"Daisy of Love* is breaking new grounds by centering on a bravely unattractive woman."-verysmartbrothas.com
*Dumb show, only surpassed by the Flavour/Rock of Love series, determined to minimise the IQ to the merest decimals.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Bar Prep
Tomorrow is the end of the beginning. I begin to prepare for the New York bar exam, the final stage in my American adventure. I am nervous, nervous, nervous. I wonder shall I be able to cram??? Is my mind ready? Will my brain fry in the July heat? Does plantain taste like fried banana? Will the two months go Über fast? Will I have hair left at the end of this time and for goodness sake, when will Jem and the Holograms return to our tv screens?!?!?!? Burning questions of our time.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
I heard.....
"Marcus himself had little faith in gods. Though he worshipped money and aphrodite"....Echo in the Darkness by F. Rivers.
Old Article...The Dying Nigerian...First ever published (angst-filled) article:-)
The Nigerian con artist emailing you a dozen a day? Check. Nigerian ‘ Madame ’ in Italian red light district? Check. Nigerian ‘ importer ’ pricing products belligerently in a Chinese market? Check. Typical stereotypes that confirm our suspicions that the devil controls the media you should not believe everything you read. Interestingly, there’s a class of Nigerians that never seem to be mentioned in the articles on the country. But I don ’ t take it (too) personally largely because this group is usually on the receiving end of all forms of....dare I say it... HATERATION. For a myriad of reasons *read, jealousy*, these people are often disliked by many. But if you think about it, you will realise that these people deserve nothing but commendation…..and perhaps book deals. But most people don ’ t think deeply enough about this group. When they are actually freed from the prison of the small minds that do pay them attention, I always find that they are demonized, patronized or just plain Hated-On. Children of God, I am talking about the Nouveau Riche. The Arriviste. New Money (to my English readers). Vulgarians (to my Jealous readers?)... OR the Money-Miss-Road’s (Nigerian readers una dey here??!).
I can already see the hamsters in your minds running furiously on their treadmills, spinning all sorts of biases and prejudices against this prime cut of humans. The words ‘ New Money ’ conjure ideas of the poem ‘ New money e don come I buy garri 10 kobo… ’ Texan-cowboy-hat-wearing, loud-mouthed-foot-in-gob always, oil-well-owning man who came by his money in some clever yet(we suspect)slightly dodgy way. THAT Hummer-driving-leopard-print-catsuit-wearing-gaudy-jewelry-blinging-EVERY-designer-bag-totting No-Gooder that we love to hate-on. But while the Gossip Festivals are in progress in the varied cities and City People magazines, might I suggest that we take a closer look at these kind fellows??? My focus today is on the Nigerian chapter of the Nouveau Riche rather than that of any other society because, well as a Nigerian myself I think I am a bit more of an authority on this brand of do-gooders than perhaps the average French person writing on the Nigerian Nouveau Riche oui? Maintenant, allons-y.
Think about it, contrary to popular opinion, there is actually a growing population of rich Nigerians that have come from the humblest of beginnings and everything they have has been worked, sacrificed, planned and hoped for. Pause. Marinate. Play.
My father for instance, came from very humble beginnings and while I wouldn’t consider him very rich, his latter has been so damn far from his former that he does deserve some praise, people!! Regardless of the fact that he is a busy city worker with several employees, I still refer to him as a villager because there is nothing my daddy would rather do than go to his exam-hall-quiet village, relax with friends whilst roasting yam, plantain and fish on a pre-colonial barbeque stand….throwback to his childhood days. Here’s a man who started from nothing; lost his father pretty young, became the man of the house around the arrival of his first pimple, studied hard because it was a 'Do Excellently Well Or Become A Farmer' situation up in my father's household back in the day. [Authors note: not much has changed.], graduated in Senior Secondary One (yes, ONE) with the best results in the school because he “didn ’ t have the time or money to finish secondary school”, worked odd jobs and studied for the Chartered Accountants ACCA exam. While going to university. At this point we all wish he married the rich girl. But no, he married my mother.
My mother, the one who lost her father before ten, had to move from the suburbs to a ghetto and worst of all, had to learn to adapt. Adapt to a life without a father. Without a middle class father. Without the many things contented children take for granted. As the last of six kids, had to adapt to no longer being daddy ’ s little girl but being the 'scape goat in a family that could only afford to sacrifice the youngest. But everyone else had to live adapting. From the housewife mother turned business woman (modern euphemism for Market Seller), to the children obliged to help their mother sell after school. From stories of waking up at dawn to buy periwinkles from the wharf for my grandma to sell, to watching her school friends come with their drivers, cooks or mums to buy the products she sold in the market, to having the world know all your clothes. Yes, all 2 of them (SANS face book by the way). This transition might have been easier if the playground at school isn ’ t the worst place when you ’ re poor. Or if puberty isn ’ t the worst time to lose a father AND become poor. But despair not kind readers for necessity IS truly the baby mama of invention (Maury confirmed and all). My mother and grandmother did everything from running a local ‘Mama Put’ to selling fresh seafood in the market. Cooking and acumen, two skills that the tough times left my mum with. My mum ’ s mind for business has brought her very far from the girl who peeled periwinkle shells until her thumbs bled. And left her with a lifetime of memories and the confirmation that hard work and hope pay.
I guess what I ’ m trying to say is there are so many inspirational Africans whose stories deserve to be told, whose stories we never hear. Africans who are living just like everyone else in the ‘developed’ world. Women who work for their families, men who save for holidays, children who watch cartoons. It’s really strange that to some people, we as Africans have lost the ability in their minds to just be. To be like them, not deserving pity or curiosity. Just to be. Not to Be receiving, Be starving, Be killing, Be fighting, Be defrauding. Just Be-ing.
So in thinking about this, one thought led to another... as thoughts are wont to do, I thought about the breed of young Nigerians today. Us. It’s really interesting to see the Nouveau Riche youth of today. In many ways fun loving, carefree, happy people. Africans who (thankfully) are still under Oxfam and the international media’s radar largely. Africans who haven’t been ‘found’ , patronized, pitied or demonized yet. Because you know that ’ s what ’ s going to happen once they find you Miss Nouveau Riche don’t you?! I can already see the headlines above pictures from a typical Nigerian party in one of London ’ s trendy clubs. A party probably titled - (in all seriousness now)-something like ‘EXCESS’ (Do you ever wonder who comes up with these names?! I do.) Anyways, the headline will SCREAM: “Nigerian youths party up in London while children die of cholera in Africa” (the country of course).
The thing is, bringing to our attention the ills of the world is not bad, but demonizing every African for living like an average teen in the west, I take offence. If we ’ re demonizing youths lets make it a general thing....and then only demonize where we are sure the money spent on the ‘frivolous’ party would certainly have been given to an Oxfam style organisation otherwise ok? If it would have been used to buy say, some new jeans…and with the current costs of Nigerian parties Lord know that ’ d be a one legged pair…or maybe just the belt holes(??), then it ’ s a potaYto/potaHto situation oui? Now am I advocating socially unconscious teens? Er, no. There are so many Nigerian youth living young & free AND contributing beneficially to their community, home and abroad, regardless of what the devil ’ s vocoder media tells you. BUT, on the other side of the kobo coin, are The Vulgarians. Youths who take Ecclesiastes 11: 9; “...it’s wonderful to be young. Enjoy every minute of it...” as their personal mantra, living a life of pure, unadulterated, decadence. It’s these decadent Arrivistes that I would like compare to the Original Nouveau Riche we started this discussion with.
The generation of Nigerian Nouveau Riche are an elite niche that seem to be fading as fast as it is growing. "But isn ’ t that a paradox?" I see you ask your equally confused neighbour, especially as Nigeria is now a positively growing economy (Wikipedia confirmed et al.). The class that’s dying I resolutely argue, is the hard-working, rags to riches Arriviste. The Nouveau Riche Gentlefolk is fast being replaced by a younger, brasher, bourgeois class, who like the ironically labelled Old Nouveau Riche , have newly acquired wealth... but lack the old ethics, values and principles that allow for a balance of wealth with charm and noblesse. Instead of a group of young determined adults are we seeing the emergence of a group of young dependent adults? People determined never to cut the umbilical cord that for most equates to the severance of the purse strings? What I think is out of the parents of the 'Nigerian Dream' age, there are two types. The ones who give too many “YES’s” to compensate for the million “NO’s” they received growing up. And those who say “NO” enough times to make their progeny find the way to their own “YES ‘ s“. So, what are you young adult? Determined or dependent?
I can already see the hamsters in your minds running furiously on their treadmills, spinning all sorts of biases and prejudices against this prime cut of humans. The words ‘ New Money ’ conjure ideas of the poem ‘ New money e don come I buy garri 10 kobo… ’ Texan-cowboy-hat-wearing, loud-mouthed-foot-in-gob always, oil-well-owning man who came by his money in some clever yet(we suspect)slightly dodgy way. THAT Hummer-driving-leopard-print-catsuit-wearing-gaudy-jewelry-blinging-EVERY-designer-bag-totting No-Gooder that we love to hate-on. But while the Gossip Festivals are in progress in the varied cities and City People magazines, might I suggest that we take a closer look at these kind fellows??? My focus today is on the Nigerian chapter of the Nouveau Riche rather than that of any other society because, well as a Nigerian myself I think I am a bit more of an authority on this brand of do-gooders than perhaps the average French person writing on the Nigerian Nouveau Riche oui? Maintenant, allons-y.
Think about it, contrary to popular opinion, there is actually a growing population of rich Nigerians that have come from the humblest of beginnings and everything they have has been worked, sacrificed, planned and hoped for. Pause. Marinate. Play.
My father for instance, came from very humble beginnings and while I wouldn’t consider him very rich, his latter has been so damn far from his former that he does deserve some praise, people!! Regardless of the fact that he is a busy city worker with several employees, I still refer to him as a villager because there is nothing my daddy would rather do than go to his exam-hall-quiet village, relax with friends whilst roasting yam, plantain and fish on a pre-colonial barbeque stand….throwback to his childhood days. Here’s a man who started from nothing; lost his father pretty young, became the man of the house around the arrival of his first pimple, studied hard because it was a 'Do Excellently Well Or Become A Farmer' situation up in my father's household back in the day. [Authors note: not much has changed.], graduated in Senior Secondary One (yes, ONE) with the best results in the school because he “didn ’ t have the time or money to finish secondary school”, worked odd jobs and studied for the Chartered Accountants ACCA exam. While going to university. At this point we all wish he married the rich girl. But no, he married my mother.
My mother, the one who lost her father before ten, had to move from the suburbs to a ghetto and worst of all, had to learn to adapt. Adapt to a life without a father. Without a middle class father. Without the many things contented children take for granted. As the last of six kids, had to adapt to no longer being daddy ’ s little girl but being the 'scape goat in a family that could only afford to sacrifice the youngest. But everyone else had to live adapting. From the housewife mother turned business woman (modern euphemism for Market Seller), to the children obliged to help their mother sell after school. From stories of waking up at dawn to buy periwinkles from the wharf for my grandma to sell, to watching her school friends come with their drivers, cooks or mums to buy the products she sold in the market, to having the world know all your clothes. Yes, all 2 of them (SANS face book by the way). This transition might have been easier if the playground at school isn ’ t the worst place when you ’ re poor. Or if puberty isn ’ t the worst time to lose a father AND become poor. But despair not kind readers for necessity IS truly the baby mama of invention (Maury confirmed and all). My mother and grandmother did everything from running a local ‘Mama Put’ to selling fresh seafood in the market. Cooking and acumen, two skills that the tough times left my mum with. My mum ’ s mind for business has brought her very far from the girl who peeled periwinkle shells until her thumbs bled. And left her with a lifetime of memories and the confirmation that hard work and hope pay.
I guess what I ’ m trying to say is there are so many inspirational Africans whose stories deserve to be told, whose stories we never hear. Africans who are living just like everyone else in the ‘developed’ world. Women who work for their families, men who save for holidays, children who watch cartoons. It’s really strange that to some people, we as Africans have lost the ability in their minds to just be. To be like them, not deserving pity or curiosity. Just to be. Not to Be receiving, Be starving, Be killing, Be fighting, Be defrauding. Just Be-ing.
So in thinking about this, one thought led to another... as thoughts are wont to do, I thought about the breed of young Nigerians today. Us. It’s really interesting to see the Nouveau Riche youth of today. In many ways fun loving, carefree, happy people. Africans who (thankfully) are still under Oxfam and the international media’s radar largely. Africans who haven’t been ‘found’ , patronized, pitied or demonized yet. Because you know that ’ s what ’ s going to happen once they find you Miss Nouveau Riche don’t you?! I can already see the headlines above pictures from a typical Nigerian party in one of London ’ s trendy clubs. A party probably titled - (in all seriousness now)-something like ‘EXCESS’ (Do you ever wonder who comes up with these names?! I do.) Anyways, the headline will SCREAM: “Nigerian youths party up in London while children die of cholera in Africa” (the country of course).
The thing is, bringing to our attention the ills of the world is not bad, but demonizing every African for living like an average teen in the west, I take offence. If we ’ re demonizing youths lets make it a general thing....and then only demonize where we are sure the money spent on the ‘frivolous’ party would certainly have been given to an Oxfam style organisation otherwise ok? If it would have been used to buy say, some new jeans…and with the current costs of Nigerian parties Lord know that ’ d be a one legged pair…or maybe just the belt holes(??), then it ’ s a potaYto/potaHto situation oui? Now am I advocating socially unconscious teens? Er, no. There are so many Nigerian youth living young & free AND contributing beneficially to their community, home and abroad, regardless of what the devil ’ s vocoder media tells you. BUT, on the other side of the kobo coin, are The Vulgarians. Youths who take Ecclesiastes 11: 9; “...it’s wonderful to be young. Enjoy every minute of it...” as their personal mantra, living a life of pure, unadulterated, decadence. It’s these decadent Arrivistes that I would like compare to the Original Nouveau Riche we started this discussion with.
The generation of Nigerian Nouveau Riche are an elite niche that seem to be fading as fast as it is growing. "But isn ’ t that a paradox?" I see you ask your equally confused neighbour, especially as Nigeria is now a positively growing economy (Wikipedia confirmed et al.). The class that’s dying I resolutely argue, is the hard-working, rags to riches Arriviste. The Nouveau Riche Gentlefolk is fast being replaced by a younger, brasher, bourgeois class, who like the ironically labelled Old Nouveau Riche , have newly acquired wealth... but lack the old ethics, values and principles that allow for a balance of wealth with charm and noblesse. Instead of a group of young determined adults are we seeing the emergence of a group of young dependent adults? People determined never to cut the umbilical cord that for most equates to the severance of the purse strings? What I think is out of the parents of the 'Nigerian Dream' age, there are two types. The ones who give too many “YES’s” to compensate for the million “NO’s” they received growing up. And those who say “NO” enough times to make their progeny find the way to their own “YES ‘ s“. So, what are you young adult? Determined or dependent?
I heard.....
"One can not rape life without the means to do so and money was what gave one those means"-An Echo in the Darkness. Francine Rivers.
Monday, May 25, 2009
A Room of One's Own.....xoxo
While I'm not a brassier-burning feminist....alas, my boobs can not defy gravity on their own
:-(.....and I'm also not particularly a Woolf groupie, the idea of personal space, carving a piece of the world and claiming it-Columbus style- as yours is appealing. According to Wikipedia;
"The title (A Room of One's Own) comes from Woolf's conception that, 'a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction'. It also refers to any author's need for poetic license and the personal liberty to create art."
And that ladies and clergymen, summarises RoomToRite......its a Room of One's Own. *shrugs*
"The title (A Room of One's Own) comes from Woolf's conception that, 'a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction'. It also refers to any author's need for poetic license and the personal liberty to create art."
And that ladies and clergymen, summarises RoomToRite......its a Room of One's Own. *shrugs*
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