Wednesday, June 27, 2007



Someone sent me this article in the LA Times. It makes for an interesting read. I was kinda disappointed because when I think of New York I don't just think of the chaos but also about the ritziness, the fashion, the night life, the literary culture etc. This New York of Nigeria described in the article is a bit incomplete, wouldn't you say. Any thoughts ya'll want to share on this article?

(ps: Will try to post stuff often but I as you guys can tell I don't have much free time these days. There's so much stuff going on that I wish I could take time to write about and post but you'll have to bear with me. Lagos is chaotic true true. By the way can someone tell me how to get video on a tape or cd uploaded to You Tube. I have tried the obvious but it is just not working.)


Lagos: 'The New York of Nigeria'
It is among the world's fastest-growing cities, at once a chaotic megalopolis and a thriving center of entrepreneurship.
By Robyn Dixon, Times Staff Writer
June 25, 2007

Exploding city
LAGOS, NIGERIA — Away from the noise and hustle and stink, the shriek of energy, the never-ending buzz that is Lagos, a man reclines on a gravestone, serenely reading a book.

His name is Immortal, and he sells life insurance. He says he is waiting for an angel.

"I just come here to relax," says Immortal Emenike, 40, from his unexpected haven in Trinity Cemetery in Olodi Apapa neighborhood. "I like the serenity, the fresh air. It's very hard to find in Lagos." Nearby, a goat named Sikira nibbles on the vegetation. Outside is a wall of sound: buzzing motorcycles, car horns and traffic.

Like many Lagosians, Immortal appears nonplused if you ask him what he loves about the raucous mega-city he calls home. He has a passion for Lagos, yet seems wary of questions, in case they're not kindly meant.

"Lagos is like the New York of Nigeria," he says. "It's a jungle where a lot of things can happen. Things that don't happen anywhere will happen in Lagos: the unexpected."

Lagos is one of the planet's fastest-growing mega-cities, with people drawn not only from rural Nigeria but also from all over West Africa to hack out a living. Depending on your point of view, it's either a center of irrepressible entrepreneurialism or a nightmarish city of unplanned chaos, a cautionary tale on what not to do.

No one is sure whether the population is 9 million, as last year's house-to-house census claimed; 16 million, as estimated by the U.N. Population Fund; or 17 million, as the Lagos state government insists. The United Nations agency has predicted that Lagos will be the world's third most-populous city by 2015, with 23 million people.

It's not a place for the fainthearted. From the first wallop of steamy air on alighting from a plane, Lagos is a plunge pool of intense exhilaration, jumbled with measures of shock, frustration, rage and boredom.

Despite poverty, intractable social problems, mind-boggling corruption and dire failures of planning and infrastructure, "I think this total doomsday scenario that Lagos is going to be this total Dickensian horror place is not right either," says Daniel J. Smith, a demographic anthropologist at Brown University. "Nigerians have lived with the failure of their government to provide leadership and infrastructure for a long time, and so they have adapted all these ways to make things work.

"There's this incredible ethic and tradition of entrepreneurship, and maybe that's related to living in a place where you can't count on the government to provide services and amenities."

Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas has argued that the mega-cities of the future will look like Lagos: chaotic and spontaneous with planning solutions improvised on the run rather than following some master plan.

Even arriving can be a shock. "Lagos airport? In a word, don't," cautions the Lonely Planet Bluelist of destinations to avoid at all costs.

Borne downward on the airport arrival hall escalator, international visitors arriving for the presidential inauguration at the end of May found themselves trapped, with a solid crowd bottlenecked at the bottom. They crashed into a wall of backs, tripped, stumbled, even leaped over the sides, literally falling into Lagos with a thunk.

Then there's the metal jigsaw of rickety trolleys pressed around the baggage carousels and sometimes a wait of hours to collect as huge bags of traders' goods are unloaded.

Outside, license plates proclaim that you've arrived in "Lagos: Center of Excellence."

The jostling thoroughfares are much more than mere arteries for the choking traffic. The roadside is an open-air market, a car sales yard, a photo studio; a truck depot, pool hall, butcher's; a lumber yard, an office, a sheep yard; a place to hang laundry on the highway sidings, or to nap on any available surface.

There are some sights that strain credulity: A city skyscraper just folded like a house of cards one weekend.

Papered all over walls and suspended from any pole are advertising billboards and banners, as though the city were screaming out its own exuberant and often perplexing monologue: "Food is ready." "Slow down, bridge under investigation." "Plumber is here." "We paste posters." "Keep off the wall." "No parking no waiting no hawking." "Please pay your tax regularly." "Do not urinate here. It is prohibit." "Don't offend our ancestors with fakes. Insist on the original prayer drink." "Overhead banners are prohibited." "It is illegal to have anything to do with touts. You may end up facing various miscellaneous offenses."

Taxis are plastered with biblical verses and homespun advice: "Love everyone Trust no-one." "Watch and See." "No controversy."

Businesses grab attention by turning to religion: "God is Able Store." "Heaven Economics." "Miracle Outfits." "Divine Ultrasound." Then there are more the bizarre appeals, such as the "Peculiar Beauty Salon," or the "Cholesterol Hair Conditioner" found in some outlets.

The exuberance is reflected in Lagosians' flamboyant clothing and the startling towers of bright material that women wear on their heads like flames of color. There are nightclubs where patrons fling all the plastic tables and chairs into the air when things are really humming.

Taiwo Adeyeye, 19, arrived alone from the town of Ogbomosho in Oyo state in April.

"I love it because it's a commercial city. It's a place where you get a lot of buyers for your wares," says Adeyeye, who lives in a room behind a baker's shop and walks all day in the sauna-like heat selling bread from a tray on her head.

"It's not really everything that I'd want," she says of her room and job. In the little leisure she has, "I just walk around the area. I feel good walking around. The things I see all around excite me."

Smith, the demographic anthropologist, says that despite government failures and corruption, Lagosians have developed small trusting business networks, allowing them to survive and profit.

"People look at a place like Lagos and some of them think, 'Why would anyone ever want to go there, because it's so big and populated and there's so much poverty?' " he says. "But people are carving out a living better than they would have been able to had they stayed at home.

"People have managed to cobble together an informal economic infrastructure that enables them to carry out all these commercial activities somehow. Everyone's getting water for their homes somehow, and every business manages to hire a generator to keep their business going."

Ezekial Charles, 38, a pastor and businessman who arrived seeking his fortune in 2001, sits in the shade of a tree surrounded by litter a few yards from a busy highway.

"I think you get used to it. When there's no light it sometimes is painful, but still I feel happy," he says, referring to the long and frequent power outages. "I love the population, the way business is flowing. A few people are honest, let's say a quarter of them. People here can help you and make life easier for you."

Even the rich cannot escape the city's notorious traffic jams. But for the poor, opportunity knocks with every "go-slow." Buyers collect their purchase before paying, in case the traffic moves along. Then, according to local etiquette, it's up to the seller to run thundering along to collect the cash and give change. The traffic lanes are always busy with the sound of flip-flopping feet in cheap Chinese footwear and the shout of traders plying their goods.

Everywhere there are entrepreneurial openings: Two boys put up a traffic cone blocking access from a clogged artery to a highway, demanding money to pass. When one driver refuses to pay, he and one of the boys scream at each other, waving arms and blazing with fury. Just as it seems someone will pull out a gun, the row abruptly evaporates. The cone is removed. The driver passes.

"Roads are the worst planning problem," Lagos state government planner Benedict Kehinde says. "I can say that there wasn't any planning. The government would acquire land, and people just moved on and constructed buildings, so it becomes difficult to build roads on that land. So you have to wind your way around the existing structures."

At times the city is visual anarchy, with piles of uncollected trash, mountains of jumbled timber, abandoned car skeletons, tires. Lagos produces half a million tons of trash a day, according to a recent environmental report to the state government, and much of it is collected and dumped anywhere by freelancers.

A train drifts by with people crowded on the roof. Traffic buzzes the wrong way up a one-way street, spreading across the lanes like waters in front of the opposing traffic flow.

Lounging near two dusty outdoor pool tables on a recent election day, civil servant Kola McCauley, 30, waxes lyrical about his hometown.

"I love my city. I love Lagos. It's very lovely. The people, they're very intelligent. They're very versatile. They're very hospitable and accommodating," he says as a screaming match erupts between voters and polling officials a few yards from where he sits and police have to be called in.

Mostly, Lagosians know when to stop. But not always, says Immortal in the cemetery, taking a break from his book.

"You have to be cautious all the time. Maybe I'm walking and I step on your shoes, even if it's by mistake. It can cause a big fight, and in the end the police arrive. It's because of the pressure of society.

"You see it every day. Things that should be cooled down are blown up like a volcano. The serenity here helps me to mellow and think of good things."

Tuesday, June 26, 2007



My people, how dey go dey go. I know it’s been a while, but I have been on strike with my fellow brethren of Labor. A much needed vacation. Lol. I still had to work though but the ‘sit-at-home’ mood and lack of transportation sort of affected work. But damn Labor for giving up just like that. I think if they stuck to their guns, they just might have gotten it to N65. But ya’ll know N70 is the real increase and N75 was just a strategy with Labor being so darned predictable. Anyways I am glad I can get some fuel so that I can get out of this Island. I am beginning to see too many ‘crazy men’ standing in the middle of the highway stark naked. Anyways the following was an entry I wrote last week but could never got a chance to post it. And below that is an entry from my sister Nene. Pardon her writing and grammar as she is in that much educated despite the attempts to send her to school and make something out of her. As if confusing her about her origin was not enough (we told her as a kid that she was picked up from the gutter, hence her blackness) she was dumped at Unilag’s Philosophy department. Wrong move. She learnt about other crazy people and came up with a crazy idea of wanting to become a beautician. So you see, you can’t compare her writing with mine. Enjoy.
Oh by the way pick up a copy of July’s True Love West Africa if you can or wait for the post on the all so fabulous Interesting article in there (wink, wink)

So I have survived six straight months in Nigeria without leaving the country. I am surprised I have not had a panic attack yet. You know the ‘what have I done moment’ like I had two weeks after I moved to Santa Maria. I have also not lined my co-workers up and used them for dart practice, even though I envision it every time. Picture it: dude is blabbing away and I am there just moping but I am really picturing him on a door coat hanger fighting off my darts. BOO YAH!!! BULLS EYE!!! Ouch…that must have hurt. I better get him off that door. There we go. Back to the present…blah blah blah blah. ARGH!!!!!
Anyways I said I was going to give you an assessment of my six months but I am not sure that will be possible today as I am on STRIKE.
Yes I have joined Labor in their strike to get the price of petrol reduced to N65 from the N75 that former President Obasanjo raised it to in the twilight of his administration. Labor is also protesting the sale of the Port Harcourt and the Kaduna petroleum refinaries to his friends Femi Otedola (Zenon) and the Dangote group amongst a laundry list of demands. Government agreed to reduce by N5 and conceded a few other things but Labor says it is N65 or nothing and hence ALUTA CONTINUA!! GO LABOR!!!! WOOO HOOO!!! Therefore fellow bloggers do as I do and go on strike as well. Lol.
Unfortunately it is people like you and I who have to suffer because those pansies in government don’t pay for their damned petrol. They are all bunkering chieftains’ as Tanure Ojaide puts it in his book ‘The Activist’. They probably have a pipeline direct to a tap in their fancy three cars revolving garage door siphoning fuel to them. Can you believe, I am still running on the gas that I bought on Thursday of last week. I used a half tank through seven days. I stayed home watching DVD’s through out Saturday and Sunday. I suffered through darkness and heat for a few hours in between as the generator now goes off at 9.30am only to come back on around 5pm. HELL!!! I was fortunate that NEPA decided to actually do their job and provide electricity for more than 3 hours at a time so I was able to get through one movie before the light went out again. Then on Tuesday I caught a bug and went down hard, sneezing and blowing my nose all over the place. There is nothing worse than having a cold in summer or like conditions. I was in bed from 3pm Tuesday to 7am Thursday when I decided I could not take it anymore. I did nothing but eat, sleep, sneeze, watch movies and get drunk and drowsy on SudaFed. My goodness what a miserable existence I lead. I woke up around midnight and had no one to talk to so I called my dad, my sisters and then my mom called and we chatted for a bit. I sent a few texts but no one called me back. Uh huh, you know yourselves, thanks for nadda. Anyways I did finally go to sleep and dragged myself to work but I was still obviously sick so I called it a short day and tried to go home and sleep. But guess what. NO LIGHT. So my ass is sitting in the wine red ikea-like loveseat at the This Day Media Centre at the Palms Mall. Ah!! What a relief. On days like this you really appreciate places like the Palms and the Galleria, even Mr. Biggs. I mean Nigerian middle class kids, for lack of a bracket to place them in are really enjoying. In 1997, my senior year in high school, we had to play ‘paper men’ or ‘table soccer’ to remain keep the sanity. Not kids of today. I see some of the effikos amongst them doing home work with their lap tops and notebooks and the cool ones are toasting each other, the boys still up to their old tricks of pressing breast while the girls still do the shakara thing. Anyways I am on STRIKE so I cannot give you any further gist. Hopefully the boys in the barracks would not vex and come out of hibernation and reduce fuel to N45. Yardie would have done the right thing by Nigerians by then if he’s as smart as his resume shows him to be. (Ya'll know how this STORY wack!!)



A tale of a Traumatized Nigerian Girl

So many nights I cry and ask myself why. Why? Oh Why? What were they thinking when they stalled? What were they thinking when they ran? I ask myself day and night what my status quo on the social and economic ladder would have been if they waited and got on that ship. The ship that would have taken them to the New world, far and far away from this continent of black-outs and election rigging. To a land of possibilities, opportunities and chances, a land of milk and honey. Whether that land is truly what they say it is, I know not now, considering the fact that Muritala Muhammed Airport has been my junction. I reach… but I branch off, waving good bye to those lucky bastards who come here every holiday to oppress me. The most I say is ‘Goodbye… Safe journey…don’t forget us suffering here…send dollar and buy me tops.” When these baskets return for there routine Christmas and Easter visits, they tell me ‘their load’ was too much, that they had to drop some things behind and even pay excess baggage fee (not because their baggage were overweight but because they themselves were overweight). Now why is it that it is my own present that they are always dropping behind each time? These are the same people because of whom I sleep on the living room floor, feasted upon by mosquitoes while they enjoy the warmth and coziness of my bed and pillow further depressing my already depressed Vono mattress. I don’t blame them, it’s because they have gone to Ala Beke (abroad) and I have not. In fact, I was insulted today. Can you imagine? Just because I mentioned that some place in a movie I was watching with the hungry parasites also known as my family members, looked like a city in New York, I was told to ‘c’mon shut-up’ and asked a series of questions; Where do you know? Have you passed the border before? Have you spent forex? Do you have a valid visa on your passport? In fact do you even have a passport? I consoled myself in the knowledge that I at least had some brand new Naira notes and my unused Ecowas pass in my wallet. In the worst case, I could take a bus to Seme in Benin Republic and do a bit of second hand shopping, or what my Americana-sister deceives her self in calling ‘Vintage’ shopping, after all they speak French there. Then I ask myself, how would it feel holding a blue or red passport? Priding in the fact that I need no permission from a man who has only a high school certificate in his country to travel where I please. I wouldn’t have to answer to questions like ‘What is your mission?’ and him telling me “I’m sorry but you are not qualified for this visa,” as though it was an entrance examination. On another attempt I was actually asked, “do you think you are beautiful enough to go to America?” I was very upset when this happened that I cursed the man, saying, “God will punish you and bad things will happen to you.” I was shocked and perplexed beyond the knowledge of whether to laugh or cry when the man replied, “God is already punishing me… I’m in Nigeria.” At which point I went home, drank my garri and groundnut and pondered. If this man is complaining about just being in Nigeria, despite being paid loads of money, then perhaps I should hang myself for being a Nigerian because that means that there’s no redemption for me in the sight of God since He made that decision. But then I continue my dream about how much better life would have been had they not hid behind the bushes. This thing is paining me so much because here I am subjected to a country where my father can threaten his wife, who happens to also be my mother by divine ordinaton, that if she votes for a particular person in the Lagos gubernatorial race, she might as well pack her load and go and marry that candidate. Even her children were in support of that action, seizing her voter’s card; after all, the candidate was the worst of the bunch. Rather than let him get one vote from this house, no one voted at all. Here I am in a country where my vote does not count. In fact I have a friend who sold her vote for Maryland Cookies, the other for Celtel recharge card and another for a ride to Unilag Gate. See how useless all my friends are, dim wits the whole lot. But you cannot blame them after all ‘na where belle face e go go (it is where the stomach points to that the body will follow) especially since Baba Iyabo had already done the s-ELECTION for them. In fact that is just the tip of the iceberg. The thing that annoys me now is that people travel every weekend and come back with British and American accents. When you ask them, in the normal lingo for those who just returned from abroad i.e “When did you get back?. Their response, “Ah Charley, I just got back from Ghana yesterday.’ Hmh… small boy Ghana of yesterday that we supply electricity to. I wonder what would happen now that they have discovered oil, supplying Nigeria with petrol. Speaking of electricity, the entire week before the election, we suddenly had constant supply of electricity, but after the deadline we did not have light for two whole days. We resorted to eating half sour soup, saying, ‘iz the flavour’, when truly deep down in our heart we know that there no money to cook another pot of soup until next weekend. Had they not hid behind the bushes we’ll be talking about frozen ham and bacon, chicken nuggets and barbeque. Put it in microwave and it is good to go(in a country American accent). We won’t worry about refilling the kerosene stove or fanning the flames for the fire wood. The part that frustrates me is that I am already very black and the more I stay by the firewood and the kerosene stoves, the blacker I get because of soothe that coats me. The sun that shines does not help my case. My mother would have solved my problem if only she had re-eloped with an ‘OYINS’ (white man) when she went to find love in America. Had that been the case, perhaps my story will be different. Let me even make a confession, a friend of mine admitted that she became my friend because she thought I was a Ghanaian. She was being optimistic in wanting to raise her level on the social ladder. The thought of having an international friend can take her places, open doors for her and move mountains. That was a smart kid, since her grand father hid behind the bushes too; she wanted to pave the way for herself to get across the ocean, whether by canoe, plane or swimming across herself. Being a sharp kid, she left me for another friend, who had lied that her mother would take all her friends to America for her birthday. But the poor girl…her dream was shattered when the birthday came and there wasn’t even an single cake. All this lying friend could tell her was, it’s coming, it’s coming. One thing did come though, closing time and the girl was no where to be found, neither was the cake. Getting back to the topic, every thing that is in a bitter man’s heart is the hope that tomorrow will be better, that our wishes would become horse so that we can go on a joy ride. If history repeats itself and knowing what I do know now about the New World and the ‘MAN’, I wonder whether I too would not have hidden behind the bushes. Indeed the grass always looks greener on the other side. But you never know what you’ve got till it’s gone or snatched away as was the case for those who didn’t get a chance to hide behind the bushes.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007


Crazy Week But....

I had to stop by and give you some 'Addy Styleee' updates


It was interesting as I said but not without some quirkiness. First of all, who said the leaders are inaccessible (sarcasm). Practically all the beggars moved to Abuja just to see Yardie (more sarcasm). Or could it be that the Northerners just couldn't wait to get back into power (below the belt sarcasm). Oh don't chastise me! You lot know that's what you are thinking, I just have a big mouth enough to say it out. Well I am probably on the optimistic side of things and hoping Yardie and Goodie will not be like their predecessors and play on tribe, religion and be corrupt. Anyways I really just wanted to write about my experience trying to get past the sea of beggars to get into the island of wealth that was packed inside the banquet for the Inauguration. After all we are all aspiring. First of all the invitation and protocol passes did not account for anything because somehow random people had gained access into the banquet hall for this 'exclusive' shindig. Serious security breach to say the least. Presidents of countries (Algeria and VP of Egypt I think) were locked out while several 'non-exclusive crowd' individuals had seats. Not that I am in the 'other' crowd but me and and little my mid-level crowd crew could not find seats so we opted to leave and have an early start to the house party. How about it took us 30 minutes just to be allowed out of the building. We and the Canadian high commissioner went from one room to the other including the kitchen to find an exit but each was either jammed with people trying to get in or locked. Did I hear someone say FIRE HAZARD. Not just that. My mind went very far and I got very scared. I mean with the way the Niger Delta Militants operate, bombing peoples homes and s***. In my mind, I kept on thinking OMG this is some serious prime target here and Addy can't even get out to safety. Oh well we eventually left when the High commission started getting prickly with the security personel. Everybody else left eventually because it was probably boring. Let's just hope the disorganization is not a reflection of what's to come. I mean seriously Yardie... Abuja ain't Kansas...I mean Katsina. You have to step your game up dawg. You can keep it real with the common folk. You know....shake a few beggars now and then, toss them a few change here and there but that's really as real as you can keep it. Especially in the 'dirty south' cos there's some hommies that ain't pleased you got 'ASO ROCK ON LOCK'.. (Whoa!! that's some tight rhyme courtesy of 'queen slim mack of the underground' rapper alter ego. By the way the dress was made by one of my tailors. I knocked the style off one of my 'vintage' purchases in NC. Meanwhile I am still looking for more tailors. Know any good ones? I am trying to re-invent 'Addy's Closet' so I don't burn my purse... I still have grad school tuition to save for.)


So I am done with both of Jude Dibia's books (Walking with Shadows and Unbridled). Great reads. It took me two sittings to finish the first and teh second I was done with in under 8 hours. Unbridled was tight. Captivating and engrossing. The drama was just deeeeeep all the way to the end. It was just a little bit predictable but it's the journey to the end that kept me gropping for more. I guess I am putting my 'ameboness' to good use by getting my does of gossip in books and not 'blogs' (lol) or peoples drama filled lives. Not that I did in the first place really... but every now and then I did dip and dabble. But I have to admit, and this without bias, that my best read for the week has to be Ken Wiwa's tribute to his father titled In the Shadow of A Saint.

For someone who prides herslef in being a supporter of the Ogoni struggle and Ken Saro-Wiwa, you'ld expect that I should have been standing in line when this book first came out. I know. I am ashamed to even say I am just reading the book now. I'd been meaning to buy the book for a while (almost borrowed Kulutempa's copy way back in NC) but my cheap ass was waiting for a free autographed copy from the author which never came. I guess Kulutempa's message delivery system FAILED. I have to confess to my cheapness because the week before I met the writer, I had actually picked up the book and walked to the counter to pay, but was like 'awww hell no. why should I pay when I can get a free copy' (wide grin...out come the jackie o. sunglasses). Anyways I finally got my free signed copy and I have to say that I could not put the book down until I got to the very last page. DEEP and STIRRING. You just have to get a copy. (And with that I am expecting a check from the royalty revenue for just kidding) Now I am off to read Tanure Ojaide's latest book titled The Activist.

Yeap... he's of the 'North Carolinian-Nigerian' stock. There are some mixed reviews online but I am on the second chapter and I already like the writing style. The main character, the so called 'activist' doesn't even have a name yet .. JUST PLAIN BRILLIANT!!!

Meanwhile our girl Chimamanda Adichie keeps showing she's a force to reckon with in the literary world. According to This Article on, she is tipped to win the Orange Broadband Prize for Fiction for her book Half of A Yellow Sun. THAT'S RAD GURL!!! Many of us here are huge Adichie fans and I am sure we are all rooting for her to win (by the time you read this the winner may have been announced). And in the words of ICY 'RAWK ON!!' (UPDATE: SHE WON THE PRIZE)


On Thursday I found myself in a robbery panic situation near the Lekki Phase 1 roundabout that was too close for comfort. Ain't Lekki supposed to be the safe haven for the rich and privileged. Well looks like the ill elements of the mainland are leaving it to the pot holes alone to encroach the plush existence. It was just about 8.30pm. There was some unusual traffic along the Lekki Epe express way going towards VI. The opposite lane was dead and by now curious drivers had already started coming out of their cars to find out wassup. I locked my doors and continued jamming my music while keenly observing movement around me. I have heard of the random traffic jam robberies but never thought I would ever be so close to one. After a while I just saw people running towards me in panic. Omo!!! Reflex came into operation. I took my phone, my bag, turned off the engine and got out of the car in less than 5 seconds. I locked the car and abandoned it in the middle of the road as everybody else did and just followed the crowd into the bush. In my head I was thinking, I hope 'Blu Cantrel' doesn't get broken into or jacked because I would really hate to be walking or jumping okada in this Lagos especially in the rainy season. I ran as far away as I could because the gun shots could be heard from a distance. After a little over to 20 minutes, the cars seemed to start moving. I found my way back and got in but instead of driving straight through, I branched off on to the Lagoon School road in a bid to find an alternative route home. WHO THE HELL IS THE IDIOT WHO PLANNED LEKKI? WHAT A MORON!!(surprise, surprise... but aren't they all morons) It took me another 30 minutes to find a route to get home, eventually using a road that was not too far from the highways. It really made no difference because by now the vigilante boys in their reflector vests had come out with their guns and machetes. Still no police or operation sweep or whatever in sight. YET I SEE THEM EVERYDAY WEAVING THROUGH TRAFFIC WITH SIRENS BLARRING. BLOODY BAGGARS!!! I guess we are truly at the mercy of kind robbers now, whom we either have to TOAST so that they don't rob us (true story...happend to my friend). IMAGINE. Yardie and Fash (Gov. Tunde Fashola of Lagos) have their work cut out for them and right about now I'ld hat to be them because they'll get the blame even if it isn't their fault. Goodluck boys!!


Nigeria made history this week by electing the first woman speaker to the House of Representatives in the person of Patricia Olubunmi Etteh. (This is the position that had been speculated to have been reserved for Iyabo Obasanjo, the former first daughter)

And NEPA bosses are getting a Serious Warning from President Yar'adua. ENOUGH WITH THE EXCUSES PALS...Come up with a plan or 'get the phuck out' (not his exact word but you can infer that). And all the hommies say 'JUS GIMME THE LIGHT'

And that's all for now. I guess I must admit my rapper ego was the guest blogger today. If I can spare a moment this weekend, I'll be back with my '6 MONTHS IN LAGOS REVIEW'. Later peeps.

BY THE WAY HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY DESMINA!!! I didn't forget, just kept forgetting to send an email when I log on and the battery in my old sprint cell phone is dead and I don't have a charger. So send me an email with your phone number.Love ya.