A little under a week ago, the following invitation landed in my hotmail inbox. Yes, I still use hotmail. I'm creative. It's allowed.


I planned to attend the moment I got it. There was no question about it. I mean, it's Diesel! Their clothes are great. No, their clothes aren't just great, they're banging. And they're not banging in the Oh My God! I'll need a mortgage to afford that way, they're banging in the yeah it may pinch a bit but they'll last forever way. I bought my first pair of Diesel jeans when I was 17. I have four pairs now. I think I'll do a blog about all of them tomorrow. That sounds like it'll be fun doesn't it?

That's them. They're amazing. They've faded so nicely... I swear, I like them more now than I did when I got them. Don't ask me about the long john situation. I'll explain. It's winter in Manchester, where I used to live before Papa Afam yanked me back here, and I missed wearing long johns, so I wore them anyway.

 I'm 23 now and I turn 24 this year so they're literally 7 years old.

As the invitation says for those of you who bothered to read it, they were unveiling their new fashion film shot by Rezze Bona and creatively and artistically directed by Tokyo James, which features items currently on sale. And what's more, some of them are actually on Sale. It's a good sale as far as sales go... 50% off on some items is pretty darn good isn't it?

Even though the film is called Cool Kids, I didn't think that the cool title extended to me until fashionablelagos.com said that I was part of a select group of Lagos cool kids invited. They stuck a picture of me in there too!

Not bad eh? There I'm wearing my 7 year old Diesel jeans, Toms, an All Saints collarless shirt, and T.M Lewin suspenders. The best thing about the jeans apart from their awesome fit, is the fact that they've got suspender buttons. I also regret to inform the lot of you that I'm succumbed to the man cleavage pressure. It's especially bad of me because I have no muscular man boobs.

Here we've got Ayodeji Rotinwa who writes for Thisday Style. I like his ensemble. I wouldn't wear it I don't think. It's much too bright. I don't really like yellow. I think it's an offensive colour. I mean it's the colour of jaundice and that yellow fever card they make you get when you're a Nigerian travelling to South Africa. He does wear it very well though. The shirt's from Grey, and the trousers are from Orange Culture. They're great trousers anyway you look at them. They are also quite asexual/gender neutral which is great. The shoes are from Zara but you needn't worry about getting them delivered here,  I know a cobbler you could call. I'm joking. They're brown lace ups. They aren't exactly rare.

And this is Denola Adepetun. I'm going to copy this one sometime. It's pretty easy to do. The only other thing I have to say about him is that his jeans though nice, aren't from Diesel.  They're Levi's, I checked. Don't judge me! It's part of my job to look out for these things.

Here we've got Bidemi Zakariyau (left) and Toyin Jolapamo aka the Sohosister.  Bidemi's wearing a Clan ensemble and it's hot. It's hot like tabasco. It's hot like fish suya. I was a little bit of a creep about how hot she looked, but my marbles are lost so it's excusable. Do you think that this picture is a poor representation of how great that Clan dress is? Scroll down a little bit.

I like this picture even though I shouldn't It's really noisy, but I like noise, so there! If you don't like it you can send me a shouty email. Here we've got Baim Akin-Agunbiade who owns/runs the Diesel store in Lagos.

A screen grab from the fashion film.

As far as fashion films go, it is a good one. I can honestly say that I was never bored. There were a lot of bare chests, but I suppose that was okay because one of the models they hired was Wale Bello who's ripped.

That's from Lagos Fashion and Design Week 2013. He's wearing shorts by the Okunoren's. It's ridiculous isn't it. I'd aspire to that, but if I ever got that ripped my clothes wouldn't fit me anymore so I'll refrain until I can afford a new wardrobe as good as my current one without flinching.

Another screen grab...

And another one...

Bidemi again... I know she's hot and all, but I'd really like you to look at the people behind her. That's  Mr and Mrs Stranger Lagos, Yegwa and Bibi. You remember Stranger don't you? If you don't read about it here. http://www.theramblingsofamadman-afam.com/2013/12/stranger-lagos.html

Bidemi, Toyin and I.

And again.

The mirror in the Diesel fitting room is perfect for Selfies. Toyin and I couldn't resist.

Here, I could gush about how pretty she is, and how great her smile is, but I don't need to. Photographs steal words.

And this is how you PHOTOBOMB!! If Papa Afam ever reads the blog, he'll be broken hearted. Some of you will look at this and shake your heads, don't, I'm shaking my head enough for the both of us.

Bolaji Kekere-Ekun. He's a film maker and he's kind of a big deal. He wasn't too pleased that I was Iphone papparrazzing on him, He said, "But I'm not a fashionable person. I'm wearing traditional." And he was wearing traditional. I said, "Do you think I care about your fashionableness? Keep quiet and pose for the pisho!" That's because Afam business is important business.

That's Bolaji again. And he'll proclaim that he isn't that big a deal... #falsemodesty... Sorry about this comment, you see, it's what you've come to expect from Nigerian Celebrities, and Nigerian Celebrity lovers. So you've bought a Mercedes Benz C class. You think you've arrived? Sit the fuck down, and drink some ambition.

Here we've got Zed-Eye who's a stylist and Bubu Ogisi, who's a stylist and a designer. She showed at Lagos Fashion and Design Week last year. This picture makes me want to snap my fingers like a black drag queen. FIERCE! QUICHE! SERVE! I don't know what's wrong with me. I'll blame this on the Americanisation of the world.

It was a great premiere. I had fun. Thanks to LSFPR (Fashion and Lifestyle Public Relation Company for the invite, and thanks to Diesel for having me. You famzers should pop down there one of these days...  It's in Centro mall, on Admiralty way, in Lekki Phase 1.



Happy Days,
Afam

When people ask me about the blog I tremble a little. The first question is usually what's the name of your blog, and the second is always what is it about. The first is easily answered, but the second is not. The thing is, I've written so many articles, not articles, random things, and things that aren't things that I really don't have an answer or I don't have the answer you want. You want one word that summarises all that I am and all that I do, but I don't have it. I'm more than a word. The blog is more than a word.

I shan't write a story about my blogging journey. I'm not in the mood. But I will once again say my thanks. Thanks to Mama Afam for reading every post. Thanks to Papa Afam for not disowning me when he heard that my twitter name was Afambewbew. Thanks to my brother Gbaddy for all that he does (I think he might have been a Henry Higgins in a previous life). Thanks to my sister Bintin for taking my pictures and remaining casually interested and awesome. Thanks to Mena, without whom there wouldn't be a blog. Thanks to Lia for editing and promoting and commenting. Thanks to my Afamourage (afam entourage) for they make me more than I am. And thanks to the rest of you, for reading, for loving, for loathing, for sharing, for commenting, and for famzing!!

But have there really been 300? I can hardly believe it. I can still remember the first one...

They say that the best writing comes from total honesty. You’re meant to be telling the truth. I have several problems with this. If I were to share all and hold nothing back, then no one would look at me the same way. There are so many standards to live up to; so many sides of myself that I have shown so many different people that anything I did now would be unjust. Would it be fair to everyone to reveal that you aren’t the person that they thought you were? That you were a fake, a fraud. That the real you was a shadow thriving on false relationships. It’s best to keep them in the dark. Surely it’s enough that no one has all of you, that every one has a little piece of you stored. A perfect piece unsullied by any other characteristic that you might have. Is it not best that one person thinks of you as the fool and another the genius? To me it seems a little romantic that after you’re gone the only way that any of them can ever truly know you is if they all came together and combined their memories. 

Mena thinks I’ve got it in me to write. I’d like to say I believed her, to grow a beard and a dirty tash. To stare into the distance in deep thought and after a few minutes pen down some genius that would summarise the human condition. Something that would make the hardest of hearts laugh and cry in equal turn. Something that’s not quite funny and not quite sad. Something that's as nostalgic as it is forward looking. Something that exposed your life in a page. The power that these genius wordsmiths yield is unparalleled. We dance along to their tunes in perfect harmony. In my opinion it’s a little narcissistic for if the reasons that Narcissus fell in love with himself are universal, rational and reasonable, then every writer must fall in love with his readers because they smiled when he did and wept when he did. The readers must mirror the writer. When they fail to do so there’s a complete disconnect. I guess that’s why writers must be honest, because readers are not so stupid as to fall for drivel that’s completely imagined. Having said all this one must question if there is such a thing as fiction.

I suppose that says it all.

Happy Days,
Afam

Aha! I haven't got a lot of this time for this one, but I've always been a little bit of a quickie specialist so no matter. Get your minds out of the gutter. I mean I can write a reasonably long blog in ten minutes no problem. It's the same way I can take a shit in public no problem (read about that one here). Now, let's pull the lever!

There's this website that's based in Nigeria that's really quite cool. They sell t-shirts, bags and hats  online and I think it's a pretty remarkable thing to do. I suppose it'd be less remarkable if the t-shirts, and bags, and hats were awful and hideous and rubbish, but the thing is they're not. In fact, they're the opposite.

That's the Festac rebel t-shirt by Nchi. And that's Denola wearing it. You remember him from fashion week and Music meets runway don't you? (here and here and here). I'm not surprised that he's here you know? I can't seem to avoid him not that I want to... but if I wanted to I don't think I could. It'll be just like trying to avoid Eku Edewor. Sigh. Anyway I really like the t-shirt.

And here we have Makida wearing the ankara version of the t-shirt. It's pretty darn fabulous no? Makida's been on the blog once before. She's a great gyal.She's my instabitch. (here and here )

I really like this one too. It's a shame that the cut is so feminine, because if it wasn't I'd probably buy it. But when I think about it properly, I might anyway. It'll drape nicely.

I like this hat too. It probably won't look as good on me, but that doesn't really matter. If the worst comes to the worst I'll put it on my mantlepiece.

This made me laugh a bit. I love it when clothes have a sense of humour.

So after procuring my first giddimint t-shirt, I decided to have a little fun with it. This is what happened...

Okay... Here I'm wearing a converse baseball hat, the Festac Rebel t-shirt by Nchi, Diesel jeans, Uniqlo Long Johns and Toms. The buttons on the jeans are for braces/suspenders and that's what makes them even cooler than the average pair of diesel jeans. It was at this point that I realised that I can't do what I do and be unfit. I don't want to have a good looking body, I want a body that can do anything I demand of it (anything within reason). After ten minutes of hanging upside down, my core was showing signs of giving up the ghost. Unacceptable. I'm starting the insanity tonight, and I've renewed my gym subscription at the Three Arms hotel gym in Ikoyi. I can't remember where the shades are from but I think it might be Topshop. And the SUV I'm hanging off is my Grandma's Outlander. I drive it when she doesn't need it.

So go on to Giddimint now, and get your uber cool slightly alternative sexy t-shirt, or hat or bag.

I meant to blog this one last night, but I fell asleep. Anyway, I heard the funniest sad thing last night. I like sad funny things. You know, the things that make you feel a little bit guilty for laughing. I heard it from Mama Afam, so it's true or it's as true as gossip can be.

Sometime in the recent past (don't ask me when. Are you a moron? Everyone knows that gist exists in a space free from the constraints of time) a woman and her personal assistant were driving somewhere. A traffic warden stopped them at the Adeniyi Jones/ Oba Akran junction (I know you Island chillers, and diaspora people don't know where the hell that is, so just imagine any junction. It isn't too hard). While they were waiting for the warden to let the traffic through, the woman slumped and lost consciousness. When the Traffic warden gave the green light, onlookers and passers by noticed that all was not well with the woman in the car. Feeling incredibly good and generous they and the PA (personal assistant) pushed the woman's car with her still inside it to the nearest hospital. By the time they got there, the woman had died. Isn't it ridiculous? This is the stuff of comedy.

NIGERIANS DO STUPID SHIT YO!

Happy Days,
Afam

If you don't get it you're a moron. #justsaying
  

Sometimes Nigerians are more than a little bit stupid. We're so stupid that I wonder that education is wasted on us. There are certain things that any member of the modern age cannot be ignorant of like the swastika.

What is the swastika?

This is the swastika:


Whatever the crooked cross may have meant before the Nazi's in this day and age it stands for a bunch of negative things like:

• antisemitism
• discrimination
• pain
• torture
• violence
• pain
• death
• hatred

- See more at: http://www.theurbanemix.com/2013/10/the-afam-odi-guide-to-not-sounding-like-a-nigerian/#sthash.hGwBfa9R.dpuf

So I was walking about in my garden this morning

Yes, that is me. And yes, I dress like this when I'm in my garden, because it is my garden.

Now you can see me properly. I'm wearing my Afam Strawhat. The more discerning of you will have realised that I've changed my name on twitter from Afambewbew to Afam Strawhat. That's who I am now. I'm the straw hat wearing fisherman of the city that doesn't have a fishing rod. Attend me. Where was I? The shades are Cartier's, the necklace thingy is nameless, but it's flawless. I got it from the crafts market near where I live. The shorts are Muay Thai shorts, and the trainers are from the Yohji Yamamoto collaboration with adidas. They're Y-3's.

ehem...

Yes...

I was walking about in the garden feeling myself

If you didn't know how to feel yourself, learn your lesson. This is how you do it. I can't explain it. You either get it or you don't. You get it? You gerrit? I can get it? I know.

When the Universe struck me with news.

I was like NO! I'm not ready. HEEEEEEEEEEEH!!!! HAAAAAAAAAAAAY!!! Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. Slow down.

But the Universe waits for no man. Shehe (because the universe is both he and a she) said to me, "Afam, Temi Dollface just dropped a new song."

I removed my hat from my head, clutched it to my chest and screamed the scream of a crazed fanatic. Errr Maaa Gerrrrd I wasn't ready! She told me she'd been working on something a few weeks ago, but I was still unprepared. I hadn't even heard the song at that point, but I was freaking out. ERRR MAAAAR GEEEEEEEEEERRRRD AFAM

I clutched my balls to steady myself. But even that wasn't enough to calm me da fuq down. OH MAAAAAAAAAEEEEER DAAAAAAAAYS AFAM

And then the excitement escaped from me. I couldn't contain myself.

I said "REGGIE", "CAPTAIN REGINALD ODI!!!!", "TEMI DOLLFACE JUST RELEASED A NEW SONG!!" "YEAH! SHE JUST RELEASED A NEW SONG NOW!!" "LIKE NOW!" I'M GONNA TELL ERRBADDDY AFAM

That's captain Reginald and I. There I'm wearing my Slazenger swimming shorts from my University of Manchester swimming society days.

....
Captain Reginald didn't say anything back because he was sleeping and farting somewhere. It was at that time that the Universe took the initiative to download the song, its video and the behind the scenes documentary of the video which shows how she and IBK Spaceship Boi wrote the song into my head.

While the download was happening, the sky went dark and everything turned blue. This is what happens when the universe is doing magic. It was quite painful. It was like taking a dump while being severely constipated but in your head. Yes. It was like taking a constipated head shit. TAKING A HEAD SHIT AFAM

When the magics released me, I sprang up like a champagne cork. "THANK YOU UNIVERSE FOR BLESSING ME TODAY!!"  I yelled. I also waved goodbye to the universe because you can't keep the universe about you at all times. Heshe can be quite wicked. Heshe isn't a good friend to have.

And then from that position I,

I jumped up and got my eagle on. That is to say that I spread my wings... My legs are spread aren't they? I yelled in ecstasy for the song is brilliant. this is how I feel when the people I like do good work. It's light and it shows Temi's voice to great effect. Its production is minimal. Most of the time she's accompanied by a piano, and even when the drums, claps and maracas come in she isn't over shadowed. It's certainly more intimate than her last offering, Pata Pata. The harmonies she does with IBK Spaceshipboi are tight. They've got such great chemistry. I don't believe that we've heard all she's got to offer. She belts, she squeal, she's husky and then she's full. I for one look forward to her album. And let's not forget IBK Spaceshipboi. His falsetto is incredibly successful in this track, and those who watch the behind the scenes video will marvel at his talent. They both make it look so easy.  And as if all of that were not enough, the song has got a great message. It's got my stamp of approval.  Give it a listen will you?

Happy Days,
Afam

I meant to write this one on the eighth of January but I didn't get the chance. I hate it when I give excuses like I didn't get the chance because the question excuses like that beg is, why? What were you doing that you didn't get the chance? My answer is I was thinking. I was thinking about where I'd be without Mena.

Some of you may know Mena. I've blogged about her before. She features in this blog here: http://www.theramblingsofamadman-afam.com/2013/05/life-in-motion-middle-middle-age-guide.html and here: http://www.theramblingsofamadman-afam.com/2013/06/notes-on-we-need-to-talk-about-kevin.html.

The thing you don't know about Mena, is that without her there'd be no blog. It was she that first noticed my weirdness and casually said, "I think you'd make a pretty good writer." I laughed at her. I wasn't meant to do this. It really wasn't in the plan back then. Back then was 2011. I was 21, firmly on track for a 2:1 and going through stuff. I'm a little bit of a melancholic so I'm always going through something. There's always way too much emotional bullshit in my life. I freak out like a crazy person. The other day I went out for drinks at a New York rip off bar called 355, and I was so uncomfortable that I had to dash for the toilet. I like toilets. They're neutral. They're safe. In my haste to escape, I slammed my foot into the glass table and shattered it. I don't like feeling unwelcome, so when I walked into the bar and everyone knew everyone else, and the person I came with didn't make any effort to introduce me, and I didn't want to introduce myself because they were all so cold, I started panicking a little. Mena, looked at this crazy person and saw a writer and she backed it up. She backed me up. She's read and edited every article I've ever sent her and I've sent her no fewer than 250. Somewhere along the line I started believing that I was a writer, or that I could be a writer, and here we are.

It was Mena's birthday on the eighth of January and I'm grateful that she's still here. She's got the most interesting face. She's nice looking. She's probably on just on the cusp of pretty, but the thing is none of that matters with her. When she walks into a room she's the first person you look at because her light shines so brightly, she glows. Her skin radiates this cherry wood brown sheen, and, all of a sudden, even though her features aren't the prettiest, she's stunning.

I just wanted you to know, that there's this person called Mena that helped me start this journey and for all its highs and lows, I don't think I've ever been happier.

Happy Days,
Afam

I know that people mostly say that about God but it's also true of Papa Afam. Papa Afam puts the clothes on my back, the oil in my hair, the loreal skin products on my face, the dashiki on my torso, the straw hat on my head, the tiny food on my plate (I don't eat a lot and then I complain about being skinny. I don't understand myself), the contact lenses in my eyes, and the flip flops on my feet. Papa Afam is like an extremely unwilling bank. The pin code to his cash dispenser is the look of absolute poverty and wretchedness. I tend to do this really well. You see, my eyes are larger than eyes usually are. Half the time they make me look slightly deranged, but the other half of the time, they make it clear that you have wounded me to the point of suicide. I call the latter look the if you don't help me I'll die look.

Resist me. I dare you. It just occurred to me that Nigeria, has increased the efficiency of this look at least a hundred fold. I look like suffering here. Or should I say, I look like suffering with better than average skin.

This look has never failed to net me the odd N5,000 (£20). Don't even try and embarrass me. There's no shame in my game. There are few things I wouldn't do for N5,000. These days, I'm daylighting as a swimming instructor. Every Sunday, I drive up to some mahassive house in Lekki to teach a bald six year old girl called Ragga-ragga how to swim. I get paid N2,500 per lesson.

That's me demonstrating front crawl arms to Ragga-Ragga. I yell at her more than she deserves, but it isn't my fault. I don't like Children, She needs the motivation, and I need the entertainment. On my left hand, I'm wearing a TiffanyCo bracelet with my initials on it, and my so called girlfriend bracelet. Do I have a girlfriend? MIND YOUR GODDAMM BISCUIT.

 Now, I'm not saying that cash is short, because it isn't. It's just that I remember the times when I sat in my house for days without end because I had no money. I'm really pleased that my poor days are over. It's looking like 2014 will be my year of surplus after all. I'm not to pleased with my pastor though. He's the said the same thing of every year since 2001.

Papa Afam doesn't particularly like that I give swimming lessons, but I'm tired of giving him the if you don't help me I'll die look. It's been a little over used lately because Papa Afam took my car, my 2004 Toyota Corolla, My pimp mobil away from me. I need a car like a recovering heroin addict needs methadone. I haven't not had a car since I was 18. It used to be my brother's but I commandeered it. It was a brilliant vehicle. It never broke down anywhere, and even after ten years, it could still do 180 kilometres per hour.



In the event that Papa Afam gives me a new one, I'll tell you, but I won't put pictures of it up. A brand new car doesn't have the same charm as a used decade old Toyota Corolla. One of them is appropriate for a twenty three year old and the other is more than a little bit generous. I haven't got anything else to say, so I'm going to go. Later famzers.

Happy days,
Afam.

Before I begin, I'll apologise. This post is and will be vulgar. I used the future tense there because I haven't written it yet. It's currently a series of disorganised thoughts in my mind, but I know that they'll come out one way or the other. Come out... I laughed when I typed that. It's related to what you're about to read.

This one's about the Nigerian anti-gay law. You know I'm liberal right? Yeah, I don't really care who gets with who, or what gets with what, or if your wife wears a strap on when you both have sex. I  don't particularly care about other people's sex lives. Call it selfish or call it self protection but I'm only perfectly fine talking about sex with the people who live inside my head. I know it's more than a little bit schizo but this blog isn't called the ramblings of a madman for nothing. So I do not care what gets shoved in any woman's vagina, or where any man sticks his penis. If the other party is of age and perfectly willing then it really isn't my problem. Yes, that's my stance on sex. Not my penis, not my problem. But all of that's by the way. I think Nigerians are confused about what it means to be gay.

Human beings are messy. There are things that aren't things, and there are things that are things. Nothing's ever black or white. Everything's some muddy shade of grey. Let me explain what I mean. So he's married and he's got two children. He could still be gay. So he's gay, he might still sleep with a woman. It's a penis. If it's tumescent it will work. Drop the semantics. The people that say that homosexuality somehow threatens the future of the human race should go suck on a lollipop or something. If the human race was in danger, more than one penis would literally rise to the occasion. And there's something that we call artificial insemination. Anyone that wants a child can get one. It really isn't that difficult. Penis ejaculates in condom, condom gets emptied in vagina = baby.

In my opinion no one can tell you that you are gay. So say there's a guy that gets horny from time to time. And say that when he gets horny, he gets head from other guys. Is he gay or is he just a horny guy? Or is he a gay guy in denial. Or is he bisexual? Or is he just curious? Or does he literally not care what mouth does the job? And say there's a guy that likes it up the bum but he doesn't like men doing him up the bum,? What if he'd much rather a dildo, or a woman with a strap on. Is he gay? Or does he just like anal sex? If being gay is illegal, then what of gay sex, because not everyone that has gay sex is gay. And is there a statute of limitations on being gay? For instance, loads of people had weird childhoods and teenage years with a few questionable moments. Let's say you touched another dude's penis during shower time at school when you were 7. Is that gay? Could that guy say that you're gay because he remembers that you grabbed his penis when you were 7? And what if you stop being gay over night. Like what if you literally stop liking members of the same sex overnight. Are you still gay? And what if you are gay, but you're celibate, are you still liable? This sort of thinking is particularly relevant to Nigerian society because somewhere, there's a miracle service going on for the gay cure. So, what does the law mean by gay? Because I don't know. And I haven't actually read a copy of the goddamn law so I can't critique it properly.

Furthermore, why would anyone throw a man convicted of gayness in prison? Can you imagine the conversation he'll be having in his overcrowded cell? No? That's because he won't be having any conversation. He'll be fucked. He will literally get it, any every which way it can be got! Don't be prudish here. Let's get into it properly. If gayness is a crime, why would you throw anyone that's gay into the country's hub of gay activity? Of course there are some of you thinking, "but they don't have gay sex in prison." I won't even talk to you. I can't deal.

Then there's the idea that people choose to be gay... Why? I mean why would ANYONE choose it? It's not the most attractive option. People have offed themselves over it. Do you think they wanted to be gay? Do you think it's awesome that they thought it was better to be dead than it was to be themselves? And even if it is a sin, the only sinful part of it is actually having sex with a member of the same sex. But here's the thing, celibacy doesn't make you not gay. And when did straight people choose to be straight? Isn't it by default? Is it so bizarre to think that being gay might be by default too?

And then it isn't any country that's making such a big deal about gayness it's Nigeria. Do you know how sad it is? Let me tell you. Today, I waited at a government office from 11 to 5 for them to print out a letter because there was no power. Yes. I know. Dire. So you're a conservative, a staunch supporter of the traditional way, are you not concerned that our law makers are more interested in man on man, and girl on girl sex than they are in who has food, and who is starving, and who is safe and who isn't safe? They call it a spread of Western Values but in the west they are not dying of malaria, and seventy percent of them don't live under the poverty line.  

The entire condition of the country is sad. It's such a bad joke! A couple of months ago, I saw the president and his lackeys celebrating the national Sunday service or something, and I could only laugh. I thought, "so are you really thanking God for the opportunity to be corrupt?"As always I'm entertained. It is mildly entertaining isn't it? It's entertaining the way Tears of the Sun was entertaining. Yeah, women got their breasts sliced off and raped in that.

And I've mainly focused of the Gs in the LGBTQ because as far as I've heard, the law really only focuses on the Gs. Who the Gs are, I don't quite know, but it's 55 minutes past 2 and I'm tired. I'm tired of a lot of things. I miss my friends. I'm facebooking with Eragon but it isn't the same. I love him. I love him almost as much as I love my brother. He wants to come down to Lagos in Easter, and I'm so happy I could cry. I'm sad that I won't be there when he finally gets his shit together and gets a girlfriend. I'd have been the third wheel but it would have been great still. I miss how active I was last year. I miss my studio on the 21st floor of student castle. I miss living alone. I hate that Papa Afam doesn't knock when he barges into my room. It's been embarrassing more than a few times. I can't even tell you how. I'm open, but I'm not that open. I suppose I should be glad that they waited 23 years to let me put a lock on my door.

Tonight, I'll say a prayer for the guy that's going to get arrested for being gay tomorrow.

Happy Days,
Afam.

I've got a glass of Bacchus tonic wine in front of me. I'm not going to lie, it's pretty grim. It's exactly what you'd get if someone took some port and mixed it with tonic. It tastes like medicine and not in a good way. I suppose it's an acquired taste. Yes, it must be. I assure you that by the time I type that last word, I will have acquired it. It tastes like struggles. When I was in University, I drank cheap shitty wine by the kilo because I believed that cheap shitty vinegary wine was a fundamental part of the student experience. The same shall be true of Bacchus. Bacchus shall be the beverage of my mid-mid twenties to my mid-twenties. I shall approach them for an endorsement tomorrow. I'm in my the end justifies the means phase. Drunkenness is no great distinguisher of poisons and all alcohol is poison. You're probably thinking that this one is about Bacchus, but it isn't. It's about a super exclusive party that I, Afam, was invited to because I am Afam, and I am great. If you disagree with me go away. Your bad mojo is jinxing me. I kid. I don't care why you read, as long as you read. In your hatred, in your love; in your revulsion, in your adoration; read my blog.

Here I'm wearing a United Colours of Benetton white shirt with floral embroidery. It's a great fruity shirt. It's dressy without being conspicuous. I'm also wearing blue jeans from Espirit and brow tassled loafers from Russel and Bromley. That's what I wore to the party by the way

I just remembered that I forgot to tell you what exactly Bacchus is. Bacchus is a Nigerian made tonic wine. I don't know where they get their grapes from, but I can tell you that I'm 3 sips in, and I love it already. Forget about all of that rubbish about it being grim. It's grimly awesome, and it's the best medicine I've ever tasted. It's pretty strong at 18%, but strength is also equal to economy. As a trained economist, I'm all about the economy of things. Yes, SYSTEM, EFFICIENCY AND ECONOMY!!

On the day of the party, I had another. It was the Reloaded magazine party. There was a time when I might have done some work for them, but I think that's dead now. I'm not sad. Sometimes things don't work out and there's beauty in that. You pick yourself up and walk. If you're lucky you run. I'm lucky. I'm sprinting. The Reloaded magazine party was meant to start at 5pm, but when I got there at 8 it hadn't started. I didn't wait for a minute. There was no point really. You see in my world every moment is pregnant with opportunity. If you go to this party, and speak to this person who's incredibly important, you might get work that's big enough to change everything. Every moment is filled with the promise of success. On that night in particular, I was over it. I wasn't going to wait till 10 for the dream of a dream. I found the very idea of it dishonourable. I'm Afam. I'm no man's doormat. I won't let anyone cut open my head and shit down my neck for free. So I hopped in the pimp mobil and sped to Ikoyi.

I could tell you where exactly in Ikoyi the party was but I won't. And I could tell you which prominent Lagos family hosted it but I won't. Those parts of the story are uninteresting to me and so I shan't bother with them. All you need to know about the house is that it is beautiful. And all you need to know about the family, is that I felt welcome. I was invited by a young lady called Dede. She's magnificent. That phrase is enough. Any more words extolling her virtues would only diminish her in your eyes. In this instance, your eyes are the ones that matter most for after I put this up, I lose all possession of it. You will interprete it the way you see fit and I will have to live with your various interpretations. If you say that it's sarcastic, it is, and if you say that it's fake, then it is. But I'm a rambling madman, a phrase will never be enough. Even if it is enough for you, it'll never be enough for me. Dede wears a mask at all times. It's a perfectly natural mask, and that's its best and most damning quality. She makes it clear that there's more than one level to her, and you envy the people who've made it past the first. The amazing thing is, when you're speaking to her one on one, you're never quite sure what level you're on. Her smile is easy. Her movement is self assured.

The decor was vaguely reminiscent of a harem. It had something to do with the low sofas and the primary and secondary coloured lighting. The crowd was weird. Well off Nigerian twenty somethings together are always weird. They're too concerned about how they are perceived to let loose, so even when they speak to one another, the conversation is stilted and stiff. They're far too wound up to have fun when they're gathered en masse. So they tend to stick to the people they know best, surrounded by copious amounts of the only legal social lubricant apart from cigarettes I know of.

The thing about this party is that they somehow manage to get the best, most entertaining, most exciting performers every year. This year they had Temi Dollface, Ice Prince Zamani and Wizkid.

Temi Dollface, is an extraordinary performer. She makes every effort to involve her audience. Most Nigerian performers screech to their backing tracks but not she. Her music is always live. She travels with her band back up singers who double up as azonto and etighi masters. She's only got one single so far, Pata Pata. It's a banger, made all the more interesting by its interactive video. The crowd was difficult. The children of the rich aren't ones to display their fandom publicly. Before they deign to sing along, they probably have the following conversation with themselves in their heads.

Enter Super Rich Kid (SRK), and Super Rich Kid's alter ego (SRKA)

SRKA: I love this song. I think I'm going to go to the dance floor and dance like a dervish.

SRK: You'll do no such thing. Look at everyone watching. People will talk.

SRKA: But who cares? Everybody talks. Let them say what they will.

SRK: I care. And who's the person we'll be dancing to? They're nobody. 

SRKA: But I really like the song!

SRK: I'd understand if it were Dbanj or Wizkid but who the who is Temi Dollface? 

She's used to this sort of thing. It's difficult to be as stiff as our exemplary fellow when she takes the stage. She was so determined to gain the attention of her audience that at one stage she lay down on it and said that she wouldn't stand up until our reaction got louder.

Yes, she's looking at me here. I'm a little bit of an attention grabber... or she's a little bit of a camera lover. I only had my iphone camera but I wasn't going to miss this shot.

She's taking off her shoes here. I suspect that they were hurting. I was shocked, but not that shocked. Temi's a little bit mad you see. That's why we get on. Or I think that's why we get on. Yes, I'm being a little familiar here. Maybe I'll get the courage to ask her for her blackberry messenger pin the next time I see her. I'll keep you posted.

How Gaga is this?

Sometime after her came Ice Prince Zamani. He was alright, but I didn't get any pictures so I'll skip him. Don't be rude. He got a mention. That's enough isn't it?

Lastly we have Wizkid.



I quite like Wizkid, he's got as many hits as Dbanj  in less than half the time and that's a commendable feat. His face is too fresh though. I mean, it looks prepubescent. I'll probably ask him if he wears makeup the next time I see him.

The party was totes amaze.

That's me with a can of Gulder. Gulder is a decent Lager you know?

I'm tired and tipsy now, so I'm going to go to sleep. You don't mind do you? I'm not sure what this post was exactly. It's quite possible that I lost my way half way through. Until next time.

Happy Days,
Afam