Browsing the archives for the Opinion category.

The Best of KTravula

Out of fear that I may abandon this blog after my programme is complete, a friend suggested that I feature the some of my favourite post from over the past eight months and almost four hundred posts. That I will do beginning from this week. The most popular posts are already automatically listed on the right hand tab. But as has happened a few times on this blog, my favourite, or the most commented, sometimes do not always make it is to the list. So here we are. My top five favourites for this week. I sometimes go back to read them once in a while. What are your favourites?

A Short History of My Face

On the Origin of Names

How I Discovered the Value of a Quarter

Pumpkin

This Step, This Spot – A poem

PS: I just heard some horrible news about volcanic clouds all over Europe that is making it impossible for airplanes to fly. For me who would be going home via France (a welcome departure from the rudeness of London’s Heathrow Airport), I am worried. I do not want anything that will have to make me fly for 13 straight hours directly from the US to Nigeria. I don’t believe that anyone should stay for that length of time in the air, and definitely not someone with long legs and a resentment for cramped spaces.

Baby Showers

Some day before I leave here, I’ll be attending a baby shower of a friend and former student of this institution. A baby shower is an event where people gather to celebrate the life of a baby that has not yet been born. Alright. Forget all that naming ceremonies we do in Nigeria eight days after the child is born. Here, the baby shower takes place before the child is born. Isn’t it amazing? The said baby by the time of the shower would have already gotten a name. All that will be left is delivery.

There are many reasons pregnant women in Nigeria and much of Africa don’t celebrate their babies before they are born, and much of them are based on superstition. The most concrete of reasons will have to do with the maternal and infant mortality. Because of lack of adequate healthcare for much of the poor pregnant women in the villages who also lack access to education, good food and good shelter, many children are lost at childbirth, or to debilitating diseases afterwards. In cities, due to lack of good state or private hospitals, this happens to middle class people in the cities as well, except they are rich enough to go abroad to have their babies. I guess in cases like that, it would be futile to celebrate life when even its beginning is in doubt. The rest is cultural. From history, and from a tradition that probably predates the migration of Yoruba people to the west of the Niger river from wherever the came from initially, children are celebrated at birth, and named on the eighth day. End of story.

Among many other differences in pregnancy attitudes in America and Nigeria is disclosure. Unlike what I am more familiar with, here, people would tell you that they are pregnant even before the protrusion shows itself. For a reason perhaps close to superstition as well, you won’t find African women doing that. And you can’t ask them why. So,as it has happened to me several time while I was growing up, I would find myself unable to discuss the existence of someone’s pregnancy – even when it stared me in the face – until they gave birth. I wonder how much of that has changed with modernization.

With access to stable electricity, much of the problems (especially in Nigeria’s healthcare) would be solved. Sometimes, it is that simple. Hospitals will be able to offer better healthcare services if there is stable power. That is one of the biggest challenges before the Acting President Goodluck Jonathan who is now in the United States on a state visit to meet with the US President. He has about a year to set in motion plans to put the nation back on the track of development. A huge but worthwile task. There is a longer article about maternal mortality here by Eyinade Adedotun.

Check out other solutions for improving maternal health or to participate in the global call to solutions, please visit Healthy Mothers, Strong World: The Next Generation of Ideas for Maternal Health. www.changemakers.com/maternalhealth

Jungle Fever

I translated a poem for my Slovenian poet and musician from English into Yoruba a few weeks ago. It was a very short but humorous piece of work. I’ve also recorded it for him in my own voice.

But while we were looking for an appropriate background sound for the poetry recital, he sent me the following:

“I put the voice of birds. This would actually stress that you read in an African language and it would give some jungle atmosphere.”

Even though the bird effect turned out pretty well in the end, I really couldn’t stop wondering about what his reasons for it really reflects. It sounds like there is definitely a wrong assumption somewhere in there. Or maybe it’s just me. There are birds in England, India and Canada too, right? If birds and the “jungle atmosphere” is enough to identify an African language, what animals would be required to make noise in the background if I were to read in an American language? A bear, perhaps? Hard rock? Or a gun shot? How far do we go until such assumptions just turn into a bunch of pointless categorizations?

It was not long ago that I discovered that many people here wouldn’t really believe that I’d never seen animals in the wild until I came to the United States. (I saw a monkey, a chimp, a gorilla, a zebra, a lion, an elephant, a camel, a fox, and an ostrich for the first time in a public zoo of what later became my University in Ibadan. I was about eight years old then. I later saw some baboons in the wild when I went to Kenya in 2005, but before then, beside dogs, chicken, cats, cattle and sheep, most of the animals I’ve seen have been in confinement.) Cougar Village alone however has a large population of deer, geese, raccoons, cats and squirrels than I’ve ever seen anywhere, walking free without confinement. And the geese are wilder than any I’ve ever seen anywhere. One day in the winter, I saw a lonely fox walking by itself on the highway close to where humans might be found walking innocently on a lonely day. Maybe Cougar Village was the kind of  jungle he meant!

Knowing The Granite City

My first intimation with Scotland beyond the picture of men in “skirts” in glossy magazines must be in the movie “Rundown” where a Scottish pilot kept saying “There are bills on the grind” when he meant that there were bulls on the ground. And then there was Craig Fergusson and a few other guys whose accents just keep you glued to the television because you can’t get enough. In this guest post, my friend and blog commenter Bukola Olawuwo writes about her experience in Aberdeen, Scotland’s third most populous city. It has an estimated population of 210,400 citizens. Enjoy.

___________________________________________

I always had a good laugh in the months before my arrival in Aberdeen when I informed people that I was going to Scotland. Isn’t that the place where men wear skirts? They’d say. I laughed in part because it was funny and because although I knew that men wouldn’t be running around all day in skirts, I too thought of it as “the place where men wear skirts”

It was not the skirt-clad men that grabbed my attention on my arrival though. It was the colours – or lack thereof. Every building was the same colour. Grey. My first thought was that there was a law against paints in this city. I would later learn that many of the city’s buildings constructed between the 18th and 2oth century were built with granite sourced from the city’s Rubislaw Quarry which is also said to have produced granite for paving streets in London. This earned the city the moniker the Granite City.

Of course, new, painted buildings have sprung up but these are few and far between, creating the impression that all Aberdeen buildings are the same. I for one will never forget the confusion that my inability to differentiate one building from another caused in my first few weeks here. I got lost so many times that I lost count. And I’m clueless with maps, so there goes…

Since I can’t read a map to save my life, I had to depend on people. This was another induction into the city. I found that the Aberdonian accent is a complex one, depending on the indigene’s particular area of origin. It is characterised by harsh R’s and of course there’s Doric. Doric is the local dialect/accent spoken in Aberdeen city and county. It is a variation of English but an advisory warning would probably read “interpreter needed”! My friends and I have had fun trying to decode some of the words amidst thanksgiving that none of our tutors has the acute version of the accent – that wouldn’t have been fun. A personal favourite is the word sorry which if spelled the way it is pronounced could be either “sorree” or “sorrai”, with extra emphasis on the ‘r’. Whereabouts are you going would be “far aboots are ye gaun”; no equals “nae”; house equals “hoose”…and I thought I’d be the one with an accent!

Behind the interesting accents are an equally interesting people. Aberdonians and indeed Scotsmen are very proud; of their culture and heritage. Such is their pride in their region that many are agitating for an independent Scotland; independence that is, from the collective known as the United Kingdom. This pride sometimes makes me feel a pang of shame at the new generation of Nigerian parents who proudly announce that their children don’t speak their native dialect or youths who refuse to wear African fabric. Yes, the men really wear kilts but only for ceremonial purposes and trust me, it takes either national pride or utter madness to wear a kilt in a temperature of minus 16 degrees celsius!

And madness is how the weather feels at times. We’re up North you see, so we have a customised version of the cold that’s a common feature of Scotland – an extremely colder version. And there’s the rain which never pours compared to what we get back home but is a fixture, regardless of the season. I once remarked to someone that I was living for the summer, couldn’t wait to feel warm again. She smiled at me and said “oh summer. In Aberdeen, we rock our sunshades and jackets simultaneously”. Oh well, I’ll survive.

Key to my survival here are the numerous African and Asian shops.  They cater to the needs of people like me who’re sceptical about experimenting with food and those who just want to give themselves a treat from ‘home’. I have tried some Scottish food though, my favourite being Pea and Ham soup. My reason for liking it wouldn’t be far from the fact that it tastes a lot like gbegiri with strips of meat in it; only this one is eaten on its own, not with some heavenly amala…(sigh). Haggis, a dish made from sheep’s innards is another favourite. I hear the younger generation don’t quite like it because of the ingredients used and a peculiar traditional method of preparation. Me? I grew up eating delicacies like shaki, ponmo and roundabout – of course I love it! 🙂

Seven months, snow, freezing February and lots of delicious haggis later, I can tell you that my story about Aberdeen has changed – to a large extent. When the day comes that we do not get four different seasons in one day, I just might love it but since the likelihood of that happening is almost zilch, I’ll just say, it’s a lovely place to be or as we say here, nae bad at all 🙂

___________________________________

Bukola is studying for her masters in Corporate Communication and Public Affairs at the Robert Gordon University Aberdeen. Previous guestposts can be found here.

Thank you very much Bukola. A lovely postcard from KTravula.com is coming your way.

I’ve Gained Weight!

Before...

Of course I have. So what? All those fatty greasy foods have not all just totally disappeared into my system without a fight. From staying up on my bum for too long in the apartment, and working on the computer in a single spot where – in a different clime – I would have had to walk a short distance to get to the internet, and from a generally conditioned sedentary lifestyle that is not totally in my hands to change, I must have let myself go. I looked in the mirror a few day ago and found patches of flesh on my cheeks, and in different, previously ignored parts of my body’s frame.

Being a naturally restless fella, the effect of this gradual transformation has not been too devastating. What would it have been like if I didn’t have a bicycle, and I rode in the bus all the time, sitting in one spot for much of the day? Today, I can still recognize my own face and body frame in a sea of crowds, and most people who last saw me eight months ago would most likely still be able to recognize me now. But when I stand up and walk, I am not oblivious to the little drag that could only have been conditioned by weight. How did that happen? When I first got here, I weighed about eighty kilograms (176 lbs). I have not weighed myself since then to measure the fattening effect of fast food on me, but I am sure that it might be approaching 200lbs. Oh, damn you Papa John’s pizza 😀 !

After...

So we had a little discussion on weight in class yesterday which started from my curiosity about whether it is such a big deal to ask male friends if they’ve gained weight or not. I’m already aware of the strict unwritten laws against even remotely mentioning that one’s female friends looked a little bigger since the last time you saw each other. But what about male friends? Apparently – from consensus – it is the same for males as well. Very nice. But why didn’t I get the memo on this ahead? Why did I have to learn this hard truth the public arena of an American classroom? Come on, I tease my brother about his weight gain all the time!

Oh well, I’m on a new quest to discover the extent of my current weight. And God help that Nigerian friend of mine who is the first to comment that I have grown bigger. Consider this a fair advanced warning right now in the interest of our friendship and your jaw bones: DO NOT! 🙂 #okthanksbye. We are clear.