some common sense and a whole lot of Jesus.”
“Hallelujah!” I said.

There was a sound like a thunder clap and I couldn’t see for a few seconds. Which reminded me I was talking to a matriarch from the “home country”. You are never too old for certain “things” with one of them.

“There you go. Giving me lip!”
“Dear Jesus. What would your father say to that? I am sure the poor man is turning in his grave.”
Now that hit where it hurt and she knew it. I looked everywhere but at her. The dog returned my stare. It had the “I told you so look” on its face. I looked at the wall. There was my dad looking down at me kindly. Which didn’t make me feel any less guilty. Finally I looked at my aunt. She just looked back with this open expression on her face I could not read.

There were just three of us in the house.
One couldn’t understand why I was taking up valuable comfortable space on its couch.
The second couldn’t understand why I couldn’t get it together.
The third – myself – I regretted not tucking my tail between my legs and running away as fast as possible when I got the “summons”. Instead I decided to show up and take it like a man. It was going to be a long weekend.

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Apologies for the “incompleteness” of the story. Woke up with only the first two lines in my mind. Tried hard to make something of it. 🙂

Arr-woof!

Posted on December 6, 2014 by aitayemi

Arr-woof!

Before you scoff and move one, I would ask you to put aside your convictions and your prejudices for a minute or two. I am sure you would say dogs can’t read. What if I were to say dogs can’t read braille? Right? Right? Of course dogs don’t need to read braille. How many healthy blind dogs have you seen around? (No offence meant to humans please). But that doesn’t necessarily mean dogs can’t read braille, does it? But let’s leave that aside for the moment.

I once had a dog called Zulu. He was small and cute and cuddly, but not to lie through the rose-colored lens of remembrance (of the past), he was also a mongrel. Now there is nothing wrong with being a mongrel. I just thought I should state that fact: if on top of that, you still want to think of me as a member of the bourgeois, go right ahead.

Since Zulu was relatively small, it could get away with some of those things you see kittens or cats do in all those YouTube videos such as walking all over the keyboard of my desktop computer or generally just being all playful up on my desk where I wouldn’t even allow a tiny tort to go near.

I didn’t realize there was method to the madness of his playfully hugging my system. When he gets up to it, I just use the excuse to take a break. The reality hit me when I got a pink slip it appeared I had specifically ordered. You see, I lost my first job when Zulu decided I wasn’t giving him enough attention and proceeded to send a resignation letter on my behalf to my boss. It wouldn’t have been so bad if he hadn’t included in the letter all those one hundred things (and names) I would have gladly said to him, or called him to his face if I had been brave enough. So any thoughts of trying to get that job back was a no-no.

Fortunately, he (Zulu) found me my next job as penance for the one he cost me. You see, after seeing me mope around the house and verbalizing certain suicidal thoughts, he went online and applied for several jobs I wasn’t even smart enough to use Google to find. I suddenly found myself with an offer letter and I was back on top!

Things were OK once again in Neverland. But suddenly Zulu disappeared just as suddenly as he had come into my life. That’s of course another story, but the short version was that I was trudging along in the rain one day, when a car pulled over beside me. Thinking the occupant was someone I knew or maybe the person was going to offer me a ride, I went closer and the window came down. The chap behind the wheel handed me a small carton and said “Hey bro, would you hold this while I get out of the car?” I think it was the combination of the appellation “bro” and the involuntary reaction when someone has already stretched out his hands that made me accept the box. I moved back to give him space to get out of the car, but instead, the window went back up and he was out of there like the Cerberus* was on his tail. I was still looking after the rapidly vanishing car in confusion when I head the whimpering coming from the little box in my hand. I opened it to see this very tiny thing with liquid eyes looking up at me, and that was how I became a dog whisperer.

But back to the recent present. Zulu’s disappearance! I was frantic for a couple of days and really considered logging a missing person report with the local police station, but I suspected I might be charged to court with wasting public resources or the time of an officer of the law. I must have chewed through a box of pencils (something I learnt from Zulu) when on the fourth day or so, while staring bleakly at my screen, a mail arrived from Zulu.

As to be expected from a very advanced member of his specie, there was no apology but a very bubbly note telling me that it had signed up to accompany the space shuttle Rosetta on its comet-meeting journey knowing fully well it a walk in the dark up a one-way alley (if there is any such thing). It was all of course hush-hush even till today so as not to infuriate any animal rights people, even though he made the decision completely sane of mind and under no duress etcetera etcetera.

I had resigned myself to missing him and I had got into the rhythm of once again living life without a dog (it was taking a sizable chunk of my pay to feed him and treat him anyway). But then one day, I was channel surfing when I happened upon a Snoop Dogg (now Snoop Lion) video on Channel-O. I caught the tail end of the video and I could have sworn I saw Zulu having a good old time in the background. It took me some days to lay hands on the video since I didn’t know the title of the song and wasn’t actually sure it was Zulu anyway. But when I finally did, I was still almost a 100% sure it was him – but then didn’t he take off into space several years ago? I then naturally became an official fan of Snoop’s videos and went on to see the same dog several times. It was of course trying to behave like a regular canine but its “moves” from time to time gave it away as being much smarter. How many dogs have you seen sipping on pina coladas and whistling at the ladies?

That was when I had the brilliant idea of contacting Snoop Dogg’s (Snoop Lion) publicist or manager. After sending several missives intimating my desire to get together with Snoop Dogg (Snoop Lion) to discuss some urgent dogging business, I guess the chap or lady at the other end (Snoop cub or Snoop Lioness or Snoop Sec) got fed up and sent me a specially autographed picture of Snoop Dogg (Snoop Lion). But there was also a letter in the delivery box which to cut a long story short said “We appreciate all our fans, but the big dog would really like you to stop dogging him. If the dog in the video is truly yours, make your own music video asking it to come home. We promise to get you some airplay.”

Which would have been wonderful if I could sing. That was the dilemma facing me until recently. Oh. I did I mention there was a paw print at the back of the picture?

Which finally brings us to the main subject of this post.

You see, a couple of months ago, my car took a dunking (I repeat again, I wasn’t drunk – it was very late at night and very dark). The net effect was that the engine had to be changed and the car is still not back to it’s “pre-M-Phelps” days. So I was surfing the web yesterday for a cheap stand-in when I came up an ’06 no-accident version of my car on OLX going for a third of the cost of my own 3-year-used-on-bad-Nigerian-roads ’05 model! As it was a Sunday, I sent an SMS asking about the car rather than disturb “Ms A.”

Bright and early this morning, I got an SMS from the contact. I decided Whatsapp might be a better medium of communication and was lucky to find she was also on there with her picture in all her Custom’s uniform glory probably just “clearing” a car for some lucky dude.

After ruminating on how so-so lucky I was for a while and how certain recent events had almost made me think my life was a “dog”, Zulu suddenly crossed my mind. Which was when it struck me that if Zulu could be on a space shuttle in outer-space, and cavorting with Snoop Dogg (Snoop Lion) on video shoots at the same time, what stops him from being in a third place such as in the front of a remote computer or smart phone pretending to be Ms A and pranking me?

Not that I am saying Ms A is a dog, far from it. In fact isn’t everything on OLX legit and above board? Isn’t every person on their representing their true selves and completely beyond reproach? (Sarcasm – even OLX says to be cautious). If Zulu can charm the weed off Snoop Dogg (Snoop Lion), getting Ms A to do his bidding should be literally a “walk in the park” for him, right? He could be sitting next to Ms A, smoking weed, and going “Yeah, yeah, say that to him. He’s going to fall for it. Just wait a minute. He’s going to come round and pony up that N10,000. Stingy bas***d! Can you believe how much he makes in a month and he won’t let go of 10K?! without wasting your Internet data?”

But then Ms A could definitely be Zulu just trying to take the mickey out of me. But rather than “scream foul”, I decided to play along and see how far the conspiracy goes. After all, she’s only asking for N10,000 of my hard-earned money and if it was indeed Zulu, he would of course return it to me after being satisfied he’s taught me a lesson.

Epilogue (what’s a great story without one)

Ms A was not one to give up on N10,000 so easily. I got a couple of calls a few days apart from her second number. I just ignored it. The one time I did talk to her briefly, she didn’t sound anything like she looked in her Whatsapp profile. She sounded younger and hesitant (unsure).

Well, if it’s you out there Zulu, enjoy your dog-life! And if not, then Ms A, you need to try harder. But be careful not to work yourself into a pair of handcuffs OK? Good!

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*Cerberus in Greek and Roman mythology, is a multi-headed dog, or “hellhound” with a serpent’s tail, a mane of snakes, and lion’s claws. He guards the entrance of the underworld to prevent the dead from escaping and the living from entering.

Santa’s Stopover (in Lagos)

Posted on November 17, 2014 by aitayemi

Santa’s Stopover (in Lagos)

That’s not a bad thing, is it? Some positive news out of Nigeria for a change. But still we need to explore how we came to make such a bold statement.

Let’s talk about Santa for a minute. It’s obvious that there is no electricity at the North Pole. And Santa like everyone else needs heat for himself and his working elves. The North Pole is a cold place. So for heat, Santa resorts to carting lumber from far and wide to his humble abode to provide heat and light for the elves to see by in order to make toys for all the boys and girls that have been good the whole year. But in these days of everything having to be politically correct and for very good reasons, Santa has had to be more selective in where he sources the lumber and how frequently. Unfortunately, the last time we checked, the European nuclear energy commission has not started issuing private citizens licenses to run private nuclear power stations. And in case you are wondering, Santa is an ordinary citizen like you and I: the law doesn’t recognize magic, or magical beings, so no special treatment is accorded to them.

On top of that, there was a mutiny (don’t blame Rudolf the snub-nosed reindeer, he just naturally found himself spearheading the mutiny as a result of his popularity) among Santa’s reindeer herd: they decided it was too much hard-work hauling wood from the far reaches of the planet all year round.
A “seat down” resulted in an agreement that Santa would seek alternate and modern power sources. There was once again peace in paradise after that. But Santa was left in a dilemma: how to provide heat and light if all the toys are to be made before the 25th of December.

But enough about Santa, let’s come down to earth – the real earth for a minute. Nigeria that is. Lagos to be specific. A waterlogged corner of the state to be candid.

You see there is a rat in my humble abode. Over time we have come to some sort of truce: anything I leave out is fair game, in return anything that’s covered is safe from the rat’s sharp teeth. As long as the truce is respected, I won’t resort to more drastic measures such as “rat killer”, and the rat won’t chew my hard-earned professional certificates. In addition, the rat won’t invite more members of its clan to come hang out in my apartment. Fair enough I think.
This seems to work for quite a while until recently the pattern changed? In fact, even though I know that rats are dexterous to an extent with their front paws, certain containers and their contents have experienced some reductions which had me a little concerned not because of the missing bits but the far reaching implications that if it was indeed the rat that had been able to get into my child-lock containers, then I was in more trouble than I dare to imagine. (I found out later it was Santa’s elves trying to see if they can adapt to the local food but they found most of it ultimately too spicy for their “cold” taste buds)

So there I was all suspicious of the rat, when in fact I had a more serious issue on my hands.

You see, Santa had somehow got wind of the dispute between my landlord and PHCN (Power Holding Corporation of Nigeria). And the fact that while the dispute remained unresolved, any electricity consumed was likely to sink into some un-metered hole.
Thus parking up everything that goes into making the gifts and toys (including his army of elves), he had for the very first time in known history deserted the cold and lifeless north pole in search of warmer climes.
But of course realizing that I would say no to having an “industry” installed in my little apartment, he had resorted to some clandestine tactics: become nonpaying tenants.

I have to admire his tenacity though. Because surrounding my castle, sorry, my landlord’s house, is a moat capable of swallowing a 4×4 wheel-drive car whole. If you don’t believe me, just look at the pictures below of my car and honest I hadn’t been drinking. I just didn’t realize that the moat had had an extra topping of water.

But what’s a little pool to Santa and his reindeer drawn buggy? Tyres might find no grip, but surely it’s nothing to the magical hooves of Santa’s reindeer.

Anyway, it’s obvious that once I and my other two housemates (my cousin and a friend) leave the house (without fail every morning usually before 7AM) , Santa sets up shop and his elves get to work making toys and running up my electricity bill. Under the mistaken believe that it won’t count. I can’t blame them him of course since there is no functional meter in any of the apartments.

You are probably wondering how I came about this tall tale about Santa running his toy making enterprise out of my apartment. Let me put it this way: how else does one account for the electricity bill below if not as a result of some huge industry concern running up the bill?

NOTE: My bill is the N102,773.54 (other flat occupants’ names have been redacted by me).

Below are just two (un)funny extracts from the letter above:

1. “… without prejudice …” Thank the heavens for “without prejudice”! If it had been “with prejudice”, we might as well have been asked to just hand over our chequebooks, and as far as I know Santa doesn’t have any bank accounts. I suspect his loot, sorry, goodies are probably hidden at the base of some rainbow by very grumpy leprechauns!

2. “… poised to serve you better ….”. More like “… poised to skin and gut you like a fish hombre!”

You might notice that the bill is for a month. After cracking my head trying to figure out how I could have generated such a bill given that the supply from the mains happen maybe thrice a week for the whole of say four hours per day and the fact that I am out of the apartment for most of the day, the only sane conclusion I could reach was that it would take something magical to run up such a bill and somehow draw the electricity from the nearest power station even after PHCN had thrown the off switch at their end.

The only magical being I know that still has a sizeable following is Santa.

Having come to this shocking conclusion, I tried to catch Santa in the act. But of course no matter how hard I try, my smarts were no match for the millennial-old Santa.

So one particularly exasperating day, I left a note on the dining table addressed to “Dear Santa”. It made me feel like a kid asking for a toy. Not that I wrote any dear Santa letters when I was younger though, it was something you see in the movies, because in those days, our “Santas” were mostly young men with obviously fake white beards who sat in a “grotto” into which we were matched one at a time. You more often than not never got what you really wanted because all the cheap gifts Santa had was in a sack by his side and you were likely to get cuffed if you ask for something outrageous such as a bike: that was selfish of course, because if Santa were to fit your bicycle in his tiny sack, how would there be space for the presents for the other kids who were in the line behind you with their parents?

Now here is the kicker. By the time I got home, there was an apology letter from Santa waiting for me, he started off by complaining about the heat. He hadn’t realized that the tropical bright sunshine came with so much heat. He then complained about the difficulty of getting good quality raw materials from the market. While I was wondering why he didn’t just have it shipped in, it was as if he read my mind already, because the very next line was a complaint about how difficult it is to ship anything into the country and the complicated route it takes to clear the goods even after arrival at the ports. He went on to express his shock that Santa was expected to pay inflated duty on imported goods all of which are going to end up as free toy and gifts to the children of the world. I couldn’t help but wonder if it’s because no typical Nigerian kid can claim to have received an after-hour visit from Santa or found a full hanging socks come morning. On the other hand, I thought I had better cut Santa some slack, after all the weather is so hot that we have no need of a fireplace hence no houses have chimneys so how do we expect Santa to get into the houses? Front doors are so uncool and who know what booby-trap is waiting inside the back door.

Unfortunately since Santa runs a not-for-profit NGO, the indefinite IOU he offered me is of little use: I think he forgets that unlike him, I have a finite lifespan.

In addition, I understand that in place of supplying new functional meters (which the landlord needs to pay for), the offer has been made for each flat to pay a flat fee of N15,000 per flat per month. Talk of being between the devil and the deep blue sea. Maybe we should say the leviathan (just needed an excuse to use that word!) and the deep blue sea.

Thus I have decided to ask all and sundry for the contact details of a “reasonable” and “reasonably high” PHCN official one can appeal to. If you are chummy with such a person, kindly “zap” me with his or her number (hey,w e are talking electricity right, so zap is not too out there).

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Fortunately, Santa has since moved on (he felt he was between a rock and a hard place given the heat and the mosquitoes) and I don’t see why I should have to pay for magical electricity I never used and which was somehow billed despite a nonfunctional meter. (But the house is still disconnected from the electric grid).

So if your child turns over his or her Christmas gift this year and instead of the “Made in China” label, it reads “Made in Nigeria”, and then looks at you inquiringly, just smile and say “Santa took a detour this year, honey.”

And while you are at it, please don’t forget to whip out a map of the world and show him where Nigeria is (on the map), because contrary to popular believe in some quarters, Africa is NOT a country!

Illumination

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Category Archives: Uncategorized

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