ktravula – a travelogue!

Harmattan in the City

It’s the tenth of December in Lagos, and the cool dry wind of the year’s end is descending one day at a time. It’s not winter – not anyway close to the overwhelming cold of other climes – but calming. Close enough to Fall, except for the green that remains on the trees. If, like a number of residents here, you are going to make long trips to other parts of the country, the weather gives enough incentives for the start of packing for such a trip. Ibadan is about 120 km away from here, but longer if the length of journeys counts for the dilapidation of roads or the trepidation at putting one’s life at the risk of such terrible human trap.

I have just watched the memorial for Nelson Mandela, where the US’s first black president gave a fitting tribute in the presence of an adoring throng. It was perfect, I thought. A black man, the son of this soil, just a few thousand miles north-eastwards carrying the banner of the world to honour another first black president who had fought a different battle, not just of the flesh, but of the mind – and won. An exchange that will surely raise a few dusts on US cable news all day today is a picture of the President Obama handshaking the president of Cuba who had also come to pay homage. Not in any way strange for the US counterpart who – a few months after his inauguration – was caught shaking the hands of the guards at the Buckingham Palace in London, it celebrates the larger significance of Mandela’s life and death: to bring peace and reconciliation to the world.

2013 feels like a memory. It hasn’t yet become history, but the cyclical weight of its presence singes like the dry wind about one’s ears. So much in one place, and the pleasure of removal. It’s not hibernation per se. Just a protective shield from both progress and stagnation. We lost Achebe, now Madiba. A couple of years more and many more heroes would be gone. The world is twisting on its axes, as it always does, and new heroes born. I look forward to next year and its many surprises, some known and some not. The pleasures of such discoveries might be yet another reason for gratefulness, at least for the present.

An Affirmation of Life

A kiss here, a gentle touch there. An evening spent at the mall giggling at random quirks, or watching a funny or romantic comedy. A hand to adjust a wrongly fitted tie, a hug to welcome a tired worker back into the home, or the misty-eyed departures and reunions across a number of times, spaces, and circumstances. Life is full of them; mine is. Great food from a number of continental recipes, the variability of palatal expectations; the joy of moments spent laughing about the day, and the rush or arguing about hot topics that pitch us apart into different but sometimes complementing positions.

There are more: family from around the globe – Ibadan, Ife, Lagos, Ijebu, Ilesha, Southern Illinois, Kansas, Fargo, Minneapolis… Canada, London, Warwick. The wingspan of life has stretched into an interminable and happy length. Friends in the irascible Jos, distant acquaintances up north in Kaduna where the bombs lay waiting to explode. A college roommate in Lafia, another in Benin, or Abuja. The pulse of living binds us in a web of memories and thoughts, even beyond the reach of sights and sound.

Nephews and nieces, increasing day after day. Ageing parents, bound by now complicated cords of life and its filial conflicts and complexities. Chords too, in a certain harmony (or discord) across the times, or just the mere knowledge of the barest dignified standard of existence. We live across the times, in hopes and dreams. The present lives in the past, and the future thrives in the throes of the present. Mother’s dreams float in the morning steps into daylight, along with memorized admonitions and caprices. Father’s hopes and pride go in their own direction, and their greyness follows, with stakes, and the rewards. Come home to the present, life continues: a circle of familiar adventures.

Yesterday, I looked out of the glass frames in my office into the dusty streets of the city, my nose sniffing the acerbic bite of the new harmattan season. Memory, like the smell of dry leaves wafting in the December air, floats on in an endless loop. We live, and we are here, and that is all that matters.

On January and the Friggin’ Weather

I was almost surprised to discover that it is already the 26th of January 2010. Oh how time flies. It was just a few days ago that this new decade began with fireworks and an almost panty bomb. And just like that, we’re already one month up the new dozen ladders of this new year. Impressive indeed. At ktravula.com, you know what that means, don’t you? It means that we’re getting close to another season of 10 Reasons. I still have no idea what we’ll be debating this time. But the blog always surprises. In a related info, by the end of this month I’d have blogged for six straight months on ktravula.com. What would that make me? A blogaholic? I think so. All I need is a dose of Nigeria to cure me of this malady. Today I heard that another opposition politician in the country was assassinated in Ogun State. Very classy indeed. What a good thing to spend the quality time of state doing – assassinating opposition. My country is never short of deep depressing distractions.

In other news, the Winter season here has proven not to be Winter at all, but a winker one. I just don’t understand the darned weather at all. One day it’s freezing cold, and the other day, it’s hot. In the evening, it rains. I brought it to the attention of my students in class today and they gave me this wonderful nugget peculiar to Illinois, particularly Edwardsville: “You don’t like the weather? Just wait a few minutes!” I mean seriously, I’m depressed by its inconsistency. It just never stays too long to be defined. The ktravulake has refused to stay frozen long enough for me to play on it. It started de-freezing on the very first day of my planned play, and it has not frozen again since then, thanks to the weather. Well, it snowed today, but only for a little while. Let’s see for how long it stays cold before it warms up again.

I heard there was Harmattan in Nigeria. It was funny because I first heard it from a friend on gmail chat who had just gone to heat water for a shower. I was curious about how cold it could have been to necessitate boiling water, so I went to weather.com to see for myself. It was 28 degrees Celcious (82.4 degrees F). What? If we get that kind of temperature here, it will be called summer! I guess that explains why the first time I got off the plane, I was wearing three thick shirts and an overcoat. And that was in August. 28 degrees Celcius looks more like a very hot day to me right now, and Lagos and Ibadan people have absolutely no reason to take showers with hot water. Trust me 😀 If you doubt me, just take a look at the blog temperature on the upper right hand corner.

PS: I’m still waiting for the first bid on my KTravulartworks, seen on the wall of my apartment – without a frame – in that photo. The offer is still good to donate all profits to victims of disaster in Jos and in Haiti, so send me an email at ktravulart@ktravula.com to make an offer. It is your chance to get a beautiful artwork in your living room while donating money to a worthy cause. There’s nothing as fulfilling as killing two beasts with one shot. Is there?

Fall

Here are photos from the Fall season, or Autumn, as it’s called in Europe. In Nigeria, it’s simply called the Harmattan season, even though it doesn’t start in many parts of Nigeria until later in November.