ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for August, 2009.

Counting Up

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Today marks my fourteenth day in the United States, and so far I’m having a swell time. I have heard some people wonder that I’ve been able to find my way really fast in such a short time. I seem to have got used to the weather, and all the flour foods a little quicker than they expected. Well, what can I say? I’m a Nigerian. We always adapt.

Surely, the number of days I still have to spend here far outnumber the one I’ve already spent, so I can not do any countdown. It will be futile even to try. I can only count up. Today also marks the 16th day since I first posted on this blog. The blog journey began two days before my travel, and now it seems to have developed a mind and character of its own, with so many visitors every day, many of whom just sneak in and sneak out, leaving only a digital trail and no comments.

Let me share with you a few more things I’ve learnt so far in the past couple of days. Some you already know. Some not.

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#1. Smile at everyone when you walk/ride past them, then give them a gentle nod. They should respond in kind. If they don’t, don’t take it personally, just keep moving.
#2. Don’t panic. Ask questions. Keep an open mind. Well, this is a no-brainer. They told us this at Providence.
#3. Collect all your change in coins, preferably keep them in quarters. You would need them for the darling washing machine.
#4. America may be an expensive country to live in, but they still do have structures to give back to the society.
#5. Riding will help you sleep better. You also get to exercise your muscles, which is good to burn off all the fat got from eating junk food.
#6. The cold is coming soon, and it will be brutal. Less daylight and more nighttime. Be ready to write some really boring romantic poems. For winter clothing, follow Karen’s advice: buy only wool and fleece. Those would keep you warm. Run away from cotton.
#7. Buy stuff from the internet. You’re no longer in Nigeria where all the online shops refuse to ship their products to for fear of criminality. Patronize Amazon and the rest of them online bookseller. They deliver promptly and affordably. Buy from BestBuy and Goodwill.

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#8. Give everyone the benefit of the doubt, whenever you can.
#9. The fact that almost everyone here use their phone while driving doesn’t mean you should do the same if you have to drive. What’s more, don’t try it when you get back home.
#10. Have mad fun, but do not be careless. Listen to Papa Rudy. There are as many dishonest people around as their are honest ones in America. If I ever get a new camera, or anything else for that matter, keep it safe.

And in spite of a few negatives which is not peculiar to this country or any for that matter, America indeed is a land of opportunities, and the Fulbright programme is one powerful vendor of crosscultural understanding. Here’s to the next ten months! Yea, that DOES sound so looong.

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Counting Up was published on August 26th, 2009, with the tags , , , under the Observations, Soliloquy category. There are currently 1 comment on this article so far.

The First Class

It was with a little apprehension that I walked slowly into that Peck Hall classroom at 1.30pm on Monday to begin my first teaching assignment. I had waited for this day for a long while, but when the reality stared me in the face just before I entered the class, I wondered for a micro-second whether it would be worth all the travel. My outfit already stood me out of the crowd, and anyone who bothered to look in my direction on the corridor could not have missed the fact that I looked different, and could only be “that professor from Africa.” I mean, who still wears native caps these days but the Africans? On one hand was my bike helmet, on the other were the copies of the course syllabus and behind me was the bag that had needed texts. They were all waiting for me when I entered, on time, and I immediately contrasted that fact with Nigerian university system where students would still stroll into class thirty minutes after the lecture would have already started, offering no word of remorse even when the teacher stops talking and stares at them from his lectern. Two students came in just some seconds before I closed the classroom door, and they were apologetic.

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“Ẹ káàsán o. Ẹyin akẹkọọ,” I started, and the class went silent! A thick, almost disqueting silence quieter than a deafman’s graveyard.
A second trial yielded a few suppessed sounds, but it attracted a more encouraging response. “Ẹ káàsán o. Ẹyin akẹkọọ.” I said, again and I picked up a chalk to write it out. Then I wrote my name, in full, pointed at it, and contined.
“Orúkọ mi ni Arákùnrin Kóla Ọlátúbòsún. Ẹyin Nkọ?”
Everyone kept quiet, and looked a little amused. A few giggled, and it was just what I was waiting for.
I touched my chest, moved away from the board, and repeated. “Orúkọ mi ni Arákùnrin Kóla.” Then I pointed at the one with the most mischievous smile. “Iwọ nkọ?”
She looked lost, as did a few more, and then after a little moment of almost uncomfortable silence, the bulb lighted in someone’s brain and he shouted from the back, “Ross!”
“Beautiful.” I responded, the first time I would speak English in the class. They all felt at ease from then on, and each volunteered their name in turn: “Keonia, Adam, Amber, Tonde, etc.”
“But you shouldn’t just say your name,” I corrected. “You should preface it with ‘Orúkọ mi ni…’ then put in your name. Let’s do it again in pairs, shall we?”
“Kíni orúkọ rẹ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Amber. “Iwọ nkọ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Tonde.”
“Kíni orúkọ rẹ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Trish. “Iwọ nkọ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Ross.”
“Kíni orúkọ rẹ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Keonia. “Iwọ nkọ?” “Orúkọ mi ni Adam.”
…and that went all around the class of thirteen students, only three of whom are black – out of which one (Tonde) is a Nigerian Ijaw.

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I turned out to be a better experience than I imagined, and I left the class feeling elated and swollen-headed. This is going to be fun. I am actually teaching my language in an American university. The aim of the course, if you’re interested in knowing, is to make authentic Yoruba speakers out of those bright and brilliant American students. By the end of the class that lasted one and a quarter hour, we seemed to have forgotten about time, and all they wanted to say is “Sé alàáfíà ni”, “Báwo ni”, “Dáadáa ni. Iwọ nkọ?” If you have a child in Nigeria, Britain or America today to whom you have refused speak your language, you would have only yourself to blame when after they reach the age of twenty-one, you have to put thousands of dollars out just to make them learn it well, this time from those to whom it’s not even a first language. As for me, I’m having fun here, and discovering interesting new things about my language, and how it comes across to the complete strangers hearing it for the very first time.

By the next class, each of those students would have chosen their own personal Yoruba names to be used in class and everywhere else. No more Ross, Trish or Adam. Let the Yorubanization begin!

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The First Class was published on August 26th, 2009, with the tags , , , , , under the Academic category. There are currently 18 comments on this article so far.

Die Malaria, Die!

I have just taken my last dosage of malaria medication, and it feels good.

I was never a fan of drugs (medication, as my American friends call it). I was never a fan of needles either anyway, but when I think back to those times when we were young and mummy would use all the threats in the world before I would swallow one tablet of paracetamol, it feels strangely good now that I am able to complete a dose of thirteen tablets in four days all by myself, without a cane hovering all over me. Oh how time flies.

I slept early yesterday. I think it must have been earlier than seven o’clock, and I woke up at some minutes after one, all sweaty and feeling a little weak. They say I sweat because my body is in the process of evicting all these parasitic strangers, and I say OK. They have also said I am prone to malaria only because I’m AA. Bollocks. Give me an AS genotype if it will rid me of malaria forever. I am fed up of (tablet) swallowing, or (needle) poking.

Die Malaria, Die!
So that children can sleep more peacefully in the hot summer without worrying about covering.

Die Malaria, Die!
So that Nigerians may get their visas to America a little faster than they do now.

Die Malaria, Die!
So that our Caucasian friends don’t run away when they hear we are from Nigeria.

Die Malaria, Die!
So as to save us from the poisining of paraffin Mosquito Sprays and CO2 Mosquito Coils.

Die Malaria, Die!
So that we can still be able to donate blood to those who need it. (See attached photograph)

Source: http://www.bloodbook.com/donr-requir.html

Die Malaria, Die!

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Die Malaria, Die! was published on August 25th, 2009, with the tags , , , , , under the Soliloquy category. There are currently 5 comments on this article so far.

How I Discovered The Value Of A Quarter

Money, money, money

It has taken me some time to get used to spending dimes, quarters, and cents, and whenever I bought something whose price sounded like $7.11, all I had to do was pay the $7 with the notes I have, then bring out the numerous coins I have in my pocket, open my palms and let the cashier pick out the remaining 11cents herself. I mean which country is this that still spends coins when everything could be made in notes/bills? Couldn’t they have at least taken some lesson from Africa’s most populous country where less than three months after the coins are issued, nobody else accepts them from you except the surrendered taxi drivers on the campus of a few (in)sane Universities (like Ibadan). So here I was trying to grapple with the fact that a dollar consists of four quarters, ten dimes and a hundred cents. Bull! Bloody waste of precious time if you ask me, especially for this travula who must always first do a mental conversion of each of those amount he spends in dollars to Naira before he pays for the order. Yea, yea, I know I shouldn’t still be thinking in Naira by now. But what shall a man do when his income is not unlimited? Sigh.

And so it was even a greater wonder to find out that almost everything here takes money from you, mostly the coins. If you park your car at a parking meter, you put money in it. If you were speeding too much, the police would stop you and make you pay for a ticket. If you wanted a condom, or a drink of soda, there is a machine you could go and put a coin into, and your product would be dispensed immediately. I first saw the one for condoms at Heathrow airport. Who could have thought that somebody is already smart enough to know that people may wish to have sex while on a plane? My final wonder about vending machines came on Saturday when I had to do some washing. Interestingly there was a self-serviced laundry machine service in house #429. All you had to do was put in a dollar and your clothes would be washed clean. The only problem I had with that was the fact that the machine only took coins. And it was my first time.
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Now when Reham, my co FLTA from Egypt first took me into the laundry, all she said was, “You put your clothes in here, a dollar in here, in coins, and then press this. The machine would tell you how many minutes you have to wait and you can come back to pick your clothes. Then you take them out again, and put them in this other machine, put another dollar, in coins, press this, and it will tell you when to come and pick it. This second one is meant to dry them up.” What she didn’t say was that one also had to put some some detergent in the first machine. By the time I discovered this fact, my clothes had spent thirty-eight minutes in the machine, they were wet but they were not washed, and I had paid a dollar. I was vexed. All that money, and I still have to put in detergent myself! I was even more annoyed because prior to this oversight, I had wasted some three more quarters in a similar washing machine in this same building on this same day. What happened was that I had put in only three quarters, and failing to find one last quarter, I took the other coins I had with me (which turned out to be dimes and cents) and put them in the machine, hoping that it would just do the math and let me go. The machine refused to collect them (I later found out that it collected ONLY quarters) and it also refused to refund my three quarters already put in. Who says machines don’t have criminal minds?

Now when I buy coffee and the cashier begins to look for change. Instead of saying, “Oh, you may keep that”, I stiffen up my upper lip as a now smarter Nigerian, and say “Oh, make that change in quarters, please. Thank you very much.”

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How I Discovered The Value Of A Quarter was published on August 25th, 2009, with the tags , , , , , under the Observations, Soliloquy category. There are currently 6 comments on this article so far.

Good Evening This Morning

I am just realizing after lots of thinking that I still haven’t fully adjusted to this time zone. And it sucks. It’s not only the fact that I feel drowsy all afternoon everyday (by which time it is like 10pm back home), it is also because of this summer time daylight which keeps the late evenings (8pm) still looking like 6pm in Ibadan. I don’t like this. I feel like I have been cheated of time and I have less time than I wish to enjoy the day. What shall I do?

I sleep, I wake up. I take long walks and longer rides. I sweat, I perspire, and I am back again feeling drowsy after a short while. And combined with this cold weather, it is never long until I sneak back to bed with my duvet over my legs and my laptop on my laps. At least that warms me up a little. Then maybe I have tea, or coffee. Or juice, or milk. And I watch some television shows. Then I’m back again with itchy typewriter fingers, and I can’t do anything else but write a new blog post. If this were a disease, there should be a medication for it in America, right?

When I call home, they say “Good evening” when I’m saying “Good morning.” I look at my watch and it says 11.30am. Men, this is serious. When my cousin calls me from California, he often would have to say Good morning when it is already afternoon here. And we both reside at the moment in the same country. It’s no wonder that this country is sometimes seen as a continent in itself. And right now as I lie here typing at 4.25pm, there are places on the globe where it is just today’s morning. Try Hawaii and the Samoa Islands where it is just still noon. In Nigeria, as my friend on this other chat window says, it’s just about time to sleep.

The wonder of the time zone is amazing, but when I think about it, I see a mostly logical rather than mere scientific occurence. The prospects of the world sleeping and waking up at exact same time every day would be scary if not unnerving. In any case, if that happened, we’d have all gone extinct a long time ago.

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Good Evening This Morning was published on August 23rd, 2009, with the tags , under the Observations, Soliloquy, Travelling category. There are currently 4 comments on this article so far.

To Jolaade

As I was on the line into the Batman ride earlier in the day yesterday, I thought about you.

I remembered your innocent and mischievous smile when that little white girl in front of me looked at me, then at her mother, then at me again, and asked: “Are you the Batman?”

I didn’t know much about the Batman so I asked Mary. She said the Batman was a white guy who always wore a hooded sweater like the one I was wearing. It became clear. Even the little girl’s mother was amused. “Little girls don’t see colour,” she said, as if to make an excuse for her daughter’s innocent blurting.

I’m sorry I missed your birthday. I wish I was there. I would have come along to celebrate with you. To lift you up, and spin you around just like old times. And if I had not gone to St. Louis today, I would have called you on Skype to wish you a happy birthday. I got back when it was too late. And all this time zones never really seem to help.

If I was there, I would have been able to say to you in person just as I now declare here: “Happy birthday Jolaade! Are you five years old yet?” I almost know what your response would be. Just like that little white girl who kept staring back at me, thinking I was the real life Batman, you would have smiled sweetly and said “No, Uncle Kola. Shebi I told you that when I am five years old, and you ask me how old I am, I will tell you!”

I miss you lots.
With Love from Cougar Village, Edwardsville.
ktravula.

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To Jolaade was published on August 23rd, 2009, with the tags , , , under the Soliloquy category. There are currently 4 comments on this article so far.

More Signs

“Don’t read this. Read a book instead.”
A sign found on a noticeboard at Founder’s Hall, SIUE.

Here are a few more signs, a few of which are interesting markers of America’s attachment to description. Note the second image: there’s a sign that warns people not to sleep inside the trash can. Yes, Americans like to put up signs for almost everything. Enjoy.

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More Signs was published on August 23rd, 2009, with the tags , , , , , under the Observations category. There are currently 3 comments on this article so far.

On My "Six Flags" Trip

I have just returned from Six Flags, a famous theme park/amusement park in the heart of St. Louis. It is Missouri’s answer to Neverland and Disneyland. To say the least, it was breathtaking. I had fun, and for the first time since I got to Edwardsville, I didn’t use my laptop for more than ten hours. I have just opened my email only to see hordes of well-wishing messages concerning my malaria. I feel better already, even before I swallow these two tablets for today. What would I do without these friends and family? I appreciate all the suppport and well-wishes, and I’ll be getting across to you personally. Just as soon as I sort out all these paperwork and I can use a phone that is mine. And so I should begin to tell you about the experience at Six Flags.

Batman Ride

I should start with how I won a basket ball. With a little fee, one was given twelve basket balls to throw into the net from a certain distance. Depending on how many you succeed in throwing in successfully, one got a gift of a new basket ball. Out of the twelve balls – four from each of the three sides of the court – guess how many I was able to put in: four! My gift is a new Hoyas basket ball which I promptly collected, and took with me as we went towards the rollercoasters. First we went on the fast and extra exhilarating ride at called the Batman, a fast-speeding demon that spins and twirls, defying gravity and taking you on a 360 degrees ride that lasts only about two minutes but leaves blood rushing to all your body parts, and your heart in your mouth. It is not for the weak-hearted, as the signs conspicuously warned, nor is it for the pregnant. Half the time you are upside down, and screaming. By the time we left there, I had a new profound appreciation of life. We all did. It was scaaaaary. After two minutes in the seats of many of those rides, I can tell you this: you would definitely reappraise your appreciation of life. Like they say back home, “your life would never remain the same again.” (Note: I’ve never confirmed whether that phrase always described a positive thing.) Check out this YouTube video of a Batman Ride at Six Flags and decide for yourself.

Tony Hawk

I should also like to tell you how I chickened out when we got to the Superman Tower of Power: “an extreme free-fall ride that carries you to the top of the 230-foot tower, giving you a bird’s-eye view of the park. Then, after a few seconds of gut-wrenching anticipation, you plunge down at over 60 mph.” I could not handle it. Neither did a few of us as well, and it was up to Paul the Kenyan and Mary to test their hearts against gravity. They survived. Then we went onto Tony Hawk’s Big Spin, the radical ride that twirls you as it hurls you down a 1,351-foot track. We survived that as well, then Mary and Paul took us to the scariest of them all, Mr Freeze. “Brrr. Prepare yourself for extreme thrills and chills. Mr. Freeze uses super-cool new linear induction technology to catapult you from zero to 70 mph in about four seconds. You’ll blast out of a 190-foot icy tunnel and travel through 1,382 feet of track at spine-chilling speeds, twists, and turns. Then do it again in reverse.” I couldn’t handle that either, and I, along with a few other students, sat and just watched them. Check out a Youtube video of that experience. Again, this is not for the fainthearted.

gateway-arch

Then I should like to tell you about the water parks, how we swam, drank all-you-can-drink soda and lemonade, and how we enjoyed sliding through the three six-storey, high-speed body slides into the water down below. None of this can be adequately described until experienced. A second reason for my difficulty in successfully describing this experience is the loss of my Canon digital camera. Within nothing more than thirty seconds of leaving a spot in front of the men’s dressing room where it undoubtedly must have fallen off while I was removing my jeans pants in preparation for swimming, we got back and couldn’t find my camera anymore. Someone must have picked it up immediately after we moved away from there. At first I was optimistic for getting it back, then I became realistic: a theme park of such number of people numbering up to thousands from different backgrounds and upbringing could never be a place to leave a precious gadget even if it is for a few seconds. I went on to make official report/complaints at the Lost & Found section, and would expect their call if an unexpected miracle brings it out. A part of me has already given up on that possibility though. Now what would happen to all those nice pictures I took today and hoped to put up online tomorrow? How will I be able to prove that I was at Six Flags? That I saw the magnificent Gateway Arch with my own two eyes?

This camera has been "flagged" off

A common catchphrase from all the vendors and workers at Six Flags was “Have a Six Flags Day,” whatever that means. I sure had one today, but at the expense of my precious point-and-shoot. I like to think it was “flagged” away by unknown aliens, and not the nice honest Americans that I have known. But now, whatever shall I do but remember today as the Saturday when I won a nice basket ball, and lost my precious camera all at Six Flags St. Louis, Missouri? You win some, you lose some. But what’s more, I survived. I’ve just returned from Youtube to read that a freak accident at the Superman Tower of Power in St. Louis some time ago got the feet of a little girl cut off. This must be why I love the country more than I do the city.

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On My "Six Flags" Trip was published on August 23rd, 2009, with the tags , , , , , , , , under the Fun, Observations, Travelling category. There are currently 5 comments on this article so far.

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