ktravula – a travelogue!

Book, Blook, Bloog, Blog…

Ikhide Ikheloa has joined the blogging community. This next sentence, otherwise supposed to describe him in a few words and put him in the context of Nigerian and African literature, will however be used to tell you something else: that blogging is the future, or at least the way to it. With electronic data content and text being gradually becoming the most viable medium of communication, it takes no prophet to see that what literature is will also eventually take on a more pro-electronic bias. I have said this before, and let me repeat it here (as if it needs repeating, duh) that the future of literature depends in some form (if not entirely) on the internet. A future Nobelist from blogging, anyone?

You should also follow @SalmanRushdie and @TejuCole on twitter while we’re still talking about the internet as a literary resource.

A Little More Than Fun

I enjoy the trips I make – when I can afford to make them, most times between the moments of mouthing profanities at mandatory fees of the graduate school. (More angry posts on this later). They enlighten, they inform, they surprise, and they provide countless photo opportunities – very great shots that present themselves at unexpected times in unexpected places. I also love them for the brief relief they provide from the stress of graduate school. In the end, they delight those who read about them, and that in turn makes me happy. Like I always say, life is too short to be spent in the tedium of just work.

I’ve discovered something else. More than just a chance to see my word in print – and who hasn’t harboured plenty of such narcissism – there is also the desire to say something, or say something new. Whether that desire is realized itself is another matter, but the pleasure of having something to say, and the chance to say it in one’s own way at one’s own time is delightful. In-between the appreciation of nature through photographic lenses, or songs, or words of others from books, there sometimes rises moments of professional epiphany, or hubris. The self realizes itself as a medium, and immediately assumes the responsibility to communicate a freshly discovered idea. I mean, I’ve not always been meant to be here, even though I’ve always felt myself moved to write, or to interpret concrete ideas of the world in my head through my own thought processes. But the present delights. In one moment, I’m in the vortex of confusing ideas even of my own relevance, and in another, I’m thinking of writing a book: Yoruba for Dummies: a guidebook to machine translation from and into Yoruba (although speaking out on my thoughts already makes it easy to absolve myself of the responsibility of having to do the work).

What was the point I was trying to make? I’ve lost it now, but it must have had something to do with deciding to write more on this blog in the coming year about my career projections, observations and opinions; sort of like a regular shrink session of ideas with my own personal silent listener. On second thoughts, maybe I was just getting the end-of-the-year blues characterized by looking for relevance in the most mundane things, or taking myself too seriously.

A Review

No, not of a book, movie or song although that would be fun, but of the year itself. Yes it’s too early to do that since we still have about nine days to go, but it is amazing to see how close we are already to its end. By this time last year, I was here, same spot, same posture, probably complaining of snow or making a general observation of a particularly fascinating endeavour. The only difference is that then I was a teacher of many young students of Yoruba, but now I’m mostly a student myself. (Speaking of reviews, I’d appreciate you taking a moment to tell me what your favourite posts on this blog has been. There’s a poll on the right side of the blog. Please choose as many options as appeal to you).

I miss teaching in the Yoruba class. It was one of those moments when everything stands still and a continuous flow of knowledge and fun merges into one beautiful experience that lasts for about one and a half hours, two times a week. It’s incomparable, not just because of the things learnt and taught but for the pleasure of being there, and being the vessel for such cultural exchange. I met a few students this semester who said that they registered for the class either because they attended my talk last year or had heard from other students, and wanted to experience the class for themselves. I am thinking of returning to teach that class next semester. What do you think?

I’ve posted less on this blog per month since August, deliberately, and I think that has worked well. I realized at the end of the first blog year that it was better to write whenever I could rather than make posts everyday as I used to when I had all the time on my hands. It was inevitable that graduate school will attempt to suck me dry of all my waking moments. But then, here we are, still talking, and still sharing little moments of laughter. My semester has been made even better to bear by the presence of lovely colleagues who bring me chocolates and other nice stuff (you know yourselves), and those with whom I share nice stimulating conversation somewhere amidst the bustle of the day. There is also the doting host parents who have treated me no different than their own son with free access to their home, their food and their wine. What else could one ask for?

This year I travelled around (some parts of) Nigeria, and that was fun. I hope to complete my tour of that country in a not too distant future. I also got to see a few more of the midwestern United States. A few people have suggested that I should travel with a more critical eye next time (instead of my usually fawning admiration of spaces, I guess). In my defense, I have gone around less with the intention of understanding the people in the places I go and more with the intention of understanding and describing the places in which they live. But now that I know the difference, maybe I should take one more step closer. (You might like this article about the BBC reporter who attempted to understand and describe Americans in a new book). Maybe it is the desire to take pictures and write about places that moves me the most.

When the year ends next week, what I’ll be most grateful for is the general beautiful pleasure of warm human company. There’s still no alternative to that yet.

Interlude

There is no writer’s block, just laziness. Perhaps.

A few weeks ago, I wrote an article for an e-zine on the motivations for blogging, the challenges it provides, and the general pleasure of having things to write (now just “almost”) everyday of the week. Here’s my experience. I sit down facing a blank sheet of paper trying to write something serious or concrete either for a newspaper or for a class project/assignment, and I get stuck. Nothing comes. The part of my brain needed to get the work done just blatantly refuses to start up, and I remain in one spot for as long as possible, beating myself up and wondering why on earth it seemed so hard to do something as simple as writing, and why I’d been so hated to have been given the task that offered no exit, and no mercy. Nothing else to do, I would then go to my blog, open a blank page for new posts, and write something long and pretty – in less then fifteen minutes – in relative ease, loosening my “writerly” tongue and allowing the brain the luxury of admitting that writing could actually be pleasant. It is the same brain which a few minutes before had locked itself up like a clam. It is also the same typing fingers now addressing a different audience. And that has always defied all explanation. Is the conclusion to be drawn that of the fact that life should be smooth, easy, and playful, subject to our moods and whims? Or should it be regimented and organized, subject to the wishes of a remote instructor waiting to mark our work with inks of red? Or that whenever faced with the latter, a mood of the former should be immediately invoked in order to get through the mood?

Here I am, unable to find the first word with which to begin my final class project due next week, writing without stopping for air on a blog that would give me neither an “A” nor a tuition refund. FML(?) Back to work now.

Wine Tasting in the Town

The last time I went wine-tasting was in September. There was an exhibition of the wines of Missouri and wineries from parts of the state came to showcase what they have. It took place at the Botanical Garden. I returned home with a bottle of Chambourcin.

Last Friday evening however, I went for another one – a private event at a local winery in Edwardsville called Springer’s Creek. The house, built in the 1800s, was nicely decorated with warm lights and wall pictures with other cozy features and a live band playing slow music in the basement. The wine was very sweet and distinctive. The company was pleasant, warm and relaxing, and after a few gulps that counted for much more than just tastings, I was loosened enough to go ice skating at an ice rink thirty-five minutes away.

Oh, I almost forgot. We were actually celebrating something: the joy of blogging, and the pleasures/treasures it brings.

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