Last Weeks Offering: 50 Shades of Afam: Bottom like a Watermelon

As we leave the building I'm struck by the sight of an audi R8 on the back of an AA van. Having an R8 in Lagos is ludicrous! Furthermore her school is somewhere between Lekki and Aja, the road that leads to it would be a first class attraction at any war museum or Jungle Safari. If anyone ever attempted to drive an R8 through it, they would find that it was impossible. The R8 would balance itself on the peak of one of the trenches on the road. Kasali notices my concern.

"The Madam likes fast cars, but as you know that car can't possibly deal with half the roads in Lagos so she has two car lifting trucks, one to ferry her and her car to the express way, and another to pick her up from kingsway road to take her to her primary residence. She's a very practical woman."

I thank Kasali for all his help or lack there of and climb into my 504. I turn the key but the car fails to sputter to life. Why me? Must my car humiliate me in front of this Kasali? I try again and the response is the same. I look at Kasali and smile. He knows what to do. Like the drama queen that he is he first says quite loudly, "you've got to be kidding me? Why do we have such cars on the road?" Kasali throws his massive frame into the task. The car rolls, I clutch down and turn the key like I mean to break it. BROPOPOPOPO PO! My car rewards Kasali with a burst of lethal smoke from it's exhaust pipe. Take that limousine head!

The rest of my journey home, is uneventful. Ade and I share a boys quarters behind some lecturer's house. Ade doesn't need to but his parents don't like him going to university from home.  My father worked for Ade's father for a long time so I'm like family. Yes, like a very poor cousin from the village.

"How did it go?" Ade asks from the sofa.

"It went. She's really something." I reply.

"So, show me what you've got."

I toss the package she gave me to him.

"She seized the dictaphone. I'm sorry"

"No worries. We'll catch her tonight."

"What do you mean?"

"We're going out!!"

No. This can't be happening. My Friday nights are sacred. I read books by candlelight and fall asleep. This is better than it sounds. I'm half way into the bottled leopard at the moment. It is a book about a were leopard believe it or not! I know that protesting won't do me any good, so I start to pack my overnight clothes into a small Ghana must go I maintain for this very purpose.

"Don't pack any clothes, apart from your pyjamas. I'm kitting you out tonight. You need to look your best. I'm not going to let you let the side down."

I shrug in humble acceptance of my fate. It's not that I mind that much it's just that I feel like i'm cheating on my book. We hop into Ade's university car. He's christened the car the Pimp Mobil even't though it isn't very pimping. It's a blue 2004 Toyota Corolla but I'm not complaining. I start the fire up the engine and speed off. I tend to drive the car more often than he does as I drive the both of us whenever we both use it. He says that it's because the car cramps his style, but it's really only because he isn't very good with manual cars.

We make it to his house in Lekki Phase 1 in record time. Ade opens his door and his Rotweilers descend on him. I use this as my cue to sprint inside the house. I think Ade's two year stint abroad fried his brain. Why would any human being allow his dogs to lick him on the mouth? EWW!

I stroll into the Kitchen and greet the cook, Mr Oscar.

"Mr Oscar where's madam?" Madam here's Ade's mother.

"She's in the lobby, playing the piano."

"I'll go and join her."

I open the kitchen door and I hear it. She's playing one of the variations of Ah! Vous Dirai-je Maman. When she told me what it was I was a little bit surprised because it sounded like twelve different, unnecessarily complicated versions of Twinkle Twinkle little star. You'll have to listen to the full thing to understand. She nodded in acknowledgement and I went upstairs to catch up on some DSTV. I don't know why Ade always complains about the quality of DSTV. Compared to what I'm used to it's amazing. I fail to see why he can't sit through a not very good movie, or just watch the news. While reclining on their camel leather couch I fall asleep. I'm woken up at 9pm with a cracking slap on my back.

"Dude it's time."

Happy Days,
Afam

Before I begin, I feel like I should apologize for splitting the features on the koko concert. You see it is one thing to skewer the villains and charlatans that organised the damned thing and it is another to comment on the performances. I didn't want the undoubtedly shitty circumstances to poison your minds. So take a deep breath, calm yourselves, reach that place of Zen. Are your inner waters at peace? If so, read on, but if not take a deeper breath.

I, Afam am no longer a Johnny Just Come (JJC) to these West African armpit shores. Surely you've heard that Nigeria is a significant part of the armpit of Africa, I think this is catchier and more true than the Heart of Africa because countries and continents don't have hearts. Even if they did it is impossible to measure which heart is the heartiest of the lot. Can you say that a Ghanaian heart is better than a Nigerian one? As I am no longer a Johnny Just Come, I do not feel the ants in my pants that I used to feel whenever I was late to an event. I left my house at 11pm and got within striking distance of the concert in 30 minutes.

I was stood at the most precarious place for not 2 yards from me were some young lads partaking of hashish. I was rather surprised as I had never seen anyone partake of hashish so openly and in such a crowded venue. People were also guzzling spirits by the bottle. I couldn't blame them. Not everyone is me. Not everyone is capable of reaching inner peace and tranquility with gentle long deep breaths. It's not your fault. I judge not.

There were comedians on stage but truth be told I did not brave the man made desert that is Eko Atlantic for them. I came for Wizkid (he didn't perform though), the current lord of all Vandals Dbanj, DRB, Ajebutter, the extremely elusive Burna boy, Tinie Tempah and Big Sean.

The first musician on stage was flowsick. I could not believe that this was the compensation for my efforts. It was like Christmas in 2006, when Papa Afam wrote in my Christmas card, "Sorry, Santa couldn't deliver this year. He was stuck in the war in Afghanistan." It was so disappointing I could not believe it was happening to me. Flowsick wanted to give it to us low key, but with a voice like the one he displayed on stage it is a wonder how he isn't anything but low key. I would suggest that the performance was bad enough to condemn him to irrelevance but I'd probably be wrong. Below, is the studio version of the song.


Next was DRB. The crowd wasn't theirs at all. But they tried. They powered through with their incredible work ethic. It was not their fault that the crowd was moody, foul tempered and lackluster. They were the victims here. I enjoyed their set. You see, back when I was a young un, I went to school in Gbagada and so did Toyin. It's kind of funny no? You have to allow the odd wise crack. Dry jokes are the best jokes.


Then came Ajebutter. The first song he did was Omo pastor with the help of Boj. It was brilliant. For the first time that night the crowd came alive. Hands were waving, people were screaming and I am pleased to say that I was among them. I need a Pastors daughter in my life. I will put this in my prayers for 2013. Senrenre was less popular and I was shocked by this because I am never not in the mood to hear it.
I maintain that the white person in the video, there's only one, looks like a certain old Cheltonian in the University of Manchester. 

You know that I don't know the name of every Nigerian performer right? The fellow that followed Ajebutter was one of the ones that I didn't know. He performed a song about booties bouncing. Let that booty bounce or something like that. He even had a semi skilled dancer accompany him on stage. For all the provocative dancing, it was frightfully dull. So dull that I found myself thinking of my January exams. Do you know that in 1952 China was perhaps less industrialized than India? Thank me later.

It was at this juncture that I decided that if I didn't know them, then I wouldn't blog about them. It's only fair isn't it?

My favourite Mammy Water was the next performer that I knew. It was the one, the only, Seyi Shay. Tonight Seyi chose to wear a bright red sequined mini dress that barely covered her crotch. I liked this a lot. Her legs looked long. I was a little green with envy that I wasn't closer to the stage. The view there must have been awesome.  She was pretty good. As far as singing goes she was easily the best of the night. I enjoyed it.


Iyanya of Kukere came on next. Do you know that Iyanya's car plate is IYANYA? During his performances I started to formulate the theory that Nigerian musicians live aren't musicians at all but hypemen of their own music. When the backing track is as loud as the microphone and all you're really doing is shouting EH!! and YEAH!! are you not a hype man? Kukere is a brilliant song so in spite of the fact that he couldn't really hold a tune or sing on key or not sound flat I really enjoyed his performance. This is a fine example of expectations management. If you have extremely negative expectations, you can only ever be pleasantly surprised.

 Iyanya also performed your waist. As some of you do not know the song I shall transcribe the lyrics I remember.


Man (Iyanya): "Your waist, your waist, all I want is your waist"

Girl: "My waist, my waist, all you want is my waist. You want my waist my waist. You want my freaking (it could be freaky) waist boy"

I think it's a little poetic. However I have to say that they waisted a brilliant dancer. She got no credit for her extraordinarily paced gyrations. I believe that she could be the answer to the energy crisis.

See what I did there? I'm sitting on my couch thinking, "Afam! you're such a genius!" You don't agree? Well, my opinion is the only opinion that counts. I kid. Also I missed Tosan Mac Wilshire's dancing here. He gives new meaning to the phrase, "your waist."


After him came Burna Boy. Burna boy has been something of an enigma this christmas. Before the Koko concert he was scheduled to do two other concerts (the DRB concert and the Chris Brown concert) but he was a no show. In my opinion this calls his work ethic into question. It's like missing work without calling in sick. He performed his song, Like to party.

Because I'm a sort of aspiring writer, I consider myself a writer and like most writers I believe that the climax should only come a few pages from the end and not one second before. So, I am very uncomfortable telling you that Burna boy, who only performed one song was the HIGHLIGHT of the night. For 5 minutes the crowd forgot about all their troubles (and their troubles were rather significant) and enjoyed the damned concert. Hands were waving, guys and girls were screaming, a girl next to me was grinding on a guy's head. Who does that?! I guess that's how much people liked Burnaboy. They liked him enough to ignore all that is good and natural in the world.


I know that the quality of his voice is suspect, but it's still a pretty decent song. He was undoubtedly the winner of the night! #winning #BurnaForTheWin

After him came Dami Krane. Following Burna boy can't have been the easiest task in the world, but on the other hand the crowd was more alive than it had been in hours. Dami Krane put us all back to sleep. Like a vampire he sapped the people of their zest for life. I cannot tell you what he performed. I can only tell you that I received negative utility from watching it. This my dear friends and enemies, for enemies are just as dear to me as friends, is negative satisfaction. You could compare it to walking naked through a field of stinging nettles or sleeping in a bed full of ants. I was delighted to see the back of him.

Next came Ice Prince, and all he did was hype himself. There existed no great distinction between him and Dami Krane. It might be better to sleep, than to see him live.


It is rather unfortunate that Tinie Tempah followed him because the crowd was even more hostile than it had been at the beginning. If not for the usurper Burna boy, Tinie would have been the night's champion. I enjoyed his set as much or even more than Burna boy's but the crowd was more alive during Burna boy's so as much as it pains me, I cannot award him the title of Champion (or Tampon... the combination of Chamion and Tinie Tempah is undoubtedly a tampon). Patrick Chukwuemeka Okogwu (Tinie Tempah) did well. I sang Written in the Stars, even when I knew that I could not possibly sing that ridiculously high note in the chorus, I danced violently and spastically to Miami to Ibitha (he called it Miami to Lagos for the purposes of the night) even though the steps I was standing on were more than a little bit shaky and unstable. I would have whipped off my t-shirt and twirled it like a baton during pass out but I wasn't wearing a t-shirt and Papa Afam was in attendance. I cannot allow my chief employer to see me acting anything but appropriately. Underneath his gaze I must be the paragon of uprightness and good behaviour.

After Tinie came Pusha T. During Pusha T's performance I sat down and fell asleep. I kid you not. I even tweeted it here: 

Ah! Gah!  I need to exorcise some demons. Bear with me. I don't like to do this. The blog is supposed to be a happy place, a place of laughter, joy and other such gleeful things. However there is a villain. Yes, there is a dastardly charlatan that has forced me to deviate from my usually lilting tone and unserious rambling manner. As these are serious allegations it is most important to isolate the culprit. Now, the culprit can't be the Koko Concert, as the Koko concert did not plan itself. Is the culprit the planner of the event (and that event plan was literally the dog's bollocks. Really you should be out of a job permanently. I thought business men were intellectuals. I cannot understand how a piece of shit could go so far. Surely at some point you should all have laughed and said, "That plan was so bad it was fun, now let's come up with a real plan.") or is it the Sponsor (Guarantee Trust Bank, why you allowed your name to be tied to such a disaster is beyond me. Maybe that's the message you want to give your clients. Bank with us we're so dysfunctional, disorganized, and lengthy that every dealing with us can only ever be described as a misadventure. Misadventures aren't bad things. You shouldn't regret them for they all started off as adventures.)

The event was brought to you all by DKM media. Are you not infinitely grateful?

I'll be the first to tell you that DKM media does not have a website. Are you surprised? I'm not! In fact if they did have one they'll definitely have taken it down after last night. I'm sure that the owners are wincing as I write this for the vitriol laden daggers I'm sending through my skull are certain to fill them with unease.

Let's start with the location. Koko Concert was held on Eko Atlantic, a place that is mostly sand and stone. Well, more sand than stone. The organisers and sponsors and caterers and everybody involved in the planning of it thought that it would be really cool to have a really really really really long walk way from the gate to the actual arena. Sorry, it wasn't a walk way, it was a stony sand way! And that walk was a 20-45 minute one. I felt like an Isrealite looking for the promised land. Even though my situation was sorry indeed I felt sorrier for those poor bastards that had come early (the stipulated time was 7, the concert really started closer to 12) and parked on sand. Do you know what happens when cars park on sand? They get stuck. Even if they didn't get stuck they knew that leaving would be no picnic, and leaving was no picnic. Upon deciding to leave they were stuck in stand still traffic for only God knows how long! I was grateful that Papa Afam had decided that he would make good use of the police. We parked inside the police station across the road.

We got to the gates only to discover that even though the concert was already full and closely approaching a crowd control disaster, there were still tickets being sold. Once we were stood in VIP, for there were no seats to be found, I thought to myself, "If something were to happen. How many of us would die as the crowd pushes and tramples in a bid for the exit?" See GTB this is what you rubber stamped! Does it not seem fishy now? You don't think so?

This was the task you set before your performers. Did you not pause to ask yourselves how such a crowd could ever possibly be entertained?

I have written about 630 words and not one of them have been about the concert itself. Don't you think it will be hilarious when I do write about the concert and what I have written is less than 600 words?

During the concert my tweeps informed me that there was a live stream broadcasted on the internet. I felt really sorry for myself then because if I had known, I would not have bothered. Very few things in life are worth that sort of bother.

If you paid N1,000,000 (£4000) for a table then your troubles are far worse than mine. You see, I feel bad and a little daft that Papa Afam paid N20,000 (£80) for me to have a horrible time so I can only imagine how you must feel.

I took this while I was walking in. If you look to the left of the photograph you'll see the driver trying to dig the car's tyres out of the sand.

I took this on my way out. That SUV isn't going anywhere. GTB you are now indirectly the supporters of all broken down and stuck things.

It is unfortunate that a bank that pays so much attention to its corporate image made such an error. Did they just lend their name and money without checking what it was they were paying for? Eko Hotel for all its faults and parking issues always has an ambulance outside. For this event there was no ambulance and even if there had been an ambulance, it probably wouldn't have been able to leave.

I'll leave you now. My eyes are red, my throat is dry, I've been sneezing, and blowing dust out of my nose all night. I have sand in bits of me that I can't reach.

Dbanj, you're a disrespectful callous vandal. What kind of idiot asks the people who paid for regular tickets to apologize to the VVIPs? Is it not insanity? They had every right to be there. They trekked and suffered through a multitude of obstacles to see him and he disregarded them completely. But more on that later...

Happy Days,
Afam

Yo! What's up? I write this while using my favourite facility in my house, the toilet. It happens to be a rather nice toilet, with wooden seats and everything.

My Universities naked calendar has been released and the picture is now online. This means that I can now post it here for you all to see.

As you can imagine, shooting it was very fun. A little awkward but very fun all the same. A few weeks after the photo was taken I was editing a recording in the studio while talking to my highly esteemed and morally upright African father on speaker phone, when the girl on the right of the mega phone stormed in and screamed, "I HAVE SEEN YOU NAKED!!!" Papa Afam nearly had a heart attack. We were silent for about 5 minutes after which he asked me about the weather. He  never brought it up again. You see, on all matters like this Papa Afam's policy is consistent. His policy is,

"Do what you like, but let me see no signs of it unless she's pregnant with your bastard or you've proposed."

If you would like to see my fairly skinny but not too skinny, not ugly but not ridiculously good looking self in your bedroom then please email this woman: victoriamduthie@gmail.com and request a copy.

Merry Days, and Merry Nights
Afam

To read about it and why i did it, please click here: http://mancunion.com/2012/12/26/university-of-manchester-naked-calendar-2013-arrives/#

or here: http://theramblingsofamadman-afam.blogspot.com/2012/12/sweet-charity-and-words-that-dont.html

Part I: http://theramblingsofamadman-afam.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-drb-lasgidi-adventure-sort-of-part.html

****
Part II

When I left you I was held fast in my seat by DJ Pizzle's beats, damn him! If not for him I would have made it home in time for Captain Reginald's supper. Captain Reginald is my Pedigree Rottweiler. Behold his dashing countenance below

Tell me, honestly, have you ever seen anything as handsome? How sparkly are his eyes? How lustrous is his coat? Are you not rendered completely speechless?

Before I begin, I must complain quite bitterly. I, Afam cannot possibly be expected to know or remember the name of every up and coming or already up musician in Lagos. I just discovered Burna boy yesterday and he has this one song that's unbelievably good, something about saying hello and fancying people. If I have only just discovered Burna boy who I gather is quite popular, then how on earth am I supposed to remember a multitude of artists that I have never heard of without a program? Am I a wizard?

First up on stage was a band of young lads. They were probably in their early teens. I cocked my head to one side and readied myself for the worst. I did not understand why I should have to listen to 13 and 14 year olds crooning. What could they possibly be singing about that I, Afam a 22 year old would find remotely interesting? I braced myself for the cringes that would rack my body with each bum note and unbelievably daft lyric. I was genuinely surprised that while they weren't amazing, they weren't awful. They were somewhere between average and bad, and as we all know this is at least five parts better than awful. I suppose they were just as good as Lana Del Ray is live. I cannot comment on their lyrical content as I didn't hear any of it.

Next on Stage was BEZ! Upon seeing him my body did an involuntary spasm. I fought tooth and nail to resist screaming, "BEZ, I LOVE YOU!! I WANT TO HAVE YOUR BABIES!!" Yes, that is what I tend to scream at artistes that I really like. Yes, I am also aware that I can't have babies as I am a man. No, I would not actually like to have Bez's babies. It's just a controversial statement that I think is somewhat clever...

I also felt quite sorry for him because the crowd at the concert was the furthest thing from his fan base. It was full of young adults and children. You may not know this but I dislike children. They're loud, messy, grubby, mean, little things. I dislike them even more when they're fat. This is possibly because I, Afam was never a child. I was the brain child of a quiet soft spoken and rather handsome 21 year old fellow. I did not become awesome, I was born this way. There was a child sitting beside me. He was a fat 10 year old who felt that the most appropriate snack for the night was a never ending supply of ice-cream. I did my best not to look at him, for fear that I might explode him with my mind.

Bez was brilliant as always. He even covered ABC by Jackson 5. The dead crowd became a little less dead while he played that. It is unfortunately that while the crowd was a little less dead, they were still undoubtedly dead!

How can you doubt that he is a Super Sun? Behold his radiance!!

Speaking of which I had the following conversation with Bez on twitter.


 And that folks is why they call me a SUPER WASHERMAN!!! My washing's so slick I don't need bleach. Sorry, that sounded a lot better in my head. :(

After Bez came a nice young woman in a black leather skirt. Her performance was rather interesting. I think she might be the one that did that Kilon Bubbling song. Well, at first she strode unto the stage and her male dancers did some rather odd movements. I will not attempt to interpret the movements for they like God are beyond mortal comprehension. She proceeded to sing a love ballad to a young man that was not me, Afam. So of course my attention wavered. It was during this performance that I saw Fisayo Longe of mirrorme.me. She wore the following:

I thought she looked rather nice. Don't be silly! Fisayo knows better than to wear shades indoors. I take no credit for the picture, it's one that Fisayo took herself and put on her blog: http://mirrorme.me

After the Lady who shall not be named because I do not know her name finished crooning to the young man, she did an uptempo jam. During this uptempo jam one of her female dancers attempted to do a Chinese bend or a bridge and fell. Did I not tell you that the dance moves were beyond mortal comprehension?

This is the Lady that I cannot name. The dancer on her left is the one that graced the stage with her bottom.

I should probably talk about the MC now. The MC was Tosan Mac Wilshire. I know of him but I can't say that I know him and this is a shame for he is quite the spritely fellow. I was quite frankly astounded at the ferocity with which he transported his ample body up and down the arena. He was a sight to see. His moves brought tears to my eyes. I thought, "With moves like those who needs game? Here is a lad who will do well in the wild!" That was until that your waist song came on. He moved his waist rather abominably.

After Tosan's antics came Seyi Shay. this may or may not be her name. I have to give her kudos because she was actually pretty darn good. It was the first performance where I did not have to think about the health of my ear drums. Half way through the performance she seemed to be taken over by her alter ego, who I named nick named Mammy (short for mammy water). I was thoroughly entertained by her antics on stage.

The next people on stage were the LOS boys. After watching their performance quite closely I came to the conclusion that they didn't make my sort of music. They might also have been drunk and/or high. Watching other people drunk or high while you are completely sober is no fun at all. You might think this harsh but I can think of no other explanation for this.

Only God knows why he sat down on stage. Maybe it's his thing. In which case I apologise for stating that they might have been drunk and/or high.

Never mind me. Their fans (and believe me there were many) seemed to love what they were doing.

When the LOS boys were done,  J Ara took their place. This may or may not be his name. I can't say much about him. During his performance I visualized myslef finishing Halo 4. It is quite the enjoyable game. You should try it. If I were to choose a word to describe his performance it would be impactless. I'm Afam. I usually have an opinion about everything, so for J Ara to completely slip past my radar, you might not want him on yours. #justsaying.

After him, Ajebutter went on stage. He performed two songs, Omo Pastor and Senrenre. I was electrified. He was brilliant. The songs were brilliant. The crowd loved him. There's only one more thing I can say about his set, "it sweeted my body!!!!!"

I did that on purpose. If you cannot tell what it is that I did on purpose then I can offer English lessons at a respectable fee. So many are in need...

After him, Boj, Tee Zee and Fresh L (DRB) graced the stage. I'll be honest, it probably wasn't their best performance but it seemed to be about so much more than that. I thought it was a celebration of all that they had achieved since they started. They invited friends and family on stage and I spotted my childhood friend, Pappy there with them. Life's funny like that. People turn up when and where they're expected the least. When they were done, I rounded the troops as it was already past 11pm and I didn't think it appropriate that they be out any later than that. As I've said before, Lagos is intolerably exciting and I'd really like to avoid the Lagosian brand of night time excitement this Christmas. (Police and Thief? Afam and the Robbers? Adventure on that unlit war zone like road? Shoot out at the Crossroads?)

Happy Days, Merry nights,
Afam
 

 Last Weeks Offering: 50 Shades of Afam: The Intro

I look at Kasali with a little bit of a smirk, and shrug. It pleases me to see him completely subdued. She holds her office door open and motions for me to come in. As I make my way towards the open door I could feel her eyes on me. It isn't uncomfortable per say. I'm just not used to such intense open scrutiny.

She closes the door and runs a hand through her hair. She only succeeds in making it more tangled, but it suits her. I start to speak but she beats me to it. "Sit" she barks with an authoritative air. I feel my muscles comply without my brain telling them to do anything. It's like she's got a direct hotline to my central nervous system. "Control yourself! Afam" I sit on one of the abstract white chairs that face her large hard stiff wooden mahogany table. The chair's so abstract that it hardly resembles a chair. It feels like I'm sitting on art. The chair brings my eyes level with the curve of her bottom. I'm completely mesmerized by it. It's not that it's big... No it couldn't be larger than a size 4 (I worked for a tailor for a while so I am quite familiar with sizes.) It's just so shapely, like half a watermelon.

She takes perfect strides to her desk, and I snap my head up. It won't do for her to catch me. Maybe she already has. She's got a smug look about her. "So, you've got questions for me?" Her accent is crisp, sweet, like a candy cane. I know immediately that she like Ade has been to school abroad. Her voice itself is a husky alto. I blush again. I need to control myself.

"Yes, let me get my sheet out" I say while fumbling through my bag.

"I haven't got all day."

"I'm sorry is it okay if I record our conversation." I ask pulling out the dictaphone.

She flicks her wrist like a Victorian noble in acquiescence, then she leans across the table and grabs the glass in the corner, displaying that unbelievable figure. I rub my mouth with my arm to catch any drops of saliva that accumulate from my drooling.

"Aren't you a little young to be running a school?"

"No, I don't think so. I provide a vital service for my boys. It's a unique service. That's qualification enough."

"So what gave you the idea?"

She pours herself some Brandy and downs it.

"Daywaterman"

I look at her, completely puzzled and she returns the look albeit with an amused expression.

" Daywaterman was the first of it's kind. At first I was impressed that it had a market, then I realized that it hadn't gone far enough. Instead of hot chocolate machines why not hot chocolate specialists? We provide the most comfortable school experience in the world. "

"But is this necessary?"

"We have a waiting list as long as our driveway! If society deems us necessary then we are. If we weren't you wouldn't be in my office."

She reaches into her desk and pulls out a bottle of ground nuts.

"Would you like some?" She asks while pouring a small amount into a bowl.
I gulp and blush, "No. I'm fine thanks."

"How do you choose your students?"

"I interview them all, personally"

She looks at me with hooded eyes and my breath catches in my throat. I blush again.

She's breaking all my preconceived notions of womanhood. I'd thought that a 26 year old woman especially one as foine as her would be married and knocked up. So many dudes must want to lock that shit up! My next question isn't one on the list.

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"No. I don't see men."

"Are you... Are you gay?"

I'm careful to say gay, not a gay. Ade has told me that this is very bad grammar.

She looks at me with a surprised expression.

I blush and shiver in my seat. I can't believe I asked that. It doesn't matter. There's no way she'd be interested in me. It took me a while to notice the modus operandi of Nigerian girls. If you
A. Have no money.
B. Have no accent.
C. Drive your father's Peugeot 504.
D. Say Tin Dem Dos instead of things, them and those
E. Have a surname like Odiachi
F. Have no connections
G. Do not understand the distance between peruvian and yaki hair

Then you won't find it very easy.

On second thought B, D, E and G can be overlooked if A and F do not apply. However E will always be an insurmountable barrier when the candidate is Yoruba. I don't really need to worry about any of that. I'm sure that Mama Afam is vetting some girls in the village as I speak. But what if I don't want a village girl?

"So what do you mean by you don't see men?"

"You'll know soon enough."

"Tell me about your family. How did you grow up?"

I want to know her. Sod the bloody interview.

"Did you do any background work on this? Surely you should already know the answers to that one."

"Sorry. I didn't have any time to prepare."

She pushes a button on her table and shrieks, "KASALI!!" We hear a bump and a muffled yell. Kasali must have been a little over enthusiastic about answering her call. I smile at his clumsiness. Kasali walks into the office and hands me a package.

"That's everything you need to write a decent expose Mr Afam." She barks while getting up.

I reach for my dictaphone and she bats it aside.

"That thing, however is staying."

"You really like to be in control don't you?"

She looks me straight in the eyes and whispers huskily "Yes."

I turn and walk out. I can feel her gaze penetrating me. I blush yet again. I think I might pay a visit to general hospital. I haven't blushed this much since I told a girl in secondary school that she was as sweet as fried meat.

On Thursday night the first ever DRB concert was held and I Afam was present, front and center. Well... not exactly front and center. To have been front and center I would have needed fifteen thousand naira (£60) for a VIP ticket. Normally I would have bitten the bullet but the opportunity cost was too high. My expenses were piling up. Tickets to the Chris Brown concert start at fifteen thousand naira, my Corolla has no fuel, Captain Reginald is low on dog biscuits and treats. Have you ever tried to explain to a full grown pedigree Rottweiler that you were unable to get his favourite brand because you spent too much on concert tickets? I could not bring myself to do such a thing.

After my last experience with DRB Lasgidi, I was a little more cautious. The last time I attempted to see them live I got to the venue at the prescribed time only to wait for three hours before seeing them on my way out. It was a very rewarding experience I tell you. I had quite the exciting nap. I slayed the whomping willow and chased a red haired maid all over Hogwarts. Time well spent I say. The concert was meant to start at 6pm so I left my house at 6pm. I was certain that Lagos would throw a multitude of obstacles at me to ensure that I magically arrived whenever the concert was meant to start.

My sister, Bintin and Ope, one of her many friends were with me in the car. I was driving.

Feat your eyes on the one, the only, pimp mobil, lad chariot (LARIOT?), Afam carriage, blue bolt, car of steel, super Toyota, etc.

Enter Bintin, Ope and Afam


Ope: Oh My God! I can't believe we're going to see DRB.

Bintin: It's their first concert. I'm so excited.

Ope: I don't know what I'll do when I see Boj! I think I might faint.

Bintin: Boj is nothing special. It's all about Fresh L. He's too... too... He's just too fresh!!!

Ope: I don't know what you see in him. Boj is just... artistic. 

As I hit the Lekki Express way Bintin delivered the most unfavourable news.

Bintin: Afam, we have to pick Chibz up.

Afam: Cool. Doesn't Chibz live in Lekki phase 1?

Bintin: No, he lives closer to VGC.

I nearly had a heart attack. Driving to VGC is just as bad as driving to Ogun State. I only do it on pain of death. But I had to this time, Chibz is my cousin and if you can't come through for family then what are you doing? I increased the pressure on the accelerator. I intended to beat the traffic. I was certain that there would be traffic. Isn't there always traffic enroute to VGC?

After we passed the second tollgate I had the following conversation with dear Bintin

Afam: So where does he live again?

Bintin: The right turn after Megachicken.

We got to Megachicken only to discover that that was not where Chibz lived. We had missed the turning to his house and even worse we had finally met the traffic I had been so keen to avoid. We had to drive through it to make a U turn at the round about. We did this thrice before we finally picked him up. The things I do for family!!

We drove into Harbour point at 9pm. I was a little worried at first. I thought we had missed half the concert but then I thought to myself,

"Dude! you're in Lagos. It isn't better late than never, it's better late than ever! I think you've finally arrived at the right time for something. Congratulations!"

When we walked in, I was surprised to find the arena quite empty. I considered leaving but DJ Pizzle's tunes kept me firmly in place. That can only serve as a testament to DJ Pizzle's DJing abilities. A good DJ arrests you with his music, renders you incapable of logical thought and reduces you to the most spastic movements. Are they not terrible? Within minutes I found my left leg ticking to the music. I looked on with inquisitive eyes, and wondered what the night had in store...

Happy Days,
Afam

As I write this I am exactly 34,000 feet in the air and I am an hour and thirty six minutes away from Lagos. Yes, my good friends and not so good friends I am on yet another flight to Lagos.

Are you not all my friends? Even if you think me an enemy you're still a friend because before you had made the foolish decision to call me an enemy you must have thought about it a lot. This makes me happy. I'm always happy when I'm thought of. If I had my way, I'd stay with you all permanently. I'd be some sort of mental illness. I'll call it the IRRESISTIBLE INEXORABLE COMPULSION TO READ THE BLOG, SHARE THE BLOG, AND PROMOTE THE BLOG SYNDROME.

On this occasion I have broken away from tradition as I am not completely off my face. However I am still fairly tipsy. I haven't got it in me to fly sober. I cringe at the thought of it. How on Earth will I tolerate the elbowing of the dude on my left or the fact that the woman behind me seems intent on caressing my elbow with her foot. Some Nigerians should be confined to zoos. When I attempted to tell her to extract her foot she appeared to be deep in prayer. I think that when I get home I should storm into Papa Afam's room and scold him.

enter Papa Afam and Afam.
Afam sprints up the stairs and kicks his father's door open.

 Afam: Damn you old man! How many times do I need to tell you that anything less than Business Class is unacceptable.

Papa Afam pulls out shotgun and has a Halo/Call Of Duty moment with me. 

This flight isn't as bad as the last one I had, where the food looked like baby shit and I was sat beside two obese people with no respect for boundaries. This flight was delayed for 2 hours and a bit because 8 people had to be deplaned.

The last time I was in Lagos I hopefully entertained you with several adventures and misadventures that I was fortunate enough to experience, but i fear this time that my adventures will be quite few and very far between. Haha, that's a lie. In the event of a shortage of material I shall describe to you in great detail alll my driving battles. You'll travel with me in the trusty old Toyota Corolla as I escape death by carriages of doom. Should that not entertain you, I'll use the blog as a sounding board for my dissertation, "A Story of Corruption: The differences between the Chinese and Nigerian experiences and their possible effects on development." Or something like that. How's that for a page turner.

Until next time, good morning, good afternoon, and goodnight.

Happy days,
Afam

Just the other day while trawling through my twitter live feed as you do I saw quite the disturbing tweet:

"a disease worse than cancer and most of us have got it..."

I was very concerned. Was this some next age murderous virus that had managed to infect the majority of the world's population without us noticing? Or was this what the Mayans meant about today the 21st of December being the end of the world? No, it wasn't. It was a piece about procrastination.

It is an opinion piece in Ynaija that you can read here: http://www.ynaija.com/opinion-a-disease-worse-than-cancer-and-most-of-us-have-got-it/.

I didn't and I still don't mind the content of the article. Yes, procrastination is a bad thing and yes, we need to do the things we need to do as soon as they need to be done and not ten weeks later. I know the dangers of procrastination, just the other day I interrupted an important revision session to watch the last episode of gossip girl. At that point in time finding out that Dan Humphrey is gossip girl was a million times more interesting than deriving the Hamiltonian of some dynamic optimization problem.

My only problem with it was and is the title. Is it not daft? Procrastination and cancer...

How is putting off starting that thing that you always wanted to do worse than cancer? You can always wake up when you're 60 and decide that it's time that you swim the English channel or it's time that you get that degree. That's something that probably isn't going to happen if you've been diagnosed with Ovarian cancer and in order to beat it you've had to give up your tubes, your bladder and a kidney. Or worse yet if the cancer that you thought you'd beat has returned more aggressively than ever and chances are you aren't going to make it.

I know that it's catchy, but there are better, wiser phrases.

Lastly you might be thinking that it's an opinion piece so you're allowed to write whatever you think but opinions are only valid on matters that are not completely serviced by facts. Is Procrastination more deadly than cancer? The last time I checked, it isn't.

Happy Days,
Afam

I just finished the 50 Shades trilogy. At first I was scared that because her books were the last I'd read in a while my writing style would be reduced to fingers that are impossibly long and touches that linger for what would generally be considered an unhealthy period of time. Most people complained about the books but I adored them. They were not just a guilty pleasure but a retarded one. Yes, a sort of psychotic break, one that had me doubting my sanity for varying lengths of time. Halfway into 50 Shades Freed I found that I was only reading every other other page because I am no longer inquisitive about sex. I received my sex education from the best; Jackie and Olivia and Sidney. Don't be ridiculous, these aren't people that I actually know. They're writers. I read If Tomorrow Comes by Sidney Sheldon when I was 11. Coming to think of it I shouldn't have because if I remember correctly there were a few lesbian rape scenes and one very very good sex scene three quarters of the way through. By the time I was 12 I was extremely capable of replicating even the most sordid and tremendous scenes. But all of that is water under the bridge. It occurred to me that I should put my literary sexpertise to good use.

I'll be releasing a Chapter every Sunday.

Happy Days,
Afam

P.S I must warn you, this one is rather Lagosian in nature. 

By now, we're all familiar with the story. Two Radio presenters, yes, those two good looking people below...
made a prank call to the indubitably private King James VII hospital (The hospital that Kate, the Duchess of Cambridge was being treated in), during which they pretended to be the Queen and Prince Charles. Jacintha was on duty at the reception when they called, and she put them through to a nurse who divulged private information about the Duchess.

This here, is Jacintha Saldanha

The media backlash regarding her cock up was massive. Days after the incident she killed herself.

Now the moment you've all been waiting for, what do I think about this?

I think they killed her. It is truly unfortunate that what they considered a harmless prank resulted in the loss of a life but we must remember that had they not made that phone call, that nurse might still be alive today.

Reports say that the DJs Mel Greig and Michael Christian are ready to speak. I fear that unless their words are so moving that they literally turn back the hands of time they will be for nought. After all a sympathetic murderer is still a murderer.

Happy Days,
Afam.

I'm not done, au contraire I've scarcely begun. I don't know why but inserting French into English sentences seems to uplift the quality of the sentences. Phrases like raison d'etre and tet a tet do wonders for my literary palate. You might be thinking that this is related to the matter at hand but you're wrong. It isn't. This one's about an event I attended this weekend, Fifi's 21st. Fifi is a lovely name. It's such a lovely name that I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner.  It fits it's bearer infinitely well because the bearer is infinitely lovely in her own way, as is everyone.

I first met Fifi while I was head over heels for a strapping little thing called Rabs. Honestly if I were to make a list of all the times I've been head over heels one would have great cause to believe that i have spent more than half of my short adult life on my head.

I must take a break at this juncture to give a shout out to Kenya, the first infatuation of my adult life.  

Where was I? I met Fifi when she, Starmix and Rabs visited my summer workplace. My palms were sweaty, and my arms were heavy as I blew hot and cold in attempts to win Rabs. Sometime between that time and now Fifi and I grew quite close. By close, I mean that I have her number and I call her once every other other other week.

Fifi chose to usher in her 21st Birthday by throwing a black and white smart casual no trainers allowed cocktail event in her flat. The very uniqueness of the event has allowed me to invent a most unique event title, "the cocktail house party."

I started drinking with Lord Howard and Montesquieu at 7pm, where Lord Howard was dispensing his typical Lordly wisdom. Our poison of choice was the Jack Daniel's original recipe Tennessee Honey Liqueur.

Goes down like  Malibu, kicks like Vodka and burns like Brandy

Enter Lord Howard, Montesquieu and I, Afam

Afam: So what should I say to her?

Lord Howard: Say nothing.

Montesquieu: Surely he should say something.

Lord Howard: No, he mustn't. Don't go to her. You must let her come to you.

Afam: I can't understand them. Why do they all have to be so damn confusing?

Lord Howard: Girls aren't supposed to be understood, they are to be thud...ded



I found dressing for a black and white "cocktail black and white house party" extremely difficult. This was partly due to my chronic indecisiveness but also partly due to the confusing nature of the dress code. If it were a cocktail party in a restaurant then it would have been acceptable to wear my finest white shirt, with my finest black blazer and my finest pair of black jeans. However as this was a house party I knew that something would end up being spilled on me or worse I would end up spilling something on myself. It's always worse when you do it to yourself because then you've got no one to blame but you.  As a result of the homey nature of the party I had to decide which of my 8 white shirts was good enough to appear at a cocktail party but bad enough to be disposed of in the event of an indelible stain. I settled on a white H & M shirt. I had worn it once already. It would reach it's life expectancy in another two wears. I paired that with a pair of decent but not my best jeans and ditched the idea of wearing a blazer altogether. A blazer at a cocktail house party is unheard of.

I strode into Fifi's apartment building like a king. I was a little perplexed when I was greeted by Miss Leggy, Yew and one other I did not know in the lobby. They ordered me to do a shot of tequila. You must understand my displeasure at this. Drinking tequila after drinking Tennessee honey is like being fed piss after drinking Ribena. Ribena is the drink of life!

From there, I was guided to Fifi's apartment. Eager to wash away the taste of the tequila I rushed to the Kitchen where I found a highly capable bartender. Capable bartenders are a rare find. A capable bartender isn't some over qualified student slumming it at a job he considers daft. It's a man who has accepted his talent at pouring drinks and making them. A capable bartender takes one good look at you and serves you what you need before you yourself realize what it was you were craving. Without me asking, this very capable bartender served me a filthy mojito. It hit the spot.

After the extremely filthy mojito that was more cheap rum than lemonade I had an alcohol induced epiphany.

Enter Mojito

Mojito: Afam!

Afam: Who is it? 

Mojito: It is I?

Afam: Who are you?

Mojito: I am the fire coursing through your veins, the delicious thing that's slurring your speech, and the icy thing that literally blew your mind. I am the reason that you are swaying while smiling like an absolute fool in the middle of the dance floor. 

Afam: Don't be rude. What you call foolish, I call legendary and I Afam, am nothing if not a Legend.

Mojito: Pah! Debatable! I have bigger fish to fry.

Afam: Fish? Where? Perhaps i can roll up my jeans and assist you ?

Mojito: My dear boy, there is a woman here!

Afam: Yes there are several.

Mojito: There is a woman here who you no longer talk to as you once did.

Afam: Yes there are several.

Mojito: No, this one isn't like the others. You genuinely liked this one. You were rather depressed when she jilted you.

Afam: I don't recall ever being depressed and/or jilted but I do remember that there is someone here that I could mend fences with.

Mojito Pastor: Get on with it then.

Under the direction of my Mojito pastor I sought out Rabs. Like I said earlier I had spent one very long summer completely besotted with Rabs and like most romances my infatuation only lasted the summer. By the end of the summer what I imagined were feelings of love had turned to feelings of hate. The very sight of her was enough to boil blood and frizzle hair. After a while those feelings dulled but I would never completely comfortable around her again. I treated her as I would a viper: I watched in fascination while protected by a sheet of bullet proof glass. I knew that my task would not be easy but I was determined to get my heart to heart.

I marched like a man with purpose to Fifi's bedroom where Rabs lay,

Enter Rabs

Afam: Rabs!!! How the hell are you?

Rabs: It's been so long. I'm good. How are you?

Afam: I'm good thanks. It's really good to see you.

Rabs: You too. I have to use the bathroom.

Rabs probably didn't have to pee. She used it as an excuse to get away from me. She is a master of all forms of polite avoidance. I knew that it would be a while till she let her guard down again but I couldn't fail. I tailed her like a sneaky sexy cat. Lurking behind the shadows, waiting till she was alone. I even danced around her hoping to catch her eye. None of that worked. I was amazed, I had never ever come across someone that was utterly and completely Afam proof. At 3am I lost my patience. I grabbed her and dragged her to a quiet corner...

Afam: Do you have a problem with me.

Rabs: Not particularly, why?

Afam: It's just that you've been cold since that summer.

Rabs: I'm sorry if you've felt that way. I should be going

Afam: Don't go. I want to clear the air.

She looks at me with a somewhat whimsical  expression.

Rabs: You remind me of a frog.

Afam: Then you should kiss me and make me a prince.

Rabs: You're incorrigible

Afam: You're emotionally destitute.

Rabs: How can you be so immature?

Afam: You're the one that started with the name calling.

Rabs: You make me uncomfortable.

Afam: It's been 2 years!

Rabs: What do you want?

Afam: I want us to be normal. I want a clean slate.

Afam: Truce (I say this while reaching out my hand)

Rabs: Truce.


Mission accomplished, I grabbed my coat and skipped home. It was a good night in general. It wasn't the sort of good night I was expecting but that doesn't really matter does it?


Happy Days,
Afam.

Just the other day I was hanging out on facebook. Yes, this is a thing. I have come to the conclusion that facebook is like a massive market, no, Village Square that people go to for their daily doses of inter-personal contact (does that apply here? who cares?).

Yes where was I? It is so difficult to stay on topic. I was hanging out on facebook when I got an invitation to like a Bengo belts facebook page. This facebook page here: http://www.facebook.com/BengoBelts?ref=ts&fref=ts you should probably click on it. As far as pages go it's fairly decent.

The page was rather interesting so I decided to have a gander on their website. (Just a note, they might want to stick the web address higher up the page. Not everyone is as inquisitive as I and even I hate scrolling down looking for information that should be screaming at me. It annoys me.)
 

That is a Bengo belt. bengobelts.com

Bengo Belts was founded by Ben Hayward at the end of 2011. The idea attacked him quite violently while he was trudging through the mountains of Western Guatemala. As he stopped to gaze at the beautiful valley below he thought, "There is a niche in the market for bright belts!!"

Bengo belts are meticulously hand woven by Mayan women in the same place where dear Ben was violently attacked by the idea, the Mountains of Western Guatemala.

I didn't drink much before I was 17. I was only ever allowed a glass of Champagne and a sip of Guinness from my grandmothers glass. Drinking then struck me as unnecessary and drinking to excess, hedonistic.

I had my first beer when I was 17. It was my first social at Cheltenham. I remember it clearly. I stood at the bar and said very clearly, without faltering, "Two Budweisers please". Two because I didn't want to have to queue to get the second. I was fairly sure that I would need the second because my bloodline boasts an impressive tolerance to alcohol.

My Grandfather has been known to start his drinking day at 10 in the morning, and this summer my grandma who has Vascular dementia asked me to get her a bottle of red wine so that she could drink it atop the porch.

That night I didn't stop at two. No, instead I sprung for two more. The result of this was me being in the middle of a 5 man sandwich that would require several more drinking sessions to strip from memory.

Even then I didn't really see the good of it. The first Budweiser had an interesting taste to it. It was foamy and light, while still managing to be full bodied and interesting. The second tasted quite like the first but the full bodied texture of it seemed to have vanished. The third and fourth tasted like watered down urine.

The next drink I would tackle after this was red wine. The wines I tried didn't taste nice per say but they were full of character. They slowed by usually rapid thoughts down to the point where I was able to express them with amazing clarity. However I over did it one night and I thought I was dying in the morning. I barely made it to the bathroom in time to spew several pints of burgundy sick.That experience put me off it slightly.

In University I sought to improve my drinking skills by introducing my palate to a whole new range of drinks, cocktails and spirits. I spent nights out of my mind on vodka, tequila, rum, disaranno, amaretto, Ale, beer, gin, wine and Irish cream highs or lows. All of those drinks and Spirits were fine, except I didn't see the point of drinking if I wasn't going clubbing. You would never catch me reclining on the sofa with a mojito in hand.

All of that changed when I discovered Jack Daniels Tennessee Honey Liqueur. I found myself doing what I'd never thought I'd do: drinking for no damn reason! I pour myself a shot before I make supper, a shot when I'm done with supper, I put a shot in my tea, I casually sip a shot while I write my essay. I think this means that after 5 years of searching, I have found my poison. Try it. It might be yours too. It goes down like Malibu, kicks like Vodka and burns like Brandy.

goes down like malibu, kicks like vodka, and burns like brandy

Happy Days,
Afam

The beginnings are always the trickiest. You'd never guess how difficult it is to begin a ramble. I know it sounds like it should be the easiest thing in the world but it is monumentally difficult.

Well you know me. I love my words. A difficulty isn't a difficulty if it isn't insurmountable, monumental and of indelible importance. I don't know that the last phrase makes sense but those two words came together in my head and I quite like the way they sound. It makes me want to say it over and over again.

Imagine me at dinner with Ms Leggy (This isn't so far fetched. I asked her out a couple of weeks ago and she said yes. Dinner turned into a chat in her room during which I found out that she was taken.)

Enter Afam and Miss Leggy

Afam: My dear, your legs are of indelible importance to me.

Ms Leggy: Oh please don't stop.

On second thought indelible importance isn't that good a word combination. Don't be cross with me. I'm a little rusty.

Unto the crux of the matter! The pivotal focal point upon which the fate of the world rests. What would you do for Charity? What lengths would you go to ensure that those who are worse off than you get the help that they are in of. This is a question that plagues me daily. You see, I Afam have the warmest, most sentimental heart. Every time I see a homeless man I want to empty the contents of my meagre savings account  and hand it to him. I want to ask him about his bastards and grand bastards. Most times I refrain from this and give him £1 even though I know that it's probably going to be spent on alcohol. It's just that if I didn't my conscience would torture me terribly.

Of Course you all know this about me because I devoted an entire blog post to praising the efforts of Topman and the Teenage Cancer trust for these t-shirts below.




 Well I bought mine. Yes, that vulgar looking schizophrenic thing below. It was £18 and I was promised that £5 of that would go to the Teenage Cancer Trust. It left a bitter taste in my mouth when I discovered that the shirts had gone on sale for £4. What's up with that? Doesn't it leave a bitter taste in your mouth. I felt foolish. Had they not attached the Teenage Cancer Trust to the t-shirt it would have remained un-bought. Now I'm left with a tragically unfashionable shirt that means nothing. 

A month and a bit ago I stumbled upon a tantalizing bit of news. One Brazilian student, Catarina Migliorni agreed to have sex with a Japanes man called Natsu in exchange for a $780,000 donation to charities in her impoverished home town. Some people may call it prostitution and she sees it as a business deal and a great way to ruck up some traveling points, but isn't she helping the greater good?

A few weeks ago I posed semi nude for my University's society calendar. All profits from the calendar will be given to read international. Read International is an awesome charity that supplies good quality but out of date text books to schools in East Africa that follow a similar syllabus to the United Kingdom's. Read International helps make sure that these books do not end up in land fills or stockrooms. Read International guarantees that these textbooks make it to class rooms where they are very much needed. The nudity was the least of my concerns. When I'm at home in Lagos, Nigeria I spend an unreasonable amount of my time in my swimming shorts so taking pictures in my boxers was hardly an achievement.

HELLO MR MARCH!

That's my bit of the picture. There are seven others in it. If you would like to see more then book a copy through me. I'm sure that Mama and Papa Afam will purchase several copies of the Calendar.

I guess the point of this is that we have so little time and so much to do. It would be nice if we took a break every now and then and did something for someone else.

THE END

Happy Days
Afam