ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for the day Sunday, August 16th, 2009.

The Trip to Boston

I never knew this could happen to me, and although I had a dream back in Ibadan where I found myself running helter-skelter through an airport lobby trying not to miss my flight, I didn’t see it coming. Right now as I sit here in the lobby at Brown Inn, I look to my right to find the same black jacket that I saw myself holding as I ran in the dream breathlessly through an unidentified airport in pursuit of a closing flight, and I realize that I have been played by nature, again.

I wrote the above paragraph at 9.13am this morning, in Providence, when I discovered a few minutes earlier that contrary to my headstrong assumption, I would indeed be flying of out Boston Logan Airport to St Louis and not the TF Green Airport in Providence, Rhode Island. Here is why that was a problem: I was running late, and the Brown University administration provided only one shuttle from the Inn to Boston which was free of charge. It had left at 8 o’clock, one hour earlier, taking with it all the other FLTAs whose flight left at 11.10am like me. The only reason why I was not on that shuttle was that I did not confirm my departure airport and I naively assumed all the while that I would be flying out from the airport at Providence which was just a 20mins drive from Brown University. Now, there was a problem. Boston was about two hours away, I didn’t have any cash to pay to a driver that must now be called to pick me up and take me to the airport as fast as possible. I sat down by my laptop in the lobby and started a blog post that was supposed to explain my dilemma. Truth was, I already had a dream in which I found myself running late for an important flight. Now, it was beginning to seem that today would be the manifestation of that nightmare. I had been up since 6am, and all I could have done was just to look at my ticket and confirm the departure airport. It wouldn’t have taken a minute. I didn’t, and I was about to suffer the consequences.

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In a few minutes, while I was still trying to blog about my predicament – after all there was nothing else to do but hope that the taxi cab driver made it on time, or else – he came, and after agreeing on price and means of payment, ushered me into the beautiful black Cadillac, and we headed out to Boston, leaving Providence behind. It was a VIP ride, and we arrived on time, travelling at about 80miles/hour (128km/hour). We arrived at Logan at around 10.30am, and I had enough time to check in. I tried to blog again afterwards, and was punished by the now erratic airline Wifi server when all the page disappeared, leaving only my earlier paragraph from the morning. Thinking back, I realized how hard it could have been if I had discovered this error only after I had arrived at TF Green airport, and presented my flying ticket to the security. By then, it would be too late, and right now, I would still be sitting down in a cab, or an airport lobby waiting for another flight to St. Louis while upsetting the already planned programme of my host at Edwardsville who no doubt would have been waiting for me at the Airport Arrival point with my name on a large card. That is not counting the cash I would have had to pay for missing my flight. I didn’t get off easy on this one anyway. A good cut of my allowance in traveller’s check has now gone to pay for that trip, even though I wouldn’t say that it wasn’t worth it. It was my fault after all.

One good thing – a few of them actually – however happened on my way to Boston. Having all the back seat to myself while my (very friendly and courteous) driver/chauffeur called me “Sir” all the time and attended to my every need, I brought out the Season 5 of my favourite TV show, Boston Legal (which I bought some three days back at the Mall in Providence) and sat back to enjoy the series. In some little but profound way, it felt nice to be watching Boston Legal again. Only this time, it is while sitting comfortably at the back of a Cadillac, and travelling to Boston.

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Wrapping up. Thanks Providence!

Downtown Providence

Just like it began on Wednesday August 12, all the days of my orientation at Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island has come to an end, and I now have to pack my bags and head to the American Midwest where a different and more practical challenge awaits me. But like I wished when I began, I have now discovered that having a blog would help me stay committed to finding time every day to reflect on what the day means to me, and my Fulbright program. This travelogue now mandates me to find time everyday of my trip to share what is happening to me at any given time, wherever I am on the American soil. I like that.

In teaching us about culture shock earlier in the week, we were told that there are four stages in “Culture shock” that we would most likely experience: Honeymoon stage, Despair stage, Recovery stage and the Adjustment stage. It goes without saying that I’m still at the honeymoon stage, and that a time will come, whether I like it or not, when I might be too drained to write anything or update this blog. I am prepared for that, mentally. It is another matter whether I would physically be able to beat a temperature of minus 12 to type on the keyboard with – as I can imagine it now – my real thick handgloves. But I do hope to cross the bridge only when I reach it.

Buffet

What did I learn this week? One important lesson is that people are not the same across board even though we all have things that unite us. The women are an especially interesting study. While some will gladly allow you to take their pictures or take pictures with them holding their hands/side, some others are averse even to the idea of putting their photo in your camera in whatever form. Religion? Cultural upbringing? Preference? What matters at the end is the respect with which you are given the information, and the maturity with which you must accept it without malice. I have also learnt that not all familiarly looking leaf on the buffet is cabbage or lettuce. Sometimes it is a very sour vegetable that will not go down your throat no matter how you try.

Bye Bye Brown Classroom

Bye Bye Brown Classroom

I also learnt a few new words. In Hindi, I now know that to say Mera naam Kola hai is to introduce myself, while to say Tumhara naam kia hai? is to ask that of another person. My German vocabulary also swelled up by one, as I learnt in a hard way that “Tisch” means table. I have also learnt how to write NIGERIA in Chinese, and to read my name in Arabic. When I think about it, those languages are not so hard, as long as you have a willing teacher.

Now as I pack my bags right now after 2am when everyone else is asleep, let me share this with you. It is a quiz joke you must never repeat.

What do you call someone who speaks more than one language?
Answer: A multilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks only two languages?
Answer: A bilingual.
What do you call someone who speaks only three languages?
Answer: A trilingual.
Now, what do you call someone who speaks only one language?

Answer: An American.

Of course that’s not true. All the Americans I’ve met here speak or are at least trying to learn another language other than English. So if you must repeat the joke, do remember my disclaimer. Next stop: St. Louis, Missouri.

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"Oh Kola, You're Really tall!"

Spot the Giant

Spot the Giant

When I left Nigeria last week, I was convinced that my sister was right, that I was finally leaving a place where my height always stood me out, and everybody always asked “Oh, you’re really tall. How tall are you?” And the second most common question asked was almost always “So do you play basketball? You should really consider it as a career choice.” as if basketball skills develop only from a mere fact of height advantage. I could tell you different. The last time I played basketball in Jos during my NYSC, the guy who gave me the most trouble on the court was someone far shorter than me, but with enormous skill with the ball.

And so, when I took of from Lagos, I congratulated myself for finally heading to where I will blend into the crowd and no one will notice me because, as the ubiquitous knowledge in Nigeria is, “Americans are tall people.”. So here I am in Providence, Rhode Island, America, and I have not found one singular person – not one – who is taller than me. Stalemate! Don’t get me wrong, I have seen some really tall people here, and if I am to be fair, I’d say that both America and Nigeria have tall men in different numbers, not just as tall as we have been made to believe. I haven’t however met anyone of my height. Not here at least.

When I first landed here, and I met the few American students from Brown who came to welcome us at the airport, I had already begun to check out the average height range, and what I found wasn’t so encouraging. So I waited. Maybe after a few days, and we are all gathered, there would be someone, at least, who could look down at me or at least see me eye to eye. After a few days, I realized that hope was indeed lost. The conversation that put an end to that hope was between me and another FLTA from Turkey, I think. It went somewhat like this, beginning like the many others that I had heard since I got here:

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Person: Oh Kola, you really are taaaaall.
Me: Really?
Person: Yea. I don’t think I’ve seen someone so tall as you.
Me: No, I think you have.
Person: No, I’m serious. Everyone in my country is like this. In some places, I’m even considered tall.
Me: Ooooookay.
Person: Is everyone from your country tall like you?
Me: No.

I know I should have lied when she asked that last question because the glint in her eyes showed an eagerness to hear the affirmative, and that we are all tall people. It wouldn’t be nice to have her find out later that in my country, even she would be considered tall, being almost a foot taller than some people I know. (No, I won’t mention names ;) !)

And so did I find out that I was not as short as I always thought I was, and that America would never provide any safe hiding place for what I should accept as a positively defining feature. I have no doubt that this country has it’s own tall population. Only that it’s not likely to be in Rhode Island. Maybe Illinois. I guess I’ll find out soon pretty enough, for in less than twenty-four hours, the travula is opening a new chapter in this American experience in the MidWest. Destination St. Louis. Destination Edwardsville. There is always an upside to the height advantage, besides attention and all the autographs you get from people thinking you are a famous basketball star. On the bright side, I count it very prominent that I can be sure to see myself in any group photograph, regardless of where I choose to stand.

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