Christmas Abroad


Fuck around here,
Rainbow’s shinning,
Loving the crew.

Drake’s Crew Love was blasting through the whole house. Mum was shouting on top of her voice, telling us to sit and stop jumping around. Dad was out, and my older distant cousin, who I have to admit I had a crush on was working on her laptop. “Life is good here”, I thought, Mum finally turned the music down, sat me and my brother down and told us the bad news. She had cancer.

I felt angry. She actually came to New York for treatment, not for us to live together as a family to resolve our issues. Dad came home exhausted still keeping his poker face before he realized that we knew.

The days before Christmas were the hardest, I had to watch my Mum go through stress, chemotherapy and possible death. Her bodily functions were failing, she was bald and most of the time irritated, my safe haven had become a place of sadness and confusion.

Some days before Christmas, something wonderful happened, it snowed and my Mum left her bed to see the snow, she hadn’t left her bed in several days. I stood from afar and watched her as she looked up at the skies and laughed uncontrollably, it was her first time seeing the skies snow. She hadn’t thought she would witness it while alive.

On Christmas morning, my Mum woke up with a surprisingly energetic vibe. She made breakfast, she woke us up and even went shopping later on with us. Later in the day, she called us together, and told us she had to go rest in the hospital. She came up to me and told me I was going to be okay, with tears in my eyes I shouted “who is going to take care of us Mom?” as She was leaving, She turned and said “Look up, there resides a being greater than us all, he will take care of you”.

I love you Mum.

STUDIO 2


Nothing much to say today. In fact nothing at all, just that I now get what I was writing the first studio post for, “My journey through a Nigerian University”.

Stay tuned.

Don’t forget to read the post below. It’s from one of my favorite blogger.

Follow @addyeB on twitter.

On Being at Odds With That Which Has Made You Whole


Splendid.

Butterfly Confessions

Motherhood hasn’t been something that’s come naturally to me.  It’s been a learning process, an excavation of sorts, or quest to find a piece of myself that’s needed unearthing and developing. I find it sometimes when I look at my boys. Looking at them these days is like being able to go back in time and see the glimpses of the child I was…and recognize what aspects of parenting and life I was not prepared for or nurtured in by my parents.

There are moments though, when I feel completely connected to it, more at ease with mothering and less at odds with it. I looked at my children tonight as the older two chased each other around the mall and felt my grip on this part of my reality was steady. Life with 3 is constantly unbalanced, but in that moment I felt a steadying rhythm carrying me through…

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REGRETS


Play the song before reading

I think I loved her, I simply state that as a fact not to be melodramatic. As a person living with a broken heart, meeting her again is a fear that silently stalks me. I miss the smooth landing of her words, I miss the way she giggles even when I am not funny but she knows I need it, I miss the gentle curve of her body silently appealing to my male nature, I miss her beautiful hands so soft and neat like she has never done a hand job in her life, I miss… I miss her.

Some days, I think of how I lost her and kick myself. I tighten my grip as my mind goes from one extreme to another. Should I call her? Should I leave her a message? Should I show up at her place? Oh God, what if she doesn’t talk to me. Worry fills me. I just wanted her, without her my mind was on self destruct. Anxiety ravages my insides, ripping me open, my resolve is weak.

I miss her.

When I met her, I was going through a rough patch. My head was ringing with thoughts on how to go on with life when a friend pointed and asked me to go talk to her. She wore a purple t-shirt and one of those tight black jeans but still had this look of simplicity. As I said “hi”, she looked back a bit surprised with this snare of uncomfortability and words failed me. After a short moment of awkwardness, I finally asked if she knew ‘so and so’ person who she looked like, she said no but then became a bit relaxed, I smiled, she finally told me her name and then left. I walked back to my friends who were all expecting me to have her digits and told them she wasn’t interested.

After some agonising weeks, I had to go to a mosque in my blue, soft sneakers desperately wanting to go back home and stay hidden when I saw her at the other end of the courtyard receiving a lecture. She was so focused on the lecturer, she barely sneaked a peek to find my lurking eyes focused on her. She looked beautiful in her gown, her face was smooth and chocolate, and she had an excellent sitting posture, things I didn’t notice on our first meeting. I left earlier without talking to her but still felt happy for reasons I couldn’t accurately name.

Is she a muslim? I tried to contact her, I asked my muslim friends at the mosque who I went to see if they knew anyone at the mosque who bears her name but came up with nothing. I felt disappointed and a bit angry that I didn’t stay longer at the mosque.

Almost a week later, as fate would have it, I was at an IT centre with hundreds of people struggling to get to the front when I saw her talking to her friends who were sitting. She turned and saw me, and as I smiled at her, she held her hips, bent her head to one side and smiled back, then I knew she definitely saw me back at mosque.

…to be continued

TIME TRAVEL I (The Great Art Theft Of The Mona Lisa)


Hey,

Happy New NaBloPoMo month, I would be writing everyday this month so don’t forget to check back everyday. You can also follow me on twitter @thetowncrier96.

Every Saturday, I will do a feature post on “time travel”, watch out for that too.

Yeah, so we begin.

Vincenzo_peruggia

If I could go back in time, it will probably be to 1911 Italy, when one of the greatest art theft in history was perpetrated.

Eduardo de Velfierno, an Argentine con man, allegedly asked Vincenzo Peruggia, a louvre worker if he could steal the Mona Lisa since he worked in the Museum and knew the in and outs of the security detail. Vincenzo was willing to do it. He hid inside the museum on Sunday, August 22, knowing that the museum would be closed the following day. On monday, he wore one of the white Artists’ smocks that employees wore and was indistinguishable from other workers. When the Salon Carre, where the Mona Lisa was hung was empty, he lifted the Mona Lisa from the wall and took it to an enclosed stairwell. He then removed the protective case and frame then concealed the painting under his smock. He left the Louvre with it, passing a guard station which had been left unattended by a guard who had gone to obtain a pail of water. Vincenzo hid the painting in his apartment in Paris and was paid by Eduardo. Surprisingly, Eduardo asked Vincenzo to keep the painting for a little while and never came back for the painting.

After keeping the painting hidden in a trunk in his apartment for two years, Vincenzo returned to Italy with it. He later grew impatient and was finally caught when he contacted Alfredo Geri, the owner of an art gallery in Florence, Italy. Vincenzo apparently expected a reward for returning the painting to what he regarded as its ‘homeland’.

Now here is what makes this story great, before the heist took place, Eduardo allegedly commissioned French art Restorer and forger Yves Chaudron to make six copies of the Mona Lisa. The forgeries where to be shipped around the world for buyers he had lined up. Eduardo knew once the Mona Lisa was stolen it would be harder to smuggle copies past customs, so he shipped them before the heist with only delivering left to do. After the heist, the copies were delivered to their buyers, each thinking they had the original which had been stolen for them. Since Eduardo wanted to sell forgeries, he only needed the original Mona Lisa to disappear (Nice huh!). Karl Decker published this story in a 1932 Saturday Evening Post much later after Eduardo’s death.

There is much doubt about the story’s accuracy but I think Eduardo de Valfierno’s plan was in one word “GENIUS”. Later Peeps…

The Towncrier Calls


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Rolls out the drums of plight,
He did with all his might,
The tears of the soil dropped on his legs,
Hear me out, he begs,
His knowledge is as of a potter,
Moulding out terra cotta pots,
He called out fiercely in their language,
The rat in the clay houses would hear,
The messenger called in fear,

Fear for the message must be conveyed,
The burden he had to bear,
He called for he had been sent,
I speak of a middle-aged one,
The sun burns spoke of his age,
Calling for he had to pass on my message,
He cried out in rage,
Calling for my thoughts for a bunch,
For it pushed in luck.

Do not retire for the town is troubled,
The soldiers backed out puzzled,
Keep calling for its knowledge would pull them up,
The water is dry for it was left in a broken cup,
Call in with the mop,
For I think,
The bunch would bring back the water, the cup and sweep out out fears.

Blind Hope


There are three women
That changes a man’s life
The mistake, his mistake
And the one he finally ends up with
Though many may come
As false encounters
His eyes shall never close
Due to the changes that occur,
Soft on the skin
Sad in the eyes
Smooth in the walk
Sleek in the talk
These ladies make him
The damage one can bring
Can also change many things.

STUDIO


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I am back at school, oh yeah my school, first choice university and all that shit, studying Architecture, constantly wondering whether I am really learning at all, crashing parties with the guys and yes, trying to change my single status.

Yeah, I’m here for all those things. I stay at one of the hottest male hostels in school and am constantly going to the ‘studio’ where we Architects go to put down our ideas or as students receive lectures.

Now to the fun things….

Oh wait, my Mum reads this blog,

Nvm….

Part of me hate the way this school radically makes you spend money on projects, provisions, parties and yeah, the females. (One actually said “You can’t touch my hips unless you buy chicken and chips”). But its all good, I have the guys, going broke is not always as bad as it seems.

My hostel is pretty decent. It’s no Sheraton, but it’s not as bad as people make it out to be.

Another part of me wants to get the fuck out of here well I can’t really blame it. I haven’t really eaten any good food since the beginning of the semester, from the regular overcooked porridge at Engineering, to the steady diet of ‘Suya and Schweeps’, stupidly spending until I go broke and revert to my unhealthy diet of N50 beans and sugarless Garri. Meh!

what was I writing this for again sef?

Well, my favorite thing about this school (apart from the girls, oh the girls) is how students don’t seem to care about anything apart from the ‘now’. People actually shrug when you ask when exam date is or when the next seminar is. This attribute makes it easy to get through the day as the ‘this too shall pass’ attitude is a feature of the ‘now’ people.

dammit now I’m rambling

Finally, by the time this post goes up I might remember what I was writing this for. Oh well, we’ll see how it goes.

P.S: Go watch Mavins Record Adaobi video it’s awesome.

P.P.S: I school in UNILAG incase you were wondering.

Sunday Morning


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It’s Sunday morning and I have been awake since 2:00AM reading about Machiavelli and Galileo. It started raining at about 7:30AM so I decided to write a little.

Sunday mornings are the true test of character no matter what your religion is (Yes Abdul I remembered). Sunday is the last day of the weekend, the first day of the week (some people might dispute this), and also the day before the dreaded Monday. It goes without a saying that Sundays tell on how your last week and present week went and goes respectively. So whether you are going to church, lying on your bed or watching TV, it’s important you don’t forget it’s Sunday. You can visit family, call some friends and have a couple of beers, send someone a happy text, or whatever just do something to make your week(s) memorable because I mean it’s Sunday right.

Happy Sunday guys.

N.B: Forget the Galileo picture doesn’t mean anything