Training for hours

Still better here

I would still contend after my experience of getting to work this morning that train travel in the Netherlands is still considerably better than travelling in the UK.

Cost, comfort, convenience and consideration are keys elements of why that service here is better, I have not had to travel 1^st class and share my leg room with a German shepherd dog or seen my full price ticket completely devalued by an announcement that anyone could upgrade with a paltry GBP 10 supplement.

However, when the trains get messed up in the Netherlands, they really do get messed up big time.

That 7:57 jinx

I have the choice of 2 direct trains to Apeldoorn from Amsterdam at 7:27 and 7:57 every morning; I prefer the first and sometimes end up on the second which also means I am able to pick up the morning paper without stress.

Looking back over 12 weeks of making this journey, I think the 7:57 seems to have the most problems, it is probably jinxed, I only have problems with this train being cancelled, the journey cut short, the train delayed and sometimes it takes 50% longer to get to my destination.

If I did my assessment of train services based on the 7:57 to Enschede which calls at Hilversum, Amersfoort and Apeldoorn my stop, and to other stations beyond, I could conclude that the service in the Netherlands is absolutely rotten, unreliable, and inefficient, below par and not value for money.

The fat train can’t move

Today, I got the 7:57 train and just managed to get a seat, something seemed to be wrong and how right I was, the train had fewer coaches that most people were standing, in fact, a lady or rather a woman was sitting on the floor. Perhaps, if it were a lady, chivalry would have allowed to give her a seat.

An announcement was made which had an excuse and an apology that the train is so full and advised people to get off at the next stop and catch that later train.

There are usually 2 stops to my destination – Hilversum and Amersfoort, but a few minutes later, another announcement expressed the danger in travelling on such a fully laden train; the fact that speed limits would be lower and hence cause backlogs for other trains – we were told we would all have to get off at a minor stop - Weesp, take a stopping train to Hilversum, then board another stopping train to Amersfoort and then change for one going on to Apeldoorn and further.

The colder breeze of Amersfoort

When I took the stopping train from Hilversum to Apeldoorn, I had to stand and even suffer the discomfort of standing in the rudimentary class carriages to an intermediate stop.

So, when I should have arrived in Apeldoorn at 9:04, I was waiting for the connecting service from Amersfoort which would have left at 9:10 but was running 15 minutes late.

In the middle of November, the weather is hardly sunny and warm so one would expect a short wait in the station waiting rooms only to find that some bird-brained idiot had allowed for a full floor buffing service in the middle of the rush-hour on a cold November morning.

We all had to stand outside for the 20 minutes it took for the train to arrive and it was just coasting 7ºC – Brrrrrrgh!

Red lighting taxi

I finally got to Apeldoorn at about 9:50 and took a taxi to the office which was without event till I had to upbraid the driver for running a red light – “That was a very bad thing to do”, I said, he laughed it off and much as it resulted in a cheaper fare, what is the cost of getting caught if it really went wrong?

I cannot bear to think of the consequences, but work resumes with the dramas that makes you feel you could not find a better place to get stressed out.

It is going to be a fine day – at the races.

Are you buying trainers?

Without Prejudice

Notice: I have had to reword this post to take out the obvious references to a large maufacturer of sports apparell and shoes, however, my opinion about this remains that the staff should have been paid and it if results in the worldwide shaming of that organisation - so be it. It is a disgrace, to say the least.

I only have the word of one person about this and whilst I have not been able to corroborate this story, I would hope it is not the truth.

As it transpires either the whole of BigTrainers UK or some franchisee of BigTrainers in the UK pays their staff on the 27^th of the month.

However, we all know that in the UK, Christmas means all the more to everyone and so in December, everyone gets paid before Christmas, there usually is no debate about that.

My source indicates that the pay-run should have first occurred on Friday the 21^st of December but they were offered excuses and promised they would be paid on the 27^th of December. After Christmas – How hellish it would have been for the little person that works for BigTrainers who lives from salary to salary and might have had to borrow to meet the demands of Christmas.

Well, the 27^th has come and gone and the people who serve you with smiles in a BigTrainers store you might have visited shopping for Christmas presents in the UK have received no Christmas cheer from their employers as the tills are ringing in the cash. They have not yet been paid. The company is doing very well.

I also hear that people who have returned to BigTrainers stores to either exchange their products or seek refunds have be asked to return on a later date because they are swamped with post-Christmas sales crowds.

Are you buying trainers? Spare a thought and think again.

Have we now imported sweat-shop practices to the UK? However, that is beside the point, if in fact, there are any employees that work for BigTrainers either directly or through some agency and have not yet been paid their December 2007 salaries, this is one time to live up to their big-time slogan. JDI spells the acronym.

Postscript

If however, this is not the case, some failure in management and staff development is allowing for a rumour like this to thrive. One can only apologise.

Cold Work Letters

Being an Eskimo

What a week this is turning out to be and one cannot say all is in complete order as the brook that runs beside my office complex is already frozen over, my bowler hat is having more of a showing - hardly a fashion statement; I am looking one shawl short of an Eskimo – it is dreadfully cold here and snowing in Spain – more like Global Cooling to me.

We had a meeting on Friday where I more or less offered a draft job description for a new role they are considering me for. So far, it looks like the carrot too far off for the giraffe to have a sweet gnaw – the last day at work might well be Friday.

Since, I have hardly had time to myself, we might just make that Thursday, I have left it too late to plan a decent birthday buffet at work, taking the day off might just help me prepare better for my holiday – sometimes, I wonder how I ended up on a flight leaving at 6:20AM – some things just pass you by even if you are deep inside the detail of the event.

Two minds on one job

Besides, I find myself with two understudies having lost my trusted sidekick to a long indisposition and work piling up like the Three Gorges Dam robbing us of all that is good in nature – I still have my deliverables to manage as I have to do this, comment on that, advice on something and letting nothing get me livid with rage - difficult!.

The difference between a national headquarters and international headquarters in the Netherlands is simple; there is hot water in the lavatories of the latter. A visit there earlier today confirmed what we knew all along, our Oracle developers have to solve a performance problem that have tried hard to foist upon us.

Indeed, there was once a performance problem on our systems, but that has since been patched away, the pre-existing Oracle performance problem has persisted through our transition and not been resolved.

That is my problem with developers, they are fanatical, fundamentalist and believe themselves infallible in thought, deed and code – such delusion hampers productivity and holds up the business as others have to conclusively prove that the problem is squarely with rotten code in production serving the function of helping run the business – Shocking!

Credit Crunch Reprieve?

Meanwhile, amidst the Christmas cards and early birthday cards in the post, I am expecting a letter that would never arrive.

Was it not cheap credit first and lies that got us into the impending 2008 recession (imagined or debunked) and the current credit crunch?

But rather than stand up for fiscal rectitude and tough monetary policies the central banks in Europe, the UK, Canada, Switzerland and the US are offering cheap loans to banks to help them trust each other enough to lend to each other. See illustration of the sub-prime crisis here .

Now, in the light of such laxity and lack of backbone, one would expect my mortgage company to offer a double-whammy present for my birthday and Christmas with the title – Credit Crunch Reprieve, the message being my mortgage rates have now been refrozen to the rate I had in November 2005 for 5 years. Fat Chance!

Child Benefit repercussions are decades away

A careless discus

In my third year in secondary school, I believe it was; there were frantic competition heats to determine the athletes who would carry the banners for the houses, in one situation we had one hot-headed, determined and stubborn senior who could not stand the thought of being beaten.

Someone had just thrown a school record with the discus when he took his turn, fuming, fulminating and furious to beat that thrown, the discus left his grip and impacted on a colleague’s forehead; he did not die, but he spent the best part of three weeks in hospital.

The greatest lamentation that came from the senior was when he thought he had killed the chap and probably one visit to the hospital and he moved on with his life, the young chap however, struggled with his schoolwork and it probably affected him rather very negatively.

The intention was to throw the discus to a particular target area, but this now not just a foul, it included an accident that had ramifications well beyond those contemporary events – the import of this recollection would be evident later in this blog.

Identity theft and usage

Over 20 years ago, I harboured the idea of joining the 18-month waiting list for an interview to get a British passport in Lagos but I had one missing piece of information, my long birth certificate.

I wrote a letter to my cousin in London with all the details she would require to get the long birth certificate and send it to me, unfortunately, that letter was intercepted by their lodger who for 3 years before I arrived in the UK was going about as me with my National Insurance number.

So, my NI number was already available for me to use by the time I had arrived, but the danger was if he was claiming unemployment benefit whilst I was working, I could have ended up in really deep shit.

In another case, someone in our close-knit extended family thought another cousin of mine who had academic problems would never escape Nigeria, so he took all his details and stealthily acquired my cousin’s passport.

The truth was exposed almost 10 years later when a visit to the consulate in Nigeria revealed documents that also stated his father had long been deceased when even today this esteemed mentor is a spritely septuagenarian. It got resolved but not without the schism and agonies that encompass such situations of the misuse of data and identity theft.

Not working together at all

However, back to the developing scandal of the Child Benefit data loss that affects 25 million individuals. It is mind-boggling that all that information can be so easily gathered and put on 2 CDs then sent by courier where the insurance value of the loss has not been properly assessed apart from the cost of the CDs.

The embarrassment that has already taken the scalp of the head of Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs (HMRC) and it appears this is not the first time discs have been lost in transit between critical government agencies.

The fact that they had all gotten comfortable with this abuse of the Data Protection Act belies the fact that individuals would have been roasted if they had been fast and loose with this kind of information.

In so-called broadband Britain, it beggars belief that there is no secure high-speed connection between critical government agencies as the HMRC and the National Audit Office (NAO) to transfer what is essentially 1.4 billion characters or 1.4 Gigabytes, the maximum data content of 2 regularly available CDs.

This puts the agencies almost 15 years behind the times and one cannot count the number of failed IT contracts and white elephant IT projects that have not addressed this fundamental IT issue and laws could have been enacted to ensure a number of procedures were in place to use those lines.

This episode is no doubt systemic in its nature and failure to safeguard data, the ramifications of which we have not begun to appreciate.

The possibilities are amazing

A few months ago, when I chatted to my credit-card company, a few personal questions were asked and I know that there are some answers that would never change like where I was born, my mother’s maiden name, my date of birth and they added a few other questions – these data sets are immutable for as long as the person is still living or is not registered dead.

So, this rush to safeguard bank accounts is really a red-herring, the data thieves do not have to pilfer from these accounts, rather they can establish accounts and business transactions with the data and get you into serious trouble and they can do that with the children’s data 5, 15, 25 or 35 years down the line because the information on birth certificates would not change – they become clones of you using your data.

Some people would say biometric data should become the gold standard for identity, but that works for pennies; if your finger-print can open access to billions, your life begins to bear an unquantifiable risk depending on who wants access to that bullion.

Then what were these data-sets doing in the hands of an accountancy firm that says the data was erased from their systems? Because if they were auditing the data, a lot can be done with the derived information giving then a window on British society that many organisations might just kill for.

Precautions

I shred every piece of paper bearing my name and address and more so anything containing more personal information, but as I walked down the corridor of my office last week I saw a lady trying to piece together shreds from a strip-shredder and I have begun to think of getting a confetti shredder – I do worry.

Online information should be safeguarded with usernames and passwords; they should be different for each function just in case the revelation of one leads to a flood-gate of untrammelled access to other information.

Avoid storing those passwords on your computer by using intelligible sentences not clichés; interspersing the words with numbers or currency characters and periodically change those passwords.

Use different email addresses separating them into personal which you give friends and family, business for professional purposes and general for all other registration, loyalty or activities that do not fall into the first two categories – I have seven.

In the end, if someone is careless with your data where you do not have control over how it is used, just like the discus thrown some 30 years ago, there is not much you can do about getting hit in the head.

I think we have not heard the last of this – Brown and Darling are not having a romancing time with the British public lately.

Stripping the "Great" out of Britain

Returning home for Easter

And so the naval personnel would return home just in time for Easter and the UK-Iran Crisis of 2007 is over.

Well, many would assume it is, the people are free, and the Iranian diplomat who was abducted in Iraq suddenly materialised at the Iranian embassy yesterday and it appears another consular official would be able to see the 5 Iranians who have been in American custody since January.

They were granted their freedom as a gift to Great Britain by Dr. Mahmoud Ahmadinejad, the firebrand, hard-line President of the Islamic Republic of Iran, the adjectives the West has bestowed on this man become almost irrelevant in the face of this humanity and kindness.

Agree to disagree

We can as well agree to disagree that our naval personnel were arrested in Iraqi or Iranian waters depending on whose map you are viewing, or basically, it was fair game on either side. As for the patrolling of Iraqi waters with a UN mandate, let us not plumb the depths of the dishonesty that has brought us thus far in the Middle East.

We can however recall that this time 25 years ago, Mrs. Margaret Hilda Thatcher, the Prime Minister then was busy putting the Great back in Britain and with it sowed the seeds that kept the Conservative Party in power for another 13 years.

Then, the territory under dispute since 1830 but deferring to the British was overrun by the military junta of Argentina; the 3 lions roared and thumped the Argentines out of the Falkland Islands with the loss about 1,000 lives however, leaving Great Britain beaming with patriotic fervour - Rule Britannia! Britannia rule the waves was the waking call of anyone who deigned to be British.

Nothing great going on

Today, we cannot say great diplomacy was at play, no great satisfaction that we have proven our point, no great triumph having been overwhelmed at sea by Iranians who have suffered sanctions for decades.

It is arguable that tepid warnings from the UN, the strident support of the EU and the bluster of the US did nothing to help the situation; our diplomats had to relearn the principles of bilateral negotiations rather than the failed US policy of international isolation.

Them and us

The naval personnel would return and be made to recant all their recorded confessions of having trespassed on Iranian nautical territory; the tabloids would lay out full spreads of the gallantry of the lady and the men in the midst of enemy territory.

And whilst making a public show of these detainees could have been against the Geneva Conventions, they were portrayed in places that no one could fault as being inhospitable or uncomfortable.

We, the stricter adherents of the Geneva Conventions would probably not even provide that quality of facility to those in our Western detention centres; at least, recently, we have heard more of their people being tortured and mistreated amongst us and seen lots of our people being well treated amongst them, except in Iraq of course amongst the insurgents.

However, by the time the tabloids have unravelled this saga and milked every ounce of newsworthiness out of this farce, nothing great would have been achieved for Great Britain.

The future can be bleak

In fact, the danger is if any of our people do end up trespassing in Iranian territory again; their treatment may not be as lovely as we have once seen and then a trial on the tenets of Sharia Law might just be the trigger for another poorly fought war in the Middle East.

Surely, this is all has just stripped the Great out of Great Britain; one wonders what great adventure our leaders might seek to repair the damage done, in the near future.

Welcome Home! But heroes would be too strong a word to use in any context.

Morphing into Texan Bambi

Events prevent focus

A number of international political events have occurred over the last few weeks that I am only beginning to get a grasp of what really is going on.

Beyond the cacophony of the Iranian nuclear stand-off; the deafening silence in the North Korean nuclear bunker; the earth shaking tragedies of Indonesia to the news-filling but insignificant East Timor riots; the rickety cabinet in Iraq with the main planks of Defence and Interior not properly fitted or the rape of Zimbabwe where inflation has hit 4 figures.

The world has been busy with people being moved around like pawns in a chess game that has more pieces than the board can contain.

Initially, we had the first female foreign minister from the United Kingdom, the safe pair of hands of Mrs Margaret Beckett – heralding a deft touch of taking the macho out of the international arena and pairing up with Dr Condolezza Rice.

Much was read into this change, but in a time when the rhetoric about Iran was getting too uncomfortable for the markets and thinkers outside political circles, a change of this sort was welcome.

Leaving with nothing to explain

Just around that time, Porter Goss the Director of the CIA announced his sudden resignation to be replaced by a General whose department laid an onslaught on American civil liberties through the surveillance issue- well, it looked like a downturn.

This was complicated by the fact that Mr Goss left us with riddles that would morph into conspiracies about why he was leaving.

Mr Tony Blair then flew into Washington DC to meet with the POTUS (President of the United States), there was this press conference that went on for so long and some things were said that made one replay that segment till it was etched into the television screen.

Slanted thread for a life

In answer to a question about how they both felt about the war and the regrets they may have had – POTUS replied in contriteness that the Texan swagger acting out the Wild West bounty notices of “wanted dead or alive” could have been misinterpreted in other places of the world.

Well, we Europeans have formed more than just an opinion about Mr Bush, the threads in newgroups and blogs would do a moon-journey many times over, and this regret would obviate our prejudices and might just save lives too.

This was not looking like a “lame duck” president anymore, rather a more human “lovable Bambi” – cynicism would have allowed one to think this was early electioneering, but maybe this is really genuine.

A Conversation in conversions

Considering the deep religious convictions of both men, the Road to Damascus could as well be between the Oval Office and the room where the press conference took place – no doubt there was a visitation of sorts.

Then, the announcement that the chairman of Goldman Sachs is to replace the current Secretary of the Treasury, this was considered a major coup; getting one of the highest flyers on Wall Street to take on one of the most prestigious jobs in the cabinet.

The significance of that did not dawn on me till I heard first, that the United States would now talk to Iran [1] – well, I can remember writing about the need to talk, not too long ago [2] – that in my book is an Excellent grade in Diplomacy 101.

The thaw means no snow

Then yesterday, we heard that the 6 nations now, dealing with Iran about the nuclear crisis have new sweets, carrots and incentives to offer Iran.

Suddenly, a thawing or relations and the “cold war” has given way to some warmth – Did I say, that name of the departing Secretary to the Treasury was John W. Snow?

Well, wherever all the warmth came from, it looks like it would be a summer to remember. It looks like the right response to Iran’s letter to the POTUS.

References

[1] US prepared to negotiate with Iran

[2] America! Your move

A conversational weather forecast

I am no mute

It is said that the English talk a lot about the weather; I see no issue with that, we always find ways of making conversation.

Talking about the weather provides a common interest subject to launch a long conversation from, if the respondent to the initial comment is affable, amiable and disposed to the cantankerous raconteur that sometimes bedevils me.

I admit, I can make conversation about almost anything, you cannot travel on a train for nigh on 4 hours with the person sitting around you and you just being dumb all the time, when your lives could have been enriched no end by a simple conversation.

Years ago, being that precocious, if that is applicable adults yielded a most uncanny experience.

Drink to memories of linked history

A heterosexual Caucasian couple sat opposite me on the train from London Euston to Glasgow and I was to get off at Lancaster.

It transpired that she, the lady took a bottle of coca cola out of her bag and I commented about the fact that drinks on the train cost a fortune that the services company was given to unfair profiteering.

Well, it transpired that the couple lived in Ipswich, just when I was dying there – I insist, there is no way anyone can live in Ipswich – I died in Ipswich for 2 years.

They were getting off at Lancaster and going to Holton a village just north of Brook House another village on the outskirts of Lancaster city.

When I said, my parents were Nigerian; she said she was born in Nigeria, in fact she was born in Jos, in the then Benue-Plateau State – unfortunately, it now appears every fenced piece of land in Nigeria is now a state.

Well, we lived in Jos for 4 years in the early 70s, and being the same age, it transpired that we lived so close to each other and we went to the same primary school – Corona School, Shamrock House.

My cranial archive

My memory at times serves me too well as it also reveals information that many would have thought completely forgotten. I then remembered and surmised what her maiden name would be – correct!

Then, I remembered in late 1974 when I asked her father who is now of blessed memory one morning whilst walking to the bus stop on the way to school where she was.

I had not seen here for a few weeks, she had returned to the UK.

We should have maintained contact after that meeting, but it just goes to show how a chance comment can just be the unravelling of a life no less ordinary and eerily uncanny.

More talk no race.

The Dutch do talk about the weather too, in the summer if it arrives, it is too hot, and when it gets to winter many wish it gets cold enough for the lakes and waterways in Frieseland to the North of the country to freeze over solidly for the Eleven Cities Race (Elfstedentocht) do not bother twisting your on that, you might require corrective surgery.

The Elfstedentocht is a 200 kilometre speed-skating competition on the frozen ice which was last held in 1997, basically, we have not had the weather to stage the event again since there are regulation thicknesses required of the ice for the race safely has not been satisfied.

It is no wonder the Dutch are featured champions in international speed skating competitions, however, the lack of mountains in the Netherlands also signifies why they do not feature in skiing – flat for skates, hills for skis – it would take another generation of the Dutch to reclaim land for topological features like mountains and valleys.

Global warming weather play

It might be the effects of global warming, but then there was a 22 year break between 1963 and 1985 when the weather did to play to expectations. Just as they have mastered land reclamation, I would expect an ice-thickening invention to keep the race from passing into distant history.

It is a very sunny day in Berlin at the moment, but be not deceived, it is also dreadfully cold, I learnt about weather the hard way in 2001, when at minus 13 Celsius in Amsterdam, I could almost break off my ears for the cold, and just because I saw no frost on cars as one does in England, I thought it was just me.

I should have noticed that the ponds and canals were already frozen over, just as outside my holiday apartment in Berlin, the garden is covered in white – I think it is ice and the sun as brilliant is it is shining is melting none of it.

That is the weather for you, this summer; I should be getting sun-burnt again in Gran Canaria.

Nostalgia - An unfamiliar emotion

Accepting stark facts

And so this guy came up to us and suggested he was more African than all of us put together, I acquiesced my other colleagues took umbrage.

That signified an interesting analysis of pseudo-Nigerians in Diaspora. I use the qualifier pseudo- because it signifies a kind of attachment that could quite deep or generally lose with regards to how we identify with Nigeria.

It also describes those of us who have not been to Nigeria in at least a decade.

However, the difference was exemplified in the fact that though I was born in the UK, I spent 19 years from the age of 5 in Nigeria, hence missing a good bit of the race and deprivation politics of the 70s and 80s in the UK.

My other 2 colleagues had spent a maximum of 10 years in total between them in Nigeria.

The other guy (Gary) however was born in Kenya, spoke Kiswahili and pidgin English as well as some street lingo that sounded quite foreign to my “sheltered upbringing”, he had travelled through Africa and could even speak passable Yoruba.

What was most instructive of the experience was that I realised that with the African upbringing came a positive and sub-conscious affirmation – my blackness has always been part of me – encounters of racism offer me the opportunity to educate rather than take offence.

Fed him bananas - LOL

One notable case was of a Swede who asked if we still lived on trees; I forgot; you need a quick wit too. I replied, “Indeed we do, when King Carlos Gustav XVI visited, we put him in the highest tree and fed him bananas”.

It is debatable who was most overtly racist in that exchange – the devil however, is in the analysis.

Suffice it to say, I walked away with a profusely delivered heartfelt apologise from a seriously chastised man.

Now, I do not know of any visit of the King of Sweden to Nigeria, but I knew enough to appear plausible and truthful enough to deal with the ignorance expressed.

This also feeds into a crass identification label that people subscribe to where young men of African descent respond to the appellation “nigger”.

It is one thing to covert a formerly derogatory term to a term of association and community amongst us; it is another to understand that those who use that term outside the community do not use it in a positive context.

Then there is the repudiation of the term that retorts – I am a free-born African, what do you mean by nigger – exactly?

Nostalgic, what have I been drinking?

Besides that, I am experiencing an emotion I am not particularly given too – Nostalgia – I must be crazy. I still find people to speak Yoruba to, my uncle commends my African cooking as rivalling if not bettering fare he gets at home, and I am on the verge of losing my roots having spent more than half my life in Europe.

Most recently, I have been looking back at Nigeria and observing the machinations of government and social change. Blogging which journals experience and commentary about Nigeria exposes more of life to scrutiny and debate.

Naijablog for me represents an interesting assessment of issues and ideas that elicit vigorous debate. I have seen very few Englishmen adapt so well to life and culture in Nigeria.

In my case, for all the time I lived in Nigeria, I was viewed as the boy born abroad – it however meant that one had license to break many of those rules that “natives” would be seriously sanctioned for.

Was it precocious, daring, adventurous, irreverent, stubborn and determined, many of us British-born ones had away of beating that system when it came down to it.

One lasting impression I have is when a big-man business partner of mine rounded up all the staff in all his businesses including the one in which I had control and had them locked up for an alleged crime of theft.

I did not have the courtesy of being informed as I had just returned from the UK on a business trip. In the end, I went to the police station and simply told the officer I would not leave till my staff were released.

Somehow, my accent then betrayed me and I was told speaking Oyinbo (English) would not resolve this. It took one of my staff negotiating from behind bars for them to offer to release them on bail.

I signed the release papers having paid out a hefty sum that the papers clearly indicated was a cashless transaction.

I basically got fed up of the prospect of my heightened profile in desktop publishing then forcing me to have to deal with situations like this – greasing palms to get things done.

Day-dreaming

That signifies how much Nigeria had changed from the 70s through the 80s, when in times before; kids had bicycles to ride carefree into the woods without fear of molestation. Schools went on excursion to all sorts of places as part of the education process.

I could appear in the Joseph musical as Pharaoh bedecked in robes and ornate headwear. Bursaries for undergraduates were generous to a fault. We hosted the FESTAC 77 the Second Festival for Arts and Culture with great fanfare.

Getting a visa to the UK on a Nigerian passport took less than 2 days and a flight to London was NGN 115.00.

By the time I left Nigeria, none of that was possible again, my nostalgia recalls times long gone, and it is probably possible that one can once again make Nigeria what one once experienced many years before.

Suddenly, reality dawns and my comfort zone steals the prospect of an Africa Safari – probably a 2-week visit sometime in the summer.

Did I say Gary was a white guy?