My city living as it happens as nothing happens

Me, myself, and I here

Sometimes, I wonder what separates me from Miss Havisham apart from the promise of a wedding that still endures to be fulfilled in due time and having not stopped any of the clocks in my apartment. Much as I would not leave anything to decay in here, my window blinds are rarely pulled up to let in natural light, there has been a fire, but not here, I quite well can exist in the isolated calm of a hermit, not interacting with the outside world for as long as I want.

None of that should read as being an antisocial being, I love the company of people to converse with, probably enjoy dinner or going out, indeed, I do chat to strangers, yet I am anything but an extrovert, I do not have the mental energy for crowds or big parties, I would soon be sat in a corner alone than be found chatting away network and glad-handing.

Ashes and debris

This morning, as I stepped out for my walking exercise, I saw some debris outside one of the blocks in our village, it is a good three blocks away with a cul-de-sac separating us, but we share the same vast subterranean carpark and the communal gym accessed with registered secure processes. It all looked charred as if consumed with fire and I wondered why anyone would set their rubbish on fire outside the block.

Later, some workmen had arrived to shovel away the debris and I was tempted to ask questions, I did not. It wasn’t till later as I stepped out for some shopping that I met my neighbour in the foyer, and she asked if I knew about the fire in that block. Fire? Yes, there was a fire, a huge one at that with flames shooting out of the roof of the block on the top floor of a 6-storey apartment block, with the main roads in the area cordoned off.

Stranger lights in the nights

It so happens, I never stepped out yesterday, at least not from the afternoon of two days before, there was commotion, and 5 fire engines I was told, and no one even reported the incident on our village Facebook page. This was the same block in which just about a year ago, a human and sex trafficking ring was busted. I cannot find any information about the fire in our city newspaper, like it has been hushed up.

Then I was told there was another fire across the street a few weeks ago that I should have been able to observe from the windows of my side of the apartment complex. There was? I did not ask when exactly, as it might have coincided with when I was away, but I knew nothing of it. It would suggest I am probably not the best candidate for curtain twitching or the Neighbourhood Watch. Much as some might attest to be powers of observation, I have not applied them with any distinction to my immediate environment.

As it happens as nothing happens

Once again, I have been lulled into the apparently deceptive uneventfulness of genteel city living where nothing of note happens and that gives cover to many things you would never imagine happening around here. For a serial sex offender lived nearby, as was the sex trafficking ring, and the Manchester bomber of May 2017 was on the outer side of our village apartment block complex.

Blog - City living in the deception of the genteel

Do I need to get on a nosey parker introductory course or is my penchant for presumably minding my own business in a very English way getting in the way of basic curiosity and awareness? That is something to think about. I might need to start with pulling up my Venetian blinds and I doubt I am ready for that radical change in living arrangements.

RSS Mischief I - Yikes! A snake

Idle hands and fiery minds

I had a box of matches, and I was ready for mischief in one of those sinister acts of naughtiness invisibly perpetrated out of boredom and a sense of adventure in secondary school. I went to Remo Secondary School (RSS), Sagamu, Ogun State, the Class of 1981.

Much as I do not retain enduring friendships or associations with alumni from my secondary school, it does not suggest that my time there was not memorable. We were up to a lot of stuff, some probably unprintable because that could span the spectrum of the dastardly to just downright criminal. The tall prepubescent innocent-looking boy with a funny accent cannot be responsible for many things and there were things we did not do.

The long bamboo grasses

The annual inter-house sports day had us combing the dense jungle around the school for thick bamboo grass shoots like trunks and palm fronds to build the schoolhouse gazebos at the back of the sports field, that was part of the competition along with the field and track games for which in total points my schoolhouse, Adedoyin came last for 3 years.

Not far from my dormitory was a large bamboo grass bush that rarely yielded much but had grown from the cutting and extraction of bamboo stalks over the years. That we were rarely fearful of the possibility of dangerous elapine species lurking in bushes was probably one of innocence rather than bravery or daring.

Light it up and walk by

The grass beckoning to an arsonist’s urge in me was like tinder begging for the role of cinder and irresistibly, a lit match flew out of my hand to the inflammable grass, starting with a smouldering without rising into a conflagration, as I walked by my deed, it appeared it was going to be a slow burn. This was sometime around 5:00 PM.

After lights out, there was some commotion, someone had stepped out from the dormitory hall probably to take a leak and saw a snake, he raised alarm and a tumult resulted, sticks and clubs to hand they chased after the homeless reptile and send it to snake heaven. The principal, Mrs Adebambo, unaware of what caused the fracas came out of her home and nabbed some of the boys with the view to suspending them the next day.

Preserved from punishment

I was not part of the melee, how could any of that have been as a result of what I had done earlier even as it did occur to me that it might have been my deft handiwork?

The morning came and as the principal was about to unleash her fury, she was presented with yellowish-green cobra laid out in front of the staffroom. That was the end of her intentions; the snake was picked up by our motorbike riding Irish biology teacher and preserved in a large bottle of formaldehyde as an object of study, interest, and fascination.

Now, I dread the thought of what could have been if that snake had bitten anyone and at the same time one had indirectly acquired a biological objet d’art for the school.

Let there be teeth

I cannot smile

I carry with me a deformity that I have accommodated for long, but it is quite concerning still. My upper front teeth that I lost to a childhood prank and for every dental activity performed has left me with some regret at ever considering some remediation, though, something needs to be done.

Blog: Childhood: Defanged by Misadventure

Now, Ian Paisley, later Baron Bannside was a Northern Ireland politician and more notably a firebrand preacher, of the fire and brimstone kind, fundamentalist to the core and extremist was as comfortable for any congregant who felt they needed to be shaken to core about the expectations of the afterlife.

The matter of teeth

In one instance, the preacher railed from the pulpit with fiery vehemence, “Ye are all bound for damnation.” He said, and continued with, “There will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.” We all probably can find all sorts of opportunities to cry and weep, it is a composite of our nature.

However, we cannot all keep our teeth, some are lost to decay and caries, others lost to misadventure or even worse. There are some that have no teeth at all and lo, even in the sphere of faith healing, the lame walk, the blind sees, the mute speak, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, but I cannot recall any instance of a miracle of dental restoration. Surely, that is just as important to wholesome living.

A miracle for hell

There, in a pew sat an old woman who asked what might happen to those who have no teeth, for, and I agree, the “weeping and gnashing of teeth” experience will be incomplete without the teeth, leading some to question the irrefutability of Scripture. To which the Reverend Ian Paisley responded, “Teeth will be provided.” And there we have it, in damnation, we can expect one last miracle, 32 white gnashers horsing around on the red hills of healthy gums, ready to clatter in the wailing abandonment of perdition.

I guess this suggests that even in hell, the human experience will be full, whole, and complete. What a prospect, what a scary prospect, indeed.

In the aftermath of Grenfell Tower

From that fateful night in June,
And the days that followed that conflagration,
Nary a tower block that I see,
Fills with the angst of the souls therein,
For in the other was the struggle and fight,
Against the rigid and established order,
That bullied and threatened,
Those who spoke and wrote of foreboding disaster,
The indifference of officialdom was palpable,
As the double-barrelled named,
Could hardly be bothered,
At the shrieking of the poorer,
In a borough of the stupendously rich,
To wit, they sought to beautify,
The Babel of today,
They spent pounds and saved pennies,
With cladding that offered skin-deep beauty,
Low in the building on that night,
A fire started that should not have spread,
But like tinder, the cladding lit,
And a ladder it became for the fire to climb,
To the top, the flames did race,
In the building, the victims did panic,
Many in flat and stairwells trapped,
As they succumbed to fumes and smoke,
By the time we knew what had happened,
Over four score souls had perished,
The councillors with their tin ears,
Ignored the tragedy as they had ignored the residents,
She of whom was spoken of as strong and stable,
Lacked the paps for care and compassion,
Scurrying she raced from the heart of the matter,
As selfless neighbours showed great humanity,
In it, we saw the great divide,
That had become an unbridgeable cavern,
Between the have-nots and have yachts,
Our unequal society indicted and convicted,
Which makes me constantly wonder,
When I see a tower teeming with life,
Do they all sleep in there safe and sound?
Knowing that from disaster they can flee,
If an ugly day does come like in June,
Where many in the edifice of mock-beauty,
Were cruelly and atrociously cremated alive,
Because someone somewhere did not care,
About life and livelihood that brings no profit,
To their selfish political aims,
In my city, I see many a tower,
Stripped of the panels of superfluity,
Revealing the raw underbelly,
That might well save a life or two,
As we find in many tests conducted,
All around the land and abroad,
That the safety we took for granted,
Was a standing crematorium,
We must not rest on this matter,
Until the culpable and accessory,
That conspired in this murderous enterprise,
See the sternest face of the law,
Even after that is done,
It would never really be,
Justice for the victims of Grenfell Tower.

The UK: In a country where the poor are roasted for the privileged

The ringing question

"What does it take to get the voice of the poor in this country heard?" A member of the audience at the BBC Question Time broadcast on Thursday the 16^th of June 2017.

On the 14^th of July, Grenfell Tower, an apartment block of 24 storeys was reported to be on fire around 1:00 AM, what was shocking was the rapidity with which the fire spread with resulting fatalities that could rise to over 100. [Grenfell Tower fire - Wikipedia]

What made this fire and tragedy more shocking was the fact that the tower block residents, the Grenfell Action Group had been complaining and agitating about fire safety and hazards from as far back as 2013. [Grenfell Action Group]

Money for style over safety

In recent years, a £8.7 million refit was done to the apartment block, completed in 2016, the activity included a suspected accelerant cladding that is banned in Germany and the United States of America, which might give a lie to the idea that our building safety regulations are worth the paper they are written on.

The refit which could have included fitting in a sprinkler system at the cost of £138,000 was not done, invariably putting aesthetics above the safety of human life.

It goes without saying that a whole institutional framework in the British establishment involving council apparatchiks, councillors, mayors and ministers are responsible for not learning lessons of the past, ignoring pertinent concerns, sitting on reports and recommendations that should have been expedited and implementing stringent cuts in the relentless pursuit of cutting the deficit at the expense of the human lives of the poor considered insignificant, irritant and irrelevant to their absurdly greater purpose and goals.

Mining for a forced-upon humanity

When the Prime Minister visited the scene of the tragedy yesterday, it failed to occur to her that leadership includes taking the brickbats whilst being there to offer succour, sympathy, comfort, empathy and assurances to the victims. She failed to use her humanity and the opprobrium that resulted after other leading politicians and senior royalty visited and interacted with the people has forced her to find the smidgen of compassion eked out with duress.

It goes without saying that Theresa May has lost the moral right to be the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Despite her remedially late actions, if at the first opportunity the Prime Minister of this great country could not for whatever reason meet with victims of an entirely avoidable tragedy exacerbated by some member of her cabinet, she by all terms cannot then aver that she has the authority to negotiate Brexit on our behalf.

The matter is about humanity, it is political, it is social, it is economic, it is about government, it is about caring, it is about a more equal society and for the unfortunate souls lost in the Grenfell Tower fire, it is the realisation that no one thought they mattered until the clamour for justice has forced the cossetted and comfortable political class to feign a sense of empathy with the poor who normally wield very little power and rarely have their voices heard.

The poor left to rot

In the last 7 years, the changes in society security entitlements, the outsourcing of eligibility criteria to death panels with a profit motive, the cuts to public services, the starving of the National Health Service to ready the institution for a fire sale to the moneyed classes, the dearth of buildings and accommodation for the working classes and the favouring of the rich over the poor in terms of access and policy initiatives has been a race to the bottom that has widened the chasm between the rich and the poor to an unbridgeable existence.

We have a democracy in name only that in its reality is the government of the people, by the few for the fewer still.

That is why the question at the beginning of this blog needs asking, “What does it take to get the voice of the poor in this country heard?”

Hold them criminally responsible

The blood of the innocently shed out of indifference, disinterest, the lack of consideration and concern revelling in institutional inhumanity shall be visited on the heads of all those responsible. Nothing but a criminal prosecution of the whole chain of responsibility that allowed the Grenfell Tower tragedy would be adequate justice.

Meanwhile, the need to expedite action to rehouse the victims and find means of ameliorating compensation for them must be the most urgent consideration. It is shocking that in the 5^th largest economy in the world we suffered such a display of the dereliction of duty to our poor as if we were in some lawless and chaotic Bantustan.

No, I do not think the government have nearly begun to feel the aggrieved sense of injustice and anger from the people, that they presided over this atrocity must be a blot on their records, recorded for posterity without the mercy of sophistry. These leaders who engage with soundbite are completely out of touch with our reality. Send them packing forthwith.

Down the wire to the fire

The ringing was quite shrill,
And it wasn’t for a fire drill,
So we gathered one until,
The numbers inside got to nil.

Maybe the wardens had skill,
It was not on the bill,
Getting out was uphill,
Enough for flames to make a kill.

Hobbling as I will,
Looking out on the window sill,
I could not fathom still,
We were to fill.

To act is to instil,
Every form of goodwill,
No one should need a gill,
If a fire grows to thrill.

Stepping beyond the grill,
The muster point far in Brazil,
We came to a standstill,
With nothing to fulfil.

Later on the rumour mill,
As the scheme went downhill,
After catching a little chill,
We reentered the ville.

British Airways must prosecute BAF 2276 emergency rule breakers

It is criminal

When I read of the criticism of passengers by the pilot of the British Airways Flight 2276 that caught fire just before take-off in Las Vegas, I pondered about the attachment of people to things.

This was a situation where everyone was in grave danger, a fully fuel laden flight with one of the engines on fire, one should not contemplate the consequence if they were not able to evacuate saving 172 souls.

Yet, in the emergency as observed in the picture that accompanied the news story, there is at least two passengers running from the flight with their bulky hand luggage.

What informs this attachment?

Their getting their so precious goods could have been the difference between life and death and there are too many stories through our humanity where the attachment to things has meant the end of all things for that person and a story of regret told by others.

Part of the aircraft safety instructions suggests, maybe advices, but should command that when an evacuation emergency is in process, we should abandon all whilst ladies take off their heeled shoes and make for the emergency exit in an orderly fashion.

Putting goods in or taking goods out of the overhead bins in an aircraft is rarely the smoothest activity. Even in premium class, the space is tight, people can hardly pass by when one is either loading or unloading the overhead bins. In an emergency, accessing the overhead bins is not only an impediment to safe evacuation, it presents a grave risk to passengers and crew alike.

How we endanger others

Only last week I was doing the mandatory health and safety course at work and I noticed that I risked prosecution if I ignore alarms for fire drills or real emergencies. The fire warden usually leaves the floor or building last, it means they are under obligation to ensure everyone has vacated the building or they and the organisation can be deemed negligent.

I think the same rule applies to disembarking an aircraft during an emergency, just as it is the age-old rule that the captain is the last to leave a ship in distress.

Yet, there is a psyche of acquisitive hedonism that seems to possess the mind of some who regardless of how their life is endangered cannot be separated from their things and I fear that things will be the end of them.

A prosecutory deterrent is necessary

However, the need for a lesson of deterrence must not be missed, the said people who ignored the basic safety rule by picking up their hand luggage must be sought after, prosecuted and have heavy penalties imposed on them. It might not moderate their behaviour to things, but it must signal a complete intolerance of people who selfishly impede an emergency evacuation exercise foolishly endangering themselves and most especially and unreasonably the lives of others.

Yes, they got away with their lives and their precious things, but this must never be the end of the matter and I hope it isn’t. They were lucky but they took unacceptable chances that could have led to grievous consequences and possible loss of life. I would hate to have people like this on my flight, anyone should.

If you feel you are boarding a plane with your most precious possessions and I think everyone is, it is our lives most of all, get insurance for your goods at the very least. If in an emergency we are to evacuate an aircraft leaving our things, with life all things lost can after a temporary setback be regained, a life lost, is a life lost, hopefully without the tag of foolishness.

Sensory perceptions of silencing smoke alarms

A clarion to slumber

When I first heard the sound, it was like my mind was playing with me, I came from deep within my slumber at the point where the effects of my medication were beginning to exhibit that stoned feeling. It was just after 2:00AM

Then as someone who regularly sleeps with lights on and sound in the background, I began the process of elimination, trying to determine where the sound was coming from.

There was no urgency, yet my life could have depended on it as I checked my phones and pressed a button; the sound stopped. It was not another minute before the sound started again and it still did not occur to me in my half wakened state that it could be more serious.

Like a cricket hunt

In my mind, I thought I was the source of the annoying sound, so as I moved around the room as if to echo-locate the source of the sound, I pressed the power button on my laptop and the sound stopped momentarily before it started again. This time I switched off the laptop and it began to dawn on me something more serious was afoot.

The sound very much like the chirping of a cricket and those who know, know that it is nigh on impossible to locate a cricket in a room by its chirping sound, except if you are dog-eared.

That might be an alarm, I thought, so I phoned reception and no one picked up the phone, my heightened senses now primed for escape, I dressed up for the cold, and properly dressed and presentable I was, as I grabbed my cane and my hat and stepped out of my room, not forgetting my hotel room key.

Comforted I was

Located on a mezzanine floor and at the very end of a long corridor, I had earlier noted where the fire escapes were, I would be descending 6 floors in total, but I was comforted by the sight of a uniformed member of staff at the other end of the corridor, making it down the stairs.

No one seemed to be in panic mode as they called the lift, but I needed to be sure it was not my senses playing games with my reasoning. I hailed the security man and he assured me there was nothing wrong, that I could return to bed.

Not by half, I do not sleep that well to have my sleep disrupted so flippantly that I could roll over and shut eye back into slumber-land at the flick of a switch, neither was my mind ready for work, I had to step out.

You don’t say

Apparently, a guest, (Room 318?) whilst having a shower and how it adds up escapes me, there was a leak which entered the fire alarm system in the room below and yes, it was the fire alarm that went off when I was pressing keys in my room thinking the sound was centred on my own little world.

What was more upsetting was the realisation that I did not realise that it was a fire alarm and that I should have gotten out of my room at the earliest opportunity to safety.

My reflex, my conditioning, my alertness all deprecated by reason of medication and almost being too smart for myself. This requires a radical readjustment in my conditioning. Strangely, I have a way to compensate for this kind of situation, I know now that when I hear this sound, I should err on the side of caution, thinking it is warning of a fire before I start engaging my brain in the stupid exercise of endangering myself.

Alright now

One can rationalise and beat oneself up afterwards, but there are things you do not trifle with, fire alarms, for instance.

As for sleep, maybe in another hour, I would have had that before this gets published because, this was first drafted away from the hotel at about 4:30AM.

Childhood: Yikes! A snake visiting boarding school

Preserved for posterity

That night, there was much clamour as much of the boys' hostel emptied to chase after what then happened to be a yellowish tanned snake with a white belly - as I can recall - Poisonous snakes of Africa and Asia.

It measured about 2 metres and it was eventually preserved in formaldehyde in a large jar and put on display in the biology laboratory where specimens of other once wild and dangerous but now dead animals were racked on shelves to fill anyone with dread and fear.

Our biology teacher was a Canadian, much unlike other teachers, young, agile and rode a motorcycle, generally friendly and never menacingly cruel nor wielding a cane as the other sociopaths masquerading as teachers that our parents entrusted our care and education to.

Named for discipline

The aftermath of that night would have been grave for some, the commotion at close to midnight when lights were supposed to be out had roused the principal, a matriarch with omnipresence and omniscience that saw through you with a gaze that made you dissolve into nothingness in her presence; strict and motherly, Mrs Adebambo defined the regime of a tight ship.

She called out the sleepers; the spies and the eyes of the authorities, prefects in other words, to gather the names of the noisemakers who had breached every rule of discipline and order, that list almost as long as an arm included the great and the small, we only had to wait until the morning for the verdict which was most likely going to be a suspension rather than interminable hours of bush-clearing.

Bamboo and palm fronds

The grounds of the school were on the edge of a forest and it only had walls on the sides bordered by roads, the forest itself stretched for kilometres, I do not think we were ever sure of where the grounds ended and when we had begun to trespass on the property of neighbouring farmers.

For our annual sports days, each school house; Falode, Mellor, Igimisoje and Adedoyin built huts of a bamboo framework and palm fronds made up the walls and roofs, gathered from the surrounding forests though not too far from the hostel was a bamboo bush, probably decades old, a good few metres wide and a haven for much more than could be imagined.

Fire raiser

I had happened upon a box of matches, exuberant and carefree, as I walked past the bamboo bush, two fingers slid the match box out of its sheath, picked out a match, struck it on the igniter coating and threw it – the fire caught like kindling to tinder and I hurried my steps with the innocence of an idle pedestrian.

As the boys gathered in front of the staff building to receive the verdict of the council who were not aware of the cause of the commotion, the snake was laid lengthwise on the steps at the main entrance of the staff room, mercy came, relief came but why that all happened is only revealed today, I set fire to the habitat of creatures that could have brought a much different story than one told now.

The mischief of almost 35 years ago and that was a typical boarding school day.

No combs to dress the hair on fire

A snapshot of celebrity

It would be remiss of me not to offer an opinion if not a form of social commentary on the cult of celebrity and the prisoners of that wave of image embellishment or rather pretentious charity.

The news article [1] offers a bit of detail but the 50 seconds of video that accompanies speaks a world about what it shows and it is a microcosm of a glittering and almost tantalising spectacle one that is as attractive as it is debilitating and dangerous.

Mr Sean Combs [2], known as many variations from Puff Daddy to P. Diddy that polite society is better served by referring to his birth name and refuse to be carried away with the razzmatazz is a very successful man and he was in New York to promote the launch of his new album, Last Train To Paris.

Having hired the pent house suite of a posh hotel as hip-hop hedonism allows, the renowned of that genre and ilk had gathered there for a smoke-filled party with an American actor/comedian Kevin Hart [3] apparently compering.

At the hot tub

In the video, Kevin Hart sets the scene; they are nowhere more respectable than at the hot tub fishing as it were for what might be left to your imagination, but there is a “model” sat in a bubble and rose petal filled bath surrounded by lit candles.

We are made to understand that party is female-friendly, I suppose that means there are scantily clad ladies all around that place titillating the men and getting their adrenaline and testosterone levels running high with the scent of wanton debauchery or smell of sex probably created by one of Mr. Combs’ piss-water perfumes.

Kevin Hart might even jump into the bath tub probably to have a wash, surely, as a married father of two children, it is unlikely that it is his wife that would be scrubbing his back at the London as he liberally introduces other "niggers", a word fashionable amongst that clique but abominable to other races.

All hair on fire

I will leave the issue of the objectification of women, the lack of respect for their person, their use for the elevation of the animal instinct towards the Neanderthal man and their function as pheromone secretion catalysts on hedonist gatherings to others to address.

However, as we ogled the lady in the bath whose poise shifted to some rather more provocative pose, her hair, probably conditioned with non-flame retardant chemical caught fire, it took a while for her to notice what was happening and the guests might have been too absorbed in ambience to have the presence of mind to react appropriately.

Then suddenly, the flame caught on and she ducked into the water to quench the flames but the seconds that show that event left me more than just concerned. It did not appear that anyone went to her aid and when Kevin Hart realised what was going on, he was more particular about that event not being caught on camera than attending to the unfortunate lady. They all found it funny, they really did.

Forget chivalry

I can only wonder who that lady was, how she got that job, how burnt she got, what care and comfort she received and where she is now.

Keith Hart’s reaction left much to be desired, but then if we ever expected and chivalry in such a setting, we must have forgotten that ostentation does not necessarily breed class and having a huge profile like this with all the apparently stage-managed publicity and photo opportunities does not reveal the real sense of compassion or humanity the principals might have.

Smudging the image

In this very short episode, Mr Combs could not understand why fire-fighters were called, which would have been the right thing to do including getting a first-aid crew on site with the possibility of having the lady taken to hospital for observation and possible treatment.

Mr Combs was having a launch party and such a distraction could not be allowed to get in the way of a night of revelry, the music played on, everything was under control but the inability to prevent the release of this video and the lady is probably history.

We, the cultists of celebrity

That is the world of today’s celebrity, it is about image and the management of it, presenting a pretentious façade to the world of being rich and successful with foundations helping the unfortunate wherever they might be but not when met with the immediacy of helping a damsel in distress.

These are our role models, our motivational speakers, our figures of emulation and the people we aspire to become; people who shirk responsibility, lack character, denigrate women, men without integrity but money talks and as long as everyone is having a nice time, the lady was at best an annoyance, woe betide her, she was for the record the collateral damage of keeping that image pristine.

The video reveals the underbelly of the odious and the reprehensible and just about the worst of that sub-culture, the majority might however not be persuaded to refuse to patronise such people and their stock in trade because we are prisoners of the cult of celebrity, slaves to the pretentious icon and already impervious to basic human values. I lament.

The longer version of that event appears here [4], you can make up your mind about it, but I did not find it funny, at all.

Sources

[1] Diddy-Dirty Money's: Model's hair catches fire at album release party in LA | Mail Online

[2] Sean Combs - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[3] Kevin Hart (actor) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[4] YouTube - Girl Hair Catches Fire on Diddy's Dirty Money Ustream Party + Reenactment

A fire drill to nil

They’re out we’re in

The day at the office was not supposed to be as eventful as this. My main system at home had a major hiccup such that what I used to be able to do at home now had to be done at the office.

The hours of the mid-afternoon, I looked out from the window of my fifth floor office to see people trooping out of the building as if for a fire drill.

It had me wondering why people from one wing were being ushered out and the rest of us being left to burn, in fact I did surmise to colleagues about their testing the firewalls just to ascertain that they were fire-proof.

Beckoning our charred remains

A few minutes afterwards the alarm did sound at our end of the building and an announcement was made in Dutch for us to vacate the building with the instruction not to use the lift.

I picked up my hat and cane and made for the stairwell walking down at pace in order not to hold anyone up; on the ground floor we were held back by the automated pass-entry system which each of us had to use to step out to the reception where another crowd waited to get out.

Once we were out we were herded like sheep, no instructions, no guidance just taking the cue from those who had gone one before.

After we crossed the road to the other side we noticed a fire engine, a fireman disembarked with a portable fire-extinguisher and entered the building we none the wiser about why we had to leave the building.

No (E)mergency in this Respons

Soon afterwards a Quick Respons Team vehicle arrived, it made me wonder whether the sign-painter was trying Dutch, English or a Dutchified version of Response without the “e” and there was no space for the “e” in case you thought the “e” had fallen off.

The fireman came out of the building a few minutes after and we were ushered back into the building in what might well have been a fire drill but not by any standards brilliant.

Why it failed

The questions I had in mind were many:

Why the alarm had been going on at in one wing of the building without notifying the other parts of the office block.

Why the announcements were only made in Dutch when it is clear that most functionaries in the building work in a bilingual situation with the possibility that a good few did not speak Dutch but at least manage English.

Why the exit gates were monitored when they should have been open especially if the exit process involved panic or a stampede.

And what for?

Why no one bothered to explain what the reason was for evacuating the building – even if it was a fire-drill, it would have been to simulate the process to managing emergancies that could be fires, bombs, leakages or any dangers that would have necessitated conducting the exercise.

In my view, for all the people in high-visibility vests appearing to know what they were doing and probably returning to some debriefing to pat themselves on the back for a job well done; this was a farce at best and I really do not pray I am in this building when something really serious happens because I honestly cannot trust the “Quick Respons Team” to get me out quickly, safely and securely.

Fire drill assessment – Fail.

The Royal Marsden Hospital fire

Saved from fire

Obviously, evacuating everyone from a building under fire is paramount and news that only two firemen and a patient suffered from smoke inhalation leaves one prayerfully thankful because it could have been a lot worse.

The Royal Marsden Hospital on Fulham Road in South-West London has today suffered a serious fire which has since been brought under control.

One can only imagine the stress and distress of patients especially the two undergoing surgery when the fire broke out – certain of the evacuated laid in mattresses in nearby streets as some who could walk were lead away in blankets. Third-World country pictures flash through my mind.

Quenching fire the old way

One must however observe that there is something a bit primitive about the circumstances - evacuation and fire-fighting - and is need of some modern-day thinking and innovation.

The fire broke out on the top floor and roof areas and it was contained in those areas but greater damage would be done to the whole building first by smoke and then by the amount of water that was used to douse the flames.

That we still douse flames with water most of the time, then at times with foam or sand, sometimes carbon-dioxide shows we are in need of some innovative thinking on fire-fighting.

Obeying the basic law of gravity all that water with the debris that it can carry would wash down through the building soiling and damaging anything in its path – this brings an interesting architectural challenge.

Beyond sprinklers

Beyond sprinklers, fire-retardant elements and other physical fire containment devices, we need to be able to fight fires exposed to the open air in ways that would contain the fire to its localised points and prevent further damage to the building and other equipment where the fire has not reached.

It would mean either avoiding the use of water entirely, or where water is used, part of the fire-fighting defences in the building should allow the water to be channelled off the just the affected floor, saving floors below, where it is known that the fire is just on a particular floor.

If the fire affects more floors, the channels should be opened to allow sprinkling on the lower affected floors.

Floor-sealing fire safety

Think of it as a kind of floor-sealing with built-in gutters where the water can be collected at ground level and passed on to filtration systems nearby, this can then by recycled to fight the fire till it is completely doused.

This means the way multi-storey buildings are designed and built will have to change whilst taking good care for the issues of access and evacuation in occupied buildings.

As for The Royal Marsden Hospital, founded in 1851 and the first dedicated cancer research hospital, I do hope that those evacuated would receive respite wherever they are moved to and the reopening of that hospital to it full functionality would be very soon.

As a saying in Yoruba goes – The burnt down palace offers the opportunity for something more beautiful – we can only have such optimism for bringing the hospital back to life.

Celestial Church gets Pentecost early

Not Pentecostal fire

I was reading the Evening Standard yesterday and in the News in Brief section there was the news piece - East London church gutted by fire - the unfortunate event took place in Poplar where 40 firefighters fought the blaze and brought it under control.

(I could not obtain a link to the electronic version but the London Fire Brigade does report a church fire in the area.)

Somehow, I subconsciously took exception to the adjective used to describe the church, it was termed Evangelical, one suddenly realized I had been conditioned to assume everything evangelical is closer to the Christian right and charismatic circles that take on the "Born Again" epithet.

A sect so vibrant

Having this used to describe the Celestial Church of Christ can be termed a bit of a misnomer; I have however seen it better described as a sect.

Now, before the whole church hierarchy from laity to the Assistant Deputy Vice Supreme Superior Senior Evangelist descends on that last comment, a sect is simply - a group adhering to a distinctive doctrine or to a leader - according to Merriam-Webster Dictionary - Cele as they are known in Nigerian parlance does have distinctive doctrines, and that should suffice for all objectivity.

It would however appear that the church has suffered a number of fires all around the world, one in New York was attributed to an electrical fault.

The office of the prophetess must be in abeyance for these events to occur without premonition and precaution.

Incandescent Candles

Beyond that, one would not be surprised if certain fires have not been as a result of the careless handling of naked candle flames; the church literally sustains the candle industry wherever it thrives.

At times I am enthralled by church uniform which when worn is supposed to give you spiritual shoes; well, you have to be bare-footed to wear the holy garments which have colourful girdles depending on your ranking in the church. I have always wondered if these spiritual shoes are wearable in Northern Hemisphere winters - there is no telling, when in regalia, the impossible can be done, miracles might require some grand inferno of candle light pyrotechnics.

My commiserations on the total destruction by fire of the church; like the Yoruba would say, it offers the opportunity to build something bigger and better.

Seven Hallelujahs to the four corners of the world.

Nigeria: They were burnt like tinder to cinder

The tragedy of the scoop

The tragedy that has befallen Nigeria which does not seem to feature that well in any of the forums that matter in the country is that of bravado.

Some might venture to call it ignorance, others might hazard suicide, the smug will say stupidity and the experts will say poverty, the politicians however might say something sympathetic but never do anything.

We are all too familiar now with deaths from petrol fires, usually these affect those who have been scooping petrol from fuel pipelines that have been tampered with or have suffered some sort of maintenance-deficient structural damage.

Maybe in some other cases, some explosion has gone off wiping out hundreds creating headlines of gore and charred remains unrecognisable as once being human.

However, in a remote village in what is really North-Central Nigeria (Kaduna being the capital city) rather than the BBC's North-Western description, there was a tanker crash with the possible loss of 33,000 litres of highly flammable fluid, let's say petrol for instance.

The driver survived the accident but it would appear the people who gathered did not congregate to help the driver, rather they gathered to scoop petrol from the crippled tanker as the driver warned of the grave danger of a bigger accident or tragedy, like an explosion or possibly fire.

Many did not heed his warnings and eventually the tanker exploded killing 98 of which only 3 were recognisable by their relations, what a tragedy - Again!.

Reasons to be sorry

Herein is the great lament of this episode, contemporariously, an accident like this happened on Monday night according to the BBC but on Tuesday according to DissDayOnline and news of it did not break out till Wednesday morning.

Everyone knows that petrol is flammable, maybe that is too broad a generalisation - you do not have to see an obvious source of ignition before it catches fire and consumes anything that as much as has just the fumes.

The largest oil producing country in Africa cannot provide sufficiently the energy needs of its people that they are overcome with need to the detriment of their safety and consequent loss of life.

The driver knew full well that petrol can ignite unexpectedly and tried hard to warn people off this danger, but possibly ignorance of the dangers, coupled with lack of basic education and obvious destitution could not dissuade the people from such a largesse.

This was a village where everyone would have known each other too well, 98 souls perished but only 3 were identifiable when they were buried in mass graves - no greater indignity can befall another in these circumstances.

What exactly would those contesting elections really do to ensure that these tragedies become things of the past?

This is the third reported case of death by petrol incineration in less than a year, it is just not on.