Nigerian Blogs Aggregator

Aloofaa

September 08, 2008
23:44
I'm still alive
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

Today, 2008.From the desk of the Head,
Blogggers Welfare Dept.,
Gooogle Inc.
US.

To visitors of this blogWe at blogggers.com will like to inform you that this blog will remain un-updated for a while. We regret to announce that the lanky guy who runs this blog – AlooFar – is presently having a serious duel with an illness. He has since been at the mercy of some strange drugs. Besides, his mother – the ever-early guest at such alarm - has added to the blitz of drugs by involving some herbal mixture. This has caused a little tussle between the two of them. AlooFar insists that he hates bitterness on his tongue. Moreover, all his attempts at adding fruit juice or sugar to the herbal concoction have failed.

Because the illness defiled all domestic caring, he was taken to a hospital where he performed some 007-like stunt that placed him in front of a queue, to the chagrin of other patients. He left his mum surprised with the stunt.

For a hospital he has not visited in yeeeeeaaaarrrrssss, AlooFar was surprised that the recruitment formula for nurses has changed. Moving busily up and down the hospital aisles were good-looking and well-endowed nurses. But he could not understand the cranky look on their faces.

Against his expectation, AlooFar was attended to by a male doctor.

And then the doctor examined his new patient. AlooFar could interpret the look on the doctor’s face – “this dude looks so emaciated. He looks like a shrunken version of Will Smith.”

The doctor proceeded with the diagnosis and made some strange inscriptions on a sheet of paper. Medical lingoes, we suppose.

He directed them to go to the dispensary to get the stuffs he prescribed in coded letterings. Moreover, AlooFar kept staring at the strange writings, trying to see if any of the words look anything like “syringe,” “injection,” or “inoculation”. ALOOFAR HATES INJECTION.

They got to the dispensary and surprisingly he was not going to be injected.

AlooFar is surprised that Art lives in the hospital. He thinks all the pharmaceutical messages on the walls are artistic expressions of a strange sort. Stickers everywhere. Bold headings with funny endings – -quine, -col, -din, -tamol, -vasc, -gil, -illin, -tral blablablabla. “Who are they passing all these messages to?” AlooFar thought. He however said he was looking for any of the words that end with “–gra” or “-siac”. We have no idea which words have those endings.
As they were leaving the hospital, AlooFar began to look around, rather frantically, to have a final look at any of the beautiful nurses. However, none came at that point.

They left the hospital. He has since been taking his drugs and trying hard to get the memories of those nurses out of his sick brain.

We can assure you that he is winning the battle against the illness. And we hope he resumes blogging as soon as possible. After all, he was not diagnosed with blogoriasis or blogolaria.

May we seize this opportunity to warn those bloggers who enjoy prodding him for an update to STOP! He considers those prodding VERy Annoying (caps intended). Any further incursion from them, and their accomplices, may lead to a termination of their blogs. Cheers,Yao Ming-EzimorahFor Gooogle Inc.what if everything is but a dream?
August 11, 2008
22:11
Lost
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

maybe I’m the one left behind
as the world moves in hurrying paces
or am I the first at the seashore – the
lone survivor of this mammoth wreck?

maybe I’m just another grown toddler
who marks time on wobbling feet
perhaps I’m an adept swimmer
who glides ahead of the herd

giddy. these sands are shifting.

am I a tossed coin on a gambler's table or
another Gulliver who lost his map?what if everything is but a dream?
July 25, 2008
6:08
Lagos, and more...
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

I’m not sure whether we, before being born, were offered the right to choose our desired city of residence. If we were, I must have been foolish to have chosen Lagos; except if the city was cleverly advertised to me – its murky side hidden behind a drape of its colorful side.

Lagos. One can hate the city, but can never love it enough. It’s a strange romance. And lately, I have been so caught up in this romance, being an unfortunate lover, that I can’t yet divorce myself form her lustful grip, if at all possible.

Plus every other thing, the ttttrrrraaaaffffiiiicccc in Lagos is killing me. Yes, ttttrrrraaaaffffiiiicccc (visual pun intended).

I have been away from blogging. No, I didn’t resign (at least not now). A friend called and said he has a feeling I landed a job in Barack Obama’s campaign team. Very funny. But sincerely, the after-effect of writing his speech sure feels like an after-sex exhaustion.

Things have been crazy lately. And fun too. From defending myself for writing “as sexy as hell” (a poetry line I wrote and meant to be understood in the context of the poem) to futile attempt to find a place where I can purchase the season one compilation of “Everybody hates Chris”. From engaging in some corporate bickering to missing the theatre to watch Wole Soyinka’s “Madmen and Specialists”. From attending a programme at the Teslim Balogun Stadium and listening to brilliant speakers – Funso Philips and Toyin Subair – to attending the christening party of a boss’s baby and resisting every temptation to spend that evening in Femi Kuti’s shrine instead – somewhere in the neighbourhood. It’s called respecting the baby. It’s crazy I know.

I paced up and down in front of the shrine, secretly relishing one of Fela’s songs as it played in the background. The ambience was somewhat riveting – the smell of tobacco and ganja mixing with Fela’s saxophone, men and women – some of them with heavy swathes of locked hair, pacing up and down, some with cupful of alcohol (what else can it be?), some with cigarette (of course!) expertly placed between their fingers and occasionally sandwiched between their waiting lips. Puffs! Whiffs! Salutation to Abami Eda. I don’t smoke. But I kinda like the smell. Quirky?

Well, during the past week, I resumed my multi-book reading habit – reading six to seven books at a period – dropping one and getting bored, picking another, starting from the centre, getting distracted, stopping, reflecting, admiring one author, disliking the other, going back to the first book, picking a new one, restless anticipation of humour in some of the pages, reading the blurb again, switching between radio stations, the TV remote very close, forgetting to dog-ear where I stopped, blablablablabla… I’ve been reading all the books for about six months. I’m an incurable slow reader, with a low attention span. What’s the cure for low attention span? Anyone?

Besides, my naughty friend is temporarily back in Lagos, after some months-long hideout in the North. I’d thought we were going to resume our evening-long hanging out. The yeye boy lured me into making preparations for his visiting Yankee girlfriend. Every preparation possible. “Do this”. “Don’t do that”. “She would like this”. “She won’t like that”. “Blow her head off” (whatever that means). Rehearsals. Cautions. And internally, I was warning myself to keep a distance from them, knowing how much they will frustrate me with their public show of hhmmmpwah, hhmmmpwah, hhmmmpwah (Is that the spelling of the kissing sound?)

And help. Help. Help. I think I’ve lost my collection of poems. It’s driving me mad. I just don’t know where I dropped them.

Well, let’s just say AlooFar is back. I’m on a bet with a fellow blogger, TosynBucknor. I'm on a mission to be the first to make comments on her next five posts.

For all those who cared to know wassup with AlooFar, thank you. And for those who keep yelling at me…. Your time is coming.what if everything is but a dream?
June 18, 2008
7:13
Obama's Speech on Nigerians
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

Once again I’d like to show my appreciation for everyone who stood by us over the course of our campaign. Indeed it’s been a defining moment, not just for our party but for our country.

I want to specially thank the men and women who have been walking with me in my journey to become the 44th President of the United States.

I understand the importance of America’s democracy to the overall welfare of our planet. But I haven’t known until lately the extent which the world has shown great interest in our affairs.

Just yesterday, I watched on the television the rousing ovation that accompanied the announcement of my nomination, not only in the United States but especially in the farthest regions of the world. What that tells me is that our neighbours, far and near, are interested in the kind of change sweeping across the American nation. What that means is that our message of hope resonates beyond the geographical boundaries of this country. And that is significant - because it also means the rest of the world endorses my candidacy. I’m humbled.

But I must not pretend that I accept all the congratulatory messages without some misgivings. Pardon my impoliteness, but I’d wished I’d not received some messages from certain quarters of the world.

I love Africa. I love the Nigerian people. But certain observations call for serious concern.

I’ve been reflecting over the possibilities of my emergence as president, if I’d been a citizen of the world’s most populated black nation. For obvious reasons, I’ve not been able to curtail my amusement at such misguided reflection, knowing well the odds stacked against such ambition.

I will be 47 this August. And this November, I’ll be marching up to become the next Commander-in-Chief of the United States. If this were Nigeria, I would have been told to wait and allow older people to run as though the amount of grey hair in ones head translates to the person’s level of political or moral maturity. Moreover, its present president is its first graduate president since independence.

More surprising is that his victory during the elections has become a classic illustration in the textbooks of fraudulent electioneering. It will be unfair to bother you with the fact that many Nigerians never knew how their present president looks like until the morning of inauguration day.

American politics is definitely not perfect. But the American people sure have a lot to teach the world in matters of politics. And the Nigerian nation has even more to learn. Our candidates here move from one constituency to another to woo voters, to sell a vision of leadership. But in that West African state, it is the responsibility of a powerful oligarchy, party chieftains, self-appointed godfathers and their band of thugs to impose candidates on the party and the people. The American people definitely understand that a nation is best governed by laws, not men; that we are all equal in the eyes of the laws; that we can be free to say what we want, write what we want – after all the law is there to defend our freedom of expression under reasonable conditions.

Nigeria is a republic – at least that’s what the books say. Sadly, that’s where it ends too. Ones political success is directly related to ones affiliation to established dynasties: tribal dynasty, family dynasty, business or religious affiliations.

The significance of my candidacy has been highly trumpeted – and hasn’t been made less phenomenal by the media - a son of a Kenyan father married to a white woman - a black man who is now riding on the horseback of the American Dream. I guess I owe my late father a lot for successfully planting me in the belly of a white woman. Maybe it’s my mum that I should be grateful to for accepting a black man’s romantic advances. Now my dad has become a source of inspiration of some sort - a source of inspiration to all would-be immigrants to the United States. I guess the chase for the elusive US immigrant VISA has just been heightened. However, let it be known now that the US immigrant VISA will not be any less easy to acquire when I become president.

Mrs. Clinton has fought a good fight. Among other aspirants for the Democratic ticket, she has traveled the farthest. She has made history as the woman who has done what no woman has done before. What are her chances of coming this close to the presidency of her country if she had been a Nigerian? If she ever dared to announce such an aspiration she would have only succeeded in waking up the demons of sexism, and waking up the monster of a culture that says women are to be seen, not heard. She would have been reminded that women are to remain in the background because men, only men, have been destined to occupy the open space. Certain societies are adverse to female dreamers.

Mrs. Clinton proved to the world what it means to lose politically. She didn’t talk of joining another party or even registering another. She has a strong guiding principles and her declaration of support for my campaign is a demonstration of her bravery even in the face of defeat.

I hear Nigeria makes a metaphorical claim as the giant of Africa. That claim, I make bold to say, is not only unfounded but absurd. Forgive my observation, that country’s claim of gianthood is only proved by the relative size of its population. 48 years after bidding farewell to colonial rule, that nation is still struggling to get on its feet, like a toddler. Nigeria has clearly failed to be the beacon of hope for other African nations.

Will the Nigerian people ever speak of their country as that where leaders make unselfish calculations that prepare them for the challenges of the global economy? Will they ever speak of a nation where every child, male and female, has a right to achieve his or her dream? So long as people are trapped in poverty, so long as there are evidences of gross marginalization of certain regions, so long as opportunities are opened but not for all - the dream of a true nation will remain out of reach.

Not too many countries are as religion-loving as Nigerians. On a more ridiculous note, Nigeria also ranks high on the list of corrupt nations. Too much spirituality. Too much corruption. I dissociated myself from my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright. I condemned the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused controversy, statements that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate the greatness and the goodness of our nation. But I still respect him. How many Nigerian clergymen, considering the size of the followership they command, can bluntly condemn unpleasant activities of the government? Bloody hypocrites.

Let’s leave Nigerian problems for the Nigerian people.

The American people deserve change. They are tired of politics and policies that do not address their immediate challenges. They now have a choice to determine whether they will recycle the same of the same or will give the leadership of this nation to a man who will give them the future – a man that embodies hope and change.

One thing though… when I become the president, will the White house be called the Black house? And I’ve promised myself not to allow the Obama girl to come close to the White house. I’m afraid she might be my administration’s version of Monica Lewinsky.

I’m grateful for your attention. I’m more grateful to the writer of my speech. He sure deserves to be a part of my administration.

Thank you. God bless you. God bless America.

Disclaimer: You read this speech before it's been delivered. Please note...
This writer acknowledges the input of others knowing well that the essence of this speech will discourage a possible lawsuit. what if everything is but a dream?
May 25, 2008
6:42
Creative Advertising
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

Some pictures from the beautiful world of advertising!

Campaign on verbal abuse against women "Verbal abuse can be just as horrific"

Campaign against mothers who smoke: "Women who smoke feed more than milk to their children"
NIVEA : "For extra strong, extra long nails"

Durex XXL

Creative or what ya think? what if everything is but a dream?
May 20, 2008
5:53
Ok... I got my ass tagg'd
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

Ok. It's the tagging season.

Here are the rules:
1. Link the person(s) who tagged you… Ejura and Anonymous gal
2. Mention the rules in your blog…
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours...
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them…
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged...

1. I always blame my parents for not being from two different races. Caucasian + Black, Indian + Black or anyone. I should be a half-caste now. I might be Will Smith or Hmmmm, Michael Jordan ;)

2. When I'm engaged in some argument with my dad, I always find myself having some funny thoughts like what’s wrong with this young man, what is this small boy who claims to be my dad feeling like?, So you think you’re making sense? ;)

3. For me, I don’t know why mosquitoes and ants should be killed. You’re likely to see my face glued to a wall following an ant. I sometimes use my hand to direct its part… like don’t go there, come here, they will kill you if you pass that boundary. I don’t even kill mosquitoes. A friend passed the night at my place during my undergraduate days. I was surprised to wake up in the middle of the night to see my friend armed with a folded newspaper in one hand and a broom in the other hand, wrestling with mosquitoes. Damn it. You need to see how my wall was graffiti-ed with mosquito blood.

4. I read in the toilet. It looks like that thing won’t come out without having something to distract myself.

5. I hate NEPA (Is it PHCN?) My mum once told me that those mad people cut the electricity few minutes before I was born. Thank goodness I don't go around carrying an uncut umbilical cord.

6. I make lots of imaginary movies when I stroll. I write, direct, produce, sometimes act in movies I generate from my imagination. I do this especially when I’m strolling.

Everbody has been tagged. Ok I tag The Kush Chronicles, Efjay, Vera, Loomnie, Jaybabe, Muse and Googlewhat if everything is but a dream?
May 09, 2008
4:06
What if seated in Heaven is the Devil?
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

I made this post last year. It has since been attracting some misgivings from some people, who, in their respected opinions, considered it “sensitive”. I have declined every urge to make a post on their rejoinders. I still wonder why they couldn’t drop their comments directly on my blog instead of emailing me.

One of them, a well-known blogger (No, I won’t link him ;)), stumbled at me on yahoo messenger. Before then we’ve been having some real nice chat on about anything. Little did I know I was about to abort our correspondence when I posted this poem. On that faithful day, I logged on to my messenger, only to be welcomed by a long and anxious queue of offline messages. Spam! I thought.

But to my surprise the messages, minus two, were a chain of biblical verses filled with curses, yes – CURSES! My blogger friend had leafed through his bible to fish out portions of that holy text that seem designed as suitable words of retaliation against a perceived sacrilege. What a joke! I thought.

By coincidence, he was online at that time. And then I asked him, “Mr, to what do I owe this prayers?” I guess he must have been pissed off by the cheeky modesty of my question. He replied with yet another stretch of biblical passages, the difference only being that, this time, they came so hurriedly that most of the words were misspelt. How else was I supposed to understand the depth of his anger? I didn’t even bother to reply. All the while the chat box was busy saying #### is typing a message …until he signed out.

Just few days ago, I got a text from a friend who, after visiting my blog, ordered me, I mean ORDERED me, to retract (his word) that part of the poem that reads, “What if seated in Heaven is the Devil?” because, his reason – it is blasphemous. At that point I went back thinking about how far I’ve come with this poem, and who knows – how far I’ll go.

I wrote this poem during my undergraduate years. I still remember the rabid feedback I got courtesy of that part of the poem. A classmate of mine will look at me then and say… You are the anti-christ! And then I would smile. One actually told me she has stopped reading the departmental press board because an “unholy poem” was once glued there. To quote a lecturer-friend, Your case is a sorry case. I avoided arguing with him by replying with a smile too.

But of course, I got some interesting and encouraging comments too ;)

Let's see how many blogofriends I have (or will remain as friends). This is the poem, titled “What If…”
What if…

What if everything is but a dream
cast nude on this jagged plane, unreal?

What if the silhouette is but the real thing
and the substance is its shadow?

What if sight is but blindness
and voice is but dumbness?
What if that animal perceives you as "animal"
itself- human, created in His image?
What if the womb is our grave
and the grave is but the cocoon pregnant with life?
What if white is but a precious gloom
and rose is but the embleem of death?

What if it’s not sleep after all
but Death tickly calling?

What if it’s foolery finely cloaked
masking as Love?

What if seated in Heaven is the Devil
and fanning Hell’s furnace is The Lord?

What if righteousness is but a sin
and Sodomy, the Hallowed?

What if we are just characters
existing only in the dreams of some gods?

What if…? what if everything is but a dream?
April 18, 2008
3:07
Lessons from Rich-ard Brand-son
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

I haven’t been doing much book reading lately for reasons best known to me (in the name of career pursuit), and my boss ;). A colleague of mine whose taste in books is, in one word – first-class, lend me this book Screw it, Let’s do it, authored by Richard Branson, the man behind the Virgin brand. The book is a lovely read. I couldn’t believe I made a record of finishing a book in a few days (LoL), being aware of my incurable slow reading pace. I’ve been known to spend unnecessary long periods finishing a book, no matter the size. Sometimes I laugh at myself when I take a look at my books and see that a sizable number of them are half-read, some quarter-read, and for some reading beyond the Preface has been impossible. I’ll finish them someday. It isn’t my fault. Some people are just too restless in life. Reading the preface page of Richard’s book, I knew I was on a mission to winning a reading record. You don’t want to know the number of pages it is! Anyway, I leafed through its pages, learning some inspirational lessons in life and business from one of world’s most successful entrepreneurs. The lessons were clearly presented as a matter-of-fact but interesting approach, not like those palliatives that many motivational speakers and religious leaders alike bore me with, me alone. I just hate those nicely strewn words… Your attitude determines your altitude; If you don’t come to the sanctuary, you’ll end up in the mortuary; You either pray or you become a prey. Some of them are nuggets of wisdom. But Gush! they always bore me. Rich Richard says, Whatever your field, you must be passionate about it and create excitement in everything you do. Beat your drum and look beyond the obvious. Before I face copyright prosecution for writing an abridged version of the book, you’d better go get your own copy. Actually, I feel like giving out free copies to some people. The way the guy wrote so glowingly about his business empire – the ups and downs, I feel like resuming work almost immediately at Virgin Atlantic or Virgin Nigeria ;) I hear Richard telling me… Man! Screw it, Just do it.what if everything is but a dream?
April 15, 2008
0:07
Just Images
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

Creative Advertising. Beautiful Ads. We'll soon get there in Nigeria.

what if everything is but a dream?
April 05, 2008
0:05
Writer’s Block or Writer’s Cramp?
» ‎ Read entry @ Aloofaa

These words are just spilling out. I doubt if this will turn out to be a sensible piece, I mean, an unboring piece.

Most times I get nudged to write, either by some experience, or just by the common writer’s need to give a disturbing thought a lettered face. In some cases, it is the struggle to marry conflicting views together, and writing becomes the only leeway for a settlement.

This often comes with its misfortune. I realize that while employing writing as a means to resolving the conflict, I end up inviting some other voices, different shades of perspectives, of voices once muffled, or once inexistent. Of course this is good. But first, I’ll pause, aghast at my self-infliction. Should I continue to write? Should I just give up? Will it be okay if I just engage someone in a discourse instead of resorting to writing? Questions. Probings. Doubts. And then, I’ll continue writing. As the words continue to spill out from their enclave, I’ll negotiate my way through them, and then some kind of light, a strange glow of revelation, will be shown on my writing. Those thoughts will now start to interact with one another, agreeing, disagreeing. Before I knew it, I’ve written a piece. Before I knew it, I would have dotted the last sentence.

Now I have to digress. It’s often the lot of a writer, especially when what is to be written is yet unformed in ones mind, that funny situation where thoughts fly mischievously, playing hide and seek, resisting every attempt to strewn them into words; if not to make a sense out of them but at least to ease the writer’s unsettled mind. Even when the thoughts are well formed, ready to be typed out, they start another form of mischief, this time confronting the writer with where and how to start. This is a familiar terrain.

When nibbled to write, I do not wait for long, before I resign into calmness, into a state where I’m likely to be uninterrupted. And if that occurs in the morning, the better for me, since it appears I’m mostly alert during that part of the day. It’s usually a strange bonus if I get to write anything at all before night calls it a day.

Now, I’m supposed to write. The impulses are right. I just don’t know how to start. This is it! That dreaded state. Writer’s block. A distracting clog on the wheel of invention.

Maybe there is no such thing as a writer’s block, I ask myself sometimes. Maybe it’s just ones perfectionist tendency pressed beyond tolerable limits, and resulting into some kind of cooling down after a tenuous mental exhaustion.

All the same these are not the words I planned to put down, I think I’m blocked.

But at least I’ve blogged ;)
what if everything is but a dream?

← All notes AltNigeria Blog →

Nigerian Blogs Aggregator

Feeds

Aloofaa