ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

Browsing the archives for the adventures category.

Poems of my Present

I want to write about what I read when – in rare times like this when I have all the time in the world to myself – I get the luxury of contemplating sweet, literary stuff rather than bury my head in the tedium of long linguistic theories. If I were to compile a list of recommendations of things to read to a friend – Nigerian or not, this would be a tentative list. There are very many more.

Poems

Suicide Notes. Poems by Dami Ajayi in Maple Tree Literary Supplement Issue 8.

Letter Home by Afam Akeh in MTLS Issue 2 is a long poem that haunts, and soothes.

Mayakovsky by Peter Akinlabi.

Three Poems by Obemata in Sentinel Nigeria Issue #5

 

What have YOU read that has moved you lately?

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Africa Night – A Celebration of Cultures

Away from the news of uprisings and unrests in parts of the continent, students and faculty of my university gathered on campus on Saturday to feast and celebrate what unites us all: the beauty of music, the graciousness of fashion, the excitement of dance, and the great pleasure of diversity. It was the annual Africa Night event which took place at the Meridian Ballroom. I was the host, along with Jacob Moorleghen, a volunteer from the S.P.E.A.C club – a charming co-host.

Written as a play of two friends from two countries travelling round the continent discovering places, people, food, artifacts and events, the show centred around showing the audience what they would usually not see on the news about Africa and its various people. A continent of (now) fifty-five countries is something that no one would be confident enough to claim to know without some sort of guidance, and the patience to explore. Jake was the American filmmaker, and I was his resource. A little tension of the “otherness” is added, and the drama of discovery begins. We went from Kenya to South Africa, to Congo and to Ghana, and to Nigeria, touching on sites of historical and economic significance along the way in other parts of the continent. The script was written by Julaine Fowlin and supported by a wonderful cast of students and other volunteers.

I am passionate about things like this – theatre, and such opportunities for social interaction and intervention, and I am very happy that it went very well. More than just the pleasure of bringing the beautiful aspects of the continent’s cultures to the appreciation of the most diverse audience, there is also a joy of being in company of such young people who hold the key to the next generation. It was a great night, and I thank the students for inviting/involving me.

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Five People in China

Five students of three countries from various disciplines sat down in a Chinese restaurant downtown Edwardsville today for dinner. It was the first time the five of them would be sitting together in one place, and it soon dawned on them that they were all beneficiaries of the Fulbright program. “Wow,” one of them said. “This is really interesting – three generations of scholars in one place at the same time.”

“By this time next year, if the current two return here, we’d be almost ten,” another person said, “and it would be interesting to gather around again for a discussion like this.”

“We could actually do something right now, you know.” The Egyptian said.

“Yes,” said the Moroccan. “I’ve been thinking of a public project involving us all and this environment, either on campus, or the public school system in the state. Some volunteer project in town, you know.”

“Why didn’t we think of this earlier? This actually sounds great. What do you have in mind?” I said.

“We can go to elementary schools to talk to them about where we’re from and what we do?”

“Or tell them stories, teach them songs, or share some cultural ideas. Or show a movie on campus?”

“It will enlighten them, I believe. I’m sure students will benefit from this. A cultural exchange. Something.”

“Totally.”

By the time the evening ended, they had discovered a new level of usefulness for the bond that they all shared. They had also figured out a more detailed plan of action and the path to putting the many ideas into practice. After all, it was right before their very eyes, and within their collective reach. They just hadn’t noticed it before because of individual commitments. Now everything had become clear. The day had served its usefulness. They cheered and partook of it with all relish.

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On the Snorm That Wasn’t

‎”BREAKING: Midwest braces for boring conversations about the weather.” – Andy Borowitz

Alright, in the last couple of days, there has been plenty new words in the midwestern weather vocabulary: Snowtorious (by Baratunde), Snowpocalypse, thundersnow, snowmageddon, and my favourite: snOMG. All of them have pointed at the horrible snow storm the likes of which our area hasn’t seen since 1981/2. Sounds like the government of Hosni Mubarak, right?

The news of the snow apocalypse that had school closed for two days straight (for the first time in years) had students, staff and residents rushing to buy house supplies: helmets, battery-powered flashlights, food, drinks, lighters, radio etc. When I got to the store to buy groceries yesterday, I found out that all the milk had gone out of circulation. There was none at all to buy. When it comes to panic buying, it seems that my current countrymen are the champs.

Now, at 2.45am on the day billed to be the scariest of the three days the terribly disnowbedient weather, there is no storm, no falling trees and sparkling electric wires, no raging alarms making us head for the basements and bath tubs covered with large matresses. No need for flashlights either. Just bloody snow and icy rain on the ground, and a thoroughly rested populace very glad to get two good days off. It is not all good. My classes take place on Mondays and Tuesdays, so I effectively have the whole week free of classwork, and that sucks. I’m beginning to think that this ruse was sponsored by Walmart and other shoppers so that we can all rush and buy things we don’t need for a weather we can’t handle.

I had made preparations for a different scenario anyway. In the event that power goes completely off and our phones run off that we can’t communicate with one another, and the heaters run out of steam such that we can’t even sleep without having to lay down  together like pickles in a jar, and all hell break lose such that trees fall, and all we have are ourselves against the elements. I figured that it might become a perfectly opportune time to start returning to the basic natures of our humanity: hunting. I had already started making a long list of recipes that can do with some deer and geese meat. When roasted on an open fire made out of fallen trees, and set in public in front of the lake and surrounded by scores of homeless students and residents – add a few bottles of beer or wine bought from the panic rush of the previous days – the fact of hunger and depression will disappear from the world even for a few hours, and all that would remain would be glee, and a certain kind of happiness hard to describe and impossible to forget.

Back to the reality of the present, there is no snowstorm around here. The closest storm we have is in Cairo where protesters have decided that Hosni Mubarak’s televised announcement of intention to leave government in September comes too late and gives too little. That storm is purposeful, unpredictable, and has defied all predictions. Here, citzens that have not been used to more than a few hours of interrupted electricity think that the world has come to an end if something like that should ever happen without notice. Life is good. No snowstorms. All we have are new words, and that one in the title of this post is one of them: mine.

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It Begins

It begins with a step, and everything else follows. The last time I had this much fun entering a new year was a few years ago. 2010 though was different though. Alone in an apartment in the height of winter in a small town, I counted down into the year through my snores and a wish that I had means of transporting myself to the centre of all the attraction. Alone and almost out of my mind, I resorted to sleep. When I woke up, the year had already begun, and I just followed it. In some places, that is the worst possible way to begin the year. And look how fabulous that year turned out. I visited places I’d never been before, met many nice people I’d never met before, lived and loved voraciously, and now I’m back to almost the exact same spot, continuing the journey.

And so yesterday began very promisingly, with a visit to a Chinese buffet. I figured that if we’re going to eat into the new year, we might as well do it at the expense of someone else. Not being in the mood to cook all morning, I starved myself into the evening, and headed out when I could with a bunch of friends to the nearest buffet. The countries present at the table were Benin, Morroco, Nigeria and Indonesia. A few hours and many helpings later, we were on our way to another get-together of Nigerians in the United States, but not before finding out that the fortune cookie had a very personalized message for me, again: “You shall step on the soil of many countries.” There couldn’t have been a more auspicious beginning.

After many hours of dancing and listening to Nigerian highlife in the presence of grown folks from Nigeria many of whom haven’t been home in three years, we set out again this time to the bar where the countdown to the new year took place. The bar was Erato, one of the most cozy bars in Edwardsville. In there was my friend the blogger from Ukraine, and her husband. They had a lovely gift for me – a cool ornamented cap to keep my head warm, and an Amazon gift card. Three glasses of mojito, plenty loud guffaws and wine-induced railleries later, we were done.

The countdown was loud and cheerful, as should be in such a place. When it was over, we hugged and smiled, and welcomed ourselves in to the new year. Then we went to the last spot of celebration: the house of the same cool couple to eat the most delicious dessert: cake and champagne, and to laugh, argue, discuss, disagree, learn and mostly to share. By the time we got back home at 4 am, it was hard to summarize the experience as anything but a perfect welcoming into a year of promise.

And all through the night, I kept remembering the text of that message in the fortune cookie.

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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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Edwardsville by Heart

The picture that I had intended for this post remains in my head. It is a sheath of red and green Christmas flowers bound in a perfect circle and hanging by the side of the wooden bridge over the Tower lake at the entrance of Cougar Village. It has been there since winter began as a sign for the season. I don’t know who put it there but it always makes a good sight every time I drive by, and I have always been too preoccupied with driving to be able to take a perfect picture of it. And so, it remains in my head.

One more disadvantage of being able to drive is the laziness it induces. All my favourite haunts on campus once familiar to regular thread of my bicycle tyres have now become distant acquaintances. But for that battery run-out on the car a few weeks ago that forced me to walk home at night in the cold, I probably won’t even have recognized what the bike paths look like. It’s sad, I know. It is also fattening. Goodness knows how large I’m going to become by the end of this school year. We have not even mentioned the cost of gas made higher often, no less, by Nigerian agitators in the Niger Delta. It has warmed up for a while in the last few days and a bike ride is looking very likely now, if only I can muster the patience to walk again to campus in order to pick up my bike where I’d left it a few weeks ago.

But this post is not about the bike, the car or the Christmas sheath. It is the treasures of the little city. Not much a delight as it was last year through a stranger’s eyes, it is growing into an even more familiar friend. From new wineries being discovered in the most obscure corners to making friends in wine shops downtown with the hopes of getting my picture artworks displayed on their walls. If what this is is the subliminal instinct working towards replicating an already picturesque childhood, this will be more interesting than expected. All we need now is a dog. I already have many stories to tell.

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