The Benettonian Approach

It’s the season to be merry and all that goodness so a jollified seasons greetings to all! May the [surprisingly] unconditional love of God pervade this commercialized Rudolf-ridden season and find its way to your hearts & hearths.

(I haven’t blogged in a bit, not because I have run out of things to say, *whispers “Tufiakwa” whilst simultaneously spitting on the ground and snapping fingers over head like an Igbo elder receiving bad news at the dibia’s shrine*. I have quite simply, been busy. Life happened. As ‘it’ will continue to happen (God willing) there’s no use apologising). To today’s news.

“The British National Party is made up of refugees, migrating from the reality of the real world”
- columnist from the Evening Standard, whose name I forget now.

So I have concluded that I’m definitely not reading The Evening Standard on the tube ever again. I’m sitting here with all sorts of looks running after each other on my rather expressive face. I’m confused, then fascinated, then tickled, then heavily ANNOYED and finally so incredulous that I have to physically restrain the fingers of my right hand from reaching out and poking the now dozing hombre on my right, shouting “Can you BUHHLEEEVVE the nerve of this damn fool?!?!”...whilst pointing viciously at the newspaper in my hand. The reason for this aggression is found littered all over the comment section of this paper:

Race.

Little thanks to the BNP, the general populace of England has, in the last months of 2009, either grown fiercely patriotic or excessively liberal. The normally apathetic of course remain unmoved, but we don’t care about The Don’t Cares.

That many people in 21st century London are rather suspicious of immigration laws, societal intergration and race is not new, strange (or interesting) information. However, most people have managed to hide under the banner of tolerance by putting up an accepting front of people from varied backgrounds and cultures. To a certain extent the BNP debate blew a little of the lid off that tin.

In London today, you would be forgiven for thinking we are all liberal minded individuals roaming round the littered city streets but one thing I learnt from the uproar surrounding Nick Griffin’s appearance on Question Time is that The Patriots *does air quotes* number far and exceedingly above the figure originally suspected. It’s just that in today’s world where Common and Lily Allen duet, you can really only afford to be racist or bigoted inside...DEEP inside. So more people than we would like to believe are distrustful and afraid of people who are unlike them. But they keep any suspicion, fear or even hatred deeply buried, disguised by a veneer of acceptance and normalcy. Just like a religious, married M.P with 3 kids, from Framlingham…whose dearest fantasy is to be a cross-dressing cage fighter. I mean, do you *Kanye shrug*…just don’t let anyone else know and we’ll all live happily ever after. (At least until your insatiable desire to rock frocks causes you to mistakenly wear red kitten heels to a Parliamentary meeting paired with your Brooks Brothers suit... or do something equally media-friendly.)

On the pages of the free newspapers, the comment sections in August and September were sprinkled with comments whose undertones said one of two things on the race/immigration debate. There was an equal divide between the Patriots on one hand and the Liberals on the other hand. The former group support of Griffin and what he represents. They have fallen for the BNP’s rhetoric of reverting the damage caused by ‘foreigners’ (by foreigners I assume they refer to 1st, 2nd and 3rd generation men, women and children some of whom had very little say in deciding to settle in this country…that is obviously overflowing with milk and honey *ahem*). The Liberals on the other hand, argue for freedom for freedom’s sake. With little or no support for the BNP’s policy, they staunchly advocate the freedom of every one with an opinion to spew forth unrestrained, no matter how asinine or insidious to a brittle electorate straining under the weight of an economic downturn and searching for anyone to dump the blame on. While I do support the U.S’s first amendment and believe the right to free speech is a hallmark of a democratic and progressive society in this 21st century, I believe that giving free reign to ignorant and uneducated rhetoric cleverly disguised as fact has caused serious problems in the world’s history. Please refer to Hitler’s hate-fueled propaganda for details. BUT, I will ruefully admit that the dissemination of information, no matter how useless, is the basis of a free society. After all, if we are still allowing the Kardashians drone on aimlessly on our box-screens, why shouldn’t Griffin be allowed to mix verbs and consonants all day long on the public airwaves?

In this case I am especially happy that Nick Griffin and the BNP have been given a chance to expose themselves simply because despite the heavy criticism meted out by vexed members of the public, the BNP confirms that the membership of the party grew after their exposure. For some this showed that insidious ideas must be monitored and not given exposure to prevent them spreading and contaminating the public. For me, this growth merely confirmed the fraud that is the general English public. While we are so quick to point to our solo white, Jewish, hispanic or Muslim friend that will finally confirm to the world our United Colours of Benetton-ian approach to diversity, increasing numbers in the BNP’s ranks surely indicate that we are not as far along in this tiring game of self-deceit as we thought we were.

For some people the revelation of the extent to which we have been fooling ourselves as a society chaffed their righteous consciences. How can there be so many hidden racists amongst us? (Because try as you might, to convince yourself that the BNP is merely aggressive not racist is as foolish as calling an Ikwerre man an Igbo man to his face with full knowledge of the Nigerian civil war behind you and an understanding of the relationship between an Ikwerre man and his cutlass. This would be a foolish mistake you may only make once in your soon-to-be-severed lifetime).

Some people were upset and disappointed by the swelling ranks of the BNP but I wasn’t upset, just saddened but thankful that the truth was slowly coming to light. Rather than a hidden hatred of all things foreign, it is much better that intolerance be practiced in the open, if it at all. If there were a sign to let everyone know where one’s allegiance belonged on sight, that would make things easier. Some people would not bother to apply for certain jobs were class is a requirement, for instance. Others still would not bother going into establishments were skin pigmentation were graded…or even considered at all. And it would be convenient to know who to avoid at networking events. Amongst others.

The world would be much easier if we abandoned this Great Pretense and agreed that Super Barack or not, as a society we are in some ways mentally confined to the civil rights age as we wander about God’s grey earth; each race deathly afraid and eternally suspicious of the other. When the self-deceit stops, maybe the progress and real quest for unity will start. Until then let those of us that understand that the things that separate us are far smaller than those that unite us start the work, gaining one white, Jewish, hispanic or Muslim friend at a time.

(How's this for a Christmas message though!...Baby Jesus, Baubles & BNP..???.. MERRY CHRISTMAS!)

Nigerian Kate Moss

So something has been bothering me for a bit. The niggling doubt at the back of my mind began sometime in August, on a couch in a house in Lagos on a barmy Saturday afternoon. The quiet whir of the air conditioner and the reduced muttering of the voices on screen did nothing to distract me from the conversation going on in the sitting room as my parents and their friends discussed, the only way we know how; loudly.

People wonder from time to time how I became the assertive sometimes (SOMEtimes) aggressive woman I am…then they meet my dad, or watch my mum…or visit my house and a light of comprehension is kindled in their eyes. I love my home, it’s noisy, boisterous, warm & loving (in an a strange way). But I digress.

So sitting in the living room hearing the loud discussions that revolve around the basics; politics, social ills, war…yeah the basics in every household. We discussed for the umpteenth time the Problem With Today’s Youth. The talk winded slowly to women’s dressing. At this point a visiting uncle boldly suggested that women are the architects of their destruction. Apparently the way women dress today is the reason our graduates are half-baked, they seduce their way through the higher institutions. Yeah, you see the way women dress is the SOLE reason they continue to be used as pawns in banks to bait wealthy investors. In fact it’s the reason constant electricity and clean water are unavailable to the masses. Oh! If only you women would cover your mammary glands and not wear those damned thongs our streets would be paved with gold as clean water suddenly gushes forth from silver taps and electrons collide to provide constant electricity. Yes, YES this is definitely the way.

In fact, the conversation went on to include a proverb. Apparently, our forefathers say “If a woman stands naked in the market place, she should not be surprised by the events that unfold”. Oho! That is when my ears pricked up like a rabid dog sighting a chubby cripple. SO, a woman who dresses in an 'exposing manner' should not be surprised when unflattering overtures are made to her. Ok, the feminist in me struggled but I could see some method in the madness, see the reasoning behind the statement.

Fast forward to one Sunday afternoon in November. Relaxing in another sitting room watching HiTv. A serious debate is raging on my screen as a Nigerian talk show hosts a lively discussion between some Nigerian youth and select lecturers and officials from several homegrown universities.

To my chagrin, a well-read lecturer admonishes a young girl for suggesting that some centres of higher learning house severely lecherous men who harass their students into bartering sexual favours for good grades, grades that they sometimes deserve sex-free. The female lecturer sharply informs the undergraduate that these ladies are not victims because their dressing suggests, nay BEGS the lecturers to trade scores for sex.

Still I muttered “method in the madness” and moved on. Worried that if I thought too much about this, I might not like the conclusion I reach.

But yesterday night, I read a very interesting article on the entertaining 234next.com. The writer made some solid points about Nigerian women, indecent exposure and the “I’m aware” syndrome. (That carelessly arrogant reply that follows a passer-by’s anxiety that a lady’s right boob might do a Janet Jackson on us). While I found the article interesting, the comments that followed fascinated me no end. The most entertaining were;

“Daughters and sisters of Jezebel, eh! What do you expect?.Notice me. Signs of the end times we are in. A result of the seeds we have been sowing for long now. Do you think it will abate soon? May be when we change our thought processes as well as embrace lasting VALUES. Until our females start becoming WOMEN. I dare to say that we have few women around today. Any female on skirt should not considere herself or be considered as a woman. Woman is a name of honour. So agree with me when I say that there are very few women alive in Nigeria today. Majority are just females , with no enduring values to offer. Cry my beloved earth.”

“'i am aware' that 99% of the 'girls or 'ladies' that this piece is directed at do not know how to read or listen to anything more serious than fashion mags and Mtv.This generation is totally different..i saw a 3-year old the other day that had been dressed by her mum in a tight-fitting tank top exposing non-existent breasts plus a micro-mini skirt complete with knee-length boots and permed hair..talk about 'catching them young'! think of how fully AWARE she will be by the time she is 16!”

“Nigerians go too far at times. Undergraduates in the UK do not have money to wear expensive clothes or time to reveal parts of their bodies because it is very difficult to get a pass mark over here. Nigerian undergraduates reveal too much and blame "Messrs" Lecturer for chasing them.”

And the one dear to my heart;

“To all the holy rollers....shut the **** up and focus on how we can have electricity 24/7.”

You see, the only reason this indecent exposure issue gives me pause is that it reveals a deeper rooted problem in our society than originally assumed. Before going into this identified problem, I will humbly put to you that the fact that Nigerian women might sometimes dress inappropriately is often simply due to a minor miscalculation on our part. What looks decent on a mannequin or size 0 model is grossly transformed to the archetype of suggestiveness when worn on a stereotypical African woman; heaving bosom, small waist, round tummy, wide child-bearing hips, high and proud backside, toned legs and a strong back. Now what Kate Moss looked like a pre-pubescent teen in, our Nigerian Amazonian transforms into sex-on-legs. What our ‘holy rollers’ fail to understand is that most of these women are not necessarily looking to seduce, they are just going for pretty. If they land at sexy then Hey! What’s a sistah ‘posed to do?!

Now am I saying we should not dress age and size appropriately? Nope. It is advisable that we indeed do so. But we musn’t go round assuming women are all out, looking to seduce…because if we did, the alternative is to go burka-style, covered head to toe…because there will be a man somewhere who gets excited by a woman’s ear wax and will surely complain (another commenter mentioned this in reply to the article).

NOW, to the issue that has worried me since August. So we say our women are not the true victims with their exposed cleavage and midriffs, that in wearing ‘revealing’ (refer to ear wax comment) outfits, they are in essence asking to be derogated to/fondled/raped etc. Are we also suggesting that our men can not be controlled? In essence they have no self-control? Potentially so tempted are our men, that they regress to tapping on animal instincts and seize without summon from the woman in question? Because if we are, we have the same fear as those racist so and so’s we always condemn. Those colonialists, neo or otherwise, who believe the African man is sub-human. Half man and half beast, stuck in his current crisis due to an inability to dominate his baser urges.

So these our Nigerian men should not be blamed because our voluptuous women tempt them beyond their control? Our 21st century men, our lecturers in all their wisdom and knowledge, our bank managers with their power and control should not be held liable for seizing without permission because the woman implicitly asked for it? Well that is good news. Now I know that those lecturers in the premier universities of the world with students half dressed in the summer heat MUST be lesser men. Let us continue to excuse the actions of our men and heap the blame on the neatly braided skulls of our women as this will make those gold-paved streets and silver taps a reality.

*Shrugs*

Sod's Law

So 12.39pm finds me not in my class, as expected of a respectable College of (the) Law of England and Wales' student with classes from 12pm to half two, but in the library blogging away in reckless abandon.

The reason for this is not my purpoted(read; disgustingly shameless) laissez-faire attitude to the things I am uninterested in. The College of Law currently ranks in the ‘Supremely Unconcerned’ zone...with every suspicion of its languishing in this zone for the foreseeable future, what with the daily barrage of work they pile on my dainty coiffure. Honestly, for someone who works best….ok then, someone who works ‘okay’, right at the very end of the year by subsisting on cramming and sheer willpower, having to attend classes everyday and hand-in substantial amounts of work DAILY is not really my thing….*hears mother’s voice in head “Oho! So whose thing is it then?!”* Well, for one, it certainly is some other Law students’ thing, I assure you! If I hear one more solicitor-in-training excitedly chirp about the glorious joys of detangling Tax Law equations, or spot another raising hands, unprompted, to answer questions like his armpits have hedgehogs lodged in their depths, oh it will be on! *snaps finger in ‘Z’ formation*

I have never been a stickler for daily attendance at school largely because I honestly believe that the amount of money we pay as tuition fees can NOT possibly cover the amount of suffering each disturbingly boring class brings. (Sit down Mr Cameron! I don’t mean I agree with your hair-brained scheme to increase fees…we all know who will be the real victims of that; England’s Money Pigs a.k.a The International Students. The BNP always conveniently forgets this group of sacrificing youth, in its incessant lectures on immigration. And all their 'Nigger Get Like Me, I'm Ethnically British' swagger. Ok so that was a David Banner remix of what the BNP actually say not what they have said, well at least not what they have said in public. Yet. But one does hope.

One digresses.
 
So, supreme unconcern aside, I have long since the first term of my first year at university realised that law was not really my passion in life. *Hears daddy reasonably intone, “Its stability not passion that provides food for one’s table”. Regardless of this untimely realisation, I have gone on to complete a law degree from a renowned university, attained a masters from another prestigious institute, studying at the ‘UK’s best law school' and I’m looking to crown my scholarly pursuits with knowledge of the nefarious laws of my motherland. (So yes, I do believe I have successfully stolen the Great Pretender award from King Edward VI).

So attending classes and doing all those things that are necessary in the quest for the haloed grail of good grades is something I have gotten quite skilled at. Even when all i want to do is make like Little Britain's Vicky Pollard and ask the world "AM I BOVVERED THO'?" Now, after this long winded whine session, you may conclude that this general disinterest in my daily studying is the reason I am currently lounging in the library blogging away with nary a care in the world as my class goes on 3 doors away? Simple answer, Transport For London....To borrow a most Nigerian term; in short, LONDON as a whole!

Now, I must profer a disclaimer at this point to my accusing TFL when I am Nigerian. Mainly because the Nigerian traffic causes us to give at least a two hour grace period when scheduling appointments. I guess I shouldn't complain about slow trains and all. I will anyways.

As I was saying, from time to time it seems like the universe syncs with all its natural accomplices to frustrate the milk of human kindness out of a person’s spirit. Apparently this is called Sod's Law. The stated law is defined by the Urban Dictionary as "A humorous axiom stating that anything that can go wrong will go wrong." In London, 'time to time' appears to be every other day for most commuters.
 
Take for instance this ordinary day in the life of a regular London student.

Today you have an early, essential lecture. This is of course, the very day that the bustop in front of your house is ‘Not In Use’ as the bus has to be diverted due to an accident at dawn caused by rival gangs playing Stab-Da-Bredrin on your street. You finally decide to walk to  the next available bus stop 15 minutes away on this blisteringly cold morning. Halfway there the heavens open and blessings of the wet variety descend on your newly coiffured hair which you were rather eager to show off at this morning’s lecture.

You hurriedly sweep your fingers through your heavy bag, frantically searching as you still attempt to walk briskly along, stopping only once to remove your gloves for a more thorough search. Refusing to believe the obvious...that your umbrella is cushioned warmly between your wallet and housekeys, both still laying calmly forgotten on your dresser. Dearly wishing you were in a country littered with street hawkers with whom you would have conveniently picked a fight and vented your frustration, you instead Bolt to the bustop like a mature post-graduate student towards a ‘Free Food’ sign.

You obviously miss your bus. Wait 10 minutes in the vicious, sleeting and perpetual English rain, finally smiling as you see another bus approaching your bus stop. As you look into your bag to find your Oyster, Oga Driver just take style scale pass you, leave you dey gawk!! In English, the one second you put your head down to withdraw your Oyster card, the bus driver assumes you are not waiting for his bus and it sails past on its merry way.

You finally get on a bus, and there is no place to seat. Of course. So you stand there creating your own puddle as little children in bright wellies look longingly at the water pooling at your feet even as their mothers give them that 'Step Into That Water And Feel My Wrath' look that must be a compulsory elective at Mummy College. You stand for the short ride to the tube station and quickly rush to your platform on your arrival....then watch your train go chugging past IMMEDIATELY you arrive at the platform. Just like your train was waiting for that ‘monkey-sucking-a-lemon' look you now have on your face as you stare at its cheerfully retreating backside.
 
The next train of course will be delayed because today is the day someone decided to end their life AND inconvenience the world at the same time, by jumping in front of a train. Not to make light of suicide, but it seems a rather selfish thing to do. Furthermore, jumping in front of a train seems the very height of selfishness. Think about the driver who will now live with a guilty conscience forever. And how about the other commuters who might be scarred by the experience. Although admittedly many Londoners will unremorselessly think ‘good riddance’. But still!

So, the train is delayed and when you do get on a train(FINALLY!), it moves so slowly that you immediately believe that what you have  always suspected is indeed true, “Little midgets move trains”. Yes indeed, the train proceeds to move like it is being slowly pushed by a group of elderly midgets. Is this train-crawling limited to the Northern Line only?? Oh BORIS!!!!!
 
Anyways, you finally get to your destination, in my case School, so late that barging into the class at this point is tantamount to slapping your teacher Leona Lewis style (Is it too soon?... For someone to be so angry at her lack of personality that he slaps her is NOT funny. Well, not THAT funny.) So, you find yourself quietly seated in the library blogging away. Pretending you are not beyond elated to be given a reprieve from the mindless boredom that is an Accounting Law class.