Wednesday, 24 October 2007

Refusing the most expensive coffee

Train in traffic jam

It was just a few minutes past eight this morning as I sent a text message to my colleagues that I was already in Germany but our train had been caught in a traffic jam. Imagine!

Well, it so happened that the border station of Emmerich in Germany had all platforms occupied that our train could not traverse that area towards the first stop – Oberhausen.

It was not till late on Tuesday that I decided I would rather travel by train to Krefeld than car-pool with my young colleagues who had the tendency to floor the accelerator.

Besides, I do not travel well in cars for long distances, dizzy spells and nausea buffet me as the strongest mints are sucked to save me from car-sickness, trains are better for all sorts of reasons.

By the time we got to Oberhausen the train was running 35 minutes late, now, earlier in the journey as a 1st class passenger, I had been served coffee at my seat, so after so many trilingual excuses for the train delays we were offered a free drink to cool our rising tempers and impatience.

However, we all had to suffer the indignity of going up to queue for the drinks at the bistro showing our tickets as we got “compensated”.

I am growing increasingly annoyed with these seeming favour-driven no-fault gifts masquerading as benign compensation for services we have paid for.

If I had gone for that coffee, I would have acquiesced to having probably the most expensive coffee I have ever had from a paper cup on a train and this cannot be compared to the rates that the international corporate lawyer who shared my cabin would charge for 35 minutes of legal waffle.

Whilst the drink would have been free, it was no deal, rather, it was the situation where you are glibly offered a palliative thing on terms you have had no choice in negotiating.

On any given day, I’ll rather have the service I paid for than the compensation and if you must compensate it should be for the inconvenience I have suffered with my qualified input into the negotiations and an act of genuine contrition, feel some pain and make me happy – just do not patronise me – the coffee can make you sick – Yuk! Yuck!

My Kunta Kinte to my roots

30 years after Roots

Yesterday evening I caught the tail end of a programme that at least had enough subject matter covered for me to get a good idea of what was going on.

Chicken George was being interviewed about the epic television series that first showed 30 years ago – Alex Haley’s Roots: The Saga of an American Family.

I remember when I watched the episodes in Nigeria in the late 70’s, it is doubtful any of us watching understood to any extent the story unfolding before our eyes about an untouched Africa, a discovered Africa, a pillaged Africa, the snatched Africans and the Africa adrift of its roots.

Now, there are all sorts of controversy about Alex Haley’s Roots, but I would not rake over those matters, rather I would say that somewhere between fiction and faction, it was a true story but not necessarily one particular experience.

Whilst those who were snatched or traded as slaves with the culpability of their people may not be able to trace their exact roots back to Africa because they were forced to adopt the names of their slave masters, the story of Kunta Kinte in retaining his name at all costs provided the tenuous and probably contrived link through which Alex Haley was able to trace his lineage back to his supposed ancestors in Gambia.

Traditional names matter

This is one area where Africans need to be very conscious, names do matter and the quality of names given almost always helps in tracing lineage especially in Africa where very little is written down, but the repositories of memory in our elders tell us where our journeys began and these hopefully help us chart our courses forward.

For instance, my parents have formal English (Christian) names as their first names and then Yoruba names, however, I know that my mother has another name that does not appear on any papers – All I had to do was mention that name and automatically the elders in my village knew who I was, when I was born, the affirmative words recited as an indication of who I am (Oríkì) and many more things not too obvious to the unskilled.

Oríkì is definitely more than just praise-singing, of what I can remember of mine or one of my siblings, it talks of character, ability, power & wealth, it puts you on a high pedestal to survey your entire, if we lived by the contents of the Oríkì, we cannot but be overcomers.

[My grandmother also had a Judeo-Christian name and it is my view that the preachers of those times termed our names heretical so offered new names that they could pronounce – I was however, baptised in 1975 with my Yoruba name which was given me by my paternal grandfather who happened to be a Muslim.]

For as long as there are elders in my village and hopefully traditions, folklore, history and events are passed down, my mother’s special name is my Kunta Kinte - the road back to my roots.

The way back home

In the case of Alex Haley’s Roots, what he did was not so much to expose the abominable man’s inhumanity to man done with hypocritical Christian piety, but to show his fellow Africa-Americans and the Diaspora borne of slavery that there is a way home, a way to their roots, roots that we in Africa are jettisoning for a modernity that has no bearing on who we really are than consumers of alien customs and trend victims.

It leaves one utterly speechless that Dr. Watson of the “white genetically smarter than black” fame was instrumental in discovering DNA, and this is now part of an activity called The African-American DNA Roots Project where DNA is the Kunta Kinte calling card that links African Americans to particular West African tribes.

Quincy Jones, Chris Tucker, Oprah Winfrey and T.D. Jakes amongst others have had their roots traced back to Africa; the videos below show those episodes of African-American Lives. I remember the BBC showcased a number of genealogical shows called Who Do You Think You Are?, everyone who went through that experience came out with a greater sense of self, belonging, confidence and esteem.

A person with a history, a heritage and understanding of their ancestry and where they have come from will never be patronised, belittled or left despised in depression – this is the lesson of Roots, to those in centuries old Diaspora and contemporary Africa – our Roots are what will make us people of achievement ready to take on the world and its challenges.

Dr. Watson’s discovery might yet be the saving grace of Africa as we offer incontrovertible proof that as men we are equal to anyone anywhere and any challenge wherever. It starts with a name for identity and then blood for where you are from.

Links to Youtube videos of African-American Lives courtesy of Youtube user Peppa800 appear below, I have been unable to ensure the properly embedded videos appear on this page.

African-American Lives 1 of 6

African-American Lives 2 of 6

African-American Lives 3 of 6

African-American Lives 4 of 6

African-American Lives 5 of 6

African-American Lives 6 of 6

Fair-trade oil quest for Nigeria

Yar’adua, a different kind of dinosaur

The Nigerian Jurassic Park seems to be entertaining an audience as one observes the probability that it is about fossils turning to oil or dinosaurs awakening to new life.

The Economist this week has a piece on the venerable, God-fearing but sedentary “servant-leader” and whilst I would not contribute to the disparaging “go-slow” epithets that President Umaru Yar’adua is living up to, the jury is still out as to if this man is really up to the job.

Before we jump to any judgement, the four issues the President has offered to address are the economy, corruption, power and violence – there is enough information about these matters and the dinosaur metaphor to these would be to grow the economy into an African behemoth, to stamp out corruption with unmistakable footprints, to harness the raw energy resources of the nation to meet our power needs and swat untrammelled violence with the swish of the dinosaur’s tail.

Basically, Nigeria has big problems that requires big minds, big hands, big decisions, big strides and a man ready to step into the big shoes of government to steer this big vehicle called Nigeria in the right direction – Umaru Yar’adua has a nation in waiting to see if he is big enough for the task ahead – the virtue of patience is on a rather short fuse lately.

Lukman seeks a better price for Nigerian oil resources

The fossils of dinosaurs not brought back to life through maniacal DNA gene science lie in the Niger Delta area as oil that is selling for more than ever, it hit $90.07 a barrel in trading last Thursday and no doubt the times are looking good for those whose lands were dinosaur graveyards.

The generous terms that Western oil majors got in exploiting the oil resources of Nigeria are about to suffer deserved scrutiny and review with the aim of extracting more for what is ours; about time, as one reads from the Financial Times today.

The terms were negotiated decades ago when prices were a paltry $20 or less which has the oil companies sharing revenues only after they have recouped the cost of their investment – one wonders who accounts for real cost of investment - this is a loophole for corruption.

There is no doubt that the oil industry in Nigeria is in need of radical reform, and President Yar’adua has revoked a number of dodgy arrangements in the industry that the erstwhile President Obasanjo let through which have been termed irregular and worse with one of the businessmen honourably pulling out of the deal.

The issue of reviewing the oil company deals was raised by Dr. Rilwanu Lukman – now that is definitely an oil man who has been in the forefront of the Nigerian oil industry since the time of the dinosaurs - chairman of Nigeria's oil and gas reform committee who was once the Secretary-General of OPEC for 6 years – this is an interesting development, maybe the president is really creating a groundswell of activity that might suddenly hit us like a tsunami.

Meanwhile when we start selling fair-trade oil - like coffee, cocoa, tea and bananas; it is time oil extraction and the price it is sold at brought back a greater difference to the livelihood of Nigerians at large - I do hope that the poverty statistics that have become the epilogue to any Western commentary about Nigeria and the violence that plagues the Niger Delta would subside as fairness allows for these revenues to prosper the people of Nigeria.

African American Lives

African-American Lives 1 of 6

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=vm0AsLeEHCs

African-American Lives 2 of 6

http://www.youtube.com/v/sgUe132zypk

African-American Lives 3 of 6

http://www.youtube.com/v/d4sVgSUaIDU

African-American Lives 4 of 6

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=OES-A_StvTQ

African-American Lives 5 of 6

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=RXsriygRKUI

African-American Lives 6 of 6

http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=hZxIHQFPsZk


Tuesday, 23 October 2007

The Nigerian restaurant kaleidoscope - Part 2

Inviting others to ours

Many a time in conversation we mention the fact that we are off to an African restaurant and the curiosity of our Caucasian friends is kindled, they also want to visit. Continued from Part 1 .

We know the differences between local eateries and the ones that offer our African fare, many need to be polish up their act quite seriously, the vision of many of these proprietors is too narrowly focused when there is a greater clientele that wants an authentic taste of Africa.

Weeks ago, I went to Ghanaian restaurant in The Hague and there were quite a few locals lapping up the spicy meals, we once took one of our lady colleagues to the African Kitchen and she seemed better adapted to the spices than we were.

Besides, there are many Nigerian “restaurants” in Amsterdam South-East, a majority however are unlicensed illegal premises, so are in fact homes making a bit on the side.

Whilst the food is good, they constitute a public health risk if things go wrong, there is a regimen of training and application necessary to open a premises for the purposes of selling food, however, there is almost no difference with illegal hackney trade; they are convenient but not without unquantifiable risk.

Restaurants that do go above the bar to become licensed should do that little bit extra to become respectable and open to a wider demographic than the African Diaspora.

Preparing for them

These were issues that became part of a discussion when an “Alhaja” joined us after our meal; restaurants should have menus with standard prices, none of the Nigerian ones I have been to in the Netherlands or Belgium have ever produced one.

When drinks are served, one should not have to ask for glasses; the waiting staff should be professional and responsive to the clientele; the use of microwave ovens should better managed for heating and service – the number of times I have literally been scalded touching food, countless.

After the meal, provide a professional looking bill and make provision for other means of payment beyond money.

A worrisome mindset

Alhaja would have none of this kind of gearing up for greater things as she said we Africans hate to expose our intentions in business, rather we indicate we are an off-license and then indulge in activities beyond the remit of that license.

Bayo felt that was improper, we should clearly state what we are up to and legalise all those activities to become legitimate law-abiding business concerns.

The conversation drifted as we got to talk about bringing up kids and the way that parents in Nigeria are happier that they kids cannot speak Yoruba and are word-perfect in English, however, the idea that Yoruba was becoming just a functional category of differentiation rather than an embodiment of culture that stretches back for centuries could not be enhanced in the company of others.

The matter of the inordinate pursuit of wealth at the expense of honesty, trust, moral values, integrity and principle was a no-brainer, we were informed people, most especially relations would sneer if we offered advice without backing that up with money; in other words, you talk with money or shut up.

Bayo is dogged and determined, I had settled into the role of listener/observer and benign chronicler when he suggested ideas of tenant initiatives – like if an apartment block where the landlord was not resident needed emergency repairs, the tenants should band together and sort it out.

Altruistically, the landlord might be enamoured by those acts and be generous in tenement rates, but the mindset we were challenging indicated tenants might be cursed for repairing their rented homes when they should be building theirs, the landlord might also see it as an opportunity to raise rates and so on.

Prayers heard or prayers lost

Later in the conversation, I opined that with all the prayers, fasting, candles lit, prophecies cited and pilgrimages made, Nigeria should really be better than the state it is in, I was slammed down with the thought that the prayers have probably prevented a worse situation.

Many of the points we raised were interjected with that is the way we were brought up; it is something about us blacks and the way God made us; that was topped with it is in our blood. There is an aversion to change, we repeat the things our parents did wrong, badly or ill-advisedly; rather than change to what is the right thing to do, it is a vicious circle glibly called tradition when it is not anything like our core traditions.

At which point I felt I was not going to win any objective analysis of the facts and situation, when people begin to think that their situation is hereditary, genetic or destined without recourse, they are unpersuadable.

It would not have been long before we were accused of thinking like white men, as if it is the exclusive preserve of the white man to be objective and by the time she had said we are not familiar with these black areas, I was too shocked the only reflex available was to laugh.

Supporting the doctor

Here I was only a few days ago challenging the premise that intellectually blacks are inferior to whites genetically only to be met with people who have never thought different, a ready demographic for Dr. Watson’s gene science .

This is the problem, people, sometimes quite well educated, who arrive in the West but congregate in insular ethnic minority communities creating poor imitations of their indigenous cities – these become ghettos harbouring inner-city problems where children are brought up without cultural identity or an appreciation of the customs of their forebears or their host societies.

Alhaja for instance has probably never travelled up into Amsterdam to see anything, she is happy with her hustling in the "ghetto" of Amsterdam South-East where she believes qualifies her as a business-woman.

Black inferiority complex

When she capped it with the statement that in Africa we grew up in dirty and unsanitary conditions that what we have now is a greater advancement that does not need to be improved upon or tweaked for the better, I realised that 6 years on, these people have found a way to survive but are in a new kind of slavery – black inferiority complex.

This enslavement prevents many from seeking opportunities in formal or business settings; the self-defeatist complex makes every disappointment a racism issue when it is not. It also means that they are not exposed to everyday middle class indigenes, if at all they only know the customs and police for the wrong reasons.

As we finished our meal, I asked for the bill and once again, I offered a tip and the cashier thought I had paid too much - they probably never get appreciation in tips, maybe a mindset that fails to develop the concept of service and a clientele unable to commend quality, ambience and the self-same service.

I am really sorry that nothing has changed, all that seemed so different was really the same, but the question lingers, is this the Nigerian mindset and if it is not, where did they get this from?

It is in our blood is not the answer I am looking for.

Bayo and I are still working on the cadaver and the post-mortem examination would take a while.

The Nigerian restaurant kaleidoscope - Part 1

Dining in Beirut

It probably should be a narrative but it was an experience and one would be untrue to oneself if this were not shared in the same vein as what was written before.

Just over 6 years ago, with 2 other Nigerian colleagues, one of whom knew the lay of the land went for a meal, we got off the train at Bijlmer in South-East Amsterdam and for once the buildings looked so good, my friend George say he would not mind living in the area - Amsterdamsepoort.

Chris who knew where we were going said nothing as we walked through what eventually were fancy props concealing a decrepit, desolate and downcast estate that would not have looked too distinguished if the town sign said – “Welcome to Beirut” in 1982; basically, Bijlmer never became the idealistic middle-class paradise they planned it to be.

I looked and felt out of place, I was in a bowler hat, a winter coat, a black umbrella and the Daily Telegraph under my arm as we arrived at a Nigerian restaurant ringing the bell to get in.

Show me the money for food

We settled in, and I found we had to pay before we were served, I had to ask for a glass for my drink and though the food was very good – we looked respectable enough not to be suffered indignities and when I paid with a generous tip the cashier was about to swoon.

It was in the times that I have seen Africans congregate in Europe probably the most depressing atmosphere to realise that there were people who visited to rough up the place, dine without paying up or idle without any purpose, stuck in Europe an unable to return home - I was marked by that experience. It reinforced my inclination to attempt to mentor people who decide make a radical change in their lives.

A palate for Nigerian food

I must say, the quest for good Nigerian food in restaurants is unrelenting, especially, I remember a few years ago when I tried my hands at moimoi; I was in the kitchen for the best part of 4 hours, 2 of which was getting the beans ready, best let someone else do the hard work.

I can also be a constructive critic because I am a really good cook in my own right and know exactly how our food should look and taste. I have been in certain restaurants where gentlemanly restraint was the only thing that stood between me asking for an apron to conduct some stern cooking lessons – it gets reflected in the tips and hardly touched food.

Back to the future

On Sunday evening, a colleague/friend at work who had just returned from Nigeria invited me to another restaurant other than the African Kitchen we regularly frequented, I was game.

As we got off at Vensepolder in the upper South-East of Amsterdam, we descended the stairs and I wondered aloud, these neighbourhoods – very different and full of colour – it was a comment as loaded as a double-barrelled gun, just a 10-minute walk it was.

It all came back to me, this was the place I visited those many years ago, the old restaurant was now a church for Sisters in Christ and then there was a Cherubim & Seraphim Church - I saw no Caspers (worshippers wear long white garments the only thing left is for them to float like Casper the ghost) with the new restaurant only 4 months old sandwiched in the middle of "restaurants" offering “food for the spirit and soul”.

The unscripted menu

We stepped in and settled down, my friend, Bayo, for this narrative asked for the menu, they had none, we were to make requests and the waitress inquired if those demands could be met.

No pepper soup, but there was suya and the suya was good, I even had a take-away portion, we settled for amala with gbegiri stew and beef for Bayo and I, lafun with ewedu (corchorus) stew and beef and got down to savouring a wonderfully prepared meal.

There was no sign of the depressing atmosphere of years ago, but I still find that in literally all African restaurants I have been to, I still have to ask for a glass for my drinks, it is just not so to swill from a bottle or sip from a can if you are in restaurant, I suppose people are not as particular.

As we finished our meal, I washed my hands and suddenly realised that in the middle of the tables were soap and hand lotion as part of the set table, it made one wonder if we were going to have a manicure soon afterwards.

The only complaint I had about the meals was that there was too much tripe given as beef, I had enough for the ceremonial shawl that high chiefs wore at festivals called shaki.

A guest arrived and the evening had just begun with talk. Continued … in Part 2

Saturday, 20 October 2007

Gallantly relinquished the Rugby World Cup

Defending the crown

I tried very hard not to be carried away with the euphoria of England’s recent successes in the Rugby World Cup when Australia and France were taken out to arrive at the point where they were really defending the world cup they won in 2003.

When I wrote about the Rugby World Cup which was looking like it could not muster any support, last month, I did say England did not have a knack for defending titles like this.

Meeting South Africa at the finals presented an interesting scenario because earlier in the tournament England was beaten 36-0 by South Africa, would their game have so been diminished to have England radically overturn that contemporary meeting with a victory at championship match?

People dared to hope against hope and the long week between the semi-final and the final drove us to distraction as an epic moment of successfully defending the Rugby World Cup in 2007 might have relegated to insignificance the fondly remembered 1966 FIFA World Cup we won when I was hardly a year old.

A competition lacking competitors

Again, I must say the Rugby World Cup is a competition that hardly has a world or global following as football, only 6 countries represent the real elite of this game, namely, Australia, England, France, New Zealand and South Africa, the next tier includes Ireland, Wales, Scotland and Italy. The surprise of this tournament was Argentina, but then most of their players ply their trade in Europe and they beat France twice in the group stages and the bronze medal match.

Somehow, no one considered the same could really happen to England; that once a team had established superiority in the group stages that standard can be maintained throughout the tournament if they meet again.

They still did us proud

Now, I must commend England for coming this far as 2003 represented a different expectation, England were the favourites; for 2007, very little was expected, but they rose to the occasion and getting to the final was as much the pinnacle of their achievement.

So, the championship match ended with a score line of 6-15 with the spoils going to South Africa, the try that required a 2-minute review of the video judge which was disallowed would suffer scrutiny, analysis and developing controversy, forgetting that Johnny Wilkinson missed two drop goals.

The push that had the South African player running in a camera setup behind the cordon was judged quite leniently by the referee – a heat of the moment thing.

In all, England have done us proud even if they were second-best this time, we would not get the therapeutic fillip that comes your country winning, but we are not going to have to drown in our tears for losing.

This might help the SA FIFA World Cup

Congratulations to South Africa where sport plays a large role in uniting a divided people, visits to Madiba who urged them on from South Africa and all sorts of national healing would be topical as they prepare for the FIFA World Cup. If only England had a Madiba figure to do the same rather than just the coach and probably two princes one might be writing a different story.

Now that the cup is over and it was a dreadfully long six weeks, we are, on Sunday, awaiting the splendour and the crowning of the genius of Lewis Hamilton in Brazil.

For one last time – Come On! England.