Coronavirus streets in Manchester - LXIX

One could not tell

He, I might have said as I wondered why he was walking in the middle of the lane of a busy road, then as it became clear, she was wearing heels you would expect to see on those modelling womenswear, but her top was hardly masculine, probably feminine and never really coming to terms of whether it should be classed as androgynous left me more confused that you might be left with the pronoun they.

Yes, they were drawing attention to themselves in clothes that could not be ignored once seen and a head shorn of hair quite redolent of male pattern baldness, that drivers in cars contributed to a needless cacophony of car horns get more people to look in the direction of the commotion.

When I thought I would see them for much longer, they disappeared into a whiskey bar and the chatter at the al fresco tables would have been given to a surmise or two before we all returned to what we were doing.

It is there to see

Whatever we were doing before a new distraction came along, body adornment in the form of tattoos that usually were discreet, but now they are all over the body down on the fingers with all the skin surfaces covered including on the face, and this is now on the ladies. I catch myself before I begin to question why, I guess they love and they do it, the appreciation of beauty by strangers is beside the point.

People do not moderate themselves into conformity if they can help it, and much as a lot is being accepted at face value and supported by laws to give protections against discrimination, being an outlier can still expose you to unwelcome ostracism. It would seem our prejudices are constantly challenged by changing norms and expressions we cannot avoid.

Our streets of education

We observe and document those observations in memory that what was at first chimeral, with more encounters of such rarities, we are eased to accepting these things are becoming commonplace.

Usually, we would not indulge and be inclined to have these situations are self-expression even as an example might provide guidance, we school ourselves into the knowledge that in all that diversity of expression with its extremes that we have difficulty understanding, there is a belonging we all have to share in learning of each other and becoming better people.

As it seems one pandemic is winding down, though not going away yet, we are presented with monkeypox and a threat that it is spreading fast that those of us in a cohort once stigmatised for infectious diseases are once again appearing more susceptible to it. A public announcement to drop-in by invitation totally failed the plain English test. We just have to be careful. [MEN: Monkeypox fears build as number of cases in Greater Manchester rise]

Thought Picnic: About being neither there nor near

Everyone's taking control of me,
Seems that the world's got a role for me …
Michael Jackson – Will You Be There (1993) [Lyrics]

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Carried along

It was just 25 years ago when I was given two tickets for the Michael Jackson concert at Wembley Stadium by a friend who I had always helped solved solve computer problems without taking a fee.

The first scheduled concert was cancelled, and we were offered refunds on our tickets, but there was no way I would give up the opportunity to see Michael Jackson. Two weeks later, Michael Jackson did come to London, to Wembley Stadium and that remains the best show ever that I have seen.

For all the controversy that has trailed Michael Jackson, I cannot ignore the musicianship he had, the entertainer he was and the songwriting abilities he had.

Being there

Surfing the net from a Tumblr profile that led to the 1998 impromptu performance of Nessum Dorma by Aretha Franklin in the stead of Luciano Pavarotti at the Grammys and a YouTube random playback of related music and tributes to many, I found myself listening to Jennifer Hudson’s rendition of Will You Be There at the funeral service of Michael Jackson and previous to that was Aretha Franklin playing a piano singing I Will Always Love You at Whitney Houston’s funeral.

It was almost a morbid celebration of amazing talent, yet, on my flight back from South Africa and we’ll cover that in another blog, I only listened to the music of the unfortunately departed, first to Barry White, the Aretha Franklin and closing off with Prince.

I was weary

In the weeks that have passed where phantom blogs have been written in my head but most of my social media engagement has been on Instagram feeding Twitter and Facebook with snippets, thoughts and pictures of my wonderful time with Brian, I have wondered about what would inspire my next blog, the last which was full of premonition and uncertainty.

Eventually, as things fell into place, I realised happiness is not exclusive to the other, it can be personally experienced and enjoyed in the company of those you love as you celebrate it to the world.

I’m only human

Yet, I watch as many Friend requests flood my inbox on Facebook from people I barely know to the many I have literally forgotten or cannot deign to remember, as over three decades of no interaction has interspersed what was a fleeting or tenuous relationship at best. Sometimes, I agonise about whether I need to explain myself, the choices I have made that in terms would be radically different from those others have made.

Considering the fact that I could both be nonconformist and rebellious. Strike that! At the risk of repeating myself ad nauseam, my life is uniquely mine, it shadows no one else’s, it finds an example in the broader expression of our humanity. I will play my own chosen role, not one someone else has arrogated to themselves to decide for me out of the need to satisfy some aim, tradition, custom or any other creed. Then, I find some who seek to enter my affairs and begin to control events having never appreciated anything about who I am, what I am, where I am, what my storied existence has been.

You were not there

Let’s put it in the context of the words of the song, nobody has any influence or control whatsoever, if you were not there when the chips were down, the storm raged, hope was literally extinguished, and life seemed to hold no purpose. I have bitten my tongue when what I should have said is, “Mind your own business.”

However, let me assure those who need that assurance, what you see is true and I reviewed my profile on Facebook the other day. “I thought and concluded, do not presume you know me, this is really not a biography, it is guidance.”

View this post on Instagram

18 beautiful days of laughter, of moments to remember as the plans we made in the first week of January became reality in the third week of April. Meeting up in Johannesburg, we flew out together to Cape Town where gardens, capes, winelands, museums, memorials, church and theatre filled each day with purpose. Back to Johannesburg, we returned to some places and visited new places. Now, we return to our homes to plan a new rendezvous, hopefully, not too far in the future, maybe in Europe or back in Africa. I am sad and I am happy, but nothing will stand in the way of the moments, the love, the experiences we shared. I am blessed for the happiness and joy that this companionship has brought me. Each to their own, ours is already shown. #southafrica #capetown #johannesburg #love #moments #memories

A post shared by Akin Akintayo (@instaforakin) on May 5, 2019 at 1:49am PDT

Opinion: Thank you, Kellie Palace Maloney for accepting who you are

I see

I just read that Frank Maloney, the boxing promoter is now undergoing gender reassignment having apparently been living as a woman for a while.

Now, Frank Maloney would in all terms be regarded a tough man with regards to his career as a boxing promoter, that business environment is at best brutal, if not quite difficult too.

However, she is now to be known as Kellie Palace Maloney which is both brave and interesting.

The conflicts of before

The Wikipedia entry for Kellie Maloney which has been revised to accommodate the feminine gender of the person, reads as an interesting struggle with inner turmoil between what was presented as publicly hard-faced whilst privately conflicted.

Besides having been a boxing trainer, manager and promoter, she made uncomplimentary comments about the lesbian and gay communities and when she dabbled in politics, she stood for the UK Independence Party (UKIP) whose right-wing populism is fearful and worrisome.

It would be curmudgeonly to suggest that publicly, Kellie had been a vocally strident opponent of the things she was as a person, in what is a bizarre form of aversion therapy bordering on rank hypocrisy, yet, people do have a long and difficult journey to realising who they really are and are ready to be.

Coming to terms

Coming to a point of self-acceptance where one does not care for accusation, abuse, stigma or shame is a personal victory of sorts over the wider influences of society that persuades people to conform and toe the line.

Surprised as I may be at this development, I can only congratulate Kellie Maloney for taking this decision in the pursuit of her happiness and the fulfilment of who she really believes she is.

However, like many us on the journey to openly accepting who we really are, there are some well-rehearsed lines of why we conform and how we get to the point where we are ready to live.

Offloading burdens

“I was born in the wrong body and have always known I was a woman. I can’t keep living in the shadows, that is why I am doing what I am today. Living with the burden any longer would have killed me.”

We could find different paraphrases of these lines spoken by Kellie Maloney to address many choices we have made under pressure to conform, for careers, for relationships, for coming-out, for gender reassignment and the much wider spectrum of human endeavour and expression.

Whether society is open-minded and accepting of it is the different topic, but too many of us have sacrificed ourselves to living with a burden of who we are not and it has left us unhappy, depressed, despairing, ashamed, guilt-ridden and sometimes suicidal.

The amazing thing is how easy it is to breathe when we release ourselves into living the truth of who we are and just get on with enjoying our lives.

Kelli Maloney, thank you for accepting and becoming who you are.

Thought Picnic: Living your own life, creating your own norms

Father and son, Justice Oputa and Charles Oputa aka Charlie Boy
Courtesy of Nancy Keshy Ademolu

You do your norms

I happened upon a Twitter firestorm about norms, standards, customs and values. My Nigerian friends were at their sententious best from judgemental through castigation to excoriation, disgust heaped infamy on notoriety, what a sight it was.

Now, it was the difficult case of the son of an establishment figure at his father’s funeral service, where he gave no space for expected norms or decorum that people felt both scandalised and mortified, yet I was unperturbed.

Peace is all

In my view, father and son had made their peace with each other, the father a respected judge, the son an anarchist of sorts, a complete opposite of his father in demeanour and conduct, at 63, still playing tearaway with incredulity. His father knew all that and yet he made no plans to have his funeral conducted by any other than his son as he deems fit.

Beyond that, the funeral services of very important personalities can so easily be gatecrashed by political transients seeking validation through egotistical displays of shameless megalomania. What should be a solemn and sombre occasion can readily descend into farce because of these trashy people. [Information Nigeria]

It can become a protocol nightmare for the family of the deceased, it is probably best to suggest they keep away than have them create a rowdy scene. If the programme does not confer the honour of making a speech, the uppity had rather keep their seats or send in their regrets for not attending.

Trash the norms

In any case, the broader issue was about what was expected and what was observed. The son was never a conformist and the expectation that he would conform to a certain type was at best wishful.

Having broken all the rules of convention, we should have expected the unconventional and that could well be bizarre and lacking in taste, but that was his prerogative and he exercised it to the full.

Many people many not be worthy of example or even close to being role models but as outliers they are bold, courageous and out there, living their own lives happily without a care for what others think about them.

Live your own life

To some, it is almost lascivious, yet it is the ultimate pursuit of happiness and long may we have such amongst us to teach us that we do not have to conform, we can break the rules, jettison the norms and still be well-adjusted and successful people.

The bigger question is, when are we going to begin to live our own lives, the lives we have charted and wished for regardless of what others think they have as influence over us?

The life to choose your own career without sanction, the life to love the one your love without question, the life to live with the full expression of your sexuality without shame, interference or fear, the life to be you and be accepted for who you are.

The themes of tolerance, acceptance, understanding and humanity become the focus as is the need for everyone including ourselves to mind our own business.

Trends come and go

I am not trendy by half

Sometimes we find ourselves in places where we are observers of people, times, events and trends. One could not help but notice when a group of people probably in their late teens or early twenties got on the bus I was on in Barcelona.

They were all wearing sunglasses, well sunglasses with huge frames that more or less gave the raccoon effect. It was quite amusing as well as interesting.

I would not call myself trendy, in fact, I have never had opportunity to be trendy and probably that is a thankful situation and less of a burden on my psyche of trying to keep up with what is IN or discarding of what is OUT.

Wearing out of fashion

I remember in times past when my father sometimes complained of that fact, somehow, I always appeared in his office in traditional apparel of no significant fashion value.

My mother who always did the shopping on my behalf to the extent that there were times she bought my shoes because we had the same size when I was 11 did get some good stuff but that meant I was wearing what was probably 2 years out-of-fashion.

You will have to excuse the pun that I never really cottoned on and anytime I tried to follow the trends I just felt frustrated by the exercise that I gave up.

This is even more evident in the fact that you cannot get a decent pair of wearable jeans – I admit – everyone who wears what is in vogue seems to like what they have.

Royalty

Princess Anne once had the indignity of having worn something for an occasion so many years before and then having worn it again, the fashionistas had a field day. It is an impossible world that if you are famous you can only wear clothes like a wedding dress, once for the event and then passing it on.

Basically, the expensive dress would self-destruct after one outing.

Dancing the night away

The biggest social event when I was in secondary school was the Literary Day; there was nothing literary about the day apart from the expectation of attending the one-off disco, very much like the much-popularised American proms.

That meant we were allowed to dress up in clothes other than the regimental school or hostel uniform. As my trendless evening would transpire, I has a pair of trousers handed down from daddy which would have put me squarely on a golf course and a shirt probably four times my size.

My prankster colleagues then concealed my well-pressed clothes that I only got access to them with hardly any time to spare for the event.

Well, my oversized shirt and trousers had me dressed up to the nines with the help if some cord to keep the trousers up.

Bellies or backsides

Nowadays, I cannot really say what I find most irksome to the sight, the exposed bellies of unlady-like girls who have done no gym work looking a healthy 6 months pregnant from wearing cropped tops in the summer or the exposed backsides of underwear of young men wearing trousers very much like the cut of my daddy’s hand-me-downs.

That is fashion, they say, the trend of today. Young men walking down the street unable to keep their trousers up even though they have belts bigger than Mohamed Ali’s title belts.

The walk of big balls

More so, the trousers so affect that gait in that the full extent of stride cannot be realised with trousers so far down the legs everyone moves with a swagger almost like having to cope with genital goitre.

It is a sad state of affairs that the quest to belong is a madness of conformity that makes every foolish trend look like the best thing around and any smart observer of these trends who does no participate is almost always square and an outsider.

Hey! I’ll rather be outside this folly before I find myself growing up ever so disgracefully. I guess I am just old-fashioned.