Thought Picnic: The Ephemeral Gift of Life

A Final Gathering

My very first conversation on Microsoft Teams this morning, returning to work, left me numb with shock as I was unexpectedly told sad news that brought tears to my eyes.

Only six weeks earlier, I was in Lancaster for a leaving gathering. We had been colleagues, then he led my team before an opportunity he could not refuse arose, and he was off to a new adventure. We all wished him well.

Since I work remotely, that gathering was our first meeting; it turned out to be our last. How ephemeral life can be. It can be simultaneously resilient and enduring, yet also so transient.

In times like these, I find comfort in the words of the Bible: “How frail is humanity! How short is life, how full of trouble! We blossom like a flower and then wither. Like a passing shadow, we quickly disappear” [Bible Hub: Job 14:1 & Job 14:2].

Numbering Our Days

The Psalmist says, “So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom” [Bible Hub: Psalm 90:12]. I do not make New Year's resolutions because life is already a challenge. Maintaining the routine is hard enough without stressing over unattainable goals that fizzle out in months, if not weeks.

I am grateful for each day; it is the present, which is a gift of grace. Everyone runs their race, and no one knows when they will reach the finish.

Then we are swept into the eternity of memories and dreams. At that point, we console their loved ones and cherish the indelible mark they left on us during the brief time life afforded us.

May their soul rest in peace. What a sad start to the year.

A Google NotebookLM AI Podcast on this blog

This is deep stuff now

In thought without words

All year long, we have been preparing for this, the almost 11 months that we have persevered, supporting each other with daily communication, along with the occasional tiff, it has not been easy at all.

Strangely, I do not have that excitable buzz of youthful wistfulness and exuberance, I seem to be my totally English self, betraying no emotion at all. I guess we are now in serious territory, it is not a longing infatuation with the novelty of discovery even if the pandemic insinuated two 11-month separations in the last two years.

This man means a lot more to me than I am sometimes willing to volunteer, he is my partner and everything in me is yearning to be in his arms. That, itself would do that talking, as at times, the most and best is said when nothing at all is spoken. I’m in love.

The intrigue of a pencil in deft hands

A chance meeting

I am one to make conversation at the slightest opportunity if occasion warrants it.

At the station, I saw this rather handsome young man with what looked like a big folder portfolio of work; I had gone into the waiting room and turned on the heater; it is getting cold in dear old Blighty.

We got on the same coach and a momentarily loss of consciousness due to incidental slumber had my tablet fall out of my hands to the floor; he helpfully reached and picked it up then asked if it was OK, commenting they are usually made of sturdy stuff. It was fine.

Definition better than doodles

I apologised for my sloppiness and in minutes I saw that he had already drawn a few pictures on his pad; that caught my attention and curiosity as I asked by way of making a statement, you are an artist.

He responded, “I am an animator,” paused, then said, “or at least training to be one.” What I later read was this is a man who is now following his passion having had a career in reinsurance.

I caught the glimpse of a dog's head, one of the vicious kinds with the jaw bone structure to do you some damage as I quipped about whether he will like to work for Pixar. He did find that interesting enough to respond ambitiously, I by then had said a prayer of agreement in my mind without voicing out, I hope you do.

Imagination and play

We went on to talk about the vivid imagination that goes into animation and how it connects one's childhood with one's maturity as the pencil touches the paper.

By which time, I asked if he had a website, he said he didn't but he had a blog, one managed from his school. “I do have a blog too,” I said to him confessing I was still struggling to pen my 2,000th blog as I reached my ninth year of blogging.

As the conversation developed, I had obtained the link to his website, logged on to it, read a few blogs all with illustrations, saw how prolific he was and read his short biography where I learnt he liked Looney Tunes type characters.

My encounters with artists

A southpaw with a gift of artistic expression and I wondered whether I was about to relive history again because decades ago in school, I ran into a group of amazingly talented artists and it changed my life.

I told him I liked the Animaniacs cartoons which he did too, I then introduced myself, told him about what I did for a living, shook his hand; much smaller than mine but with a good manly grip.

The 30-minute journey was up but in meeting an utterly pleasant, handsome and talented man with the knowledge that I can follow his quest for complete genius that I hope will come with the recognition and success that would exceed the ambitions of his wildest imagination – I could see a world of new reality ahead of him much as I warned that he might get more visits to his website because I was going to write about our brief encounter.

What he did not know was that he had already set me up for the excitement of watching Skyfall later on.

Meanwhile, let me introduce you to Fox In Motion 2, it was started recently. Visit, appreciate and comment. Thank you.

805 Restaurant just improves on itself consistently

Meeting my uncle

It came on a whim; I was meeting up with my uncle who I had not seen for nigh on 7 years or thereabouts. It was interesting when we first spoke that he had been informed that I was ill but he thought it just a fever – well, I did have fevers amongst other things – to which I commented, “That is an understatement.”

He probably went half-numb into shock when I told him how ill I was, the story of the discovery, diagnosis, hospitalisation, treatments, recovery and return to life has become a somewhat flawless delivery with snippets of other things like my brother thinking my being able to blog from hospital meant I was fine – the little artistic bent I have allows for the a dead-pan delivery of the line – You have no idea.

805, it is

Anyway, we got stuck in traffic so I suggested we go off to 805, the Nigerian cuisine restaurant at 805 Old Kent Road. Whilst my uncle had his general bearings of where we were, he was unsure as we got to Old Kent Road whether we had to turn left or right.

Smartphones are so handy nowadays; I should write something about how smart my phone is when looking for directions, checking timetables for public transport and much else. Immediately, I keyed in the address and we found we were to turn right, having parked the car briefly to be sure – there was no rush.

On getting to 805, the car park behind the restaurant was full apart from watching the annoyance of someone parking and re-parking with such indecision you were ready to take a nail to their tyres just to stop them.

Between you and me, you can use the Toys ‘R Us car park on Old Kent Road some 100 yards from 805 on the other side of the road – Yes, I am back to imperial measures – but you must never have your car there for more than 2 hours, else, be a customer of Toys ‘R Us before you go to 805, the penalty is a £50 fine wending its way to your wallet.

Responsive service

We got to 805 as it began to get busy and we were ushered to a table in one of the even more sophisticated dining areas, all the décor looking formal and well laid out. I then noticed a good subtle organisational arrangement; waiters and waitresses were allocated sections to attend to and the floor manager being very observant would notice if the service was not as prompt as one would expect and ask questions of the staff as to why the delay.

As it does get busy, there could be a bit of a wait but the staff will come with assurances to handle your expectations, the wait will always be worth your while.

I had assorted meat pepper soup as my entrée and semolina pudding with edikang ikong with assorted meats for my plat principal, my uncle went for the fish pepper soup and amala pudding with corchorus (ewedu) vegetable stew and assorted meats. We had Malta Guinness for drinks but the capsicum rating of the pepper soups had us pleading for water too.

Quality and class

I first visited 805 in 2006 and since then, I have watched the restaurant expand and improve, in quality, in service, in choice, in clientele and it is a stand-out Nigerian-owned business that sets the standard for what one should expect of a decent restaurant that I find quite lacking in many other Nigerian cuisine restaurants I have visited around Europe.

805 easily caters to an international diverse and multicultural demographic, it is a place you can take anyone not familiar with Nigerian cuisine to experience the amazing smorgasbord of Nigerian cooking without being squeamish about setting, service or any other uncomfortable situation.

Easily the best

We had a lovely dinner, the facilities are also much improved too and as I made for that opportunity I acknowledged the owner who apparently also knows my uncle that when I was later introduced to him commended my appearance – he is a sharp dresser too, commanding an air of understated sophistication that most of my country-folk usually fail to carry for hedonistic ostentation that makes for expensive and vulgar expressions of wealth as one risks snobbery for noticing the difference between the one and the other.

If you are in London and looking for a bit of class mixed with nostalgia, 805 at 805 Old Kent Road cannot come better recommended.

How to get to 805 and the menu.

My first review of 805 in 2006.

Nigeria: A conversation with Madam Hollandais

A chance meeting and much more

Not that I noticed her at first when she moved to the table beside mine on the train to Frankfurt for the comfort of using her laptop and the conductor came round to check our tickets.

She lives in Africa but has a German address, she said to the conductor to my hearing, and well, a conversation ensued almost immediately, she first thought I was probably Kikuyu, she had lived in Kenya; my apparel did not belie the stereotype of other places, but when I said I was from Nigeria, she boldly asked where from and responded that I would be Yoruba.

In fact, she is a resident of Abuja, the Nigerian administrative capital and she would pass for the atypical but knowledgeable and sincere white African in my book with all the accolades that entails.

The blouse was Vlisco Hollandais over which was a dark jacket with another colourful Vlisco Hollandais pocket square, I was in conversation with Madam Hollandais as she is known in Nigerian circles.

We parted ways in Cologne but I do not think this would be the last of our conversations.

[Edited, redacted and amended 14th June 2010.]

Dinner with Chxta

The meeting

Lest I forget about London where a long weekend is to continental Europeans the equivalent to daylight robbery in a favela ; one is however thankful for good fortune and sufficiency.

As Sunday drew to a close, I was finally able to make a rendezvous with Chxta in front of the British Library where we had to decide which of the Nigerian eateries would be graced with our company.

I was thinking of trying out Angie's Restaurant - interesting reviews, however, it being almost 21:00, they close at 22:00 on a Sunday night which is a bit early, one would say. I found myself asking a question that one might ask in Amsterdam - Is 10 o' clock the time the kitchen closes or when you close your doors? This happens to be an interesting distinction, because in Amsterdam, a restaurant might remain open for long after the kitchen has closed and the chef by then is far and away.

So, we ended up at 805 once again - I never know if it is Old or New Kent Road, well, that is why the Black Cab drivers have to pass The Knowledge - where a polyglot South African waitress who speaks the 11 official languages took a few lessons in pronouncing the Nigerian names of meals we ordered.

The capsicums are hotter today

As one is wont to do, we had the Goat Pepper Soup for the entree which this time was almost off my scale of tolerable Scoville Heat Units - the measure of the hotness of capsicums (chilli peppers) - by the second spoonful my scalp was a wet sheet and at the fourth spoon, I was ready to be Sniffy, the 8^th dwarf in line with Snow White - Yes, it was ho-ho-ho-hot.

Chxta basically lapped it up as if he would use the stuff for eye salve, I would have succumbed to it being used in a can of pepper spray.

Anyway, for a crowded restaurant the crowd was not in anyway raucous and there were enough waitresses to handle the customer traffic, in fact, it looked like the "rainbow staff" with at least one from the very Far East.

Sometimes, I am concerned for how Nigerian food gets unnecessarily Westernised that it takes away from the essence, things like a salad dressed with mayonnaise on jollof rice are just beyond the pale considering I really do hate mayonnaise.

The dodo and omelette dish left us in no doubt about the plantains but quite unsure about the omelette, it was so plain it could have been blanched.

Much learnt indeed

As we ate, Chxta came across even more interesting than his blogs, I learnt a good few things about Nigerian history and the events going on in Nigeria today, an analytical mind with ideas that would help change Nigeria given the opportunity - and there are many young minds that I have met in the blogging world who are not driven by the quest for filthy lucre through outrageous entrepreneurial cons, but who through knowledge, determination and inspired vision are destined to lead Nigeria to a promise we have always so desired.

As the night ended, we only just caught trains back, by which time the cab driver in one sentence made us understand why Chinua Achebe is so readable and Wole Soyinka is almost inscrutable - the former is a writer, the latter is a poet who just happens to write - I suppose that is an allowance for being a playwright too..

If any of us ever had the opportunity to produce, direct or adapt a novel for cinema audiences, it would be none other than The Passport of Mallam Ilia by Cyprian Ekwensi - a book no longer in print, unfortunately - and how can I forget The Drummer Boy who happens to be Akin (taunts I endured from O so friendly colleagues at school - they were too blind to see what they were doing) - certain memories of secondary school can be such bliss.

Thanks to Chxta for a nice evening.

Cyprian Ekwensi - Africa Database