On Saturday morning, at about 11, Afam called me. Our conversation went a little like this.

Afam: Dude! Experience was lit!

Troam team: Really?

Afam: I swear. I was lost in the damn sauce.

Troam team: Aren’t you the same person that called me yesterday and whined about how you didn’t want to go?

Afam: I know! But I can’t deny it. I had the best time.

Troam team: So you’ll write about it right? The blog only got 479 views yesterday. I know that isn’t bad but it’s below target.

Afam: Yeah sure thing. I’ll start working on it.

He went about trying to write the article, but he never seemed to be able to finish it. At one point there were over a thousand words, but there was a problem. All of them were about how he didn’t like talking about his faith publicly, and how annoying he finds it when strangers try to force him to. Conversations that begin with, “Are you Christian?” never get very far at all. In fact, I guarantee that he won’t remember your name or face when you’re done.

Those thousand words never made it in. He deleted them a couple of hours later. Seeing how hard he was struggling with the whole affair, I decided to help him out a bit. So in this article I’m going to ask Afam everything about the latest edition of The Experience.



The Experience is an interdenominational (cough... Pentecostal) Christian concert hosted by Pastor Paul Adefarasin held yearly in Lagos that features some of the best gospel musicians of our time.

Why didn’t you want to go to The Experience 11?

This one is simple. The Experience is the most stressful enterprise. It’s free so everybody and their mother goes. So it’s crowded, the logistics are a nightmare, and you have to go through all the stress stone cold sober.

Stone cold sober means that you’re tired and bored at 2 and sleeping somewhere in the back at 3. Of course, you try to make the nap look like you’re having an intimate conversation with the Holy Spirit, but still it’s a lot to go through for an uncomfortable nap in a white plastic chair.

So why did you go?

Because Mama Afam asked. She does so much and asks for so little that I think I owe it to her to show up for her every once in a while. And I keep hoping for a moving moment with God. You know? I keep longing for that transformational moment when God appears to you and you get your happily ever after. I admire people with faith because I find it so difficult to have hope all the time, and they don’t. The people who are truly Christian really do believe that tomorrow will be better because God’s got everything under control. It’d be nice to feel that, even if it’s only for a night.

Where do you sit when you go?
The bit for the VIPs. Mama Afam’s a Reverend, so it comes with some perks. If I had to sit with the masses in the trenches of Tafawa Balewa Square I think I would die.

What was different about this year? How is it that you enjoyed what sounds like your least favourite night of the year?

The last time I went was 2 years ago, in 2014. I’m not the same as I was then. I’m older and for the first time I feel a little bit wiser too. I’m more confident and I definitely have more self esteem. I don’t have to drink to dance, and I don’t feel so ashamed of myself all the time. Back then I would always wonder what so and so thought of me, and why they thought such and such. Now, I care a lot less. So, dancing in front of a over 700,000 people isn’t as daunting a prospect.

But isn’t Experience the one place where you should feel free? Shouldn't it be just you and God?

Technically, yes, but practically no. Nigerians are incredibly judgy and no one excels at this more than the Christians. And I have issues. But this isn't all that there is to it. I think that the idea of Experience is brilliant but the execution is more than a little bit problematic.

Why do you think the execution is wonky?

What’s up with VVIP and VIP? That’s a question that needs to be asked. Places of worship aren’t meant to be split according to how wealthy you are or how famous, or how important other people think you. Now, because I’m sitting there, up in the front, due to no achievements of my own, and I feel a little unworthy.

And the organisers make it worse. When anyone with any post in government shows up, the MC comes up and announces them, like they’re different in the eyes of God. What does God care that Minister such and such is here or that Governor who and who is here or that the Vice President is there? It’s even worse when you know that the people they’re calling your attention to have not done a good job. It says that even at The Experience, a place of worship, the only thing that counts is your pocket. And what’s more, The Experience is what I’d call a populist event. Everyone goes, from the filthy rich to the dirt poor. So, every time they announce one of the politicians I think, “Why should the Church celebrate the people keeping the poor in their terrible condition?” Even if you say that this government is good, then what of the last one, one of the most corrupt in living memory? This is something The Experience has done for years!

And the weirdness doesn’t stop there. They display celebrities in the middle of their worship on the television screens. I saw Toke Makinwa and Don Jazzy. I get that they’re famous but why the attention? I would excuse it if they only did it once but they did it over and over and over again. It makes the atmosphere of it odd. I believe that when most of us go to The Experience we don’t go for the who’s who. We go for the music and the spirituality of it.

From a business angle, I can see why House on the Rock would. I mean, it’s great press and it’s good for publicity, but from a spiritual angle I can’t reconcile their actions with the message of the concert. So it isn’t just you and God. It’s you, the Vice President, the Minister of Trade and Investment, and Don Jazzy, who are better than you, because they’re sitting in the front row and not because they came early.

All I’ll say is that in the world of The Experience there’s a VIP section in heaven.

But it couldn’t have been all that bad. I mean, we didn’t see your snapchats, but you sounded so pleased the morning after that you must have had a good time?

You didn’t see my snapchats because I’m no longer on snapchat. I deleted it the other day. And even if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have posted anything. My battery was dying, my power bank was dead, and there was no internet.

But I did have a good time. The music was fantastic. Travis Greene was a revelation. I literally danced the whole time. It was like that time I went to that festival in Brighton. At the festival I was drunker than a man should ever be, but here I was drunk on the Lord. I kept looking at myself and saying, “is this really you Afam? You’re smiling like a fucking Christian.”

How does a Christian smile?

Quite frankly, they smile like they’re retarded. Their eyes are somehow looking upwards even when they're looking right at you, and they don't stop. They smile like they literally give no ducks about anything happening in this realm.

And this is a good thing?

Yes! It's an amazing thing. It’s like you’re on drugs only that you're not. I mean can you imagine me singing something about there being enough blood on Jesus' cross for me? Dude, I was insane in the best way, and it hasn't worn off. I'm still singing about the blood of Jesus without an ounce of cynicism. I’m feeling very great and very good.

What were your most memorable moments of The Experience 11?

Well there was a joke about farting in the beginning. The comedian whose name I can’t remember said something about Benjamin’s mess being five times greater than anyone else’s and that being why he got blessed the most. It was a license to fart and I abused it.

Then one lady sang the second verse of the Nigerian National anthem and fainted right after. I mean, she dropped like a rock. But I didn’t blame her. Singing the second verse of the Nigerian national anthem isn’t an easy task. It asks God for a lot. It says, “O God of creation direct our noble cause. Guide our leaders right. Help our youth the truth to know.” Well first of all God would have to transform the Nigerian cause into a noble one, and that’s a hard ask. Then it’s asking God to guide our leaders right, and that’s a very difficult task. You see, if there’s one thing Nigerian Politicians have in common it’s how they seem to delight in making life more difficult for the common man. She had to get some backlash from a prayer like that.

There was this other time when the Pastor on the stage was saying pray for the country, and pray for the people, and I swear I think I might have heard a civilian scream, “PRAY FOR TOKE MAKINWA!” I had a very guilty laugh.

Lastly I think my most memorable moment came when Chioma Jesus was performing, and she started screaming, “GET RADICAL FOR JESUS!” And what did the Nigerians do? They lifted their chairs above their heads and danced with them. Mama Afam even joined them in the madness. I don’t think anyone can forget the image of their mother dancing with a white plastic chair raised high above her head.

Happy days,
Afam and thetroamteam.

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

Hi. I'm Afam, and this is my blog. If I'm lucky you haven't heard of me, because as much as I love my regular readers I love me some new ones. Anyway let's get on with it. I must confess I'm not as excited about this one as I usually am, but that doesn't matter much, the words will come either way.

I live in Lagos and I go out at night. I mostly only go out on Friday nights. Saturday nights are tricky because I've got church the following morning and I haven't reached the stage where I can tell my father, Papa Afam, to leave me alone so that I can suffer my hangovers in private. Being hung over in Church isn't fun. I fall asleep and Papa Afam calls me on my phone every two minutes. The vibrations jolt me awake every time I nod off. I'm sure the people at my church must think I've got a combination of narcolepsy and epilepsy. On Friday nights I mostlygo to one place, Likwid. It's an alright club as far as these things go. Actually I'm lying. It's a little bit not that great but that's okay. I don't mind it. I'm easy. People often ask me if it's fun, and it is. It always is.

• It was fun the time my mate's phone got stolen, 
• and it was fun the time my money got stolen, 
• and it was fun the time I didn't get in, 
• and it was fun the time I got squished into the gate by the crowd of people trying to get in, 
• and it was fun the time gun shots were fired outside and people fell into the gutter, 
• and it was fun the time I was threatened with a taser by a bouncer, 
• and it was fun the time I made it in through the gate only to be held up at the door, 
• and it was fun the time I got pushed down the three stairs at the entrance by one of the bouncers, 
• and it was fun the time I got in but there wasn't actually any space to do anything, 
• and it was fun the time I fought and hustled to get into the VIP floor only to find that it was more crowded, and not at all different from the non VIP floor, 
• and it was fun the time the music was so naff that I spent the night counting the beams on the ground floor, and measuring the square footage in feet, 
• and it was fun the time I fell asleep on a couch from 1 till 3. 
• and it was fun the time someone teargassed the club. I don't know who did it, so I can't point any fingers without making myself liable to a law suit. But it's still horrible isn't it?
• and it was fun the time koki's sisters got man handled by one charlatan I went to uni with (more on this later and Koki had two sisters there. This fellow manhandled one and then went on to manhandle the other. I don't mean manhandle in a sexual light. I mean manhandle in a I'm going to beat you, I'm choking you right now wrestlemania way. And why? Because he wanted to get in. We're going to have words. They will be fighting ones.)

 and this...

There are some things that we grow so accustomed to that we fail to see what it is about them that is odd. I realise that the phrasing of that sentence is a little strange. It might be comfortable for you to read it as there are some things that we grow so accustomed to that we fail to see what is odd about them. I cannot tell you which of the sentences I prefer. They both feel like my children and I refuse to choose between them for while the first one isn't very good looking it has such character, and while the second is very pretty indeed, it is also mind numbingly dull.

It is reported that two students of UNILAG committed suicide in January. The first, Damilola Durojaiye, a computer science student hanged himself while his parents were away at the cross over service praying in the New Year. I cannot imagine what they must have thought when they arrived home to see their son stiffening from rigour mortis hanging from wherever it was that he hanged himself. I think everyone will agree with me when I say that that is not the ideal way to begin your year. The second, Seun committed suicide by ingesting an undisclosed substance. The rhetoric in Nigeria is that suicide is an uncommon cause of death in Nigeria. However this seems an inaccurate assumption to make because our statistical measures being what they are make it nearly impossible to determine who has died from what.

Last week one of my famzers who blogs as well said the strangest thing about me. She said,

"He would definitely not poison the mouse, he lacks that ruthlessness and the ability to see the world only in black and white. This is a good thing as much as it is bad."

I do not disagree with this. I would propose that I am only like this because I love myself. I love all the nasty, hidden bits of myself that no one sees. I love the fact that whenever I see that a new blog has sprung up among my peers I steam for at least a day because I am well aware that some of you famzers only read as a favour to me.

If another one of your friends started blogging you would have less time for mine and what if they were better than me? Then I would be damned. Eclipsed by a friend of a friend. And I love the fact that I struggle to deserve everything that I've been given. It is not an easy battle. I often come up short but that too is okay. I am incapable of judging anyone more harshly than I judge myself.

Of murderers and serial killers and racists I can only mourn their actions, because if I had walked the entire journey in their shoes I cannot tell you with complete certainty that I would have chosen any differently. It would be far easier to yell about things without thinking them through. That I could sit on my horse and judge you all.

So unto the nitty gritty, the marrow of the bone that I have to pick with the world, the cotyledons of the beans in my bonnet. They say that premier league football players are overpaid. Of course if you take into account that Rooney is paid £250,000 per week when most highly skilled surgeons with years and years of training earn the same amount in a year and are more highly valued by society this seems plausible.

You see, things like value are not defined by God. There is no scale of value. People are paid exactly what they are worth. If you feel that you are underpaid then quit and get a new job where you're paid more. If Rooney wasn't worth £250,000 a week you wouldn't watch every Manchester United game, you wouldn't buy a season ticket at Old Trafford and you wouldn't spend hours of your time thinking about his role in the next match or tweeting about how well or how poorly he's playing.

When was the last time you tweeted about your doctor? How many times a week do you go to the hospital? Do you spend more time watching football than you do at the hospital? You cannot have your cake and eat it too. You cannot watch every premiership match and every Champions league match and ask why it is that premier league football players earn more than most people. Surely you must see that it is because of you. Furthermore you mustn't forget that they are the best at their jobs. The highest paid football player, Samuel Eto'o earns about £17,000,000 per year. I will wager that the highest paid medical professional earns more, because football playing often doesn't allow for ownership benefits. The highest paid medical professional in the world probably owns his own chain of hospitals.

Now that the scene has been set let's talk about a fairly recent issue. Kim Kardashian went to Lagos, Nigeria to host the "Love Like a Movie Event" with Darey. She was reportedly paid $500,000 for her efforts. It seems like the best way to do this is to take some of the most popular comments and comment on them.

"Rich, controversial and influential, Kardashian’s rating on the entertainment scale seems to be enjoying regular “top-up,” especially among the younger female folks. But many families are not exactly comfortable with her lifestyle, as she hardly cuts the image of a role model to a generation in need of a moral dress up. Many families believe Kardashian is outright “vacuous”, as she is believed to have nothing virtuous to pass on to the younger ones. The American First Lady, Mrs Michelle Obama, was, for instance, quoted to have said she does not allow her two daughters — Malia and Sasha — to watch  “Keeping up with the Kardashians”, which is believed to have a bad influence on growing minds."


In my opinion it's the equivalent of a $500,000 advert. Except that it might be better value for money than a $3.5 million, 30 second spot at the Superbowl. This one has certainly gone on for a lot longer.

"Instead, she seems to have made a sensationally brief appearance at a nightclub, nominally introducing a concert for which Nigeria's great and good – don't ask me to make value judgments, I just type this stuff – paid the equivalent of $640 a head."

Marina Hyde, the Guardian.

Eko Hotel isn't a nightclub. It may be many things but it isn't a nightclub. But we can't blame you for this. You're a columnist for the guardian. You had to make things as interesting and funny as possible. A nightclub is infinitely more exciting than the Eko Hotel & Suites Convention Centre. You mustn't do this too often though. Hotels don't like it when you call them night clubs.

Is it so bizarre that Nigeria's great and good paid the equivalent of $640 per head for a concert? You can talk about the poverty in Nigeria, and you can talk about the great rift between the rich and the poor, but what you mustn't do is suggest that $640 is too much for able Nigerians to pay for a concert. The people that went may not even have noticed. 

The value of anything is what any man is willing to pay for it. How much does it cost to get a pregnant Kim Kardashian to work a Nigerian event for 45 minutes and 45 seconds? $500,000. You can argue that it oughtn't, but that's a different story. 

If you have a problem with the world and the way things are then wage war upon the world and society, and shake the earth with your proclamations. Confront the issue at hand. Don't let the extent of your narrative be $500,000, Kim Kardashian and whether or not she is worthy of our followership. 

I just read an article. I'm sorry I must back track. I'm not accustomed to being so direct. It is far better to be an indirect long winded fellow than it is to be the opposite. Why? Because I am an indirect long winded fellow and I love myself without restraint. To prefer the short winded direct people would be to despise myself and I can't have that can I? Yes where was I? I was having my usual gander on facebook when I saw an article shared by one of my famzers, Arriety. (Don't ask me how I came up with that pseudonym. All you need to know is that Hirosama Yonebayashi who was also an animator on Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke directed a movie called the Secret Life of Arrietty in 2010.)

This particular famzer is greatly esteemed not only because she's the sister of my first girl friend but also because she is clever, opinionated and outspoken. The first time she shared something that I had written I wrote the following about her,

"Arrietty and I went to school together. She was two years above me. I can't say that we had that many conversations but what I can say is that her telling me that she loves my blog made my head swell to the point of bursting. I had an extra spring in my already springy step. Yes, that's how highly I regard her opinion."

This is the article that Arietty shared http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/10/opinion/sunday/in-nigeria-youre-either-somebody-or-nobody.html?pagewanted=1&_r=0&smid=fb-share

Give it a read will you? It will be a hundred thousand times easier to follow everything that comes after this if you have. But because not everyone has the time I will quote the first paragraph.

"IN America, all men are believed to be created equal and endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights. But Nigerians are brought up to believe that our society consists of higher and lesser beings. Some are born to own and enjoy, while others are born to toil and endure."

This paragraph should tell you all that you need to know. The writer is incurably addled. She's not addled the way I'm addled as I am nothing if not a rambling mad man. Her sense of the world is skewed beyond the point of recovery. As someone who is quite familiar with the world I can tell you with full confidence that some are born to own and enjoy while others are born to toil and endure. To refuse to admit the universality of this statement is to be naive.

Like the writer of the article when I was growing up we had staff. Till this day we have staff. We have a male steward, a female cleaner, a male cook, 2 gardeners courtesy of Omar Gardens, one washer man, 2 drivers and 2 nurses (My grandmother has Cardio Vascular Dementia. The nurses are indispensable). When I was younger the stewards and cooks doubled as nannies. Yes, the Afam household is a little like a small economy. You might say that this many staff running a 5 bedroom house and relatively small grounds is ludicrous. But you know what? My parents have earned it. You see Mama and Papa Afam were not magically installed as the rulers of this micro economy. It wasn't handed to them by God and the privileges of birth. Two decades and a half ago they lived in a one bedroom apartment on my paternal grandmother's estate and my father ran his business from the living room. So you can understand why I insist that this woman is beyond deluded.

As children we were not permitted to call staff by their first names, they were auntie and uncle or mister. Even now that I am a man (well a man-child) I cannot call Papa Afam's driver, Alfred, anything but Mr. Alfred. They were imbued with as much authority as our parents. Heaven forbid you were rude to them or didn't say please or thank you. Sometimes the reward for your poor behaviour was a scathing look but sometimes it was an hour long lecture that put you firmly in your place. If auntie Patience, my nanny, punished me and I dared tell Mama Afam she too would punish me. After they had lived with us for a while, Mama Afam would call them to her room and ask them what they wanted to do with themselves. Some didn't know, and that was fine. Others wanted to go to school, and that was fine too. Whatever they wanted to do we supported. It wasn't uncommon for them to come to us illiterate and leave with better vocabulary and diction than some university graduates. They were not figures depressed by the hand of nature below the level of the human species as Adaobi Tricia Nwaubani seems to think. They were our teachers, our confidantes, our friends, our disciplinarians and our helpers. There were times that it didn't work out. Some of them stole but we weren't so jaded as to believe that they were all scoundrels. If they were all scoundrels then I would have been the worst of them because by the time I was 8 I had forged my mothers signature a few times and stolen 50 Naira when Papa Afam wasn't looking but while I couldn't be dismissed I was certainly punished. My punishments were significant enough that I wished that I could be dismissed.

She goes on to say that America is a more civilized place than Nigeria because of the principle of equality that was laid out in the declaration of independence. To say this is to make light of the struggles that America has endured to achieve the level of equality that it has today. Equality was not presented on a platter of gold. It was fought for. It is still being fought for. And what's more Equality of service is not something that is humanly possible. I cannot expect a waiter to treat me the same as he would treat Rihanna. I am a student. Even if his service was legendary, I could only tip him £5 at best but with Rihanna the possibilities are almost limitless. In Pretty Woman Julia Roberts walks into a store and is denied service because she looks like a whore, but this is true anywhere. Shop assistants have no patience for window shoppers, they cannot earn a commission off you so they try to determine who the likely customers are by going on preformed ideas of wealth. Because of my current lack of funds I can hardly expect to be given a private room and a glass of champagne every time I visit my bank, but if my account were fat enough that would be the least my bank would do for me. We all know this. At least if you don't know, now you know. People act in their best interests. To piss off a man who has banked £300 millions with your bank is to lose your job and earn a bad reference. To piss off a student knee deep in his overdraft is to laugh about it over drinks that night.
The same principle applies in Nigeria. If you do not display certain tenets of wealth you cannot be expected to be treated the same way as someone who does. You should expect the same service but you shouldn't expect to have your arse kissed for it. 

I am not saying that this is right or wrong. I am saying that this is common and not uniquely Nigerian.

But I suppose the fault is mine for making the effort to read and blog about an article that can only be described as the journalistic equivalent of trolling. I fear she fails to realize that somebodys can quickly become nobodys and nobodys can just as quickly become somebodys. My story includes an extensive knowledge about apartments in Knightsbridge that are no more and families that ripped themselves to shreds fighting for the dredges of parental wealth and people that were once somebodys but are now nobodys. Perhaps hers isn't as well informed.

Happy Days,
Afam

I am Nigerian. I don't know that I've ever quite stated it like that but it's true, I am Nigerian. I am Nigerian even though I've spent the greater part of the last 6 years away and even though I no longer sound like one. I think the big change happened when I was 18. For a year I was the only black English speaking African at Cheltenham. During this time my West African guttural tone was battered and honed into what it is now: a weird fusion between my original Nigerian accent and a thick Southern English one.

As a result of this change, when I'm in Nigeria people tend to assume that I am a visitor. They assume that I was reared on distant shores. They cannot believe that I have only been away for 6 years. They think, "Surely someone that talks as you do must have lived in England since he was 5." I never know what to make of this and I cannot imagine what they must think of me. They must think that I ditched the ruddy bloody thing as quickly as I could and they wouldn't be wrong. At school I needed to be understood. I got tired of saying things three times and speaking very slowly.

 I just saw the Goodluck Jonathan interview with Christiane Amanpour and I cannot see what all the fuss is about. Would you rather they had interviewed his wife? In my opinion the woman shouldn't be permitted to speak English on duty. She must be provided with a translator. I'll tell you why I didn't mind it as much as a lot of you did.

• Have you heard yourself speak? If you are Nigerian think about this one very carefully. There's something I like to call tin, dem, dos. This is in reference to people who say tin, instead of thing, dem instead of them, and dos instead of those. It is unbelievably common in Nigeria. So you shouldn't turn on your president for making the same mistakes that you do. You voted him in. Who knows? You probably voted for him because he talks like you.
• He did not attempt to don a false accent. He should be rewarded for this. There is nothing worse than rubbish phonetics. I once met a chap who told me that his name was Iferni. Through out the remainder of our conversation I thought deeply about what sort of name Iferni was. Iferni is not a common Nigerian name. I had a eureka moment when I suddenly interjected, "did you mean Ifeanyi?" When he said "yes" I very nearly died. 
• He held his own. Nigeria has it's problems but there's something honourable about choosing not to air the issues on international television. He may have come off as defensive but I think I like him more because he was defensive. When people are talking to you about your child and saying awful things about him or her, what kind of parent would you be if you revealed the thick of it in public? What kind of parent would you be if you washed your hands of the child and said "This Child is irredeemable, God help us all?" 
• I think Nigerians have developed the habit of setting themselves up for disappointment. What were you expecting? Were you expecting him to suddenly morph into a great orator? If you have some sort of genie with magical powers then I'd like to graduate with a first class degree without doing any work at all! Put in a good word for me will you?

Of course there are several things he could work on, like looking at the camera. There's just something shady about not making any eye contact. Some English lessons couldn't go amiss but I feel like that would be asking for too much...

P.S
There seems to be a horrid trend in the Nigerian blogosphere. I cannot understand why people feel the need to use so many complicated and generally unwieldy words. Are you a fiend? Take this phrase for example, "excusable pressures of impromptu dialogic exchange". Of course I know what it bloody means but is it necessary to be so impossible? I find that in our quests to ensure that we sound educated and intelligent we often go over board. If you are in fact educated and intelligent then don't worry about it. The truth will come out one way or the other.

Happy Days,
Afam

Famz is not a new thing in Nigeria...

I'm sorry about the opening line. You see, it's a little bit of an inside joke. When I was a very young school boy a little over a decade ago at a rather good Nigerian boarding school, I did a subject called the Introduction to Technology. In this subject I was taught that the definition of technology was "Technology  is not a new thing in Nigeria." If your answer did not include that phrase, it was a little better than rubbish.

Now that you understand I'll begin again.

Famz is not a new thing in Nigeria. Now you're probably thinking, "BUT WHAT THE METAL GARRURUMON IS FAMZ?"

Metal Garurumon is a digimon. I often insert the names of pokemon, digimon and other such nonentities in the place of swear words because being a potty mouth can never ever be attractive. Inserting the names of Pokemon, digimon and other such nonentities is infinitely more interesting than swearing because you'll be thought of as a geek. Geek is sheek. This is probably a good place to state that this paragraph is asexual.

Behold Metal Garrurumon

Because I really didn't know how to define the word famz I turned to the Urban dictionary because it's generally a good, well informed source on all relevant global matters. The Urban Dictionary defines famz as...

"a nigerian word popularly used amongst the children of the rich elite especially in Lagos. You know, students in Grange, Whitesands, Greensprings, Redeemer's, Vivian Fowler, Lagoon, Atlantic-Hall, Olashore, Avi-Ceena, Dowen, Corona e.t.c

It refers to a situation where someone you do not know familiarises themselves with you because they have heard about you or because you're such a friggin legend or because you're popular. This typically refers to someone who is not in your social circle or someone who may be trying to infiltrate your social circle just so he/she can say "shiit i know him/her, we're friends"


The above is heavily paraphrased. I wasn't able to put the actual quote on the old blog without altering it. If you are so inclined you may find the original here

If you are the sort of person that would allow filth like this to spew from your mouth or roam about in the undoubtedly empty fixture you call a head then remove stick from anus immediately. It's not that serious and you're not that important. If you are so fortunate that people should seek to befriend you because of your reputation then be thankful. If you find that their advances are improper and/ or uncalled for then be polite about it.


The thing about the word famz is that it's age specific. It should only ever be used by those between the ages of 11 and 17. Those in their spring time of youth. The spring time of youth is an amazing time. It allows for the indulgence of every stupid impulse one might have.

I'll share one of my very daft impulses with you. When I was 13, I decided that it was about time that I started sagging. There's really nothing sexier than some bum cleavage right? In comparison to the other boys at school my boxers were pretty decent too. They were too decent to not be on public display. They were all Marks and Spencer's pick and mix with the exception of one or two Gap numbers. It was on one fine saturday morning that I realized that while sagging might be cool it wasn't for me. I'd sagged my gym shorts during early morning exercise. While doing push ups the elastic band of my gym shorts tugged on the base of my boxers and revealed my arse to the entire year. I did not realise this until some concerned citizens tapped me on the back and informed me that I had been mooning everyone for the better part of 5 minutes. My trousers remained rooted to my unusually high waist after that. Sagging is not for everyone. Fortunately it's no longer cool. I think it was quite the unhygienic trend. One layer between the gassy expulsions of your body and the unsuspecting world is not enough.

To relieve the twenty somethings that may or may not have peaked in high school of their shame (Because using the word famz at your age is rather shameful), I Afam have come up with a most ingenuous plan.

From this day until the end of all days the verb To Famz  will now mean to read the ramblings of a madman Afam.

The noun Famzer will be restricted to one who reads the Ramblings of a Madman Afam.

In a sentence:
I did a lot of Famzing yesterday. Afam is such a clever chap!

I am a Famzer. 

There's no need to thank me. Yes, I am the kindest most considerate soul in all the world. So I'll get at you later Famzers.

Happy Days,
Afam

My country is magnificent! It is a thing of beauty! It is a piece of moving, living art. It must not and cannot be criticized for any events that happen within her borders. It is a 52 year long epic. Were the full story ever to be captured in film the even the preview would be so marvelously exciting anyone with half a mind would be forced to see it. What news headline have we not obliterated? We have done it all. I fear that we have exhausted all possible avenues for excitement. If you have no idea what I am talking about then feast your eyes...

You can count a few pairs of legs here. It does not appear to be some organised lynching but a spontaneous lynching. This makes it all the more spectacular for an organised lynching is a common occurrence. It is much harder to get a group of completely unrelated people to observe a the beating, then stoning and burning of four teenage boys.

That's one of them burning.

They've started quite the blaze haven't they? We should make this a poster. I dare say that it would be just as popular as Thích Quảng Đức, the Vietnamese monk that set himself alight.

Had this been an impromptu burning I would have said that the mob was angry. I would have said that it was an irrational heat of the moment sort of thing but I don't even have that excuse. Like I said earlier, they beat them, and then they stoned them (the stones were not at all small, I would say they rocked them but it doesn't quite have the same flair.) and then they burned them.

This is the real Nigeria. A country where we complain about violence, injustice and corruption but it's all a farce because deep down (or maybe not even that deep down) we are all like this. We are the type to beat, stone and burn four young lads on a mere suspicion. It doesn't even matter what they did because I can't say that any man deserves this.

They say show me your friends and I'll tell you who you are. This phrase is infinitely adaptable. Show me your people and I will tell you who you are. The answer stares us in the face. We are Babarians, We are Animals, We are Nigerians, the purveyors of Jungle Justice and other such practices. The people scream do something! I say if screaming is all you're doing then you are obviously one of the above.

You need not do anything now. What you do need not be perceptible. You're not doing it for the praise of men, you're doing it for your safety, because you see it now don't you? I know that your vision may have been clouded before but it must be clear now. You are one of those burning boys. In the right circumstances anyone of us could be them. So save yourselves.

As always, Happy Days,
Afam

I'll get right to it. There's no need to dawdle. One individual wrote this,

Bear with me, for as I write these words, I myself have no idea where I will end up. Such are the dangers of rambling.

I detailed the circumstances regarding my flight back to Lagos in "Hogwarts and Unicorns: The trip to Lagos" but I did not or could not tell you of the incidents after it at the time, because I wrote most of that feature whilst on-board the aircraft. The circumstances regarding our landing were most peculiar. Nigerians have a tendency to be rather eager and enthusiastic regarding the movements of their hands. They often feel the need to clap them together with little or no provocation. I am not unfamiliar with the concept of applause, but I was of the opinion that it was to be used in two circumstances:

1. Someone has done something highly commendable so you celebrate them by producing as much noise as your frame can muster. In this case it is permissible to stamp your feet, clap your hands and hoot as loudly as possible. If you do this well enough, the recipient of your attention's head will swell and explode.
2. Someone is putting you through an epically horrifying experience. This experience is often like passing crushed glass through your ears, or your colon. In order to put an end to your torture you applaud them for their efforts and beseech them to depart from the stage prematurely. This is the best outcome for all parties involved because you don't hurt the individuals feelings and your ears are saved from further torture.

In this instance, the pilot's undoubtedly bumpy and slidy landing was celebrated with a round of applause. I cannot and will not attempt to understand it. It is and will always be a curious incident that occurred at night time.

The remainder of my journey was exactly what I have come to expect from the Murutala Mohammed International airport. I'll write it in song.

It was hot and sweaty,
La la la la la
The airport was dirty
tra la la la la
The people in the queue were smelly
doo be doo be doo

(On a more serious note, Nigerian body odour is so remarkable a scent that it should be bottled. I fear that it may be an evolutionary mutation developed to cope with the dominance of mosquitoes. You don't think so? Well, I'd hate to think that the sole reason for it was the lack of decent and proper hygiene.)

There was a tout amongst us,
la la la la la
He fought with the immigrations officer
dum dum dum
Do I know what happened?
tra la la la la
No at all, all, all.

The carousel was slow,
lo lo lo lo lo
Our luggage came out last,
la la la la
No really, the wakeboard was the last thing off the flight
dum dum dum
This song sucks?
What did you expect?
the waiting was much.

A remarkable picture of the airport. I'm starting to think that Nigeria may be better in pictures.

Murtala Mohammed International airport is a genius invention. Even if you'd been away for so long that your memory of life in Nigeria appears to you as a dream or a sequence of events from someone else's life, the airport shall correct your misconceptions. In that airport you will be exposed to everything Nigeria has to offer; the best and the worst of it. You'll see the bribery and corruption as some able bodied little Lord Farquaad speeds past you in an airport go-kart reserved for the disabled and gets put on the much shorter queue for foreign citizens when his passport is as green as yours. You'll see the branded suitcases that may cost as much as one of the men pushing your trolley does for a year. Then you'll see the die hard, "yippie kai yay" motherfucker mentality of the people (Unshakable Optimism? I got a little carried away with my descriptions). Every employee of the airport will be looking to make a quick buck out of you. I am of the firm belief that the man who first said that a fool and his money are soon parted was Nigerian, because the phrase is truest here.


It should come as no surprise that I was in shock. After such a hectic trip; a trip that British Airways themselves declared unfortunate for I, Afam was a rose seated between two thorns (their words not mine). I expected to be driven home so that I could collapse on my impossibly hard double bed that I had missed for a year. I kid you not when I say that my bed is harder than the floor. But this was not to be. All my dreams of being a Howard Hughs-esque recluse were dashed for I was carted to a Davido concert. You see my sister, Bintin, was in attendance. I got to the venue at 10:30. The main man had not yet come on stage. I was surprised because this was a Sunday and the Monday that would undoubtedly follow was not a public holiday. So why would a concert (especially one targeted at people too young to be roaming about at night in the undoubtedly unsafe and intolerably exciting society that Lagos is) have any cause to start so late?

 Lagos is like a big budget movie, a kidnapping here, an armed robbery there; it's all fun and games till it's you, or someone you know.

 I comforted my sister as big brothers do, because there was no way that I was going to turn up at Papa Afam's door with his only daughter in the early hours of the morning just because she wanted to see Davido.

A week and a bit later, another opportunity arose to sample the Lagos music scene. It was the DRB Lasgidi industry night at the Oriental Hotel in Lagos. It was a free concert. I was quite keen to see them live. I had heard of them while I was doing my A levels, till this day I appreciate their work ethic and dedication. I am distinctly pleased that they have kept at it for so long and are now reaping the fruit of their labours. I don't mind their music. When I hear their stuff on the radio I do not feel the need to attempt to incinerate the radio with my mind. Having said that, it is important to mention that upon listening to their music I am not overcome with the need to drive myself to the nearest internet hotspot to begin a stalking and downloading spree. To make up for the disappointment of the night of the Davido concert I decided to take my sister to the DRB Lasgidi industry night. She in turn brought her posse.

I drove into Oriental at 7pm sharp.

Enter Afam, Bintin, Jolz and Wam.

Bintin: It looks dead.
Jolz: It starts at seven right?
Wam: Yeah, 7.
Afam: Are you sure?
Bintin: You doubt me?
Afam: Not at all, it's just that these things are harldy ever this empty. This is a blessing though, we'll get awesome seats.
Wam: When do we have to be home.
Afam: We'll leave at 10pm and get home before 10:30pm.
Bintin: Can't we leave at 10:30?

The answer to Bintin's question is silence. The terms of Bintin's curfew are not negotiable.

You can tell from the above conversation that I was a Johnny Just Come (JJC), I had forgotten the rules of Nigerian time. This was my second offense. The long standing rule of Nigerian time is that if there is an event, you must ignore the time of arrival prescribed by the organisers, for the organisers know not of what they speak when they tell you that they want you there at 7pm. Truth be told they really want you there at 11pm or 12am. The laws of punctuality fail to hold in Nigeria, and it isn't better late than never, it's better late than ever!

It should come as no surprise to you that there was no one there. In fact, the hotel had not finished setting up for the event. Being deathly allergic to waiting and having nothing to do, I abandoned my wards and went home to enjoy a light supper and some Olympic fun. But even this was not to be. As I settled on the couch to sup and watch, I found myself in the other plane, the dream plane. In this episode I, Afam fought with a great white and came out on top. I then proceeded to grill it on a skewer. I never got to taste it for I remembered that there was some place that I had to be. I leapt from the couch like a dervish and raced to the pimp mobile. I found that there was no need for my hustle and bustle because even at a few minutes past 10 the concert had yet to begin.

At that I rounded up the troops and took them home. As luck would have it, we spotted the DRB gang stepping out of their ride as I drove out of Oriental. I wanted to jump out and say, "Hey, we waited! Where were you?" but I thought the better of it. I could not blame them for my ignorance of Nigerian social etiquette.

Happy Days,
Afam.