ktravula – a travelogue!

reflections on the world

Our Generation is a Running One

What do I have? Where am I? Where am I headed? These are three main questions that I always asked myself when things looked bleak. There was a stretch of two years not too long ago when I asked myself the same question everyday of the week and every hour of the day while running after very many things that provided not just a way to remain active, but an escape from the tedium of asking. Years later, when many of those endeavours paid back beyond expectation, I became grateful for the chance just to ask them, even in the dark of despair when there was nothing else to do. I’ve been grateful for those moments ever since although I would never hope to relive them.

Today, prompted by many running conversations with a few people, students wondering where their life is headed in these sea of expectation and uncertainty, I want to tell a little of my story and hope that it moves them to do something, or just keep moving – whichever works – as long as they do it with all focus and the realization that everything done with a passion and the best of one’s efforts will always be rewarded, sooner or later, in some form or the other. And a realization that every experience has something to teach that would be useful for the next stage of life.

Our generation is a running one, moving, searching for its own true relevance. In the dark days of those years when the world seemed closed down around my head, I thought about so many things that I could do to avoid waking up everyday to face the bright morning sun that seemed ever so promising, yet not forthcoming with anything but a quandary of many superficial exits. Yet somehow, I got through it. How, I can’t say now, except that one day, it all passed away along with its dark clouds of self doubt and despair. I woke up, and it was sunshine again, with the beautiful colours of a new day. Then I took a shower. (Haha, kidding!)

Many students today in the different areas and levels of school work are worried about the prospect of their future. They are not alone. I remember just how depressed I was in the last weeks of my undergraduate days, wondering just what the world had for me. All of a sudden, I was heading out of this cocoon into a bold new world with its own brand of rules and expectations. The only buffer between that exit and the big bad world was a mandatory national service. A year after the national service – actually many months before – I relapsed into the same state and wondered if anything more than gloom would come out at the end. With nothing but hope, resilience, tenacity and the willingness to endure the long nights, I somehow trudged on doing whatever I could, and here I am.

I guess the only thing else to say is that when life boxes you into a corner is usually the best time to get up and fight. Sometimes it seems impossible and totally hopeless. The good news is that it isn’t. I can call myself a living example. (Knocks on wood.)

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Becoming Citizens

I did realize today while prancing around the corridors of the International Institute in St. Louis that if I were to apply to become a citizen of the United States, I would be asked several questions that many regular Americans of my age might find very difficult to answer. What the capital of some states are, who was which president and what made them different and great, and what significance some milestones and symbols are in the United States. I was staring at a picture on the wall of some new adult immigrants becoming citizens of the country after going through the citizenship classes that the Institute offers as part of its programmes.

I also thought about what it meant to become the citizen of another country, obtaining such a privilege through rigours of study, diligence and loyalty rather than as a birthright. I don’t remember ever feeling particularly grateful to be Nigerian because it was just an accident of birth, yet some people would queue up in immigration offices in Lagos and Abuja from other countries of the world to obtain that as a privilege. Same for America. The pictures show the immigrants looking rather ordinary, but holding on to their newly acquired flags and papers with pride and hope. A new life, and a new expectation awaits them, along with a new status of being. What does it take to be a citizen, and how do we experience it when it is not handed to us as a privilege of birth.

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Another Month After

It will be another “month after” youknowwhat by the 18th of this month, and I want to take this moment to say it’s been a great pleasure ride of new experiences. It’s a travelogue, right? So everything I observe has to be in line with the overall acceptance of the transience of every passing situation and the potential of every little event to illuminate, to entertain and to inform. Thinking back, I think the best decision I made was to keep the blog open after the first long travel experience. Sometimes when I go back into the blog archive, I myself get amazed at the kind of things I read from myself, things that I’ve forgotten that I wrote, but which bring back a sweet memory.

Overall, I find it interesting that everything in life can actually be situated in a travelogue frame, considering that we are all travellers in one way or the other. So that whether or not I move from where I am, the progress of life constitute a kind of parallel journey out of which to draw whatever strength needed to move on and about. Hopefully, it only gets better.

So any new observations about the United States so far? No, except that studies have threatened to totally drown my creativity and leisure space. Or am I growing too old? I’d better steal myself back before grey hairs sprout up to compete with those on the president’s head. Well, see you guys around. I just wanted to leave a few words. And please do keep coming back ;)

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Dotdotdot

This is how writing procrastination works: you tell yourself that you have nothing worth saying, and you wait until such a time when you think you do. Usually that time never comes and you stare day by day at the empty page hoping that something miraculous would happen and fill up the page. You could be lucky to have tonnes of other things to do to take up your space and time, but if you have been notorious in the past for writing even under extreme pressures of work, teaching, classes, events and many things else, you would usually not be forgiven for taking any kind of break. Yes, I know the works.

The evil thing about procrastination however is that it never ends. Like the fabled Sisyphus bound to head to the top of the hill with a ball of garbage only to be sent downhill rolling with no brakes, and to be condemned to repeat the same process for eternity, each day comes and goes, and the readers wait, and wait. In some cases the writer gets a kind of cruel satisfaction from keeping them in that kind of wait. Well, I never promised you to publish my everyday thoughts. I keep some of them for private people, or send some of them to newspaper editors in hope that they find them good enough to publish. And well, I’m such a risk taker myself and I wouldn’t mind to hear news that someone actually placed a bet that I would not write as much this month as I usually do. Wait a minute, why am I talking to myself?

All of this make a kind of sense, doesn’t it, and there is a win at every turn. The other thing that could bring a greater fun would be hours spent talking to people about an intending road trip: twenty-three hours on the road towards Las Vegas and California. Now wouldn’t that be something? Yet, it won’t be sufficient excuse to stay off the blog for that period of time. Well whatever, life goes on. :)

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Moving

There’s probably not much to do while siting at another departure lounge but to stare at carts, artworks, and chat up strangers willing to engage in such little trivialities. Who knows, one may discover Coldplay, or Gogo Dolls. Or get another chance at reflection about how the past few hours, weeks, and even months, went. There might be a little satisfaction. Who knows, there might even be regrets. Maybe there would just be an overriding surrender to the forces at work behind such not so random occurrences.

In any case, one might also look forward to new adventures, mostly to be obtained with new eyes, and a new background of experiences. Let the day break.

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I Believe, I think, Unfortunately!

I believe in development.

But many times, if you would ask me to tell you what exactly would be my indices of development, I might not immediately be able to point at much. (It would depend on where I am, won’t it?) But if you asked me about Nigeria, the first would definitely be a 24 hour power supply and a fast, reliable internet access. Then a repair of local fabric industries in Kaduna, a return of groundnut pyramids in Kano, cocoa farms in Ibadan and coal in Enugu.

But then if we had all of that, plus a higher life expectancy, healthy food for (almost) all, good healthcare and good social services, I’m pretty sure that we’ll still find something to complain about if we wanted it badly enough. Won’t we? There seems to be an inherent cynicism that never seems to go anywhere. We may start complaining that the neighbouring country seemed to be getting more action in the international scene and we want some of the action too. I bet that one of the reason why the first democratic dispensation was scuttled was that people still weren’t satisfied with the situation of the time even though they had better food, better education and better healthcare. This is not a Nigerian problem. It’s humanity’s.

However, I believe so much in the potential for development in Nigeria especially, and the tendency for things to get better if we talk about them often, commit ourselves into making them work, and helping to maintain current structures that already serve us well. But some times it seems pretty much like a futile effort with no light at the end of the tunnel. In the end, every drop of contribution will go a long way into producing a flood of results.

I’m sounding like a politician or someone hoping to run for public office, right? I hope not, because behind the hope and optimism is a nagging skepticism. I’d just read the preface to George Carlin’s Brain Droppings again. George is an amazingly creative thinker whose ideas sometimes frighten me within the folds of their allure. Here we do not completely agree, but I’ve read the words very many times over and I find them interesting. Listen to him though:

“My interest in ‘issues’ is merely to point out how badly we’re doing, not to suggest a way we might do better. Don’t confuse me with those who cling to hope. I enjoy describing how things are, I have no interest in how the ‘ought to be.’ And I certainly have no interest in fixing them. I sincerely believe that if you think there’s a solution, you’re part of the problem. My motto: Fuck Hope…” He continues “I view my species with a combination of wonder and pity, and I root for its destruction. And please don’t confuse my point of view with cynicism; the real cynics are the ones who tell you everything’s gonna be all right…”

Could he be right? I sometimes wish I could say all that. And then I remember that my name isn’t George, I’m not Irish American, and I don’t occupy the same societal milieu as the comedian who died at 71 in 2008. In this day of terrorist threats, fear of the apocalypse, global warming/climate change, handguns infiltrations, gun-totting robbers, unsafe cars, non-universal healthcare, unsafe drugs, and underpaid airplane pilots among others, we’ll be lucky to even make it to 50. It certainly requires more than just a few shots of illegal drugs in one’s veins to adopt such a confident stance in the preface to a best-selling work. Personal confidence with a large shot of daredevilry is much needed. With all that however, perhaps a nagging inability to look into the eye of day, yell “Fuck Hope” and really mean it, and move on with life has kept me from the really funner roles.

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Pictures taken at the 350 vigil in front of the White House on December 13th 2009 organized to pressure the government to take (its commitment on) Climate Change more seriously.

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Lastly, Around Nigeria.

There is a certain delusion that comes with writing, or having a blog that is read by people in different countries and continents, by different nationalities of different age ranges. More than that, there is a certain delusion that must come from the belief that one can change the world by what one writes. As far as that is concerned, I’ve been careful to be a very skeptical citizen, choosing instead to adopt a motto that reads: “I’m trying to change the world by not always trying to change the world.” This helps. The reason is that in the face of some physical realities, and consequences of human behaviour, I have often wondered if anything one says or does actually changes anything for good. Or if it does, whether it does as fast as one hopes. For the most part, having a pseudo-skeptical attitude to the power of words to effect fast positive change has helped to keep hope alive that even if the change doesn’t come as fast as one wants, one is not disappointed or disillusioned.

My journey around the country was a personal as well as a creative and spiritual endeavour, a need to connect with places that have meant much to me over time. By the time I arrived at my final place of visit, I felt a sense of completeness. But my host looked at me, glad to be seeing me after about one and a half years and gave me his plan: “Tomorrow, we’ll go to Ebonyi, then Aba, then maybe Owerri, and then Port Harcourt to see my folks. I haven’t seen them in years. You want to go around Nigeria, right?” It was a very good idea, and I said yes immediately. A few hours later, I got an email that I had to be in Lagos for an important event two days later, and the plan was botched. Who knows how much more fun I’d have had if I could visit the East for the very first time. It would certainly have been fun for this blog and its readers that have given me enormous pleasure over the past months. Next time, right?

Like everyone else, I’d love the situation in Jos to be quickly resolved. The same with the spate of kidnappings by restless and hopeless youths in the eastern part of the country. The country is rich with so much that one wonders why what we have is never sufficient  to ensure a peaceful and egalitarian society, and all we hear are the bad discouraging news. We build houses with high fences and spikes “to keep out unwanted intruders” and in the process imprison ourselves within its walls. We have nothing to fear but fear itself, as one president once said. Can we just step out of our comfort zones and enjoy the richness that the country offers? What’s more, can we make the country more conducive for living for ourselves and our future generation? I think we can, and every step counts, whether or not the solution comes as quick as we hope it does. Or maybe we’re just too deluded to think that man can change the course of history. Maybe everything is already predestined, and we’re just players in the hands of the invisible forces.

Well, well. I’ve been talking too much. Now let me share with you a few last pictures around the country, and then move to other (encouraging) matters. :)

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Meanderings

The task of making comparisons between states and towns along the roads to the North of Nigeria would soon inevitably fall on anyone undertaking a task of going around the country – Africa’s largest by population. Are there much differences in population, order, electricity, internet access, and a general sense of well-being? Are we that much different after all no matter where we choose to live, or do we differ only because we speak different languages or pray to a different invisible man than the other person? The answers are not that difficult if only we apply ourselves to discovering it.

The young man in whose house I slept for two days in Kaduna finished from the University in Zaria in 2005 and served in the same year in Edo State. I had never met or spoken with him until that night when I showed up at his door with another friend and asked to stay overnight for the period of my footloose tour of his state. The young man at the motor park who negotiated by bike ride with the hausa-speaking rider within my first five minutes of arriving in the state was of the same breed. Oblivious of the fact that we had indeed been in the same car through the ride from Abuja to Kaduna and never haven spoken even once, he gladly got me towards the right direction, all for a handshake, “thank you” and a goodbye smile. Human goodness, I say.

In countless meanderings around places around the world, I have encountered the same kind of optimism and open-heartedness even from random strangers, and it has never ceased to amaze, and to delight. If only we could all live together as one, all the days of the year. While eating lunch yesterday and getting prepared to head out, there was the news flash on television that nine (or ten, depending on who you ask) people have again been killed in a fresh case of violence in the city of Jos. Over what? Religion?

Of all the things that should cause violence, shouldn’t religion in a sane world be the least relevant, especially since none of us is really sure? But what do we have? Moslems pray to Allah to help them destroy their enemies, and sometimes even lend him a hand. Christians sometimes do the same, praying for God’s help to vanquish the unbelievers. To paraphrase George Carlin, one of these groups would be fucking disappointed. Could it be… everyone? Is love for neighbour so hard to conjur in a world where we have succeeded in dominating nature and pretty much everything else?

Forgive my rant, all I wanted to say was that I love what I see in most of everywhere I have been around the country. Kaduna reminds me of Ibadan, but not in every way. Ibadan is too rowdy, and so is Kaduna city, with rickety buses and loud bus conductors who speak only the local language. But as far as scerenity is concerned, Ibadan has much much less open land areas along the highways than Kaduna does, and politically, my city seems far less mature. End of rant.

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