ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

Browsing ktravula – a travelogue! blog archives for December, 2010.

September’s Children

It makes sense now, the glee of the New Year’s Eve either with wine, snacks, food, music, and revelry. A special night. What do you know? In an open space with souls of fun drinking to their hearts’ desire, and shouting as the clock counts down to zero, life will begin again with fireworks of the most spectacular kind. It makes sense. What am I even talking about? It is not just a coincidence that December 31 is one of the coldest nights of the year. In the tropics, it is harmattan with the cold dry winds blowing from the north. Here in the cold regions, it is the winter snow and its windshield factors across the night sky. Yet nobody cares, it is the 31st, and the street fills with great spills of joyous moments, and hugs.

Now I’m giddy. A few hours ago, today looked as promising as just any other day. Now not so much anymore. It feels like the end of an old world and a triumphant approach to a new one filled with promises. I already know where I am going to be, riding on the pleasant wings of a beautiful air with loud noises, and laughter, and drinks going down in measured installments. There are many precedents to this revelry, and each comes with the pleasure of remembrance. One of them does not, however, only because it couldn’t be remembered. It feels like the very beginning of a special day. Is there a hovering spirit of birth lurking around the corner? Not for me, but just a general air. Fertility? By September next year, many new children will be welcomed into the world – a result of the pleasantness of New Year’s Eve.

It all makes sense now. Father never was one to spend his New Year’s Eve in the bosom of a church. What do you know? In the space filled with people of fun drinking to their hearts’ desire, and shouting as the clock counts down to zero. There, life sometimes begins, with fireworks of the most special kind. We are called September’s children. And tonight, we celebrate our conception.

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As Time Goes By

The year is over, almost. In a few more hours separating us and that faraway place, we’ll change calendars and wish each other a happy new year within drinks and glee. Why January 1 is such a special day is beyond me. I don’t worry myself about it now anymore than I worry about the Chinese year of the Tiger or the Moslem Hijiras with its lunar calendar. In another faraway place, it is a time for reflection, sometimes in the premises of a church, with singing and praying for grace for the new year. In some other part of the world, it would just be another day. For me, it shall be for cheers of whatever kind possible in a foreign land.

What did I learn this year? Much, along the many roads that I trod and the peoples I met: that people are different, that people are the same, that the earth is large, that the earth is small, that there is pleasure in travel, and food, and adventure, in writing, that the problems of Nigeria will not end tomorrow, or that America is not the heaven where everything gets solved, that life is an adventure and that plenty can be learned in every little experience.

On Christmas Eve 2010, I heard with sadness of another major terrorist attack on Jos, a city in the Nigerian middlebelt. In a continuation of a cycle of madness that has gripped the otherwise beautiful homeland of the ancient Nok culture, some politicians and other undesirable elements have chosen religion as a means to further their evil machinations to seize political power in 2011. Scores of lost lives later, the country has returned to a path of precariousness held only by a small thread of hope. For the many residents of that town and the many other unsuspecting ones in Nigeria today, 2011 is already too far away to wait for a country where safety is guaranteed for lives and property.

And so, the year ends. What did we learn? That humans will never learn anything but will return to their folly and squirm in the mire of their own barbarity? That there’s hope? Maybe neither. Maybe just the certainty that no matter what happens, and no matter where we go, we will meet with both the beauty and the barbarity of humanity. The challenge might be to delight in the minutes, and let the hours take care of themselves. Or maybe do what we can to help in whatever way we can, wherever we can. Maybe, just maybe, evil might get defeated? Maybe.

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A Year in Review

This year was exciting, and exacting. But as far as this blog is concerned, it was a year of many journeys. So, especially for new (and returning) readers, here is a review of the year, by date and by the popularity of particular post. Were there anyone you particularly enjoyed? Why? Were there anyone you loved but I didn’t include? In any case, here they are. Enjoy.

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January 2: One of the most popular posts on this blog On the Origin of Names was published. It would later be reproduced on a few other online and print publication. On January 22, I published ”A Short History of My Face.

February 3: “Exploring Yoruba Through American Eyes” was a report of my now famous talk to students, faculty and friends for the Cultural Exchange Month. On February 4, we raised about $25o for Jos. February 9, I wrote a guest post for Clarissa’s blog titled “Barking in a Foreign Language”. On February 14, I went to the Mardi Gras in St. Louis. I also wrote an account of the festival for a Nigerian newspaper and it was published on February 19. February 19: Wrote Western Union Rocks/Sucks. In response, a Western Union representative responded. February 21: Meeting Paula Varsavsky.

March 21: Sauce for the Gander: a look at the geese on Cougar Village campus, their threat to students, and the human threat on their own existence. March 25: wrote to Western Union a passioned letter asking them to make money transfer free to Jos, Nigeria as they did for Haiti which had also suffered a tragedy. March 27: “Of the Radio Days“, a look back on my experience with radio presenter as a teenager.

In April, I recorded a few karaoke tracks and called them KTravula remixes. I posted two of them on the blog. There was Killing Me Softly (on April 2) and Slipping Through My Fingers (April 7). On April 6, we won the battle to make Western Union slash their money transfer fees to Nigeria. For two days, WU agreed to have everyone pay only half price to transfer money. My 400th post was published on April 20. It was titled “A Different Kind of Hoe”, a look at the use of language, and entendres across cultural lines.

May 1, I published a Youtube video of my class students singing in Yoruba. They even threw in a rap session for good measure. Relive that post here. On May 3, I published a picture post of a time lapse picture I took of a spot behind my Cougar Village apartment. May 6, African Roar was published. My short story “Behind the Door” was one of the eleven stories in it. May 8, a report about my teaching at SIUE was reported in the Alestle, a campus based newspaper. May 9 was my last night in my apartment as a Fulbright Foreign Language teacher. On May 14, I published “Full Circle”, my last post in the United States at the end of the Fulbright Programme. On May 16, I landed in Lagos, Nigeria. May 25: This blog was nominated for 11 categories in the Nigerian Blog Awards. May 29, Visited my old University in Ibadan.

June 5: A Case for BloggingJune 8, I went to Badagry in Lagos to see the slave relics in the town. I wrote a comprehensive travel report of that very moving and sometimes disturbing experience for 234Next. It was published here on June 21. Writing it was one very moving and angry experience resulting from the visit itself. June 11, I published a few more pictures from the Badagry trip. June 13, I published a critic of the language use in Wole Soyinka’s The Strong Breed. The post pulled a few punches, but no one successfully refuted the point it raised. On June 20, I interviewed writer Ivor Hartman on the motives and prospects of his new publishing collective.

July 1, I Decided to return to the US. July 2: Wrote “Nomads” about the many itinerant girls on the streets of Nigeria. July 8, travelled to Ife, then on July 12 to Ilorin (where I visited the Ilorin National Museum), then on July 15 to Kaduna in search of answers to a few pending curiosities), then July 16 to Abuja (where I visited the National Mosque and the National Assembly on July 18), to Kaduna (on July 18), to Zaria (on July 19), to Lafia and Obi (on July 21), then finally to Jos (on July 22, a few days after another deadly attack where I spoke with a few people on the current situation in the town in “A Lunch in Jos”.). The month ended with a poem I wrote evocative of my experiences on the road. It is aptly titled “Be Like the Road Itself” (July 31). The poem was published in Sentinel Nigeria Issue #3 (August 2010).

August 9, I wrote On the Origin of Names – The sequel. August 16, I wrote an essay on the history of religious intolerance and compromise with a focus on the University of Ibadan. It was titled “The Cross and the Crescent: A Short Story.”  August 20: I returned to the United States. August 28, after living “under the bridge” for a while, returned to Cougar Village. On August 29, I attended the Festival of Nations in St. Louis.

September 28, I began work as a volunteer at the International Institute in St. Louis.

October 2: Laughing At Myself. On October 16, we found ourselves visiting the Cathedral Basilica of St. Louis, a Synagogue and a Mosque on the same day. We had only planned to visit the Cathedral. Between October 23- 25, I visited Pulitzer Art Centrethe St. Louis University and the Scott Joplin Home (Missouri) on a search for the art hotspots in St. Louis. I was not disappointed. On October 29, I went to Hannibal to visit the Mark Twain Boyhood Home and Museum in company of a friend. It was a two and a half hour drive to the place, and it was a pleasant experience.

November 1, I wrote my Halloween post about a party I went to wearing dashiki. There were three highlight posts in November. One was on How to Survive on a Fulbright Stipend (November 3) which seemed to have helped new Fulbright aspirants by the number of visitors that Google brings here to read it. Then there was the non-fiction narration of a part of my childhood (November 11). Because of the response to that, I’ve been writing more privately on my influences and memories. The last was “Saving the Words“ a short expose on the death and survival of language through the words that are their vehicle (November 14). The post was reproduced in many places online including two Nigerian newspapers, with due credit, but all without permission. Between November 26th – 29th, I visited the Churchill Museum at Fulton, Missouri, the National World War Museum (Kansas City, MO) and Oklahoma Joe’s in Kansas in company of three other friends.

December 2, I wrote about my influences from Richard Feynman. December 8, got my first parking ticket in St. Louis (most appropriately) after driving a current Fulbright teacher of Arabic to the airport. The post that got most views is The Pleasure of Swallowing (December 19), of course: an ode to food and the art of it. And let us not forget Of Books and Used Books(December 20) where I made a point of my disgust for physical libraries because of the nuisance they cause to physical space, and how having access to used books makes it easy for people like me to get to read what I like to read. I also set up a wishlist for those who might be willing and able to send me anonymous gifts of those books (which I intend to read, and review on this blog) or any other item.

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There, the journey so far. One book, one short story, many reprints, many works in progress, plenty photographs and over seven hundred blog posts later, we’re still here. May the next year bring more rewards, and many more interesting discoveries, and people.

(Please take a moment to vote in the new poll on the right. I’d like to know which posts interested you the most this year. Thank you.)

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Snowfight Holiday

The most awesome feature of winter break is the snow, with snowmen and snowfights. It’s beautiful. Besides the usual resentment for extreme cold especially for people like me coming from tropical regions of the world, seeing snow for the first time, playing with it, building snowmen and stoning each other with huge balls of it is delightful, much like a festival. (There are festivals in Nigeria where people beat each other up with canes, for fun, and with glee).

With the ground already thick with inches of the white fluffy material since Christmas Eve, we got on it a few days ago on our way to the cinema. “No, don’t throw snow at me,” Em shouted. “I hate it.” Mohammed, the young man who was being admonished, showed traces of changing his mind when I screamed at him from a distance: “Come on man. This is the season. You’re not going to let her stop you, will you?” “No, I won’t,” he replied “but now you’ve spoilt the surprise.” He threw a hand-moulded snowball towards her as she fled from his direction, screaming. “You’re wicked, Kola,” Chi said from another direction and I grinned. Then she got a bright idea. I looked away for just two seconds and two heavy snowballs flew towards my head. One was from her and the other from Mohammed who had now turned his aggression towards my direction. ”I like snow, he said, smiling.”

I didn’t smile back, but the snow tasted very good.

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This post has been entered into the Grantourismo HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition byHomeaway.co.uk
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My Bite Christmas

I spent Christmas day on the road to many places. In each of the places were food, drinks, gifts, people and nice conversations. Thousands of kilometres away from home, I was once again relishing the pleasures of American hospitality. At some point in the evening, expecting a profound answer, I asked the guests at the table what the most traditional American meal was. The answer was: The hamburger. I was surprised. I always thought that that belonged to the Germans.

There’s a long history behind the nation’s diet, all traceable to immigration. The New England Pilgrims brought and eventually grew wheat bread, with turkey and pheasants made into sausages, stews, pies and pastries. The Native Americans ate crabs and salmon among many other sea animals, Italian settlers came with their pasta and some seafood diet, the Spanish brought lamb, the Africans brought pork, the cornbread, and meals made out of potatoes and sweet potatoes, among others. Years after, what we have is a country whose gastronomical map is as diverse as its accents.

The diversity is not always a thing of joy for those from where the food originally came, however. None of my Indian friends ever like foods served in “Indian” restaurants in America. The burritos sold at Taco bell are hardly as authentically Mexican as the ones in Cuernavaca. Poundo yam sold in plastic bags don’t taste like the pounded yam sold at Mama Ope in Bodija, and neither are fortune cookies anymore Chinese than French fries are from France. All the food that cross the Atlantic inevitably lose their old self, and like the people themselves, evolve, sometimes becoming better, and sometimes not, but mostly always remaining delightful. Americana.

And so my Christmas dinner consisted of lots of lamb, stuffing, mashed potatoes, green beans, asparagus, salmon, capers, salad, bread, corn, chicken, carrots, cakes and perhaps more than I can now presently remember. One major absence however was any sausages, or hamburgers. I guess it’s not so traditional after all. As fast food, yes, but one wouldn’t expect to find them on a table set for a Christmas gathering? No. Yet, I became curious as to how a four inch roasted meat lying in-between two slices of bread (no entendres) came to acquire such fame across the world (and among Americans themselves) as America’s national food.

Away from this all however is my delight in the diversity that made the country what it is. Much like home faraway in Ibadan, the day ended as a thankful tribute to the warmth of friendships and human connection, and the significance of such a wonderful holiday.

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The Social Network of Christmas

Merry Christmas to you blog readers. May the joy of the season delight your heart. Enjoy this video in within mouthsful of delicious food and conversation.

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A Review

No, not of a book, movie or song although that would be fun, but of the year itself. Yes it’s too early to do that since we still have about nine days to go, but it is amazing to see how close we are already to its end. By this time last year, I was here, same spot, same posture, probably complaining of snow or making a general observation of a particularly fascinating endeavour. The only difference is that then I was a teacher of many young students of Yoruba, but now I’m mostly a student myself. (Speaking of reviews, I’d appreciate you taking a moment to tell me what your favourite posts on this blog has been. There’s a poll on the right side of the blog. Please choose as many options as appeal to you).

I miss teaching in the Yoruba class. It was one of those moments when everything stands still and a continuous flow of knowledge and fun merges into one beautiful experience that lasts for about one and a half hours, two times a week. It’s incomparable, not just because of the things learnt and taught but for the pleasure of being there, and being the vessel for such cultural exchange. I met a few students this semester who said that they registered for the class either because they attended my talk last year or had heard from other students, and wanted to experience the class for themselves. I am thinking of returning to teach that class next semester. What do you think?

I’ve posted less on this blog per month since August, deliberately, and I think that has worked well. I realized at the end of the first blog year that it was better to write whenever I could rather than make posts everyday as I used to when I had all the time on my hands. It was inevitable that graduate school will attempt to suck me dry of all my waking moments. But then, here we are, still talking, and still sharing little moments of laughter. My semester has been made even better to bear by the presence of lovely colleagues who bring me chocolates and other nice stuff (you know yourselves), and those with whom I share nice stimulating conversation somewhere amidst the bustle of the day. There is also the doting host parents who have treated me no different than their own son with free access to their home, their food and their wine. What else could one ask for?

This year I travelled around (some parts of) Nigeria, and that was fun. I hope to complete my tour of that country in a not too distant future. I also got to see a few more of the midwestern United States. A few people have suggested that I should travel with a more critical eye next time (instead of my usually fawning admiration of spaces, I guess). In my defense, I have gone around less with the intention of understanding the people in the places I go and more with the intention of understanding and describing the places in which they live. But now that I know the difference, maybe I should take one more step closer. (You might like this article about the BBC reporter who attempted to understand and describe Americans in a new book). Maybe it is the desire to take pictures and write about places that moves me the most.

When the year ends next week, what I’ll be most grateful for is the general beautiful pleasure of warm human company. There’s still no alternative to that yet.

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Stolen Benin Art for Sale

One of the most iconic artworks from the old Benin Kingdom (a 16th century ivory mask, pictured here) stolen during the British “Punitive Expedition” of 1897 has now been put up for sale by a private “collector” in London for almost to 5 million pounds. (The details are here).

I don’t know what is more disgusting, calling a stolen artwork a “collected” artwork or offering same for sale when the real owners have spent years advocating for its return. This particular art piece is only one of the many that have been in the possession of the British museum for decades. This one is peculiar for being in private hands of descendants of the British soldiers who looted Benin and made away with its treasures.

A Nigerian activist Kayode Ogundamisi is now calling for signatories to a petition to stop the sale, and get the iconic mask (forcibly taken away during the dark days of colonialism and exploitation in Nigeria) returned to the country, or something. Please find details of the appeal here and see how you can help.

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