Mad Roamers and Crazy Drivers!

Picture the scene, if you will:

You just so happen to witness a strange image forming before your very eyes. The sight begins to take shape into somewhat macarbe apparation; a view that could literally leave you speechless. An adult male, (or female) is coming towards at full speed, butt-naked, screaming like a banshee, has a blunt machete in his hand and is about to strike a blow right towards your neck. Like any sane individual, you take cover. You don’t want a blade making it’s way to your neck, or any part of your anatomy for that matter.

Seems implausible? Ok, let’s change the tempo: a bull has just been castrated, has snapped free from its harness, and it wants revenge. He zeros in on you, and stampedes right for you. Once again, you don’t or try not to reason with said animal. You do the next best thing: Run!


I’ve cited to two extreme examples of instances that could happen. Which begs the question as to why people in this country, especially in London, take their time while crossing a busy road, when they have no right of way? I’ve witnessed on so many occasions people playing chicken with cars of all sizes. It’s like pedestrians are double-daring the drivers to knock them over. I mean, how dumb can you be? For all you know, the driver in question could be under the influence, or committed a crime and getting the hell out, or is maybe just in a hurry to get to the bog before it all goes pear shaped.

I then realise that people take liberties in this country. The general rule, I reckon, is that said pedestrians feel that the driver’s insurance would cover any medical bills and payout. Not bad for a few broken bones.

Now, I’ve travelled to certain parts of the world, and there are three countries that come to mind that you don’t want to dare drivers or pull off any dumb stunts of jaywalking on the main road: Namely Italy, India and Nigeria. Italy has somewhat a sense of normality, but pull any stunts in India or in particular, then you only have yourself to blame. Can you imagine? You see a car hurtling towards you, and you’re strolling across the road at your own leisure. You best believe that a collision is inevitable. And the pain doesn’t stop there. Oh, no! You’d be then asked (if your either conscience or can at least talk!) to explain your foolish actions. It’ll then be you, the ‘victim’, who would have to fork out for the damage to the vehicle.

So, if none of you guys can remember the Green Cross Code when you take that stroll across a busy intersection or road, just visualise a naked man with a machete dashing for you.

Obeying the wind and other hair raising moments…

It’s been kind of windy these past couple of days, and with the wind comes all kinds of mishaps. I’ve witnessed the usual wind scenarios: an umbrella being blown away; rubbish bags dragged. Heck, I’ve even witnessed Marilyn Monroe moments.



So how do you prepare for that windy moment when your toupee comes flying off your head? That’s a scene I saw a couple of days ago, and of course, I didn’t have my camera with me to record such a priceless moment. The poor dude was dressed to the nines, all dapper and such. He even had a beautiful woman by his side. They were just about to make their way into a parked Mercedes Benz when the faux pas happened. I don’t know why the dude never secured that toupee down properly, but I reckon he ought to shave or invest in something stronger. Like the brand Donald Trump uses. (Come on, people!! We're all thinking it: it has to be a toupee!!)


There’s another guy I used to see a lot who I believe must be in hair denial. The man must be in 50s, and has 3 or 4 strands of hair that I’m sure he combs over his obvious bald patch. This dude looks like another version of Homer Simpson, but only paler and thinner. Whenever the wind blows, the strands stand to attention to be counted, which you can literally do. And I’m asking myself: “Doesn’t this guy have someone telling him that he might actually look better with no hair at all?” I guess he’s holding on to the final remnants of what could have probably been long lush, flowing hair. Oh, how he longs for the wonder years…



Why Am I picking on the bald guys? No apparent reason. I’m as bald as a vulture’s head, and I’ll be damned if I wear a toupee or such. (Unless a miracle drug is produced to create hair with no side effects!) If anything, I strongly believe that the almighty created baldness as a true sign of showing off the perfect head. ☺

Chuck out your old pants!

You're walking down the street, feeling good and minding your own business. The air is fresh for a change, and people in the neighbourhood are saying "Hello". It's the start to a beautiful day, and you're take it all in your stride. That's until you get 'splat' square in the eyes by a piece of clothing. Slowly, you remove the piece from your eyes and come face to face with (dramatic musical theme: "DA-DA-Dahhhh!!") : a pair of granny pants. What the?!?!?! Is this some sick joke supposedly celebrating the emancipation of women, and the flying pants double up for victory confetti?


Ladies & Gentlemen, that's the image the copywriters have come up with to promote new tampons from a well known brand. Now, before you all jump on the "Sacrilage!! let's crucify him for being sexist about not understanding female issues!!", hear me out: The premise to the ad is that users of said brand would feel more comfortable and librated by using the product in order to use their sexy underwear rather than using (and this term was coined by a female friend of mine!) 'Elephant pants! That's all well and good, but the idea that you should then proceed to chuck out your 'granny pants' through the windows from above to unsuspecting members of the public just isn't right! Can you imagine if mothers had found a better diaper for kids and chucked out 'jumbo diapers' to an unsuspecting audience? Better still, picture the scene if you will: There's a fashion campaign for men to remove the shackles of 'Y-Front' briefs and take to wearing sleek designer boxer shorts. Imagine the disgusting sights!!

Here's an idea: Use a bin! There's a reason there's the saying, "Don't air your linen!"

arrrgggghhhhhhhh..........

***Final note*** : I've just been corrected by the missus that the product is actually a pad, not a tampon. You learn something new every day!

How to survive boredom at meetings.

I'm at a mandatory training course that is boring the life out of me. I feel my life-force slowly being sapped out by the monotonal (is that even a word??) voice of the co-ordinator, and the rambling wafflings of one of the participants, whom I have nick named 'Mighty Mouth!'. My eyes are glazed over and I'm in a trance. They say that the mind is a terrible thing to waste, and being at this course is just going to prove that saying.

So, what does one do to pass away the time? Well, apart from exhausting out playing 'Nowts & Crosses', or Counting sheep; the next best thing to do is improvise. And that's exactly what I've done. Do you realise how many useless/useful facts you pick up when you observe people in your group. In the course of 1 hour and out of sheer boredom, I noticed that there are:

19 people on the course
5 are women
5 wearing white shoes
10 are wearing jeans
5 are bald
7 are wearing trainers
6 have their arms folded
ALL are bored (including the co-ordinator!)
1 is a major chatterbox
22 posters are stuck on the wall
2 people have the flu
5 people are perpetual interrupters
8 are half asleep
1 blond
5 people wearing glasses

and such irrelevant information like that. Inspite of the boredom, you have to project the image of 'alertness and enthusiasm!

Thankfully, this is the last day of the course!!

Hallelujah!

If you have any tips on how to pass the time during boring presentations and courses, please share!

New Year, New Year!!

So, here it is: another year in our very existence. T'is a time for resolutions that never really make it past New Year:Day 5. We applaud ourselves for making it this far in our lives, and make a promise/pact/pledge (you get the idea!) to better ourselves in whatever way we can. It's not going to be easy, but with resolve and determination, and belief in ourselves, anything is possible.

However, here's what I think: If you propose to do something, why wait for the new year? why not the new day, or the next minute? I don't get new year resolutions. It's all well and good if you have a business plan to execute, but resolutions for a yearly basis?? Nah.. it's an idea that needs to be revamped, if you ask me.

Whatever your plans are this year, here's to success, however tough it may seem!

"GETTING YOUR FOOT THROUGH THE DOOR..."

I've come to the conclusion that there is something inherently wrong with that phrase, especially if you're trying to work in the media. Think about it or visualise, if you will: There you are, trying to get into a place, and the only access is through the door, which has just barely opened. Then, based on the concept of 'G.Y.F.T.T.D', (that actually seems Welsh!) you place your foot through the gap. Has it ever occurred to you that the door might actually be made of iron10 inches thick and there is a high probability that you might need an amputation afterwards?

Hence, based on real life experience ( I've had a door of a peugeot 505 slammed on my fingers at full force!), I've come up with the 'Ak Stopper ™ '. This device is guaranteed to stop any further pains of crushed feet. Forget trying to sacrifice your foot in order to get in. Place the 'Ak Stopper™' , and not only will it give you easy access in and out of places with your full body, but also with finess.

I know.. I have a hyperactive mind at times

Shop to it!

Ahh, the joys of shopping. We all have one form of shopping or the other that we carry out at least once a week, and also depending on what kind of budget you have.

I hate shopping. Period. Never have or never will like shopping. There are only certain things that I would have no qualms wanting to shop for: Anything photography based; books (including graphic novels, although some philistines define graphic novels as 'comics'. What an insult!!) Apart from these shopping needs, for other stuff, I always go Blitzkrieg shopping. In and out. That's it. You know what you want, and you grab what you need.

However, the Blitzkrieg shopping technique can be flawed every now and then. Ever had one of those shopping moments that you are in such a hurry to buy stuff, that you forget that most important of things: The Shopping list. Oh, yeah: We've all been there. With no list, we try to improvise with the following techniques:

1. Visualise yourself back at home, and rammaging through whats needed for shopping. You then take said 'retrieved' information and hope that said information was as good as what could have been on the shopping list.
2. Use the moblile phone. It helps if you can have a good reception to call on family and friends who are forever raiding your flat for supplies, and then have the audacity to tell you that you've run out of the essentials (which, I may add, was actually nicked by them!)
3. Basket Spy: If you have ever tried the first 2 examples, and not succeeded, you may have, nay, you WOULD have tried the 'Basket Spy'® Technique. All you need to do is look into the baskets of other fellow shoppers on the aisle for pointers to what you might need at home. The catch with that is you might be seen as a stalker looking at their feeding/living habits, when in all fairness, you're just looking for tips.

Enjoy your shopping!

Where's the yam??

How hard is it it to find a good tubar of yam in my neighbourhood? Sure, I'm living in the UK, and I can't always get certain food produce that I crave from Naija. But this is yam, for crying out loud. Most of the shops selling yam are offering the ones that are rotting on the inside. Ah-ah!! You'd think that we'd have our money's worth at times. It's so hard to get good yam. I'm not talking American yam. (Yam for wimps!) I'm talking about the real McCoy, here. I'm talking the kind that can be made for Inyan. Speaking of yam, does anyone really pound yam in London? You might have the 'Sound Police' (i.e nosey neighbours complaining to the Council) on your case. Besides, pounding yam is a skill that takes tough callous hands to master. Get it wrong, and you'll just be eating mashed yam with soup. That thought alone is just wrong.

All I want is a good Punan yam to make a good dish of Asaaro. (Yam Porridge) Is that too much to ask?

Fail to Dell-iver

There is is Customer Service, and there is Dell support. If there is a top prize for incompetence and moronic tendencies all rolled up in one, I would have to nominate Dell. I had the short sighted curse of buying into their products, under the deluded belief that I was getting value for money. The palaver involved in just getting the product in the first instance was a humongous human triumph over the behemoth of corporate stupitidy and customer services. If you ever think of buying Dell products, (I would seriously advise you not to, but its your decision) you might want to upgrade your Health insurance policy, because there will probably be a high chance of you developing a hernia. Should you also plan to contact their customer service, make sure you have somone who has some medical training on standby, because you might end up popping a vein on your forehead from frustration. But don't take my blog for it, have a look at all the other wonderful recommendations from other Dell users:

Knives are out...

Other satisfied customers..

and another...

The list goes on......

So, a year after purchasing the machine from Dell, apparently the RAID 0 Drive died. Thankfully, the warrenty on the computer includes call outs from engineers. So far so good. Get chatting to Customer service in Dublin and are advised that an engineer will be out to repair the problem the following day. Now, when Dell makes a promise like that, you have better chance of getting a job as Picture Editor in London (hah!) than getting your computer fixed. Lo and behold, the engineer couldn't fix the problem due to the wrong drive. We then called back Dell Dublin who transferred us to their Customer Centre in Bangalore. Don't even get me started about the palaver that came with. Can you imagine a call centre fobbing you off with a line that they do not have a 'transfer the call' facility. Please!! I've worked in a call centre, so I can't be played like that. Besides, in this day and age of technology, especially in Bangalore, that line of not having the right technology won't fly.

Anyway, with a lot of shouting and threats (which will be carried out, rest assured) an engineer is just downstairs to sort the problem out. Let's see how long that lasts.

Here comes the sun.. and other calamaties..

When you think of Islands, you might be thinking: Palm or coconut trees; blue clear sea; sands; lobsters, high reasonable tempratures, etc. So, when you think of the UK, all that preconcieved notion of what you thought about Islands should just about die right now. I'm saying kill those thoughts right now. I'm telling you, had the politicians of the time knew how things would have turned out weather wise when they sent out prisoners, colonists and others out to Australia, maybe the UK wouldn't be as we know it. Some of you might be reading this and thinking, "Well, if you don't like this country, why don't you go back to where ever it is you came from?" I pay tax. Nuff said.

But I'm not here to discuss the merits of what's good and bad about this country. I'm sounding off about what the sun brings out in this country. First off: Hayfever. Now, there is Malaria, Yellow Fever, Scarlet fever, and all kinds of other fevers. Hayfever, on the other hand, is a summer nasty that rears itself in the form of sneezes, stuffy and sniffling noses, and all because of the high pollen count. Ah-ah!! I've been to countries where you'd expect there to be a high pollen. Nope. Only in the UK.

Speaking of noses, you might just be one of the selected few to develop superhuman powers of sniffing that almighty funk of people not having baths during the summer. Good luck to you if you have to use the underground or find yourself in a packed bus. And if you're a regular to nightclubs, what with the sweat, grime and so forth, well, you only have yourself to blame for being a glutton for punishment.

Another calamity that comes with the sun coming out in the UK is that everybody wants a tan. Thus, that brings about anatomical sights that should not be shared with other people in the world. Now, there is flaunting it, and there is "Oh, dear God ! No!!"What's worse is that even if the temprature is really low (15-18c is low for me), I have fair skinned people shedding their coats and jumpers, just to have any ray of sun on them. And for those who have a tan already, and have a toned body to go with it, then it's a question of going all Adonis and Aphrodite to the opposite sex, only for a Pandora's box to open up. (It's all Greek to me!)

Another product that comes with the sun brings out 'Alpha male' (yeah, right!) neantherthals driving roof down sports cars with music blasting out for the whole world to hear (the music sucks most of the time, anyway) reminiscent to that that scene from "Apocalypse Now".


I could go on, but nah.. it's time for the antihistamines.

"To be sure, to be sure..."

I've just got back from Ireland, and there are 2 characteristics that could make Nigerians (The Yorubas', to be precise) and the Irish a kindred spirit. First off, it's a love for Guinness. Not only is Nigeria known to be the World's 3rd largest maker of that black syrup, but apparently, it's stronger than what's made in Ireland.

The second feature that unites Nigerian & Irish people is the pronounciation of 'th'. Nigerians may have a strong command of the English Language (Thanks very much, British Colonialism!!), but when it come's to phonetics, words are pronounced as seen, especially 'th'. Try getting a Nigerian to say a sentence like, "There are things in this world that usually start with a Three!". Not that that line makes any sense, but you'll understand what I'm on about. The Irish pronounce just like Nigerians. Ahh.. to be sure, to be sure...

The Brokers

Whenever I've been to weddings, be it as a photographer or as a guest, I become somewhat of a Social Anthropologist, and notice somewhat of a ritual that takes place among the elderly women, especially at Asian Weddings. These matriachial 'Auntie J' are the 'Wedding Brokers'.

If you look closely enough, you just might see them holding a very small black book that they flip up for notes whenever a young lady walks by. It never fails. I'm sure you've come across them. The Wedding Brokers huddle together, whispering, comparing notes, visualising the unity of holy matrimony between that person or this person, and most importantly, if they can pull of a more spectacular wedding than the last they attented. I've spoken to many of my Asian friends, and they have verified my thoughs. Heck, some of them have been married due to the Auntie Ji Networking. They say the system works! Yet, they all agree that Auntie Ji has a gift of interfering with their lives, even after their supposed job is done.I guess you get this within most cultures. You definately get it in Nigeria, thats for sure. So, if you're a young, single Asian male or female, and you happen to be at an Asian wedding, be prepared to be scrutinised about your career and family background. Make sure you have a good educational course or 'secure' traditional career going for you: i.e Doctor, Lawyer, Accountancy, etc. Should you not be privvy to said educational status, then you best be a rich person. And if that fails for you, then you're fresh out of luck!

Penny Snobs

Of all the currencies around, the penny & 2pence are the most villified by the consumer within the UK. (There is the Nigerian Kobo, but that's for another blog! You might say most citizens from every nation have a disdain for their version of the penny!) Think about it: whenever the cashier gives out change, and they turn out to be pennies, they normally end up either in the charity box on the counter (How generous!), or make there way to the piggy bank jar. Should the pennies be lucky, they might be bagged and taken to the bank and you just might make a profit of either £10 or more, depending on how long you've been saving.

What really cracks me up most of the time is when people totally disregard a penny or 2pence that's on the floor. Not many people pick up pennies, and I guess most people think pennies on the floor is beneath them. How many times have we just walked past pennies, and then realised that all we needed to make a purchase was with that penny?

Yet, I can assure you, if it were to be a wad of £50/£20's bundled, it wouldn't even hit the floor before it's scooped up.

So, whenever you see a penny on the floor, don't turn the other way. Think about it: if you picked up a penny you saw on the floor nearly every day, you never know what the final amount could add up to.
As the maxim goes that "A dog is for life, and not just for xmas", well there should be one that goes, "A penny is for spending, not just for the floor!"

Word of caution: don't focus your attention on the ground and become human currency detectors. You just might ram into someone.

Childhood nightmares and tasty chicken..

There are childhood stories, and there are childhood experiences. Here's one experience I'm going to share with you.

I was about 13 years old, and I had my first real encounter of the production process of how that lovely pot of chicken starts from this:


to this:

Now, before I go any further, a word of caution to readers out there who are either members of PETA, Vegetarians or those who are in complete denial as to how and where the meat they eat comes from, Please Do not Read Any Further!

Now that I've put a warning in place, back to the story. So, my old man comes up to my younger brother and I and tells us to get ready to make dinner. He takes us to the backyard where we have chickens free-ranging. Dad points out to a big black cockerel with a huge red comb on its head, and tells us that "that's dinner tonight. Get it ready."

Now, most of the time, when your a kid and you're being taught certain skills, you rarely think that they will be useful at a young age. Hah! Did we get it wrong or what? So, I took the massive kitchen knife, sharpened it, and made sure I hid the knife and bowl of water from the chickens. Now, if you ever thought that poultry and livestock are dumb animals, think again. They can sense when one of their own is off to the 'Open Field in the Sky'. If you've ever seen the opening sequence to the movie 'City of God' (Citede de Deus), you can sympathise with chickens.

After 45 minutes of fluttering wings and sideway chasing, we finally catch up with 'Black King', the cockerel we had affectionately named. (Point to note: Never, ever name an animal that's going to end up as your dinner! You get emotionally attached!) So, we take him by the legs and wings, and hold him down. We (and by 'We', I mean 'I') then proceeded to finish the job. Now, once you've finished the 'job', the trick is to hold the chicken down until it becomes lifeless. That's what you're suppossed to do. By this time, I was already freaked out killing my first chicken in the first instance, so I had let go. I then understood the saying 'running around like a headless chicken'. The cockrel's headless body began flapping madly from spasms and started running in one direction, my brother and I screaming in the other. All that commotion got my dad out, who eventually restored 'normality' to things. I was so put off by what I had done, that I decided chicken or any other kind of meat was off the menu. So I thought, until the aroma of the chicken being cooked by my sisters and mum changed my views there and then. And when your 13, your perpetually hungry.

I did have a couple of nightmares afterwards of a huge, black headless chicken with its head under its wing chasing after me with a sharp knife!

I wish I could end this blog saying that I never took the role of executioner for dinner again after experience, but the reality tells us otherwise. The choice of either having vegetables for dinner (Gari and shoko vegetable but without the beef, anyone?) or sweet, succulant meat is a no-brainer! Never was a vegetarian then, and I'm not starting now. I'm a Nigerian, for God's sake.

The Bully...

This is a fact: Sometime in your life, you will encounter bullies. Be it at work, in a relationship, school, or even at a party, there will always be a neanderthal who is seriously lacking in moral fibre or humane qualities and has the making of a bully. Many of these species are inadequate cowards and therefore pick on anyone they feel is weaker than them. Even the Devil is a bully. Encountering bullies is inevitable; it's just a question of how you deal with them.

I had my fair share of bullies at school while growing up in Nigeria. Fortunately, I had some friends who watched my back. However there was a particular guy who kept on picking on me. This dude, whose identity will be kept secret (Oh, who am I kidding?? His name is Ayodeji Alebiosu! Name and Shame. NAME & SHAME!!!) He was a big bloke, and he kept hassling me because of my accent, which was a hybrid of some sort. For a whole year, he harrassed me and what he called 'tease', I categorically call 'B-U-L-L-Y-I-N-G'. He never did it around my friends, who would have punched him into next month. But whenever had the chance, he bullied.

What bullies fail to realise is that, eventually, a 'victim' (I use said term generically, because you can either decide to let yourself be a victim or not) will snap. And that's what happened. It was the start of a 3rd term in the 2nd year, and you would have thought that Ayodeji would have grown out of his bullying tendencies, but hey! Cowards will be cowards. I was minding my own business when he came just wanting to pick a fight. Bad move on his part: I was already mad about something else going on in my life at the time, so I just flipped! Now, I used to always think about what Christ said about ''turning the other cheek''. Oh, I turned the other cheek, alright. But not as Christ would have wanted:

It took a couple senior students to pull me off this dude. That was the last time Ayodeji Aleboisu, the bane of my early school days existence, ever bullied me again. Ever.

So, whenever you come across bully, here are a couple of pointers. They may or may not work:

Deal with the bully before he/she takes undue advantage over you, and you become a wreck.

That's my 2 pence advice for the day..

God has a sense of humour...

"Sacrilage!!!!" I hear you say. But, before you burn me on the stake for Heresay, here me out. I believe that the Lord knows what I truly mean, and it's some of the examples that I've lived through that's given me this theory about God's sense of humour.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, and in many instances we have no idea how & why He places us in certain situations, but as a Christian, I believe that its all for a reason.

Growing up in Nigeria, I used to take a short cut to my Dad's photographic studio in Orita Challenge, Ibadan. I used to walk by this old, mingy, decrepit house, and I used to say to myself, 'Who would want to leave in a nasty place like that? This place always gives me the shivers!!" About two years later, my family went through some pretty hard times, and we had to move from a lovely flat we were renting at the time. So you can imagine my absolute gobsmacked suprise when my sisters & I were told to clean up that same flat I despised back in the past, only for us to move into. We lived there for about 3 years, and had to make it home.

Fast forward to 8 years ago. Location: West Sussex. I had gone to my cousin's for a party, and after getting on a train to go back to London, I remember saying to myself: "Well, that place sucked!! Who'd want to work or even live in a place like thas??" You'd have thought that I'd have learnt my lesson by now. Hah! So, what happens? Two years later (what is it with '2 years later' and me??) I was made redundant. I signed up with an agency, and they managed to get me a job posting. Guess where: West Sussex! I mean, what are the odds of that??

So, you see, I feel that God has a sense of humour. The experiences that I have gone through have taught me many things. And the joke is, looking back at things, I've managed to laugh with God and those 'humourous' moments.

God bless.

Office Culture Part Deux: Shakara shouting!

Away from the Office spam mail, there's a characteristic amongst most employees that brings about Acute Shakara, which is normally stressed induced. Allow me to explain:

Ever been in the situation that has affected your job due to either incompetence, bureaucracy or Murphy's Law, and you just want to unleash your anger and frustration? (and to think you expressed on your CV that you can work under pressure! Shame on you!!) I've been in situations like that and I've had to take a 5 minute break or longer, depending on the severity of the situation, just to calm down and regroup my potential actions. I'm sure there are millions of employees/employers that use the same technique. God forbid that you find yourself in a situation where a disgruntled employee goes 'postal'.

And then there is shakara shouting. We've seen the type: A person literally turning all the colours of the rainbow with undiluted rage due to some mix up or other. And with the rage comes the shouting peppered with profanity: " BEEPing BEEPser!! When I see that BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP punk, I'm going to ram the phone down his BEEPity BEEP!!" Oh, the language can be quite colourful. However, such threats never take place. No sooner has said description ended, the phone rings with said potential victim on the other end of the line, and you being all nice, all for the sake of saving your P45 and not actually committing GBH. Besides, that kind of stress can't be good for the heart. If you would like to dare your heart's strength, then may I strongly suggest that your company has an up to date and charged defibrillator. If your company cannot afford said equipment, then make damn sure someone knows CPR. So, technically, all that shouting was just shakara. And in case you're wondering what shakara means, it's a pidgin term to describe a person who puts up so much bravado and threats and never carries it out.

Such a scenario does bring about an intresting question: why let certain instances at work stress you to the verge of breaking point? Don't get me wrong: it's nice to be dedicated to your job. If anything, pressure to a certain degree is healthy, unless you work for the bomb squad. Now that's pressure. However, I'm sure they have a better Insurance scheme than most employers.

So, instead of shakara shouting and stressing yourself, here are a couple of tips to circumnavigate certain situations at work:

For every 60 seconds your angry, you lose a minute of happiness: A contradiction some might say, considering many people are'nt happy at work, but why give anger more satisfaction?

How much will you make from your retirement plan and will it equate in worth for all the stress? : Well, self explanatory, that. Besides, at the end, for services rendered, you''ll probably get a bottle of 'bubbly' (sucks if you're teetotal) or a bouquet of flowers.

Pray: Most of the time, the name of the Lord is taken in vain while your swearing to the high heavens, and for me that is a clear indication that you believe in God. So, why not pray for some patience or a solution to the problem?

Take a break (Read second paragraph above) And no, not a a ciggie break. That's just adding more stress to your lungs. I suggest that your HR deptartment invest in Ak-ism's 'Relaxzz Room' ™. (You can vent your frustrations in the room by attacking a dummy that represents the stress you're going through. Call now 555-VENT IT™for an information pack, and you'll also get a free copy of Catch 22! )

If all of the above does'nt work for you, then blame it on the guy who can't speak English.

Nuff said!

Office Culture Part Uno: Office Spam Mail...

Can anyone PLEASE explain to me the logic of work colleagues sending out global on-site emails to everyone announcing, that after X, Y & Z number of years with the company, they are now moving on? What's up with that? At least once every week this kind of email finds its way into my inbox. It's as bad as spam mail. Come to think of it, it is spam mail. First off, I have no idea who you are, and why you would be informing me that you're leaving the company is beyond me. If I knew who you are, and I either had a healthy working relationship with you, or were good friends, then I'm sure you'd give me the heads up. Or maybe the sinister reasoning for sending out global mails is that more people that know of your impending departure, the more contributions would go into your Leaving Present fund. I have news for you: If I don't know you, I'm not contributing! Oh! You think I'm stingy? I've know many people throughout my working career that they make Ebenezer Scrooge seem like Mother Theresa.
Other recipients of said mail would have nothing but disdain and thoughts of "I bet that smarty pants is off to a better job with better pay, while I'm stuck in this Gulag. "Arbeit macht frei" indeed! " Point to note, though: Not everything is as rosy as it seems in life. Then again, it just might be rosier..

Another gripe I have with mass mails at work are the "It's my birthday, come and partake of the goodness of cakes I've bought" mailouts. Hey, if you want to share the wealth, go for it. But if you're trying to score brownie points with me, that's not going to happen, especially if I know that you're the same person continually going out off your way to undermine my job by not complying with certain technicalities of the job. (And you definately know WHO YOU ARE!)

Here's one that really cracks me up. Picture the scene, if you will: A colleague on maternity leave, delivers a healthy child (all together now: "ahhhhhh!"), and after a couple of months recuperation, sends a global email to everyone at work to announce that she is coming in with the child for everyone to 'goo-goo, gaa-gaa!' over. Personally, I don't see any reason why you'd want to bring the child into an office environment at that age. He or she will eventually get to know the four corners of a cubicle and office beauracracy, so why traumatise the child now? The worst thing is that those who come over to congratulate you in the office with your new child, are the ones who, with Machiavellian tendencies, have been plotting ways of ousting you since you sent that global email.

So, if you are a continual offender of sending out global emails, (which are all not bad, truth be told. Some are informative and enlightning. Hah!!) just say no!

"I want my mummy!!" - A dedication on Mother's Day

It's Mother's Day, (why should it have to be one day??) and we recognise and appreciate all the love, kindness, discipline, hard work, investment and other numerous sacrifices that she continually makes for us. (For going through child labour alone, well that alone needs a special day of recognition!)

Today, many kids and husbands will be buying flowers, chocolates, or taking mum out, or pampering her: anything to pamper mum as a sign of appreciation. Why? (What do you mean, "why?" don't you have a mother??) Well, because she deserves it!

There will be others today just going through the motion, but there will be no love. Sure, they might give her the most expensive gift, or finally get to see her after all these years, or even just pop around for Sunday lunch to celebrate Mother's Day. It wouldn't make any difference. It's because the role of mother to them was just only that of title, not of any real meaningful relationship or bond, and that comes from love.

Remember your school days, and you might have the misfortune in getting in a fight behind the bike shed after school hours, especially if you're a guy? (It's an Alpha male thing, that. It's also one of the reasons we have wars, inspite of politico-Socio-economical reasons!!) There was always a warm-up match of 'cussing' and put downs, and such. Nothing was sacred. Except one thing: Mother. You do not, under any circumstance, bring a person's mum into the fight. You put down a mum, and it's on!! What could have just been bravado at the start could escalate to a real, bloody and messy punch up. All because you insulted one's mother. (And no, its not an Oedipus thing!)

Anyway, today's blog is in homage to my mum. The best (and then some!) that any child would wish for. She is unique, but then again, most of you would say that about your mum.

They say you never really appreciate a person until they have either left you or stood up for you. Well, my mother rose to the occassion back in the early 80's in Nigeria. We were were attacked by armed robbers that terrorised the neighbourhood during that period. The robbers were so brazen they would call the police up in advance to warn them not to patrol the area that night while they were having their 'operation'. Anyway, the robbers did their thing, stealing everything and anything, and what not. Then one of the robbers, a hideous excuse for a man, grabbed my wrist and said he was going to take me away. My mother, calm and composed, stared him down and said no. Now the thing is, you don't argue with an armed robber who can do whatever he wants to do. I guess my mother's defiance startled the robber. "How about this one?", referring to my younger brother. "You can take whatever you want, but you will not take any of my children!" My mother was not hysterical. I can remember the look in her eyes, and the robber backed off. I know that God intervened that day, and He gave my mother courage that to this day I have always admired.

How about discipline? Well, my mum was and still is an expert. She rarely used her hand against us, but her form of punishment was more psychological than physical, and it worked. There were times that you'd wish she'd beat you rather than psychologically fandango your head. You got out off line, and you will be 'psy'd'. There was this time that I 'liberated' a tin of Bournvita from that was 'securely' locked in her room. Of course, she knew that I had commited the crime, and she wasn't going to "tell your Father when he come's home" malarkey! No, my mother, bless her, had more finess than that. She was going to make point to go to my school, tell my headmistress what I had done, and then make sure that my misdemeanour was announced to the whole school during assembly. This was no idle threat, and I knowing what my mother is capable of doing, I was not going to call her bluff. I don't think I have ever cried that much pleading with my mum to forgive me. It put the fear of God into me, and then some!

When it came to sense of humour, my mother had tons of it, and she's always up for a laugh. We used to play pranks with other members of the family, play ludo, hi-five each other in public, and just chat and talk. She's more than a mother: a confidant, a friend, and a mother!

So, here's to you, mum. With love from all your kids. God bless.

Ak's Guide to Urban Sharing: View 99

Ever have the feeling that getting on the train is like riding on the school bus? Not that I ever used our 'School Bus No2' back then, but I have an idea of what it would be like. Anyway, you get on the train, and you scan the carriage for a spare set. You zero in on one and make a beeline for it. While burrowing your way through other passengers who are blocking your path to sitting your derriere comfortably, you hear the inevitable 'Tutting' (Ak's Definition: tutting is a unique way of verbalising your feelings without saying anything, but saying everything, and concluding it with eyeballs rolling! Initially, I used to think it was an English thing, but now anyone who lives in London long enough does it!! )

You finally make your way to the seat, which is still amazingly vacant. You're just about to sit down, and immediately feel the gaze of the passenger opposite or by your side already seated. We've all encountered that look. It's that gaze of "How dare you sit next to me?" Some people would intimidate by either cranking up the volume on their ipod, or put their feet up. Others have even gone further by just dumping their bag or books on the seat. And when you finally claim the sit as yours for the ride, said passengers will look you up and down and 'tut'.

Or that one time I had a severe coughing fit on the train. For no apparent reason, it just kicked off. Unfortunately I had nothing to drink with me. This 'bro' had a bottle of water and just sat there looking while it seemed i was literally chocking to death. Maybe it was a calculated move on his part, but for good measure, he takes a long swig at his bottle, and then turns away, just like everyone else. Well, nearly. A pregnant woman came up to me with her half full bottle of water and said, "I reckon you'd need this more than I do at the moment!". Kindness like that, Priceless.

Can you imagine a world where everyone all over the world, just for one hour, extended some kindness to one another? Just one hour...