Naija Bloggers- The Book

The closing date for the anthology of works by Nigerian Bloggers has come and gone. There were loads of submissions, mostly very good work and some really extraordinary, as was expected. The sorting of the works' started and soon information will be passed to all those who sent in material.

I'd like to thank all who chose to be a part of this. A book will be around when we are long gone.

The Girl Whisperer

by laspapi

Gentle Streams, Battle-axes and Other Stories

as published by the Sunday Guardian of June 17

It’s interesting to observe that when some women feel they are the subjects of a perceived attack in the writings of the Whisperer, they come out fighting, heckling and clawing at the Whisperer’s eyes. Time after time, I have witnessed this phenomenon. Men, generally, do not react as virulently, perhaps not being as sensitive as women and probably thinking, when described as the equivalent of a canine’s offspring, “So he thinks I’m a dog? Big deal…!

This Whisperer has met all sorts in the journey through life and been acquainted with different kinds of women. In my study of females of different kinds and ages, I have met many older ones, stunning beauties at some point in the past, who even as age has sought to reduce the impact of their good looks, have all shared a secret with me. According to them, the one enduring trait for a woman, when beauty is gone and the elasticity of the skin cannot be taken for granted anymore, is the indomitable spirit of that woman. As young men depend on their strength, consider themselves immortal and take reckless, mind-boggling risks, so do some females regard their beauty, charm, and the power of a winning smile as traits that will last forever. It is not so. Change is the one constant as we all know, and the greatest beauty will fade. Ask Zsa Zsa Gabor.

As time flies, this Whisperer has learnt that the truth of that belief. There are different types of females, but the type that takes the Whisperer’s interest today is the “gentle stream” type; girls whom one just wants to sit next to, and take in their serenity. These females remind you of the soft sounds a gentle brook makes, as it gently laps at rocks by the shores, a soothing flow that can calm your deepest fears. Men will spend hours meditating here, regaining strength and vitality, able to face the world again, after the rejuvenation this kind of female gives.

This “gentle stream” might be bubbly, effervescent and carefree or she might be quiet, intense and serene, but the effect she has on the spirit is usually a calming one. For the Whisperer, the “gentle stream” female is his favourite kind, waters that remind you of a gentle English streamside as written in old literature texts or some quiet untainted stream in Idanre, a quiet Nigerian town. But this is a personal choice, there are as many choices as there are people.

This Whisperer considers the “gentle stream” complementary to his life, acting as the ying to his yang. The world is made up of a variety of women, however, and some females consider being a gentle stream like this, anathema to their souls. There are females who are unrepentant battleaxes, who give as good as they get and consider having the effect of a gentle “stream”, a sign of weakness. This girl carries a symbolic twin-edged battle axe and faces life’s problems (and sometimes her man) with the weapon readily at her disposal. For some men, the battleaxe is their favourite kind of female, one that is able to keep them on their toes, and at an alert state at all times.

The male equivalent of the Battleaxe is the Warlord. The same way some males crave for females with an edge is the way a certain kind of female seeks out the warlord, a man who is assertive and meets all obstacles on his way, head on. When this sort sees an obstruction, he does not pass its side but climbs over it.

No matter what our preferences our, this is to celebrate the beauty and joys of womanhood, the colour, women, both young and old, add to our lives everyday with their whims and caprices, their moods and their sweet scents. It’s a man’s world they say, but what a bland mono-chromic world it would be if there were no women around.

I have a confession to make. I kissed a 14 year old. Well, she was 4 months short of 15. I was 2 years and 9 months older than her at the time. Years later, we met as adults, grown and out of our childhood crushes, and as we sat talking, I wondered how her age didnt strike me at that time. It would be impossible to do that now, not being into unformed females. But I kissed a 14 year old once... I look at 14 year-olds now and gag at the thought.

Nigeria's Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie won Britain's Orange Prize for fiction by women, becoming the first African to take the award in its 12-year history, organizers said Wednesday.

Adichie, 29, also the youngest author to have won the prize, was awarded for novel "Half of a Yellow Sun," set during the Nigeria-Biafra conflict of the 1960s.

She beat out finalists including India's Kiran Desai and American writer Anne Tyler for the $60,000, awarded for a novel by a woman published in English. "Yellow Sun" was a finalist earlier this year for the National Book Critics Circle fiction prize.

Adichie had previously been a finalist for her debut novel, "Purple Hibiscus," in 2004.

The award's full title is the Orange Broadband Prize for Fiction after its sponsor, telecommunications company Orange.

A shortlist for 2007 included writers from five countries, from Pulitzer winner Tyler and Booker Prize winner Desai to first-time British novelist Jane Harris.

Many Other Things About Mary

as published in the Sunday Guardian of June 10

My advice to females in “Something about Mary”, not to reveal intimate details of their past, drew reactions from many areas. All the girls who communicated by electronic mail, telephone or in person, were in complete agreement. (For the Girl Whisperer, any female, of any age, is a Girl). Many gave examples of how they had made the grave mistake of telling their partners how many others had been with them in the past and how that act of openness had dealt mortal blows on their relationships. There was mail from a particular man who made the title of his correspondence, “Lies”. According to him, The Whisperer was teaching ‘already loose’ women to keep things from their men and encouraging moral decadence. Right.

The hypocrisy of men in this regard is an experiment worth documenting by scientists. There is no man with a make-up capable of accepting information about the intimate past of his partner, no matter how much we deceive ourselves. The most even-tempered man, regardless of age, social status or creed, would crumble under the sheer weight of the information. Even the Whisperer, able to process all forms of issues concerning females, would not request this details because of the havoc it could create. Men should sit, think, and develop a healthy respect for females who can absorb this level of information without missing a step, information which would blow up the circuitry of any man.

But today’s discussion is really about love that isn’t returned, whether it is the man or woman who is doing all the giving. There is a cardinal rule in this matter, “It’s not who you love, it’s who loves you”. Let all be aware that if you make the mistake of loving someone who doesn’t love you back, it’s a one-way ticket to Heart Break prison and a life sentence without possibility of parole. Many of us fall in love with people who we think are perfect, everything we want in a partner, people we would do anything for. There’s just one tiny impediment; the person feels nothing for us. This object of our passion does not return phone calls, or search us out in a crowd, makes it clear when others are present that we are barely tolerated, and causes us many nights of sleepless misery.

There is only one answer to that; Get out of the relationship. Immediately. You cannot make another person love you against his or her will. If you think this person will learn to love you in the future, you’ve embarked on an exercise of self-delusion. If you have seemingly found the answer to your life-quest, why do you believe this person you are enamoured with is not in pursuit of his or her own true love?

Everyday for a person caught in this web of sado-masochism, will be miserable. There is nothing so pathetic than a person who cringes and grovels to be loved. It is not attractive and only attracts the emotion called pity, which I am sure you will agree is not the ingredient needed for mind-blowing and everlasting relationships. Remember the words of the song, Nature Boy, which goes, “The greatest thing you could ever learn, is just to love and be loved in return”.

Let all, heed the warning of the Whisperer; do not commit yourself to a long-distance relationship in which your partner does not love you as much as you love him or her. This partner never will, and sometime in the future, no matter how long it takes, will seek a more consuming love elsewhere, because every human craves this. Sadly, some will hold on to love that flows in only one direction, in the hope that someday, it will circulate freely. That day may never come, no matter how hard one wishes for it. Pursue those who love you. It’s the way nature designed us to be.

The Sign of 7

After I was tagged by R with 7 earthly things which has since gone round the web a bit, I thought of another form of 7. There are 7 categories too. Here goes…


7 people I must meet: Mandela, Michael Jordan, Ellen Degeneris, Oprah, Chinua Achebe, Jamie Foxx, Maya Rudolph

7 places I must visit: The Great Wall of China, Cairo, Jerusalem, Malaysia, Stockholm, New York, Berlin

7 films I can watch over and over again: Shawshank Redemption; They call me Trinity; The Good the Bad & The Ugly; The Sounds of Music; Bugsy Malone; Full Metal Jacket; The Pianist

7 best friends through childhood: Rasheed “Rash Boots” Thanni, Wole Adojutelegan, Akin Olusanya, Alfred Adebare, Wole Dosunmu, Segun Idowu, Bimbo ‘Bad News’ Oladipo

7 All-time favourite singers: Sting, Vanessa Williams, Gloria Estafan, Dido, Ebenezer Obey, Nat King Cole, Harry Belafonte

7 most influential people through the childhood years: My mother, my sisters-Funmi & Bande, Gabriel Okon, The Nigerian Television Authority (Sorry), My brothers Sola & Jinta

7 All-time TV programmes- CI 5-The Professionals, Mission Impossible, Martin (The comedy starring Martin Lawrence), Saturday Night Live, In Living Colour, Mud Squad, Lenny Henry in pieces


Tagging everyone reading…

DANCING MOSES

Once, years ago, I was an usher in a neighbourhood church. At a vigil, one night, a pastor walked up to me. “ ’papi, I can smell alcohol, someone’s drunk here”. Sharp nose, I thought, because there were at least a hundred people, but ’papi investigated.

I walked down the aisles, looking for misbehaviour, trying to catch a scent. I’m like a bloodhound in these matters, picked a keen sense of smell from the mater, which can be problematic when you’re with people who do not agree with the finer points of hygiene. The few times I’ve been ill, every smell is amplified, even scented soaps are horrible to inhale.

Back to my sipping saint… So I walked down the aisles, wondering, and like all human beings, trying to use physical appearances to pick a wrong-doer. I saw a man, small and wizened who looked to me like what a drunkard should, sat next to him and waited for the waft of barley to hit me…but nothing. He just sat, unmoving, looking at proceedings like an inspector. After a while, I moved on, puzzled, and then returned to my seat on the front row.

It was time to praise God and the songs began to roll, typical Pentecostal, “throw your cares to the wind” style. Then I noticed him. Moses. A short fair slim young man in his early twenties who stayed around the area and lent a hand at church events. Every time a new song was raised, he’d clamber past two rows of seats and their occupants, yelling his approval, “yayyyyyyyy!”, and then commence dancing a furious jig right in front of the pulpit. In "spiritual" places, exuberance like this is common place and can blend with other innocent expressions of joy, but there was something here, slightly out of place. At the end of each song, he’d return to his seat and then start the entire proceedings again,

After the 3rd yell from Moses, I walked up to him and said, “Come with me”. He did. Some ushers followed too.

’papi: Moses, you’re drunk.

Moses: Me!!!? Me?!!

’papi: I can smell “it” on you.

Other Ushers: Yes, you smell of alcohol

Moses: (Relenting and hazy-eyed, he lapsed into the 3rd-person as if he was trying to cut a deal for being an informer): Ok, what if someone went to a party and he drank somet’in… Just one bottle of wine. Will you say that person is drunk?

Other Ushers: One bottle? And you came to this vigil after?

’papi: Go home, Moses.

(A reluctant Moses complied and all was well)

The last time I heard of Moses, many years ago, I was told he had climbed an electricity pole to effect corrections as unauthorised people do here. Unfortunately for him, power was restored while he was holding the wrong wire, and he was thrown across half the road and broke a leg… but look at the positive side, his running sinuses must have cleared up.

Moses is well now. What brought him to mind? There is a much older Moses in my neighbourhood who fiddles with power transformers in the middle of the night and climbs poles all over the area, causing chaos. He’s also perpetually drunk. A real delirium tremens candidate. Sometimes I wish, he’d get tossed across the length of two streets.