ktravula – a travelogue!

Exhibition in Ibadan

There is an ongoing exhibition at the Institute of African Studies, University of Ibadan about “Nigeria at 50”. The photos there show the different celebratory events of the independence year 1960, especially those by “ordinary” citizens. There was one with a woman in an ankara wrapper branded with the independence logo, and with two small flags on the bag she carried on her head. There are also several other images of political leaders in different positions all around the country.

Along with the exhibition is a conference organized by IFRA, the Institute of African Studies, and the University of Ibadan where papers are being presented by participants from all around the world, including Sola Olorunyomi, David Oshorenoya Esizimeor, Adoyi Onoja,  and Regane Buck Barden among many others.

The event has brought up valid questions about the need for record keeping about moments in our history. The conference with the exhibition ends on July 7th.

Exhibition in Ibadan was published on July 6th, 2010, with the tags , , , under the Academic, Observations category. There are currently no comments on this article so far.

A Visit to the Old School

No return visit to the old hall of residence would be complete without a visit to the old rooms that played host to my errant self during those five gruelling years.

So when I went there during the week, I stopped by room A41 where I spent my first year, meeting new people, learning to play chess, and discovering Don Williams.

Then I went to room A52 where I met even more people, ate more food, listened to more music and read more books. The walls of that room is witness to so much history. My last room was D20, and I went there too. I did not go in because the current occupants do not know me and I was not in the mood for introductions.

I also visited the reading rooms, the toilets, the cafeteria and the new basketball court behind the warden’s office. In some way, it was as if I never left. In other ways, it looked like an old prison cell housing a bunch of inmates just waiting to burst loose. There are no monuments to my stay in the hall, fortunately, and I slipped out just as I slipped in, anonymously, taking the memory again with me as I left.

A Visit to the Old School was published on May 29th, 2010, with the tags , , , , under the Academic, adventures category. There are currently 9 comments on this article so far.

Eighteen Bottles

dedicated to the University of Ibadan staff club…

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I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my wife to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or else…

I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task. I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank.

I then withdrew thecork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank.

I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank.

I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank.

I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass. I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour. When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank.

I’m not under the affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am. I’m not half as thunk as you might drink.

I fool so feelish I don’t know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I get.

____________________

Culled.

Photo used by permission.

Eighteen Bottles was published on May 21st, 2010, with the tags , , , , , under the Fun category. There are currently 2 comments on this article so far.

My University

At my alma mater, the University of Ibadan, earlier today…

Unfortunately, my internet is too slow at the moment for me to be able to put up more photos as I’d have wished.

UI, as we fondly call it, was established in 1948 as an outpost of the University of London. It became Nigeria’s first (and as we like to call it – best) university. It has produced Africa’s first Nobel Laureate (Wole Soyinka, author of Death and the King’s Horseman among several works) and many other giants in other areas of life. Chinua Achebe, the author of Things Fall Apart was also an alumnus of the University of Ibadan.

Walking though the campus brought back some good memories of the times we spent there. There are now some visible changes on the campus – a statue in front of Queen Elizabeth Hall, a fountain around Alumni Centre and a few other road construction work all around. The administration has been very busy.

My University was published on May 20th, 2010, with the tags , , , , , under the Academic, Observations category. There are currently 5 comments on this article so far.

To Good Times

I like to be happy, most times. Actually, I like to be happy all of the time, although I have realized that it is when I am not so extraordinarily happy, yet charged with sufficient energy that I am the most creative. I like to be happy because there is no trophy for sadness. Nothing is romantic about it. There is no medal for a constant gloomy state of mind. I have discovered that cheerfulness, laughter, conviviality are better alternatives to gloom, and sadness. I like to be sarcastic only because it gives me more avenue to laugh and be happy. I am an optimist in a way that can sometimes manifest in occasional pessimism, or is it sacrasm. But I love life, and I enjoy it, each second of the way. This is my affirmation of life.

I’m thinking back to some good times I’ve had in life. Some times, the days appear long and a simple conversation with a pleasant company either over the phone or in an internet chat brings back moments of familiar conviviality, I relapse into a sweet nostalgia of the fun care free days. They are not gone yet. They are here still. I smell them in the cold night air. Tonight I remember Ibadan, not of childhood and innocence, but of youth and pseudo-recklessness and revelry. Well, not so much. I remember Sola Olorunyomi with his truck, his bicycle and his guitar at the Students Union Building bar in the Ibadan University campus in the early 2000, discussing poetry and politics within cigarette smokes, beers and music. There was Loomnie. There was Benson. There was Bukky who loved Benson, and there was Benson who loved his bottle. There was Luvles. There was Olads. There was Kemi who later became Idayat. There was Pinheiro. There was Lola. There was Kunle. There was fun. There was the religious Seni who had a bible verse for every situation. There was Chiedu, and Chido. There was Busola, who had a first class in Linguistics. Then there was Ropo, and Chris Dudu, and Funmi who liked to write daringly. There was poetry. There was Ify. There was Najite. There was harmattan and the dry wind of November. Then there was Uncle Prof whom we embarrassed by reading his love poems back to him in that public get-together. There was his lovely wife. There was Adelugba. There was the Arts Theatre which never ever ceased to be a fun place to be at evenings. And then, there was Nike who was so thin she almost didn’t have a shadow. There was Sophie who smuggled tobacco in from Germany to give to Benson, and there were Nadine and Bettina who saw Ibadan once with Sophie and could not wait to return, just to see us. There were days of walking all night from the University all the way to Dugbe. There was Noffield House. There was palm wine and pepper soup at Niser. There was Elizabeth. And there was Bidemi. There was fun Biodun who died, but was so tall that his legs stuck out of the coffin. There was Henrietta who I liked, and who Olumide liked, but who perhaps thought that we were all bad boys. There was Demola who was going to be a monk, and who became a butt of beer jokes. And later there was changed Demola who finally fell in love and got Ope before Pinheiro made his move. There was UCJ, and the different folks it attracted. There were endless dinners. There were endless protests. There was Mellamby Hall. There was Upper Mellamby. There was room A52 and its many adventures. There was Fidho. There was Ibukun. There was Kunle. There was Ositelu. There were riots. There were strikes. There were moments of silliness and idleness. There were moments of stupidity. They were good times.

I remember Lagos a few days before I travelled to the United States, at the Silverbird Galleria for a mini bear summit. There were books. There was laughter. There were jokes. There was Tolu, and Chris, and Rayo and Kris, and Bukky and Sunkanmi, and music. And ice cream. There was fun. And food. Before then, there was Bimbo on the expressway. Then Elizabeth, sometimes earlier in the day. Then there was Food Major, and roasted beef. And family. And Jolaade. And Leke. And Yemi. And Laitan. And strawberry juice. And suya. Tonight, I remember the good times. Whenever the cold wind blows within recurring laughters, whenever I smile, whenever the days seem long and only a phone conversation, or a pleasant internet chat, connects me with a world I have since left for a little while, I remember the good fun times. Those are the moments that count.

To Good Times was published on January 4th, 2010, with the tags , , , , , , , , , under the adventures, Fun, Observations, Soliloquy category. There are currently 14 comments on this article so far.