Browsing the archives for the Uncategorized category.

Call for Submission

Arojah Concepts, an Abuja based edutainment outfit in collaboration with SOMTIN FO EVRIBODI has concluded plans to publish an Antoloji of Naija Puems (Poems in Nigerian Pidgin) and thereby wishes to invite interested Nigerians to send in their entries.

The anthology which will be released in the third quarter of the year is part of efforts by the organizers, in collaboration with the Naija Langwej Akademi and the Institute Francaise de Recherche en Afrique au Nigeria (IFRA Nigeria) to promote writings in Naija (aka Nigerian Pidgin) which is growing steadily across the country.

Interested Nigerians/Poets are expected to send in their entries in accordance with the following guidelines;

–          Between 3 – 5 poems written purely in Naija.
–          Each of the five poems must not be more than 2 typed pages

–          Typed with font size 14 (point)
–          Must be original and never published

–          Poets/poems are free to explore any theme/subject of their choice.

–          Poems are free to offer an appraisal of the relationship and cultures of Nigeria and other cultures.

–          Entries should include contact details of poets. All entries in MS word should be mailed to arojahconcepts@yahoo.com or edbabor@gmail.com

–          All entries must be received on or before Friday 29th of April 2011

Ten poems will be selected from all the entries received and the Poets
will receive various category of awards in appreciation of their creativity.

 

American Mean Time

Universal time used to be determined at a village of Greenwich in the United Kingdom, and everything was measured against it. I never could figure it out and I grew up wondering why Nigeria was always one hour ahead of the BBC clock. Later in the Geography class, I figured out why. It had to do with the equator or something like that. Then one day I came to America and found out that there is something called Universal Time (UTC). Again, like the old British hubris, Americans expected everything in the world to be measured in relation to that so called universality. A few weeks ago, I had scheduled a phone interview with Rosetta Stone and it was due to come at 2pm (UTC). All I saw was the 2pm, and I planned my day accordingly. I was sitting by my desk at 1pm when the phone rang. It was the representative of the company, and they were calling for the said interview. Good thing I was not still in the shower at the time. What I didn’t bother to wonder at the time was why I seem always to be one hour away from the standard or universal time.

There are other things that have changed. Yesterday I scrolled through a list of the world ranking of universities. In the 60s and 70s when the now ruling leaders and of the Nigerian society were going to school, schools in the United Kingdom and the Soviet Union among others in Europe were the leading citadels of knowledge in the world. A few people came to the United States to study. Now, according to the list, the first dozen or so universities in the world are universities located in the United States. I scrolled down for a bit before locating my own institution somewhere down on the list, and it was enough to inspire a little urge for schadenfreude at the other ones a little farther down the list. But then, it could be worse, we could be one of the British universities who used to occupy the pride of place in the top list of world class universities. Now, they are somewhere scattered on the list, sometimes even farther lower than Taiwanese, Japanese, Swiss and Swedish institutions. I will not try to hazard a guess as to why.

Chuks is a MacArthur foundation scholar from Nigeria now here in the US. He has his own ideas of why it is a better alternative to go to school in the US in today’s world, beyond the common knowledge that its universities are ranked far higher now more than before. The system of learning and studying are such that the student is built to become independent in thought and research. What is wrong with European schools? “I know of the British schools,” he’d say, “and the system is built in such a way that you get to regard the professor as some repository of knowledge – a person high up there who knows everything and who should not be challenged – rather than a colleague like you who only happens to have read more, and spent more time on the field studying the same things that are available to you if you work just a little bit harder.” Chuks has never studied in the United Kingdom.  The system in Nigeria is a mixture of both, with a slant towards the British, naturally, and unfortunately. I have been fortunate to have experienced the impatience with professors in Nigerian class who believe that just by the virtue of their age, experience or qualification, that they were beyond questioning or challenge. I have also been lucky to have met the right ones who would fix appointments with you in a bar so that you could both examine academic ideas over glasses of beer. I have met egoistic teachers who disallowed you from entering their class only because you didn’t scurry into the class when you saw them coming. I have also met those who set their evening classes under a tree just for a change of perspective. The progress in my academic development is mostly due to the inspiration and positive reinforcement of those good ones, and my rebellion against the hubris and negative reinforcement of the bad ones. At least, I survived.

Or so I think. The biggest misconception about the teaching and learning system of the American classroom today – at least from developing countries that I have some experience of – is that the presence of books and the internet makes it easy to get through. Well, it is true only to the extent of the student’s adequate balance of time and responsibilities. This takes me back to my title. American mean time refers not just to the new role of America’s very engaging, individualistic, and absolutely absorbing educational system in the world of academics. I am using it to refer to its absolute mercilessness when a student dares to take up more courses per semester than necessary. (Yes, this post is about me again). I have personally come to see the benefit of a more relaxed, yet ultimately absorbing schedule that allows the student to get all that is needed in, within a realistic time table that puts the least manner of stress on their mind. I do believe that I have become a better student of language due to the work of the past one year. And thanks to that is due to all my teachers, both the brilliant, open-minded ones, and the empty and needlessly hard-assed ones. At least I learnt something. Perseverance will get you through everything. Or almost everything. Brilliance (or modesty) plus an innate curiosity will compensate for the rest.

But maybe a few decades from now, we’d be talking about Chinese/Japanese Mean Time. Who knows?

 

Blues: Of Love and Losses

For Granny (d. January 14), and Aunt Banke Akintunde, PhD (d. March 15)

How does goodbye begin? With love? With a kiss on the lips or a warm hug in public places?
How does goodbye begin? Sour drops of tears in the beer of a familiar place or worse?
Or streams running down the ugly face of a twice-recurring moment without a sound?
How do goodbyes begin? Do they run like a silent brook on a gloomy day, or bubble
like the fresh waterfalls of a once-forgotten hill? Do they fall like raindrops on a desert?
Do they hum like bees after the smell of fragrance, or like light glowing out of a burning wood
Do they burn? Do they pinch like flakes of snow? Do they, like birds, just pick up and fly?

How does goodbye begin? With a whimper? With a wave of hand or a cry in the night?
How does goodbye begin? Babbles and laughters that rise about the dark lonely room
When days and night merge into one, and strangers write the lines of tomorrow’s song?
How do goodbyes begin? Do they wander in the air, elusive to touch and description
like the wounded butterfly across the sight of an elder? Do they soothe or do they excite?
Do they waft across the oceans like a forgotten dream, or like the tired membrane of a drum
Do they tear? Do they itch like the rash? Do they, like birds, just pick up and fly?

There is a painful swelling in the dead of the night on my heart, ripe like a freshly open weal.
It is the goodbye mark of gems, with smears of the now bitter tears, too hard to heal.

(c) Kola Tubosun 2011

Analyzing Spoken Discourse

Someone, I think, warned me here at the beginning of the semester that Discourse Analysis will turn me into a cynic. Now towards the end of the term, I’m beginning to see the point of the observation. Thirteen weeks spent looking at the way language and speech work to serve plenty communicative purposes is enough to rewire a previously harmless brain into looking at the world differently. Or not.

Billions of texts are generated everyday from online and telephone conversations, and the work in ethnography of speaking/communication seeks to plow through the relevant portions of them to make generalizations. It is fun. It is also a consciously empowering one. The skills to be gained from learning to analyse discourse include a more analytical approach to making generalizations. It also builds the ability to use specialized language to refer to what can already be understood by someone not in the field of linguistics. What we see when we study discourse is not new, but what we acquire are new ways to look at it and explain it to ourselves, and the world.

I spent the weekend reading up on the work of Derrida and Barthe and the influences of their post-structuralist ideas on linguistics and the way we interpret language use. A recent article by Deborah Cameron exposes the danger of coming to analysis with our own ideas conditioned by societal expectations. I think my class project will be interesting. I just have to come up to the table with a critical angle to analyse a few of my own long-held preconceptions, then tear them to the ground. You can see that I haven’t yet become a cynic.

Outdoors

America’s definition of outdoors as far as I have seen does not transcend outdoor cooking of sausage rolls during warm days of spring and summer. I have not seen the bigger picture, of course. I’ve been limited to campus and a few other outdoor cooking invitations in a little town. From movies and reality shows, I know that there are pool parties that last all night in outdoor venues. And there are sports from tennis to golf. But whatever happened to just laying down and staring at the sky at night. Oh yeah, camping. There has to be a name for everything.