Intimate Interactions with the UK

As August 2007 wound up I found myself once more in the UK in search of answers to many questions plaguing my mind. Having patronized Emirates and Virgin Nigeria in the past, this time I latched onto Afriqiyah, the Libyan carrier. Apart from minor delays at Tripoli as I left for London, and Gatwick while returning to Nigeria, my trip was stress-free because there was no misplaced luggage. However, I detest the rough-handling of my precious Primark suit by a Libyan immigration official who probably expected to find some incriminating object on me.

Making my way to Church in company of my host and his family revealed scenic Penge, East Dulwich and Denmark Hill. Seeing Walworth immediately invoked memories of my Summer 2006 visit as I made unsuccessful after-hours purchase attempts on East Street; that notwithstanding, I took solace in listening to some deep Batua from a couple of Jamaican ladies whose dresses only assaulted my sensibilities. I remember seeing Blackfriars Bridge and Finsbury though I cannot vouch for my geography of these lovely places. May be a SatNav will come to my rescue someday.

I am confused about recalling my one-week Chatham experience in spite of the ritualistic sleep-inducing random Chinese buffet to which I was treated on its high street. But I have a coinciding (with a friend’s as we awaited Bus 900 out of Birmingham International for Digbeth) shirt bought in one of the Dockside outlets to remind me of my exploited stay. I was later to forfeit £58 being the cost of committing my friend into mailing some documents on my behalf to a place where officials are paid to make you lose your honest investments! And my total loss in the process amounted to £373 minus what I spent in Naira to have it posted to his Queen Anne home.

So you can then visualize my comic relief when I devoured a plate of rice and another of pounded yam as soon as my ‘pastor’ finished naming our friend’s baby boy at New Eltham. Believe you me I did not even take note of the baby’s name! The most interesting part was toward the end of the party as the baby’s older brother, about two, three, showed the mature audience the latest dance steps- an innocent fusion of Ogoja, Yoruba and Hip-hop maneuvers! That guy sure is an entertainer any day. For being unable to properly valuate the amount on me and hence not giving a dime to our baby, I had to volunteer myself for ‘hard labour’ the next day as my Queen Anne host and I gracefully assisted the joyous dad to bring down the canopies used for the party.

And that was after I had just devoured a plate of pounded yam prepared for me by a Jamaican sister that is married to an Ibadan boy- this was in their palatial Bexleyheath home. Where was all the consumed food then? I did not get into the UK with a thin neck so what could be the problem? I had massive anxiety over what my host and I had already prayed about and he, though younger, became an Mwalimu overnight as he continually made me see the need to get hold of my emotions. And that produced two self- development books in the process courtesy of eBay- another £15! But great resources if you ask me. Why would it not be a stressful vacation with the coach trips through Carlisle to Glasgow, Stirling and Edinburgh, as well as Birmingham through Coventry? And my ‘tormentor’ sincerely posited that neighbours and colleagues would doubt that I ever visited London! Why? Because I came from Nigeria looking fresh but was leaving London looking ‘stressed.’

I gladly thanked my very good host but quickly put him through a lesson in sensitivity- saying bad things in nicer ways! Ironically, I was just like him until lately. I was almost mistaken for a terrorist when I later tried to go visit my ‘music deacon’ at Hounslow Central and I could not just understand why. After all I did not parade a no-hair head and a goatie like my three-in-one friend who lectures, advises on branding and etc. He lives in Charlton and is a Nigerian-Briton. He is no terrorist though. My friend’s visit to Nigeria a couple of months ago almost claimed his life- poor guy, next time he should write and launch a book on how he survived the attack. The best place to launch the book? Niger Delta! Hey, Niger Deltans are fantastic- we used to be brothers and sisters until my own part became Edo.

I happen to be a Prince who only speaks my wife’s Yoruba and the ‘Queen’s English!’ And HRH my cousin is currently fuming over the misleading newspaper reports on the mayhem that visited my Iyakpi domain on Sallah day. I promised to call the journalists to order because DAN-esi (another mischief by ‘our’ opponents who preferred to corrupt the spelling) is THE AUTHENTIC- we are 'gazetted'! My ‘Nuclear Ride’ with car-freak banker-in-law who lives in Tadley, Hampshire revealed an Aldermaston that I hear provokes perennial demonstrations by Britons. But why amass weapons of annihilation at massive costs when you know you will never use them? Have I forgotten my Political Science? To deter Al Qeda of course!

Nuclear weapons did not, however, prevent my Sidcup, Fanborough and Hounslow friends from making babies! It was a ‘harvest’ season almost marred though by sickle-cell crises in nearby Blockmakers, Chatham- poor boy who was so excited to attend school for the first time. And his first after-school day at home? He slept throughout like a log!

My dear Birmingham! Imagine a middle-aged white lady walking up to you for £20 alms! Talk of FAITH-IN-ACTION (Ask and You shall Receive). And I noticed that her male partner sat huddled up by an open stairway. They probably thought I was new in the UK as I wheeled my luggage on the adjoining streets of the City Centre in my Bugatti suit in search of Bus 114 to Sutton Coalfield. As beautiful as Victoria is, those homeless beggars on Buckingham Palace Way should be rehabilitated- ironically it is not too far from the Queen’s Palace and Gordon Brown’s office.

Wearing a Nigerian telephone Network’s T-shirt was my sin when I missed my Basingstoke train at Clapham Junction. My ‘fellow’ Nigerian, a staff of Southern Train had this to say when I disobeyed his advice to hop in a ‘set’ train heading for a name I was not familiar with: “Are you not from Nigeria, will I deceive you? Now the train has gone and the next one to your destination will not arrive before 90 minutes.” When he was sure I was Nigerian he concluded thus: “I say make you enter you dey carry book (printed e-ticket plus itinery). Now you go go back to London Waterloo where you go take your Basingstoke.” Ah, Nigerians! Anyhow, I thanked him for jolting me up- Nigerians are smart people!

I had good ASDA and Sainsbury’s deals without their milk, if you get my drift! Great products though but I was thinking most times in my local currency! The Chinese seafood at Reading’s City Centre was not as good as Chatham’s buffet but much more expensive- why? Reading is almost like London and good stadium they got in there- but I loved the sight of Verizon more!

I was happy to be back in Nigeria with my lovely family. The fact is I cannot be away from my loving wife and terrific children for one full month and not emaciate from missing them! So I refused to step out of the Lagos Airport at that unfriendly hour and I am still alive. A popular Nigerian musician whose libido will never make me his fan arrived Lagos from same London a few days after I did and… well, he is still recuperating in an undisclosed hospital after an armed robbery attack on him. He decided to step out unlike me; he probably thought armed robbers were his avowed fans too!

I hear my friend from Nigeria is currently in his wife’s company in my Chatham room as they try to seek medical help in retrieving a bullet that was lodged in one of her eyes no thanks to armed robbers who raided the bank where she works as a teller- poor lady, I hear, from her husband, that she has lost the eye! So I now know why Nigerians abroad do not even want to visit home.

What is my next move? There was a parcel I mailed at Bromley South’s Post Office toward the end of August. It holds the key!