Opening the mouth of the father - Part 5

The fourth part of this series Opening the mouth of the Father – Part 4

This was a hard knock

Yes, we were Knocking on the door, at the gates of Nineveh of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, the doors as imposing as if impossible to open, needing 40 horses to turn the hinges, the entrance to a fortress where if we had the wrong password we would be bone meal to Cerberus the “friendly” 3-headed dog whose snarls made you quake in your boots.

With ears like that of cat burglar safe breaker we heard each tumbler drop as we deciphered to code to enter the safe, to retrieve from safe-keeping our bride. As if we were soaring to the mile high club, at 25,000 feet we got a canary but not ours, time was fast ticking away as we reached 30,000 feet and were presented with a cuckoo, not very funny, not amused, let’s play on.

An eagle flew by with its prey in its claws at 35,000 feet, if we were to go any higher, we might well reach for the stars; our bright and radiant star, the beauty came out of the highest clouds into glory at 39,000 feet at which point the quip was asking the pilot if we had enough fuel to reach our destination – there was still more to do in this ceremony, but I already had my bride beside me, if only I could now elope.

My clothes or rags on parade

Indeed, bale out we must in parachutes made from all the material purchased to make my in-laws look good for their daughter’s marriage, they even had change-ins to boot.

This list was making me listless as the MC was making a mockery of the whole proceedings and people cooed, wowed, singing the praises of the in-laws all bedecked in colours and instructions that almost drove us to distraction just weeks before – Just it was two traditional dresses for the parents designed to their tastes – that had to be right or nothing will be bright.

Do fish drink at all?

Lest I forgot the father’s mouth opened more to the tipple of fine whisky and gin than to the letting go of his prized goose. Whisky and gin can do much to a man and even I was about to be featured in a drunken orgy of negotiating the bride price as head rocked from side to side with the hat I wrought and the cane landing with thuds on the ground, even that I bought – the list, remember, it was in the list too.

Ah! The bride price, no sale price said the quip as he noted I had no cows nor yams as tradition would have dictated, the cows had been slaughtered for meat and stew, the yams pounded to a pulp – drinks would suffice, and drinks it would be.

Before I could drown away my sorrows, that small business of drinks had to be sorted and this ephemeral source of oral pleasure that had me bedwetting as a kid, discomfited the incontinent, heaped disgrace on the inebriated and had you visit the lavatory in hours for disposal was part of the bidding price.

Pour it all out

I will drink to that said the quip at which point pouring a mug of lager over his head would have been the most pleasurable thing to do, I could not get disillusioned, but someone is taking the piss.

Presentations started, the drinks were like I had conducted a smuggler’s day trip to Calais with a lorry, I was afraid we were going to leave behind us alcoholics and worse.

Whiskies and gins we presented by the carton and 3 in all, single malt scotch but not too expensive, then 6 cartons of wine, the preferred lager was Star so we had 4 cartons of those and Guinness of the large bottled variety came in 5 cartons.

The malt drink of choice was Maltina in 10 crates of 24 bottles each and soft drinks which we call minerals were offered in 15 crates, other fruit drinks in 9 cartons.

Now that we had gotten thus far in the programme and that was just part of the bride price.

To be continued...

Nigeria: Can we engage politely?

Nigeria: Can we engage politely? Was first published at NigeriansTalk.Org you can follow the link to comment or review comments there.

Sahara Reporters on the global stage

The issue of the Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab [1] put me in the middle of an unintended experiment with interesting consequences.

On the 28th of December 2009, I posted a blog on my site with the title Nigeria: Sahara Reporters comes of age [2], this came about because CNN especially used a photograph from the Sahara Reporters website with the copyright of Sahara Reporters clearly emblazoned on the picture, I really thought it was a coming of age, Sahara Reporters introduced to a global audience.

Points of view

So, there were a few points I raised in my blog in the light of this global recognition which was the earning respectability by appearing more professional; so I asked that the adverts to removed and be replaced with a new funding structure, I have been blogging for 6 years and paid a subscription to keep it free from adverts and intrusions I have no control over, I could not see why a site like Sahara Reporters could not do that.

Then I asked for the content to be better vetted by some editorial board, not to censor content but to introduce a clear standard, which for any publication is a standard procedure, finally, I talked about the comments asking for comment moderation, refinement and some sort of policy.

In fact, I suggested two comment areas a reflection of life where you have marketplace conversation resplendent with its colour, noise and raucous language then a place where the conversation was like you will have in an office where decorum, respect and comportment help the way of business.

My blog on Sahara Reporters

Some operative at Sahara Reporters noticed my blog on the 31st of December copied and pasted my blog posting on their web site [3] without first seeking my consent or fully following the proper attribution guidelines; a clear case of copyright infringement, I made quite a fuss about the whole thing in a blog that I later withdrew because I really do like the work Sahara Reporters is doing as a guerilla news agency.

There was no point embroiling them in some battle to assuage my pride from being subjected to the savagery of the injurious commentary of Nigerians – I have a clear comment policy on my blog, very few of the comments on Sahara Reporters will pass the muster on my blog.

Reviewing the comments

By this morning 33 comments [4] had been made with reference to my blog and that forms the basis of this NigeriansTalk posting which wonders if Nigerians can engage in polite conversation and discourse on any matter whilst fully comprehending the matter at hand. The comments are a microcosm of a broad spectrum of Nigerians talking in a globally accessible forum.

Considering the points clearly raised in my blog, I can only say only one comment seemed to indicate it had any comprehension of what I wrote, all the other comments deigned to understand and in the end just missed the point.

The core point being, the blog was written to praise Sahara Reporters, not effusively, but guardedly and to encourage improvement. A majority of the comments were abusive, derogatory and unnecessary.

Did I say that?

Some thought I was attacking Sahara Reporters whilst others thought the call to professionalism was a veiled threat to the freedom of expression and the ability to maintain independence – I fail to see how my blog could have in anyway advocated that.

In some comments, I was asked to become helpful by becoming a roving reporter for Sahara Reporters, others went off topic plugging their own personal agendas for Sahara Reporters to champion.

In all the people preferred the marketplace exchange of insults and more than a better coordinated exchange of ideas, interestingly, this is the case where an open forum exists for Nigerians to fulminate and write before comprehending what they are writing about – and now I can say that for sure because the guinea pig in this exercise was something I wrote and has been totally misunderstood, misconstrued and vilified.

The question remains, whether Nigerians can engage in polite conversation and discourse on any matter whilst fully comprehending the matter at hand; whilst I have met many who can, you have to read the blog [2] and the comments [3] to decide if we really can.

Sources

[1] Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[2] Nigeria: Sahara Reporters comes of age [akin.blog-city.com]

[3] Nigeria: Sahara Reporters comes of age – Hosted at Sahara Reporters

[4] Nigeria: Sahara Reporters comes of age – The comments

Coming into 2010

Sparkling fireworks

The New Year’s Day was ushered in at the residence of the neighbours I have been so blessed to have, dinner first which went down a treat but I missed desert, I was just too tired to keep up I returned home to take a 30 minute nap.

With 15 minutes to go of 2009, I returned to my neighbours and we ushered in the New Year with a good toast of champagne.

The wonder of New Year in Amsterdam was resplendent in fireworks, the sky was lit up with what someone estimated was EUR 25 million in smoke.

Looking towards the Nieuwmarkt where we have the Chinese community, it was roman candles, Catherine wheels, crackers and explosions, some rarely seen in Europe except when imported by the Chinese, but nothing to need the air raid shelter for.

My last New Year’s celebrations in Amsterdam turned in 2006 and for many others I had spent here before, within 30 minutes of midnight the air was thick with smoke, this time, the wind was so brisk, it was all blown away but one tradition still remained, the bonfire in the metal boat downstairs where Christmas trees sparkled into ashes outliving their seasonal usefulness.

I had a restful night and got up a little late but just in time for my elevenses and a breakfast of fried plantain and stew.

The Vienna Concert

I was about to miss my New Year’s Day ritual on BBC 2 [1], the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra’s New Year’s Day concert conducted this year by Frenchman Georges Prêtre [2].

God willing I would get tickets to see the concert live, they are gold dust and really spoken for by the third week of January for the New Year 11 months away, it would be a fantastic pleasure.

The familiar Strauss family polkas, waltzes and marches featured with the well-known Blue Danube showing the source of the Danube River in Germany through Austria, Hungary, Serbia and its deltas in Romania into the Black Sea, It flows through 10 countries in all as the Second longest river in Europe. I think 2 other Austrian composers featured, I cannot remember their names.

Georges Prêtre a man of 85 was spritely, youthful, energetic and a joy to watch conducting the orchestra for 2 hours of fanfare, without notes, I repeat, from memory.

I am beginning to think of all professions, being a conductor takes you into old age almost like a young man, if I remember a conductor at a major BBC Proms performance the last year which lasted almost 2 hours was Sir Charles Makkeras who then was also 85 and he did not look a day over 60 in his element.

The ballet dancers from the Volksoper Ballet were arrayed in designer clothes by the Italian, Valentino, who appeared with the dancers after they had finished their repertoire.

In the end, Radejsky’s March which includes conducting the audience in regulated clapping is just so inviting you to want to be there the next time – who knows, once again, I might just be the guest of some Austrian dignitary or diplomatic personality, better than entering the lottery for a ticket.

Films and thanks

After that it was Jake with John Wayne and now the Guns of Navarone – all this film nostalgia, text messages with messages of goodwill for the new year, I am looking forward to 2010 with much confidence, hope and refreshingly new things.

Happy New Year to all my friends, well-wishers, readers, those who have followed my blog and left comments, I wish you all a prosperous and rewarding year with good health and great achievements, more importantly, may your joy be full.

Thank you for all your support, friendship and help, it is much appreciated.

Happy New Year!

Sources

[1] BBC - BBC Two Programmes - New Year's Day Concert, 2010

[2] Georges Prêtre - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Viewing Vienna through New Year's music [akin.blog-city.com] Written January 2009

Sahara Reporters has infringed my copyright

Prologue: I first wrote this blog on New Years Day in indignation about the copying of my blog and the savage commentary that followed the publication of my blog on the Sahara Reporters website, I then pulled down this blog because I did not feel despite my right to go on the warpath with Sahara Reporters.

The study of the comments on my material then became the source of the blog I wrote for Nigerians Talk titled Nigeria: Can we engage politely?

The demands I make in this blog are not being exacted, this blog has been revived, just for the record.

Attribute as per the rules

When I published a blog noticing Sahara Reporters had come of age, it was published under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 Netherlands License with clear terms that should be followed when my work is being used anywhere else. I live in the Netherlands and have run my blog for 6 years.

I found out that my material was ripped off my blog with the complimentary Culled from Akin’s Blog though the presentation of the article may have surreptitiously suggested I wrote it on the Sahara Reporters web site.

For all intents and purposes, I like to convey my ideas in forums where I have complete control of the material, that is why none of my stuff is found elsewhere except on my blogs and when I write for forums like NigeriansTalk.

Courtesy demands

Whilst I consider Sahara Reporters an effective guerilla news agency it is not beyond extending the common courtesy of seeking permission from bloggers before using copy they have not originally created and if that organisation could not seek permission, if should have read the terms of re-using original copy and followed the instructions as given.

Unfortunately, it shows the tendency to ignore dictates of due process, a lack of attention to crucial copyright and usage instructions, an absence of discipline where an article of commendation gets pilfered on the premise that the writer has automatically given permission for usage to the subject of the commendation – No, it was never explicit and could never have been read as implicit either.

Sahara Reporters might well be disestablishmentarian in Nigeria, but it is not above the rules of engagement in the global usage of material they have not created.

My blog suits my material best

On reading their publication of my blog, it clearly does not convey fully everything I wrote, the links with their references are missing, the sources I used for my copy do not appear in that posting and falls short of how I would present my views if I were invited to present my views on that forum.

If Sahara Reporters were to have done the minimum it should have been a link with a very basic excerpt pointing users to my blog, to have shorn my material of its setting is definitely a rip off and not to have attributed appropriately amounts to copyright infringement in the least, a less charitable situation would be to accuse Sahara Reporters of piracy.

To make it clear, I seek no further forums than that which my blogs give me in the expression of my opinion where I have complete control over the publication and the commentary it might generate, one is not amused to find that principle abridged without my consent.

To redeem Sahara Reporters

I would expect Sahara Reporters to do the right thing of the following options; remove my material forthwith from their website; expressly seek my permission to use my material or read and follow the instructions regarding attribution of material on my blog. An apology would be expected and if either of the last two options is taken, the full material with the links and sources as appear on my blog MUST be published.

Gaining global recognition does not automatically confer respectability but it demands journalistic responsibility; that comes with you continuing your sterling work of investigative news gathering and your sticking to the rules as they apply with the material you obtain.

Finally, I am Nigerian, I love Nigeria, I like Sahara Reporters and the work they do, that is why I have twice commended their activities in my blogs, and the rules are there for a purpose, following those rules are not grievous to the meticulous and honest journalist.

Thank you!

No permission is given to copy any part of this blog; and this notice overrides the provisions on the attribution license.

Defiling the sanctum of the crown jewels

Pleasures precede pain

Fortunately, I have not been sworn to secrecy on this one, a friend of mine had been invited to an orgy of questionable practices and let his presumed machismo get the better of him.

A prescription drug on the verge of becoming recreational was injected in his member not so much to ease erectile dysfunction but to allow for erectile over-functioning – apparently what he had to offer could not be allowed to fade after natural use had been exhausted.

Finding me a shoulder to cry on, he was in excruciating pain that one of his balls appeared to be growing into an ostrich egg and that is how under questioning I found out that something called Androskat had been used and this information was necessary for his doctor to diagnose what the cause of this erectile malfunction was.

Boxers, shorts and briefs

I have written in a few blogs about the need for comfortable underwear to prevent widespread gusset anxiety [1] and in discussion once I found there was a generation divide between those who use briefs, those who use fitting shorts and the generation after mine that use boxers – one has to give each generation their dues.

I grew up when it was just not on for your things to show an outline which we called “rough-parking” so everything and the crown jewels went under to present a flatness of sorts – for those who were not anatomically shaped to encourage such decorum one felt great pity, some of us were otherwise blessed to say the least.

The pall of the underwear terrorist

Now, this foray into the realms of undergarments has been brought about by the news of the recent terror attack attempt on Northwest Airlines Flight 253 [2] on Christmas Day from Amsterdam to Detroit, we first heard that the culprit had suffered burns to his legs but the detail afterwards could only have been stranger than fiction or even friction considering what we learnt.

The pictures of the underwear [3] would have had the whole male population of the earth grabbing for their balls, their goolies, their most precious crown jewels and whatever else those priceless elements of manhood might be called – a light hit just has you bent over with pain you cannot only express in grunts, they are tender and need tenderness though there are some who could deign to put them through grotesque CBT (View link with the utmost discretion) exercises – that is all I will say of that.

Self-hate most abhorrent

It would appear our young man was sexually repressed [4] in some way from what has been published of his postings to some Islamic social forum but to have been convinced to carry explosives in your underwear so close to your sexual things is just beyond the pale.

It makes one question how the proverbial 72 virgins would thence have been appeased in the afterlife.

I know my own anatomy and I know I would never be caught dead in underwear like that, maybe that is also a generational thing, but I really cannot find a handle on this matter at all – it can only be the height of self-hate, self-abhorrence and malevolence to want to cause oneself this kind of harm and then in the process bring down an aircraft over a city – it defies every explanation.

Take your pants off

This would definitely lead to our getting our knickers in a twist in a manner of speaking about security, with the shoe bomber we took off our shoes, the time when we would be asked to take off our underwear or be told not to wear them at all looms, I would not even consider how some apparatchik would extrapolate the use of tampons and what else.

Would you take your pants off, Sir? Said the customs officer; that means completely different things to the American as opposed to the British, I hope, I never have to hear that in circumstances I have not willingly placed myself in.

The whole picture of pants on fire does now feel a bit too close for any comfort; the pictures do have a haunting aura about them as one remembers pains once felt in places that take your voice away completely.

This has been nothing short of defiling and invading the sanctity and sanctum of the most tender and noble crown jewels of mankind – what an infidel.

Sources

[1] Widespread Gusset Anxiety [akinblog.nl]

Yes, size does matter [akinblog.nl]

[2] Northwest Airlines Flight 253 - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[3] Terrorist Umar Farouk Abdul Mutallab underwear photos with PETN go viral

[4] Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab's charred underwear | Mail Online

No Gloria in Emesis

Warning: To be read only by those with a strong disposition, it is full of talk of emesis, sickliness, vomit and puking.

Tired out completely

It was a hard slug getting home on Monday evening; I think I had tired myself out after chemotherapy, the long walks and the visit to the library.

A few chills had set in as I trundled to the tram stop just in time to catch the tram going home. I was homing for bed and not long after a snack, I was under the duvet and ready for sleep.

I was out for just over 2 hours and got up for my elevenses, well, I take my pills twice a day, though only one set has to be taken every 12 hours, there are 5 sets of pills, the other 4 are taken daily and I have split them into the morning set and the night set.

This regime is easier than when I first left hospital with pills to take 6 times, 4, times, 3 times, 2 times and once a day – it called on all your powers of organisation to sort out.

Then there is the emetic suppository to be taken as needed, an anti-constipation powder to be mixed in water and taken for the Fentanyl pain patch that gets changed every 72 hours.

Puking all the time

This was the first time that my chemotherapy session and pain patch change coincided and this probably lead to the sickly feeling I had throughout Tuesday.

Just before my first elevenses, I was feeling quite nauseous so I went over the toilet bowl and threw up violently but nothing of substance came through, the feeling continued all day, I could hardly eat and really could ingest no medicines in that condition – I took the anti-emetic suppository hoping it would alleviate the situation but it seemed like a long shot, I was on the verge of calling the hospital.

During one of the 5 times that I was sick, I was in the middle of a telephone conversation literally answering back between each puking session, it was an absolutely rotten feeling.

Neighbours bring strength

I settled back in bed and more or less spent the day lain down and hoping for some improvement – afterwards, I found that my neighbours had returned from holiday, we had a chat and as usual they were there to help and the first thing I could keep down was some bouillon they made for me.

I gained a little strength to do some shopping, had some fruit and when it came to my nightly elevenses, I took the anti-emetic medication which also comes in tablet form along with my main medicine and the suppository.

What a day, glad it is over, thanking God for His mercies and looking forward to another day – it is white outside – it has been snowing again after the complete clear-up on Monday.

Pleading the 5th chemotherapy

Goodbyes without tears

I went for my fifth chemotherapy session this afternoon; it was a bit emotional because my guest, a friend of over 25 years who had visited to spend Christmas with me was also leaving.

His flight arrangements were such that he could not accompany me to hospital as he had done on Christmas Eve, we had to part ways to the tram stop and go in different directions.

I would dearly miss the company as I return home this evening from the library, but my heart is full of thanks for the visit, the company, the gifts and much more.

My tea time, again

Since the bus routes have changed, getting to the hospital is no more as easy as it once was, my walk was a bit brisk and slightly halting but I got to the oncology/chemotherapy room, just in time after getting some chocolates to share with the staff and visitors.

There was just one available place for me to settle into, so put my coat in the cupboard and settled down to my cup of tea – I always prepare my Smoky Earl Grey tea in a flask to take when on chemotherapy.

Two of the faces were familiar from earlier sessions but I had never met the others, the man to my left was being infused with different parcels of fluids, the red ones, I later found out to be blood.

Aging with laughter

Anytime a patient is to receive an infusion, the nurse cross-checks the date of birth with what is on the parcel, our man was 87, quite active, quite spritely and with a quick wit.

It was not long before one of the nurses named Nicolette ended up in joke with Nicorette, the anti-smoking patch, that drew laughter even from me who generally cannot follow Dutch jokes.

This time, I took my infusion through my right wrist; I could later pour tea with my left hand but could never get to unscrew the top of the milk bottle, I had to call the nurse for help.

We had some banter about Christmas and how she spent it, but earlier she expressed delight in seeing I was without crutches, walking almost completely normally and without me special shoes.

Now for sleep

Most of the patients had left before my session was over and when the young man of 87 was leaving, he said goodbye and as I tried to reply, the nurse said I was English and in almost perfect English, he bid me farewell and hoped we would meet again.

Within 75 minutes, it was all over, I tried to catch a nap to no avail, instead of going straight home, I took the tram to the library having walked through the park in front of the hospital seeing a national monument to slavery that I had never before properly observed.

My next visit is in 3 Fridays to see the oncologist and the sixth chemotherapy session is slated for 18th of January, nothing that eventful happened and really now, I just want to get some sleep.