At the Fair Ground for Farmers

This is going to be a short post.

I hate it when I go to the Nomadlife website and see my blog waaaaaaaay down the list of blogs. The blogs are listed according to most recently updated you see. Anyway... I thought I would put it at the top of the list (at least for a few minutes) with a picture from an agricultural fair that I attended on behalf of my Business Unit.

It was a fair for farmers who in case you dont know collectively own the biggest company in New Zealand. A cooperative that contributes... wait for it... 7% of total GDP of the New Zealand economy. Add to this fact that the farmers got a payout that ran into billions of dollars and you can imagine that the participants at the fair went to town trying to convince the farmers to part with some of that cash!

When Was the Last time You cried?

I haven’t cried in 7 years.

The Manager of my Business Unit left the company today and a female colleague was asking if I shed a tear for him. A number of people were after one of his closest friends wrote a poem and couldn’t get through reading it as she collapsed in a sea of tears.

First off… the question caught me unawares. Why would I cry that my boss’s boss’s boss (boss X3) was leaving the company??? The ones who cried were mostly female and had built up my BU from scratch with this guy into a world class centre of 130 people. They had a lot of memories, and experiences and had worked with him in good times and bad over the last 4 years. Me I only saw him when he went by my desk and made an off-the-cuff comment. (He was a bit of a wise-ass)

We went into the question of when was the last time I had a good cry. With heaving shoulders, audible bawls, free-flowing tears and puffy swollen eyes.

Not since 2001.

I had just quit school, was feeling like a failure and like I had let my parents down and I commenced to have a big fight with my brother which was witnessed by my parents. It wasn’t a physical fight but a loud shouting match which only didn’t become physical due to my brother’s restraint. My mom was understandably very upset and when I went to apologize to her later for making her listen to the nasty things I said, the sight of her frustration and her concern that my brother and I were mortal enemies for life just pushed me over the top. Weeks and weeks of self recrimination and guilt and a sense of letting everyone down came to the boil and I had a really really good cry!

It was soul-cleansing.

But since then… I haven’t had cause or reason for such. I asked my manager when the last time SHE cried was and she said just this morning. She was watching an advert about some crippled donkey and she just teared up right there and then. My colleague who asked the original question is from the UK and apparently she has a good cry when she misses her family too much. What’s that about? When I am missing my friends and family, I immediately seek out my new friends here and throw around a few jokes wherein I immediately feel better. Or I just play World Of Warcraft.

I am more apt to go around snarling and growling at people when I am depressed and feel like shit! This doesn’t happen very often anyway. Being a consummate performer at all times, all I need is an audience (of one if necessary) and I am back to my usual good spirits. Now that I think of it seven years is a very long time, more than overdue to have another soul-cleansing cry.

Movies seem to be a good primer for turning on the tear ducts.

I will admit to tearing up at certain movies but the worst is I will have unshed tears glistening in my eyes. Tears that don’t even drop. This doesn’t qualify as a cry I don’t think. But it does prove that I am not a Neanderthal and do have the capacity to be sensitive yes? One movie I ALWAYS tear up at is Con Air starring Nicholas Cage. The end of the movie when he is reunited with his wife and daughter whom he has never seen before and suddenly transforms from the gung-ho Army Ranger who saves the day into this stammering, bumbling father who is just trying to make a good impression with a daughter he has never seen before. Breaks my heart EVERY single time.

Actually now that I think about it, any scene that involves a parent with their offspring in an emotional situation is almost guaranteed to make me acquire glistening eyes heavy with unshed tears. In the new Iron Man movie when he saves the father from being taken away in the Afghan village or the old Jon Voight boxing movie “Champ” where he dies at the end and the little boy is heart-broken and keeps crying out his name, “Champ… Champ… wake up Champ”.

I should see that movie again.

First time in 16 years...

I was convinced Hilary Clinton was going to become President of the United States.

I was convinced of this even when Obama was racking up victories right left and centre and gaining a lead in delegates. My conviction did not waver when every endorsement that was announced seemed to be going the way of Barack Obama. I was still sure even when it was announced that Hilary’s campaign was in financial problems and she had to lend it 5m dollars. I was sure I was seeing the pre-cursor to a ‘game-changer’ during the last 3 weeks of Obama’s pastor and his comments on bitter voters.

I devoured reports, articles and analysis online that sought to project how Hilary Clinton could still win the Democratic nomination and I came to the conclusion that her best chance was to win the primaries in Indiana and North Carolina. A decent win in Indiana and even a squeaky one in NC would have sufficed. She didn’t do this. She lost in NC by a good margin and squeaked a 2point win in Indiana.

Lights Out. The End. Finito. Endgame.

It was always going to be hard to overturn a black candidate who had the lead in pledged delegates and popular vote. And if the voters haven’t deemed him unelectable after the last month he’s had, none of the supers would dare do it now.

I am not an American. I have not and will never vote in an American election. But hearing me and some of my Nigerian friends in New Zealand argue about the current campaign you would think we were crafting Hilary’s and Barack’s speeches and setting the tone for their individual campaigns. (I am the only Hilary supporter by the way in a group of maybe 7). Having no direct stake in this election I still cannot quite shake this feeling of disappointment I feel. It’s never easy when someone you support falls short. I was supporting Hilary from an intellectual point of view, believing she would make the better President out of the three remaining candidates.

Now IF I AM feeling disappointed, how must the ardent American supporter feel, her campaign team? How must Hilary herself feel? And yet this is a staple of a democratic contest. Someone MUST lose. And after investing so much of your time, energy, money and commitment that feeling that the majority of people don’t support you must be crushing.

And yet America has been doing this for the better part of almost 300 years.

There have always been losers and winners’, perfecting the process so losing isn’t so debilitating and instead you learn from your mistakes and focus on the next election. Al Gore took his loss in 2000 a bit badly at first but then rebounded up out of it to become THE senior figure in his party (bar Bill 42) and win an Oscar for his new found love of the environment. He could have taken his appeal even further than he did but by then it wasn’t about him anymore but about something bigger. He gave up on his attempt so the country could move on.

There needs to be selflessness when you contemplate conceding electoral defeat. This might seem obvious to people who have lived in countries with multi-party democracies but I come from a country where flawed elections are the norm and even when they are fair the loser just cannot imagine conceding and would rather scuttle the whole process so the other person doesn’t get it. (Hilary has been accused of wanting to do this so Obama can lose in November and she can run again in 2012)

So in mature democracies, your strategies focus on how to get the majority of people to support your bid rather than victory or nothing else. A victory or nothing else strategy focuses on getting into power no matter what. Actually taking the time to craft policies to get people on your side is not part of it. Projecting a wonderful personality that connects with majority of the people is out the window. Working hard to ensure those that support you actually cast a vote is not really necessary. It’s all about manipulating the process so the end result shows that you won. When you did nothing of the sort.

I wonder how, where and when Clinton will concede defeat now. Whatever happens, it’s going to be a huge event.

Bush People of Aotearoa

There is a term in my native language called “Ara-oko”.

A literal translation would be ‘person of the bush’. It is used to refer to an individual who is ignorant of the nuances of polite society or alternatively is uneducated or illiterate.

When it comes to Africa and Africans a lot of kiwis I am sorry to say are 'ara-oko'. And you can’t really blame them. This vibrant, adventure-filled island of hardy, generous and fun-loving people is so far removed from the rest of the world geographically. Today’s news is seen as happening in another world and it might as well be, with a 12 hour difference between Auckland and London. We are plodding away at our desks and jobs when the rest of the world is either deep in slumber or winding down their days.

And then the main immigrant presence here is Asian. China and India account for a significant proportion of that demographic. Singapore, Japan, Korea, Taiwan all have large communities here as well. So when a debate is raging in the body politic about the benefits (or otherwise) of immigrants, although substantially the same as what Spain and Portugal deal with from West African citizens, the face of the immigrant in question is Asian.

Perceptions about Africa are framed by images on television. Images which are almost always negative. Images of starving children, internecine wars, AIDS and HIV. There are a series of Save the Children adverts on TV that I absolutely abhor. They show the worst parts of Africa and ask people to donate a certain 'tiny' amount to 'mightily' improve the lives of the sick, poor and starving children in Africa. I do not doubt that these organizations are making some sort of effort to offer genuine help to the individuals most affected by the myriad problems affecting Africa but it irks me that this is ALL that New Zealanders see about Africa.

Physical interaction with Africans is primarily with white farmers fleeing Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe; white South Africans moving here through Rugby and business ties; and then refugees from Eastern Africa (Sudan, Somalia etc). These are the majority of the tiny proportion of Africans in New Zealand.

Kiwis then assume that any African they see falls into one of these categories. If you happen to be dark-skinned then you obviously fall into only one. Case in point. Seun my Nigerian friend who came here to study originally and is now a resident, and I entered the elevator with a kiwi guy the other day. We exchanged the usual elevator pleasantries and the very next question this 'ara-oko' asked was, “So are you guys refugees?”

You could feel the temperature drop below zero in that tiny elevator.

“What makes you say that?” I asked in my iciest tone. The poor guy turned red, mumbled something incomprehensible and looked like he saw his personal Lord and Saviour when the doors opened at his floor. Thinking it over later I regretted making him feel so uncomfortable but couldn’t get over my disappointment that his question exemplified what the average kiwi thinks.

If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me if I was American I would be a millionnaire. If you speak barely accented English, seem to get along with people quite easily and show more than a passing aptitude for world and current events, you MUST be American. Or grew up in Britain. Or schooled there.

I remember reading that in the 1960’s some dude in government (or was it a celebrity? I forget now) somewhere in the Western world really believed that Africans still lived in trees. In the 1960’s! So while I don’t think anyone believes that anywhere these days, a lot of people definitely still believe that all Africans live a constant guerrilla existence. Scrounging for food and always dodging bullets on the way to school. Or to the diamond fields…

While I acknowledge that for millions of people in Africa, this IS a daily reality, it is by no means the totality of the situation. Being in AIESEC and during my sojourn in Europe I got used to meeting people who had an acute understanding of the reality of Africa. Sometimes seemingly more than Africans themselves. They knew exactly what terrible things were going on; the wars being fought, the disparity in income levels and failure of leadership across the continent.

But they also knew of the efforts of the middle class. (A middle class constantly under siege but a middle class all the same made up of professionals who have stayed in their home countries and are daily trying to affect its destiny in their own little ways.) They know of the universities in Africa, under-funded and over-crowded but still valiantly turning out products to fill the manpower needs of the nation. These enlightened individuals recognized that given the right conditions and encouragement, Africans were competing and surpassing their counterparts from all over the world.

I can see the pleasant surprise in kiwi’s faces when I tell them that both my parents (teacher and journalist) had their own little library of books and that I spent many hours curled up reading Enid Blyton, CS Lweis and Charles Dickens. “You didn’t have to work after school to feed your family?” I can almost hear their sub-conscious saying.

My sweetheart Tope in looking for a job has come up against this reality as well. After contacting heaps and heaps of job agencies without any luck, we were very kindly advised by a friend to contact companies directly and try to speak to people over the phone. Apparently when they see her name and where she was from, they assumed (correctly) that she was “fresh off the boat” and assumed (incorrectly) that she couldn’t speak a word of English.

I shared the story of the Chinese girl in my office who was smitten with my Michael Jackson outfit and was convinced I was American. She seemed almost disappointed when I told her I wasn’t.

Anyway, it takes one person to change the world. Me I have set out to change a nation. I will attempt to try to share the most positive aspects of Africa in general and Nigeria in particular. There are only 4 million people here. Piece of cake.

Gallant in Defeat

Liverpool are a great Club.

Dont get me wrong. I still loathe them and I will make fun of their 'goatied' manager whatever chance I get. I sincerely believe that they have an inferior team currently to my beloved Chelsea Club.

But this does not take away the fact of their pedigree.

The most successful English club winning almost 20 titles and have won Europe's premier competition in one form or the other 5 times. The most memorable in recent history being the amazing comeback against AC Milan in 2005.

Which is why beating them FINALLY at the third time of asking enroute to the final of the most glamorous club competition in the world couldnt be more sweeter.

Final score was 3-2 and when the score was 3-1, the commentator exclaimed that Chelsea had brought Liverpool to their knees! but Ryan Babel cracked a 35 yard shot that slipped past our otherwise excellent goalkeeper. This was not an easy victory. We had to be resilient, powerful and mentally alrt against masters of European football.

And we prevailed.

This makes it three in a row. Chelsea have beaten Arsenal, Manchester United and now Liverpool. We are level on points with ManU and have another date with them in Moscow in May in the Champions League final.

And so on to our FIRST ever Champions League final. Getting there is an achievement in itself and I fully expect John terry to be lifting the trophy come May 23 in Moscow!

And I have mentioned here before what a Chelsea victory does to my day. Its 9.30am on Thursday morning in Auckland here. I have Champions League mornings you see and even though the rain is pouring down in typical Auckland fashion... its such a beautiful day!!! I am revved to go to work and attack my workload with gusto!

To Russia with Love!

Of Jumpers and Monsters

Two reports dominated the front page of New Zealand’s largest circulating newspaper, the New Zealand Herald today.

The first featured photos of the dungeon of Horror in Austria where a 73 year old man had kept his own daughter captive for 24 years and fathered SEVEN children by her!
The repugnance I feel for this act is so solid I can almost touch it. What drives a man to commit such a heinous crime? What level of depravity? I cannot relate on any level to this episode and I wonder how much this is going to hurt the psyche of Austria the country.

Invariable comparisons are drawn between this case and that of the now 20-year old girl who was held in captivity for about a decade by a man before escaping last year.
In that case, you watch in morbid fascination and hope no one you care about ever gets into the hands of such a predator.

But how do you ward against your own father? One of the nearest and closest persons to you?!
Repugnant. Sick. Horrifying.

And I wondered what sort of punishment would be appropriate to this crime? The death penalty is out anyway with Austria as a member of the EU, and besides like a colleague of mine rightly pointed out, a quick death is probably too good for this monster. What crimes would he be charged with anyway? News reports indicate Incest, Kidnapping, intent to cause bodily damage and maybe even murder as one of the children he fathered died at birth and get this… was burnt!!!

My God… I am squirming in my seat and boiling with rage all at the same time!

I would suggest assemble a team of the best doctors first, and then proceed to drag him behind a car everyday, get the doctors to treat him and get him back to health. And then brand him with hot irons everyday while infecting him with a slowly debilitating disease. As a start.

It galls to know that he will spend the remainder of his life being poked by doctors in fancy institutions at the state’s expense eating three square meals and not having to show any remorse for his deeds.


The other story on the front page today was of a 28 year old guy who attempted to jump into the harbour from the balcony of an eight floor seaside apartment. He landed on the concrete walkway and died instantly. Sounds pretty stupid doesn’t it? He had a few beers in him and had been described as an avid snow boarder and general outdoors type.

For those of you who don’t know, New Zealand is the land of the great outdoors. Sky-diving, scuba diving, Surfing, white-water rafting, snowboarding, skiing, Bungee jumping are part and parcel of the tourist industry here in New Zealand. The topography and geography of the land has made kiwis into one of the most outdoors people in the world. Adventure and a sense of pushing your limits be it on a bush trek or mountain range, is part and parcel of the kiwi experience. The fact that the conqueror of Mt Everest is a kiwi was no accident at all.

But jumping off an eighth floor apartment into the harbour still seems a bit hare-brained.

I have every intention of going Sky-Diving, Bungee Jumping and Scuba diving just as soon as I get off the blood-thinning medication I have been on for the last year and a half. Apparently I am not allowed to do these high-risk endeavours while my INR count is so high. And the fact that I am even thinking of engaging in these sports means I am well and truly a member of a high-consumption society. God knows that my friends who have to battle traffic in Lagos, guard against being victims of crime, endure a night without electricity or one with combined with the noise of a generator will have far different recreational activities in mind.

But hey… when in Rome… right?

The Youngest Person I have ever met

I met a new-born baby on Sunday April 13. The youngest I have ever met.

Kayode and Jadesola’s baby was born at 4.40pm NZ time in the Auckland Hospital. We (Tope and I) visited at about 7pm.
He was swaddled in cloth, had very curly hair and was already looking around very sleepily at the huddle of adults making a fuss over him.

I was sort of expecting to have to stare at him from behind a glass partition like they do in the movies. Yes the movies. Other babies I have met have almost always been a few days (or weeks or months) old. The ones I could possibly have seen (my nephews) a mere 2 hours after they were born were all born in different countries from the one I resided in at the time.

Anyway… apparently Auckland hospital has a policy of not separating mother and child unless it is for medical reasons so we were all able to touch, coo directly in his face and even lift him up. (I didn’t attempt this last, what if he peeled in my hands!!!).

I have to confess that walking into that hospital was like entering into another world. There were terminologies and whole conversations that seemed almost alien to me. Epidurals, Induced labor etc. And there were all these posters on the walls promoting breast-feeding advantages and graphically showing techniques.

Its one thing to have a biology class on reproduction or even to attend a Nigerian style naming ceremony and its quite another thing to share the first few hours of a living breathing human with the amniotic fluid still unwashed off his body, mother looking radiant and exhausted all at the same time and the father unable to keep this idiotic satisfied smile from his face.

And then there was Iyin.

Iyin is the big sister. She is four years old and has the precociousness of her age and then some. She kept announcing to the nurse doing the half-hourly checks on her mum, “That’s my brother sleeping there” or “Wont you take my brother’s temperature too?” and when told to be careful and not poke him in the eye she replied rather tartly, “but he’s MY brother”. As if to say none of us could quite make that claim. Which we couldn't.

A baby is always a good reminder of the sublime miracle that life is. It is also a huge reminder of the responsibilities and experiences that I fully intend to be taking up within the next 2 years. Or three. Or lets make it a round five years! Hehehehehe. No hurry afterall.

Or is there?

That Latin Feeling...

I attended a party the other day. It was for one of my colleagues who was going on secondment to the USA for a few months and since her birthday was about the same time she decided to have a few friends over for a bit of a sizzle. (kiwi for barbeque).

Said colleague is an Argentinean (albeit married to a kiwi) and so the majority of her guests were all Spanish speaking. Mexico, Colombia, Spain, Ecuador all had representatives there. There was a kiwi guy there who was with one of my other colleagues and he spoke fluent Spanish as well. He had learnt in London if you believe it. Anyway, being a predominantly Latin party, most of the conversation was in Spanish and although I couldn’t understand a word it seemed like I was at a party in Lagos Nigeria.

I have written here before on the similarities between African and Latin culture and I was feeling that closeness all over again. I mentioned to Tope that we should really sit down and learn Spanish together and then when we have kids we could switch to Spanish whenever we didn’t want them to follow our conversation!

One other funny thing happened, I had a lot of anecdotes and stories from Sweden (Sverige Sverige Sverige!!!) and I shared them quite expansively and humorously as only I can do. Later Tope mentioned that a lot of those stories she had either never heard them before or heard quite distinctly different versions. I then proceeded to let her understand that one of the creeds of a story-teller is never to let the truth get in the way of a good story!

Ask any charismatic speaker or motivational speaker and they will tell you how the re-telling of a fishing trip will progress with bigger and bigger fish until it turns into a whale of a story! And if you are still not convinced, ask Hilary Clinton how a sedate walk down a tarmac turns into a Special Forces op Jerry Bruckheimer style! Sniper fire, camouflage paint and near death experiences become an intricate part of the narrative.

I still think she will be an excellent President though. And with her recent win in Pennsylvania the super delegates who will decide the nominee might start thinking she will be THE winning President as well.