“Epikuran” Valentine tales, and so on
“Everything in Nigeria is going to kill you.”
A feisty title for a book, this was, and written by a lawyer-activist too. I will leave you and Google to do a romance to figure out his name, if you do not already know it. I have not read this book, and I feel unqualified to speak on it.
Everything in Nigeria is possibly going to kill you. Perhaps, but my lower half disagrees, when trying to fit into snug jeans. Somewhere amidst the uncertainty of being a millennial, admixed with being female and crowned with being ambitious, and beautifully seeking fulfilment, I forget that I am unhappy, or stressed and manage to look somewhat healthy.
I forget that there are fine lines between being healthy and being overweight, and that calling a body habitus “thicc” is about the same as slapping the title, “sexy” on an object previously thought to be ugly.
I forget that everything is about perspective. Once in a while, I remember. Like tonight.
I spent the evening at Epikura, a peaceful restaurant with a live band performance. I’m a sucker for good food, amazing drinks and rich company in great ambience. Our host was warm and UX-inclined (she was really interested in feedback), and managed to narrate interesting stories about the people of Epikura and what they were trying to do, while flitting between tables.
Strangers manage to modify my first name into, “BuBu”, and Bs hold a special appeal for me, you see. The chefs had an alliteration for countries of origin, Benin, Burundi, and one I cannot remember, sadly.
I had fun, and managed to tweet about some of it, here.
H/t to Tokoni Olobio for encouraging me to try embedding, once again. At all, at all na him bad pass.
I also listened, a lot. I was one of the guests of a Nigerian artiste, R, billed to perform a session, you see. We spoke about many things, from being trapped in an elevator at a Nigerian session venue (bloggers had a field day lmao) , to the importance of remembering to eat. As is the way of things, the conversation drifted, leading to his experiences promoting his music. The pleading, dealing and wheeling, the back stabbings and con games. All those heavy losses.
I found the time to share my disconnected user experience of his most recent music video, for a song I actually enjoyed. He remembered to tell me about the times that single persons stood between him and multinational music platforms upholding their end of a bargain.
He told me about how it was much easier to be a musician if you didn’t have to believe in Nigeria while doing it, and I felt that. I felt that here (please visualise me tapping the upper outer quadrant of my left breast while I say this).
I felt it because I have had to be Nigerian too, and I understand. I felt it because it stings a little that this cuts across sectors. Imagine a specific yet nondescript problem jumping from healthcare to music and back. Would we hear the same if we made the journey into law? Broadcasting? Finance?
The best part of all of this? He wasn’t at all upset about any of it. He was positive, sifting through his experiences to shape next steps and be better.
As I type this, I can see a lot of people yelling at the Nigerian music industry and its players, “DISRUPT! DISRUPT!” Y’all stay disrupting, ok? I need you to only remember that disruption is in itself a journey, not a destination. If you do not understand this, I am not sure your disruptions will bring yield. Not a damned thing will change.
I think the single most dramatic thing about this evening is that all of this was unplanned. I walked in the perspective of trust and faith. No expectations feel good, sometimes.
Before I leave you, please put the sub-title of this piece aside, for a bit. I’m not sure that Nigeria is deliberately trying to kill me. I low-key still think she is an irate, unfeeling, insensitive and self-centred step mother who thinks she is doing her Cinderella of a stepdaughter a favour by allowing her live, rent free in a ramshackle house, washing the toilets, wearing rags and sneaking out to owambes.
I think Nigeria, the step mother, means well, but we just can’t see that. There’s too much to look at, all at once.
P.S- Don’t ask me who the biological parents are, or how they are faring. I do not know. In the interim, please enjoy the owambes, and remember to invite me for a few. ;)
I still think that perception is everything. Exiting the venue, I spotted a life sized sculpture of a palm wine tapper on a palm tree, across the way, and spent all of five minutes excitedly calling my friends to take a look at what I thought was the palm wine tapper tapping at night.
Yes, I wear glasses. And yes, I had them on at the time.
Laugh o, I did!
I will you love and light.
