Meet My Busy Mind.: March 2017

White Christmas: Part 1 - by Abimbola 'Bima' Ogochukwu Reju

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

(You remember Bima’s 'Hustle to Jand', and how she (literally) had to sacrifice three coconuts and a pregnant bat to get granted a tourist visa??

Well… she continues her chronicles here.

Enjoy!!)

***

So, I know this is coming three months, six days, twenty-three hours and fifteen seconds late.

(Oya coman beat me)

I could easily join the ‘workaholic’ band wagon and ‘lament’ about how “work has been hell!” and how “I haven’t had time for anything lately, not even for myself!” so that “I hardly eat, or sleep, or drink”.

Hogwash.

I’ve just been flat out lazy. (I proudly wear the crown)

But now that I have your forgiveness, let’s pick up the story from where we stopped…

Act 10 SCENES 25-30.

It was December, and I worked since January 2nd, without taking any part of my annual leave. My bosses had no idea that by this time, I had traveled in the spirit. This was my year of White Christmas; nothing was going stop me.

***

I was driven to the airport in my very normal clothes.

Heck no! I was not going to be one of those people at the Nigerian airport; fully geared up under 45 degrees (Celsius) of sizzling heat, with mufflers, baggy pants (which probably housed two or more pants underneath), head warmers and hand gloves. Looking like my village masquerade at the annual dance festival.

(Even folks travelling to Ghana!)

Yes; it was my first time going to the obodo oyibo, but I was not going to act all ‘razz’ at the Airport. Moreover I had my sister with me, who had made the trip to London a couple of times, and she was not dressed like a scarecrow placed in the farm.

***

“Passengers with seat no 45 to 53 will be boarding first...”

I looked at my ticket and my grin almost popped right out of my face. My seat was among those boarding first!

(Thank you lord!)

I was going to do my Halle Berry catstep-down-the-hall-fan-blowing-in-your-fake-weave walk. Unfortunately, Nigerians will not allow someone be great at all. The scuffle to get checked in did not allow me shine, and I had broken into a full sweat by the time I struggled my way into the plane.

Imagine my deep sorrow to discover that my seat number was called first because I was seated at the tail-end of the airplane, close to the toilet. (Kuku hang me on the wing of the plane.)

*Insert crying face*

Having completed boarding, the plane took off, and flew directly to Heathrow. One minute, I was adjusting myself for take-off, then food arrived. Next minute… the Pilot was announcing we should get ready for landing.

(HIAN!!!)

I thought to myself seriously, “Is this the end of the plane ride to London???”

***

So my sister and I were walking towards the Border Patrol point, where the Border Officers would confirm that my visa was indeed genuine (have you read my visa story?) I did not realise I had a funny look on my face.

Tee: “Bimz, are you ok? You look funny”.

Me: Huh? (Startled look) Well… actually, I was looking round for the air-condition vent, so I can avoid it. It’s so c-c-c-cold here (shivering slightly).

Tee: Oh! (finally understanding). There’s no ac o. That’s just the temperature inside the airport (in a casual tone). It will definitely be colder outside.

Ehhn?

(C’est nes pas)

At this point I looked back to see if the aircraft was still open to beg to be taken back. I was freezing! What evil spirit had convinced me to wear my regular Lagos clothes, with nothing to protect my neck, legs, hands or head?

(E don be for me!)

After going through the snakelike queue, my sister and I were finally called by one of the clearance officers.

This uncle started asking questions, but I guess the cold had frozen my brain, because I kept staring at my sister answer the entire questions, without uttering a word.

(I could have sworn I was having an out-of-body experience)

Then I noticed my sisters’ passport was collected, stamped and she was sent ahead, while uncle focused on me.

Uncle Border Force Officer: “M’am have you been refused a UK visa before?” (This man just wants to bring back painful memories abi?)

Me: “Yes I have” (Stick to the simple question asked, I warned myself).

Uncle Border Force Officer: “So where are you going to stay in London? “ (Shey bobo yi wa ok sha?? I will live under the mango tree.

Just because I was frozen doesn’t mean I did not hear him ask my sister that exact question)

Me: “With my aunty and my cousins at Cuckmere Way” (thank God I remembered that part).

Border Agent: “Ok. Please take a seat; I will be with you shortly”.

***

I slowly remembered my years of watching the UK Border Force program, and how I wickedly laughed at all those people they turned back. Were they going show me on television too?? Would I be stammering and stuttering??? Would people back home be laughing and saying “that’s how Nigerians like to disgrace themselves”?? Would I become a ‘yeyebrity’, just like that?

I looked forlornly at my sister who was still in my line of vision, and I wondered if I will be put on a flight back to Nigeria.

Yes, I know I was just wishing that a few minutes ago due to the cold. But I have not entered London na. All I had done was be in the sky for six hours.

Will crying at the top of my voice solve my problem, or rolling on the floor at their mercy?

Engrossed in my woeful thoughts, I did not notice that the agent had returned and was beckoning at me.

Uncle Border Officer: “Sorry Ma’am for the delay; was just checking a few things”

Me: “Oh, it’s ok. No biggie” (your father, your uncle, and all the rest).

Uncle Border Officer: “Have a lovely holiday Ma’am…” (hands over my passport)

I quickly snatched my passport, wished him “same to you”, waved at him and ran off (just in case he was about to change his mind) I rushed to my sister; we got our bags, and boarded the underground train, to take us to London Bridge.

(Yay! London fiinally!!!)

***

But when we dropped off, all I could ask was “is this THE London Bridge? As in, the popular London bridge? Like, “London bridge is falling down” London Bridge?

I’m not sure what I was expecting exactly, but not this. Just a place. An open space.

A road.

A normal train track is THE ‘London Bridge’? Where is MY London Bridge?? Even Niger Bridge cloaks one with a solemn feel the minute one gets to the entrance. But this… this felt so… ordinary.

London felt quite ordinary. Almost ‘normal’. Dreary even… with snow covered everywhere.

(This was going to be a REALLY white Christmas)

Was this it?

Was this what thousands of kinsmen had died for, in the pursuit of ‘a better life’, no thanks to failed promises by government after government, making what is supposed to be our home inhabitable for it citizens?

Was this it??

***

“Aunty said she made Amala with Ewedu. Alleluya!” My sister’s voice snapped me back to my ‘ordinary’ reality.

Oh well… if there was no magical bridge or Narnia-like London, at least, there was Amala and Ewedu to unfreeze my brain from reverse-mode.

I picked up my bag, and began my London waka…

(To be continued… one day)

Bima is a guest writer on MMBM, and remains a former palm-wine tapper.

If you'd love to read more of her batty real-life stories, follow this blog. You'll get notified - right from the comfort of your toilet-seat - when next she posts.

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6 Comments

Business

Dear cyber-Plagiarist, it is not sharing. It is STEALING.

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

I should start with ‘Good-morning’, and probably ask how your night was.

But I woke up rather under the bed today.

My crankiness is dedicated to cyber-Plagiarists.

***

Let us just call a fork a fork, and not “a three pronged manual mechanism to assist in the movement of organic elements from metal, breakable, wooden platforms, through the alimentary canal, to the human intestine”.

(Phew! That was a mouthful)

Our Nigerian schools/lecturers did a bad number on the majority of us with respect to Plagiarism, and inculcating an anti-thieving intellectual culture. Sadly, it does not appear that in the decade I bade fare-well to the walls of formal undergraduate institutions, things changed much.

A large number of our students would never even learn the word “Plagiarism”... until (probably) after school. Research in its raw form is almost a code for ‘joke’. The typical thing you learn when writing your final year 'Project' is go to another school and lift someone else's work.

Retype. Reproduce. The end.

In my own case, it was not until my Graduate Studies that I understood fully the meaning and the grave implications of Plagiarism.

There was a full lecture on Plagiarism in Graduate Seminar class. The height was when I was told I could not plagiarize my own work. (Huh??) Which means if I have stated something somewhere before – propounded a certain theory earlier - I would have to cite it when stating the exact same thing in a subsequent work.

(Azin...I cannot repeat what I said before?)

Why? Because to do so without stating where the idea was originally expressed is to attempt to ‘plagiarise’ such idea, or pass it off as ‘fresh’ knowledge.

According to Wikipedia, Plagiarism is the “wrongful appropriation, stealing and publication” of another person’s language, thoughts, ideas or expressions and representing them as one’s original work.

In simple English: Copy-and-Paste without acknowledging the source is = Hell Fire.

(Ok… maybe I’m being a bit too dramatic)

Copy-and-Paste without acknowledging the source is = Plagiarism.

In the case of printed publication (such as books, hard-cover magazines), it is easier to nab a plagiarist, as such person must have gone the extra mile to re-type and reproduce the original work. “Mistake” could hardly be an excuse.

(You’re feeling all shades of “self-righteousness” …. saying to your awesome self how “Tufiakwa! I can never do such”. Hang on.)

In the cyber world however, with the rise of social media, blogging, and online ‘journalism’, things seem to have taken a turn for the worse. Drawing the line between ‘innocent’ proliferation of information and intended stealing for the purpose of passing off as the original author is sometimes an arduous task. It is almost difficult to differentiate 'sharing' from Plagiarism.

But NOT impossible.

You may have run into some cyber-squabble or the other where an ‘unknowing’ Plagiarist claims they got some post from nowhere and did not know it was someone else’s post, blah, blah, black, sheep…

The key rule however is: Cite it. Give credit to whom it is due.

If it is not yours originally, cite it. If you took the idea from someone, and expanded on it, cite it. If you are not sure, cite it. If you found it as a text in your phone from an unknown number, cite it as “culled from a text in my phone, from an unknown number”.

For example, there is a reason Facebook has the 'share' button. So you can easily resist yielding to the devil and his (yes, the devil is a ‘his’) temptation to not credit the source of your post.

(Zuckerberg should make heaven)

Some folks bypass this, but quote the name of the source at the bottom or beginning of the post, and tag the source. (Fair enough)

I find it annoying, the ones who copy the whole post, and place a dejected, disheveled and orphaned '#copied' at the bottom of the post.

(What in the world does that even mean?)

And then, there are the ones who lift the entire post, place it on their wall without any pretence of acknowledging the source, while responding to accolades of "Nice post!" with "Thank you. I get the inspiration from sweet grandmother”.

I have no words for these ones. (Even if they made heaven, they will stay in the ‘boys-quarters’, without air-conditioning)

Plagiarist, hold your ears. Listen: There is no excuse whatsoever for lifting whole statements by someone on Social Media in the name of "sharing", and replicating it on your online space without citing its source, thereby creating the impression it came from you.

(Still snug with self-righteousness much?)

And if you are a victim of cyber-Plagiarists, you should be bold enough to call them out. (I have had to do this in the past). You may also write a “Cease-and-Desist” letter, and subsequently report the Plagiarist to the host site to take down the offending post. Depending on the nature of the work in question - and the availability of resources - in some extreme cases, you should seek the services of Intellectual Property lawyers.

A lot of work should be done in the school systems, drumming it into the heads of students, and enforcing anti-Plagiarism policies.

How about taking ‘Project defence’ a little more seriously, with Lecturers actually grilling students on 'intelligent' submissions made. The student's response on and grasp of the subject-matter would surely indicate if the 'brain-wave' was original or ‘borrowed’.

For media 'reporters' and writers who have others under their wings, it is important to emphasise anti-Plagiarism. Make it a fundamental principle that the people who work with/for you cite the sources of the information they replicate.

This is not to say that one cannot build on an idea expressed by someone else - "Build" being the operative word.

This entails doing your own research from scratch on that idea, and creating your work. Bringing something new to the table. Adding value to the original idea. And then, giving credit to the original author, whilst showing how your work differs from or goes beyond that author’s work.

Always remember the golden rule: If it is not yours... Cite It.

(I am tired)

Paz,

Meg.

P.s.: Good-morning. How was your night?

Photo Credits: www.jimyaghi.com

8 Comments

Health

Depression: Remembering the collective murder of Taiwo.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

As a young Nigerian, I remember being regaled by tales of how Nigerians are "the happiest people on earth". We were touted to "laugh through pain", and prided ourselves in not taking life too seriously. Thus, we learnt to scoff at stories of people said to be suffering depression; we ~~called~~ call it an 'oyinbo' sickness, and sneer at the pain with which it is adorned.

I have since come to learn one truth: We (Nigerians) are not the happiest people on earth. The Danes are, and have been among the happiest for a while (according to the World Happiness Report published by the United Nations)

And why not? At the very least, they have uninterrupted power supply, and dedicated leaders. Not a bunch of ‘adults’, jumping from political party to political party, without an iota of the concept of a common political ideology, or an understanding of the fact that they are servants, with great expectations to provide value to the people they serve.

But I digress. (Forgive me)

So yes, we may cloak our collective and individual pain in witty hashtags and catchy memes, laced up in 'laughter'. It does not make us happy. It only makes us good actors, who have perfected the art of self-denial, such that we can hardly differentiate between reality and illusion anymore.

More people than we could ever imagine who live in our society ARE living with some silent, life-threatening burden. (Well, other than the burden of poverty, which a majority of the populace have been compelled to wear, as their own shadow)

Nigerian, hear this: Depression lives with us. It is real, breathes and walks among us. A silent, but potent killer.

All thanks to scientific/technological advancements and proliferation of knowledge by Internet, we now have a name to "that thing" that would formerly cause us to label a victim as "weird", or "ogbanje".

It is Depression.

Depression may sometimes be used colloquially to represent a general state of sadness, which is of normal occurrence to every human. For example, "I just broke my favorite lipstick. I am 'depressed'". No you are not, not really. You are just sad, which is rather normal for every human to feel from time to time.

Depression in its real form is that uncanny demon, which slowly creeps up on one, stealing one's sense of direction or purpose, self-worth, and (eventually), snuffs one’s urge for continued living.

It is not sudden... it seeps in gradually. Sometimes, it is inherited as a gene. In most cases, it is planted by some traumatic childhood experience, which is so fundamentally harmful to the child’s mind that it jeopardizes their socio-mental ability to cope with the vicissitudes of life as an adult, at which point the mind may 'snap' under the weight of life’s troubles, and the traits become apparent. Some of these traits include feelings of helplessness, hopelessness & dread, unidentifiable anxiety, bursting into tears for no apparent reason, sudden withdrawal from people, deep/crushing sadness and inability to function normally with others.

Until it is dealt with, depression never really goes away.

From time to time, it may be triggered by a myriad of events: from as mundane as being passed over in a promotion, to as grave as the loss of a loved one. While it may be suppressed, untreated depression rears its ugly head intermittently, and the unfortunate victim finds herself/himself running around in circles.

Sadly, our society is not a very kind one. We are not a very sensitive people. Rather than inquire as the possible personal battles one who exhibits such traits may be experiencing, and seek to provide help, we brush it off, with a wave of the hand; telling them to "pray it away". Many times, we stigmatize such depressed persons, brandishing them as "mad", thereby making them afraid to speak up and speak out for the fear of the stigma. Worst still, we jeer at them, for being apparently depressed.

Like Taiwo, whose Facebook posts showed he was teetering on the brink of life and death, being drawn to the latter by depression. His Facebook posts said it all. But in our usual fashion, we mocked him. We made fun of his pain. We laughed at him. It was 'funny'.

Till he died, and it stopped being funny.

This is not to crucify the fun-makers: they are us all. For each time you sneered at a similar victim, you contributed to Taiwo's death, by supporting the intolerance to victims of depression. For each time you sneer at a victim of depression, you murder Taiwo all over. Again, and again.

If you find someone exhibiting traits of depression, set aside your personal prejudices and convictions, cast in stone by our collective crude upbringing. Spare a moment; sit with them.

Listen. That may be all they need.

Better still, help them get professional help via counseling with trained Counselors and/or Medical Professionals.

And if you reading this have these feelings of dread, hopelessness, have lost the urge to continue living due to depression, know that:

1. Depression is not Madness. You are not Mad: ‘Madness’ is schizophrenia, which is complete loss of perception of reality, coupled with an unfounded and sustained feeling of persecution, and having visual, auditory and/or olfactory Hallucinations.

While chronic depression may cause exhibition of some similarities with schizophrenia, it is not schizophrenia, or madness.

Even if you suffered schizophrenia (which you do not), you CAN be helped. There are people living with schizophrenia who receive treatment and function normally. In sane countries, it is no cause for stigma.

2. There is nothing to be ashamed of: There is no shame in being depressed, or suffering depression. It may be your genes. It may be trauma caused by what you went through as a child. You have not offended the gods, nor are you cursed. A lot of wealthy and successful people live with or have lived with depression. So there is NO stigma to Depression.

3. Depression is an ailment. Like Cancer. Or Malaria: What do people do when they have Malaria? They seek treatment. They do not just stay indoors and hide away the illness. They do not just go from prayer house to prayer house to pray away the Cancer.

When people have physical ailments, they seek treatment. Same should apply for ailments of the mind, of which Depression is one. Even while you pray, seek treatment. Help is possible.

4. You are not alone: Someone understands; a lot of people do actually. You are not the first to go through depression; it is not likely that you will be the last. A lot of people (much more than you could imagine) are living with depression. And living normal lives. All that is required of you is to talk to someone, at the very least, a medical doctor.

You will be fine.

5. Be careful of the Internet: Sometimes, a good thing can be a bad thing. If you type in side-effect of paracetamol, you would almost have a heart-attack after you are done reading. Same thing applies in depression, be careful what you read.

There are some online resources that are very good, like www.helpguide.org. Ultimately, it is better you got your information face-to-face from a professional.

6. It is not that bad: Depression has a way of twisting reality, and pushing everything to look its worst possible.

Rationality would let you know it is not that bad, but depression would seek to make everything a lost case.

You will be fine again. You will love laughter once more, love your loved ones again. You will yet again get to feel and enjoy the twang in an agbalumo, and laugh fear in the face.

You. Will. Be. FINE.

***

Dear Taiwo,

We failed you.

We did not just fail you; we failed humanity, and the reason for our existence.

Take solace in knowing this: that even in death, you triumph still.

Your life was not worthless. Your death was not futile.

Our eyes have been opened to your reality, which you sought to show us.

Others shall be saved, because of you.

Sleep on.

Peace,

Meg.

Note: The information provided in this post was obtained largely from informal personal experiences of the author via interaction with others, first-hand knowledge and from research. For more formal information on depression, you may visit www.helpguide.org (A helpline is also provided)

While MMBM does not (yet) have depression counseling facilities, healthcare providers nationwide can assist in providing help or referrals to appropriate facilities. Some organisations – such as Family Ministries International, Abuja - have trained health professionals who provide counseling, and can equally make appropriate recommendations for help to persons living outside the area. There is also the Nigeria Suicide Prevention Initiative, with hotlines 08062106493 and 08092106493.

Help is just a call or text away.

#IStandWithYou

Photo Credits (In order of appearance)

www.paxil.net

www.facebook.com

12 Comments

Life

About sorry decisions: What to do with your (totally expected) knock-off.

Thursday, March 09, 2017

I purchased a fake product recently. And I totally deserved it.

***

There is this concealer I am pathologically addicted to. (I was not paid for marketing... so I will not say the brand's name).

My supply finished a while back. I had been using another brand, but it just was not 'popping' my cheekbones well enough.

(The lengths we go… )

I had checked all my regular cosmetics retailers, and even looked online. I got the same news everywhere: It was not available in the market.

So over the weekend, while making my hair - which by the way, is now discomforting, because the silly Harmattan ran away - this aunty bounces in, selling all sorts of 'make-up'.

(What you would call a ‘mobile’ vendor)

Out of curiosity... I asked if she had my favoured brand of concealer.

"Ah yes... I get am; big size, small size and medium".

(Huh? I knew this thing to come in just one size)

She hands me the 'medium'. The seal looked quite different from what I was used to purchasing.

I knew this HAD to be fake.

Maybe it was the need for instant gratification, or just plain being Nigerian, and 'hoping' unrealistically - forgetting that it is water God uses to make wine, not pee.

So I took it anyway. Believing for the best. (Whatever on earth that means)

What I bought lived up to expectations: it was a horrid mixture of Silver Rose and Nixoderm.

(Uggghh!)

Not that any of those are bad products in themselves. But they are effective for clearing acne... not for applying make-up.

I threw it away instantly. My Silver Rose/Nixoderm concealer-wannabe.

I threw it away. And came to terms with my loss of money… and diminished good sense.

***

Moral: Sometimes, we decide to settle for less. In relationships. In our Career. At the market. In buying cars.

We are well aware that what we settle for is either not what we want, or is an adulterated version (or 'wannabe') of same. But we take it anyway.

Just because.

Or... maybe we've run out patience. Maybe just to fulfill righteousness. And/or because we eventually cave into the pressure.

And then... the Nigerian in us begins to hope against hope that we were not scammed. (Like the MMMers).

We hope, and pray, and 'believe' that our wrong investment turns out 'right', praying for help from above. Sadly... God is a miracle-worker, not a magician.

The situation was not helpless: you/I walked right in without a gun to your/my head. It is not like Cancer that just appears. Uninvited.

Just like the sting with which the smell of that 'concealer' hit me, we are hit with the outcome of the need for premature gratification. The "after-reggae-blues" sets in. Reality knocks at the door, and waltzes right in without a 'welcome'.

So if/when you decide to settle for fake, fully aware of the product's quality - or lack of any thereof - be prepared to deal with it. You know that singular decision you took to settle?? It is your decision to deal as well. Do not seek validation from the world. Do not seek permission either, or confirmation of what you know is the truth. You will not find it. Deal with your mess.

Remember: the world does not care. No, not really.

But you are not alone in your woes. Everyone has their fair share.

If you decide to stay put, suit yourself. Live with your knock-off, and plop yourself smack in the centre of fate's right palm.

But when you tire of 'managing' your fake product, be like me and give yourself peace of mind:

Throw the ugly concealer-wannabe away.

And move on.

Paz,

Meg.

P.s. Happy International Women's Day to all Women!

And to all the phenomenal men who genuinely support the women in their lives: Thank You!

Photocredits: Tonto Dikeh

10 Comments

White Christmas: Part 1 - by Abimbola 'Bima' Ogochukwu Reju

Dear cyber-Plagiarist, it is not sharing. It is STEALING.

Depression: Remembering the collective murder of Taiwo.

About sorry decisions: What to do with your (totally expected) knock-off.

MEG CHINELO EGBUNONU

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