On communication...

Communication is key.

Key to what? I can hear you ask? Well… just to about everything.

Think about it. No one and I mean absolutely NO ONE lives in a vacuum. We fight, love, work, live, play with/to/for someone else or a group of other people. All that we are, all that we do is always done within the framework of interactions with other people.

One of the distinctive traits of Homo sapiens is that our mode of communication is verbalized and even more, has been codified into written text that potentially endures forever.
The written word made it possible for ideas and plans to be spread and consumed by others not immediately in the vicinity of the author. And such ideas were not corrupted as is wont to happen when the mode of communication was solely verbal.

This is why it is very important to make sure that you understand and are understood by the people you interact with on a daily basis.

I remember once at an AIESEC International conference where the delegates were from all around Europe with the attendant mix of languages you would expect. English happens to be the official language of AIESEC and conferences were run in English. A French speaker was trying very hard to convey her ideas during a “State of the World” session. You could NOT miss the passion and enthusiasm she had for this particular topic. But she struggled to translate this passion into coherent English sentences as she was doing something a lot of young people do: speaking from the heart.

The only problem was that the words went from her heart to that part of her brain that controls her language skills and straight into French. It then spent a few nanoseconds being translated into English. Those few nanoseconds of delay were enough to completely jumble the end-product. She wasn’t really making her point.

And then the facilitator of the session did something really remarkable.

He asked her to stop and then to make her point from the beginning, but this time in French.

She looked him at him in slight confusion as she knew there were probably one or two other native French speakers in the 15 member group.

And then she did just that. And oh my Goodness did that mademoiselle flow or what? Where she was showing her passion for the topic in her halting English, she BECAME the passion, speaking her native language.

After speaking for a good 3mins without pause, the facilitator then asked her to repeat what she just said in English. She did with perfect grammar and enunciation! Apparently, after having taken the words from her heart and spewed it out in her primary language of communication, and placing it in the realm of verbalization her brain was freed up to make the singular action of transcribing into her second language. Any wonder that people who speak 2 languages fluently remain mentally alert for a far longer period?

But why do I bring this up?

Apparently I have had an enemy at my workplace without knowing it for the last 6 months!!!

My brother from another mother had a slew of catch-phrases and sayings that became part of our lingua franca during my time in Sweden. One of the most popular was “Are you crazy or what?” which he usually used when we were having an argument or discussion. Or when he was presented with a choice of walking home through inches of snow in sub zero temp instead of catching the bus.

From the context given above, “Are you crazy or what?” obviously translates into “Are you kidding me” or “You can’t be serious!”

Well this was a catch-phrase I started to use quite frequently but ONLY with people I deemed were close or close-to-being-close friends. I am not entirely insensitive. I have a few of those kind of friends at work and routinely used said catch-phrase in discussions. Now apparently six months ago, while in a discussion with a close-to-being-close friend/colleague about Rugby and football as major sports, an Indian 'not-so-close' colleague walked in and tried to join the conversation by suggesting that cricket was the best sport in the world.

“Are you crazy or what?” I retorted! “Where I come from, cricket is an insect”!

I didn’t notice at the time but he was shocked beyond words and told other colleagues I had asked him if he was mentally unstable!

I finally heard this story today and had to stop myself from laughing out loud. Here I was taking the piss (as they quaintly say here in NZ) and he had stopped talking to me for the last 6 months! Without me noticing! The poor fellow!

I tried to give the explanation above to him telling him I wasn’t questioning his mental capacity (or stability) and that it was just a remark I used and that I thought he was a great guy! I am not entirely sure how far I suceeded.

Communication is an art. It is definitely not a science with clear-cut rules and results. It changes from person to person, culture to culture, age to age, period to period!
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The Nigerian Super Eagles, the national football team of the nation somehow managed to scrape into the quarter-finals of the ongoing African Nations Cup currently being hosted in Ghana. This after a couple of dismal performances, with no goal scored and relying on another team to beat another to go through. If we hadn’t qualified, it would have been the first time since 1982 that Nigeria hadn’t reached the semi-final of the competition! I was getting echoes of the All-Blacks at the last Rugby world cup.

They say football is about the only thing that manages to unite all 130 million inhabitants (including another few million in diaspora) of the country. And I could definitely understand why, when on reading the headline “Stuttering Eagles through to Quarter-finals” my day took a considerable leap J

And yet it is a testament to our pedigree that after the miracle of qualifying (yup there had to be a divine presence there) we are suddenly favourites for the cup again. Which we always were! We meet the Ghanaian national team next. Ghana happens to be one of our most bitter rivals and they had the measure of us in the 70’s and early 80’s. Of course in recent decades, we have had the upper hand but they are the host nation and although they haven’t REALLY impressed in their group games, as hosts and given OUR performances we go into the match as under-dogs. Ah well… thank goodness we qualified for the quarters at least!

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SHARING MY FRIENDS

Name: Caroline Kathambi Kiangura (otherwise known as CK)

Time I have known her: Going on to 7 years now

Location: VSO Nairobi Kenya

Memorable moment:

Getting our car towed in Surulere Lagos and having to literally spend hours trying to get it back from the impound. Ejiro was there as well and the three of us completely wasted the whole day and ended up having to pay a bribe 5 times the amount of the fine just to ensure we got the car back that same day and not one week later! I will never forget the image of Kathambi confronting the boss of the Impound and demanding the keys of the car.

She clearly conveyed the message that although he was taking our money, he would never ever rise above his present station in life, while we on the other hand could comfortably afford whatever he demanded from us. I swear I saw some kind of faint realization dawn in the man’s eyes as though some powerful wizard had just cursed him!

What I like about her:

Her forthrightness and refusal to take sh^* out of anybody! Whether it was from a service station attendant or her closest friend, CK was sure to let you know exactly what she thought and she never compromises on her ideals.

Other comments:

Ck came to Nigeria on a traineeship as a slightly over-pampered Daddy’s girl. Like she told us, the year spent in the bustling mega-polis of Lagos was a formative one for her. She had left the safety of the nest and struck out on her own to gain a little bit of independence. She gained a WHOLE lot in the end. That year mostly spent in the company of Ejiro, Labake, Muhammed, Eze and sometimes Bosun where we partied, fought, led a national organization and generally did a bit of growing up together remain ever-green in my memory and Kathambi stands in the centre of those memories!
I promised her that I would name one of my daughters (yes “one of”) Kathambi. I still intend to keep that promise

Kathambi, if you are reading this… I hope the madness in your beautiful country subsides soon. Thinking of you no matter the distance! Great pictures of you and Bimdi!

My Creative Muse is Back…!

In Greek mythology, the Muses (Greek Μοῦσαι, Mousai: perhaps from the Proto-Indo-European root *men- "think") are a sisterhood of goddesses or spirits, their number set at nine by Classical times, who embody the arts and inspire the creation process with their graces through remembered and improvised song and stage, writing, traditional music, and dance. They were water nymphs, associated with the springs of Helicon and with Pieris, from which they are sometimes called the Pierides. The Olympian system set Apollo as their leader, Apollon Mousagetēs. Not only are the Muses explicitly used in modern English to refer to an inspiration, as when one cites his/her own artistic muse, but they are also implicit in the words "amuse" or "musing upon" - From Wikipedia.org

Writing can be very hard.

Especially when someone else is required to read what you write. I mean, the millions of blogs being maintained is proof that anyone can write. But a much fewer number can actually write and get other people to read what they wrote. From beginning to end with total and rapt attention.

If I was a Greek writer in mythological times, my creative muse - (who would naturally be a sexy, drop-dead gorgeous, covered-in-wispy-transparent-robes female humanoid) - would be perched on my shoulder. She would be whispering ancient lore and tales of long ago into my ear, massaging my head when the ideas she put there threaten to overwhelm me, and shrieking in delight when I managed to put the heavenly and out-of-this-world stuff she is feeding me, into coherent words mere mortals might understand!

Of course, being a creature of pure creativity she is very easily distracted and is apt to wander away from her primary subject if she does not get the stimulus she needs to continue to fulfil her role. Most artists understand this and are constantly on the lookout for opportunities to indulge their muse. Trips to unexplored countries; conversations with total strangers; the laughter of children; making love under the stars in a green wood meadow; getting drunk in the red-light downtown district, any of these could be a trigger for loads of new material from your creativity. Or your Muse J

Some have reported that smoking cannabis is a sure-fire way to get your muse engaged actively with you. Most would swear that artists in a cannabis (or drug induced) addled state have actual conversations with their muses who although otherwise invisible, become solid and real to their charges. This physical manifestation to their charges takes a huge toll on the poor creatures and it takes more and more quantities of the drug in question to get the muse to appear.

Finally, in a fit of desperation and in an attempt to be left alone and not appear so strongly in our plane of existence, the muse will bestow on her charge her most powerful story/music/idea. Most charges don’t survive this blast of creativity and usually expire soon afterwards. Think of all those famous painters and musicians who created masterpieces and classics. And who were undoubtedly mad as a hatter!

Not all artists run mad however, some merely neglect their muses and forget to achieve that level of balance that is needed for a mutually beneficial relationship. Others get that balance perfectly but almost all artists at one point or the other allow their muse to wander away and have to go to great lengths to coax her back!

Me, I seem to be on a roll. J

I ignored my blog and did no writing whatsoever for almost a month over the Christmas and New Year period. Is it co-incidental that the level of uncertainty surrounding Temi’s trip to NZ was highest over this period? And that I suddenly cannot stop posting on my blog AFTER I got the call the ticket was bought and paid for? Is there a connection to be made here?

Summer in New Zealand

I took a walk down to the main thoroughfare street in Auckland’s CBD today.

Queen Street is arguably the most popular street in Auckland city. It is maybe a kilometre - or two - long (I am very bad with distances) and one end leads to the waterfront club district known as the Viaduct; while the other end takes you towards the motorway which will take you away from central Auckland. A lot of adjacent streets are quite famous in their own right; like the Victoria street which houses the Sky-Tower, tallest structure in the southern hemisphere.

Or so they say.

Queen Street just underwent a MAJOR upgrading and beautification exercise which saw the expansion of the pedestrian walkways, addition of benches and general work to make it more user-friendly to pedestrians. And the pedestrians were out in full force today.

It is the middle of summer here in Auckland and although the day today is a bit overcast and cloudy, there is still a very nice humid feel to the air. The kind that brings to mind a June day in Lagos. And the afore-mentioned pedestrians dressed the part! T-Shirts, Tank-tops, skimpy shorts, spaghetti tops, jandals, And oh so many different shades of shades. Sunglasses that is.

A favourite mental exercise I am constantly playing is I zero in on 2 apparent strangers and build this whole complicated history and story around the both of them. How they might be connected, what they are doing, why they are where they are… fantastic stuff! I usually end up putting these poor ‘characters’ into such ludricuos situations and dilemmas I am laughing with and to myself! Of course there was still the odd sprinkling of formally dressed people as this IS still the CBD afterall. But even these ones were seated in outdoor cafes – ties and buttons loosened – obviously having lunch and making me wonder if they intend to return to work!

The weather is one of the safest topics to cover in a conversation and in Auckland it gives more than a few talking points. Anything from the harshness of the sun – the ozone layer is thinner in this part of the world – to the fact that you can get 4 different seasons all in the same day. It has especially been a talking point in my office as the air-conditioning has broken down on my floor and we were actually asked to come to work in cool clothes as it got unbearably hot, stuffy and humid! My floor is one of those where you cant open the windows and relies heavily on the cooling system. Thank Goodness they got that fixed!

Temi was especially pleased to learn she would be arriving in the hottest month of the year. I wonder how she will cope with the cold after this especially hot summer!
Hang on…. What I am doing inside sitting at my computer blogging about the wonderful weather outside???
DUH!!!

One of the true great adventurers...

The rider to my blog is, “Musings of a Nigerian in New Zealand”

I just realized that perhaps those reading my blog are not quite getting enough of what it means to live in Aotearoa.
Take for instance, the death of Sir Edmund Hilary. The first man to reach the top of Mount Everest and a New Zealander to boot.

He was 88 years old and achieved fame 55 years ago at the age of 33 when he led an expedition to the top of the highest mountain in the world.
He was immediately knighted by a young Queen Elizabeth and became an instant celebrity.

And yet… Sir Edmund was not a celebrity in the sense of the modern day starlets and pretenders of today. He sort of epitomizes the kiwiness that permeates this country of 4 million people. He epitomizes the determination of the human spirit really.

Very unassuming and uncomfortable with any pretensions of grandeur, he is remembered in Nepal for building hospitals and schools and working tirelessly to improve the lives of the local people who have seen a different kind of adventurer attempt to conquer the slopes of Everest in recent years.

Adventurers that attempt to scale the heights for personal selfish reasons and were more likely to leave trash lying all over Everest and ignore a fellow climber who was stuck half way up with frostbite about to claim his ass.

Although constantly being overshadowed by their bigger neigbours across the Tasman Sea, Kiwis have gone and forged pioneering careers and lives across many spheres of endeavour.
I am happy so far with my sojourn in this land of the long white cloud and I hope to share those everyday instances that show what living here means, a bit more in the following months.

Meanwhile we say Adieu to perhaps the greatest New Zealander of them all.

Sir Edmund Hillary (1919-2008): The Greatest New Zealander of them all

A Masterpiece of Nature

Not too many words are necessary.

There comes a time in a man's life... nay a person (man or woman) when one has to make a decision. And a commitment.

A lot of people agonize over such a commitment. As well as they should, for it is not an easy one to make.

Mine was relatively simple and straightforward.

For it is not everyday that a Masterpiece of Nature walks into your life. You have no more power NOT to make that decision than you do NOT to breathe. Does a blind man ask not to have his sight returned? Does a lame man refuse to walk given half a chance?

Feb 04 2008 will mark my 27th birthday and the beginning of something extra special in my life.

Temitope... I wait with bated breath. 14 more days

A Friend may well be reckoned the masterpiece of nature - Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Circle of Life

My Dad's elder brother Justice Samuel Ajayi died on Saturday evening.

My last post was about the delivery of a bouncing baby boy to my brother and his wife and now this post is about the passing away of the 'one most like my Dad'.

My paternal Grandmother had 10 children. All boys. Six of them grew up to adulthood. Justice Ajayi was the second born. He was almost 76 years old and by all accounts and indices lived a very full and happy life.

When I say he was the "one most like my Dad", I mean he was a Sanguine-Choleric who was more likely to have his laugh heard from miles away and you could count on knowing exactly where you stood with him. He always seemed to be excited about something or the other and he had a booming voice that always seemed to resonate in and around everyone who was present.

If I ever wrote a story based on my Uncle, his words would always be in bold and capital letters!

"LADI-BOY! HOW ARE YOU? ARE YOUR PARENTS WELL? DON'T BE TOO MISCHEVIOUS NOW!"

I remember once I was staying in their house in Akure in South West Nigeria where he had been a High Court Judge and lived for as long as I have been alive. He was complaining about the Satellite TV and couldnt get it to work. He was in khaki shorts and a shirt and he kept striding from the living room back to the bedroom where the decoder was installed. He didnt just walk, he strode everywhere!

It was looking at my own Dad.

Ok yes, they ARE brothers. And ok yes... the Ajayi brothers look extremely alike. But not just the physical aspects which was impressive but the exclamations, the pitch of voice and his mannerisms! It was very eerie!

Rest in peace dear Uncle. My thoughts go to "Mummy 2", my beautiful aunt who had been with him for most of 45 years!

And to my dear cousins, Sta mi Bola; Uncle Bayo; Sta Dupe; A.J and; Ayokunle, may God give us all the fortitude to bear this loss! Amen!

This is a picture of Daddy 2 (as we fondly called him) with my big sister in June 2007, at my brother's wedding. It was the last time I saw him!

Welcome... welcome... to my third Nephew

My brother and his wife had a bouncing baby boy!

Said Happy event occured at 11.24am on January 07, 2008. This is their first child but it makes it number three nephew for "Uncle Ladi".

Fantastic profile shot of the newest 'Ajayi' on the block. His name is RADE (pronounced rah-DAY)

And Incidentally... the other wedding I attended in Lagos last year has also borne 'fruit'. My dear friend Eche and her husband Ade also welcomed their bouncing baby boy on the same day Jan 07, 2008. Congratulations Youse Guys!

Political Junkie

I didnt exactly grow up in a democracy.


Ibrahim Badamasi Babaginda, the aptly named 'evil genius' of Nigerian politics was the self-appointed Military President of the Federal Republic of Nigeria for 8 years. 1985-1993. He was succeeded by the worst depot of them all, Sani Abacha who ruled with a titanium fist for 5 years. He was in turned succeeded by Abubakar who stole his share for a year but duly handed over to a civilian government in 1999.


Abubakar handed over to a one-time Military Head of State (between 1976-1979) who replaced his khaki uniform with the agbada (flowing robes) of partisan politics. Unfourtunately he has been accused of being even more dictatorial than when he ruled by military fiat! He did his thing for 8 years (2 terms) and handed over to a former governor who to me has been lurching from one pillar to the next post since middle of 2007.


Needless to say, politics in Nigeria in addition to being as dirty and brutal as it is everywhere else in the world, also has the disadvantage of being played by actors with a military mentality. Winner takes all kind of thing. Acquisition of power is the end, not necessarily what to do with it when you get it. (Steal the treasury blind seems to be the prevailing wisdom)


Which is why I admit to a fascination with the ongoing Presidential campaign in the US.


Although originally a parliamentarian one, democracy in Nigeria has been modelled after the Presidential system since the 70's. Small wonder that I turn to the architects of this style of government for lessons to be learned in how to conduct the selection of who will be the leader of what they have turned into the greatest nation on earth.


I think Hilary Clinton will become the next - and first woman - President of the United States of America.


Since this is my personal blog and it is not affiliated to any news or network station, I can freely make any prediction I damn well please.


I think she will become so, first and foremost because I want her to, and Bill Clinton (what a guy!) will be back in the White House. And secondly because she has the organization and competence to be the President.


Barack Obama has rock-star appeal no doubt, and is way ahead of Clinton in actually being able to heal and unite the country to move forward. But lets face it... America is going to move forward no matter what happens. They survived Nixon and moved forward just fine. George Bush was the most clueless leader to come along in quite a while but after 9/11 America stood together behind him. (Look where its gotten them so far)


The 'glory days' of the Clinton era was marked by some of the worst partisan fighting the country had ever seen. But it still WAS the glory years of economic boom. Now, this is not the arguement for bringing back the wife.


No. The wife just happens to be this highly competent individual who BECAUSE she knows the right-wing element will be gunning for her every time will be motivated to do the right thing! And you KNOW she knows what the right thing is. Lets face it, the core bedrock of democracy is the whole checks and balances thing.


Barack Obama on the hand wants to 'change things' and run a united front. He's saying the right things and hitting the right notes but there is the small inconvenient fact that substance still seems to be lacking in his policy framework. Whether he likes it or not, he's going to have to gore some oxes and step on a few toes to get things done. Who wants someone 'learning on the job' for this particular job?


Anyway, Iowa and New Hampshire has come and gone. 1 a piece. Its good for Hilary Clinton to get bruised and shaken up on the way to the Democratic nomination. It prepares her for the general election in November.


One last thing is that when I switch one of the four TVs in the tea room at work to coverage of the US election, majority of my work-mates look at me funny. Who would want to listen to American politicians rather than watch Roger Federer demolish that poor Argentinian fellow???


A Political Junkie who wishes his home country had half the vibrancy and workability of the American system. Thats who!

On Being a Writer

It's not easy being the last of four kids.

Especially when you know your parents were planning on three.

The plan worked sufficiently long enough that my older siblings are closer in age between them than they are with me. Of course, I became the apple of my mother's eye and pretty much got away with anything short of murder as a little kid. In later years I would console myself with the fact that my existence was proof of an indomitable spirit and a pre-destined purpose upon the face of the earth. And my wonderful siblings always pointed to the answer little Gretl - the last child of the Von Trapp family in the Sound of Music - got when she asked, "Why am I always last?"

"Because you are the most special"

So although I was always able to wangle the attention I wanted as the 'baby of the house', that attention wasnt quite what I started to crave as early as my pre-teen years.

Respect.

My biggest advantage was also my biggest cross. If I was too young to do 'that kind of heavy house-work' I was certainly too young to be allowed to go on my own to the next street to play with my friends. Not without my big brother to watch over me. By the time I cottoned on to the fact that I would have to take on all the responsibilities of an adult if I wanted to be treated as one, I had a mountain to climb.

For instance, my big brother got to take the car out at a much younger age than I. As a matter of fact, the first time I took the car out on my own (at 18!!!) I had to do it without permission and damn the consequences (an ass-whupping!). But this just illustrates the point.

I was forever wanting to tag along with my brother when we were kids and he always said No! I think my big sister finally stopped seeing me solely as her 'baby brother' when I asked if I could use her house for my Valentine Day celeberations a few years ago when I was visiting her in London! My other sister, when she had her first baby, declared that I would likely be a play buddy for her son rather than an uncle. Never mind there is a 20 year age difference! (Although my nephew has some of the coolest games to play)

But what has all this got to do with being a writer?

Well, AIESEC the organization has played more than a significant role in my evolution as a person. Here was this group of extremely smart and idealistic young people my age and I found that I had a natural aptitude to charm and acquire (and bask) in the attention I got. AND because I was also able to participate in the serious discussions and plans of changing the world, I got respect as well!

There was nothing more satisfying than developing an agenda for a 5-day conference for university students and then going on before a hall full of them and delivering the developed sessions. You shared your own experiences, borrowed concepts from your partner corporate organizations and wrapped it all in an easy, no-pressure, facilitating mode of delivery!

I seriously miss those days.

But my blog has suddenly opened up a new avenue. You could argue that the delegates at those AIESEC conferences couldnt help who came up before them to explain how to change an individual's life by sending him abroad to work. They were interested in the message and not necessarily the messenger. (Maybe some people drew delegates to conferences just by being on the Facilitator's list but I dont think so!)

A blog is significantly different from preparing a session on Brand Communication. Most blogs are just a run-down of an individual's day-to-day activities and would probably attract only that individual's close friends and family. A fewer number of blogs are specialised on a particular topic/area/industry and are written by experts in these fields. These ones draw a wider audience, again because of the message

And even fewer are a combination of both categories above. A blog that shares day-to-day activities of the person involved BUT still passes across a subliminal message. That message could be philosophical, educational, social or just plain humorous.

I cannot claim to be an expert in any field. Yet. But I have had at least 4 friends email/txt/call me to ask why I havent posted on my blog for such an extended period. That - and here comes the unbelievable part - they miss my posts! For the sake of arguement, let us say these four are blinded by my friendship with them. They will read my blog no matter what. But what do you make of the emails I got from Lebanon and Colorado US from perfect strangers asking me why there was no activity on my blog??!!

Reading a blog is a conscious thing. You start-up your computer, open an internet browser, type in the address (or click on it in your favorites) and settle down to read. The fact there is ONE individual (never mind two) who I havent met reading my inane writings...!!!

Way beyond cool!

This is attention AND respect on a whole new level. How must an individual like J.K Rowling feel when she browses the internet and sees the independent websites - nay... the industry! - that has sprung up to discuss/criticize/analyze/exploit/inform/mis-inform/praise the adventures of the teenage boy-wizard she created. All the while making tons of money of course!

I have always had a fertile imagination. I like to think I have a way with words. Verbally and in writing. I think its very satisfying to create - write - something that other people will consume (read) AND enjoy consuming (reading). And while they enjoy it, you can plant any number of ideas, messages or teachings within the prose you have created. Ideas/Messages/teachings that can go on to trigger a chain reaction, get people to act, to change or demand change...

...but now I am getting carried away!

One key aspect of being an agent of change is to first find something you care very deeply about. Then evaluate what things you are very good at. And then try and marry these two together. I care very deeply about a lot of things. Family, Football, Politics, Good Governance and how to make a million dollars without stirring off your bum.

And I am very good at talking. And writing. Hmmmm...

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SHARING MY FRIENDS

NAME: Segun Yewande and Toyin

Time I have known them: My Whole Life

Memorable Moments with Them:

SEGUN/

LOCATION: Lagos Nigeria (National Business Development Mgr DHL/DPWN Nigeria)
I was a freshman in university and my brother was already in his 3rd year in the same institution. My mum had charged my brother with making sure I was well and truly orientated to my new life. My brother pulled up in front of Queens Hall, one of the female halls of residence and said, "Thats where all the 'happening' girls stay". He dropped me off in my faculty, wished me luck and drove away. Gotta love that guy!

TOYIN

LOCATION: London UK. (Treasury Dept, MTV Studios)

My second sister was always the creative, athletic, poetic one. Keeping diaries, writing poems as gifts, competing for her high school in the sprints. She seemingly never had time for me. She wrote about the people in her life in one of her many little books and summarized each person in a few words. My Dad was, "the wise and discerning one". My mum was, "my strength and inspiration" to her. My brother was, "a buddy and confidante" or at least it was something along those lines. I cant really remember. The only one I clearly remember was the one she wrote about me, "A Pain in the Neck".

My folks were a bit hesitant in showing me what my sister, who I idolized had written about me, for fear of hurting my feelings. They couldnt really comprehend it when I jumped up for joy and went about for the rest of the week preening at the description.

At least it showed she noticed me!

YEWANDE

LOCATION: London UK. (Stay at home Mum of 2 bustling boys)

I had always had a strange relationship with my sister growing up. We got along best when we were away from each other. She attended a boarding school and during term, we would exchange these flowery letters delcaring how much we missed each other and couldnt wait for the holidays when she would be able to teach me the new snack invented in school or some such other event to look forward to.

Which was why my folks and the other two were always puzzled when she came home and within a couple of days, we would be at each other's throats. She is the first-born in more than name. Yewande is the no-nonsense uncomprising (at least back then) leader. "My way or the High Way" sums it up pretty much. And I was the over-pampered last born used to getting my way. Who the hell did she think she was trying to order me to pick up my clothes myself???

The first time I visited her in London after she had moved there on finishing university in Nigeria, it was the middle of winter. I fell asleep on the floor in the living room watching cable and I half-woke up to find my sister putting a pillow under my head and covering me with a thick duvet whispering to herself, "...do you want to catch cold you silly boy".

I probably never told her this but that moment marked a turning point in the way I understood and viewed her.

OTHER COMMENTS:

The fact that you share the same DNA and blood with someone does not guarantee that you will get along with that person. Some of the bitterest enemies I know are family. I consider myself lucky that I am friends with all my siblings and they epitomize that line in Baz Luhrman's 'Sunscreen':

"...Be nice to your siblings. They are the best link to your past and are most likely to stick with you in the future..."

From left to right: Yewande, Segun, Toyin and yours truly

Being Sanguine

Sometimes I hate being right!


Being sanguine has it uses. Nothing gets you down, you always have a sunny disposition and things always seem to work out the way you want them to.


Except for those inconvenient moments when reality sinks in and you realize the whole world isnt going to get along and be happy! Which is what...? oh... only like every other hour or so!


Even when you do admit that things arent swimming along and people might actually be mad at each other or (horror!!!) even at you, you fully except them to kiss, make up and continue to be happy in a short period of time. And when you cajole and try to convince them to make up - and they dont - you know you just need to whack them over the head or kick them in the behind for them to see things your way and keep the utopian peace.

Would that it were so simple or easy!

My ftp account on nomadlife had expired and I just got Dody the admin/owner/innovator of the site to renew it. I have kept a copy of his reply so when the site gets bought for a billion dollars... I can sell his reply email and make a few quid myself.