August

By some chance, I will return to school sometimes this month to become a student again, and there are a few chills that accompany that realization. The last time I was a full-time student in a University was more than five years ago and I have (almost) forgotten what that was like. I woke up at six, got prepared, went to school and stayed around the school area until evening when I’d finished all courses for the day. I had time tables, and there were oftentimes gaps between each course that I sometimes had to go back to my hostel, take a nap or complete and assignment, and return to school. The little memories I have of that says that it was a mixture of fun, frustration and stress. Add to that the chance of doing exactly whatever what one wanted.

In the intervening years between then and now, I had grown a beard, however little, lost (much of) my innocence, and become a teacher (of some sort), seen the world (or some of it) and grown pretty relaxed. What kind of student will this one make? Back in the University, my best way of being a sane student was to do exactly something else whenever I’m supposed to be studying. In this case, it was campus journalism, and it worked, and of course almost ran me out of my mind at different times. If I am to survive such another ordeal of learning in the University, I must develop a new past time. Blogging? Writing? Basketball? Swimming? Anything to take the mind off the stress of writing papers along with references. Now let’s see how that goes. Any other suggestions?

Outward Bound

I told a close friend that if I return to the US again, I will do so with mixed feelings, and she freaked out. “Why,” she must have thought, “would I relate with such levity to a golden chance to study in God’s own country?” Well, I continued, I am happy to reconnect with places and people that I love and who love having me around, but I also would be missing the company of those who love, respect and cherish me here. It is the beginning of a kind of cultural hybridity that I welcome with open arms, and the mixed feeling reserved for such mixed blessings. I was just beginning to fully enjoy the company of my hosts when it was time for me to return. Now here I am, not altogether fully integrated again when another duty calls.

Now, on the day that this adopted second country gave me a pass to come back into her arms, I suddenly developed another thirst for new adventures, and new possibilities seemed to open up. I admit, I should be happy, and I am. On the visa application forms were question as to whether I intend to conduct any terroristic activities against the United States, or whether I’ve been a convicted criminal. What? Well, I wonder how Nelson Mandela would fare under such questioning :). But you could could see the point of the immigration folks. The first thing to worry about if you’re caught trying to blow your junk on a plane into Detroit is how much trouble you’d be in for having first lied under oath.

Now this seemed like August last year all over again, and I’m here as stoic as before, not outwardly grinning, yet wishing for the very best in coming possibilities. If the question is “Will I miss Nigeria?”, the answer probably would be “yes”, but said with a readiness to accept the

Be Like the Road*

Be like the road itself, a long slithering tar in the sun.
Burn the midnight ointment in the wick end of questings.
Climb and soothe, blaze the earth into caverns of seething sights,
And fade with night like a receding haze at the founts of reason.
Be like the road. Bend on carcasses of mangled resistances.
Shoot through the valleys of dearth, and patiently find.
Glide in the fresh breath of daybreak on rock hills and caves,
And dance with dusk amidst forests pregnant with missive gems.
Dare along the courses of delights across a far unending street.
Be like the road itself, eternally trudging like light restless feet.
..
(c)KTravula.com| July 2010
* Title taken from Wole Soyinka’s play The Road.

Farewell to a Good Year

Never getting a chance at the end of 2009 to make the usual resolutions and contrite restitutions meant for the last moments before the year slips by, let me pretend that this is the last night of the year, a few hours before the countdown into a new year. On December 2009, I was in that faraway place with the shadow of an errant Nigerian panty bomber lurking just around in hush conversations. A better scenery than sitting in a church service amidst noises and supplications to the deity of the new year, I was floating in an imaginary continent of my dreamland; just one of those instances I can remember in my short life where the momentary passage of one day did not live to its expectation of being super grand. A few hours later, dozens of text messages from everywhere told me that another year had passed by, at least in our time zone. As the sun moved westwards, so did the day, and very soon we were all satiated in the ordinariness of such a significant passage, far less ordinary than December 31, 1999, just a decade earlier, spent in the throes of questions and skepticisms.

Tonight could be a more significant eve, who knows, perhaps because if this blog does not continue after today, we can at least say that it lived as fully as it could over twelve interesting moons. And if it does, we can say that the first year was good, and that the second should be better. In any case, there is cause for celebration. Now, in the style of the specialists of such occasions, there should be drinks and clinking glasses. Yes, yes, I remember when men were boys, and a good time meant plenty suya and a pleasant conversation amidst howling dogs and a quiet, or soft music-infested, environment. A bottle of Ponche spread around on cold soda drinks produced what has now become the legendary KT Martini. No, I don’t recommend that now. Get a bottle of yogurt along with a box of Don Simon. Get a mix in the right proportion, read a good poem (I’ll put one up shortly, the last post for this “year”) and drink to health, long life, and many more interesting adventures. Call it KTramarula, a drink on me.

Did I?

Here’s Lagbaja’s latest video. One thing that is peculiar to Lagbaja is the way he weaves cultures into each other seemingly flawlessly. Talk of hybridity. This one is done in Spanish and Yoruba, and the music is nice.

I like what I’ve seen so far.